My sister is relentless. I love playing word games but my sister has found a game that she’s mastered and I’m terrible at. The result is she clobbers me all the time. The game is welder. And there’s toxic tiles. I hate them.

But I’m sitting in her cozy living room getting clobbered. We moved out of our house today to let the winter rental family take over. The countdown to Florida is officially on! Moving is a drag. No matter if Florida is on the horizon. Schlepping tons of stuff in -7C weather sucks. We dropped my car off at the transfer place (it’s being driven to Florida and will arrive first week of January) so our essentials are wedged (think crammed to the hilt) into Rudy’s suv where are always mindful to accommodate Molly. She needs to sprawl. Which means the back seat is a junk free zone.

After downsizing and purging twice you would think we have the program down cold. Nope. We accumulate things like a magnet. Today we vowed to simplify our life with intention. Stay tuned.

So for the next week we are camping out at my sisters place. I can see why she loves her place. It’s so comfortable and inviting. It’s beautifully decorated for Christmas and lights are all connected to a remote control. Frank loves his gadgets. Not to mention the live video they produced to help us navigate their substantial audio and media system. It’s like front row at the cinema. Christmas Vacation with Chevy Chase never looked so big!!

Rudy deserves a medal. He was the chief Sherpa moving, dragging, loading, packing, sorting …. oh, one more over here!! … stuffing, arranging, storing … just when we thought it would never end we crammed in the last bag. For the drive to my sisters, Molly has to share the back seat with a few things. She obliged as always. Such a good traveller.

So we are ready for the next adventure… as long as it’s in warmer weather count me in.

I’m lounging on the sofa watching holiday movies. The cheesy hallmark kind. My favourites. One of the characters just said something that made me think: it’s not just about cookies and presents, it’s a time to reflect back on the year. I took a few seconds to do that and I’m a bit taken aback at how quickly time flies by and how much happened in 2019. It then occurred to me that we are about to enter an entirely new decade not just a New Year.

We started 2019 in Florida and will end this decade there as well. I like the ability to sit outdoors and ring in the New Year even if we don’t last until midnight. It’s the thought that counts. I also went way back in time and remembered the first New Years Rudy and I spent together. Just so happens we were in Cuba in the warm weather. It was a wonderful holiday and it was the beginning of our love affair. Now it’s so many years later and we are enjoying the warmth again. We are very fortunate.

The first quarter of 2019 transpired in Florida and we developed a nice flow and routine that included the outdoors, Molly adventures and a new hobby called Pickleball. Along with Pickleball came new friends. It was bittersweet to say so long in March; leaving the gorgeous weather and familiarities. But also nice to get “home” and gather family (including Otto) together again.

One of the things we weren’t too keen on reconvening was the townhouse lifestyle. We discussed the pros and cons of lock and leave habitat but privacy and more space prevailed. We started the search in earnest (we stuttered to start in the fall of 2018 but didn’t really commit). Just before we returned to Canada the agents sent us a listing to consider. That got the ball rolling and we moved July 23. It was a brilliant decision for us and we slipped into our new address as though we’d lived there for years. It’s perfect in every way and ticked all the boxes. I’d forgotten how much I really missed our hot tub! Bonus: Otto is the happiest cat and spends most of the time outdoors.

Our new neighbours are superb. And one of them has engaged us in civic matters. We’d forgotten how much we enjoyed involvement in our community. We attend regular meetings and have met very interesting and diverse people. It’s quite possible that some of them will visit us in the south.

Rudy renewed his passion for golf. He joined a local club and played a lot. His game improved throughout the season and he finished the season on a definite high note late in October. The season was prolonged thanks to the weather which cooperated fully! He met some new golfers through the club member programs and got reacquainted with a few old friends too. He thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

We joined a CSA (community share agriculture) which provided us with delicious produce and eggs all summer and into fall. I’m still working on the bumper crop of butternut squash. The lovely food tastes even better al fresco and our new home features a wonderful deck with an eating area. There’s nothing like farm fresh eggs. We did, however , get a bit too much Swiss chard for our liking. Overall it was great. And it was a pleasure to drive out to the farm and see the alpacas and chickens.

Since moving in July 23 we had a steady flow of visitors. It was so delightful to host so many good friends. Luckily for us a lot a super handy. Guys that travel with their tools are always welcome at Casa Florio! One of Rudy’s pals even tackled the ikea trundle bed. Now that’s a beautiful thing. Rudy likes to remind me that ikea is a four letter word!

