Tuesday, October 10, 2017
See Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.
On Monday morning, as I expected, no call came through from DB (the lease manager), so I left a message on PE's (the sales guy) line to call me with a report on the new vehicle. No call return.
I went to my clinic which is 75K in the opposite direction from St.John's in Placentia.
At 1.45pm I receive a call from DB asking me if I was on my way in to see him.
"Pardon?" I say, "You were supposed to call me at 11, now it's nearly 2 and I'm way out in Placentia."
"Oh," he laughs, "I thought I called you I must have called someone else. You need to make it in before 9 tonight,"
"I won't drive 200k in the dark for one, and two, you still haven't told me if my new car is ready."
"Well yeah, it is, but you need to make it in here today."
"Absolutely no way, I just told you why. Tomorrow?"
He agreed very reluctantly, deep sighs of exasperation. I guess he missed his sales target for September.
On Tuesday, I signed the final papers in DB's office. Yeah, I could have abandoned the whole shemozzle, told them where to stick their dealership their horrible staff and their car and their horrendous treatment of me, it truly crossed my mind that this was elder abuse. But I am an elder and a battle now would exhaust me utterly and damage my health further and leave me car-less in the city with a move planned for a week away.
But he wasn't quite finished in his incompetence and his running around of the old lady. He asked me for a cancelled cheque.
"What?" I was staggered at (a) they have all my banking info on file, and (b) he'd never mentioned this before.
"Oh," he laughs, "I forgot to tell you? You'll have to drive to your bank and get an authorisation form from them then and bring it back here".
I am speechless. I go outside to where PE has brought the new car around and the old car has been once again inspected for further pin pricks. I note to myself how very little work or concern PE has shown through all this trauma.
He has to use the key to open the doors.
"What happened to keyless entry?" I ask, "I've had keyless entry for over 10 years at least, now I have to stagger towards my car with shopping and a cane no less and drop them on the ground to open my car?"
He doesn't answer me.
I drive to the bank and get the papers DB needs and drive back and put them on his desk. He makes nice talk now that his commission is safe.
I'm very frosty. Toyota Head Office needs to know about this. Aren't us elders the bulging demographic of new car buying?
Also I'm very upset about the keyless thing.
I had specifically asked him for the same bells and whistles that my old car had.
But worse is to come.
The following day is warm. I have an allergy to heat. I can't think straight in heat.
I go to flip on the air-conditioning and there is none. None. It was an over the edge moment, I burst into tears.
I've dealt with Toyota for 30 years.
This has to be the worst experience I've ever had in any car dealership. Ever.
I feel ripped off, unheard, cheated, dismissed and abused.
And yes, Toyota are hearing about it.
Sunday, October 08, 2017
Well, DB sez reluctantly, I'll call you tomorrow (Saturday) and let you know what time I need to see you on Monday. I need to run your lease papers by head office.
OK, sez I, getting up ungracefully and ungratefully, grabbing my stick and the bag that held the contents of my old car in anticipation of my new, totally frosted with the treatment by all of them at this point. And too exhausted to get saucy and belligerent and nasty. After all, they could seize my vehicle and leave me stranded 100 km from home. (Couldn't they?) Honestly, I thought my internal anger if released would give me a stroke. I'm not violent or confrontational by nature but boy, I believed heads would roll under that stick of mine if that rage leaked out.
I should add that PE, the sales guy, had told me there was no reverse camera on my model even though he had assured me 3 months ago that the new model had one. Essential for elders and neck issues. At my querying this, he bent down over the tail end of the car and said, oh yes, there is one. Sales guy know thy vehicles. I reminded him that this was the only change I had asked about on my new car apart from making it a 2 door to reduce costs. He told me there were extras I hadn't requested: heated seats on this model also and a warning mechanism if you accidentally leave your lane. Bells and whistles that didn't impress me.
DB called me on Saturday to tell me the lease was now approved and that to come in early on Monday to finalize.
