Isn’t it time we stopped deluding ourselves?

I mean really.  Isn’t it time we finally admitted to ourselves, and everyone else, that the Canadiancrumbling economy economy is not good?  That it’s tanked?  That we’re really in a recession? And, for that matter, things are not that great in Toronto, either.  I know it’s a tough pill to swallow for folks around here, but it’s time we faced facts.

Every time I turn around another chain of stores is closing.  Big chains,
employing hundreds and sometimes thousands of people.  Independents are Continue reading

Day 200. Trying Times

Yesterday a reader commented, on my post, about avoiding the news for the last few months, because of how depressing it is.  It’s true.  It’s terribly disillusioning.  Todisallusioned prove it, I decided to get yesterday’s Globe & Mail out of my recycling bin and give the headlines a quick scan.  To see if I could find anything remotely positive or pleasant:

Let’s start with the front page.  “Why Generation Y Should Fear Retirement”.  Hmmm.  Shoot me now.  Not that I’m a young adult, but still.  Moving further down the page, “SNC bribery probe widens to Algeria”.  Not exactly cheerful, either.

So then I checked the index, to get an idea of what I had to look forward to, inside the paper.  Not much, as it turned out. “Montreal’s mayor declares he is not under investigation after a raid at City Hall by anti-corruption police.”  “Ottawa’s new ambassador of religious freedoms is at risk of being marginalized by Foreign Affairs, an expert warns”.

Jumping for joy yet?  NOT!

“Former US. congressman Jesse Jackson Jr., the son of the famous civil-rights leader, pleads guilty to spending $750,000 in campaign funds in personal luxuries.  “A day after home crowds booed the team off the ice, the Buffalo Sabres Continue reading

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 Continue reading

Day 54. Repeating Cycles

At the 2011 Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), I saw a movie that was so visually stunning it literally took my breath away.  As I sat there, totally mesmerized, I had three thoughts:  One, I didn’t want the movie to ever end.  Two, I was so lucky to be seeing it, because I was sure it would never make it into a mainstream theatre.  Three, if I could have, I would have stayed right there, and watched it all over again.

For that matter, if I’d been told, right there and then, that I couldn’t see any of the other movies I had tickets for, I would have gone home more than happy.  That’s how sated I was.

Well it’s been a little over a year since that incredible evening and yesterday, in the Toronto Globe & Mail Arts Section, I read that Samsara will be playing in Toronto, beginning next Friday, October 5.

If you’re looking for me, that’s where I’ll be.  Maybe more than once, too.

Before I say another word about the film, here’s what Wikipedia says about what its name, Continue reading

Day 22. Non Event

Are you into astrology?  I am, to a point.  I’m not a slave to it.  I don’t have an astrologer on retainer.  I am capable of making decisions before I’ve read my daily horoscope.  But I am curious about it.  And very often I’ll see an astrologer or read a horoscope that describes me, an event in my life, or something I should be aware of, that is absolutely bang on.

Years ago, in Montreal, I worked with a fashion designer who introduced me to his astrologer.  He was amazing.  The first time I went to him, he absolutely insisted that I was one of three children.  I kept insisting that I was an only child.  Which I am.  He said we didn’t all have to be living — that my mother had conceived three times.  That gave me pause, because my mother had an ectopic pregnancy when I was four years old.

But still, that would have made me one of only two conceptions.  He wouldn’t let it go.  Normally, he would have totally pissed me off, and I would have cut the appointment short.  But there was something about him.  Before I left he made me promise to ask my mother and let him know what she said.  The instant I left his office and got home (pre cell phone days) I called my mother and said I was coming over.

At first when I told her that I’d been to see an astrologer she was dismissive.  “Well”, she said.  “You’ve just blown a hundred bucks.”  Then I told her that he’d been adamant that I was one of three children.  Her jaw dropped.  And then she told me that she’d had a miscarriage before me.  Then she decided she wanted to go and see him, herself.

I went to him regularly for years.  By regularly I mean once a year, before my birthday.  The timing was his idea.  He felt it was important to be able to prepare for Continue reading

Day 20. Love Sundays

When you freelance, like I do, weekends don’t seem to take on the same importance as they do when you have a full time job.

As long as I make my deadlines, I can do all the chores usually reserved for Saturdays and Sundays, any day of the week I please.  As long as I make all my deadlines, I can go for a walk, do pilates, visit with a friend, have a manicure or read a book at any time during the day.  Unless I have a client meeting, I never have to ‘dress for success’.  I can work in jeans, sweats and, for that matter, my jammies.  But despite all the freedom I have, I do look forward to Sundays; and my delivery of the Sunday New York Times.

My parents had it delivered, so it’s a ‘ritual’ I grew up with.

In winter, when I become a recluse, there’s nothing I like better than collecting it from the mat outside my door and getting back into bed — where I stay for hours — with a huge mug of tea (don’t make coffee at home) and the entire newspaper, spread out all around me.  Not the easiest thing to do when you have cats, mind you.  They don’t like being ignored — even when they’re ignoring Continue reading