In all 2019 has been good. More fond memories for the history books. And a view to making more as we go.

Reflections, after all, are what we see in the mirror. From our own lens things are as we we view them. Rose coloured glasses are a good thing.

And checking it twice. That’s my MO and has been for many years. I make lists for every occasion. I’m not sure why it’s called a laundry lust because that may be the only thing I actually don’t need a list for. Lists are comforting and they give me peace of mind. At this very moment I have a few lists on the go. It’s a hectic time of year.

The other day I had a list epiphany in aisle seven at the Superstore. My friend and I went shopping after a cooking class (segue: it was a holiday brunch class that was very good!) and I was in the pasta aisle. I reached for a box of Barillo penne (my go to) and as I pulled out one, two more tumbled off the shelf. A man standing nearby chuckled. I glanced around and made a cheeky comment. He told me the other brand was on sale and waved a flyer from a competitor store. You price match don’t you? He asks. No I say back. I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me. It’s the shelf stocker and he’s looking at me with his mouth open. The chuckle speaks again: I’m Vince. I’m a widower and price matching saves me thousands every year! And then he launches into a detailed explanation on “how to”. I hear a tsk from stock man who wanders over with his smart phone out. Stocker has a better idea: just get the Flipp app. I’m in awe. This handy tidbit definitely puts my lists into a new realm of ticking! What a productive shopping experience.

I was quickly snapped out of my list lust reverie when my friend called to tell me she had already checked out and was riding out a hot flash on the bench outside the store in case I was wondering. Yikes. I was so caught up in the pop up flyer workshop in aisle seven I lost track of time. Now that’s the random beauty of retirement!!

Rudy relies on my lists. If we are going on holiday or any mission out of the routine I make a list. Next week for example we are dropping Otto the cat off at his winter retreat in Toronto. Cats need a list. That is Rudy needs a list for the cat mission. Without a list we might forget something and that’s another matter. List-less anxiety is totally avoidable. Just make the list and check it twice.

Who knew Santa was so clever?

My favourite lists are menus. I love to create menus and plan eating extravaganzas. I think people gathered around a table enjoying delicious food and drink is the most extraordinary experience. Conversations and connecting while dining is an intimate act and you can find out so much about people. Everyone’s true colours are on full display while they eat. Try it next time. Watch closely while others eat. Just don’t stare rudely; people will think you’re weird.

Some lists are done in a flash while others are a work in progress. Shopping and daily agendas are easily done over morning coffee. Gather your thoughts fuelled by caffeine and sort out your day. To do lists on the other hand are created over time. I keep a running minor repair list for example. Then it’s ready on a moments notice when an unsuspecting guest (Rudy’s handy friends or my brother in law say) comes over. Well, Frankie (my brother in law) is on to me; he’s prepared and brings his tools. Smarty pants.

Moving and packing are gigantic lists that combine to do and everything else rolled into one. This monster list will cover everything from Canada post instructions to travel insurance to house cleaner notes. The list has sub-lists and arrows. It’s intricate and complicated. But when it’s done and you’re sitting in the car with your belongings and the dog not to return for over 4 months it’s a necessary safety net. Like a child’s blanket. Messy and worn but comforting nonetheless.

I sleep at ease knowing my lists are safely tucked into my device. And I can check them anytime. Santa’s lucky he only needs to check his twice. I’m a little more neurotic.

I tried to capture daybreak on my camera. It’s a work in progress.

It’s Black Friday so I thought I should share a scary short story. Based on actual events that I entirely embellished. Everyone knows I have a wild imagination.

Living in the North means dealing with erratic weather. Some call it the lake effect but that’s weather-speak for temperamental tumultuous ebbs and flows. Like the other night. The wind was howling and chilling. An icy blanket that rips and snarls; biting and fierce like an angry dog who’s been chained outside. I was driving home from Stratford. My car shook in the pounding wind and my wipers groaned as they tried to remove the driving rain.

It gets dark early this time of year and when the day turns to night there’s an eerie blackness that descends. In urban areas lights are everywhere and total darkness is kept at bay. In rural northern areas the night sky covers the landscape like hotel window coverings. Pitch black darkness where light can’t penetrate. The only lights are in the small towns and distant farmhouses where families are gathering after a days work. I don’t pass through many towns as I prefer the zigzag route that’s the quickest. As I lurch through the blackness I wish I had taken a more civilized route tonight. I turn up the heat hoping that some warmth will take the edge off the stark black road.

