A Lost Battle!

Dear Friends,
A decade ago, my friends and I went to see Calendar Girls. Since the movie was about audacious older women, we thought it would be fun to pretend to be senior citizens! The fact that the teenager at the box-office didn't protest, made us  giggle all the way to our seats, wondering what was worse, being found out, or being accepted as oldies!
I'm not exactly sure how and when the ten-year-old prank caught up to me. I'm still not used to being called "ma'am," or every so often, being offered a seat on the bus or on the train. Whenever merchants ask me whether I'm a senior, I object profusely. 
While I wear glasses, I must not see myself very well. The other day, a colleague who was coming toward me, mimicked my walk. He looked scandalously appalling! Instantly, I closed my legs, straightened my back and pushed my bosoms forward.  
"Shame on you Lili!" I said to myself. However, my newly old posture lasted only for a few minutes. As soon as the man in question was out of sight, I started waddling again, shifting my weight from one flat sandal to another, as if carrying a ton of bricks under each arm.
Yesterday afternoon, at the pharmacy, once again in flats, dressed in oversized, overpriced linen pants and shirt, I witnessed my bill go from thirty-six to twenty-eight dollars. 
"It's Seniors' Day!" The cashier reacted to my puzzled look, ever so enthusiastically. 
I opened my mouth to set her straight, but then decided to get over myself, and stop fighting the obvious! I look like a senior, I walk like a senior and I act like a senior, (always poopooing technology)! 
From now on, I'll simply take advantage of my prematurity and welcome the savings. 
If you can't beat them, join them! Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?

To Be or Not to Be an Ostrich?

Dear Friends,
I'm sure I'm not the only Canadian who feels a bit unsteady, these days.
As our politicians continue to struggle with their scandals (Prime Minister Harper with Senate over-expenditures, the former Ontario Premier with the power-plant fiasco, and Toronto Mayor, Rob Ford with inappropriate behaviours), the rest of us are still wrestling with the weather.
However, according to OECD, Canada ranks number three in "Better Life Index."

Not too long ago, our Director of Education resigned, confessing to committing plagiarism; the Ontario Health Insurance Plan is gradually withdrawing "unnecessary" services; the streets of Toronto are home to increasing number of vagrants, with or without mental illness. While the government freezes public servants salary and benefits, the richest one percent of Ontarians are making sixteen times more than the rest of the population.
Shall I just accept and file that, sometimes, leading organizations such as Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development, also make mistakes? Or, shall I simply join the ostriches?
What have you accepted and filed today? 

The Still Passage

Dear Friends,
One day, as I was patrolling the schoolyard, where dodgeball, skipping rope and hopscotch are still as popular as when I was a child, I realized that nothing fascinates me more than the stillness of the passage of time. 
This weekend's events reinforced my belief that for the most part, life's games remain the same, only the players change. As far back as I can remember, family reunions, recitals, birthdays, graduations and shopping sprees have been part of my adult life. Since my sister is only eleven years older than my sons, she always treated them like her cousins. On the other hand, I ended up being forty-five years older than her daughters. Thus, my children acted towards my nieces more like uncles than cousins.
As over the years, we take turns whispering to one another, "PAYBACK TIME," we are fully aware that, all we are doing, is honouring what Flavia Mazelin-Salvi (Psychologies Magazine, December 2012) calls "the unspoken contract that governs any balanced human exchange: I give, and I receive in proportion to my gift." 
As my three year-old granddaughter took a bow and left the stage, I noticed my teenage nieces applauding her, enthusiastically. I couldn't help but feel nostalgic.
Perhaps, if I do a better job of looking after my health, I will be fortunate enough to witness my granddaughters pay forward what they've been receiving so abundantly.  
Although I feel very lucky to be surrounded by all these super conscientious players, deep down, I know, luck has very little to do with this joyous ripply effect. After all, we do reap what we sow. Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?

Shabby Chic Lifestyle

Dear Friends,
Since I've already spent my clothes allowance for this year, and the next two, I've stopped buying fashion magazines. Since, every so often, I need a break from the serious print, this weekend, I opted for a home decorating mag. A few pages into House Beautiful, I realized why I had stopped buying it. My dream of living by the lake, in a "shabby chic" internal and external environment, has flown so far away from me that it has become painful. 
This afternoon, I returned to my brainier publications, hoping to  find the reason behind reality's lack of cooperation with my wants. I want to enjoy my pied-à-terre in the city and my pied-à-eau in Cobourg, simultaneously! But, I can't afford to! 
My sister believes, my obsession with living by the lake is yet, another romantic handout from Hollywood! Interestingly enough, according to an article in Scientific American Mind (March/April 2013) there is nothing Hollywoodish about wanting to escape the perils of the city. Research has shown that people who live close to nature, far from noise, pollution, crime and a variety of social pressures, live longer, and are healthier and happier. 
Running into an attractive man, with or without a boat, is purely optional.

