Balancing Act

My mother is aging, and is needing more and more care.  Our roles have changed.  I am now the parent, having to deal with her as she did with me when I was young....a tremendous amount of patience, gentle guidance, but also sometimes "tough love", which is so very hard on both of us.  I do what I can to help, but there's also only so much that mom will allow me to do.   She's still protecting me. 

As I look forward to entering my sixth decade, time has become even more precious for Myron and me.  

We want to travel more, but I am reluctant to do so, because of mom.  Mom encourages us to "go and have a good time and don't worry about me", but that's almost impossible for me to do.   I know that she's cared for by her caregiver, Anna, so what's the problem.  Guilt? Yes and no.  I am a good daughter and am there for my mom whenever she needs me, but I also have a wonderful husband who has worked all his life for the pleasures that should come with his retirement.  We need a balance.  

I have to figure out a way to create that balance in my life.  I will be here for my mom when she absolutely needs me, but I need to enjoy this time of our lives too.  Too many friends around me are learning the hard way that things can change in an instant.  

So, we are going to travel.  Not long, extended trips, but shorter "can get home in a day" trips, if we are needed at home.  Marika has stepped up and will help look after her grandmother and that will definitely make me rest easier.

If I am not with her and my mother decides that her time has come, I will feel regret at not being with her, but I will feel no guilt.  "I love you" has been said many times a day, every day.  She knows how much I love her and how much I will always love her.  It's just for me that I will want to be holding her hand and that's totally selfish on my part.

Pandora's Box

My last post was almost five months ago.  It was just before we left for the Orient and I had been diagnosed with FMD.  I was gripped with fear and I let it get the best of me.  Even though I said I had "put it in a box" and shelved it, that did not happen.   We went to Japan and China, and I had moments where I'd forget, but the vacation was a melancholy time for me.  There was no follow-up from the doctor that treated me in the hospital and I felt like I had been abandoned.  When we were in Asia, my mother had a TIA and ended up at Toronto Western Hospital where she was treated by a doctor who, according to mom, was amazing.  When I had to take mom in for a follow up appointment in October, I asked if he would take my case on and he agreed.  My appointment with him was last week.

Dr. S. was amazing!  He explained everything to us (Myron, as always, was by my side), and helped to put my worst fears to rest.  I do have FMD in my carotid arteries, but I will probably live to a ripe old age and die with it, not FROM it.  He is going to make sure that my renal artery isn't affected, something that the original doctor was supposed to do, but dropped the ball on.

The Pandora's Box.....it was that little box that I put my FMD in and put on a shelf.  Except, I kept looking into the box and every time I looked, I panicked.  The things that flew out of that box were awful.  Irrational fear.  Depression.  No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop from opening that damn box.

FMD is rare, affecting only 4% of the population and according to "Dr. Google" can be devastating.  This is where my medical information was coming from...not from the doctor who treated me initially in hospital.  Had she sat down with me in September, and actually discussed my condition, rather than just telling me what I had and drawing a misshapen artery, I might not have spent the last five months in a state of constant doom and gloom.

But now, the box is gone.  I will always have FMD, but now I feel like it doesn't have me.

TIA's, FMD and LOL's.....

So my Next Chapter has yet a sidebar.....

I went to the Stroke Clinic last Thursday to have my follow up appointment from the TIA I had in July.  Since then, I've been feeling pretty good, getting out for walks, taking my daily aspirin.  Nothing like a good kick in the pants to bring you right back to reality!

I have been diagnosed with FMD or Fibro Muscular Dysplasia....big word for misshapen arteries.  Hello?  When did this happen.  It's genetic, so nothing that I've done wrong, and it's never, ever going away.  Now starts the long testing process to see just how much damage there is (if any), monitoring ultrasounds, medications, and on and on.

Since Thursday, I have been an absolute mess and that's my own doing.  When I left the Stroke Clinic, both doctors sent  me on my way, wishing me bon voyage for our Japan/China trip and said they'd be in touch re more specialist appointments.  They weren't the harbingers of doom and gloom.  I did that very nicely on my own, thanks to Dr. Google.  To say I became catatonic would be putting it mildly.

I woke up this morning and said "enough".  Crying, wallowing time is over.  I am getting my clothes together for our amazing trip tomorrow and I've decided to put my little FMD in a box and make it stay on my shelf until we get home and the I am going to tackle this bugger like nobodies business.  I may have surgeries, stents, renal issues in my future, but for now, I'm trying to focus on the present.  I feel good, I have the best family in the world and dammit, I'm going to be around for a long time.

FMD??  LOL to YOU!!