About 40 minutes from home I enter into Flesherton; a small hamlet on highway 10 south of Owen Sound. It’s a typical hick town with a bank, hardware store, bakery and a pizza joint. Blink and you miss it. There’s one set of traffic lights at the towns intersection. But tonight the traffic lights are out. It’s the crazy wind I assume. But as I glance around there are no lights on anywhere. No homes or businesses have even a flicker. Nothing. Pitch black.

I continue through the intersection and the blackout is throughout the town and into the countryside. It’s like that hot summer blackout from a few years ago when all of Ontario was plunged into darkness. It’s an ominous feeling that something is wrong. I realize I’m the only car on the road. I check my gas to make sure I can keep going; I’m known to push the envelope especially in the cold. I hate pumping gas. I’m okay. More than half a tank. I can easily make it home. I check my cell signal and battery. Signal is weak but battery is ok. Should I try to call Rudy and let him know I’m getting close? No. Don’t be silly. Keep driving.

I arrive home without further incident. But I can’t stop thinking about the darkness. So I google it. Blackout. Flesherton. Storm damage. Nothing. I’m driving myself crazy. But something doesn’t feel right.

A few days later a news report lands in my feed. I don’t know exactly how cookies work on a computer, but it seems my searches about blackouts was the trigger. The report was vague so I started to search a bit more. There wasn’t much to go on but the google threads bounced me to human trafficking. There is a lot of focus and energy being poured into what has likely been going on for years. I don’t know anything about the dark web and it seems criminal minds will always find a crevice to crawl into and conduct their nefarious business out of the public eye. Now that police and other law enforcement officials have penetrated (seemingly) the online yellow pages for filth, those who would benefit will find an alternative. The internet is scary that way.

The Flesherton incident did not make the google pages I looked at. I needed to find another angle. I thought I would check the hydro websites for power outage information. Sure enough there was a message posted about a tractor trailer that hit a pole knocking out the grid around the area. There was a police investigation. I dive into the OPP sites for more on the tractor trailer. It was there that the connection was made clearly.

A truck from Northern Ontario originating from Timmons was found wedged against a hydro pole just outside of Flesherton. There were no operators of the vehicle on site. When emergency teams arrived at the crash site the truck was abandoned. But EMS heard noise from inside the cargo hold. The back was unbolted quickly and officers were horrified at what they found inside.

Dozens of teens and younger children, some injured from the impact, were huddled and crying in the rig. Emergency workers called for more help when they realized how many there were and that they appeared like they were drugged.

The news story was not released since the children were taken from a children’s aid facility near an Indian reserve. Staff are working on an investigation to piece the details of the potentially heinous crime together. We will never know the full story. It’s just another black out.

Note: the blackout did happen but everything thereafter in my story is entirely fictional.

Maybe there was a time that a snoring sound got on my nerves. But now I sleep with 2 and sometimes 3 snoring bodies. The sound to me is both soothing and lovely. There’s something about knowing that those you love are having a great snooze. It lulls me to sleep at night and makes me smile in the morning.

We’ve joked in the past about Rudy going on overnight trips with the guys and them picking straws for who will be stuck with him. He does snore very loudly. My brother’s roommates at university used to sleep in the hallway to escape the racket of his snoring. I don’t recall if he snored as a kid. But my dad takes the cake too. Maybe it’s more of a guy thing. Until you hear my mother. Her snore is like a distant motor. I have fond memories of us laughing at her when she startles awake from a nap and the first thing she says is: did I snore??

Molly is a champion snorer. When she naps (as often as possible during the day) she snores away. It’s a wonderful cooing groan that leads me to believe she’s in a pleasant dreamland somewhere. When her paws and ears twitch as well I imagine she’s in hot pursuit of a rodent. At night in bed she snuggles while she snores. It’s pure bliss.

Our neighbours in Stratford had a long running family feud about snoring. Snoring was the cause of many tiffs and sleepless nights. At one time the neighbours wife told my mom she routinely slept in the bathtub to escape the snoring. I think my sister-in-law is in the same boat. It’s a horrible thought for me to lose sleep over a noise you can’t turn off. Is there a way to get used to it or do we build up the aggravation to a point of no return? How do people sleep in urban centres with all the traffic and city noise. My sister used to hate the sound of silence at our place in the country. Can we train ourselves to tolerate?

