It's not Spring - it's Autumn!

All over facebook last week, my friends have been commenting and celebrating the first day of Spring. As if they could even call their winter actually Winter...I guess when you're used to - 20 and -30 degrees Celsius, this is open for debate.

But nevertheless, I'll let them have their joy and happiness for the day. Who am I to be a party pooper and rain on their parade?

The thing is, their celebration of  Spring means my farewell to Summer. It just reminds me a wee bit too soon that another winter is on its way for Canada. Their Spring is my Autumn.

It was only last week that I started noticing the leaves starting to turn yellow around my house and on the golf course. Trying to distinguish between a falling leaf and a golf ball, can be quite challenging. The other signs of the season turning is the fact that I am taking along a light coat or cardigan more often than not when I go out and then also adding an extra blanket on the bed at night.

I do love Canada, but goodness me, the winters are loooooong! But without these winters, our summers wouldn't be as fabulous as they are. The super long days, the brightest greens I've ever seen, the temperatures during the days just right - the only downside though are the gazillions of mosquitos !!

Isn't it true though, that in life it's the same as in nature. One person's Spring can mean someone else's Autumn, and someone's Summer is another's Winter - figuratively speaking. In Afrikaans there is a saying : Die een se dood is the ander een se brood. One person's happiness can cause the next person pain and so on and so forth. You get my point.

So just remember when you're digging out your spring dresses and short shorts, that someone else is preparing to brace themselves for another long and dark winter. And by bracing, I mean: re-arranging closets, unpacking coats and turtlenecks, scarves and gloves, corduroy pants and wool skirts, tights and long socks, boots and blankets, duvets and cashmere...

On the other hand - let me try and stay positive, looking for the silver lining here - while you may be splashing in your swimming pool, I may be skiing down a snow covered slope!

But in the meantime I need to start raking all these leaves...

Till next time, spring bunnies!

Lines aren't just for "reading between"!

I am totally and utterly in love with my car! Everytime I see it or get into it - basically daily - I still can't believe that I get to drive this car. It's like seeing my first love - still gets me everytime, after all these years. Speechless at the sight of it... It's always the prettiest one in the parking lot, guys always stare at it and no one should even try to get to the next traffic light faster than this car can. But this is basically where the joy of driving stops for me.

My current fellow countrymen  - bless their hearts - don't know the first thing about driving. Seriously. And I get that it's not all their fault - blame the system I guess. I know in the bigger picture I'm now one of them - got the passport to prove it - but on this aspect I cannot associate  with them. They don't know the first thing about parking - to start with (traffic circles are the other mystery, along with changing lanes and backing out of a parking space). They couldn't care less about the white lines marking one parking space from the next. Has no meaning to them. And I'm not talking about the winter when all the lines are invisible as a result of the packed snow. I'm talking summer conditions here. It takes me forever to find a parking spot at the mall because everytime I think I see an open space, I only get there to find that it's unusable because the car next to this presumed "open" space is parked at a 45 degree angle just because its driver doesn't understand the concept of  "between the lines". Now I guess I can do with the extra mile I have to walk from the place I could find at last at the other end of the parking lot, but I have to restrain myself from writing notes to each and every one of these drivers and leave it in their windshield wipers with fake parking "fines"!

Any country who gives learner's permits to 14 year olds and probationary driver's licences at 16 years of age - to drive without an adult - should go back to the drawing board on this one.

To illustrate my point further, I would like to tell you about the time when I went for my drivers test here in Canada. When I moved here, I had to re-do my drivers licence - in writing and practical - although I've had a drivers licence for some years at that stage. Got the "no-claim-bonus" from Outsurance to prove it. I understood this requirement for re-testing since in Canada they drive on the other side of the road (which means I still go to the passenger seat more often than I would like to admit, expecting to find the steering wheel there...) and driving on these winter roads can be trreacherous.

I was so nervous though that day, that when the testing officer asked me to parallel park, I backed up OVER the sidewalk, uttered a few choice words when I realised I blew the test, and drove back to the licensing office knowing I would just have to come back another day to repeat the whole thing. But, hey no, I kid you not: I passed the test and got my licence that very day.

I mean, I knew I could drive based on the years I've had my license in South Africa (who is not an expert after passing K53...) and that it was only nerves that messed with my parking that day, but the guy testing me didn't know that! He thought my standard of driving was "A-ok" according to Canadian standards. That's why I'm so freaked out half the time when I drive around town, knowing that mostly everyone around me got their licences for basically only knowing where the ignition of the car is. Add to that the fact that the majority of people are either talking on their cell phones or texting while they drive!

