Yes, this also relates to every woman and her dog, but I'm making a point here.
Last Saturday morning I was up early for a meeting. Not as early as during the week, but early for a weekend. Anyway, got dressed, got all my stuff ready, had breakfast, and headed out to the car.
It wasn't snowing or windy or particularly cold, so I wasn't rushing. I looked around, at least I thought I looked around, and then piled me and my stuff into the car. It's possible that I wasn't all bright eyed and bushy tailed, but I did think I had my wits about me.
So, it was quite the surprise, after reversing into the back lane, that I spied a man and his dog walking in the opposite direction to which I was now headed. I hadn't seen them before I got in the car and they weren't that far away from me - nor were they wildly gesticulating. I looked up to see my guy calmly waving goodbye from the window - no panic there, and the man and his dog seemed fine. I assumed all was well and drove away.
When I got home, I asked about the man and his dog. Apparently, unbeknown to me, I had almost squished them into the neighbour's back fence. "What?" I responded incredulously. Yep, they had seemingly come out of nowhere and, as was their right (although quite possibly not the best decision they could have made), continued to walk behind my car as I was reversing, hence their almost squishedness. "But I never saw them, not before I got in the car, and not while I was reversing. Only when I was in the back lane." My declaration drew a gently smiled, "Tsk! Tsk! Tsk!"
And well deserved. I felt bad that I had been blind to the goings on in my own back lane. I like dogs, people, too, and I was particularly concerned that I might have traumatised the beautiful black lab, which, by the way, I had never seen before in our neighbourhood, or perhaps a different neighbourhood altogether.
Hopefully, the man understood my sleepy state and didn't simply label me a thoughtless or careless driver. And if I see him again walking his dog at 8:10 am, I will be sure to apologise, although I suspect they've seen the error of my ways and are now traversing some other part of our neighbourhood.
My point is that at the end, and the start, of the day, every man and woman and his or her dog should be free to walk safely down our back lane. I, for one, will be sure to double and triple check so I don't ever again squish any unsuspecting traveller into our neighbour's fence.
My other point is that it’s tempting to judge others too quickly without knowing their intent or their mindset. Sometimes it’s all a simple mistake or a misunderstanding. I hope that the man and his dog presumed exactly that, and there’s no need for me to apologise for anything.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
It's just a car
The time has come. I knew it would. Every four years. And still I'm sad.
I've had a long and interesting history with cars. My almost first was a red Mazda 808 that never came to live with me because a freak hailstorm smashed it to smithereens before I even got the keys.
I then waited six weeks for my first official car, another red Mazda 808 that stayed with me for 13 years until I shamelessly and inexplicably traded it in for a new Holden (Aussie car). Got $5,500 on the trade-in, the same price I paid all those years before.
Silly me. That 808 was a keeper, but I was seduced by the new, white, slightly larger Holden, which I sold for much less than I paid for it when, two years later, I moved to Canada.
Here in this winter wonderland, I leased a metallic blue Ford Aspire. Nifty little vehicle that was written off two years into our relationship when it ran into the back of a truck. Oops!
After two more years of renting cars on occasional weekends, the decision was made to lease another vehicle - for four years. Other than needing one to get to and from my freelance contracts, we had plans that required access to transportation on a more regular basis.
Several brands and models were up for consideration, and after much test driving and viewing from rear windows, we finally settled on a Honda CR-V. We, as in the two humans and the two canines - definitely a family decision. And what followed was a love affair with the 2000, 2004 and 2008 models - black, black, and glacier blue, respectively.
The 2008 is the one Sydney liked the most, although not for the colour, since dogs are colour blind. She wasn't all that fussed about the other cars as a result of two bundles of newspapers falling on her while we were delivering the local paper when she was only a young pup. She wasn't hurt, just spooked, but it scarred her car days for life.
Until this one. For some reason, she was relaxed and content, happily sitting and watching the world pass by. Quite the contrary to her usual tense, anxious, pacey and chatty demeanour. Tragically, Sydney died one month after we got the car, and driving it for a while afterward was heartbreaking.
