xoxo

Today’s my dad’s birthday and I’m flooded with memories. My father never wanted us to make a big deal of his birthday. He never wanted to be the centre of attention and, as for surprise parties, he was not a fan.

My mother and I respected his wishes up to a point. We never even thought about throwing him a surprise party or any other kind of party. We did, however, insist on a small celebration — either just the three of us or a very small group of our immediate family — either at our house or at a restaurant. But there was never a

Clutter is not just “stuff”

A friend of mine is selling her house. In preparation for putting it on the market, she has been purging for months. Going through every closet, drawer, shelf, cupboard and pantry, getting rid of everything she no longer needs, wants or uses.

I’m smiling, somewhat sheepishly, as I’m writing because it’s something we all go through — usually when we’re about to move. That’s when, after years of accumulating and stockpiling and “saving,” we suddenly spring into action — because the thought of packing it all, unpacking it all and trying to find room for it is more than we can bear.

We went out for dinner last week — my friend and I — it was a catch up of sorts. We’ve both been caught up in our own lives and, although we text and talk on the phone all the time, we haven’t had time to get together. It was

Will the real (name) please stand up?

Who do you see when you look in the mirror?  No, I’m not trying to be a smart ass; and it’s not a trick question.  I’m being serious.  Because it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s your own true self you’re staring at.  In my experience, at one time or another, we’ve all created a persona we’ve sent out there into the world.

Sometimes it’s who, or what, others — like our parents or spouses or teachers — want us to be.  How many young men and women have become doctors or lawyers or firefighters or teachers or have gotten married or had children in an effort to please their folks — only to end up miserable because they wanted to do something else with their lives?

Sometimes it’s us.  We wish we were like a character we enjoyed in a book or a film.  Or more like a friend or colleague.  Someone we think is more interesting or more intelligent or more successful or more admired or more charming or more memorable.  Someone who seems to have a more exciting, more fulfilling life.  Someone who’s braver than we are.  More daring.  More adventurous.  Naughtier.  Funnier.  More

Day 32. By Chance?

I was at a client’s yesterday.  We were discussing a blog I write for him; and what the topic should be for the next post.  He was intrigued because three different situations had taken place within two days.  Two of them on the same day, and one the day after.  Coincidentally they were all connected.  And he thought it would make for an interesting story.  I agreed.

But it made me think about my own life.

Not long after I started freelancing I was in a boutique.  Although it was literally around the corner from where I lived, and I’d walked past it dozens of times, I’d never been in.  Until that moment.  Located in a victorian town house, it’s spread over two floors.  I was on the main floor.  Suddenly, for no reason that I can remember, I looked behind me.  Coming down the stairs was a former client.  We hadn’t seen each other in years.

For a minute or two we just stared at each other.  Of all places to run into each other.  When she found out I was freelancing, she immediately told me she had a lot of work for me.  Unbelievable.

So.  Was that meeting nothing more than a chance encounter?  Just two people finding themselves in the same place at the same time; and nothing more.  Was it serendipitous?  If I’d woken up that day telling myself that I had to start looking for clients, would I have bumped

Day 11. Aging. Disgracefully?

Okay.  Someone has to say it out loud.  Paul McCartney cannot sing any more.  Watching him perform (?) during the Opening Ceremonies at London 2012 was excruciating.  He sang (so to speak) somewhere else recently.  Again it was painful.  And embarrassing.  For him, for God sake!  Is this how he wants to be remembered?  Barely able to croak out a song?  Off key?  He has had a brilliant career.  He is worth millions and millions.  It’s time to pass the microphone.  Really.

I can imagine (no pun intended) how difficult it must be when that realization finally sets in.  “Yes, it’s true.  I have lost my voice.”  Whether it’s because of age, illness, booze, cigarettes, drugs, pollution, dust, damaged vocal cords or the Universe being cruel, one fact remains:  His singing career is over.

Do something else.  He can still be productive.  Start a record label.  Discover and develop talent.  Write a book.  Produce musicals.  Become an entrepreneur.  Travel simply for pleasure.  Relax, spend money and have fun with that new, young wife.

Just please, exit gracefully.

When food is past its prime we toss it without a second thought.  But we are reluctant to face this same reality about ourselves.  We hang on to relationships that are really over, and have been over for years.  We say it’s for the children.  Does anyone really believe that it’s better for kids to live in an environment where their parents argue, slam doors, cry, ignore each other, cheat, lie and settle for less than any of them deserve?

We cling to hope when there is none and insist on keeping loved ones plugged into respirators long after they are brain dead.  We tell ourselves it’s because we love