I asked him if my new car would be ready.
No guarantees, he said cheerfully, but you absolutely have to come in on Monday and sign off. Deals change at the beginning of the month, he said firmly.
I remind you, yet again, I said, that I will not come in unless my new car is available to drive away.
But then we'll have to get someone to have your old car reassessed again for any changes in the condition, I can't guarantee....
I'm absolutely not coming in if the new car is not ready. I was pissed and firm.
I'll call you Monday before 11 to let you know if we can do it then, he said abruptly and hung up.
I had an appointment to be at a medical clinic on Monday morning.
To be continued..................
Saturday, October 07, 2017
See Part 1 and Part 2
I should mention also that I am visibly (1) old and (2) handicapped - I have a walking cane due to PAD
So we trek outside to the car.
"You must be excited," sez PE the salesman.
"Well not really," sez I, "It's taken far too long for you to get your hands on the car I ordered. And not a word in the meantime from you only requests for money for the lease extension from M in accounting."
I didn't add cars don't excite me much. Apart from a Mustang way back when I was foolish and ambitious and show-offy.
"Where are the hubcaps?" I asked on first sighting of the car.
"Oh it's not ready yet," sez PE.
"You mean I've schlepped a total of 200km in here today only to be told my new car'a not ready? why did you haul me in here?"
"Just to have an evaluation of your current vehicle."
"So you could ding the hell out of me with pinpricks on paintwork and three month over expiry tires?"
I can see he doesn't know what to do with me in the dealership parking lot. So we schlep our way into the lease manager's (DB) office. DB tells me he is up to his neck in work, I'll have to come back on Monday (this is Friday) and we will finalize the lease agreement.
"You do realize that this is a 200km trip for me again, so I want some assurance the new car will be ready>"
"Well no, this is just to sign the lease papers, we're very busy, end of month, loads of sales, the new car will have to go in line in the service centre for finishing."
"So you're telling me, an old handicapped lady, that I have to add another 200km trip , a third, to get my new car?"
He had the grace to look embarrassed.
"That's not going to happen," sez I, "I'm not coming in till my car is ready."
"But it's month end! That's impossible to co-ordinate!"
Aha, thought I, he's only concerned about his sales targets and a possible bonus, shove the old lady off the curb and under the bus. No pun intended.
To be continued................................
Friday, October 06, 2017
See Part 1 here
I was having a bad day anyway. Driving, too much on the go: the apartment, moving, no sale on the house, a sense of poverty, thinking this effin' new car, even on a lease was a poor decision even 3 months ago when life appeared financially rosier.
"And the tires," she added next,"They're in bad shape."Did you ever feel you're part of a movie and you're the only one without a script?
"Yes, I know, an extra 3 months on the lease would have such an effect."
"We have to charge you for those too."
"This is outrageous, I can't see how you can get away with these ripoffs."
I lost it, dear reader. So much so that she ran off to negotiate a "discount" for the tires on a used car. Built into the new lease.
At that point, the sales guy came over and said,
"Wait till you see your new car!"
You know the feeling then.
To be continued....................
Wednesday, October 04, 2017
I'm growing into a rather nasty old person. Seriously. I react viciously to the dismissals of younger others. Particularly when it comes to business dealings of any kind.
Is there an inbuilt contempt for us elders?
I was treated (IMO) quite shabbily by a car dealership. One I had always respected in the past. I'd ordered a new car, it might be my last, not being melodramatic here, just realistic. There was a 3 month back order on it. I'd almost forgotten about it when they called me a week ago to tell me it was in. I dutifully shuffled my schedule around and tootled in. I live 100km from the dealership.
They inspect my now lease-expired car for damages. And find pin prick sized dots on the paintwork. 6 of them. Parking lot issues. The car is 15,000 km under lease max of 106,000 - I had to have a 3 month extension because of the backorder. They assessed me $1,000 for the 6 pin pricks.
To be continued.......
See Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
Sunday, October 01, 2017
Throwing up its everything
To warn us
Of foolish expectations
In this corporate climate
We are on our own.
In its path
Tolling our requiem bell
In Puerto Rico
Monday, September 25, 2017
I hosted my last PGs* last night. Three from BC plus two very well behaved dogs. their paws on the wood floors of my house and on my stairs had me unexpectedly and apologetically leak a few sniffles in spite of myself. I remembered with a kind of savage pain, the Wonder Dog. So I talked of her for a little while.
The three, a mother, her daughter and son-in-law were ascetic types. I would always fall in love with ascetics. You know the ones who have a spoonful of oatmeal, a radish and half an apple and call it a meal. Thin, tall lean hikers who say jolly good and gung-ho to anything that involves burning off 5,00o calories in an afternoon. Me? I count my life in meals eaten, where, when, and rate and oomph the OMG slobber factor for each and every one. Opposites attracting and all that.
They frowned on my breakfast offerings, the full Monte Newfoundland breakfast which would cement your stomach in place for two days, and had dabs of porridge, yogurt and teeny tiny spoonies of my selection of jams. That was it. No toast, or ham or eggs or scones and just the one cup of coffee they allowed themselves a day, and they were on their skinny greyhoundy way. I wish we all could be mixes of this type, the lusty gustoes and the leany beanies.
More potential buyers have turned around at the site of the Cathedral. It is getting wearisome, I admit.
Grandgirl recommended a really lovely book which her mother has subsequently read and passed on to me. I'm thoroughly enjoying it. I will review it when finished. It takes me out of myself.
I know I have to move but the inertia has gripped me with icy cold fingers and I'm stagnant and paralyzed and don't know how to begin. I curled up around a cheery fire today and did absolutely zero apart from nap and read. A friend had provided me with a large pot of stew so there was nothing to do apart from simply set a date and helpers but it all seemed far more than I could possibly manage.
I took the pretty picture above this morning, in my bathroom, of the last of the community garden flowers that have kept the rooms in my house blooming over the summer. The picture below is of my first knitted flowers which I created on another story shawl for a dear friend.
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
My book club met yesterday, I wasn't too happy with the book we read . In fact I downright disliked its plotting, characters and resolution - if one could call it that as there was no conflict. I was pleasantly surprised that most of us present (17 out of about 28 members) felt the same, as I was first to go with my review. We're all sure it will be a movie as it reads like a bad film script and would be right up the more simplistic Hollywood's alley.
For an update on my reading this year, please go to my 2017 Books Read and Rated Link on the sidebar.
There have been more wonders than duds and for that I am pleased.
I'm also riveted on the Netflix series "Narcos" which is an extraordinarily well produced, written and directed history of the drug trade in Colombia interspersed with news footage of the actual personae involved. The one downside for me is that I can't knit throughout for the dialogue is mainly in Spanish with subtitles and subtitles and knitting don't mix, I'd need another pair of eyes.
My real estate agent and I are in sync on the sale of the house. I've now dropped the price substantially, fire sale bargain really, just what the builder of The Cathedral next door had planned. But I need to move with a sale under my belt and supporting the house through the winter is beyond my financial capabilities. And reality is reality.
Daughter had a unique Mothers & Daughters Luncheon for a bunch of us women with middle aged daughters. It was lovely and lasted five hours. Great conversation and delicious Indian vegetarian cuisine.
I was asked to join a major choir in the city once I move but I think my voice fled with a really bad resistant-to-super-antibiotic ear infection I had a few years ago. Things have never been the same with my hearing or my voice since.
I have other plans for my new city life though, all good, and interesting.
As I mentioned in one of my responses to comments on my last post, this time next year, this will all be far behind me. both the good and the worrisome.
Saturday, September 09, 2017
It's life, I know that, and life sucks the bag sometimes.
