The day of the dead

I've had a great few days. I spent a day at Mt. Pleasant Cemetery with my daughter and husband, wandering through the amazing memories created on the behalf of the dead. It is nice to see how loved people are, even in death, and the lengths people will go to to keep their memories alive.

Our goal on this visit was to find the resting place of William Lyon McKenzie King. But in our travels we found the Eaton, Massey, and Gooderham Mausoleums, to name a few. These were large, elaborate crypts, generous in their stone work and creative in their architecture.

There were also the smaller, more poignant headstones, outlining a life well lived, or not lived long enough.

The great thing about Mt. Pleasant is how peaceful and well kept it is. The dead are respected and cherished. With the sun out, and the wind rustling through the trees, you can feel the presence of the past all around you. I love to touch the stones, imagine the life lived long ago.

Afterwards, we went to the Toronto Necropolis. It, too, is a wonderful old cemetery. The "residents" have been housed there since the 1850's when bodies were moved from Potters Field at Yonge and Bloor to their present site.

The Necropolis houses some famous people from our Canadian past, and it was like being on a scavenger hunt, trying to locate the various celebrities. We found Ned Hanlan, George Brown, William Lyon McKenzie, to name a few.

But the best part, despite getting caught in a rain storm, was the time spent with my family. We talk about trends that we see in the dates of death, what it must have been like to bury so many family members at one time, and we try to find connections between the families.

As for William Lyon McKenzie King, we never found him. On returning home and researching the names of those we found, we determined he was in fact at Mt. Pleasant Cemetery, where our search had begun.

So the nice part of all of this is that we are planning Mt. Pleasant II...a continuation of our previous visit, and more time spent together. Its amazing how nice a day can be when your teenager is interested in what you are doing, and wants to participate.

I think I have found the key to life....and it appears to be held by the dead.

The Wedding Dress

Last week I went shopping with the eldest, Yvonne, for wedding dresses. The plan was to meet downtown and hit a few of the stores to sample their wares. I took the GO train down, and amused myself by listening to my iPod and playing peekaboo with the little fellow in the seat in front of me. On arrival I dutifully met up with Yvonne outside of Cinnabun.

We decided that we would go to Yorkville. It was a beautiful day for walking around, we could hit the stores, grab a drink on an outdoor patio, and later meet up with our fellas for dinner. A perfectly planned day. While both Yvonne and I are directionally challenged, we were able to make our way via subway to the area we wanted. And with only a few false starts, were able to get directions to where we wanted to be.

Now understand, I was under strict orders to look nice. So my hair was freshly washed and dried, and there was a haze of hairspray lingering over my head. I had put on both lipstick and mascara. I wore jeans with no holes, a nicely patterned denim shirt, and a pair of heeled slip on shoes. I was prepared!

And then we started walking.

Well, within 5 minutes my feet were sore. Stupidly, I neglected to wear stockings on my feet and before long I was limping along the sidewalk like a gimp. I was in pain. The ever-helpful Yvonne started to ask people on the street where we could buy stockings, and we were directed to a store.

The sales woman was lovely, very helpful in trying to sell me $30.00 stockings, but we finally settled on a reasonable amount for a pair. And then I took off my shoes.

The poor sales woman! She looked at my feet and said "oh my!" I had no skin on the outer aspects of my little toes. Blood was oozing down my feet. I was kindly offered bandages and peroxide, and bled through the first four bandages. With 4 new bandages on my toes we finally left the store.

But my feet would not cooperate. Every step was agony. I plodded along flat footed, my legs bowed like I had a bowling ball wedged between them, just to avoid pressing my shoes against my toes. This just wasn't working. So now we were in search of sandals. When we finally found some sandals, my old shoes were bagged and finally the hunt for a dress began.

Now I must admit, we only got to try on one dress. But what a vision she was in it. A mermaid style with a lacy train, Yvonne suddenly looked grown up, and more beautiful then ever. No matter what she settles on, she will undoubtedly be a beautiful bride.

But somehow we kept circling the same park over and over, wandering aimlessly, and finally abandoned our search in preference of wine on an outdoor patio. And not a moment too soon.

