After I’m gone …

I recently completed a project for an estate and trust lawyer.  And another client of mine is an investment advisor.  Both of them are in the ‘money’ business.  One helps clients accumulate it; and the other helps them dispose of it.  But I’ve always believed that money is the least of what we leave behind — our legacy, in other words.

Which is the reason why I decided to take a stab at a recent WordPress Daily Prompt for this post:  “Imagine yourself at the end of your life.  What sort of legacy will you leave?  Describe the lasting effect you want to have on the world, after you’re gone.”

A good place to start is probably the non-monetary legacy my parents left me.  They were kind, loving, generous people.  Everyone was welcome in their home, in their lives and in their hearts.   It didn’t matter who you were, or where you came from.

They were honest to a fault.  Their ‘word’ was like a blood oath.  And there isn’t a human being who ever knew them, who would ever have questioned their integrity, or their intentions.

Family and friends meant everything to them; and whenever anyone needed help my parents could

A real hodge podge …

Do you ever think about who lives in your neighbourhood — not just your closest neighbours, but even those who live blocks and blocks away.  I can’t say I do, but today’s WordPress Daily Prompt has given me pause.

“Every city and town contains people of different classes:  rich, poor, and somewhere in between.  What’s it like where you live?  If it’s difficult for you to discern and describe the different types of classes in your locale, describe what it was like where you grew up — was it swimming pools and movie stars, industrial and working class, somewhere in between or something completely different?”

I live in an area of downtown Toronto called the Annex; and I’m happy to say it is truly a mixed bag. Here you’ll find it all.  Students, young families, singles, seniors, gays, straights and bisexuals, working class, white collar, professionals, professors, not-for-profit workers, creatives, every race,

Remind me NEVER to go to Copenhagen …

I don’t know if you saw the news on the weekend.  I was so stunned, so disgusted, so appalled I could barely breathe.  I still cannot believe it actually happened.

Officials at a zoo in Copenhagen killed a healthy giraffe, cut it up and fed it to the lions.  As if this wasn’t heinous enough, the macabre ‘event’ was open to the public.  And the public came.  With children.  People actually showed up to witness a helpless animal being slaughtered unnecessarily.  And then they watched while the barely dead animal was butchered and turned into lunch for a

Giving it up is never easy …

What better time to talk about successfully giving anything up, then fresh on the heels of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s tragic death?  So when I was looking for a little inspiration this morning, and came across this WordPress Daily Prompt, I knew I had to talk about my experience giving up smoking:

Not that smoking is, in any way, as difficult to give up,  as heroin.  Or as serious an addiction.  But make no mistake.  It is still an addiction.

When most of my high school friends smoked, I had no interest.  Of course back then, no one knew it was bad for you.  Everybody smoked.  Doctors and nurses smoked.  Athletes smoked.  Celebrities