I Yam What I Yam

First I would like to point out that I never! make New Year's resolutions... ever.
I had learned that not only do you have to face a long haul through the winter to spring, but you have to face it as the world's biggest loser cause of course; you FAIL. New Year's day 2009 however I decided to suck it up and go for it to approach weight loss as a team member with my daughter. "All we need to do is eat properly and exercise" she said.
Well this sounded like a reasonable effort to make so I agreed. I have a history of being not only leading a fairly sedentary lifestyle but also being completely averse to the tedium of exercise. Putting on a big enthusiastic smile I duly signed up for the gym at work (only $65 for the year, easy, convenient) and pirated a Weight Watchers points list.
I am not only lazy, I am cheap too!
Using the list at first to figure out what I was actually eating, then slowly eliminated the really damaging things seemed a logical course of action. I started packing a lunch daily with a defined amounts of points, of some of the things that ended up being staples.
Two things emerged from this practice..
1) I am a huge! fan of that 15 calories per tbsp. Italian dressing.
2) I cook weird shit for myself.
For example, yam soup: one yam, baked to mush, 1 liter no-name chicken broth and about 2 tbsp of dill. This makes 3 portions. Yeah it looks and tastes like baby food, but it fits the bill. How many calories? Nooo idea. I never bothered to figure it out.
Anyway; fast forward. The gym? Nope, that never did work. I actually did end up getting to a slow lope on the treadmill without falling off but in the end the tedium did me in. The eating properly is working, albeit slowly but it is a lifestyle change, not a diet and it is working for me so far.
I do miss fries and gravy...sigh.

What Are! you thinking?

Like those little sparkly lights that appear at the edge of your vision, but disappear when you try to look at them; the thoughts that scamper through my head, particularly when I am not focused on anything are pretty damn hard to pin down.
I know...
I tried...
Hey, it was a slow day !
I can pile them onto my train of thought but you never know where that will end, laying track as I go.
Even at work, where my mind should easily be able to stay on tasks that are familiar, thought banditos regularly threaten to hijack the train. They are hard to shake off, especially when they tempt with a segue to a happy place, the little buggers.
I used to have a worry train. Late at night, when there are no distractions, the monsters would creep in, magnified in the dark - looming large. Whether stressing work, health or the state of the world, they made bedtime an unattractive prospect. They twisted reality and made it hard to sleep. I battled them best as I could, sometimes with sedatives of varying kinds, mostly with the calming voice of a documentary on the History channel.
Sleeping to the nightlight of the nineties became routine. This worked fairly well unless they threw on a war documentary or a commercial of some guy having a heart attack. Nice; just what I need.
Those days are now long gone, thank god. I found that I actually have to steer the train... odd. And the random flitting thoughts? I try to corral em ....so you can get em here first folks!

A Waggy Tale

Set on the scales of public opinion: one money grubbing evil landlord against one sweet lil old grandma, her eyes welling with tears at the prospect of losing her only joy in life, and you have the makings of the next great debate in this city.The poster child for this movement seems to be the poor lil old lady, forced into an apartment, having given her beloved companion over to the murderous folks at the Humane Society.

The local opposition is presenting a bill in Manitoba to force landlords to accept pets in apartment buildings. It matters not that the current wise men in power have already addressed this issue, by sweetening the pot to encourage landlords to accept our four-footed roomies, in an attempt to avoid trampling over the rights of one while supporting those of another. There are already buildings that allow pets, only time will tell if this move will increase their number.

It also matters not that it could just be that sadly grandma needs caring for, in a seniors home, for example. I would certainly hope that such residences would be exempt; the angels of mercy that care for these folks have enough on their hands.

Please don't get me wrong, I am an animal lover. Like these people I had to hand over my best friend once, and it taught me to be very sure if l wanted another pet, that I could commit to that life-long commitment; well in dog years anyway.

I am also a lover of personal freedom, and despite the instinct to protect those big brown eyes and waggy tail, I have to remain on the side of choice.

What do you mean?

