ODE TO MY GRANDDAUGHTER

      They say time is fleeting, passing in the wink of an eye. One moment you are playing hop scotch with your grade two friends. The next moment you are going home from the hospital, your brand new baby in tow, gazing at this amazing little creature who has been given into your care. Another twinkling of an eye - your little boy is all grown up and there, before you, is his own bundle of joy. A squirming little baby with spiky yellow hair and a big toothless grin – your grandchild – and you fall instantly, head over heels, in love with her.

      Each time you see her she becomes more endearing, more engaging, more lovable, funnier, smarter and just all around more wonderful. The memories of times spent with my granddaughter have lately come flooding back to me.

      She's seven. We are playing miniature golf when I discover she has a sense of humour. In fact, she is quite comical and makes me laugh. At seven? Walking beside her, she looks up at me, the innocence of childhood on her face, and she slips her hand into mine. We walk along like that for blocks. My heart melts.

She sits on my lawn gathering up some snails, painstakingly naming each of them. She decides who is the aunt, the mother, the brother, where they are going and where they have been. The next day she searches for her family of snails only to discover they have moved on.

      She is nine. She has fallen asleep on the floor while we are watching a kids movie she has chosen. Unable to awaken her with gentle nudges, I try to lift her dead weight from the floor, nudging some more, still trying not to startle her but she is dead to the world. Eventually I need to shake the goodness out of her to get a response and she stirs. With her eyes still closed, we walk to her bedroom where I watch her fall back asleep, comfy in bed, her face a picture of contentment.

      Ordering drinks to go at Starbucks; a sticky, cold concoction covered in whipped cream for her and a frothy cappuccino for me. She wants to carry the drinks to the car. In order to open the door, she places the drinks on the roof before either one of us remembers the sun roof is open. We watch in horror as the frothy, sticky cold concoction, and the hot cappuccino, splatter all over the inside of the car. Her face registers first shock when she realizes what's happened until she glances at me and sees I can barely hold back the laughter. Together, through fits of giggles, we clean up the sticky mess that is oozing into each little crevice of the leather upholstery

      We spend glorious afternoons at The Children's Discovery Museum, a wonderful hands-on, interactive museum that teaches children through play. We play spy. I am the leader and she the spy who has to go from phone to phone and listen to my instructions. At the first phone she is to go to the super market area and purchase a box of corn flakes. At the next phone she is to dress up in a medieval costume, but switch the hats. We do this for hours, me barking orders and she obeying; she takes it very seriously. At one point in our play, she looks up at me and says, “Grandma, you're so much fun.” Again, that melting heart.

      One day I see the little tomboy who refuses to wear anything other than sport team jerseys and jeans suddenly choose a new dress to wear for her first day of school.

      Two summers ago she visited with us for most of her high school vacation and was put to work around the house to earn her pocket money. She washed windows, mowed the lawn, dusted and polished furniture, made her bed each day and painted a shed. In the evenings we played cards or a board game and laughed ourselves silly. While riding our bikes together, just her and me, we talked. Long conversations about life, love, drugs, sex, dating, there were no off-limit subjects. What a wonderful gift to have grown into that kind of relationship with her. “Grandma, I really like talking to you. I don't know why but I feel like I can say anything to you.”

      She's 17, in grade 12 and about to embark on one of the most exciting times of her life. This November she has asked me to accompany her to an Open House at a university she would like to attend next year. And, she wants me to come along and share in part of this with her. Just us two. A girl's week-end away, grandmother and granddaughter. Am I pleased? You bet!

Family Sit-Coms, Then and Now

     With the bizarre exit of Charlie Sheen from its cast, the television show, Two and a Half Men, has been in the news a lot lately. The show revolves around the antics of a wealthy bachelor whose life is filled with precarious relationships that rarely last more than two nights. His glaringly staid brother, who is going through a divorce, comes to live with him. The brother's obnoxious son visits on week-ends as stipulated by his overbearing and demanding ex-wife. Meanwhile, at the house now shared by the brothers, scantily clad and extremely dumb young girls romp. The staid soon to be divorced brother can only simultaneously gaze in horror at the lifestyle his brother lives and wistfully covet it.