If Canadian politicians stop squandering taxpayers' money, and restore teachers' salary (remember Bill 115), perhaps I could materialize my mirage. Now, that's a real fantasy! Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed, today?

Chocolate & Raspberry!

Dear Friends,
Last night, I had 60 g of President’s Choice Extra Dark Chocolate. First, 460 calories worth of French serotonin had me dancing around my apartment, for a good hour. Then, it kept me up two hours past my bedtime. My cheerful insomnia (something I haven't seen in a while, for I've been falling asleep in front of TV lately) took me to Caroline Myss’ checklist for artist/creative archetype. I've always felt so unworthy of this category. However, since “creativity thrives on optimism,” I decided to read on.  

I do give my imagination free reign. I do like beauty and I do experiment with colour and texture. I already have a creative job, I enjoy spotlight, “Coming alive in front of an audience," although mine constitutes of 7/8 year-olds. Since I have regular readers around the world, I would say my craving for public acknowledgment, is satisfied, but “Equating success with financial gain” keeps pulling me down towards self-doubt!
Last night, under the influence of "happy hormones," I decided that all I had left to do, to complete my profile as an artist/creative, was to paint my bathroom, Raspberry!
Sometimes, all it takes to recognize oneself as an "artist," is 60 grammes of pure, dark delight! Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?

Meaningful Misery

Dear Friends, 
According to a survey I read today on the net, a person's success in life can be determined by his or her math and reading skills, in grade two. According to me, an adult's state of being can be determined by the quality of his or her adolescence. Loneliness - Check! Melodrama - Check! Melancholy, Immaturity - Check, Check! Binging - Check!
Earlier today, as I sat down to proofread my posting, I poured myself a glass of Merlot. After I published my posting, I poured myself another glass. Before I knew it, I was too lazy to shower and get dressed. As I reached for the magic potion, for the third time, I called my son, to cancel on him. He was fine with me dodging mothers' day festivities and staying home.

Since then, I've raided the fridge a few times, a whole tray of macaroni and cheese, a tub of ice cream, a container of almonds and strawberries, two bananas and a carrot. Meanwhile, my mother called to wish me Happy Mother's Day, my ex-husband called to wish me Happy Mother's Day and my unavailable son found time to call, to wish me Happy Mother's Day. Although I felt guilty not answering their calls, I persuaded myself, I didn't have to put on a brave face, to make others feel good about their thoughtfulness. 
I'm not sure what I've accomplished today, by punishing myself (or them) so severely, but according to Tori Rodriguez, a writer and a psychotherapist, there is such a thing as "Meaningful Misery!" It's My Day, and I'll be depressed and feel sorry for myself, if I want to! Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed, since noon?

Mothers' Day Kerfuffle!

Dear Friends,

As I’m waiting for my firstborn to arrive, and bestow upon me the due love and respect, (the younger one made this day about his wife, the mother of his two lovely daughters), I wonder what Freud would’ve said about all this Mother’s Day Kerfuffle! 

Every Mother’s Day, I feel for all the children (young or old) who have lost their mothers. I also think of those women who are not mothers, by choice or fate, and all those who had to give back their title because they lost their children. And then, inevitably, I think of myself, and my mother.

As a child, my first encounter with Mother’s Day was at the age of eight. We had just returned to Iran, where appreciating mothers was a novel celebration. My brother’s teacher had the good sense of having her students make “something” for their mothers, but mine sent us home empty-handed. When I saw that smug look on my brother’s face, I searched in my belongings and found a handkerchief and a small mirror worthy of wrapping. As if my mother couldn’t have figured out by herself, my brother had to bring to her attention that my offering was nothing but an afterthought “objet trouvé." 

My mother accepted my present with a smile, but I heard her for days, boasting about my brother’s handiwork. I felt so ashamed, so small.

As I grew older, I learnt to ask my father for money, and my grandmother for gift ideas. 

My first memory of Mother’s Day as a mother was when I was eight months pregnant with my first child. There was a big celebration at my in-laws. My husband had just arrived from a business trip. Both my mother and sister-in law were showing off the sparkly jewelry they had received from their husbands, on behalf of their children. When I looked at my husband in anticipation, he smiled and said I was not a mother yet! As I waddled into the kitchen, tears of disappointment running down my swollen cheeks, my mother-in-law took off three of her gold bangles and gave them to her son, to show his expecting wife some respect and affection. I felt so ashamed, so small.

