Cold Rag and the Q1 Boogie

And so it's begun. Back into my first week of training. I started with a Wednesday night spin glass and a Thursday night Gravity class.

Spinning was intense and great. The lights go out and there are coloured ambient lights that transition as "Wallace" the trainer talks you through the various phases. There are modules that are placed on each bike that you plug your earphones into so the sound of both the music and his voice are crystal clear.  Wallace is seriously and awesomely good at this. The talk through is flawless, the sequences great as is the choice of music for each segment. I did a 45 minute class and when Wallace remarked that it was only 8 minutes to go, I felt like I'd only been biking for 20 minutes.

Downsides? Well the seat hurts like a mother. You literally need to break in your butt muscles so they get used to the seat. And the machines at my gym are top of the line and the seats are well cushioned. It was bloody agony at times, but I kept going.  Then at the end, Wallace distributed wet wash cloths straight out the fridge. Honestly, the feeling of it hitting my overheated face and neck was akin to the second coming of Christ.

Gravity was very challenging, but interesting. You use a machine sort of like a Pilates reformer and the resistance comes from your own body weight, the machine adjusted accordingly for different intensities. You work your whole body. This is where I can honestly say I felt weak in some areas, and I have been most sore and tired from this class.  But now that the pain is lifting and I can feel that solidification in my muscles that comes on when they get stronger. I'm already feeling addicted to it.  Gravity is going to be a hard class. It's aptly named, given how well it's brought me down to earth in terms of my current fitness state.

So yes, sore and tired, as expected. I had a rotten week at work, and was then up at 7am on Saturday to go catch Rosy's basketball toss tournament.[She came in 2nd by the way and is going to the All Ontario finals. Woot!]

It all caught up with me a bit and I was immensely grateful this morning that I didn't have to go to spin today.  I was the only one booked in, given the gold medal hockey game at the Olympics. I'll go tomorrow and God help me, that's me working out for four days in a row. I'm hoping I can take it and not get "emnoyed."

This is a new word I've coined. It's kind of like "hangry" except it's the combination of trying to hold down a job while trying to move ahead in other areas of your life and not having enough time for either.  Working out and getting in shape, quite simply, wouldn't be so hard if I didn't have a job. I'd have proper time to rest. But there are far bigger problems to have. I just need to guard against getting worn down because it affects my mood so negatively. Plus work has been a gauntlet run lately.

But it's all ending this Friday. The Q1 Austerity Beast has struck, and the freelance budget was hit hard.

I was initially pretty worried about this not sleeping well etc. I know logistically I'll find something else. I always do. It just took me a little while to adjust to it. I have some full time permanent opportunities that look like they might amount to something, but part of me is beginning to enjoy freelancing, which I didn't expect.

There are many things to recommend it though. You get to work in different places. You're typically there to cover off something specific so you tend not to get overloaded with work. Frankly, the client tends to be delighted if you can show up, ramp up and get shit done quickly. You get to meet tons of new people and experience different businesses and work environments. You learn. A lot.

It may be that this is where my career is now moving. Who knows? Right now, I'm open to anything.

As Ragdoll and I so often say to each other: Head down. Work hard. Keep going.

It can accomplish miracles.

A Call From Grandpa

My father: And how is school Rosy? I hear you're taking French.

My niece Rosy: Yes I am.

My father: "Est-ce que tu parles français?"

My niece Rosy: [yelling upstairs] Mommy! Grandpa's talking crazy talk!!

My father: I am not talking crazy talk. I am speaking french.

My niece Rosy: [yelling upstairs] Apparently, it's french!

Trying

I wasn't a great week, wasn't a bad one.

I'm starting to realize that lapses and fatigue are most of the time, a sign that I'm recovering and getting better, versus anything to be really upset about. I just need to take the rest I need, when I need it and keep going.

Still, I'm glad last week is over. We came out of a major site relaunch at work and had what I call a "slow boat to China" week. Everyone was fried, me included. Plus, Ragdoll was in and out of hospital and that was, frankly, very worrisome. She is now on the mend.

I start workouts next Thursday. Feeling up to that again which is great. I'd start Tuesday, but my Pop is going in for his second hip replacement and as my sis is out of the country, yours truly is babysitting Rosy while my Mum is helping Pops at the hospital.

Alone. With my niece.

Pray for me.

Hand Me Down My Walking Cane

This past Sunday I drove my father over to the city's east end to see my grandmother. She'd been quite ill and my Dad had had his right hip replaced, so they were anxious to see each other. I have to admit that I got a little choked up when I picked my Dad up at the house and saw him walking more normally than he has in over two years. Plus he now has a cane to wave about when he's doing his belligerent old man schtick. It's very funny.

On the way over, we were listening to a program called the Sunday Edition on the CBC. They're currently doing a series on music that changed the world, and this latest show was about rap music. I thought it wouldn't be my thing, but it was actually very interesting and though very high level, hit on a lot of the essential points.

