HOW I WASTE MY TIME

How do I spend my time? Other than sleeping and eating, not a heck of a lot. Today I was standing in the hallway asking the age old question "WHAT IS THAT SMELL?" It kinda reminded me of old cat food. After moving furniture and sniffing all corners ( Oh, I am so glad no one walked in on me doing that. I look crazy enough on a regular day) I concluded there was no left over cat food hiding. It still did not answer the question though.

So in a small fit of insanity. I began to clean out the hall closet. That lead me to the next question.  How can five people with no money own so many shoes? We could give Imelda Marcos a run for her money.
*Side note* If you had to Google who Imelda Marcos was, you are too young for me.

 The embarrassing part came when I realized that 90% of that huge pile of shoes we mine. I don't go anywhere. Why do I need so many shoes? Duh, to go with all the purses. After sorting all the shoes I was pleasantly surprised to discover only two shoes without mates. I guess you could put them together and have a very interesting, unique pair of shoes. I then began to dig my way out of the pile discarding old ugly shoes along the way. When I was done, I had pared the pile down to two pairs for each person in the house, and 236 pairs left for me. I thought it was a pretty good job. I finally had a sense of accomplishment.

I have now put in a call to the Diabetes Clothesline http://www.diabetes.ca/get-involved/supporting-us/clothesline/ to come and pick up all the old shoes. This is a great program. If you have one in your area, I strongly recommend it. Everyone benefits.

Next up, I think I will tackle the old, ugly clothes the rest of the family has tucked away in their closets. I consider this a public service. After all, no one wants to see that Hawaiian shirt you have left over from Spring Break in High School. I don't care if it is your lucky shirt. I am saving humanity by getting rid of it.

PASSWORDS AND NUMBERS

I finally remembered the password to my old blog. If you read the old blog and it brought you here, Welcome. Glad to have you back.
I am telling you, asking me to remember things is not a good idea. In my world, it is a good day when I can remember my name and the names of all my kids.Remember when we were kids. What did we have to remember? Where we lived, where our best friend lived, locker and bike combinations,our phone number, best friend's phone number and possibly the phone number to reach a parent at work or emergency services , depending on your regular needs. At the most, we had a secret password to a secret club. It was usually something easy to remember like "boys stink". Damn, maybe I wasn't supposed to say that. That is it. Now even kids have to remember so many things. Home phone, parent's work numbers, cell phone for both parents, their own cell number, best friend cell number and home number, cell number of every other child in school, where they live, alarm codes,locker combos,PIN numbers and passwords. Now kids have passwords to emails, Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, log on to computer both at home and at school. No wonder my kids keep forgetting their rotting lunches in their lockers. They can't remember the locker combo to get it out. Instead, they bring air freshener to school and try to figure out exactly what kind of sandwich they had brought to school for the first week. Ewwww.

Just for the record, I was so busy with this post I forgot about my bagel. Burned blueberry bagel may make for great alliteration. It does not however make for a great breakfast.

WE MISS YOU

It has been four months since we lost Melissa. I miss her. What hurts more is watching my little girl hurt. I know she misses Melissa every day. I don't know how to help her. How do you explain the unexplainable? How do you tell a 12/13 year old that sometimes love isn't enough to save someone? Sometimes the pain they carry is too much for them to bear anymore? I can't explain it her. It must be even harder for Melissa's Mom. Imagine the pain she must have felt. To find her daughter like that. To have to tell her three Grandsons. To suddenly have three small boys to raise. To have to call people to tell them what happened. This woman is one of the strongest people I have ever met. In the midst of all her pain, she took the time to call me and tell me and tell me that Melissa was gone. She was thinking of my daughter. She didn't want her to hear it somewhere else. What a wonderful lady. In the middle of her pain, she thought of my little girl.

When my daughter was struggling in her old school, she would sometimes go down the street to Melissa's house. She knew she was always welcome there. She knew no matter how bad her day was, she could go there. The boys loved to have her and so did Melissa. My daughter loved to go there and look after the boys so Melissa could study. She felt accepted there. I never told Melissa how much that meant to both of us. Now I will never get the chance. That is something I will regret for the rest of my life. Even when they had to move, Melissa would still come and get my daughter and take her to her new apartment for a visit. Those times meant so much to my daughter.

