L is for the Lake – Preparing for a Badass Retirement #AtoZChallenge

L is for living the Lake Life

When my sisters and I were little, my parents and grandparents would go for their annual 2 week vacation together. Each year during that time period we would head up to Mattawa, to a rented cottage. This was before the tent-trailer/trailer camping phase (sans grandparents) of our lives began.

I absolutely loved staying at the Blanchard family’s cottages, located on a private lake.

Every (very early) morning was spent watching the sun rise from our little aluminum boat, poles expectantly dangling above the water. Every evening was spent the same way, this time watching the sun go down and using a flashlight to get back to the dock in the near darkness.

We caught so much fish we had it for breakfast (catfish with our eggs and bacon) and supper (perch, bass or pike). At first it was great. But after a week of this we kids used to beg Mom: “Please, no more fish! Can’t we have pork chops tonight please???”

Days were spent exploring the property and swimming in the lake. There was a little pond at the end of a trail in the bush near the cottage, that housed the baby fish used to stock the lake. I loved to go there and check on their progress.

There was a tiny tuck shop at the main house and every day Mom would give us a dime (a whole dime!!!) with which to buy ourselves a treat – it ended up being a chocolate bar, usually. This was unbelievably thrilling to us as kids as we didn’t have any sweets at our house, except for special occasions.

My middle sister (the youngest was still too young to accompany us) would invariably pipe up that she wanted whatever I was getting, which earned her the nickname “Me-Too” from Mrs. Blanchard.

Once back home, I would often lay awake at night and relive those carefree, happy weeks every summer at the cottage. I felt unbearably homesick for that part of the province at times, and vowed I would find a way to live there – on a lake – when I grew up.

Well, I grew up and did not end up north of here, living lakeside, for a multitude of reasons.

But little Me-Too managed to do it! And I was reminded of my childhood vow when I visited her and her wife at their lovely property last summer.

Corry Lake Sunset

This got me thinking that I have nothing stopping me from relocating to a waterfront property, once I am no longer tied to an area due to proximity to work. There are so many lakes in this province of mine (including 4 Great Lakes) that it will be hard to choose the exact “right” one for me.

For sure, my dream property has to be close to hiking and walking trails and be ideal for kayaking, stand-up paddle boarding, and swimming.

(Fishing has lost its thrill for me so that doesn’t factor into my decision…something I never could have foreseen. I haven’t fished in years and last time I did I surprisingly felt so sorry for the beautiful fish I hauled out of the lake, I released it right away – much to my first husband’s chagrin. So I started leaving my pole on the shore and bringing a book onto the boat with him instead.)

Obviously a move like this is a huge decision and one that requires a lot of thought and research. Wouldn’t it be funny if it became my turn to be “Me-Too”?

Rock on,

The WB

K is for Knapsack – Preparing for a Badass Retirement #AtoZChallenge

K is for Knapsack, which means hitting the road (or trail)!

When I see my knapsack I think of hiking trails, road trips and camping.

One of my biggest dreams for my retirement is being able to “hit the road” and explore North America (and it’s byways and hiking trails), for several weeks at a time. I haven’t quite settled on whether I will do this from an RV (but quite small, like a VW microbus) or haul a trailer behind me (also small, like a T@B or T@G or – if I win a lottery – an Airstream Bambi!), or just stay at motels. It may end up being “all of the above”, depending on the type/length of trip and as I try things out to figure on what’s best for me.

I camped a lot growing up, and also as a young wife and mother. Tents, trailers, tent trailers…I’ve experienced them all. I loved the camping life and am confident I will again. I have found people who camp to be generally the friendliest and most helpful of people. Wherever we went, campers were always there for each other.

However, I’m a bit nervous about hauling something behind me as I’ve never done it solo. Luckily, there are support systems out there for female camping enthusiasts, like Sisters on the Fly and Girl Camper.