Having bled through my bandages again, my feet were sticky with blood. And to make it worse, I had now rubbed raw the area between my big toe and the next little guy. I had developed water blisters that had burst and were draining serous fluid down my feet. I began to take on the appearance of something from The Night of the Living Dead.

After meeting up with our guys, we had dinner and finally headed home. My feet were throbbing, itchy, and swollen. I soaked my poor feet when I got home, but continue to leave trails of sticky serous goo on my floors. My toes are still bleeding.

But was it worth it? Absolutely. Because I got a glimpse of the future...Yvonne encased in a flowing white gown, the look of anticipation on her face as she tried the dress on, the excited chatter about her vision of her wedding.

And I learned a valuable lesson. The question is, how can I make my Crocks match a cocktail length dress when the time comes?

P is for...

Good Friday was just that..a good and glorious, sunny day. As such, it only made sense that I would take my dog, Shelby, to the dog park for a play date with any and every dog available. We had a great time. She ran, she sniffed, she swam. All in all, a relatively successful day at the park.


The other reason I love going to the dog park is to take pictures. I love photography, and enjoy snapping photos of anything that strikes my fancy. I make a point of looking up and down, back and forth, so that I do not miss an opportunity.

So as we wandered around, Shelby galloped and I snapped pictures of anything that struck me as interesting. I was looking, in particular, for signs of spring. Fresh green buds sprouting from the warm earth, nests being built in anticipation of things to come, ice clinging to the banks of the stream.

Amid all the muck and debris left behind from winter, I found a cluster of small yellow flowers. They were struggling to get out from underneath the remains of winter, and the contrast of seasons was just what I had been searching for. So with that, I crouched down in the mud to snap some shots.

Of course Shelby was interested in what I was doing and was milling about trying to see what was holding my interest. Luckily another dog, a Spaniel, came around the corner, so off she went to introduce herself.

Now, you must understand that Shelby is a bit of a Mommas girl. She won't go too far, and always comes to find me if she can no longer see me. So shortly after the sniff-fest began, she came bounding back to me with the Spaniel in tow.

I noted the two of then out of the corner of my eye, but was rather focused on the yellow flowers. And then it happened.

As I was snapping away with the camera, I vaguely noticed that something had changed. Things seemed to have gotten strangely quiet, and then I heard the gasp. As I turned my head to see what was going on, I saw, and felt, what had made the Spaniels owner pause.

Beside me was the Spaniel. Leg lifted high in the air, he was peeing on me! I'd like to think that I was so still, so intent on my cause, that he mistook me for a rock. But at the end of the day, I was natures outhouse, and he was using it.

So, with my track pants wet from hip to knee, I stood up and looked at this dog. His tail was wagging, his tongue was lolling, and all in all he was quite pleased with himself. Shelby, being of no help at all, just stood there watching. Her tail, too, was wagging, and I think there was a little smile on her doggy face.

The Spaniels owner was caught between horror and humor. She offered me a rather pathetic apology...it's hard to accept "I'm sooo sorry" when the person is laughing at you.

With that, I gathered the shredded remains of my dignity and headed for the exit. I was a tremendous hit with every dog we passed.

We left the park.

And they call this therapy...

Joy is a Dominatrix and I am a Submissive. I had this moment of clarity shortly after I started physiotherapy.

Don't get me wrong, Joy is a wonderful woman. She is smart, perky and friendly. We clicked upon meeting. However, it also became clear that she called the shots, and I poured them.

During the initial physio assessment, there was a strange and unsettling focus on my breasts. "Pick those girls up" barked Joy, "Point them up". This action would apparently pull my shoulders back, and aid in moving my left shoulder blade back the 1 inch it appears to have migrated. It also made me very uncomfortable.

You see, it has been 3 weeks since I have worn a bra. Not overly well endowed, I do, however, have what I like to think of as a somewhat perky rack. But I have also noted the slow and steady slide of "the girls" towards the floor. I am in my mid-forties and gravity is pulling on me hard. Gravity is winning, and I am but a slave to the universe.