OK so the list prior to my black discing was, and I should mention, not in any order of priority:
(1)With all the interest in my house, once the Cathedral next door hoves into view, even though they've seen pictures and they've raved about my house, inside and outside, they can't bear how the Cathedral cuts off the western light and towers, threateningly, over my driveway. There is no way of knowing the noise and/or traffic to yet be endured once it's complete.
(2)Meanwhile, the nail pounding on its interminable and unpredictable construction goes on and on. A lovely chorus when you're already feeling low.
(3)I came back to the news that my friend/worker/general factotum for lugging of wood and heavy objects around, had been banging on my door for days not understanding that I was away in Daughter's car. He had something quite awful happen to him and wanted to talk to me about it. Long story short, he wound up in an ambulance having attempted suicide. Nobody went with him and the hospital believed his bending of the truth that he didn't know pills and alcohol are a deadly mix.
(4)I was surprised when my friend D called to tell me my friend L had asked for my telephone number as L and I talk frequently. L and I connected and I didn't address this, I was too scared, I guess. My fear was borne out in the shape our conversation took. There were huge gaps in her memory, serious gaps, of our last conversations when she was reviewing some legal matters with me and a policy had been put in place for going forward. She had no recollection of this and was startled when I went over everything in point form with her. She then referred to a friend's daughter by my daughter's name. Terror hit me full on. Her mother, a darling woman, had Alzheimer's at my dear friend's age. I cried after the call. I feel so helpless as she's in another province and truly, there is no one looking out for her.
(5)It's Ansa's one year anniversary. More than that, it's the way the year has gone and galloped underneath me and I think: I've cried every day for her, how foolish is that?
(6)My legs were bad in St. Pierre, the shooting pains, the lack of ongoing mobility. I had to take far too many breaks. Daughter is a saint, so patient and kind. I am lucky. But worried about the deterioration which is magnified by the rest of the stress.
(7) Absolutely no B&B bookings for September, zero. So no income.
So there you have it.
My sorry little tale.
I reflect on how little we can do to change things. I think I'll abandon all the horrific news from around the world. It's not just Irma and Harvey, it's Tibet and Mexico and Montana and B.C., et al.
End of Days indeed. Am I exaggerating?
Wednesday, September 06, 2017
I wish there was one.
To hang on one's door. Or on one's Twitter or Facebook account or give an automatic email response. When one is incommunicado, please don't bother.
Like for today.
Feeling scowly and sad and a mite worried and physically challenged and super-tired.
And you know, this is when everybody decides to call, bang on the knocker, phone, message. Want to visit, want to make social interaction with me. And frankly? I don't. Not at all. I feel like one long week of rain. Miserable. So I ignore. And hide.
What makes it worse is the gorgeous weather outside, the blue of the ocean.
And yes, thoughts of Irma and the dreadful happenings of climactic weather conditions for our neighbour down below and to the left of where I am. And they have a guy in charge, so I hear, who doesn't believe in climate change and the warming oceans that cause this and that it's going to get a whole lot worse.
So I should feel grateful and safe.
And that makes me feel small and selfish and self-centred and even more miserable.
Bootstraps don't work.
Sleep is the antidote to misery.
I curl up and sleep and assure myself, like Scarlett, that tomorrow is another day.
Which is exactly what I did yesterday.
Wednesday, August 30, 2017
Thanks for all the comments on my last post. My realtor had called on me after the turnarounds of potential clients. I should mention my realtor's wife is dying of cancer and my concern was more for him than for the unimportance of my house when real-life horrors visit. They had thought she could abandon her chemo (6 years of it) as the quality of her life had deteriorated so badly but she had been rushed to emergency after a week. She is stabilized now and had insisted he leave her bedside and visit me.
We were both in agreement that we deal with the Cathedral head on in any publicity and also that I write an essay on what the house means to me and my story while I lived here. All that I had accomplished and fostered and enjoyed and improved upon and preserved.