But now the time has come. That lease is up. A new car is on the horizon. And although I've tried to dismiss my angst associated with the imminent separation by saying to anyone who will listen, "It's just a car", I know in my bones that it's not ... and I think I know why.
I think that at the end of the day, it's both just a car and more than.
True, the car has been good to us. Never stranding us on the roadside, never breaking down in the dead of night or the dead of winter, never buckling under the weight of all that home reno stuff, always keeping us safe and warm while taking us from point A to point B, and always looking good in the process.
But it's also been an integral part of our lives for the past four years. The comings and goings, the ups and downs, the people we've met, the places we've been, all the shopping, the presents, the dreams, the work and the adventures. And yes, there is a tinge of sadness that it was the car Sydney liked the most.
Thank you and farewell, 2008.
So, now it's time to embrace and experience another four years in a different car. This time a luxurious grey Honda CR-V 2012. Smart, sassy, safe, technologically advanced, and equipped with bonus and practical bits and pieces. Yep, looking forward to another great relationship.
As a footnote, we are thinking about extending these four years into a lifetime by making this one our own from here on in. That decision will be made in 2016, and who knows where we'll be then and what we'll be doing, or who else will be part of our more than.
I've had a long and interesting history with cars. My almost first was a red Mazda 808 that never came to live with me because a freak hailstorm smashed it to smithereens before I even got the keys.
I then waited six weeks for my first official car, another red Mazda 808 that stayed with me for 13 years until I shamelessly and inexplicably traded it in for a new Holden (Aussie car). Got $5,500 on the trade-in, the same price I paid all those years before.
Silly me. That 808 was a keeper, but I was seduced by the new, white, slightly larger Holden, which I sold for much less than I paid for it when, two years later, I moved to Canada.
Here in this winter wonderland, I leased a metallic blue Ford Aspire. Nifty little vehicle that was written off two years into our relationship when it ran into the back of a truck. Oops!
After two more years of renting cars on occasional weekends, the decision was made to lease another vehicle - for four years. Other than needing one to get to and from my freelance contracts, we had plans that required access to transportation on a more regular basis.
Several brands and models were up for consideration, and after much test driving and viewing from rear windows, we finally settled on a Honda CR-V. We, as in the two humans and the two canines - definitely a family decision. And what followed was a love affair with the 2000, 2004 and 2008 models - black, black, and glacier blue, respectively.
The 2008 is the one Sydney liked the most, although not for the colour, since dogs are colour blind. She wasn't all that fussed about the other cars as a result of two bundles of newspapers falling on her while we were delivering the local paper when she was only a young pup. She wasn't hurt, just spooked, but it scarred her car days for life.
Until this one. For some reason, she was relaxed and content, happily sitting and watching the world pass by. Quite the contrary to her usual tense, anxious, pacey and chatty demeanour. Tragically, Sydney died one month after we got the car, and driving it for a while afterward was heartbreaking.
But now the time has come. That lease is up. A new car is on the horizon. And although I've tried to dismiss my angst associated with the imminent separation by saying to anyone who will listen, "It's just a car", I know in my bones that it's not ... and I think I know why.
I think that at the end of the day, it's both just a car and more than.
True, the car has been good to us. Never stranding us on the roadside, never breaking down in the dead of night or the dead of winter, never buckling under the weight of all that home reno stuff, always keeping us safe and warm while taking us from point A to point B, and always looking good in the process.
But it's also been an integral part of our lives for the past four years. The comings and goings, the ups and downs, the people we've met, the places we've been, all the shopping, the presents, the dreams, the work and the adventures. And yes, there is a tinge of sadness that it was the car Sydney liked the most.
Thank you and farewell, 2008.
So, now it's time to embrace and experience another four years in a different car. This time a luxurious grey Honda CR-V 2012. Smart, sassy, safe, technologically advanced, and equipped with bonus and practical bits and pieces. Yep, looking forward to another great relationship.