Livin' the High Life

It's been a crazy year.  That's obvious from my absence from this blog!  We started renovations on our condo in February and it's been a rollercoaster time.

Myron took on the role of "project manager" and it's a good thing he's retired, because someone needed to be on site every day to make sure that everything got done properly on site, and that we did everything according to the rules of the condo, etc.  The contractor was supposed to do all that, but I actually think Myron enjoyed his role, however stressful it was.

We had two homes to clear out...ours and Marika's in Ottawa.  We had to sort, PITCH, donate, sell, pack up both places, so to say it was a bit overwhelming is an understatement.  Garage sales, numerous trips to Goodwill and Salvation Army and thank God for 1-800-GotJunk!!!

A lovely man bought our home on Friars....not the family with 2.5 children that I thought would buy it. A is 74 and the most interesting character we have ever met.  He loved our home at first sight and the place was sold in days.

We are now living the "high" life and I only say that because we are on the 36th floor and enjoying the view from here.   Do we miss the old house?  No, because we were truly ready for this "Next Chapter" of our lives.  We brought all the memories here with us.  We've already made new memories here.  Home is where we are, not where we live.

Stay tuned!

A tragic Tuesday, ten years ago

Monday, September 10, 2001, my friend Lety and I left for New York City on what was supposed to be an overnight jaunt to shop, have a nice dinner, see some theatre and head back to Toronto on the 11th, in time for Marika's first piano lesson of the school year.

When we arrived, the tail end of Hurricane Erin, was blowing through New York City, making for a soggy afternoon.  No problem!  We were in NYC and having fun together in the city that never sleeps.  We tromped the streets for hours trying to keep our umbrellas right-side-in, not caring that we were soaking wet.  In the evening we took in "Chicago" and then had a late Italian dinner at Orso, still a favourite of ours. We made plans for the morning....either the Empire State Building or Windows on the World to take some black and white photographs....a new hobby of mine.  We decided to do the Empire State Building first as it was near our hotel and then save the World Trade Centre for lunch...we could then head for the airport directly from there.

Tuesday morning was brilliant!  The unsettled weather of the day before had disappeared and the sun was sparkling.  We didn't turn on our television in our hotel room.  We got ready for the day and headed down to Starbuck's across the street.  Our hotel was kitty corner from Pennysylvania Station.  The streets outside our hotel were teeming with people.  I remarked to Lety how crowded it was at that time of the morning.  We were about to find out why.  We went into Starbuck's and bit by awful bit, it became clear that all was not normal.  We overheard two men talking about "a plane, maybe commuter, crashing into Tower One".... then we overheard "airport is closed"...I excused my interruption and said "we are supposed to fly out this afternoon"....he shook his head and told me to check with our airline.

We hurried back to our hotel and by the time we got back to our room,  it was becoming obvious that something was terribly, terribly wrong.  We switched on the television and there on the screen was a horror unfolding that was unimaginable.  No sooner had we sat down on the bed, than the second plane crashed into the second tower.  This was certainly no "commuter plane" accident....this was evil incarnate.  Lety said "it's that goddamn bin Laden".... I had no idea who she was talking about....
Then both Towers fell and almost 3,000 were murdered...in the Towers, at The Pentagon in Washington, in Shanksville, Pennsylvania...

The airports were shut down...so why were there aircraft buzzing overhead.  We were panicked.  It turned out to be U.S. fighter jets patrolling for more attackers.  We sat in our tiny room, transfixed by the history we were witnessing.  We held on to each other and cried.  We were scared.  Telephone lines were jammed so we couldn't get through to loved ones for a few hours.  My mother was the first to get through to us.  Our only comfort was each other and speaking with Myron, Marika and Lety's husband, Trevor and my parents.   Getting out of New York was impossible.  We stayed glued to that television set, afraid of what was going to happen next.

For the next three days, we went through the motions, except that these were no ordinary days.  New York was deserted.  The first day, around 6, we ventured out in search of some food.  We found an Au Bon Pain.  As we waited for our order I turned and watched a ghost walk by the shop...except this was no ghost...this was a man, covered in soot and ash...walking up from Ground Zero.  Too much to bear, too much to bear.  For 24 hours a day, all we heard were sirens heading down to Ground Zero.  Instead of the usual smell of pretzels on New York City street corners, the acrid smell of smoke filled the air.

We finally secured train tickets back to Toronto on Friday, but not before the anxiety of another bomb threat at Pennsylvania Station.  Sniffer dogs searched us once we crossed the border into Canada.   Our new way of life.  Innocence is gone.