Meanwhile I had spoken at length to a dear and wise and old friend in Ontario. He is one of these steady people, hand firm on the tiller of life, no room for the wild and crazy and unpredictables. I value his take on life, very different to my own and over the years we have just enjoyed each other's differences and valued each other's advice.
So he said why don't you crunch through the numbers and see what is the very minimum you would take for the house to keep you floating financially until you, well, snuff, and then if you get anything above that it will be a bonus. So I took the time to do this.
I felt so much better after the meeting with my realtor and my long conversation with R.
It is rare you meet a realtor who sings from the same page and I feel so fortunate with C.
So he had a call yesterday from a young couple and he mentioned the Cathedral and they were untroubled and enthused about the B&B and the cabin and all the positives so they're visiting tomorrow afternoon.
Fingers crossed but my thinking has shifted after the initial shock and horror. So yeah, onward and upward.
But my knees have taken a beating, I can tell ya.
Sunday, August 27, 2017
I call it The Cathedral. On the day my house was offered for sale, the neighbouring landowner put up this eyesore, it is much higher than it looks as it is taller than my two storey house. There are no zoning bylaws in this town, no town plan (though I did put up a fight for one). So if you buy land in my town, you can literally throw any structure your heart desires on it. This is what happened next door to me. Vlad bought up the two parcels of forested land, left them fallow for years and then stripped them and built one enormous warehouse, and now encored with this monstrosity. It overshadows my house and all seven acres of my land offer a view.
On the second day of my house listing, the day it was publicized, there was tremendous interest in my house, agents and their clients drove out of town to inspect, clients eager to make an offer. But as soon as The Cathedral hove into view they quickly changed their minds as it is smack dab up against the right side of my property, blocking the beautiful light from the west.
I was devastated. This is not the first time Vlad the Destroyer has done this. When I went away for a week last year this greeted me on my return:
I sat in my driveway and cried, there were about 500 trees torn down and clear cut to leave these wounds on the land.
But, he is perfectly within his rights to do it as there are no zoning regulations and this is not the first time Vlad has torn down old heritage homes to replace them with monstrous and ugly warehouses dug into the once fertile and forested land in residential areas.
The Vlad plan is to then buy up the adjacent properties of the disgruntled and dismayed and devastated owners at a bargain basement price.
Vlad and his cathedrals to wanton ugliness. This is what happens with no town regulations. Barbarians climb the gates and plunder and pillage and destroy.
I'm on my knees.
Saturday, August 19, 2017
The more I work on this, the more I love it.
Catch up Day.
Well, the dump is open all day, limited hours in my wee town out on the Edge of the Atlantic.
So I look around me and my eyes fasten on my enormous collection of VCR tapes. Enormous, you say? You have no idea. I have maybe 2,000 movies scattered on these bulky (often 4 movies on a tape)suckers, all labelled and indexed carefully.
And now I shamefully report these have all been unwatched for something like 14 years now. I think I taped every episode of Saturday Night at the Movies when Elwy Yost was doing his gentle, professional interviews of all these old timers (performers, directors, technicians) before they died off. The only one who was doing so. I had planned to have a periodic movie night with a feast of these old classics. Alas, that never happened. When you're an aficionado, it's hard to find your equal nutbar twin. Most have no time for the old black and whites. And "restored" to colour? Oh please.
So I tackled the deep green shelves today. These held a triple layer of these tapes. Times 4 shelves.
I knew the only way to do it was to take out a row of garbage bags and start pitching without looking. If I lingered, it would be game over. Ah, you're definitely going to want to see this again, oh look, another Cary Grant, Ingrid Bergman, James Stewart. See? So seven full garbage bags later I think, I could donate these, oh someone would love these, I should Kijiji these as a freebie.
You catch my drift. Stall tactics. I slapped myself. Hard.
I loaded all 7 bags in my car and drove to the dump. I told Brian, the dump-man, what was in the bags (You have to do this, they don't want household waste) and he said, hang on a minute, there's a real old fellow I know living in the back hills, he's a right old movie buff, do you mind if I take all these for him? With the winter coming on he'll be thrilled!