I must admit that I am not up-to-date with the current requirements for a drivers licence in South Africa, but I always feel proud to know that our licensing standards - although it could be the only thing that is - are better than in Canada. At least in the "olden days" when I got mine...Having overloaded taxis with re-treads all around who consider the emergency lane as being the only lane, most traffic lights being out of order most of the time and being on red alert for potential hijackings as a way of life, just puts one in a different state of mind when behind a steering wheel.

Maybe I should start taking the bus since I'm on the car's horn (tooter - honk-honk) most of the time. It may therefore be possible that my fellow road users aren't staring at my fabulous car after all but rather at me behind the wheel, thinking to themselves: crazy b#*@h!

Exercise, anyone?

Why, oh why, is it so hard to get oneself to exercise? It's good for you - even better than peas and carrots combined. Eish, but I don't likey...I'd rather eat that plate of spinach, or go hungry altogether, than run or bike or step myself into a sweaty mess. But I also know that no amount of nuts or salad will do to your body that which a good work-out will. There's no way around it...

So it started this week when I decided to weigh myself after coming back from another holiday which always includes a lot of restaurant food and no time for exercise because of all the sightseeing, boat cruises, driving from town to city, booking in, checking out, packing, unpacking - totally exhausting!

The bathroom scale is one of those ornaments in the house that you don't display along with the glass vase from Venice or the miniature perfume bottles on the bathroom counter. So after locating it from underneath the layer of dust  - like I said : it does not form part of the dusting routine of other ornaments - I had to figure out how it actually works...electronic and all, this particular one.

It was not a pretty picture. Yes, I did not see figures on the scale but rather a boatload of chocolate bars, piled mile high, laughing at me from the tiny screen of this fancy-schmancy electronic scale. Of course this is untrue but it was my mind playing tricks with me - where in the world would you get a scale with cartoons, seriously. Although it would be a good idea to scare people right into a gym membership if the scale could stick out its tongue at you or roll its eyes at you. Now that would be something...

I immediately started a treasure hunt in my closet to find my yoga clothes - it's been a while since I've seen or used them. Alas I found them - they did not make it to the charity bin after all - and lo and behold, found a pair that still fits my current state. Tightly, but not bursting at the seams, yet...I figured that the only way I would start doing any of the moves they call "exercise" I need to be comfortable at all hours of the day, so that whenever I feel the need (like right after eating a cookie or watching the Food Channel) I can just fall down there and then and do a few sit-ups or squats or tummy rubs...

It's just so hard! And so boring. And it hurts. And makes you even hungrier. And grumpier. Which means I must do something wrong because everytime my husband finishes one of his marathon long runs on the treadmill, he tells me he feels GREAT - that exact word. Great. While he's breathing like an oxygen-deprived lab monkey - don't ask me what this means, I made it up - and gobbling down water like a camel in the Sahara desert, and gleaming with sweat like a cast member from "Jersey Shore". Maybe that's it: I don't like the "face" of exercise - it's not very becoming.

This change of pace and rationing of food has another downside for me. Another contributing factor to my sleeplessness: the growling noises from my stomach prevented me from falling asleep last night. Just lying there, listening, wondering if I should get up and read a magazine (which would inevitably have a food section and ads of perfect bodies in bikinis) or go to the computer to write this blog, or ignore my own body's needs for food in exchange for it's need to sleep, 'cause once I'm asleep, the torture will be over till tomorrow morning when the squatting and rationing starts all over again.

Well, eventually I fell asleep and now it's a new day. I'm here, sitting in my yoga gear (I'm a poet and I don't even know it) for what it's worth. A little stiff from yesterday's initiation squats. But I will not quit - not for the moment though, but I'll let you know, about my new glow, before the first snow in early No' (November, that is) - I'm trying to kill time here people...it's either this or the treadmill.

Till next time - happy running!

It's time for a king size bed...

It's not a matter of waning love. Or selfishness. Or a bad mood. It's simply a matter of sanity...because if I can't have a proper night's sleep, well, let's just say, someone may get hurt. It's usually not pretty.