Trevor, Myron and Marika met us at Union Station in Toronto, all of us weeping with joy.  How lucky we were to be back in the arms of our families.  Not so, all those souls who perished on 9/11.  They were now in the arms of Another.

Aaaannnd....she's offfff!

Marika's off to her fourth and last year at Carleton.  This was taken at breakfast at Cora's the day Marika headed back to Ottawa.  A few precious moments in a summer that literally melted away.

With Marika having spent 6 weeks in Europe and with my mother being in hospital for the past three weeks, we haven't had much time to spend with our girl.  So, if it looks like I have a death grip on her in this shot, it's because I did.  I'm hanging on for dear life...

Fourth year has come so quickly.  She'll be busy applying for graduate schools and getting the most out of her last year in Ottawa.  It will be different for her...her beau has graduated and is now working in Toronto.  I'm sure she will be home a lot more often!

I remember that first day of junior kindergarten...off she went, not really knowing what to expect.  The second day, there was a quivering lip and grip on my hand that cut off the circulation.  And now, she jumps in her car and gives me a wave as she backs out of the driveway...but I think the lip might have been quivering just a bit...

Miss you sweetheart.

Reprieve

My mother is not yet done with this life.  We have just been through a horrendous three weeks with her in hospital, having contracted a very serious staph infection.  For a few days, it was touch and go...I was told to "prepare myself" by one of the doctors.  After three weeks, two hospitals and many incredible doctors, nurses and physiotherapists, our tough prairie girl is back home, albeit a little bit worse for wear.

At 86, every day that we have mom is a blessing.  I had honestly resigned myself to losing her and only wanted peace and comfort for her.  To watch someone suffering is the hardest thing.  She's stoic and always has been, but to have a chest tube drilled into your lung is no picnic.

As she began to recover, I spent many days and nights, cuddled up with her on her hospital bed, all the while avoiding drainage tubes and IV lines.  We talked about lots of things...Marika, Dad, The Blue Jays, her wishes for her "exit strategy" and how much we loved each other.  It becomes simple.  Love is what is most important.  According to mom, her goal in life was met...she lived to see me happy in my life and she was able to see her granddaughter grow into an amazing young woman.  How simple is that?  No bucket list.  No regrets.  Nothing for herself.  All for us.

During the course of her hospital stay, there were many xrays and CT scans.  An unexpected discovery was a mass on one of her kidneys, that the doctors believe is probably malignant.  Mom has decided, along with the doctor's advice, to "leave well enough alone"... in the doctor's opinion, she wouldn't survive the operation to remove the kidney.  It is likely she will die with the mass, not of it.

Mom is now home and recovering her strength.  We are so lucky to be able to have her in her own home, with 24 hour care supplied by two amazing personal care workers with me filling in the gaps.

I know I can't expect her to live forever, but for now, we've been granted a reprieve.  For now.

Scrabble Sundays

Every Sunday my mother comes over for the afternoon and we play Scrabble.  She's a shark.  At 86, she can still beat us, no matter how hard we try.  It's usually on one of her last plays that she will pull a 7-letter coupe on a triple and poof, we're dead in the water.  It's a rare occasion when we are victorious.   In the summer months, we play outside on the patio and bbq something and in the winter, it's always, ALWAYS,  roast chicken with gravy, mashed potatoes and veggies.  There have been those Sundays when we have had something else that we've had to go to, but usually, Scrabble Sunday is sacrosanct.

Mom hasn't been feeling well for the longest time.  She has osteoarthritis, osteoporosis (although she denies it) and has recently been diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease.  Before she started her meds for the Parkinson's, I was worried that we were going to lose her.  She was so weak.  Now that the medication has kicked in, she has that old sparkle back...maybe not as bright as before, but sparkling nonetheless.

I had brunch with a high school friend today and was supposed to lunch with another tomorrow.  Tomorrow's lunch got cancelled because her father has fallen ill.  My lunch date today has a 93 year old mother and my friend is primary caregiver.  Tough, tough times to watch your parents age.

Everyone makes a joke about the Golden Years not being so golden.  Nothing prepares you for watching your mother or father slowly disappear.  It's happening all around me....my cousins, my friends, all facing the same heartbreaking issues.  From dementia and physical limitations, to cancer and more.

We are fortunate to have found an angel among us ... her name is Anna.  She is a from Ukraine and is a geriatric nurse.  Anna is with mom 3 hours in the morning and 3 hours in the evening, Monday to Friday,  and she is a God-send.  I am extremely fortunate that we can afford to have an "Anna" in our lives...not everyone can.  My cousins and my friends are primary caregivers and I see the toll it takes.  My mother is still able to live in her own home with help from Anna and us.  I  see my mother almost every day and I take her out shopping or to the hairdresser.  With the addition of Anna in our lives, things are a lot easier.