There are some sounds that drive me crazy. Number 1 to 10 in my list is coughing. It absolutely sends me to the moon. Rudy has a chronic cough. It’s not good. It’s a stupid cough. When some people cough you can hear the expulsion from their lungs. That’s extremely gross but you can almost feel the relief. Like smokers. They have a lot of gunk to release. But Rudy’s cough is a bad habit. It’s a dry useless cough. No relief except for a momentary itch of the ever-present (apparent) tickle. I wish there was a cure. Is coughing his nervous tick like nail biting?

Guess what? He never coughs when he’s sleeping. Ever. Maybe that’s why I enjoy his snoring so much. It’s a cough-free zone.

Some coughing can actually make me gag. A long time ago my sister and I were dining (ha ha) at Burger King. A man sitting nearby coughed. It was so gross we left our food and the restaurant. I don’t think my sister has eaten at a BK ever again. Spitting is just as vile.

We were in Vancouver for a visit a number of years ago. Rudy’s friend picked us up in his sleek BMW 750 Coupe. This car was amazing. The friend was well dressed in a nice top coat. I was feeling like a vip. Until this refined man opened his console and took out a spittoon. He drooled a dark slimy hunk of chew into the cup. I was in the backseat with a front row seat. Disgusting. Funny how these momentary blips are branded on your memory for life.

I could never work in healthcare or any job where human bodily functions played a part. My gag reflex is too acute.

For now I’ll relish the snoring and brace myself for the cough.

When my dad talks about soccer or life events in general, he will often claim that you can never predict an outcome because the ball is round. It bounces and rolls and it usually defies logic. If you want to drive my dad crazy you add on “bend it like Beckham” when he talks about balls being round. Round is one thing but people will always find a way to throw you a curve.

Curves are meant to trick you. Just think of an RA Dickey knuckle ball; just when you think it’s crossing the plate in the sweet spot the dodgy little sucker makes an unexpected manoeuvre. Sometimes the curves can be a pleasant surprise, though. And that’s what happened this weekend.

I was supposed to take a road trip with an old friend. Her son is way up north (6+ hours drive) and we were going to visit him for a couple of days. He’s in college to become a pilot but he also plays the cello in the philharmonic in town. He’s a cool dude. But a few weeks ago we got slammed with a gigantic amount of snow and we re-evaluated our driving notion. We thought about flying. For me that’s a 2 hour trip to the airport with a lead time to account for security etc. It’s over 4 hours not including the 1 hour flight. My friend started a new position in the fall and it’s a heavy load; her other kid plays high level hockey. We did a rethink of our Thelma and Louise adventure. Timing was off. As I deleted the event from my calendar, I suddenly realized I had a weekend off. What’s that? Funny how even in retirement it seems everything is jammed into a weekend.

Rudy and I looked at the open weekend and quickly filled it to the brim. He was heading out of town Thursday and Friday to deal with personal matters and planning to return Friday afternoon. Our neighbours invited us to attend a meeting with Town planners to discuss the site development at our townhouse complex. The meeting was scheduled from 9:30 am to 10:30 am. We wanted to debrief after the meeting so we decided to wait until the afternoon so Rudy would be included. Friday got chewed up altogether when the neighbours showed up for the debrief at 4:30 pm and we strategized for 3 hours (there were 6 of us so there was lots of ideas). I had prepared dinner earlier in the day and suggested we eat. We had dinner and parted company around 10 pm. The ball being round, I was delighted to hang out with the neighbours who we’d never really interacted with before. A thoroughly enjoyable gathering.

The next day was our condo corporation AGM. It’s usually a round ball meeting. There are 16 units in our complex and the meetings get downright nasty. There’s a couple of contentious issues that have divided the cozy enclave (and caused us to move) and created what one neighbour referred to as a toxic environment. This meeting was no different. Starting at 9 am, I wish I could blink and make it end. The board and management have (unethically) chosen a side and labelled the opposers as “dissidents” (I keep forgetting that the complex is in communist Russia). In any event, the meeting crawls on for 90 minutes. I’d rather drink bleach.

After the meeting we head home (luckily not up the townhouse where eye daggers are piercing) and enjoy a yummy brunch and the weekend papers. It’s one of my favourite rituals by the way. I love lingering with the paper and a cup or two of coffee. It’s a weekly routine that I deeply miss in Florida. The papers just aren’t the same there. And I can’t get into the on line thing. Plus the crossword is a must!

