I have RACKED my brains...

trying to come up with some reasons to CONTINUE to LOVE winter.  After four months of it, I am starting to get s-i-c-k of it.  

I found that there are little advantages to winter that we don't always think of, nor notice.  I have come up with a few, maybe because winter is soooooooooo long here, I have had more than enough time to look around.  I am trying to be positive here!

So, I have noticed that....

You don't have to close your blinds (or drapes) in evening. No one can see into your home, because the bloody banks of snow are so high!

You don't have to shave your legs, nor your armpits for that matter. Well, if you have a significant other who objects, then YES.  Otherwise, who else will see them for five months?  Furthermore, the extra hair will keep you warmer.  Notice I have refrained from posting a picture of someone's armpits. :)

If you don't like your neighbour, you don't have to look at him/her, even much less catch a glimpse of them.  You can't see them... at all! 

You don't have to pick up your dog's bombs (Sorry Annie!), for at least four months. The minute the bomb hits the ground it is frozen, and it is sure to be covered with another snowfall within a couple of days, so you get a break from picking up poop.  In my case, I also get a break from picking up my neighbour's dog's deposits in MY yard!

As I get ready to post this, we in the northeast are about to get slammed, with 40 to 60 cm of snow, coupled with high winds - AGAIN!!!  WTH?  You have to keep your sense of humour folks!

A w-a-l-k in the park it was NOT!!

I had told myself I wasn't going to do it. Nope!  I couldn't handle it.  Well, by the fourth day the Catholic guilt had set in so deeply, that I decided I had to try to do it at least once.

Here I was in Dartmouth, house and dog sitting, while my daughter, son-in-law and baby granddaughter were visiting friends in Trinidad and Tobago.  I offered to take this gig, figuring a change was as good as a rest. (En français on dit "Ça change le mal de place!") Why not?  I was helping out my loved ones, getting in some precious time with Sophie before their departure, and kind of having a vacation myself. There is little SNOW here, compared to ten foot high snowbanks back home.  What's not to love?

So, I bite the bullet and decide to take ALL three dogs to the off- leash dog park. Well, Vimy is the walking wounded with his weeping puncture holes from a recent dog attack.  Piper is a black lab who runs up barking at E-V-E-R-Y single dog in the park, albeit with her tail wagging.  Freddy is a fourteen year old Springer Spaniel who is deaf, almost blind and needs help getting in an out of the car. Do I have my hands full?

What was I thinking?  I get to the dog park parking lot.  I make the mistake of getting Vimy and Piper out first, onto a two-in one leash.  There are other dogs in the parking area, so MY two proceed to bark and strain at the leashes, as I try to help poor Freddy jump down.  He lands awkwardly on his butt, but then takes off before I can put his separate leash on him.  He then promptly proceeds to poop in the middle of the parking lot.  There are two dogs across the way, waiting for their owner to put them in HIS car. The owner is looking at me in bewilderment, as if to say, "Are you crazy, lady?"  I wish he would just jump in his darn car and leave.  I don't like an audience, and his dogs are distracting Piper and Vimy. 

I am trying to open a bag to pick up Freddy's bomb, while restraining the other two dogs with their leash, hanging on to my mitts and Freddy's leash, which I still haven't managed to put on him. You CAN NOT open a poop bag with your mitts on!!   I am getting no where fast.  Freddy escapes but doesn't go far. He just proceeds to poop again, but in the vicinity of the two bystander dogs.  By this time I am totally annoyed and it must have shown on my face. I glare at the owner and comment, "I must be out of my mind today!" The owner finally stops gawking, puts his two dogs in the car and drives off.

I now have two poop bags in my hand, mitts, and three leashes,  (only two handles total, but still!), and three dogs straining to get to the off-leash part, fifty metres away. We are all tangled up of course.   I have to be constantly careful to not have the leash rub against Vimy's right side, where his ugly wound is.  Somehow we make it to where I can set Piper and Vimy free to run all over.  Freddy has to stay with me.

The beautiful weather, a warm sun, a mild -6 degrees Celsius temperature, the beauty of the park, and a forty-five minute stroll, soon put me in a better frame of mind. The pooches even got to amble on their own beach! 

