This long Victoria Day weekend I was supposed to be in Wasaga Beach, having a good time visiting with my friend at her lovely riverside home. While I did get up there, and we had a very nice Saturday evening taking in dinner and a movie, my Sunday was a nightmare. I started feeling queasy after breakfast and couldn’t get warm. I ached all over. I kept telling myself various stories – maybe it was something I ate, maybe it’s all in my mind, maybe it will pass….
Then my daughter Mizz J called to tell me how ill she was – possessing all of my symptoms PLUS more – and I knew I couldn’t live in denial any more. So, while the Tylenol was still enabling me to function, I packed up my overnight bag and made the 2 hour drive back home before I got even sicker. I had the heater going full blast; the sunshine streaming in through the car windows helped too.
When I pulled into my driveway, I texted both my friend and Mizz J that I had arrived home safely. Mizz J’s boyfriend came down to help me bring my stuff upstairs. Which I was so grateful for, because I found I had become as weak as a newborn kitten sometime during the drive home.
I took more Tylenol and crawled into bed, fully clothed, in an attempt to keep warm. Eventually I fell asleep. After several hours, I emerged for more drugs, and to see how Mizz J was faring. She was starting to feel better already, and told me that Dr. Google had diagnosed her as having the highly contagious Noro virus.
By 7:30pm I was back in bed again, and slept for 12 hours.
I think I am over the worst of it now. But I will be laying quite low today, even though today’s weather looks to be fabulous.
In the warm weather, I like to wear open-toed shoes. I include sandals in this grouping.
I also really like shoes, and boots.
I decided to take a picture of my open-toed shoe collection today, since it is freezing rain out as I am creating this post, and the furthest thing from open-toed shoe weather as imaginable. As one does.
The whole open-toed shoe-bang, I think. I might be missing a couple of pair of flip-flops.Top level – dressierBottom level – more casual
I get the feeling my staff think I own too many shoes. Whenever a package is delivered to me at the office, they hand it to me and say “Shoes?” Ditto if they see me at my computer with my credit card out. “Buying shoes?”
I didn’t buy these all in one season, you know!
What about you? How many pairs of open-toed shoes do you own?
Rock on,
The WB
Can you guess my theme for this year’s A-Z Challenge? All of my A-Z posts this month will be tied into my theme, which is represented by the title of a song that was popular when I was a child. Can you figure it out as the days (and posts) go by? Leave your guesses (one per day only, please) in the comments. At the end of the challenge, I will reveal the theme. Have fun!
The last time I met a new work colleague, she made a point of telling me she was struck by my “joie de vivre“, as she called it. (I must have been having a pretty good day at work…hehehe!)
No one has ever told me that before but I really do enjoy life – now more than ever – so I am not disputing the label.
I have a hard time being down and staying down, generally.
My ex knew if he just stayed out of the line of fire long enough when he did something to hurt or anger me I would forget I was mad at him, and slowly equilibrate back to my cherub-like demeanour (to steal from the late great John Pinette).
It only took him 17 years to finally wear down my love of life so much that I felt I had to leave him, to save my own soul. But I digress…
This “loving life” feeling and attitude peaks for me in the summer months.
Especially on warm summer nights. You know, the ones where the temperature is just right so that you are completely comfortable? And there is a soft, warm breeze blowing across your exposed skin. If not for the breeze, you wouldn’t know where you ended and the summer air began.
Nights like those I feel so damn alive and grateful to be alive, I just want to leap and dance around for joy. And I do, whenever I can. I’ve had these exuberant moments since I was a child. I feel full of what I have come to call thewildness of life. I don’t know how else to explain it.
Wheeee! Life is AMAZING! I’m like this horse. Or a dog with the “zoomies”. Or a bunny in the midst of a “binky”:
I tried to explain these feelings to both of my husbands, in turn, to see if they ever felt that way too. Both times this was a mistake. Each of them reacted in the same way – they seemed to be both threatened by, and disapproving of, what I was telling them. And no, they definitely did not cop to ever feeling this way.
Once again, I felt like there was something wrong with me. That I was some kind of freak. (Nothing new here, folks – I’ve felt this way around others since I was a small child.)
Is anybody out there with me on this?
Have you ever felt your exuberant, wild heart making itself known to you?
Rock on,
The WB
Can you guess my theme for this year’s A-Z Challenge? All of my A-Z posts this month will be tied into my theme, which is represented by the title of a song that was popular when I was a child. Can you figure it out as the days (and posts) go by? Leave your guesses (one per day only, please) in the comments. At the end of the challenge, I will reveal the theme. Have fun!
This week I received another email, telling me I earned a badge for being a “top 30 widow blog”.
