From the April A-Z Blogging archives.This was originally posted April 9, 2019
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April 8th, 2013 - GIFTS Taken: Myrtle Beach SC (Xmas 1997) |
Just waiting for the right wave. TAKEN: APRIL 7th, 2016 |
Headed to New Orleans with my Timmies! TAKEN: APRIL 6th, 2017 |
Pretty Curls TAKEN: DECEMBER 1969 |
Lake Louise with my Mama TAKEN: JULY 1976 |
High School Daze TAKEN: MAY 1984 |
Tampa, Florida TAKEN: APRIL 1989 |
Labour Day Monday at Santa's Village TAKEN: SEPTEMBER 1996 |
The summer we lived at the cottage. TAKEN: JULY 2002 |
Sweetie & Me ~ Westin Harbour Castle TAKEN: MAY 2008 |
Top of El Arco - Mazatlan, Mexico TAKEN: NOVEMBER 2019 |
April 3rd, 2013 - CAMERA Taken: March 29th, 2013 |
Annie watching Puddie & Dot run the golf course. TAKEN: MARCH 15th, 2014 |
'JUST SHOW UP EACH AND EVERYDAY' ~ W.J. Schneider DOT's PIC TAKEN: March 31st, 2014 |
One of my teen year bullies snapped this pic! (Introducing my one time blog costar: Dusty) TAKEN: WINTER 1983 |
In this electronic offering, I would like to discuss something as simple as the fact that I was privileged enough to get my hair cut and coloured in Simcoe-Muskoka last week.
As proof of how truly grateful I am, I have attached before and after selfies illustrating my being provided a much needed personal service that I took completely for granted.
Before and After: With selfie photoshoots happening less than a month apart. TAKEN: FEBRUARY 2021 |
Before I begin my rant, I would like to insert a caveat. With all we have happening in the world right now, I wake up every morning making an honest effort to be politically diplomatic. Meaning... 'to say nothing, especially when speaking, is half the art of diplomacy.’
I will acknowledge the fact that I’m sure you're perplexed out of the gate with the concept of my saying ‘nothing.’ My choice isn't because I have decided to shy away from the comfort of confrontation, more because in the last year I tend to gut check before I engage online with a person that is being irrational; to ensure that they are NOT going to be doing the same thing.
That said, though I have my own ideas on how we got to today, I was wondering if anyone else (specifically in Ontario) feel like the tail is now officially wagging the dog?
Why has cart sanitation and hazard pay at the local box stores disappeared, yet my amazing hairdresser with only one chair, obsessed to comply with every safety aspect thrown at her, expected struggle to generate honest revenue and pay bills?
It makes no sense.
The fact that the 'essential' weed shop in the sleepy little town where I live is an uber small business with a line up around the corner and down the lane, yet for months I couldn't get a haircut in a shop with a single chair. Even more baffling's that the elementary schools remain open here after cases are confirmed in students, and people still can't get a f*ucking haircut!
Look, I know I am scratching a scab that has been puss filled for a year. But we are locked down in Muskoka again thanks to a supposed 'UK variant' that has landed from Ireland. How did it get here?
At this point, because we aren't allowed to travel, my best guess makes me wonder if it landed on the lid of a can of Guinness sold at the local LCBO, that slipped into the store cooler after refusing to wear mask.
That said, did you hear? I got my hair done. We wore masks and everything!
Had it been 72 hours later? My gal would have lost her license!!
#rantcomplete #yagottalaughaboutit #totalbullshit #limitededition
For the last decade, Friday mornings in January had me check the weather to see how low the temperature was expected to dip within the coming 48 hours. This weekly tradition helped me understand how my weekend was going to be spent (-10C registered as balmy and -25C as housebound).
If I was lucky enough to be blessed with a mild winter, one of the two days had me strap on my snowshoes and head out with the pups. Nine times out of ten I would land at the cottage but if I did not have the luxury of half the day to myself, the golf course across the street was an excellent option for my weekly ritual.
A few years ago, when our beloved Dotti's hips began to be an issue, my biggest winter priority was ensuring she had a series of snowshoed paths for easy access around the lower level of our yard, so she would never struggle when out to do her stinky winter thing with nature.
With our Puddin’ entering her twilight years, it seemed my winter weekends were once again destine to be spent blazing trails with my showshoes. With her general lack of speed and muscle mass, I knew she would be appreciative to be able to navigate her turf with general freedom; and yours truly, grateful for the outdoor exercise.
That said, with my husband having his own personal health setback at Thanksgiving, he too is in search of whatever exercise he can easily accomplish.
You can tell by the picture I am sharing (which I snapped standing in my showshoes) that my trails are getting an updated facelift, and my longstanding pup efforts are being replaced.
Can't stop change, only manage it! #yagottalaughaboutit TAKEN: JANUARY 31st, 2021 |
I don't mind his initiative, I honestly don't. My girls will love their new trails that are wider and much easier for them to navigate.