I believe SOTF will even assign the newbie a mentor to offer encouragement and answer questions about camping and hauling a trailer, as a lone female. I like their rules for their outings: “No Men, No Kids, Be Nice, Have Fun.” They are big on “me-time” and getting together as women-only to rejuvenate and re-energize, sans daily responsibilities – hence the “no men, no kids” rule. And their motto: “We have more fun than anyone.” It’s a group I think I will explore further as I get closer to retirement. From the information on their website (and the pictures of the so-cute decked-out trailers – many vintage), it certainly does look like they have a lot of fun. And you don’t even need to own a trailer or even a tent for that matter, to be a Sister.

Girl Camper (Motto: Going places. Doing things.) offers a regular podcast on all things “girl camper”, no surprises there. I’ve listened to a few podcasts so far and the interchange between the host (Janine Pettit) and the guest speaker is often a real hoot. These are the campers and camping enthusiasts I remember from my younger days! Having fun and living life, telling funny stories around the nightly campfire, and always available to help a fellow camper out.

Yep, that’s my tribe.

Rock on (and don’t forget your knapsack!),

The WB

 

 

 

 

E is for Experiences – Preparing for a Badass Retirement #AtoZChallenge

E is for Experiencing Life More Deeply

First – Housekeeping: for the past couple of days myself and some readers have been experiencing trouble making or replying to comments on ye olde blogge. I replied to 2 comments this morning without issue. This is since upgrading to the latest version of WordPress. I hope this means the problem is resolved. If you do get the “white screen of death” when trying to publish a comment, please try again. It has worked for me the second time, each time. I am now in the habit of copying my comment before hitting publish, just in case. But I had no issues this morning and am hopeful this means things are back to normal now.

Retirement is a time for experiencing things you didn’t have time for when working. Like taking a month-long road trip across Canada. Or volunteering your time in a developing nation. Or participating in a 10 day Vipassana retreat. Or going to India to study yoga. Or visiting Australia, New Zealand and Japan – all in one trip.

Or committing to an intense, time-consuming goal. Like training for a full marathon, or committing to do every race in the Rock ‘n Roll Half Marathon series. Or hiking the Bruce Trail in its entirety in one year. Or spending a whole week just drawing and painting. I could go on but I think you get the picture.

These things are infinitely more do-able with that extra 40 hours per week and unlimited (hehehe) vacation days.

These are just some of the ideas I have rolling around in my brain. I am sure if I gave it some more time and thought I could come up with a list as long as my arm of experiences I would like to commit to. Or at least investigate further.

I plan on being very open to new experiences and to keep on saying yes! to them for as long as I can. This widow has a lot of catching up to do, once she lifts her nose away from the grindstone.

Rock on,

The WB

 

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As a Woman I Behave Like a Prey Animal, Albeit a Badass One

We interrupt today’s Grace and Frankie binge-watching session to bring you the following public service musings, sponsored by WB Industries…

I was recently asked if I ever worried about my safety when out on my solo trail walks and I tossed off a quick “Nope, never think about that when heading out the door.”

Later, (on the trail, where I do my best thinking) I thought about that statement and have come to realize it is undeniably true and untrue AT THE SAME TIME. It’s true that I don’t think about personal safety when I head out the door. (Unless weather conditions are poor, but I think we all know that when women talk about personal safety outdoors it is about just one thing 99.99% of the time. We are talking about being assaulted by others men.)

The reason that I don’t think about this is only because my protection mechanisms are so automatic by now that I don’t even realize I am performing them anymore. Like any good little prey animal, they have become instinctive. They no longer register as conscious thought. So you see I am a bit of a liar, liar pants-on-fire.

This week I paid close attention to these “instincts” when I was performing my training walks for my upcoming half-marathon event. What was I doing subconsciously or barely consciously to prepare for and to execute my walks? The answers were enlightening to me.

First, I never wear headphones. I see a lot of people wear them outdoors when exercising but I will never be one of them. I want to be aware of my surroundings at all times. I want to hear traffic when on the streets and other hikers or bikers or walkers when on the trails. Headphones (or earbuds) have their place. On the treadmill. Where you will (almost) never find me because although a prey animal, I am not a hamster.