      It got me thinking about sit-coms, in particular family oriented sit-coms and how they've changed. Back when I was a kid a television family was always a husband and wife, two or more children and a dog who wandered in and out of the house. Dad went off to a never quite revealed job wearing a suit and tie, returned later, removed his suit jacket and donned a cardigan. Dad sits in his chair reading the paper and Mom is in the kitchen (a very clean and unused kitchen I might add) cutting a cucumber. The kids are in their tidy rooms. The fun begins. Leaving her kitchen to join Dad in the living room Mom sits on the arm of Dad's chair and relays, much to the delight of the audience if the laugh track is any gauge, what Kathy, or the Beaver, or Dennis, or any of the other sit-com kids has done. Using modest amounts of female trickery she gets Dad to see the kids weren't really trying to be bad, they just made an error in judgement. Dad sets aside the paper, makes sure his tie is straight and calls the kids downstairs. Sitting them down he solemnly, and in a wonderfully worded non-lecture, lets them know the error of their ways. When finished he tousles their heads one by one.

      One child, speaking for them all, apologizes. “Gee willikers, Dad. Golly, we sure didn't mean to upset Mr. Wilson. Gosh, I see now how wrong it was. Thanks, Dad.” Lesson learned, they all smile and wander into the dining room to eat the elaborate dinner that was prepared from one cucumber.

      A far cry from the kid on Two and a Half Men drinking under age, vomiting into a toilet while Uncle Charlie sits on the side of the tub, drink in hand, smoking a cigar. There is no carefully worded caution, there is no subdued apology from the kid with promises to never do it again. It ends with Uncle Charlie, the kid's Dad and the kid sitting on Charlie's deck, observing the Pacific Ocean. No lesson learned.

      Is this perhaps a little more realistic than the sit-coms of old? Or are they both far-fetched and over the top caricatures depicting the times? Did any of us actually know a family like the Andersons, the Cleavers or the Stone family of The Donna Reed Show. Who of us danced down the stairs in our ballet slippers and full skirts to announce to the living room in general we had a date. Did any one have a smart alecky friend like Eddie Haskell? “Good evening Mrs. Cleaver. That's a fine dress you're wearing today.”

      Based very loosely on current trends and morals sit-coms take what we see around us and exaggerate them for laughs and ratings. Families like the Cleavers evolved into families like the ones on My Three Sons and The Brady Bunch, one parent or blended families. Again, depicting or acknowledging that not all families are the same. All In The Family was a new kind of family and perhaps a more realistic depiction of how people lived. Dad worked in a factory, didn't wear a cardigan, hung out at a bar and Mom didn't wear a string of pearls as she chopped her cucumber. There was only one child who worked to support her student husband. Now that's a family that we can probably all relate to!

      So, does Two and a Half Men depict our society today? What about Modern Family? In some ways I'm supposing both of them do. I'm also supposing that as long as they get laughs and ratings the networks will evolve family based sit-coms in whatever manner they choose. Who knows, we may once again see Moms chopping cucumbers wearing dresses and high heels but I somehow doubt it.

BRIDAL SHOWERS, THEN AND NOW

       I have attended two bridal showers this summer. Other than the fact that a girl was getting married and her female friends were gathering together to honour her and bestow gifts upon her there wasn't much that resembled the bridal showers back in the sixties.

Back 'in the day' bridal showers were staid affairs. Hosted usually by the Maid of Honour the bride was duped into going to her friend's home on some pretence such as to see the new kittens. As she walked into the house, hopefully wearing something awful, she was accosted by her friends jumping out from behind arm chairs and couches, dressed in straight skirts and madras tops yelling Surprise. Delightfully shocked the bride blushed and grinned from ear to ear thankful that she too was finally the main attraction at a Shower. There were no new kittens.

      And thus the shower officially began. Mindless games were played and gifts of measuring cups and egg cups were doled out to the winners. One of the guests, the one with more spunk than the rest, was busily writing down everything the bride said. These scribblings were then read out to signify what the bride will say on her honeymoon night. “Ooooh, it's perfect.” “Can you believe it? It's beautiful.” “I've never seen one like that before.” Such other witticisms were met with much laughing and embarrassment. The bride, made to sit in an arm chair decorated with paper wedding bells, opened her gifts one by one. Holding up tea towel after tea towel, pot holder after pot holder, tea cup after tea cup, smiling broadly from ear to ear, she told each guest that you can never have too many tea towels, pot holders, tea cups, etc.