My Dad enjoyed it immensely and said that though he wasn't going to run out and buy a rap CD anytime soon, the show had very much informed his understanding of rap and its sensibilities, and that he had a lot more respect for it as an art form.

When we got to my grandmother's I was happy to see her looking better than I expected. She had a bad bought of viral pneumonia back in October and hasn't quite bounced back since. She was recently in the hospital with congestive heart failure.

I really feel for my grandmother sometimes because she is on her own, is old and has a lot of health problems to contend with. Granted, she has a good network of friends who stay in touch, but there's nothing like the feeling of being ill or not quite up to things and not having anyone around who could provide simple comforts of a cup of tea. I remember the year and a bit I was off ill, and it's those simple hurdles of day-to-day loneliness that I had to get over that I remember the most.

And that being said, at least I had Mojo my cat.

Plus at 80+, my grandmother is still as sharp as a tack. Inevitably, she also has to contend with people treating her like she's senile, particularly hospital staff. It all must get so tiring.

At any rate, we were all able to have a nice chat, sandwiches and coffee. I threaded two needles as my granny's eyesight isn't what it used to be and fixed her humidifier. My father waved his cane around at the appropriate moments.

I find as I get older that it is these little moments that stick to my heart and gain in importance. I can't wave a wand and make my grandmother better, but I can wash some dishes and thread needles and listen to her stories. She won't be here forever and will join the line of others I've already lost as I've travelled through life.

I often think about this and my niece Rosy. One day, God willing, she will be here still but me, my sister and my parents will all be gone. I cannot bear the loneliness of this thought for long because it usually isn't contextualized by the notion that she will be a grown woman with a family and friends of her own by then. I usually quickly shift my mind elsewhere when it crops up, because to me my niece will always be my little Rosy.

I suppose I also enjoyed the visit this weekend because the death of Natasha Richardson had been weighing on my mind quite a lot. Like most people, I can't get over the almost flippant quality the circumstances of her death have taken on. It's hard to fathom that one wrong spill on the bunny hill is all it takes.

I remember when I arrived in New York City in early 1993 that we were all abuzz with the fact that Natasha Richardson and Liam Neeson were starring in Anna Christie. Tickets, particularly for poor students were a complete no hoper and I was disappointed. At the same time, if I'm honest, I was also jealous. I coveted her family connections [which is ironic considering that by all accounts, Ms. Richardson moved to New York to escape them] because I saw them as a ticket to the artistic life I was working so desperately hard to have.

The closest I have ever gotten to a Redgrave was when we got free tickets from school to go see Shakespeare for My Father, Lynn Redgrave's one woman show. It was simply a tour de force, absolutely wonderful and afterwards, a group of us waited in the front lobby to perhaps catch a glimpse of her and wave hello.

Not only did we get to say hello, but she autographed my Playbill. I still have it. I will never forget how gracious Lynn Redgrave was. I'm sure she was exhausted, but still she took time to give us autographs, ask us about school, and generally just let us bask, if just for a moment, in the light she gave off.

I get emotional about this because I've heard in news commentary so many others speaking of Natasha Richardson in this same vein. Many reference her warmth, her great laugh, her fierce love for her husband and children, her love of her craft. I think she was at once relatable and inspiring because she struck me as someone who was genuinely enviable for having made the best of their talents, for being someone who seemed comfortable in their own skin. It was refreshing to encounter this in an era of celebrities famous for being wealthy, attending parties, or in general, just behaving badly. It has seemed unbearably cruel to see someone so competent and exceptional at what they do taken in their prime.

It is whimsy at its worst, so I take in the good moments as much as I can, these moments at my grandmother's, spending time with my parents the rest of the day, hearing more funny stories about my niece, having the Marine and my cats to come home to when the day is done.

No matter what else I may ever want out of my life, I have already been given so much. It's important to remember that.

All Over Bar the Cryin'

Today I took Toby to his new home - Brampton, of all places. It was very bittersweet. To be completely honest, I was hesitant. I really didn't want to give him away, but part of me felt overwhelmed at the thought of another cat.

It all started out well enough. I managed to get Toby into a kennel cab and up to his new place. His new family, quite simply, are my dream adoptees. I couldn't have asked for better people to give Toby a home. They were in love at first sight. As for Toby's new buddy, Zappa, he is a wonderful little fellow too. Neither of them were hissing or remotely aggressive with each other. It seemed almost meant to be. I said goodbye, leaving Toby under the couch lounging with Zappa, safe in the promise of more treats to come as his new Daddy remarked "Hello Toby. Welcome to the spa!" Heh!

Afterwards, I drove over to my parents house. I took a route up main street on what was a glorious late summer day. You can imagine, in weather like this, Brampton in its frontier prime, a small town in the country tagging on to Toronto's ascension, building quaint manor homes and cottages, welcoming industry, nary a shadow ahead - or so it must have seemed.