I mentioned I may have 7 or 8 or 10 more bags to follow and Pete says, even better for the old fellah, he'll love them all. Bring 'em over when you can!
And oh, yes, as I drove my empty car home I realized the "old fellow in the backwoods" was a year younger than me.
Letting go is not easy but it can be done if you don't stare.
Thursday, August 17, 2017
What would you like to be doing, wouldn't you like to be auditing and software training?
So what's next. You just had a birthday.
What I'd like to be doing is writing. And knitting when I'm not writing. And going to movies in the afternoon. Daughter gave me a loaded movie card.
There's not much money in writing.
Yeah, I know. Or knitting for that matter. That's why I need to sell my house. Then I can write.
So what are you doing to facilitate that?
I listed my house for sale. I took stress leave from my municipal time-consuming, enraging position. I backed away completely from stifling, drunken massive social events. I spaced my PGs a little better, gapped out some time for myself.
And yeah, I forgot to mention, I'm lying down for an hour in the afternoon. It's a brilliant revitalizer.
But you're not happy?
No. I'm easily irritated. I'm impatient. I'm snarky. I can't believe the world is not going along with my intention for a peaceful, blissful, last few years: Nazism? Ku Klux Klan without the masks? Anti Fa? (aren't most decent human beings?) In your face racism. Worst forest fires ever in BC? Domestic terrorism in the U.S.? And need I mention the occasional occupier of the White House?
I wish this lonely wee planet would get its act together and its useless and vile janitors thrown off it.
Maybe then I might be happy.
Sunday, August 06, 2017
As I age, I endeavour to look at the additions in my life rather than the subtractions. Subtractions are so many,I can overlook the additions.
I have renewed contact with a family member which is enhancing my life once again. (No, not Missing Daughter). This shared history, the aging process and family news catchup means a lot to me. I can gnaw at those absent ones, but that does not serve me well. I celebrate this renewal, this rebirth, and put no expectations on it, for I stay in the moment with each conversation.
I get so absorbed in my needlework that I forget to eat. I'm working on this artist's palette and a burst of stars on a new shawl (see above) and being absorbed in the creative process drenches my soul in light and gratitude.
Forgiveness and understanding come easily as I age. A good friend had shut me out for several months, much to my bafflement and hurt. A few nights ago she texted me to come over if I was available. I did, with some trepidation. (Was I going to be accused of something, anything? Was the chill going to be reinforced?). Her husband hugged me as I came in and she lurked in a corner looking at me nervously. I didn't hold back. I held out my arms and said: give me a hug. She did, quite teary. I don't know what the estrangement was all about and I don't want to know. It may happen again. Or not. But I'm not wasting any more speculation on it.
I love the Irish expression of: "he/she had notions there for a while." It sometimes explains a whole pile of unexplainables. We all get them. Off with the fairies nursing slights or hurts. Real or imagined. Finding words for such behaviour can be difficult without sounding insane or unhinged.
I'm dealing with such a scenario with my young friend at the moment. Helping her label her feelings. As she can't. I was there once, in another lifetime, a frightening place to be. And someone dear took the time with me to walk me through the emotions and help me label them and understand the turmoil. I'm passing it on.
So yes, there is much in my treasury right now. It may look like slim pickings to some, but it is abundantly rich to me.
Monday, July 24, 2017
I'm sharing bits of the books I've read in the last while, little phrases that had me sitting back and taking stock, so to speak.
Take this: "How do you get old without letting sadness become everything."
Page 62. Lost and Found. By Brooke Davis.
I've wrestled with that, tried to block it, let it seep through me, let the tears flow freely, tried to stop the tears, talk to myself, overcome it, become overcome.