For years I could wiggle my legs and arms this way or that way to try and find room somehow on the bed in order to get a proper night's sleep. I've even made peace with the seam of the mattress more times than not, even when I didn't go to bed mad. But lately I just can't handle my numb right arm anymore. The numbing feeling is starting to become more often and for prolonged periods of time since it serves as a cushiony pillow most of the night for some people...

The thing that made this whole situation unbearable lately, is the fact that I can't seem to fall asleep anymore. I really struggle and almost nightly still look at the alarm clock way after midnight. I've started surfing the web in the wee hours of the morning or read a book for which I can't find time during the day etc. But it's not supposed to be this way. I'm not a happy camper if I don't get my 8 hours of sleep, and me being grumpy is working against the benefit of all around me. Maybe if I can sort out my issues with Wee Willie Winkie, I would be more equipped to absorb this inconvenience.

What's holding me back though, is the fact that all the beds in the house currently, are queen size, which means that all my bedding are the same size as well. I therefor have quite a collection of sheets, duvets, comforters, pillow cases etc. made for queen size. Upgrading, or rather upsizing the mattress to king size would not only mean buying a new mattress, but also a bigger headboard, and base, and bedding, and maybe even new nightstands, and chest of drawers, and, and, and...We're talking a small fortune here.

All these factors make me rethink this whole new venture. At least I have a bed to sleep on, and someone next to me. Warm sheets. I'm otherwise healthy - apart from the stiff joints in the morning as a result of less than desirable limb positions during the night and grumpiness as a result of not enough sleep.

So I'm back to square one: should I rather spend the money on a holiday where the hotel room will have a king size bed??

A word of advice Kate...

If you tie your hair, you would actually have both hands to attend to your dress. Calgary is a windy place...

You must be kidding me!

It's happened again - like too many times before!

They've discontunued another one of my favourites. And this time it's a perfume. According to the lady behind the counter, it happened two years ago already - just like that. No warning, no survey, no reason I can think of that would justify this treacherous act - by my standards that is - just gone, forever. I usually have a spare bottle of all my perfumes but now that this special fragrance of mine has been running low, I started looking to buy the next bottle or two to last me the next year or two. Just to be told: it's been discontinued. I almost started to cry right there and then in the middle of the store. She must be mistaken, this salesperson, or misinformed, or mis-something. But alas, after asking at another store the next day, the salesperson dared to tell me that she's never even heard of that fragrance - how dare she! I'm at a loss without this fragrance - truly the most beloved smell I've ever known. And of course I have lots of other bottles of perfume, but none as close to my heart as this one. This smell has become part of my identity. The smell my husband knows me by, with which memories are called upon. That smell and I were one. And now it's gone.

Maybe I should phone Charlize Theron and ask her if she can't find me a bottle of this - she should have some contacts since she is the face of the perfume. And not the golden bottle - the SILVER one please.

The reason why this news was met with such an extreme reaction from me, is the fact that it was just one more thing I love, that disappears, with me not having any control or say over it. It's so sad that it's almost funny and my family is starting to joke about it even. Every dish I love in a restaurant gets taken off the menu sooner or later, depending on how much I love it. The more often I visit the restaurant and the more attached I get to the meal item, the higher the probability gets of the item being removed from the menu as if it never even existed.

I write e-mails, I beg them to bring back that specific meal item every time I go back there, I surf the web for the recipe, I cry and bemoan my fate to everone who takes the chance to listen to me, but no way - it's gone!! "Hardly anyone ordered it ma'am". But I ordered it you fool - every time I came here, and I couldn't have come every day of every week just so there would be a big enough demand in your estimation to keep the item there!!!

Why do they keep doing this?? What have I done wrong? Seriously. Who informed the "track-your-favourites-so-we-can-take-it-away" police to follow my every move? Because they sure are diligent in recalling everything I like. They know just who to contact in order to discontinue the restaurant items, potato chips, perfume, cooldrink, jackets (or blazers if you will) and whatever else I like. It's creepy crazy. Or do I have a singular taste, in that I am the only person on this planet earth, buying the things I do and that no one else shares my sentiment about certain things and therefor the demand is not big enough so the manufacturer/restauranteur has no choice but to quit production. The old principle of supply and demand which goes against everything I believe in. If I have great taste, why should I be penalised because not enough people catches on to my preferences?

I can almost replace each and every favourite thing in The Sound of Music song by the same name, with things that have been my favourites but no longer exists!