This is what it said:
Hello!
We are a team of experts who are in search for the best blogs in the world. We find your blog to be pretty awesome and very informative. Your articles are well-written and possess the qualities of being one of the best.
I clicked on the link to see what they had to say about my blog:
A chronicle of how a woman went through loss and came out stronger than ever, widowbadass.com is a resource that is definitely worth reading. It’s got a lot of great content to share about the matter of overcoming the sadness after losing someone and then looking forward to living again.
OK. I guess that’s all right. It sounds like someone actually read my blog.
Then I went directly to the website to figure out what this site was all about. Just the name of it (StartDating) is giving me a serious case of side-eye.
You and me both, Prince. You and me both.
There is no English language option on this site. Near as I can figure it is an online dating site, though. For Europeans. But a team of experts that search out the best blogs in the world and they found lil’ ol’ me?
Yes we do, Indie. Indeed we do.
I wonder how many more of these emails I will receive, now that I have a contact form and email address for the blog.
I won’t be grabbing this badge and I’m removing the other badge too. As far as I’m concerned, they are meaningless and/or a ploy to get bloggers to put something up on their blog to advertise their own site.
I don’t like wearing clothes that have a brand’s name (as opposed to a band’s name, which I am in favour of!) prominently displayed on them and I certainly don’t want to be advertising a dating website on my blog.
On a more upbeat note, by this time next week I will be cavorting with the tropical sea life in Barbados again. I’ll also be lulled by tropical breezes while reading lots of books under the palms and chugging back icy Banks beers with my 50 years of friendship pal, Mizz CJ. For 2 glorious weeks!
I had a plan for this weekend and it was a good one! I am trying hard to get at least some of these things done.
However Friday was spent at the hospital with my daughter, Mizz J, who was sent there forthwith after her early morning pelvic ultrasound. She was sick over the holidays (we thought it was the flu) and despite a course of antibiotics for a presumed bladder infection, was still feeling uncomfortable.
Well, no wonder. She was walking around with a burst and abscessed appendix. Go figure! Only the antibiotics for the non-existent bladder infection were keeping her from being violently ill.
After a long day in Emerg with a doctor who didn’t believe the ultrasound’s tech findings, she was ultrasounded again and immediately whisked upstairs. Surgery took place Friday evening.
All is well now. She is receiving mega-antibiotics by IV and we are hoping she comes home today.
Between hospital visits, I was able to put away Christmas:
The tree was beautiful and enhanced by some special ornaments from special friends
And finish off the Aged Eggnog, which was delicious and will be made again next year. At least a double batch, this time!
The absolute last of it. So good!
While at the hospital, I noticed this on the wall outside of the ubiquitous Tim Horton’s coffee shop (really, every hospital has one now. How did that happen?):
Mindfulness is the new black, apparently.
Mindfulness and Mandalas seem to go together like kids and puppies; like pie and ice cream; like socks and sandals (hehehe…just kidding. Threw that in there to see if you were still paying attention).
I was able to resume some mindful yoga this morning. Holey moley, was my body tense from all the goings-on of the past couple of days!
My Mandala Days art course begins on the 16th. Eager to see what’s involved!
My son gave me an Amazon smart speaker for Christmas, known as Alexa. I am intrigued, not knowing a whole lot about these things.
When I found out I could change her name (aka “wake word”), I was gleeful with the possibilities. Immediately I thought of the housekeeper and/or butler from Downton Abbey (hoping I could also switch Alexa to a male voice). However, when I opened the Echo app I downloaded to my phone, I only had a few options to choose from: Alexa, Echo, Amazon, or Computer. So I settled for Echo, as it had the least syllables. I am so disappointed I can’t call her Mrs. Hughes.
So I’m trying to learn how to relate to this new device. It’s more difficult than I thought. For example, it feels super weird not to be polite when asking Echo to give me information or do things for me.
After all, I am a Canadian! And yes, I have already told her I am sorry!
Conversely, it feels about as weird to be saying please and thank you to an inanimate object. I’ve had to process my feelings on this, and for now, I have decided to use my manners with Echo. She is responding very nicely to my thank yous, telling me “absolutely” and “that’s what I’m here for”. So that makes me feel slightly better about using my natural way of speaking on a THING.
A few months back, I watched a hilarious Saturday Night Live spoof on “Alexa for Seniors”. Because I live in Canada, I can’t see the YouTube clip on this, but here is a link to the video Mizz J forwarded me from Facebook – hope it works (for my fellow Canuck readers) once this post is published!