      Lunch followed. Good luck to you if you were actually hungry. Little sandwiches of egg salad, tuna salad and cucumber, crusts carefully removed, were strategically placed on paper doilies. You count them and realize there are three per person. There is a pot of tea and some lemonade to drink. A cake is later produced with Congratulations written in icing, colour coordinated to match the paper doilies holding the sandwiches.

      I have been, in the past, to many showers that resemble what I have just described. In fact, I have been guilty of hosting a few too. It all sounds kind of silly but back then it wasn't. It was exciting and fun and we loved it. We were proud of our crustless sandwiches and our attempts to surprise the bride. We enjoyed watching the shocked faces of older relatives as we read the imaginary honeymoon conversation.

      The showers I've attend this summer were equally fun and oh so modern. One hostess grilled sausages, hamburgers and chicken burgers served with an array of salads and a little chocolate cake surrounded by tasty brownies, nanaimo bars and other such goodies. I didn't go hungry. We sat outside eating, drinking and visiting with family and friends. The bride was dressed appropriately because she knew about the shower. The gift assortment was mind boggling. A few tea towels, to be sure, along with beautiful glasses, a vase, an electric fan, two Adirondack chairs, champagne in a silver bucket, and on and on. Beautiful, well thought out gifts; even some clothing to take on her honeymoon.

      The best gift, in my humble opinion, was a beautiful and very sexy white nightie, a gift from the bride's 85 year old Grandmother. No one blushed. How times have changed.

      Then there was the “Tacky Theme” shower, the bride's second marriage. We guests dressed up in our most tacky outfits possible, a Vegas-style fake palm tree decorated the bride's chair and the wine flowed. The assortment of food was restaurant worthy. Her gifts were of the joke and tacky variety, a baseball cap that read Porn Star, an old LP entitled “Music to Keep Your Man Happy” and the like. Her main gift, a Keurig coffee maker complete with a selection of coffee, was presented to her from the group.

      One thing hasn't changed, though. The hat. That's right, The Hat. The pie plate with bows taped to it so that a silly picture of the bride can be taken. Both brides were obligated to continue this tradition. As they should. We have all worn that pie plate hat and it's only fair. Some traditions are just too grotesque and heart-warming to give up.

Give Me a Head With Hair

       All Baby-boomers remember the shocking play from the late sixties entitled 'Hair'. It was risque, boisterous and spawned quite a few top ten hits, including the title song, 'Hair'. Hair, and lots of it, was the subject of this song. 

     This got me to wondering. What do we women think about our hair? Don't most of us see our hair as the very essence of being female. We cut it, grow it, colour it, curl it, straighten it, style it, condition it, hot oil it, touch it, twirl it, swish it, flirt with it, hide behind it, and attract the opposite sex with it. It makes us feminine and, like pedicures and days at the spa, sets us apart from the males. It makes us girls.

      Being one of the above described women who is on a first name basis with her hairdresser, imagine, if you will, how I felt when shampooing my hair one day a huge handful came out. Staring at the many, many strands of hair coiled around my hand, in disbelief, I quickly ran my hands through my wet hair again. Even more. I was horrified, shocked and devastated. I started researching the internet. Female baldness. Alopecia. Scary stuff. There were many causes of female baldness but the one that I zeroed in on was not baldness at all. The technical term, telogen effluvium, is caused by trauma, having a baby, or major illness. Bingo. A quick trip to the doctor confirmed my findings. No, I haven't had a baby, at least not in the last 37 years and I had suffered no mental trauma. I had been ill. As a matter of fact, just before Christmas of last year I had been hospitalized, dramatically ill. So ill, in fact, that I spent seven days in the ICU being pumped full of antibiotics, fluids, and needing oxygen.

      After the initial 'shedding' my hair fell out in huge handfuls every day for two months. Then one day the shedding stopped. Just like that <snapping of fingers> there was no more shedding. Although I had been assured and reassured by the doctor that my hair loss was temporary so much of it had been lost that it seemed to me total baldness was my destiny. I would hazard a guess that over one-half of my hair fell out in those two months. When the shedding did stop the remaining hair was so incredibly damaged and dry it resembled the hair you see on a coconut; brittle, lifeless, sticky-uppy.