I don’t believe I ever wore the damn bangles, but I never forgot about them, either.

As new immigrants, my boys learnt to show their appreciation for their mother the Canadian way — breakfast in bed and a messy kitchen to clean up! I should’ve savored the runny eggs accompanied by burnt toasts and extra-sweet tea longer, since they were the most sincere display of pure, unconditional love.

Almost forty mother days later, I can only think of my shortcomings as a mother, and my unreasonable demand to be celebrated. I should’ve enjoyed my Day while the list of my sins were shorter. Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?

Full Capacity!

Dear Friends,

Hold on to your swimsuits, the next wave of Boomers is hitting the shores, with vengeance! And, every effort is being made to make them appear fresh and attractive! 
Most women's magazines dedicate over twenty pages of advertisement to encouraging the aging female population to look younger and feel healthier. Perhaps, someone should let the manufacturers know that in most cases, in Canada, old age comes with fixed income and/or dependent adult children! 

Even the May/June issue of Scientific American Mind has decided to rationalize our ineptitude. Apparently, it’s not about inability to learn or to remember, but about the inability to unlearn or forget what we already know! That explains why I can remember my friend's twenty-year old phone number, but not her five year-old grandson's name. There is only so much room, up there!  

We probably owe all this attention to "aging" to our popular advisers Chopra, Oprah and  Drs. Oz and Phil who, themselves, are skidding down the hill! Otherwise, politicians, economists and tech-wizards have little interest vested in pensionaries.     

Thankfully, now I can stop feeling inadequate. The only reason why younger people are doing better than me, is because they have more room than me! 
My brain is at full capacity! Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?

ET TU, BRUTE?

Dear Friends,
It's the month of May! Along with sunshine, floods and forest fires come our next year's teaching assignments and the countdown calendar. The corridors of our school come to life with the sound of our panic, excitement, surprise, and in some cases disappointment.
As we rush back to our classrooms to cover the rest of the curriculum, most of us are already fantasizing about de-cluttering, cleaning, packing, moving, even programming for the following academic year. 
Although we are sworn to secrecy to the outside world, we can't help but talk amongst ourselves. In a large school like ours, full of non-teaching staff, including parent volunteers/visitors and some sharp, but nosy students, it's hard to keep anything under covers, for a long time. Eventually, somebody sees or hears something, somewhere. Or in this year's case, someone decides that forming an alliance with a parent, is more productive than remaining loyal to his/her administration and colleagues.

Our winter was long and harsh, laced with enough poison from Bill 115! The government, and to some extend the public, have already greatly undermined our integrity and professionalism. Did you have to, as well, BRUTUS?

My hands are clean, thus I shouldn't be really playing Columbo, on such a beautiful Saturday morning. But, I am, mostly because the amateur analyst in me wants to know, what need did giving the list of everyone's assignments to a parent, fulfill in my colleague. Power? Drama? Revenge? Was it a case of an inappropriate friendship, a misplaced allegiance, or was it just a simple case of having a big mouth?
As I always say to my grade one students, if you have the courage to break the rules and set yourself apart from your peers, have the courage to remain true to yourself, by standing up and taking a bow. Or, apologize! Making mistakes is part of growing up, and we are all still growing up. Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?

The Perils of Boredom

Dear Friends,
All the way into my early forties, I wasn't able to identify my feelings. I mistook hunger for anger, fatigue for sadness and dehydration for irritability. 
It was only a few days ago that I realized I had been mistaking boredom for early signs of mental illness.
Since I thought of myself as a happy veteran grade one teacher, I hadn't noticed that the comfortable pillar of expertise, against which I had been leaning for the last 13 years, had become my tombstone. 

My bored mind had begun to play dirty tricks on me. Not only it made me rehash the bygones and needlessly worry about the time yet to come, but it also made me doubt myself. 
Since I couldn't explain my dissatisfaction with the life that I myself had designed, I blamed my Doomsland state of mind on menopause, the weather and the atrocities around the world. However, the day I walked out of my principal's office with a new assignment in hand, I saw the light. 
As passion surged and invaded my "imbalanced" mind, I spent the first night planning my program, without having a clue about the grade three curriculum. 
As days go by, I feel more invigorated. I'm excited about all the challenges that the leap to grade three presents to me. The outpour of support from my colleagues is reassuring. 
While waiting for the fear of the unknown to kick in (probably in late August) I'm wondering about the perils of boredom. There is so little mention of it in all the self-help books that I have. The answer to my problems was not hidden in male companionship, binging or exotic scenery, but in changing assignments. Come to think of it, teaching a different grade is much less complicated than romance, change of address or losing weight. Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?