Yesterday, while I was cleaning up after dinner, Myron sat with my mom in our backyard and I could see they were engrossed in conversation.  The actual topic isn't important, but what is, is the fact that we are still able to do that with mom.   We cherish those moments.

My dad will be gone five years in September.  It's been a tough time for mom, but she is a strong lady and  wants to be as independent as possible.  In a weird way, having Anna has made her "feel" more independent...because she's not depending on me as much.

In my conversation with my friend this morning, guilt seems to be the overwhelming emotion when it comes to caring for an elderly parent.  Guilt that you should do more, spend more time with them, not put them in a nursing home.  Every situation is different and each calls for specific decisions.  I suffer from "the guilts" too, but realize that it doesn't give me any solace.  I do what I can, love my mom and move on.  She doesn't want me to feel guilty and if I do and tell her so, she quickly puts a stop to that.  That only make her feel like a burden.

So, whatever your parent's situation, just love them and do your best for them, as they did for you.  I've always said that our daughter doesn't owe us a thing when we get older....it was our decision to have her and from that moment on, we owed HER everything.  By our example, I hope she will want to help see us through our latter years.  And besides, she'll probably choose our nursing home!

Trekking in Tremblant and Veuve with a View

We just returned from a five day sojourn in Quebec to celebrate my birthday.  Hubby booked a couple of nights in Mont Tremblant and another two in Montreal.

Mont Tremblant is a breathtakingly lovely spot.  The weather cooperated and it could not have been a nicer place to be on a warm, sunny summer's day.  We arrived in time for dinner and what else would we have but......

poutine.  That delectable dish of pure Quebecois decadence....frites slathered with vein clogging gravy and topped off with heart-stopping fresh cheese curds.  Jenny be damned!!

Myron still had room for a Killaloe Sunrise Beavertail, one of those Canadian must haves, this one sprinkled with cinnamon, sugar and a tangy squirt of lemon juice.

Now before you think that all we did was eat (well, ok, so what???), we actually did get some exercise.  When I say exercise, I mean we HIKED!  We started off our day taking the "cabine" (gondola) up Mt. Tremblant and then starting out on an "easy" hike....at least that's what the guide book said.  If that was "easy",  I'd hate to see "moderate" or "strenuous".  It took an hour and a half  to finish the circuit that had  all kinds of terrain...rocky, muddy, and steep!  And it was fun!

This was taken about halfway through the hike (where I was sorely tempted to do a Julie Andrews-esque twirl).  The scenery was spectacular, the air was clean and cool and we felt good about doing something physical.

That evening, we sat on our balcony, overlooking Mt. Tremblant, sharing conversation, some wonderful Quebec foie gras and cheese on a fresh baguette, washing it all down with icy cold Veuve Cliquot.

 

Turning 58 wasn't so bad.  In fact, it was wonderful.

The Agony of Defeat....otherwise known as an afternoon with the Saskatchewan Roughriders

Myron and his sister Alix at the 2007 Grey Cup pre party.

When we got married, the marriage vows included "...and the wife shall cheer for the Saskatchewan Roughriders."  Not really, but it was inferred.  As was "...and the husband shall learn to like ballet".  I was pregnant with Our Girl when we attended the 1989 Grey Cup when they won the Cup (which accounts for her love of the team) and a large contingent of Myron's family descended on Toronto to attend the Rider's 2007 Grey Cup win.

It has not always been an easy road, following the Green Boys.  After 23 years of marriage, I think I'm understanding the rules of the game pretty well.  There was never any question, that as a Toronto born girl, I would NOT be cheering for the Argos.  God forbid.  When you are married to Myron W (the "W" stands for "With green blood running through his veins"), you cheer for the Riders.  Period.  End of story.

Yesterday, we endured what seemed like Hell in Hamilton.  Our Green Boys were meeting up with the hungry Tiger Cats.  Or should I say, the Green Boys were served on a platter for the TiCats??  Yoy.  Like a bullfight, it was a gory sight to behold.  The problem was that the Riders never showed up!   Hamilton annihilated Saskatchewan and as energized as the Hamilton fans were, we poor melonheads were wilting in the hot July sun.  

I have watched my husband support his team through thick and thin and his devotion to his team is unwavering.  He rants and raves at the players, at the coaches and at the referees.  He wears his jersey while sitting in our living room watching his "guys" or his "bums" depending on what the previous game results were.  The man I married has a heart that is bigger than Saskatchewan itself and he will always be a Prairie boy.  That heart is also made of mush.  I've seen him mist up at what he calls "beautiful plays" and yell Ukrainian obscenities at the screen when they mess up.  The latter happens more frequently.