My parents moved into the apartment block next to the one Melissa lived and died in. Those first few weeks were so hard. We had to see it every time we saw my parents. We were there the day her Mom had to clean out the apartment. It was so painful to watch.

I think the one thing that helped my daughter is that another lady we know, has told her repeatedly how much Melissa loved her. Every time we see Angie she mentions that. I think it helps my daughter to know that Melissa loved her as much as she loved her.

I miss Melissa and her smile. I wish I had seen the signs of her depression. Deep down I know there is nothing I could have done that would have changed her mind but I sure wish I could have saved her.

I miss you Melissa. Your boys miss you. My daughter misses you. We love you

I know a few of you, like me, do battle with that monster depression. I beg you if you ever feel like Melissa did to please talk to someone. Call me/email me/ text me. Whatever. Just talk to someone.

The brave Chilean miners, los 33, have been safely brought home. Like most people I watched the miners emerge one by one. Each one greeted by tears and joyful, thankful family members. Each reunion would bring tears to my eyes. What struck me the most was how different things are there. The Chilean President was to greet each and every miner. He too had tears in his eyes each time. I couldn't help being a little cynical. The thought crossed my mind that politicians here would not stay for the whole time. They would be there for the first miner and the last miner. Those are the photo op ones. After the first miner is rescued, the politicians would scatter and not return until the final photo op arrived safely. The opposition here would be screaming about the cost, the environmental groups would be screaming that this is what they deserve. Mining is a danger to the earth and so on. I think it is official. I am a dark, jaded person.
In some ways I feel the Chilean people are much better off than we are. The government has said the cost of the mission was irrelevant. What was important was the rescue. Damn the money. Good for them. They all sang the National Anthem. With gusto and obvious pride of their country. I live in Canada. We don't do that. We shuffle our feet, look down and mumble the words. We don't spontaneously break into our National Anthem. Not even after winning a hockey game. This love and pride of country is something I find fascinating. I am also a little jealous of the love of country they all show.
 I also loved that so many of the miners would either drop to their knees and/or openly thank God for their rescue. All of this happened in front of the cameras. There was not some frantic producer there yelling to cut away or bleep/edit out any mention of God. No one said it was offensive to hear how their faith saved them during that horrible dark time. No one said you have to balance the mention of God with a mention from all other faiths. Nope they just rejoiced and most prayed right along with them.
Chile should be proud today. They showed the world they are a proud, hard working, God fearing family. When times are tough family pulls together. Just as Chile did!

I'm gonna make you mad

I am going to say something that is inevitably going to upset someone. October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I am tired of it. I am tired of sports teams with their pink hats and shoes. I am tired of my newspaper being pink.I am tired of companies putting pink ribbons on their products. (Not to mention, I am never quite sure how much of my money the company is actually giving to breast cancer) I am tired of  every time I go to the grocery store they are wearing pink hats and shirts and selling hot dogs and drinks for Breast Cancer. I am tired of Face Book campaigns to turn FB pink for Breast Cancer Awareness. I am so so tired of it. Don't get me wrong. Raising money for sick people is a wonderful thing. What bugs me though is  why is Breast Cancer the only cancer getting all of the attention. I don't see all the attention made for colon cancer, for example. Why? Simple. Colon cancer isn't sexy. You can't make cutesy bumper stickers like "Save the Ta Tas " for colon cancer. What about ovarian cancer? Throat cancer? Stomach cancer? Are these cancers not as deadly? Of course they are. These cancers still kill people. People with these cancers still suffer. Why is breast cancer the only one with all the attention and money? Personally, I would be more inclined to donate and support a general cancer campaign. Everyone with cancer can benefit then. Yes breast cancer has touched our family as I am sure it has touched many other families but so has cervical cancer, lung cancer and throat cancer. I love nothing more than to have cancer eliminated for good. All types of cancer. While breast cancer awareness is good, so is all cancer awareness. I know this will upset some people. I am not being heartless. I do sympathize with people with breast cancer. I do wish for a cure. I just want a cure for all cancer.

