Seriously?

This is an ad that was placed in bus shelters all over Toronto this past holiday season. The jeweller is a local, discount business. The moment I saw it, I was offended. (For a little background, I used to always say/think that it took a lot to offend me [still true], and that I had no pet peeves. Over the years, and especially after my 40th birthday, I've started compiling a list...just to remind myself that there is much out there that boils my blood.)

So, what's the big deal? Sure it sucks to be alone, if you're a social butterfly and enjoy the company of others. What offends me, though, is the automatic assumption implied by this ad that getting a diamond ring - therefore, getting married - is the antidote. Don't get me wrong: I think that entering into a committed relationship is a beautiful thing when entered for the right reasons, like, oh, love, trust, companionship, all those good things of which my list is not exhaustive. But, doing it just so you won't be alone? That's crazy. I ask myself: what about those of us out there who are/were in committed relationships, marriage even, who are still alone? To have an expectation of togetherness provided with the arrival of such a ring and then when the togetherness doesn't happen, well, that sucks more. I blame Disney, and the diamond industry, for corelating and intertwining these ideas of togetherness with expensive jewellery. (Insert mild sarcasm here.)

As a single woman in her early forties, the reaction to this ad could come across as bitterness. Not true. I just find the further meaning implied by this ad is that those of us who are single, regardless of our calendar ages, are lonely and sad. Again, not true - at least, not in my experience. I don't feel the need to defend or justify my singleness, only to state that being single is just as wonderful as being in a committed relationship.

When I see this ad, I think of a quote I read a long time ago, said by Queen Latifah. She was speaking about this huge fancy diamond ring she was wearing, and this is obviously not verbatim, but it went something like this: "When I meet the person who treats me as well as I treat myself, I'll take off my ring and wear theirs." I like it: the modern symbolic twist of a ring meaning commitment; the respectful treatment of oneself and others, especially in a romantic committed relationship; the unapologetic tribute to singleness; the unapologetic patience for a positive union with a life partner. Nothing sucks about that.

Sans Pieds, Part I

For those of you who didn't know, I'm working now at Fluevog. After working for over 22 years in the restaurant industry, it's an understatement to tell you that this is a dream job. The best perk? The shoes! (duh!) These are the Malibrans, one of my Christmas treats to me. My thinking is that I'll put them up, sans mes pieds, and when I have photos of them avec pieds, I'll share them. Sweet and Christmasy, non?

Chewing Gum: The Crack Cocaine of the Canine World

It looks so innocent in its wrapper, doesn't it? I indulge in it - we all love gum, don't we? So does my dog - when it's ABC. ABC? you ask. Yes, Already Been Chewed then spit out on sidewalks, in parks, on people's perfectly mown and weed-free lawns just begging for Annie to scoop it up and keep on chewin'. What's the big deal? you ask. The big deal is that I have to put my hand in her mouth and pull out that wad of corn syrup and germs. I've never been a germaphobe, but, ewww. That's right: for the past 11 months, almost daily, I pull someone else's chewed gum out of my dog's mouth because she just can't resist it, and she's not picky: HubbaBubba, minty, big wad or small. My baby's not alone. I hear all the time that other pet parents from all walks of life, single or coupled, struggle to prevent this addiction in their beloved pet, regardless of breed, and perform interventions as often as I do.

Until yesterday, that is. After telling her only three times to "Leave It," Annie dropped a white wad of some stranger's gum out on the sidewalk where she had found it. This wasn't a one-off, a fluke, either. On tonight's walk, she dropped another (the same?) piece of gum when I told her to. I'm cancelling that methadone order.

Adventures in the Mundane

I've been thinking, and I've been missing blogging. It seems that in the past few years, everyone I know is, well, not so much "anti-resolution," but not putting pressure on themselves to proclaim a bunch of unrealistic goals that will fizzle in intensity come Valentine's Day. So, despite the time of year I've decided to do this, I'm making a more committed goal to blog more often. My thinking to explain to myself my irregular blogging schedule over the past year and a half was this: I'm not on the road, I'm not experiencing anything internationally exotic (compared to my daily life), so obviously I have nothing interesting to contribute. Then, I thought about some of the blogs that I like to follow, which are glimpses into the daily lives of people I've never met but who inspire me greatly. And, really, I live in the most multicultural city in the world (so we're told) so my sighing whine-whine about non-exotic experiences is a moot point, considering the plethora of interesting, international folk I meet on a daily basis and the internationally-influenced stuff that happens around me. Let's take last night: five friends and I (backgrounds = Italian Montrealer, Russian Jew, Scot, Liverpudlian ex-pat, and me) went to Lee Garden in Chinatown (Dear Diary Moment: we got a table right away at 5pm, when we've waited 45 minutes every year for the past ten for our annual New Year's Day traditional feast), then drove five minutes to College Street to an Italian gelatarie for ice-cream crepes and lattes. We heard so many languages in our time together, and do so anytime we're out and about, that it's become mundane. We're used to walking down the street and catching snatches of French, English, Mandarin, Hebrew, Spanish, Farsi conversations. I love my city.