Second, I don’t take any valuables with me, except my phone.

Thirdly, I walk stride with purpose. I have always been a fast walker. I (think I, hope I) radiate “don’t fuck with me”-ness while out and about. And I make direct eye contact with every other person on the trail and greet them. So they know I see them.

I got my eyes on you, potential bad person!

This week I even found myself scanning the ground for a weapon (a rock, a pointy stick, whatevs…) when I saw a couple of males standing around on the trail up ahead. Turns out they were preparing to fish from the riverbank but when I first noticed them I didn’t see the fishing gear lying on the ground, just the unusual sight of 2 men just standing a bit off to the side.

Holy crap, I thought, I was actually looking for a weapon to defend myself with! My mind “went there” as soon as I saw those men. Upon reflection, this is not the first time I have automatically done this. I do it ALL. THE. TIME. when faced with anything “unusual” on the trail (or the street for that matter).

Nope, I am not paranoid or a scaredy-cat. I am just a woman living and trying to enjoy life in a rape culture.

When I was on the trail this week thinking and noticing all of these things I remembered the first time I really got scared when out walking by myself. I was a young teenager (13-14?) walking from my house on outskirts of town to my girlfriend’s (in closest subdivision) on a quiet weekend afternoon. I had to walk through an open agricultural/industrial area for close to a kilometer. It being a Sunday in the early 1970s, there were not many cars on this stretch of the road nor many (if any) people working in the factories. And certainly no other people out walking.

And then a white van slowed down beside me. The back doors were open and there were 4 men inside. Two in the front seats and two sitting in the open back. They began to catcall me and coax me to respond and get in the van with them. I ignored them and kept up my steady pace but inside I was frightened to death and trying to figure out how to best escape them if they decided to get out and chase me. Then another car drove by and the van sped up and drove out of sight. I felt immense relief until…the van pulled up beside me again and the harassment continued.

When it happened to me this time, my fear turned to rage instead. I had an umbrella in my right hand (forecast called for rain and I was prepared), so without changing pace or looking at those fools I raised the umbrella and slowly and deliberately tapped it into my open left hand.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three times.

You wanna mess with me? Well, I won’t go down without one hell of a fight. Consider yourselves warned.

Then I brought the umbrella back down to my side, all the time keeping up my steady pace and looking straight ahead, chin raised defiantly. Message delivered.

Now, I don’t know if this worked (doubtful) or if it was because I was now quickly approaching “civilization” (the subdivision was just ahead), but the van pulled away again and this time didn’t come back.

I didn’t get a license plate number and I didn’t report it. I already knew, even at my tender age, that somehow this incident would be seen as my fault.  (And selfishly I didn’t want my emerging freedoms to be cut off by parents worrying about their daughter being accosted whenever she left the house. )

I had provoked them somehow. How was I dressed? Were my jeans or T-shirt too tight? It was the 70s – everyone wore tight jeans and t-shirts. Maybe there was too much wiggle in my walk. What did I think would happen when out walking by myself? Etc. Etc.

I knew this because these were the thoughts going through my head. Like a good little woman-child of the 1970s, I was trying to figure out what I had done to bring this “attention” on myself.

Thus began my transformation from human being to hyper-aware prey animal (and, let it be said: future badass).

I wonder if men can even begin to comprehend feeling this way when out walking solo, on the trail or anywhere.

Apparently not, because just a couple of days ago I came across a post on Facebook by Backpacker Magazine linking to an article entitled How to Avoid Seeming Creepy to Solo Women Hikers. I made the mistake (I know, I know) of reading the comments section. There were some good comments from men but also a lot of stuff like this gem by a guy named Spear Chucker in response to a woman: If you are getting eaten by a bear, I will keep walking. I won’t even tell anyone.

Yeah, so mature. You hurt my man-baby (thank you Lindy West, for this) feelings so now I am picking up my toys and leaving the sandbox, with a vengeance. WAAAAAH!!!! Take that you woman, you!