All goes well until I return to the park and realize I have parked in really muddy puddles.  I don't want the pooches getting back into the car by the doors, with wet, dirty paws. My only option is through the trunk, but again I screwed up.  I parked too close to the trees, so I can only open the trunk half way. I CAN'T very well leave the three dogs sitting there outside the car, while I move it forward, OUT of the trees and OUT of the mud puddles, now can I?  It is no easy task getting those three dogs back in the car, through a half open trunk lid. Especially Freddy, as I have to lift his ass end up and into the trunk.  He isn't tiny.  Pauvre pitou!  It sucks to be old. 

Per usual, all is well that ends well! Am I about to do this again? IT will be a frosty day in H*E*L*L. 😈  From now on, Freddy and I will walk local, then I will take Piper and Vimy to walk global. 

PS:  While out in the neighbourhood, I was asked if I was a dog walker.  Yeah, right!

Travels with someone ELSE'S Mom

"How would you like to come visit us in Texas?, asked my Camino walking partner, and old childhood friend.  "I would love to!" was my reply and from that initial question and answer, evolved a wonderful trip there, accompanying her mother Mrs. B.  Mrs. B celebrated her 85th birthday in her daughter's new home, surrounded by all her immediate family and grandchildren.  My ticket was generously paid for.  We made memories, and old, dear friends were able to help each other out.  MAGNIFIQUE, n'est-ce pas?

Now traveling with an eighty-four year old, (eighty-five year old on the return!) who required a wheelchair, was a TOTALLY different ballgame from traveling on my own.  I am used to zipping around airports at my fast clip, as anyone who knows me can tell you.  

I admit I had a few qualms about traveling almost 5000 miles round trip, what with making tight connections, going through customs and border security, with two carry-ons, two purses, and a lovely, white haired lady in a wheelchair.

The outbound was not without its adventures.  We arose at 3:00 am to make our 5:40 flight out. It was delayed due to de-icing AND having to turn the propellers on to heat up the plane, because the heating wasn't working properly. It was only MINUS 22 outside. It was still freezing cold inside, when we boarded that puddle jumper to Montreal.

We had a relaxing breakfast in the Maple Leaf lounge, meeting up unexpectedly with my baby Bro, who was passing through on his way back from Toronto. So far so good.  NOT!  Our flight to Toronto was cancelled, and we were rebooked.  It was LATE leaving.  WHY AC, in its infinite wisdom, would rebook a passenger requiring a wheelchair, in the SECOND LAST ROW of the next flight to Toronto, is beyond my comprehension.  Poor Mrs. B made her way down to the end, but it was tedious for her. 

We now had our three hour layover cut down to less than an hour.  With a wheelchair attendant, we made it to the customs area quickly enough.  From there, I didn't hang around waiting for another AC attendant on the other side.  I just grabbed whatever help I could,  both at customs AND border security.  Fortunately we were NOT hassled unnecessarily.  MAYBE because they KNEW that two grey haired ladies, ONE of whom was in a wheelchair, couldn't POSSIBLY be intending any harm?

With less than ten minutes to make it to our gate, I grabbed a carry-on on each shoulder, and threw my purse "en bandoulière".  Advising Mrs. B. to HANG ON TIGHT, I ran to the gate.  It was another AMAZING RACE DASH, albeit my first pushing a wheelchair. We made it, one minute past departure time. GOOD JOB the flight was fifteen minutes late!!! 

We made it to Texas thirteen hours after departure.  Mrs.B, exhausted as she was, had really been a trooper!  When she asked me too many questions, because of course, she was anxious, I would grab her hand and say, "Faites-moi confiance Mme.B." (Trust me Mrs. B.) 

Our return flights had their glitches too, but we made it WITHOUT getting stuck in Montreal, which was truly a blessing.

I had a few chuckles along the way:  Mrs. B insisted on walking up to the washrooms from the waiting area, without me, nor her wheelchair.  I kept an eye out, and when I realized she was entering the MEN'S washroom, I took off running.  It was too late! When I got there, she was coming out.  In French she tells me, "Je SAVAIS que je n'étais pas à la bonne place, quand j'ai vu un homme planté là!"  TRANSLATION (much better than Google Translate, I must add!)  "I knew I was in the wrong place, when I saw a  MAN standing there in front of me!"  It is really easy to mistake men and women's washrooms, when they have the same entrance, and stupid, almost identical looking ICONS!  Haven't we ALL done that?