I guess my wee issue is that this whole lockdown situation has NOT been my friend.
I may do my best to do my due diligence in the exercise department - only to come back into the house and enjoy a plethora of warm milk and cookies.
I know I have no one to blame but myself. But I will say, that not spending an hour every morning on my appearance to head into an office job, has enabled my keen ability to shroud myself in clothing that masks the number of calories being enjoyed at any given yummy juncture.
Wanting to embrace my glass half full, I have decided to shift my mindset to an uber positive outlook as my appearance changes.
My new mantra? I prefer not to think of myself as overweight...
Just substantially easier to see!!
#missionaccomplished
Over the holiday break, I decided to clean the crawlspace underneath our beautiful front entrance stairs. This 'out of sight out of mind' task can only be described as the long brewing perfect storm of general guilt, individual curiosity, and ultimate discovery.
Neatly tucked away, when you opened the door you were greeted by a gloomy space filled with decorations, old video game paraphernalia and the remains of what I decided to store when I disassembled my marketing firm after the banks fell back in 2008.
Around the corner and under the actual stairs, where the single light bulb couldn't reach, was a massive technical graveyard. A segregated area full of old laptops the kids killed, and any desktop towers I had been blessed to receive the blue screen of death on.
It was also where old printers, monitors, scanners, and ink cartridges from my digital press were also laid to rest. And it wasn’t until I began to haul everything into the downstairs living room that I came face with thousands of hard earned and impulse spent technologies dollars looking back at me.
My two office assistants completely ignoring my technology exorcism. TAKEN: DECEMBER 27th, 2020 |
Most Significant Moment: The arrival and living with COVID-19.
Everything from the toilet paper crisis (the centre pic was my rare cottage find when there was none left within the Province of Ontario), to the end of Donald Trump as the President of the United States.
I feel 2020 was the year of solitude; served with a side dish of hatred and divide!
TAKEN: Throughout 2020 |
January: I participated in a five weekend advanced digital marketing (in-class course) in downtown Toronto. An amazing and eye opening experience!
February: Jukebox and his band headlined a local event that was sold-out and attended by all, including my bestie @veronekak.
March: Our entire community rallied around our childhood friend as he battled a very debilitating illness. This event, held Saturday March 7th, 2020, was the last time I was out socially before the initial pandemic lockdown took effect.
April: The unexpected and very premature passing of my husbands step father from ALS. Rest in peace Ivy!
May: No longer able to live normally because of Covid-19, we moved full time to the cottage.
June: We planted and enjoyed tending to our very first cottage vegetable garden. (We have serious plans for expansion in 2021.)
July: We gave Stella, our floating picnic table, a serious facelift and added a trolling motor for speed. She became the talk of the lake.
August: My Sweetie and her sweetie. I captured this Kodak moment the first time JMrex visited the cottage to meet us.
September: I took a step back and made a plan to move forward!!
October: Our tiny bubble enjoyed a Thanksgiving pumpkin carving event. This was also the evening my husband suffered his life altering health issues.
November: The look of the last eight months as we prepare to hunker back in to yet another lockdown.
December: Totally locked back down and hoping this one word is what we all get to experience in 2021.
My electronic journal found some bizarre inspiration this morning.
It was when the vinyl record player that is my mind kept hearing the classic 1966 Don Ho lounge lizard tune: Tiny Bubbles . (The song title is a link for those that have yet to have the pleasure.)
Now I'm sure we can all agree my chosen isn't a festive holiday tune, nor a track that plays into the whole 'reason for the season' vibe. Let's face it, as we crawl toward the end of a year so annoying it continually tripped over itself (twenty-twenty), a song about tiny bubbles within a lockdown mandate shouldn't be considered unfathomable.
My tiny bubble. Featuring my amazing Fab Five! TAKEN: DECEMBER 25th, 2020 |
My hug-a-mugga-fulla-java holiday tradition I truly enjoy. TAKEN: DECEMBER 24th (l-r 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020) |
It started a few years back when I began embracing Instagram. The mug became a unique way to send best wishes to the masses whilst embracing my love of taking pictures. Not an online shopper, before purchasing this offering (the mug on the far right) I really did have to search high and low locally.
In the end, I chose the one I did for the one-word explanation it illustrates.
I literally stood in the store talking to myself, wishing the past year had brought more joy and far less angst in so many areas of my life. My 2020 choice resembles what I hope the future will unconditionally bring to everyone. JOY.
Merry Covid Christmas eve everyone. More importantly...
Java GREAT day!
A week or so in I noticed my wee Chuck B was not taking on water. The second week I noticed my holiday ribbon beginning to sag. Figuring he was sent to market a month before he became mine, then proudly jimmy rigged him on a glass table so his star could reach the ceiling (next to a large picture window), week three had the inevitable happened. Suffice it to say, I had to officially call his very brittle time of death.