I feel guilty for living with so many dear ones dead. I constantly feel a part of me is missing without my dog by my side, in the car, on my bed, sitting on my feet when strangers came so she could keep a close eye on them, the breakfast routine, the morning and evening walks on the shore, talking to her, hiding from each other in an elaborate game of hide and seek - god, she was clever.
Yes, there's joy in playing with a friend's young grandchildren, having a laugh with Daughter, the whales, the whales. The flowers and herbs in my community garden, the way the water is right now, denim blue with underwear of white lace, the clarity of the houses and trees across the bay in this blinding afternoon rage of sunlight.
But this feeling of underlying sadness doesn't leave me for any great length of time.
I'm putting it out there to others, is this normal for old age?
I remember my dad telling me, he was then in his healthy early eighties, that with all his friends dead he knew loneliness in a brand new way (he was a long time widower). I remember suggesting to him he should make new friends. The ridiculousness of that remark appals me now. For the shared memories are what one misses.
It's difficult to keep one's head out of the past.
And I feel like such a bore.
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
All that to say that with my two guests leaving tomorrow after breakfast, I have blocked every day for further bookings until Monday next. My doctor called me in today to check on a few health items. One being my blood pressure which is still alarming. He stopped me from taking my own readings as I was becoming obsessed with it. He was also concerned with how stressful my life is with having to earn a living by hard work along with a projected move and my demanding municipal position. At my age, he said, I should be smelling roses and relaxing and planning some trips. I allowed my hollow laugh.
Out walking with my young friend, she had mentioned in light of my vascular pain that I should see about pain medication. I have a dismal level of tolerance to pain. A low threshold has plagued me for ever. I always feel like a wuss when I'm with those who are stoic and tearless along with being much worse off than I. Example: I kicked the delivery room nurse when delivering my first daughter. I apologised later for being so far out of my mind.
Doc reviewed my meds and said to try low dose Tylenol and see if that would help with exercising. The obvious solutions (such as pain medication) often elude me. My brain is strange uncharted territory.
I'm going to use the next few days to take stock of health: physical, emotional, social, intellectual and spiritual and play with the plans for the new place and draft out the next few months and concentrate on the huge amount of interest by potential purchasers for my house.
The whales of St. Vincent's have been magnificent this year. Hundreds of them "in" in this magnificent weather.
Daughter has booked us a 5 day trip to St. Pierre & Miquelon, long on our bucket list, for the end of August. I'll have to dust off my rusty French. Luckily, I've had a few PGS who were just there and have passed on some amazing hints to me from their recently being on the ground, so to speak. The best restaurants, Josephine's for tea, and the best museum and tours.
So yes, off to France we go. Ooh la-la.
Wednesday, July 05, 2017
I was talking to a very old friend on the phone today, she's in another province so we tend to catch up with each other every odd month or so and get caught up in our doings and in those of the slender little mound of joint friendships remaining from the random scythe-swipes of Mr. Reaper.
I've noted something in myself lately: an increased crotchetiness accompanied by far less time for fools and eejits, all doused with a spicy mix of darkest cynicism.
Youngsters (under 60s) don't understand this so I don't mention it, though I'm sure my Resting Bitch Face gives them a clue from time to time.
I have to put on Nice Face a lot, and it's looking rather worn and tired from overuse during this PG (tourist season).
D asked me if my house was listed for sale yet and I said no, it was all too much for me at the moment.
She asked me to parse that for her.
And I said, like Eleanor Rigby, I had to put on Nice Face so much lately - public events, hosting, library volunteering and on, that there was hardly any time for RBF (see above) and she needed to come out more or my head would explode. My nice quota had maxed out. And potential purchasers traipsing through here would finish me off.
She totally got it. Her tolerance level for life's stupidities and the appalling state of our planet matches mine. Our sorry future along with Stephen Hawking's predictions in light of the Orange Nightmare's disbelief in the science of climate change is giving us elders the freedom to be as cranky and crotchety as we want and expound on this rancid world of endless war as we see it: a hopeless, boiling mess, lurking for the final shove off of its pestilential fleas - the human race.