Dude, if you are that offended by the article and comments made by a woman, clearly you ARE the target audience.

There were other negative comments and arguments. I’m paraphrasing tremendously of course, but this was the gist:

Women feel scared on the trail when approached by men? Can’t be our fault. What is wrong with these women?

One little rape and they become suspicious, man-hating femi-nazis. LIGHTEN UP, WOMEN.

Get some therapy. The good kind.

And this sparkler: how am I expected to find a date on the trail if I can’t hit on the women I come across there?

The lack of empathy and consideration that someone else’s world-view or experience could not be like yours (and yet strangely enough, VALID) is mind-boggling. Don’t these men have women in their lives? Women that they could ask if this is indeed how they truly feel when alone and outdoors?

I have yet to meet a woman who has not felt anxious or threatened, even for just a few seconds, when outside and alone. The woman who has never rethought a plan to go somewhere because it might not be safe. The woman who has never been catcalled or harassed by men on the street.

If you are that woman, please contact me because I want to know where you have been cloistered all your life. It would make a great retreat, I am thinking.

In the meantime…

Rock your bad selves on,

The WB

Almost Wordless Wednesday – Barbados 2017 Edition

I was up with the sun every morning, walking the beach and boardwalk.

Bajan Sunrise on South Coast
Bajan Sunrise on the South Coast
Morning Glory
Bajan sunrise through the palm fronds
Moody morning shot
Pottery wall behind Blakey’s On The Boardwalk.
Street Mural just off the Boardwalk near the pottery wall. Looks like the artist was inspired by it.
Sea Turtle trail in the sand (and nest)
Bougainvillea on the Boardwalk
Gorgeous wall and steps along the Boardwalk
One of the friends I met along the way
Shy crab scuttling away
Another crabby friend
Boardwalk ended, walking back to the hotel for breakfast and a snorkel

We did an island tour one day – to see the wild, eastern coast of Barbados.

Looking down on the eastern coast from Cherry Tree Hill. Our guide explained the haze as dust blowing across the Atlantic from the Sahara desert.
Big rocks at Bathsheba
Barbados – rugged East Coast
Salt spray-ravaged St. John’s Church
Historical St. John’s Church, Barbados

Sunsets were also a good time to be strolling on the beach. Usually on the way to dinner at one of the many great restaurants near us.

Sun setting in beautiful Barbados
Another fine day slips into night
Typical Bajan sunset on the South Coast

Rock on,

The WB

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A Very Modest Canada 150 Project

This little baby is on its way to me!

My beautiful country turns 150 years old this year. I have been wondering what I could do in this special year to celebrate/commemorate the milestone. I was around when Canada turned 100, though at age 7 there wasn’t a whole lot I remember about it, other than that catchy Bobby Gimby song.

And Expo 67, in Montreal. Not that I visited but boy, we sure heard about it in school. I recall there was a mobile unit that toured the country’s schools, giving us a mini-version of it along with other Centennial stuff.

I’m not likely to be around for Canada turning 200. Or if I am, I’ll be too damn old to do much more than watch others celebrate.

SO THIS IS IT, WB. NOW WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?

I once had a baby on Canada Day – the lovely Mizz J – but I can’t keep dragging that up as my commitment to/celebration of this country all these years later. Or can I? Hmmmm…

I could have been drinking beer and watching fireworks like everyone else, you know.

I have been stewing away on this for about a month now. Then this morning I heard a DJ on my local (rock, what else?) station mention that Parks Canada was handing out free passes to all National Parks to celebrate the sesquicentennial. EUREKA! Maybe I could visit all the National Parks in my province of Ontario as at least one way of me celebrating Canada 150?

I hopped on Ye Olde Interwebs and quickly ordered my pass from the Parks Canada site. Then I checked out which National Parks were located in Ontario.

Only 6 – 5 within an easy day’s drive (or less) of my usual stomping grounds – totally doable, amiright?