His idols were Ron Lancaster (#23) and George Reid (#34).  Those two numbers are always included in our lotto picks and when he plays roulette in Vegas.   His favourite colour is green.  He cries when he hears the Rider's anthem.   I love him for all these things. 

I have a birthday coming up.  The past year I have been calling myself "Heinz 57", but with the addition of another year, I will have to give up that moniker.  My hubby told me a couple of weeks ago that he wanted to take me to Mt. Tremblant for my birthday weekend...nice!!!  It wasn't until later that I learned that his Riders are playing in Montreal on Sunday night and that we will be going to see them play the Alouettes!!    These two groupies will be on hand.  

Would a win for my birthday be too much to ask??

Our new friend Jenny

Hubby and I have a new best friend (OK, I just had to retype "friend" TWICE...first time it showed up as "fiend" and the second time, "fried"...honest...this will very soon become ironic).

Her name is Jenny Craig.  She's the kind of friend you need to keep around because she does things for you.  I'm afraid we might eventually kick her to the curb, but for now, she serves a purpose.  How callous.

A few months ago,  my husband looked at our naked selves in the bathroom mirror  and said "we look like we should be dancing in a witches' coven"....if that doesn't give you a visual, I don't know what will.  Now before you say "how DARE he??", he said it with laughter in his voice and love in his heart.  And he was right.  Damn him.

And so, like Kirstie, Valerie, Sara and Carrie say "Have you called Jenny yet"?  Yeah, yeah, I'm calling already.  But because my wonderful husband said he'd join me on this journey with our new best friend, we both hauled our extra poundage over to Jenny's house.

We were introduced to Nafisa, (apparently Jenny was too busy to meet us).  Nafisa is such a lovely young woman of Somalian descent.  Her complexion is like chocolate.  Hmmmm, chocolate.......

We went through the usual humiliation of having to stand on their scale (which is obviously broken), and be measured up for size.  The general consensus was that we'd been enjoying life a little too much and needed to solidify our new friendship with Jenny tout de suite!  Not a lot...about 15 pounds for me and about 20 for my warlock.  Nafisa assured us that we'd have no trouble embracing this new friendship and that Jenny would be with us all the way.

Armed with Jenny's meals and a fever to shed those pounds, we headed home to start our journey.

When I prepared the first meal and handed it to my husband, he looked at it and said "this is sad".  I was all bubbly and "oh, but with the salad and extra veggies, it's a lot of food!"  He just looked at me like I had sprouted another nose.  OK, to be fair, there's not a lot of food, but after you drink 8 gallons of water, you really aren't that hungry, are you?  I'm allowed 1200 calories a day and he's allowed 1500.  There must be some kind of gender bias discrimination law against this.

Exercise is a big part of our day.  My husband works out harder than I do, and he plays some tennis and in the summer, golfs when he can.  I like to ride my stationary bike.  Well, not "like" to ride it, but at least I can get lost watching The Food Network (I know, funny eh?) and my usual weekly total is about 50 - 65 miles.  I'm at it for about 50 minutes a day, 5 days a week and if I ever get where I'm going, I'll let you know.  We also walk to my mother's and back, a 5 km trek from our house.

I'm not going to say we haven't cheated on on our buddy Jenny from time to time...dinners out, dinners in...life does go on and we do have other friends.  But come Wednesday morning, the only friend we want to see is Jenny.  Nafisa weighs us, praises our triumphs and gently accepts our defeats.  He's down 15 (men lose it faster than women) and I'm down 13.8 (and the .8 matters!!).  Our clothes fit better, our energy level is up and we live for those moments when people notice.

We've realized just how little one needs to eat to be satisfied.  Could we eat more after a Jenny meal?  Of course.  But we don't and it's paying off.  Some of the food is really good, some of it mediocre and some of it, bleh.  Kind of like my cooking.  And now go back to the first paragraph and you will see that "fiend" and "fried" are obviously some kind of Freudian slip.

And the next time my husband says that we look like we belong in a witches' coven, I'll hit him with my broom.  And then we'll get on it and head on back to Jenny's.

Boobies

I just returned from my annual mammogram. Temporary ouch for long lasting assurance that my boobies are healthy.

Our Ladies' League at our church raised money a few years ago for the purchase of a mammography machine in Ukraine. Women all over the world should have access to this service, but sadly, this is not the case.