So far Echo is very good at letting me know the weather and setting timers. She also excels at answering random questions. Except for Game of Thrones plot lines and characters – I give her only passing grades on that. She couldn’t tell me what happened to Barristan Selmy and I can’t remember either. Maybe I didn’t phrase the question correctly. Anyhow, he’s probably dead and I forgot. Because there are way too many deaths to keep track of on GOT anyways…
There are a bunch of things that can be controlled through Echo. My son also gave me a smart plug that I can use to let Echo turn on or off (through me, of course). I’m still deciding what to use the plug for. My TV, a light, my humidifier?
Echo says she is always getting smarter. Will that make me dumber? I don’t know about that. 😉
Yesterday was Mindful Monday, but also the 2nd anniversary of my mom’s passing, so I didn’t have the heart or energy to post anything. And I spent most of the day NOT being mindful but instead lost in memories and feelings.
Today I am doing so much better!
Today I received an email, alerting me that I have won a MAJOR AWARD. This was me, opening the email (not really, but ’tis the season and I love this movie):
However, instead of this:
“Electric Sex” – Ralphie
My MAJOR AWARD is this:
Did not know this was even a THING.
Someone or a group of someone’s from something called FeedSpot have decided Ye Olde Blogge made the cut of “Widow Blogs” and awarded me a lovely badge. I wasn’t given any criteria for how this was achieved or how I made a rank of #40.
Seriously, I did not make this up. I don’t know how to create a badge (or I would’ve made one up for myself years ago…hehehe).
Serves no particular purpose in this post except I think skulls are cool and this is MY skull, x-rayed at the beginning of the Invisalign process, which I asked to have emailed to me. The tech forgot to ask me to remove my earrings.
This week I went back to the orthodontist to discuss refinements to my teeth. I am thrilled with them as they are. However, the tooth artiste (as I like to call Dr. Kevin…or was it Dr. Brian? I can’t keep the brothers straight) had some other ideas.
He used a bunch of dentist terms to describe what he thought needed to be done – long story short, I am getting more trays and have to wear some elastics too, and this refining process will take another 6 months. I was told at the start that my Invisalign treatment would take about 2 – 2.5 years and here we are at Month 10 only, so I gots nothin’ to complain about!
So here is what my teeth look like now:
Doing my best Goldie Hawn smile impression so you can see my teeth! The little bumps have been removed. But I will be getting more put back on for the refinement phase.
And here are a couple of before and after closeups:
BEFOREAFTER – what you can’t really see that well is how all my teeth (even the molars) are now back to vertical, instead of slanting in towards my tongue and away from my cheeks. I just hated that look, and now it’s gone. Wheee!!!
For now I am experiencing a brief respite from having to wear the trays 22 hours a day. I only need to wear them when I go to bed. It feels…weird. Like I’m forgetting to do something.
But that will end soon enough when I get the call that my new trays are in and refinement begins!
I have been meditating every day and practicing doing things mindfully, and dumb shit still does bother me. At least it takes up more of my mental energy than I feel it deserves.
There was a post that popped up on my Facebook feed (isn’t that the way these things always start?), and I’ve was thinking about it off and on for most of yesterday. The person posted in one of the Village’s community groups that he was upset because he ordered pizza delivered but didn’t tip the delivery guy, and the delivery guy got sarcastic with him, thanking him for the (no) tip. No mention was made of poor service. Mr. No Tip chose not to tip for his own reasons.
So Mr. No Tip felt he had to justify his actions (poor, single dad with no car) and complain that he doesn’t get tipped for his work, and seek assurance from the Facebook community that he was right, goddammit, and the delivery guy was wrong and let’s all talk about it and get worked up and hopefully delivery guy gets fired and the named pizza business takes a hit for employing someone so rude.
Well, this wasn’t explicitly said, but why else wouldn’t you just shake it off and move on with your life?
I think I know. Because Mr. No Tip just might have felt like a bit of shitheel for no tipping, and then he gets called on it, so now he feels even worse and therefore has to take measures to feel good about himself again, online. I’m no therapist (thank goddess, eh?) but I’m just supposin’.
Anyways, I read the comments (I know, I know…sigh) and people were commenting on how a tip is not a given and yeah, they had problems too with said business and drivers…but what about poor servers, yada yada. The general consensus was that the driver never should have said what he did. And I agree.
Perhaps “war” was too strong a term in this instance. But still entertaining AF.
But the driver didn’t complain on the community forum about that douche that stiffed him for a tip or call him out by his name*, so I focused on Mr. No Tip’s behaviour instead.
And this got me thinking all kinds of thoughts. I tried to not think about Mr. No Tip himself, whom I’ve met IRL and who has not impressed me with other whiny shit things he has posted. I tried instead to put myself in his shoes as I thought through what was posted.