Unemployment, Distractions, and Home Decorating

Since I have completed my journey down the road to higher education and a smaller bank account, I have now entered the "OMG I NEED A JOB" Arena. Funny how the road to higher edumacation was much easier. Who knew. In my battle to keep from completely losing my mind, I have decided to start a few home improvement projects while I wait for an employer to call and say " WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? YOU ARE PERFECT! YOU ARE EXACTLY WHAT WE NEED. NAME YOUR PRICE. So far, that call has not come. Hell, I am starting to think my phone doesn't work at all.
For my first project I painted my daughter's room. It was time. When her brother was in Grade 5, he occupied the room. He painted it red with a splatter painted wall. It looked great then. He moved into a room in the basement and his sister took over his room about 5 years ago. His sister happily moved into the red room. Lately she has been complaining about painting it. My sweet little girl is the most stubborn, hard headed, independent, decorating challenged individual you will ever meet. This is the girl who at the ripe old age of two days old, had the nurse at the the hospital so driven to frustration she told me "Miss Susan has an attitude". Great! At two days old I already knew I was in for the battle of my life. She hasn't changed. She has attitude an knows how to use it. Once she has made up her mind, it stays made up. Great for when you want to achieve a goal. Not so great when decorating a room. I cannot describe the colors she chose for her room. She wanted three walls blue and the fourth wall painted blue with green stripes. Yikes. I gave in thinking I can always just close the door. The project is now completed. It makes her mad but I can't help it. Every time I walk past her room I start humming a tune from the circus. Her striped wall reminds me of a circus tent.She informed me that a circus tent is red and white not blue and green so stop humming that stupid song.
I began the job of painting her room. Before I tell the story there are two things you need to know about me. One, I am afraid of heights. I am also afraid of snakes, mice, closed spaces, escalators, driving and teenagers but I digress. Two, I am cheap. When we first bought our house, there was a garage sale down the back lane. I strolled over to see what they had. Among the treasures, I found a paint splattered, wooden ladder for the inexpensive price of $5. SOLD . I thought if it had that much paint on it, it must have been a great ladder for painting with. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to the little old man with the two broken legs and broken arm sitting beside it. It was not until I tried to use it for the first time that I discovered that the paint spatters were not from various painting jobs. It was used to hold the ladder together. It is the most wobbly unstable thing I have ever stood on. However,  I paid five whole dollars for it and damnit I am going to use it until one of us falls apart completely.
Like a lot of us Bloggers, I own a cat. Actually, my kids own two cats. I just feed them, clean up after them and threaten to strangle them.The quiet old white one is Snow White. My daughter's cat is the black cat we have affectionately nicknamed Butthead. His given name is Killer. FYI, it is very embarrassing to take a tiny kitten named Killer to the vet. We are surrounded by the biggest dogs I have ever seen. I am pretty sure the one beside me did not only chase after a mini van. I think he ate it for a snack. The dog on the other side of me drools so much I need flippers to get to the door. There we sit. The Vet calls Killer and everyone looks at all the big dogs. I have to stand up with this tiny fluffball and say "here he is". I could hear the snickering all the way to the back. Mental note... never let your kids name the pets.
I began the job of making my daughter happy and making every interior decorator in a 500 mile radius cry. My parents were over while I was painting. They heard me yelling, a crash and a small zebra run out of the room. What had happened was Butthead was curious. While I was balanced on the ladder with one hand on the ceiling and one foot on the window, the cat wanted a peek at the paint can balanced on top of the ladder. I am on one side of the ladder trying to prevent it from tipping while he climbed the other side  to peer into the can of primer. We lost the balancing act, the can flew with the cat right after it. We now own a small furry zebra.
I can't wait to start planning my next distraction.