I know I meant what I said, but did you understand what I meant?.
The spoken language is mainly what we use to communicate, along with facial expression and body language. It is not perfect, but it is all we have.
The degree of understanding varies with the concept being communicated.
"I'll have Big Mac, fries, and a medium coke" is going to yield pretty predictable results; well I suppose as long as you are actually at McDonald's.
On the other hand, if I say "I'm sorry" it could be interpreted as meaning "omg! I feel so bad that I hurt your feelings, I will never do that again" and actually have been intended as " ffs, I am tired of talking about this, time to change the topic". Or vice versa. How would you know?
I wonder if we were all telepaths, if it would be easier or harder. In a crowded room would the thoughts all be reduced to a jumbled murmur, or would they jostle for attention? Would they be organized and understandable or snatches of phrases mixed with images? Would I really want to know what others have on their minds? You know what I'm thinking; probably not.

The Snork Maiden's Eyes

When I was young I read a story in which the poor Snork Maiden, unsatisfied with her appearance, longed for beautiful eyes like the glamorous figurehead of a ship that had washed ashore. It escapes me for the moment how this was achieved, but she got her wish. Expecting a glamorous new look, she was horrified when the results were not what she expected. The obvious moral here was to be happy with who you are.

I read recently that 'society teaches women to hate their bodies'. I have found that for myself, this has now been reduced this to a simple vague dislike, with rare flashes of 'meh,not bad'.

Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but what if the beholder is gazing into a mirror? Can we not be happy with who we are?

A 1991 skirmish with Bell's Palsy took a healthy poke at what vanity I had left at the time. I was surprised to find that loved ones were ok with the fact that I looked like a freak. I had promised myself then to allow myself to age gracefully and be at peace with that. Short of a little help from Clairol, I am on track. Even this compromise was delayed until one day the mirror posed the question 'why is there pubic hair growing out of my head?'

Aging bodies are inevitable but it gets harder to look into that mirror, struck with the realization that the the person inside is no longer in synch with the appearance presented to the world.

So what to do? Race for the wrinkle cream, find some altitude and attitude in silicone implants, give your face a lift? For some this is the answer and if it gives them joy, all power to them. If you are however running around with a smooth face atop a chicken neck you're not foolin anyone, ya know. How long can you keep this up? Once your eyebrows disappear into your hairline, you are pretty much done.

Cut yourself some slack; inner happiness oozing to the surface makes a great foundation. A sparkle in your eye goes with any eyeshadow and a spring in your step tones the butt.

We do what we can, right? Eat properly, get enough sleep, and exercise. Just because you look best flat on your back, that is no reason to stay there. At the end of the day, time and gravity will win. And that is ok.

Tpyos dno't Mattre

Typos are the bane of the fumble fingered everywhere.

I suppose I should not complain... a simple backspace is a breeze compared to the white-out or begin-again of the previous option; the typewriter. I am convinced that if I had a laptop instead of that antiquated device available to me in high school, my life would be much different! Cursed with a completely illegible handwriting, I bailed to a Mickey Mouse English course, leaving what I am convinced would have been brilliant essays locked in my busy, if slightly tranquilized mind. Oh yeah... sure Einstien.

Anyway; the matter of typographical errors have produced application imporovements to help us. Predictive text as found in most phones is a great tool not only reducing mistakes but also speeding up texting. Spellcheck where available is also a great help but only works if the mistake is not actually a word.

The folks at BlackBerry must have known know I am a terrible typoist and have included an automatic fix for many of the most common errors, including most contractions. Bless 'em. They forgot my most common one though; oyu still came out looking like oyu until I mamanged to add it to the list.

Our language is not a static entity, it is constantly evolving. There is even a new word to describe words that result from the same combination of numbers; they are called "textonyms".

I think we have all seen this in email form:

"Arocdnicg to rsceearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn’t mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer are in the rghit pcale. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit pobelrm. Tihs is buseace the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe."

Apparently no such study actually took place at Cambridge, but as this really looks a lot like a badly typoed paragraph it can show that we can communicate just as well sloppily.

I am guilty; there are times when I am fully aware of hitting enter or send knowing there are blunders in my text. I am lazy. Sue me. Conversely I am fully fluent in typoese and will forgive yours and not point them out to you or make fun of you, unless it changes the message at least.

I do agree we need to cherish and nurture our language so it does not morph completely out of recognition. At the end of the day though; I am only trying to communicate and if you understood what I was trying to say, I have achieved success.