Happy Digression!

Anyway, I present you with one of my New Year's Resolutions: to blog weekly, if not more often, and not make it a pressure-y thing. And, go!

AnnieBanannie

Yes, it's been forever since I blogged. My digital camera finally gave up the ghost so I've been without it for about a year. Oh my gosh: Now that I've written it, I can't believe it's been that long! Anyway, it felt like I couldn't blog without it...so, I didn't. Erika generously gave me one of her cameras, and now I'm back in blogging business. It feels pretty good, even if the only person reading this is my mom.

Annie turned 10 months old on 30 September. I tell people that she's 80lbs of love and insanity, especially the kids it looks like she might traumatize when she tries to jump on them as they run past her in the park. So, now that I have a camera again (a camera that doesn't require me to take my film to Black's so they can put my photos on a disc), here she is:

Smiling nicely for the camera.

Sitting on her favourite forbidden spot.

Chewing a bone on the bed, which is better than chewing the bed. She has chewed bedclothes. This is a huge improvement.

The one thing the camera didn't capture is how green her eyes are. I'm working on it.

Don't Mess With Texas

Last Tuesday, I flew down to Texas. Destination: Seminole in Gaines County, West Texas.



I was heading down there to meet this town and its people who want me to teach them Biblical Hebrew. It's funny, because although my Dad is proud that I've dedicated (part of) my (academic) life to obtaining my "Masters Degree of the Obscure," I'm sure he's often wondered if those studies would ever lead to gainful employment. And, the common reaction I've received upon telling people my reason for heading to west Texas is: "Huh? Why?" And, really, it's a fair reaction: Biblical Hebrew is not the language or subject matter that automatically springs to mind when we think of special interest classes here in Toronto. We're more inclined to take a class on Sushi rolling or Spanish.

So, Mary - yes, of Jerusalem-roommate-fame - met me at the airport in Midland-Odessa. It's been a year and a half since we've seen each other and it felt like we'd left each other yesterday. My flight arrived late so we spent the night at the Howard Johnson's in Midland then drove the hour and a half north to Seminole the next morning. Here's the landscape:



That's right, Pump Jacks as far as the eye can see across this very flat expanse of the state. It was really cool when I was flying out of Midland-Odessa airport three days later to look down and see green squares of land stretched out below and in each square was a smaller sandy square amidst which was set a Pump Jack. Not one or two but hundreds.

Just before we slowed down to take this photo ("Hey Mary! I'll bet that burger is actual size - we are in Texas."), I saw my first State Trooper pulling a car over. My shutter-trigger-finger was too slow to get a shot of him, but how cool is that? He had on a big cowboy hat 'n' everything. Yes, I'm easily impressed by sighting lawmen that I thought only existed in movies.



This is the other sign I found heeelarious. This is on the way into Andrews, between Seminole and Midland-Odessa. Does anyone else want to belong, if they don't already, to a Complex (with a capital "C") Community? Or is that just me?


Driving into Seminole, TX, is like stepping back in time: there's no Starbucks, there's no mall. There is a McDonald's, a Subway and a Walmart, but otherwise there are none of the modern commercial conveniences to which we're accustomed. It was refreshing - but also necessitates owning a vehicle. The people, though! All of the people I met are warm, welcoming and eager to have me in their community and to share with them my knowledge of Biblical Hebrew - which I have to admit, is far from exhaustive but is something that I love. The other thing I have to admit to is really enjoying the company of these people and how grateful I was that they busted a lot of the stereotypes (and I truly love it when this happens in any situation) that we Northerners may have of Southerners. No one asked me if I were married, what my religious beliefs are, nor did they try to convert me to theirs. There were no snakes or talking in tongues or hellfire and brimstone at the Pentecostal church service that we went to, led by Bobby. In fact, and I hope he won't be offended by this, but I'd have to say that Bobby is a feminist: his sermon - which he warned "may offend some people, and for that I'm sorry" - was all about how if you don't understand women, you won't understand the Bible. He proceeded to outline how the menstrual cycle and gestation of a human baby line up with the holy-feast days of the Jewish calendar. It was interesting, to say the least, food for thought.

I was not in the middle of a Flannery O'Connell novel.

So, this next adventure isn't a sure thing yet, but we'll cross our fingers for it to be. Yes, I'll take Annie. And, yes, if I'm down there for any length of time I'm quite sure I'll pick up a wee twang in my voice. I already say 'y'all' and I can't seem to answer a yes-or-no question anymore without adding 'ma'am' or 'sir' at the end.