As a footnote, we are thinking about extending these four years into a lifetime by making this one our own from here on in. That decision will be made in 2016, and who knows where we'll be then and what we'll be doing, or who else will be part of our more than.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Zip it!
Man, it's brisk out there today, but we've been spoiled. After enjoying several weeks of way-above-normal temperatures, we are now fully immersed in below zero double digits. More the norm than the other stuff, so no big surprise, and it's only lasting for a week and a bit until the minus single digits return, albeit temporarily.
All of which is fine with me. I am okay with whatever weather we get and can cope quite nicely with the real cold. As I've always said, the key to happy warmth is 50% clothes and 50% attitude. Got both? Warm as toast.
As a cold-weather girl who loves to rug up and experience the wild whims of winter, I pride myself on my sense of attire for the chilly season, choosing practical and comfortable over fashionable and underdressed when it comes to guarding myself against the elements - although if I can look fashionable as well, then bonus!
Preparation is simple. Before leaving the house, take a moment to look out the window, read the paper, listen to the radio and tv weather reports, check the internet, stick your arm outside for a few seconds, or/and all of the above. Then select the applicable number, design and R-factor of coats, gloves, scarves, toques, boots, and multiple layers, although not necessarily in that order.
Commonsensical, don't you think?
So, why, when it's so brisk outside, do a significant percentage of the 'choosing' population opt for decidedly non-winter-like combinations? I say 'choosing' population because not everyone has a choice in such matters. And for those who do, why wouldn't they gear up in an effort to keep the winter elements at bay? Trying to look cool, perhaps? Tough? Don't want the toque to flatten their hair?
Doesn't matter to me, of course, except when they act all surprised and feel compelled to publicly and cursatorially complain about how cold it is. No toque, ears freezing ... um, hello?! Coat not done up, feeling windchilled ... well, duh?! No gloves, fingers frostbitten ... seriously?! No boots, can't feel your feet ... what did you expect?!
We all like to complain about the weather, even though we know it's coming, we know what to expect, and we can't do anything about it anyway. But if we choose to underdress, we really ought to refrain from walking around and telling anyone who doesn't want to hear it about how "F@!#^%& cold!" it is out there.
Zip it, people! And I'm not just talking about your coats!
All of which is fine with me. I am okay with whatever weather we get and can cope quite nicely with the real cold. As I've always said, the key to happy warmth is 50% clothes and 50% attitude. Got both? Warm as toast.
As a cold-weather girl who loves to rug up and experience the wild whims of winter, I pride myself on my sense of attire for the chilly season, choosing practical and comfortable over fashionable and underdressed when it comes to guarding myself against the elements - although if I can look fashionable as well, then bonus!
Preparation is simple. Before leaving the house, take a moment to look out the window, read the paper, listen to the radio and tv weather reports, check the internet, stick your arm outside for a few seconds, or/and all of the above. Then select the applicable number, design and R-factor of coats, gloves, scarves, toques, boots, and multiple layers, although not necessarily in that order.
Commonsensical, don't you think?
So, why, when it's so brisk outside, do a significant percentage of the 'choosing' population opt for decidedly non-winter-like combinations? I say 'choosing' population because not everyone has a choice in such matters. And for those who do, why wouldn't they gear up in an effort to keep the winter elements at bay? Trying to look cool, perhaps? Tough? Don't want the toque to flatten their hair?
Doesn't matter to me, of course, except when they act all surprised and feel compelled to publicly and cursatorially complain about how cold it is. No toque, ears freezing ... um, hello?! Coat not done up, feeling windchilled ... well, duh?! No gloves, fingers frostbitten ... seriously?! No boots, can't feel your feet ... what did you expect?!
We all like to complain about the weather, even though we know it's coming, we know what to expect, and we can't do anything about it anyway. But if we choose to underdress, we really ought to refrain from walking around and telling anyone who doesn't want to hear it about how "F@!#^%& cold!" it is out there.