We agreed we need to turn off the news and the newsfeeds and the Twitters and Facebook updates, treating all of it in a Kardashian kind of way as if 45 is a joke and oh let's impeach him. Soon. As if. When the real problem is those who put him there, those who keep him there and the Fourth Estate who refuse to do their jobs and leave it to very few unread non-MSMs who do it for them.
Enough jokes from the John Olivers and the Stephen Colberts. This is not satire or humour or what's he tweeting now, the toddler.
Very few MSMs are taking the current global status with any seriousness or offering realistic solutions. Because they are mostly all bought and paid for.
Which leave us elders muttering together, feeling all rather hopeless for our grandchildren. But without the physical vigour to placard and march.
Wednesday, June 28, 2017
My PG (tourist) season has been full. Which is all to the good.
I've observed something over the years with our fellow creatures. If one concedes even a tiny bit, they continue to pound away at the boundaries until one cries uncle. Or not.
I had one such recently. My breakfast schedule is between 8 and 9 a.m. After she checked in she wheedled her way into making it 7.30 - a very early rise for me. When she did come down for breakfast she announced she was celiac. No gluten. I asked her why she hadn't shared that information with me before her arrival and she confessed I mightn't have taken her. So here I am pantry scrambling and freezer digging. On Day 2 she asked could she do her laundry even though on my profile I say no laundry privileges. I conceded ( I need my head examined!) to take her laundry and do it for her and later folded it and put it on her bed. On Day 3 I asked if she found her laundry on the bed and received the casual: "oh yeah, I guess, thanks". she never moved a plate off the table which nearly all guests do and left her bedroom tossed. And never purchased even a token in my wee shop. A forty something privileged white woman with a healthy bank account (she had shared that much).
Thankfully, she's in a tiny minority of humans who believe that I host for fun and pleasure and am there to fulfil any need they express.
She also helped me considerably to firm up my own boundaries and tell guests that early breakfasts don't work for me, I can't accommodate special dietary requirements unless given at least one week's notice and there's absolutely no laundry.
So I still learn from those who are in my path to teach me what to do but also what not to do.
Friday, June 23, 2017
I shepherd my energy carefully these days as I feel I'm falling behind. So the blog gets shoved aside for another day.
Tourism is a huge benefit to my life. Both the engagement with my PGs (guests) which feeds my intellect and the financial benefit which I rather desperately need.
Many ask me how I keep going with my health challenges and the demands of still having to make a living in my seventies.
My answer is: carefully (see first sentence). It would be fairly catastrophic if my health worsened now, as inevitably it will. I need to keep chugging until September when my load will lighten considerably, fingers crossed.
Therefore I prioritize. We just finished the Living with Chronic Disease series of workshops yesterday and I can't praise it enough. I've been asked to be a facilitator in the future but I've shelved that for now. I'm becoming more skilled at the art of saying NO.
I learned so much about accepting where I am and dealing a fresh deck of cards which encompasses my heath challenges, not focussing on what I used to do, but focussing on the now and making Action Plans for each day that are manageable and achievable. I had been thinking in the light of what I used to be able to accomplish but recognise now that I was doing far too much as a result and burdening myself with unrealistic expectations of what my day should be packed with and beating myself up for failure to do so.
The art of pulling back and the power of both Now and No are my new best buddies.
One of the incredible results of the workshop was our youngest participant (in his mid thirties) shared yesterday that his last hope was committing to the workshops for all 6 weeks. If nothing changed for him, he had planned suicide. We were all crying after he spoke. He has many challenges including his young spouse in a wheelchair (boy, perspective!) and he had absolutely no hope. Now he's attempting to live within his limitations and try one new thing every week and list his achievable goals.
I feel I've turned some kind of corner too, not clear on what it is yet. But more will be revealed, I'm sure.
I just know I feel so much more alive now.