What I’ve missed most

I just finished reading Maureen Dowd’s latest N.Y. Times column. It made me think about what I’ve missed over the last 18 months or so. I was a bit surprised, because when you ask most people that question, the first answer that comes up is “people.” And that wasn’t mine, at least not directly, or in the usual sense.

Before you rush off and accuse me of being anti-social, let me assure you that I love people, I’m not a loner (although I”m very happy with my own company). But I don’t feel like I’ve been deprived of “people,” because never in my life have I ever spent so much time, talking to so many people, as I have done during COVID.

My fingers are numb from texting and emailing. I’ve spent tons of time “conversing” on social media. I’ve had many, many hours-long conversations on the phone — really long, meaningful, interesting, amazing conversations that were intimate, revealing, soul-bearing and way more profound than many I’ve had sitting across the table from those very same people. And I’ve done my fair share of Zooming — not as much as some, but a lot. Enough.

What I miss is hugging. I’m a hugger. So for me, it’s not just about being in a room with somebody.

Let’s call ghosting what it really is …

I belong to an online group for freelancers in the ad industry. It’s on Facebook. Yesterday morning someone posted about a recent experience she had.

She’d been talking with someone about possibly doing some work together and suddenly the conversation just stopped. No reason, no explanation, no nothing. She wanted to know if “ghosting” is common in the industry — she’s spent a lot of time working in Europe, where apparently business is conducted differently.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen posts like this. It’s an all-too-common occurrence. And I’ve got to

Something I haven’t done in a while …

I went through a period when I was writing about US politics all the time, both here and on Huff Post. I finally ran out of steam, though, and tried to find more positive topics. Tempted as I was sometimes to revert back, in the end, I resisted. Too much negativity and toxicity and I think we were all feeling pretty much the same way. I have the feeling that most, if not all of you, were relieved I stopped.

Like so many, I watched Senator John McCain’s memorial service on TV last Saturday. If I was an American, I wouldn’t have ever voted for him, you’d find me on the other side of the aisle. But I have

I hesitate to say this out loud, but …

… increasingly, when it comes to Toronto I’ve got a case of the blahs. I’m sorry, I know a lot of you are fans and staunch supporters — which I certainly have been — but I’ve got to be honest.

While I do believe that Toronto has tons of potential I also feel that too much of it is still untapped. And yeah, it frustrates and disappoints me.

I moved here from Montreal 32 years ago (wow, time sure does fly). As North American cities go,

I’m having one of those days …

… when I’ve got a bunch of disparate thoughts running around in my head. They’re all unrelated, but they are on my mind; and you know me, I love to share. So here goes:

A friend of mine recently wanted to change her communications provider. It should have been simple — two phone calls at most. One to the current provider, cancelling her services and one to the other provider, setting them up.

Turns out she was without email or voice mail for several

The days of eloquence, elegance and civility are now officially over …

A friend sent me a very interesting New York times article (How to Listen to Donald Trump  Every Day for Years) on the weekend. It was written by John McWhorter, who is an associate professor of English and comparative literature at Columbia.

He talked about Trump’s “choppy, rambling, self-expression” and went on to explain that it’s

Whatever happened to love at first sight?

I love reading the Sunday New York Times.  I look forward to it all week.  Sometimes it takes me the better part of the week to get through it all, but I read it from cover to cover.  Every section.  Well that’s not entirely true.  I don’t read the sports section. Occasionally I skim it, but I don’t even do that all the time.

What I never miss, though, are the wedding announcements.  Why, God only knows.  I don’t know any of the brides and grooms.  So why should I give a toss that they’re getting married, where they’re getting married, who their parents are or what any of
them do for a living.

But I do, it seems.

Does this mean I’m a real nosy parker?  A hopeless romantic?  Someone who needs a

Day 127. Unexpected ‘Friendships’

A headline on the front page of the Styles section in this past Sunday New York Times caught my attention:  “Forging A Bond In Mud And Guts”.  It was a story about “Tough Mudder”.  Which is, as Joshua David Stein (the writer) explains, “an extreme obstacle course that is becoming the macho sport of choice for Type A men (and some women) who find marathons too easy and triathlons meh”.

My interest in the story had nothing to do with any desire, on my part, to roll around in the mud.  Not even with some hunky ‘warrior’ type.  I was intrigued by the pulling together, the teamwork and the camaraderie between these guys.  And also by the encouragement they gave each other.  Even though, for the most part, they’d entered the event as strangers.

They were bonding.  It was instinctive.  Primal.  In this case, it was happening because of the gruelling

Day 63. The Obits

You’re going to think I’m twisted when I tell you.  I read the obits.  I read them everyday in the Toronto Globe & Mail; and once a week in the Sunday New York Times.  I’ve been doing it for years.

I don’t do it to check to see if there’s anyone in there I know.  That’s the last thing I want to find.  I read them because they’re interesting, even if they don’t say much, which most of them don’t.  They’re quite expensive, so most people are very careful about how many words they use.  But even at their most minimal, they acknowledge that this person lived, had a life.

You see their age, and whether or not they were married.  Whether or not they had children and grandchildren.  And great grandchildren.  Nieces or nephews.  Sisters or brothers.  Who their parents were.  Where they were born.  Where they went to school, where they worked, and why they died.  From what.  Sometimes they include hobbies and interests.  And, because of donation requests, they often tell you what causes and charities were

Day 40. Too Impatient?

I love books.  Always have, even as a child.  I love holding them, feeling their weight in my hands.  I love how they smell.  I love the texture of the paper.  I love turning the pages.  And mostly, I love seeing them around.  I have books everywhere.  In every room.  Stacked on every surface.  On the floor, on tables, on shelves, in bookcases.

When the first Kindle was introduced to the market, I swore I’d never buy one.  A friend of mine extolled its virtues from the get-go.  You could have thousands of books loaded and ready-to-read, right at your fingertips.  And how great would that be for vacations?  It was so lightweight; and again, how perfect is that when you’re travelling?  You could have it with you, all the time, in your handbag or briefcase; and you’d always have something to read.  Always.

All good and valid points.  But.  It just wouldn’t be the same as reading a book.  Not for me.  And for the longest time, I stuck to my guns.

Then iPad 1 was released.  This same friend bought one.  In fact a lot of people I know bought one; and they all loved, loved, loved them.  I was unmoved.  Mildly curious, but resolute.  Didn’t need one.  Wouldn’t read on it.  And while I admired all the other stuff it offered, between my MacBook Air and my iPhone I had it covered.