So on command, I pulled my shoulders back and the girls swung upward. They apparently had not seen this much daylight in a very long time, because before I knew it, they were inching their way back to familiar territory...my navel.

The girls, it seems, like dark places. They like the nether regions. They love being able to caress my belly button and glory in their ability to clean lint from my navel. They revel in their ability to massage and perform pedicures on my feet. They are soul mates with my soles. But one look from Dominatrix Joy had them scurrying for chest again.

So at home, I practiced, practiced, practiced. I was afraid to fail, because Joy had threatened to tape a rolled up towel between my shoulder blades if I failed. What's a girl to do?

Unfortunately, Joy was away last week and I encountered the unsuspecting Jeff. As he perused my chart and asked how I was progressing, I proudly thrust my bust to the sky. "Look at the girls" I said. "Look how far up they are and how long they can stay there".

Dead silence.

Apparently Jeff was more interested in how my shoulder was doing then how well behaved the girls had become under Joys strict tutelage. Hmmm...

So after clearing his throat numerous times, Jeff decided we should move along and perform some activities on my arm. So, dangle, dangle, dangle, swing, swing, swing, and we were done. Or so I thought.

But then Jeff decided I would benefit from some high tech Dr. Ho contraption that would aid in healing. Like the good Submissive I am, I was eager to please. So I struggled with my T-shirt, bending, twisting, tugging, but to no avail.

"Jeff" I asked, "can you help me take my shirt off?"

"Oh, oh" was the embarrassed, blushing reply. "I haven't been asked to do that in a very long time...my hands might shake" he replied. A very awkward silence followed.

I looked at him, he looked and me, I looked down at the floor, hoping to be swallowed up by some mutant cockroach that might pass by. And then it struck me! I had a tank top on underneath my T shirt!

I offered to hold the tank top while he removed the shirt, and then all was good. He applied the Dr. Ho with the utmost professionalism, and I settled down for my treatment.

As Jeff was leaving a thought struck me. "Jeff," I asked, "Should I point the girls up while I'm sitting here?"

The response was silence and the soft click of the door as it closed. So much for trying to please people.

Post-op Blues

After a year and a half of whining, I finally had my left shoulder repaired. An easy proceedure, I predicted, with a short, non-eventful recovery. This would be mine to enjoy...or so I hoped.

However, in the first few days I discovered that my left arm was far more important to my health and well being then I had imagined. For instance:

Hair washing: a thing of the past. With a useless left arm and instructions not to get wet, I had to resort to having my poor husband, Dale, wash my hair in the kitchen sink. An easy task, you would think, but in reality similar to bathing a dog in the tub. Bubbles and water everywhere, howling on my part as it wasn't being done to my exacting standards, and the worst part, the inability to dry my hair. After multiple attempts to teach my husband how to make a ponytail, we resolved the situation easily...I cut my hair.

This of course, led to problem number 2...

Hair drying: impossible sums it up. So, in an attempt to maintain my dignity, I engaged in an experiment involving mousse and gel. The result? Phil Spector.

Problem number 3? Its a little thing, but an important thing...

Shoe Laces: I resolved this problem by wearing my ever-ready pair of Crocks. However, then I was invited out by my friend Lisa. A little road trip to Trenton, a day out of the house. How exciting! Until I decided to put on proper shoes. I slipped on my runners, pre-tied, and went on my merry way. Until the shoes undid themselves. Hmm...how do I fix this? Swallowing my pride, I had to ask my friend to tie my shoes. A simple thing, but humiliating none the less. Lisa was gracious as always, but I'm certain I heard a snort in there somewhere.

Eating/drinking: I could not open tins, cans, bottles, bags. I could not put plates of food in the microwave, or take them out. I was useless! I learned not to open bottles while propping the bottle between my legs because I ended out wearing the contents. I learned not to cut open bags of veggies while holding the bag in my teeth as the scissors are damn sharp. I learned that chicken, beef and pork need to be cut up by someone else if you intend on eating as opposed to tearing it up with your teeth. I have now lost 10 pounds.

Sleeping: an easy situation to manage. Step one: secure the Velpo sling. Step two: take Percocet. Step three: insert snoring sound here