OK, OK – so not exactly the stretchiest goal I’ve ever committed to, but that’s not what I am trying to do here. Part of me thinks it would be so cool to hit every National Park in Canada this year, but that objective is not realistic for this (still) working woman.

I think I’ve only ever been to one – maybe two – of these Ontario parks so far in my life. For shame, for shame!  Shit, I realize I have probably been to more National Parks outside of Ontario than in it.

I’ve been very close to some of them, driven by others…but actually making a point of visiting the ones in my own province? Nope.

So 2017 is the year this is gonna change.

Rock on,

The WB

 

 

 

Nature is My Muse

Hamsa - Take 2
Hamsa – Take 2

Dear Blog,

Back at my current nemesis – the Hamsa – and feeling much better about this one.

For one thing, I didn’t use my hand this time (fingers too thin and long) and I was able to achieve a more “proper” hamsa outline.

Once again the natural world is featuring prominently in my design.

The Hamsa is supposed to be a symbol of protection, happiness and prosperity and I can think of no place I feel all of these things more than being out in nature.

This is as far as I can get tonight. There is a battle going on inside my body – between my immune system and a viral invader. So far I think the immune system is winning, but I need to rest to give it a fighting chance.

G’night Blog.

Rock on,

The WB

 

Survivor!

survivor-atoz [2016] v2

And congratulations to all my fellow survivors! We did it! Some of us did it again! (Year 2 for me.)

Yay everybody!!!

What a weekend for finishing up challenges this was. Mizz J and I got our Niagara section end-to-end badges on Saturday – look:

Yes, we were also awarded chocolate "Congratulations" bars. Which were inhaled immediately after this selfie.
We were also awarded chocolate “Congratulations” bars from Monk’s Chocolate. Which were inhaled immediately after this selfie.

Eighty kilometres down. Only 805 to go. Tobermory or bust!  😉

Saturday was another stellar hiking day. Eight Saturdays spent outdoors with nary a drop of rain. Incredible luck with the weather.

The previous week's hike, as captured by the Garmin.
The previous week’s hike, as captured by the Garmin.
Saturday's hike data.
Saturday’s hike data.
We saw at least a thousand of these. Trilliums - the provincial flower.
We saw at least a thousand of these in the woods. Trilliums – the provincial flower.
Falling water.
Falling water.
Only a trickle right now, but still more falling water.
Only a trickle right now, but still more falling water.
Always seeing Lake Ontario through the trees and in the distance.
Always seeing Lake Ontario in the distance, through the trees.
Forest floor carpeted with trilliums and trout lilies.
The forest floor was carpeted with trilliums and trout lilies.
Thirty Mile Creek
Thirty Mile Creek

I think I’m suffering a bit of a post-challenge let-down right now.

Mizz J and I are wondering if to continue on our own or leave off hiking for a bit till the fall. The next few weekends are tied up with other scheduled events and by the time we are free to hike again, the heat/humidity and biting insects will be out in full force. It may be time to switch to other pursuits like kayaking instead.  Oh goody!

Rock on,

The WB

W is for…

W

…Walking.

Sometimes the simplest things are the best, you know?

What could be more simple than walking, for those who are able-bodied enough to do so?

You don’t even need to think about how to do it. You just think about where you need to go and magically your body takes you there!

Which is why walking meditation works so well. The act of walking is so automatic for those of us blessed with working legs that our minds can be freed up for other pursuits while we are walking.

The steady rhythm of walking puts me in a mental state that allows for deep thought (0r the distinct lack thereof, if I am trying to meditate).  I often solve problems or come up with fresh plans while I am out walking.

My spirit is renewed by the sights, smells and sounds of nature. My body is energized by the deeper breathing involved in fast walking, and the upright posture that allows my lungs to inflate fully. My mind is rested by the beautiful scenery and the deliberate shutting down of inner chatter (when actively trying to meditate).

Walking can be done just about anywhere and needs no special equipment.

Walking is too often taken for granted by those of us who do it without thinking. Guilty, as charged.

Rejoice if you can walk!

Rock on and walk (mindfully) on,

The WB