Zip it, people! And I'm not just talking about your coats!
Monday, January 9, 2012
Sweet resolve
Never been a fan of new year resolutions. My philosophy is if you need to change something, change it. Don't wait for some arbitrary resolution start date.
Of course, I speak from a position of resolution failure, having gone down that particular road a handful of times before and never stayed the course. As a result, my only resolve thus far has been to never resolve again.
So, it was quite the surprise when I accidentally made a resolution on January 1st this year, and even more of a surprise that one week later, I'm still on track.
It all began when, over a very busy two-week period trapped at my desk, I somehow embarked on a full-blown addiction to chocolate, as evidenced by an appointment with the food of the gods at 9:15 every weekday morning. (9:15? Go figure.)
I'd be working away, totally focused on the task at hand, when suddenly, I was out in the kitchen, breaking off a row or three of some delicious hazelnut or plain dairy milk Australian-made Cadbury chocolate, many blocks of which I picked up on my last trip down under.
When I finally realised what was happening, I stopped to wonder if I might be in trouble - or, more importantly, if my stash of chocolate was destined for the endangered supply list.
Clearly something had to be done, and lo, a resolution was made.
Motivated by the fact that I was already taking a break from coffee (the coffee maker up and died on Boxing Day and is still unreplaced) and sugar and half 'n half (both of which I only have in coffee), I made the difficult yet obvious resolution to refrain from consuming chocolate - but only from Monday to Friday. Even resoluters need a reprieve.
By the way, that time frame was inspired by my friend Miriam who is already leading the way by making desserts a weekend-only option. Good one, Miriam!
Now, this has nothing to do with counting the calories denied - I'm way too lazy to bother with that! But given the circumstances and the original source of my addiction, I think that by restricting chocolate, as well as dessert, half 'n half, sugar and coffee to the weekend only (even when the coffee maker is replaced), I might be onto a good thing - for me, my wallet, and my chocolate stash.
I'm still not a fan of resolutions, but I have to say that I like this one, which, with a bit of resolve, has the potential to stay the course for the long term and steer me clear of 300 gm (at least) of chocolate, 2+ desserts, 10 or more cups of coffee, approximately 250 ml of half 'n half, and 20 or more teaspoons of white sugar every week. Imagine what that will equal in a year from now.
And despite my current success, I'm not likely to start down the "must make new year resolutions" road. However, if I think of any others that will save me money, not hurt at all, not require a lot of sacrifice, and perhaps inspire others to follow suit with their own consumer challenge, then it's quite possible I might at least consider the possibility - although I suspect I will need some chocolate to help in that consideration.
Of course, I speak from a position of resolution failure, having gone down that particular road a handful of times before and never stayed the course. As a result, my only resolve thus far has been to never resolve again.
So, it was quite the surprise when I accidentally made a resolution on January 1st this year, and even more of a surprise that one week later, I'm still on track.
It all began when, over a very busy two-week period trapped at my desk, I somehow embarked on a full-blown addiction to chocolate, as evidenced by an appointment with the food of the gods at 9:15 every weekday morning. (9:15? Go figure.)
I'd be working away, totally focused on the task at hand, when suddenly, I was out in the kitchen, breaking off a row or three of some delicious hazelnut or plain dairy milk Australian-made Cadbury chocolate, many blocks of which I picked up on my last trip down under.
When I finally realised what was happening, I stopped to wonder if I might be in trouble - or, more importantly, if my stash of chocolate was destined for the endangered supply list.
Clearly something had to be done, and lo, a resolution was made.
Motivated by the fact that I was already taking a break from coffee (the coffee maker up and died on Boxing Day and is still unreplaced) and sugar and half 'n half (both of which I only have in coffee), I made the difficult yet obvious resolution to refrain from consuming chocolate - but only from Monday to Friday. Even resoluters need a reprieve.
By the way, that time frame was inspired by my friend Miriam who is already leading the way by making desserts a weekend-only option. Good one, Miriam!