The other thing that bugs me is the fact that when I do find a thing I like - just before "they" stop production of that thing too, my size is ALWAYS the one that's sold out - at ALL the stores who carries this thing. You see what I mean? They have it in for me - big time. Just can't figure out why.

I'm at my wits end. I may just as well throw in the towel. What the heck - they're probably already tracking down the next thing to quietly tuck away in the vaults of  "favourite things never to be seen again".

Wear yourselves out people! I'm quitting!

Yes, I am a beaver!

The beaver is quite a prominent figure on many a thing in Canada - a national symbol. From money to flags, even my favourite beer, you name it, it's there.

It just so happens that the beaver can wreck quite a bit of havoc in springtime since they are constantly trying to block the flow of every creek and riverstream in order to build themselves a cosy home. This habit of theirs is the cause of many a flooding even in our little neighbourhood since we have a creek running through our subdivision. It became such a big problem that the County - our municipality - is still sending their people almost daily to come and have a look at our creek and break down any barriers built by these little creatures overnight.

Let me state it clearly: I am a much bigger fan of the beaver than the ant. The ant may be busy but the beaver even busier. And the ants wreck my garden, every flowerbed and piece of lawn are invaded by them - in their thousands, I may add! They are very low in my esteem at the moment. They're even eating away at my house's foundation since our house is built almost entirely with wood - how I do miss a brick house now... Don't see much use for them either. Seriously, what precisely are they doing or contributing to society or nature in general? They don't make honey like bees, or eat mice, or catch mosquitos (another one of nature's nuisances and annoyances) or control the balance of certain other species.

But the beaver is a different story. They have the cutest little faces. And I do admire their swimming abilities - you have to give it to them: with a body built like that...Although I do not quite condone their constant chomping off of trees. They should be rationed in this regard but until we can find a way to communicate with them in a way that would be constructive, I can't see this happening soon. But on the other hand, how should they otherwise keep those pearly whites of theirs, sharp?

Which brings me back to me. In this house, I am being called "the beaver". And it's not because I have prominent front teeth or because of my agility in water (which I don't have, by the way)...It's because I am constantly busy - building a home, chomping off trees, rearranging the wood, swimming to shore, collecting some more, attending to the family - all proverbially speaking of course.

What is it about us that we feel we must constantly attend to something. Not to be caught for even a second doing just nothing, or reading a book, or taking an afternoon nap, or sit on the deck for some much needed sun. Oh no, we have to keep moving! This still needs cleaning and that can be re-organised to look even neater, and those need some replenishing and before you know it, it's time to start with supper, but then you need an ingredient or two for such supper, so it's in the car, buy it, speeding back and on you go!

Maybe it's because of the enormous guilt of not having to work - at a salaried job - that I feel I have to work twice as hard during the day to earn this privilege of staying home. Not that it was a choice of my own choosing - life just turned out that way for me. I do admit of feeling a bit envious when seeing people in the rush hour to and from work, dressed and stressed, and excelling in what they do, but I am also quite aware of the trappings it also brings. I decide every day whether I want to dress up or down, wear make-up or not, and yes, sometimes I clean the house in a Calvin Klein dress! I am working, ain't I? But the boss of me, is I!

I just need to stop feeling as if someone is watching over my shoulder and keeping tabs of everything I've done today. Of giving report at the end of the day - or everytime my husband calls during the day - of every detail I've accomplished and what will still be done before the weekend comes. Although, in this job, the work never really stops - no business hours here. Over weekends the wheel keeps turning, the beaver still runs, or swim, to keep head above the water. To keep the nest intact.

"Ledigheid is die duiwel se oorkussing" has way too much leverage over us. And then comes Proverbs 6 that promps this beaver-like behaviour of mine even more when it says: 6:4 Permit no sleep to your eyes ¹⁴or slumber to your eyelids. And further  - 6:6 Go to the ant, you sluggard; ¹⁷observe its ways and be wise! continuing with - 6:9 How long, you sluggard, will you lie there? When will you rise from your sleep? ²⁰6:10 A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to relax, ²¹ 6:11 and your poverty will come like a robber, ²² and your need like an armed man. 

^{This weighs heavily on me, and my Calvinistic tendencies do not permit me either to put these thoughts on the back-burner, even for a little while. So I keep moving, fervently and sometimes annoyingly, ruining everyone else's peace and quiet. But I'm working on it - putting a task on hold here and there, but only until I drive past that creek again and see my namesake, the beaver, going at it at his usual pace...}