On our tiny plane home from Montreal, the washroom was also really, really tiny.  A huge man went in, barely squeezing himself in.  When he came out, Mrs. B leaned over and said to me, "Ce n'est pas moi qui est à veille d'y aller APRÈS lui!" TRANSLATION: " I am NOT going to be the one to go in there after him!" Then I really had to chuckle out loud. By then, we had been traveling twelve hours, and a moment of levity was in order. 

This journey, like no other, has made me humble.  Yes, h-u-m-b-l-e!! It makes you humble to travel almost eight thousand kilometres with someone who needs a wheelchair and needs guidance. We shall ALL, ONE DAY, be elderly, God willing.  We TOO will need help and attention, and we TOO, will find it very hard to give up our independence. 

I strive to remember that, as I go about my daily business, seemingly always in a rush to get from here to there, to do this, or that.  This trip has taught me to appreciate the mobility and independence that I have, but to also pay much greater attention to those around us who do NOT!  I have resolved to take time to reach out and help, to talk and engage more, with our elderly in our community. They who have given SO MUCH in their lifetime, well deserve to be on the RECEIVING end now.  

   

HATE TO BE LATE!

Being punctual is very important to me. I have always been a punctual person. I hate to keep people waiting.   If punctuality is a virtue, I certainly make up for those who don't, in the least, give a fig about keeping other people waiting, because they are PERPETUALLY late.  I like to think that everyone's time is precious, not just my o*w*n! You are looking at a woman who keeps her car clock TEN minutes fast.

That being said, I have gotten into different predicaments because I was in S*U*C*H a hurry, to NOT be late.  One day, many years ago, I was five, YES, FIVE minutes late for a lunch date with friends.  I was so focused on my tardiness, that I backed out of a driveway too fast, and I HIT the front end of a parked car across the street.  A car, that in my HASTE, I had not even seen. How stupid can you get?

Which brings me to what transpired Monday night. It had snowed all bloody day, as the English would say.  We had a good 6-8 inches of that white s%?&!  My snow removal man hadn't come, and as I knew I was working the next day, I decided to go out around 8:00 in the evening, clean off Jiminy, and break up the huge ice chunks on my heat pump. Then Vimy and I would go for a walk, since it was a p-o-s-i-t-i-v-e-l-y balmy -10 degrees. 

Last year, I suggested and received a gift certificate for Crappy Tire, from my daughter.  Being single and owning my own home, I figured I would use that money wisely on household repairs.  Well, I splurged on a really good snow scraper, a telescopic one that swivels, and is extendable.  So, out came my DELUXE scraper, which I put to work immediately on the aforesaid tasks.

I tied Vimy up as soon as I saw neighbours coming around the corner, walking their two, mean dogs. They don't like Vimy, and he doesn't like them!  GO FIGURE! Everyone LOVES Vimy.

Well, I hadn't latched the other end of the rope properly, so when Vimy took off down the snowfilled driveway, as soon as he saw the two MEANIES, it was my TOTAL surprise to see the long rope follow him.  I had been hard at work, but I dropped everything, and stepped on the end of the rope closest to me, thereby PREVENTING Vimy from having a street brawl with the MEANIES.

At that very moment, my snow removal guy shows up. He is doing the driveway across the street, but ME, being in such a hurry, and not wanting to keep him waiting (HEAVEN FOREBID!), grabbed Vimy, leash, long cord and all, and threw him into the back seat.  Second, I quickly moved my recycling and garbage bins out of the way of the big snow blower's trajectory. Then I hopped into my car, and drove into my neighbour's driveway, while my guy blew all the snow out of mine.

WELL, in my haste, I had dropped my DELUXE snow scraper when the KERFUFFEL happened, and you can guess what happened to it?  I found bits and pieces of it all over my yard the next day.

Rather than tell myself it was my OWN fault for always being in such a hurry, I thought, "Ah, I  didn't really like that snow scraper anyway. It was too hard to manoeuver, since I am such a short ass!"