Now, this has nothing to do with counting the calories denied - I'm way too lazy to bother with that! But given the circumstances and the original source of my addiction, I think that by restricting chocolate, as well as dessert, half 'n half, sugar and coffee to the weekend only (even when the coffee maker is replaced), I might be onto a good thing - for me, my wallet, and my chocolate stash.
I'm still not a fan of resolutions, but I have to say that I like this one, which, with a bit of resolve, has the potential to stay the course for the long term and steer me clear of 300 gm (at least) of chocolate, 2+ desserts, 10 or more cups of coffee, approximately 250 ml of half 'n half, and 20 or more teaspoons of white sugar every week. Imagine what that will equal in a year from now.
And despite my current success, I'm not likely to start down the "must make new year resolutions" road. However, if I think of any others that will save me money, not hurt at all, not require a lot of sacrifice, and perhaps inspire others to follow suit with their own consumer challenge, then it's quite possible I might at least consider the possibility - although I suspect I will need some chocolate to help in that consideration.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
"Tick tock!"
While watching Neverland on Space over Christmas last year, I was reminded of the famous line from Hook - the movie with Dustin Hoffman in the starring role. And for some reason, it inspired me to check all the clocks in our house and see what time they were tick tocking.
I started with the timer on the television, which said 7:16 pm. And compared to that, not one of the timing devices in our house, upstairs or down, has the same time as another.
In the kitchen/back room area, the stove clock, microwave clock and clock radio were out by +4, +3 and +9 minutes, respectively. In my office, the cardboard clock from Ikea was out by -2, the cell (mobile) phone by +2, and the computer by -4 minutes. (BTW, I thought computers got their time from the mysterious world of gremlin timekeepers that peddle their wares in little boxes somewhere in the universe. Or is that monkeys? Hmmm.) Upstairs, the clock radio was out by +25 minutes - how does that happen? Time creep, perhaps? Or our combined psychological powers driving the clock to tick tock faster so we can get up earlier in the morning?
Of course, the exactness of the time differences did depend somewhat on how quickly I got from one timing device to another, but you get the gist of the fact that time is out of whack in our place. And I got to wondering what it all meant?
Actually, it doesn't mean anything at all. Except for the fact that we have somehow, and apparently unbeknown to us, managed to survive very well thank you with a variety of time settings that are working together to successfully direct us to our respective commitments with plenty of time to spare. As far back as we can remember, we have not been late for anything - not for work, or movies, or breakfast, or meetings, or anything else we like to do.
So, the point of this blog? None whatsoever. Just an interesting observation about how time moves when you aren't actually watching it.
Now, back to work. Tick tock!
I started with the timer on the television, which said 7:16 pm. And compared to that, not one of the timing devices in our house, upstairs or down, has the same time as another.
In the kitchen/back room area, the stove clock, microwave clock and clock radio were out by +4, +3 and +9 minutes, respectively. In my office, the cardboard clock from Ikea was out by -2, the cell (mobile) phone by +2, and the computer by -4 minutes. (BTW, I thought computers got their time from the mysterious world of gremlin timekeepers that peddle their wares in little boxes somewhere in the universe. Or is that monkeys? Hmmm.) Upstairs, the clock radio was out by +25 minutes - how does that happen? Time creep, perhaps? Or our combined psychological powers driving the clock to tick tock faster so we can get up earlier in the morning?
Of course, the exactness of the time differences did depend somewhat on how quickly I got from one timing device to another, but you get the gist of the fact that time is out of whack in our place. And I got to wondering what it all meant?
Actually, it doesn't mean anything at all. Except for the fact that we have somehow, and apparently unbeknown to us, managed to survive very well thank you with a variety of time settings that are working together to successfully direct us to our respective commitments with plenty of time to spare. As far back as we can remember, we have not been late for anything - not for work, or movies, or breakfast, or meetings, or anything else we like to do.
So, the point of this blog? None whatsoever. Just an interesting observation about how time moves when you aren't actually watching it.
Now, back to work. Tick tock!