Which leads me to our health care system. No matter how we bitch and complain about the wait times and the lack of family physicians, we still have access to some of the best health care in the world. When my mother had a suspected stroke a few months back, the attention she received was beyond compare. Within minutes of entering the emergency ward, she had a CT Scan and was seen by a neurologist. Just like that.

My father passed away almost 5 years ago from prostate cancer. The care he received was remarkable...from his initial diagnosis (although he dumped his first urologist for his lack of a soul!!) to Dad's chemotherapy treatments at Princess Margaret to the in-home palliative care he received from The Toronto Grace Hospital.

Think for a moment what it would be like to be living in a Third World country with no access to any kind of decent medical care...now kiss the ground beneath you.

I am all for a two-tiered system. If I can afford to pay for tests, x-rays, and doctor visits (which would probably make me think twice before going for something trivial), then perhaps the money saved could be spent on hiring more doctors, nurses, technicians, etc. and all of that would help to ease wait times for others less fortunate than my family.

My great, great uncle was Tommy Douglas, the father of socialized medicine in Canada. Thanks Uncle Tommy for having the vision. Now it's up to us to help sustain the medical system by not abusing it....but by using it wisely.

Bonne chance ma chérie!

Our Girl is in Perpignan, in the south of France on a month-long journalism study course. When she first told us of this project last year, she asked us "should I apply?'" No brainer for her Dad and me. Anything to do with travel and education is an opportunity not to be missed. Granted, we are financially in a position to offer these "perks" to Our Girl, but to her credit, she has contributed to this with her own hard-earned dollars. Our Girl is definitely a privileged child, who, as her godmother affectionately says, "has never had to turn right on an airplane".

Her sojourn in France will, I think, be an overall, life-changing experience. She is seeing a different way of life, living amongst very different people with different mindsets. The Perpignan Project is a group of 15 students from North America, including four Canadians. Their website is www.inperpignan.net if you are interested in reading/seeing what they are doing.

I wrote, a long time ago, about letting go. I am still struggling with that. We are incredibly close and I love that about our relationship. There is nothing that we don't share...well, almost nothing. I love to see her Facebook posts (I admit to being a huge "creeper"), and we talk daily on Skype or via Facebook chat. I am living vicariously through her. She is doing all the things I could have only dreamt about when I was her age. Not going to university meant I was in the work force from the time I was 17. I did travel a lot, but not on the kind of adventure that she is on now. Our Girl is meeting people from different walks of life and with the advent of social media, some of those friendships will endure. She will gain a new perspective on how others live in a foreign country. This experience will be invaluable to her.

What I love most about our relationship is that I "really, really like her." She is fun to be around, has a wicked sense of humour and a laugh that is raw and infectious. And she's silly.

Her aim is to, someday, be a journalist. She has always been a good writer and she is continuing to sharpen those skills every day. A course like The Perpignan Project is a vital part of that growth. She will succeed at whatever she does.

I figure I still have one more year to let go of her, as she has one more year of university, and after that, possibly graduate school. I am easing up but it's hard to just go cold turkey. My greatest hope is that, from time to time, she will want to tug on my apron strings. And that will be the greatest gift of all.

Bonne chance ma cherie!

"Ivy"

Isn't this just the cutest?? This pooch (I call her "Ivy") is around the corner from us. Everytime I drive past her, I have to smile. Thank goodness for neighbours with some whimsy in their soul. Hope it makes you smile!

Condos, Creeps, Civility and Cleansing

We bought a condo. The search has actually been going on for about two years and last fall, we found "the one". 2836 square feet of incredible space with a magnificent view of the lake and downtown Toronto. It's directly on Lake Ontario and our walks there last summer convinced us that it was the perfect spot for us.

That's the condo part.

We aren't quite ready to live there, so it's been rented for a year. At first, the tenant seemed pleasant and we gifted him with a bottle of champagne and a note welcoming him to his "new home". He pays his rent (albeit a little late sometimes) and seemed like a good choice. Wow. Was I wrong on that count. Our tenant decided that having a DJ in the unit was a smart thing to do and the party that ensued lasted until 6 am. Numerous resident's complaints and security admonissions later, Mr. TFH* decided to ignore his neighbours and be damned!! Up until this point, all of our texts back and forth have been for rent issues and some minor repairs to the unit. I sent him a polite text saying that I had heard about his "all nighter" and perhaps we should speak in person. WELL. I won't bore you with all the nasty details, but when he did call me, the conversation very quickly deteriorated to his yelling into the telephone, "All of the God-damned residents here are just jealous because I get sex everyday".......okaaaaay. Conversation ended immediately. I refuse to have any contact with this idiot, other than to cash his rent cheque and to give him ample notice that his lease will not be renewed. Mr. TFH will not be living in our beautiful condo after Feb. 1st.