Which was easy, because I have been in his brokeass shoes. And when we couldn’t afford to tip someone for service, guess what? We didn’t eat out. We didn’t order in. We made do with what was in the kitchen cupboard.
Money was always tight growing up. When we went out for the day as a family, Mom made sandwiches and the Coleman stove was packed so we could have soup and tea to go with our meal. Because there was no extra money for restaurant food, not even at a cheap diner. We picnicked at a roadside rest area instead.
Once a year, my parents treated themselves (and later, us kids too) to a meal out for their anniversary. They saved up the money (including tip) to go out for a real treat – Chinese food. They didn’t say: We are supporting 5 people on 1 immigrant working man’s salary and we can barely make ends meet and this is our only meal out for the next 12 months, so we are entitled to not tip.
They tipped, because that is what you do in our society when you receive good service at restaurants and the like. You don’t make your brokeass life the server’s problem. If you can’t afford the tip, stay home. If you can’t afford the tip, don’t order delivery.
That doesn’t mean you have to tip – but if the service is decent, you should tip and you should factor that into the cost of your meal before you go out or order in. That’s how I was raised.
In my younger days as a married adult, money was tight as well. I was still in university. I remember one of our first meals out as newlyweds – could’ve been an anniversary, I can’t remember – we thought we had enough cash with us to cover our meal and the tip but when the check arrived we found we had miscalculated. Oh shit. We were young and unprepared – no credit cards; debit cards were not a thing yet, nor ATMs; banks were closed; and I had left the chequebook at home. So we had to slink out of the restaurant without leaving a tip for our nice server. I left a note explaining that there was nothing wrong with the service; we were dumbasses who couldn’t add. I felt like a total shitheel that night. I never let that happen again.
I went back on Facebook later in the day and saw a post that said the original post (and comments) had been removed and Mr. No Tip has been removed from the group as well, by the group’s administrators (yet again). He was removed about a year ago too, for making an somewhat similar ranty post, with racial overtones that offended a lot of readers including yours truly. Then he popped up again a few months later, having rearranged his name on his Facebook account.
So, what does any of this have to do with mindfulness, you might be asking by now?
Like the cool cat at the top of the post, I was hoping that being more mindful would mean this kind of thing wouldn’t occupy so much of my brain on a November Sunday. But that is not what mindfulness is about actually. It is about taking a pause before automatically reacting. And in that pause, (hopefully) seeing and acting with more clarity. With mindfulness.
I paused yesterday. I did not fire off a comment (snarky or otherwise) to enter the fray. Which is something I might have done earlier. I did take a pause to not react, and instead to clarify my own thinking. And I recalled some nice (and some humbling) memories as I did so. And then I wrote it all down on Ye Olde Blogge, because…NaBloPoMo…hehehe.
Good to remember when my fingers get twitchy on Facebook.
Rock on,
The WB
*Mr. No Tip didn’t either (I doubt he knew his name), but he did name the business involved which I think ultimately led to his post being deleted.
On Friday I made a post of some favourite Canadian music artists of mine. I deliberately left off one very talented artist because of one song that just makes me gnash my teeth whenever I hear it.
City and Colour – The Girl. Go ahead and take a listen. I’ll be here when you come back.
A lot of people love this song. They think it is tender and romantic. It makes my blood boil.
Dallas Green sings: You sacrifice so much of your life in order for this to work.
And: If you were to leave; fulfil someone else’s dreams, I think I might totally be lost.
I end up mentally (or actually, if I’m alone) screaming whenever this song comes on the radio:
Oh yeah, what about her own fucking dreams, huh?! Why is The Girl’s only purpose to fulfil someone else’s dreams? What about her own dreams? Why does she have to sacrifice so much of her own fucking life to make the relationship work? Where is your sacrifice, Dude?!?!
Lately I’ve been thinking about this violent reaction I have to what most people would say is a gentle and loving tribute to someone in the artist’s life.
If you’re acquainted with this blog or know me in person, you’re probably shaking your head right now and thinking it’s so bloody obvious. And yes, it is to me now. I hate the lyrics in this song because It. Is. About. Me.
I’m the one who sacrificed her own dreams for most of my adult life to support the two husbands I committed to. Men who either were or would have been totally lost (at least temporarily) when/if I left.
So I’m furious with this song because it reminds me that I alone allowed this to happen. I willingly drank the Kool-Aid. And I’m still not at peace with myself for doing this. Although it is getting better.
A valuable lesson for me to remember: that when I have a violent reaction to something that doesn’t warrant that much emotion there is some inner work I need to do.
My apologies to City and Colour for omitting them from my Friday post. It’s not you; it’s me. Really.