Rosy, my niece was waiting for me. She's been staying with her grandparents while her parents are in Thailand. She was so excited to see me because she was able, at long last and with much fanfare, to present me with her collection of Care Bears in their entirety. I was, needless to say, immensely impressed.

It was a great afternoon of chatting with my Mum, teaching Rosy dominos and blowing off the office work I was planning to do this weekend.

Courtesy of The Marine, I then returned home to a hallway emptied of all the things I had looked out for Goodwill yesterday . I had been merciless. We don't have a lot of extraneous items to begin with, but I was really thoughtful about this process, evaluating each item with the subtlety of Lorenzo Lamas on Are You Hot? Had I used it? Did I like it?

A perfect example was the white and gold ceiling fan I had. I had been keeping it for sentimental reasons. My Dad had installed it in my room and I remembered how decadent it felt to have a ceiling fan in my room as a pre-teen. I felt so classy and stylish, obtaining what I thought was my first legitimate taste of Harlowesque glamour.

That fan has been sitting in the spare room for over a year. We'll probably never use it. It fits essentially nowhere as far as our planned decor scheme is concerned. And in terms of sentiment, of what value is it to a memory of my father, lying in a room, redundant? I have so many other and better memories, other trinkets like letters he has written me and books he's picked up for me because he thought I'd like them. And my father is quite simply a practical man. As he would say "Get it outta here!"

Then I remembered the tail end of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes that we caught on TVO last night. Monroe was a killer comedienne, so vastly underrated. Who else could say a line like "I can be smart when it's important." and leave you laughing so hard you're hurting? I haven't thought of Monroe since my teenage obsession her. It was nice to be reminded of that time.

I headed upstairs, cloaked in a good memory. Old stuff I didn't use or want anymore was gone. I was feeling lighter. Then I got to the top and saw Cookie. All at once, I remembered how timid and angry he used to be, scowling under the bed, grudgingly coming out only to eat food. Some meds and one week with Toby later, he's a whole new cat who's actually letting me pet him. I remembered how yesterday morning, Toby was giving Cookie kisses.

I've been a basket case ever since, crying, wondering if I did the right thing giving Toby away. Even after being with us just a week, I'm gutted. I don't know why I'm so upset. The joy Toby's new guardians will obviously take from him being with them is of little comfort right now. I'm feeling his absence keenly.

Maybe I'm feeling other absences. Maybe I'm feeling what it's like to not be the rescuer all the time, to say look you handle this. I can't. Maybe I'm feeling relief. Maybe I'm feeling what it's like to just let go.

Maybe I'm feeling. Period.

Happy Birthday Rosy

Today I was at my parents house to celebrate Rosy's fourth birthday. Hard to believe really. It's been such a short, yet long time.

I really like my niece at this age. Her personality is beginning to define itself, lending ever more credence to my theory that Rosy is in fact, the reincarnation of my maternal grandmother.

Rosy is, bar none, the bossiest person I have ever met in my life.

I was persona non grata today I'll have you know. There were too many new and exciting people to play with. I kept trying to get Rosy's attention, waving to her and saying hello, only to be blatantly ignored. On my third wave, I was allowed to join her and Sarah for the construction of a farm game she had gotten from her grandparents. This was all a ruse of course, as five minutes later, I was instructed by Rosy to get her an apple juice. So much for that. I felt like David Hasselhoff trying to get a part in the next Scorcese film, only to have the script for Knight Rider: Tunnel Vision 3 land on his desk. Sigh.

Today's celebration felt somewhat strange initially in that here I was at my parents house, and I knew less than half the people there. My sister's acquaintances are all very nice and really made Rosy's day special, but I didn't feel things tempered socially until the bocce ball tournament.

My father simply cannot help himself. Get a group of people together and inevitably, the fiery embers of competition alight within him. Next thing you know, you're in the midst of a take- no-prisoners Trivial Pursuit competition or in the case of today's gathering, a bocce ball extravaganza.

As usual, the women kicked everyone's asses.

The highlight for me was the Dumbarton Mob's gift to Rosy of a Harry Potter kit, replete with Hogwart's rob, wand and Harry Potteresque glasses. Rosy really looked the part, so much so that I wished there was a real Hogwart's that she could attend.

But you take what you can get in this life. Rosy settled for turning me into a frog. Apparently I'll be turned back into my normal self in time for work Monday. As you can imagine, typing this has been hell.

She was also good enough to wave her wand to start my car. I think she may have also fixed the problem with my transmission. The car ran like a dream the whole way home.

Oh and a note to any triatheletes in my readership: make sure you eat some Care Bears birthday cake before the big event. I myself will be cruising on the sugar high from my piece into the wee hours.