It seems that tenants have all the rights and landlords have none. Bad judgment call on my part. I will own up to that. But how do you know? His previous landlord sang his praises!

That's the creeps part.

I have previously written about civility and how this part of our society is melting away. We live in this world together. When did it become alright for an individual to blatantly break the rules with no apparent consequences? If you choose to live in a community such as a condominium, you need to respect the privacy and liberties of those around you. Because you pay rent does not give you the right to abuse other's enjoyment of their homes. What amazes me is the lack of respect for others in general. We live in a time of "it's all about me and I don't care what you think". Some people just need a smack upside the head. Honestly.

That's the civility part.

Because of all of this, we have decided, to take over the condo as of February 1st and to start the renovation process to make it our next home. It's an exciting time for us...planning, shopping, tossing around ideas. Our Girl isn't too happy about us leaving our current home, where we've lived for 10 years, but we've assured her that home is where we are, not where we live. Besides, I've heard her friends ask if they could do "pre-drinks" at our new place next year!

Before we start any big renovations, I've asked our priest to come and bless the condo. I want to rid it of any unwanted Karma from Mr. TFH.

That's the cleansing part.

Oh, Mr. TFH....Mr. Tenant From Hell

In absentia.....

Yes, I'm still alive. I realize it's been quite a while since I posted last, but as I said awhile back, there'd be stuff here "from time to time".....well I took that one seriously!

Watch for upcoming tidbits!

R.I.P. Civility, Propriety & Respect

This past week, we celebrated our our 21st anniversary. My hubby planned a romantic, overnight getaway to Niagara Falls for dinner, a show, some gambling and, the piece de resistance....a Saskatchewan Roughrider/Hamilton Tiger Cats game on the way home today. I suspect that the game came before the romantic part, but it's the thought that counts, right?

When we arrived at the hotel, we had a couple of hours before dinner, so I gave in to my cold and slept. We changed out of our travel clothes and into something more appropriate for The Watermark Restaurant atop the Hilton and headed up for dinner.

OK, so this is Niagara Falls. Maybe not known for it's classy establishments. But if you can afford to pay $50 for a plate of prime rib, you can certainly afford to wear something better than a sweatsuit to eat it in. We weren't dressed to the nines, but this isn't Arby's or McDonald's. Coincidentally, I wouldn't wear a sweatsuit anywhere but in my house.

We watched as a couple entered the restaurant, he in shorts (hello??? it's almost November!!!), she in an old sweatsuit. An older gentleman sitting behind us with his wife and and another couple was dressed in a suit, but he kept his cowboy hat on. Take the damn hat off when you are in a building!

I recently saw some photos on Facebook of guests at a wedding. I didn't know it was a wedding, until I saw a picture of a bride and groom. I thought the photos were of some people at a pub. Young men in jeans and t-shirts, with baseball caps on backwards. Their ladies were dressed in appropriate attire, so it obviously wasn't a surprise that they were going. I just don't get it.

I was always taught that you dressed appropriately for the occasion. So was my husband. He would never dream of showing up at a funeral parlor in anything but a suit. Same thing for a wedding. No jeans to church. Does God care what you wear? Probably not. It is just a sign of respect. And that my friends, is the kicker.

Respect for one another doesn't exist anymore. At concerts. In restaurants. In church. On the road. I fear we are fast becoming a generation of egotistical, belligerent, entitled misfits.

Do we not teach our children what is right and wrong anymore? Do we live our lives thinking that we are entitled to offend the people around us by our actions? This isn't just about what we wear, it's about how we live our lives.

We were so impressed when we first met our daughter's boyfriend. He came in the door and the first thing he did was to remove his cap, shake my husband's hand and say "Hello Sir". Two small gestures and two words. We immediately knew that this young man was raised with manners and a sense of decorum. When it came time for him to join our daughter at a formal occasion, he couldn't afford to buy a suit, but he had a pair of dress pants and he bought a dark shirt and tie to make it as formal as he could. The point is that he TRIED.

Many of you out there (if anyone reads this) will think that I am a stick-in-the-mud. "Oh come on, it doesn't matter what people wear". Yes it does. It doesn't take money to take off your hat indoors. Or to say excuse me. Or to leave the sweatsuit at home if you can afford a meal that will cost you over $100 for two.

Frankly, I'm tired of rude people who haven't learned right from wrong. How about using some common sense and having respect for others?

IHOP, P.F. Chang's and the good ole U.S. of A.