In my picture above this article my hair is in longish curls. No more, they are all gone. The coconut fuzz had to be cut to allow the new hair to catch up.A new short look was the order of the day.

      This is where a fine hairdresser can be a life-saver. Someone so wonderful you consider inserting her name into your Will, bequeathing her most of your worldly goods. Well, not quite. Good tips and referrals will suffice.

      Hair cut number one saw me sporting a kind of spiky little number that required a lot less product than before. Where I once used a golf ball sized squeeze of styling mousse a dime sized squirt now did the job. It dries much quicker too. Hair cut number two was just a small snip here and there. I can feel new thickness in my hair; also a crazy itchiness of my scalp as new growth comes through. Every now and then I find abstract wisps of hair around my hair line that won't sit up or sit down, just twist in a weird kind of unstructured curl. But do I mind? Absolutely not. Perfect hair has never been my goal. Too thick, too curly-headed and too lazy to manage the stretching and blow drying necessary to keep up a perfect coif. Too much humidity to worry about my straightened hair frizzing up on me. I have always kept my curly hair in a natural state and the new hair is as tightly coiled as a spring.

      Just recently I have actually had some compliments on my new 'summer cut'. Cute, easy, great for summer are some of the reactions I've received. Wow. Going to my hairdresser next week for hair-do number three, I'll enjoy waiting for the colour to take, seeing what style she is going to produce as she snip, snip, snips away. I like hearing her promise that by Christmas I'll have all my hair back. Yes, it's vanity for sure. But it's hair after all. The essence of being female and I actually like being female. And like the song says, Give Me a Head With Hair.

Slang - Then and Now

     I like, heard these two chicks talking, right? And they were like, totally dissing. The one chick goes, “Yeah.” and so the other chick goes, “No way.” and so the other chick goes, “He was, like, totally checking you out.”

      Well, you get the drift. Overhearing conversations today can sound a bit like that. You wonder what the point of the discussion is because the kids talking seem to be using a code from which you are excluded.. Which got me to wondering. Has slang changed that much since we boomers were teens walking around confusing the older generation with our usage of the language?

      Words of the 60's like 'boss', bitchen' or 'groovy', adjectives used to describe something wonderful, great, exceptional, can be compared with today's adjectives 'sweet', 'awesome', 'pimp'. Instead of saying, “What a bitchen' car.” today we might hear “That car is sooooo totally pimp.” Boomers might describe as 'a flake out', 'nowhere', 'out of it' something they didn't like. Today the expression we hear a lot is 'lame' which seems to cover almost everything and everyone. “Dude, that homework assignment is lame.” If talking about a person you didn't like, a boomer might call them a 'winner', 'punk', 'reject'. Today's slang will describe them as a 'loser', ' failure', 'douche'. Conversely, someone you did like was 'cherry', 'choice'. Today someone you like is 'clutch', a 'stand-up guy/girl'.

       What I thought was interesting about slang was the amount of words that are still in existence. Some of these words have the original meaning, like, 'bummer', 'chick', 'dough', 'fake it', 'fuzz', 'guy,' 'hang-out', 'loaded' (meaning drunk or having money), 'man', 'pad', 'pipe down', 'plastered', 'weirdo', 'you know', to name a few. Other 60s slang words are still used today but their meaning has been altered with years of usage. 'Clean' used to mean knowing the right things to do so you were cool, “That chick is clean. No wonder she's so popular.” Today it is interpreted as being off of drugs and alcohol, “Charlie Sheen was clean for about a week.”. The commonly used 'dude' pretty much applies, today, to anyone, male or female. In the 60s 'dude' meant a boy the speaker did not like,

      Back in the 60s 'hang-up' was used to describe something annoying or bothersome such as “Having to be home by ten is such a hang-up.” Today we use it when talking about a preoccupation, fixation, or psychological block, as in, “That girl has so many hang-ups, she can barely go outside any more.”

       When you hear someone talk about a 'hood' we have come to think of a neighbourhood but the original use of hood meant a juvenile delinquent and was a shortened form of hoodlum, those boys your mother warned you against.

      Both generations 'hang-out' at malls, 'check-out' the opposite sex, 'crack up' at something funny, 'knock' or criticize someone they don't like and use 'yeah' and 'you know' instead of pauses when talking.