Saturday night we are attending a fundraiser for the brand new local junior hockey team The Colts. The event is at the Legion and catered by a chef that we know from our past life. That was cool. The entire hockey team (fine young men in their teens) is wearing tuxedos and are the event hosts: hanging coats and greeting at the door. Very nice. We are there with our friends and we find a table to sit at. Rudy knows the event organizers and a few others so we make introductions. The speaker for the event is Nick Kyprios a former NHL player and Stanley Cup winner. He’s very entertaining with a hearty contagious laugh. His stories are so engaging. It’s no wonder he had a successful post hockey career in broadcasting. There’s a silent auction to bid so we have a bit of fun with that too. Dinner was delicious! A fun night.

Sunday is Grey Cup. I always wonder what’s on Rudy’s mind as he dives into his memories for that feeling in 1974 when he played in the same game. It’s Canada’s biggest sports event and young footballers are watching the game and aspiring to be there one day. Of course only a very small few make that cut. Rudy always underplays the awesomeness of his achievements. He’s so humble and wonderful. We are heading to a Grey Cup event. Back to the Legion. (In a small town there’s only so many venues!). This event is a fundraiser for the local high school football team. One of Rudy’s former teammates is the coach. We go with our friends (same ones … déjà vu) and again there’s an auction. Totally different menu for sure! But add a few beers and a big screen .. it’s game day! There’s a bit of an issue about who we cheer for. Hamilton: Rudy’s hometown and the team we watched for many years as season ticket holders. Or Winnipeg: where the head coach and gm are U of Guelph alumni that Rudy coached. Either way we were hoping for a great match up. As it turned out the game was a bit lacklustre as the Hamilton team didn’t have the grit. We were happy to see Winnipeg take the cup. The ball is definitely not round in football.

Monday rolls around and the weekend is over. Glad I’m retired. Happy the earth (like the ball) is round. Happy for great friends.

There’s something about the Christmas season that is breathtaking. I’m not sure if it’s nostalgia or just commercially induced mush but I’m hooked. Sucked in 100%.

Last weekend we spent the entire weekend (mostly) doing festive things. It’s all around us. Carols on the radio. Hallmark Christmas movie countdown. Stores decked out. Parades. Tree lightings. Snowy vignettes. It’s a magical sparkling wonderland of emotions.

The movies and songs speak for themselves: romance is on hyper mode during the holidays. I wonder if that’s why singles are prone to skip Christmas (unless they have young children or other extended family). Does Christmas culture accentuate that it’s better to be a couple or family? Everywhere you turn on the media there’s a reminder that Christmas is romantic and we should be in love during the holidays.

Everything sparkles and twinkles. Christmas is lit up. There are lights everywhere. We seem to forget that we are in the shortest daylight period of the year (I read yesterday that a town in Alaska had its final sunset until 2020 …. total darkness until the new year!!). It’s as though the powers that be (commercial consumer mega marketers) decided that happy, hopeful shoppers spend more. And darkness is depressing so they better light it up. Who cares about energy consumption?? Not a peep about “green” lighting options in the holiday decor departments. Griswalds rule!

There’s a focus on charity. That is true unless you’re at a flash sale or trying to park in a busy lot or waiting in line for something. Suddenly holiday cheer turns into dog eat dog. There’s apparent rage, anger, frustration and anxiety simmering under the top layer. I know I fantasize about the homemade gifts I’m going to make and the decorations I’m going to design. Then I realize (with an audible groan) that I’m going to have to create, store, schlep, move, dismantle all of it December 12 so our place is ready for winter renters. My grandiose plans and schemes are (poof) vaporized. We are spending Christmas with my folks in their two bedroom abode … 8 adults, 1 large dog and more stuff than necessary.

I think sometimes that all the glitz and sparkle is a planned distraction from the holiday reality: our expectations and visualizations if the family/friend gatherings can be profoundly scary. Spending time with people we see too rarely forced into a window of time where travel and mobility are limited due to weather and shear volume eating foods that are too everything (mostly too sweet) and being so frenzied that you skip over the simple joyful things.

In spite of all of the pitfalls, I simply love Christmas. But I have love. From family and friends who reciprocate. It’s meaningful and I enjoy spending time (frenzied or not) with each of them. We see each other a lot. Not just at the holidays. It’s a great time of to reflect on the year that’s coming to and end and plan for the one ahead. It’s a great time to be extra grateful and thankful for the wonderful life we lead and those we share it with.