Clearly, I am on a food kick this weekend. Myron and I are off to San Diego in a couple of weeks to meet up with our California friends for a week of more exploring. We are also going to visit Myron's former mentor and partner and his wife in San Luis Obispo.

My husband loves the U.S. and is not among the holier-than-thou Canadians who rant and rave about our neighbours to the south. But I digress.

Myron's passion for the U.S. is fuelled by two things. IHOP and P. F. Chang's. You can't imagine his joy at finding both of these places in one day. Dare I say that when we are planning a trip south of the border, he actually seeks both of these establishments on the net before we head out? Myron stumbled upon P.F. Chang's on a business trip to Los Angeles and was hooked. And now, of course, so am I. P.F. Chang's China Bistro is exactly what it sounds like. A Chinese eatery, that's gone uptown. The food is always good and the service is superb. It also helps that the P.F. Chang's in Michigan is attached to perhaps the most beautiful shopping mall in the state.

International House of Pancakes. IHOP. Myron's four favourite letters in the alphabet. My husband is generous to a fault but he loves a bargain. We don't have IHOP in Canada and so if there's one near where we are in the States, we're there for breakfast. It has always been a good deal, but once Myron turned 55, (and I am also past that milestone now) IHOP became even more attractive. We qualify for The Senior's Special. It's a really great deal. A stack of three for $2.99. IHOP is now a "POI" (Point of Interest) on our GPS. How sad are we?

The staff are efficient and down-home welcoming. In Michigan, we frequent one particular IHOP and Myron is convinced that in order to work there, you need to have at least one front tooth missing. Just adds to the charm of the place. Honest.

God bless the U.S. of A. We love it!!

While I'm on a roll.....

.....I thought perhaps you'd like to see what my mother and I accomplished one afternoon. Only two are shown, because it's either gluttonous or unfair to show you more.

My mom and I have had some lovely times making these delectable, dainty, dumplings. She's not able to make them all by herself anymore, and so I am learning the art of making "varenyky", or as most of you call them, "perohy" or "perogies".

The process starts the day before when I peel, boil and mash the potatoes. To them, I add fried onions. Lots of fried onions. Then, I take about a teaspoon of the mixture and form them into little balls and they are refrigerated until the next day, when the production line starts. Mom comes over and I park her at the kitchen counter while I proceed to make the dough. Mom used to make hers in her Cuisinart, but I prefer the old fashioned way....by hand. Can you believe it? I find it incredibly therapeutic to get my hands into the flour and to knead it until it transforms from a sticky, gummy mess into a soft, elastic, smooth round ball just waiting to be rolled out and cut. When the dough is rolled out (great workout for the biceps!), I cut them with my mom's old tin drinking cup, that is EXACTLY the right size and has been moved from their home of 40 years, to their condo, to my home.

Mom is the assembler of varenyky. She is riddled with arthritis in her hands, but still manages to expertly pinch the dumplings in no time flat.

Once they are done, I par-boil them and then they are cooled before being frozen. Our Girl took home 5 dozen with her to Ottawa last week and I hear they are almost gone. Sounds like a good reason to make more and take some to her!

What's important about this blog, isn't the varenyky, but about passing of traditions and recipes that will disappear if I don't get on this. It's about sharing time with mom and letting her know that someday, when she is gone, I will continue her recipes and her knowledge. And I will pass them on to Our Girl.

St. Lawrence Market

It's Saturday and it's cold and damp and generally, an ugly day. Myron and I headed down to the St. Lawrence Market to see if we could find some inspiration for tonight's dinner.

We are so lucky (see previous post!) to live in a city, in a country where food is so abundant. We walked up and down each aisle (mostly because Myron is a bit OCD when it comes to stuff like that) and took in all the sites and smells that the Market has to offer. The meat, the fish, the produce, the cheese!! Don't, I repeat, don't go there when you are hungry. Bad idea. You'll buy everything in site and probably eat a lot of it on the way home. You can find every cut of meat you want. Want ostrich? They've got it. Bison? Check. Camel steak? Yup. I kid you not.

We decided on lamb as I had a recipe for Lamb Korma with Cucumber Raita in one of my crockpot cookbooks. I'm in a crockpot mood lately and that is a sure sign of fall/winter comfort food. Tomorrow is Honey Hoisin Chicken.

We got all of our meat and poultry and then headed downstairs for the spices and rice. Who knew that there are so many types of rice? We decided on the "aged" basmati and it was incredibly flavourful.

On our way out, hunger won out and we bought a plate of ocean smelts and fries. It's something we've wanted to try (the smelts) and now we've done it. Didn't like it enough to do it again.

St. Lawrence Market is a gem in our city that I don't use often enough. That is going to change.