      The similarities are subtle but the differences are huge between the two generations. The similarities, as I see them, are, two-fold. Slang barricades the older folks from understanding everything being said and to impress peers with your coolness. The differences, as I see them, are, slang today goes beyond the kids or younger people who use it. It has worked its way into the mainstream and is heard everywhere and by everyone. Boomer slang kind of died out as we got older. Since lots of modern slang got its start via television shows, sentences like “That is so not happening.” made their way slowly across the world. When watching something on television in the 60s such as “Ozzie and Harriett”, Ricky, who was portrayed as the epitome of cool, used words like 'neat' but they were already part of the culture, he didn't start the trend. I read an article a while ago that said the word 'like' will, in all likelihood, stay in our language and become the norm. Irritating as that may seem we will continue to hear sentences along the lines, “It was, like, so awesome.” As a boomer I am just thankful beyond belief that the word that stuck wasn't groovy.

Where's Bobby's Girl? Music of the 60s.

      I have been thinking lately about the songs of the 60s, when lyrics seemed to fall into two categories: boy lyrics and girl lyrics. Boy lyrics revolved around unrequited love in the style of Roy Orbison and Bobby Vinton or death and sadness songs such as Tell Laura I Love Her.

      Girl lyrics leaned toward desperation. Desperation to find true and lasting love. Songs of such neediness the singer throws herself at the feet of the object of her undying love. Songs like I Will Follow Him “I will follow him, Follow him wherever he may go.....” Or the hit, Johnny Get Angry, the lyrics begging the boyfriend to be more manly and get angry and....”I want a brave man, I want a cave man. Johnny show me that you care, really care for me.” The song implies that an angry boyfriend who yells at you and punches other people to show his love for you is desirable. In Bobby's Girl – the singer implores the heavens...”If I was Bobby's girl, If I was Bobby's girl, What a faithful thankful girl I'd be.” The word 'thankful' is just a little disturbing.

      Now, don't get me wrong. I loved those songs. I still do. But I wonder what impact those kinds of words had on impressionable young girls. The words seemed to be telling us we needed a man to look after us no matter what. We needed a man to validate our existence and make our lives full and meaningful and we should have been thankful when it happened?. Were we so desperate for love we would throw away any other ambitions and simply wait to be married to Johnny or Bobby or Bill thinking that was the end? Marriage was the end and there was nothing else beyond that? Kind of like fairy tales that end with the line, “And they lived happily ever after.”, taking for granted that the story ends right there with the marriage. Mission accomplished, nothing left to attain.

      What happened to us girls from the 60s who listened to 'desperation songs'? Did we all end up staring dreamily at a boy with a big head of Fabian type hair willing him to notice us? When he noticed us, did we forsake all others, even our closest girlfriends, and live only for his calls and our Friday night dates? Did the inevitable happen and we too got a fairy tale ending that read, 'And they lived happily ever after'?

      I've never believed that the words of a song could mold someone's life. I think those of us who danced to Johnny Angel in the arms of our high school sweethearts knew it was a song. When you're young, swaying to a slow song with your boyfriend is about as romantic as it gets. Once the music stopped or the song dropped out of the top 20 we moved on to the next hit. They were only words, after all, simple words meant to rhyme and fit the music for which they were written. They were meant to invoke some temporary emotions. Many of the girls who swayed to those songs with the dreamy look in their eyes became college graduates. Many fought, marched for and brought about change. Those same girls became legal minds and doctors and executives while raising families. Women with a purpose.

      We swayed to the sentimental words, clutched to the boyfriend of the moment. That didn't, in any way, mold our lives. At least, I don't believe it did. We were smart enough to know they were just words. Goofy, sentimental, simple yet compelling words set to lyrical music so we could dance. Now, when we hear those same songs on some oldie station, memories transport us back in time. Once again, wearing our culottes, madras shirts and penny loafers, we feel the arms of our high school sweetheart around us and, once more, dance to our favourite sentimental song.

Thoughts on Retirement

      You're soon to retire. You wonder, quite innocuously, what you will do to fill your time when you no longer have to work each day; when it's no longer necessary to pack all your social activities into a two day week-end. You foresee long restful days stretching lazily in front of you; leisurely cups of coffee in the morning, in a proper cup, healthy home cooked breakfasts, instead of take-out muffins grabbed on the run; time to sit and read the paper from cover to cover. And all those books you have been meaning to read? There will be time. Sound good?