ANOTHER STEP TO PERSONAL GROWTH

I like to believe that I am at least a partially enlightened person. However, something happened that made me realize how wrong I was.
It is simple to believe that we as a society are accepting of people with mobility issues. After all, they have all the good parking spots right? Until you are faced with a mobility issue yourself, you don't see how inaccessible our world can be.
After my son had surgery on his knee, he was in a wheelchair for trips to the mall. We tried to get into his favorite video store. It was almost impossible. The aisles were not straight so it required alot of  maneuvering to get him in. When we wanted to leave it required a delicate dance of back and forth movements to get him out. It certainly would have been easier if the people standing watching us would have moved out of the way. Instead they stood behind us or when we backed up, they moved to take the spot we were just in. We then would have to wait for them to move so we could continue our dance to get out of the store. What a horrible experience.
After my knee surgery, I was on crutches. I had to get to the College to write my final exam. All public buildings must be accessible by law. That is great but it is obvious no one with a mobility issue was ever consulted during the construction of the buildings. My exam was on the second floor. Yes there is an elevator. There is however a huge problem with that. The parking is between buildings E and F. The elevator is in building D. So, once i made it up the ramp and into the building, I had to hobble to the next building in order to get on the elevator. Once I arrived on the second floor, I had to hobble my way through buildings D, E and F in order to get to my exam. It was a good thing I have a paranoia about being late and I always try to arrived everywhere early. It took me twenty minutes to get from the elevator to the exam room. When you add in the twenty minutes it took me to get back to the elevator I spent more time walking than I did actually writing the exam. I was exhausted by the time  got back to the car. Why is there not an elevator in each building? We were lucky, in our case it was temporary. I feel for the people who must spend their life in a wheelchair.
My Father contracted Polio when he was a child. He was lucky and survived. He spent many months in a hospital far from family and friends. He was only a child and he was all alone. That story always break my heart, but that is a post for another day. My Father was not confined to a wheelchair. He had many years where he was able to walk. While running was not something he could do, he was still able to live a good life. As he ages though, his mobility is rapidly decreasing. This has opened my eyes to the difficulty he faces. While he gets a good parking spot at the mall, he has trouble negotiating the floors in the mall. Until you have an issue walking, you don't realize how slippery those stupid floors are. I discovered this myself when I had to use crutches after my surgery. One wet spot on the floor and you quickly become road kill. Something as simple as an unexpected uneven door entrance can send you sprawling. Now they are looking at moving into a condo but his needs make it difficult to find one for them. He needs close parking since he can't walk far especially in the winter with the snow and ice. He also needs very few stairs inside the condo and an elevator is a necessity. He finds walking on carpet hard so he would like hardwood or laminate. Of course builders are willing to do that at first. They say it is all easy to do and of course it is included in the cost. Then they come back and say they can do it all but of course since he has special needs, they will have to increase the price for him. While it may not be discrimination, it certainly does make finding housing difficult.
I was pleased to find one builder who actually took all of these things into consideration. He was showing us the condo. In the kitchen, he was showing us the door open button. It was halfway across the kitchen. He admitted at first he didn't understand why it was there. Then it was explained to him that if you are in a wheelchair and have to press the button to open the door, quite often you don't have time to get out of the way of the door opening and you get hit with the door. I am ashamed to admit, I hadn't thought of that either. This condo had considered many mobility issues and had included them at no extra cost. I was impressed until we got to the laundry room. Most condos now don't have room for the traditional washer and dryer. They only have room for the stacking sets. Great for space saving , but think about it for a moment. If you are in a wheelchair, how on earth are you supposed to reach the top buttons to turn on the machine? It is impossible. Unless you have a poking stick like Homer Simpson. The you just have to cross your fingers and hope you didn't just wash your best wool sweater in the hottest setting since you can't see that far up to see what button you are pressing. I don't understand how a builder who had seemed to have thought of everything could overlook something so basic.
Here is the part that I am embarrassed to admit I had never even thought of. Before school started, I took my daughter to get her hair cut. As I was waiting for her  a woman came into the shop. She looked around and then asked if they were able to accommodate a child in a wheelchair. The lady was assured they were able to so the lady went out to her van. She then maneuvered her child and his wheelchair out of the van and into the shop. Until that moment, it had never occurred to me that something we think is so simple, such as getting a haircut, actually requires planning on the part of someone with a mobility issue. I had never before really looked at a barber shop to see how much space is between chairs. Is there enough room for a wheelchair? How do you cut the hair of a child in a wheelchair? Is the barber comfortable enough to do it?
While I am thankful that I am relatively healthy I am also feeling very self involved. How could I not notice these things before? I wonder how many other people have never thought of these things either. How patient must people with mobility issues be to live with this every day and not constantly complain. I don't think I could do it. Could you?