It’s over before we know it. Savour every moment.

My husband played professional football. Although it was eons ago some of the coaching drills and techniques have endured the test of time. For example, if I’m standing in his way in the hallway or another room, he does this spin manoeuvre to dodge me. It’s really clever and stealth. He also follows a playbook for his life with routines and rituals. And sometimes he says things that are regurgitated from his coaches in the past. Things like “don’t slip”. You had a great play to make and your excuse for not executing was you slipped. Sorry coach; I slipped. Coach gets in your face and yells: don’t slip. Sounds simple.

I think we all have a moment or experience when we want to do something great and we don’t. Excuses aplenty. Luckily life is a lot more forgiving than a football game. That’s win or lose. In life if you make a misstep you can usually recover with minimal damage. It makes doing the right thing possible. You forget someone’s birthday or neglect to say thank you for a kindness. All recoverable. And sometimes actions speak louder than words.

On the sports field an error is in the public eye. Sometimes even on national tv to be scrutinized by millions. I think we are our own worst critics. Sometimes we try to justify our actions; quietly telling ourselves that what we did was ok. But even though the public isn’t watching (we think) we know in our heart. It takes courage and character to do the right thing.

My dad literally slipped last week. He fell while trying to pay a dental bill for $19. The portion that insurance didn’t cover. He cracked a few ribs for his efforts and is in pain. I was tied up for the weekend. My sister swooped in (I envision her in a cape) and took him to emergency for a check up. At 87 years of age who knows what other damage a scary fall can do. It’s hard to diagnose over the phone. Did you hit your head? No. Mom? Did dad hit his head? I don’t think so he picked me up and we came home. The riddlers. My sister was able to ascertain that he fell a second time trying to navigate the way to the toilet in the middle of the night.

Xrays confirm he’s okay physically. But it was the relief for his mind that the X-ray really cured. He’s my moms primary care giver. If he goes down she’s really stuck. His loyalty and commitment is heart warming and heartbreaking. We’ve learned a lot about that from him over the years.

I had some great chats over the weekend with friends. Loyalty and commitment comes in an array of shapes and sizes. As my sister is texting me with updates at emergency, my circle of friends (Rudy included) is offering comfort and empathy. Like a warm blanket when you have a chill. It’s the test of friendship: you have nothing to offer in return but you need help.

I lead my life trying not to slip. It’s a good feeling knowing if I do that someone’s got my back.

There’s no question I like to talk. From a young age I have been vocal and social. Just read the comments on my report cards. Rudy says that teaching is the best vocation for me since I can talk for hours and students have to (pretend to) listen. Our classes were 4 hours long; no problem.

But talking on the phone is not my thing. For one: I can’t hear on some cell phones. I know exactly when Rudy is trying to multitask as the phone moves away from his mouth (head turn or phone tucked between ear and shoulder hands free). It’s like hearing only a few words out of a sentence. Very frustrating for both ends.

I’m finding myself enjoying the sound of silence more and more, however. Since I have tinnitus (a constant ringing in my ears … more like a high pitch frequency squeal) there’s never total silence. But there’s no chatter. Do certain noises become more annoying as we age?

Like Molly’s bark. It’s loud and disruptive. I don’t mind if there’s a visitor (think alarm) but when she’s excited that’s another matter. She knows we’re heading out when I go to the bathroom at certain times of the day; she has a built in timer device around walking times. She waits until I’m seated on the toilet, stands just outside of my reach zone and barks excitedly. I have tennis balls strategically placed so that I can interrupt a bark. But sometimes they aren’t in reach either. Groan. That bark makes me crazy. A few moments seems like forever.

I’m not a morning person. I like to wake up slowly and ease into the day. I play word games and read some news. And write my blog. Rudy has grown accustomed to this. He wakes up in a flurry of noises. Loud grunts. A few coughs. A couple of farts. Stomp to the toilet for a thundering pee. Back to bed with sound effects. Maybe a loud drink of water. All tolerable to a degree. But then he talks. I have to say shhhhh. Even Molly is now alert but the shhh let’s her know it’s still bed time. She gets it. She’s my girl. Mom and dad are both morning people. It kills me. It’s like a firing squad of questions: how did you sleep? Are you hungry/thirsty? Do you want a coffee? Ratatatatat …. staccato peppering. Grrrrrr. I can’t even fake pleasantries ; give me time (and space).