      Then your mind takes a turn. The lighthearted imaginings of your future retirement seem suddenly sinister. Exactly what will you do to fill those long days? How long can you dawdle over coffee and toast? What's next? Your 'restful day stretching lazily in front of you' now seems more like an 'interminably long day' and you can't imagine what you will do past 7:30 am.

      Well, baby-boomers, I'm here to help. I'm here to tell you that retirement is great, wonderful, fun, enjoyable, fulfilling and worth every day of working that you've put in to get yourself to this point.

      I will say one word to all of you, though, who are about to retire.....volunteer. It's a wonderful opportunity to use your career skills. Just like working, volunteering is satisfying and useful but not mandatory. You may not get paid but you will get the satisfaction of accomplishment, meet new people and give back to your community. Mix it up. Have balance in your life. Use your skills, learn new ones, socialize with old and new friends, relax and enjoy it.

      Following are two typical days in the life of two retirees I shall call Mr. and Mrs. Retiree.

      Be awakened by the slurp, slurp slurp of a dog licking your face.. Peer out of window to discover if it has or hasn't snowed during the night. Mrs. Retiree troops downstairs with the dogs to feed them and let them outside. Returns ten minutes later, happy dogs in tow, carrying a cup of coffee and a cup of tea. Mr. and Mrs. Retiree (hereinafter referred to only as Mr. or Mrs.) sip on tea and coffee, read more of the book that is currently sitting on their end table. Discuss plans for the day. Mr. takes shower while Mrs. makes bed. Mrs. takes shower while Mr. prepares breakfast. Eating breakfast and clearing up kitchen are shared.

      It's a good snow day; cross country skiing gear is stowed on top of car, Mr. and Mrs. drive to Brockville Country Club for a couple of hours skiing, dogs running free beside them. Great exercise for all. Much discussion about the hot tea and lunch to come soon occurs.

      Mr., a volunteer on a couple of boards, works on the computer for a few hours to organize his report for an up-coming meeting. Mrs., who writes for a local newspaper, paces around trying to get an inspiring idea. Instead of pacing, Mrs. decides to work on the newsletter she produces for a local organization and up-date her two blogs. Mrs. then goes to a meeting (she too is a volunteer on a board) for the afternoon while Mr. goes to a music lesson. One of the joys of retirement is doing something you have always promised yourself you would do if only you had the time. Re-learning an instrument from your youth is one such endeavour. That evening while Mr. practices with the local concert band, Mrs. attends a book club meeting. They meet up at home at around 9:00 pm., have a quick snack and settle in for the evening to watch The Good Wife.

      Now it's summer. Same Mr. & Mrs., different day. Same morning ritual except change sentence referring to 'check for snow' to read 'check for rain'.

      Mrs. will play tennis in the morning and Mr., (perhaps) will mow the lawn before it's too hot. Both Mr. & Mrs. take dogs for a 4.5 k walk; dogs happily rest for the remainder of the day. Some gardening is done at a quite leisurely pace – no week-end rushing to finish the job for this retired Mr. and Mrs. After lunch, trumpet in hand, Mr. goes to a local school where he helps out with the music department. Mrs. reads a brilliant book that she can't put down until it's time to go and teach tennis to local youth. That evening Mr. barbeques and Mrs. prepares salads. They eat dinner sitting on their deck watching the boats sail down the St. Lawrence. Or, if they are so inclined, they may walk up to the local pub and have a meal there while checking out the passers-by on King Street.

      Some days are busier than others. Overlapping obligations can mean that no one is home all day long and other days are the long, leisurely ones that stretch out lazily. Those are the days when sitting on the deck and watching the world go by is almost a luxury. As I write this, Mr. is at the home of some friends helping them to erect a dog run. They are retired, we are retired, it can be done on a Friday morning. Retirees can socialize as much and as often as they wish. There are mid-afternoon get togethers, unheard of when we were all working; long dinner parties where no one has to run off because of 'work tomorrow'; ladies meeting for lunch every couple of weeks; monthly poker games; impromptu visits while walking the dogs; meeting old friends on the streets; weekly music days all balanced by volunteer work....that's what retirement is all about.