I love yoga. Mostly because it’s quiet. Don’t get me wrong, Zumba is great too. I enjoy the dance party vibe. But yoga is grounding. You breathe and focus.

Last night I attended a yoga nidra class with friends. The class was held in a remote country studio. It was my first time there. Thank goodness for google maps. When we arrived the instructor gave us a rundown on the class. Yoga nidra translated is actually yoga sleep. It’s a meditation class where you are guided to a trancelike state while laying in a comfortable position. A soothing voice leads you to an imaginary place softly and gently easing you into a safe, peaceful haven.

Then BAM!!

My phone rings. Scaring the hell out of me. I scramble to my (luckily nearby)purse Fumbling I turn the device off. The spell is broken. A scammer phone call (I googled the unknown number later) has disrupted my blissful state. I apologize after class. Turns out that my friends weren’t so blissfully unaware: most of the other attendees were snoring and, one guy, farting. Oh. I might have snored too??

One of the sounds I’m now keenly aware of is the water hitting the shore. We are super close to the waters edge and therefore hear the waves. Usually it’s a soothing splashing gurgle. But lately it’s been an angry crashing cracking thunderous cycle. Our shoreline around the lake is getting hammered. There’s tons of damage too. A lady at yoga (she also lives on the water) and I were chatting about it after class (silent no more!). She tried to tell me it was due to climate change. Hmmm. Our neighbour said it’s cyclical and the cycle is about 35 years. Let’s see if we get a beach again.

The other night I found a chocolate edible left behind by my sisters friend Rob. I stuck in the freezer. I had been at my parents the night before and was definitely lacking beauty rest. I thought I’d take a small nibble before bed. Worked like a charm. I left the rest of it (about the size of a Reese peanut butter cup) on the dining room hutch. Next day we have guests in the afternoon and Rudy is acting strange .. he finally announces that he’s feeling odd. I glance over to the hutch. Notice the chocolate is gone! Rudy? Did you eat the chocolate?

He’s stoned. Our guests laugh .. and leave very quickly. I tuck Rudy into a chair. He’s out cold in seconds. He remains in that position for hours. I savour the silence and the exclusive use of the remote control.

Soothing sounds:

Rudy and Molly snoring

Gentle waves

Coffee dripping

Hallmark Christmas music channel

Otto purring

Noise pollution:

Cars honking

Molly excited bark

Any voice in the waking moments

Bad music or tv commercials

Alarms of any kind especially first thing in the morning

Coughing and horking

Cell phone ring tones

Shhhhhhhhh ……

Every now and then I get a reminder of how old I am. It could be a memory that pops up on social media (today I had one from 10 years ago … I still wear the same scarf!) or meeting friends from the past. Sometimes it’s a good flashback and others it’s like a slap in the face. Pow. You’re old.

Yesterday we went to an event in Vaughan. It was a food celebration for the Italian Chefs Association. When we arrived we found our table. Already seated were former colleagues; one couple brought their teenage kids. I could not believe the size of the kids. I mean want it just yesterday their mom was huge with them in her tummy? Now they are learning to drive and voices changing. They converse rather than spit and gurgle. They hold smart phones instead of rattles and plush toys. The son plays football. The daughter is in dance. I was in a time warp.

The other couple at the table was even worse. I ask how the kids are. I know their grown and on their own completing or completed post secondary. Oh, says the woman, our daughters getting married. This spring. What?? I was just at her birth at St Joes in Toronto!! Married?? Yes. She’s 24 and her fiancée is 26. They are Christian and met at church. They are ready. Wow. I’m in shock.

Until I realize I got married at 24 too. 31 years ago. Yikes. I’m old.

I think the biggest age definer is hanging out with my folks. I feel like the adult in the room. My parents are now my kids and the roles have completely reversed. I mentioned to Rudy the other day that my days of asking my mom for advice are over. That makes me kind of sad. I can still talk to my dad about some things but I’m finding that their brain works differently. Not just slower but also more rigid. Once they lock onto a notion it’s impossible to move away.

I’m heading to their place today. Tomorrow is a social outing put on by Alzheimer’s Society. It’s a cooking class followed by lunch. Hopefully mom will know a few people and have a chance to chat. Her isolation is always on my mind. She used to be the one to organize our events and outings. No more. I asked dad to join us. Not a chance. He’s weird that way.

I guess I’m in what we call middle age. Old above and young below. Funny how I still feel young. That’s also what my dad says.