Not one to throw dead needles out before a celebration supper, I decided to refrain from plugging in my beloved 700+ lights until our upcoming Christmas morn.
Meaning, the neatly wrapped gifts will be lit by a lighter shade of green on Chuck's last day, then I will have him serve as my annual Boxing Day quick burn bonfire sacrifice. In a non-religious or Game of Thrones kinda way!
Jokes aside, I’m not even remotely surprised about the general fate of my tree. As a matter a fact, as we head back toward grey-lockdown here in Ontario, I will just add it to my long list of... “I didn’t see that coming at me in 2020." Which also reinforces the important message my buddy Charlie Brown (aka - Chuck B) has been reminding me for decades: “It’s not what’s under the Christmas tree that matters. It’s who’s around it.”
I guess the difference between this year and all others previous, is if you happen to be one of the five in my bubble on Christmas Day, I must ask that you please refrain from standing around the tree with any type of heat bearing or igniting thingamajigs.
Better yet, best ensure ugly holiday sweaters are both flame retardant and cover off at least two of the four hazard categories for arc protection and flame resistance: being the tree itself and a turkey that may burst into flames in the oven.
Guess as a proactive measure, I should promise to have both fire extinguishers and garden hose on standby to keep our wee bubble of visitors safe from any potential and unexpected harm. Which is soothing in itself.
But let's face it....
Who the hell worries about an ongoing lockdown and world pandemic risk when I'm the one cooking a butter-basted bird?!
#yagottalaughaboutit
My pretty pups posing with my frozen foe! TAKEN: NOVEMBER 16th, 2020 |
In the midst of purchasing our current home, the lawyer called the day it was to close to let us know that the old shed in the backyard was encroaching on the neighbouring lot line. His professional opinion was that we should make the sellers move it.
Being the superstar handyman my husband naturally boasts being, he instructed the deal to close announcing that he would gladly relocate the shed. Pictured in the photo background, I don’t think he’s opened the door since he moved our crap into it and that was almost twenty years ago!
Anyway, when my father stayed with us in his end of life hospice care the winter of 2005, he was quick to establish friendships with the local fauna including these photogenic furry tailed bandits.
During his last housebound winter, he introduced an outdoor dining experience like no other - and by the time he left us that June, his newly established extended family understood what a glorious food source this happy go lucky chap turned out to be.
One of my many generations of friends born the spring of 2020. TAKEN: NOVEMBER 2020 |
Loving life packing only a cellphone, a credit card & a smile! TAKEN: OCTOBER 10th, 2013 |
For a number of reasons, this is one of my very favorite selfies I have ever managed to capture. I snapped it in an absolute coffee induced euphoric state, the morning after landing in Old Montreal with a girlfriend.
As the story goes, I had seen The Eagles at the ACC in Toronto the Thursday night before, then hopped a plane to Montreal to see Bon Jovi at the Bell Centre that Saturday night.
I remember embracing the brisk November morning with an extra skip in my step feeling like a brand new person. Not because I was going to venture into historic Vieux-Montréal and its amazing architecture, but because I had made the life changing decision to quit my dream job; a milestone that happened seven years ago this week.
My point?
I think some of you may be surprised to read that for the first time in years, I once again have a skip in my step and I am sporting an ear to ear smile for making yet another life altering choice. I am pleased to report that I have left my sales and marketing position within the construction industry here in Muskoka... and I couldn’t be happier.
Just like seven years ago, my decision wasn't made lightly. It was a transition I had entertained for almost six months. If I am being honest, the reason for the lag was because I had struggled to wrap my mind around the logistics of such a life altering shift.
Like most things in life, timing is everything. I guess you could say, just like the day I snapped this selfie, I had to invest in myself and trust the timing in my life. Even with that trust, I worried my glass may feel half empty. Hence those months it took me to finally decide.
As everyone knows, this isn't rocket science. A job is a job, that in the end you get paid for simply doing a job - and people leave jobs all the time.
In this instance, my personal struggle came with the more than a hundred people I was blessed to get to know and work alongside of with a great sense of pride. It didn't matter which, I was connected to each and every one of them... How could I go?
In the end, transitioning has had zero effect with those I was closest with. Social media has helped close the landline conversation gap and not a day goes by that my phone isn’t a buzz with a meme, a text, or a call from one of many. I guess you could say our friendships are a different kind of payday for simply treating people the way we wanted to be treated.
As I wrap up my post and head over to Spotify, I can't help but reflect on those amazing few days and two great back to back concerts seven years ago. Today has me embracing, blasting, and singing, a number of those really great tunes performed live.
But for whatever reason... Already Gone by the Eagles and It's My Life by Bon Jovi seem to be bringing down the house!
Sorry. Couldn't resist the obvious comical musical punchline.
#yagottalaughaboutit
Last week, after noticing that some of my Canadians snowbird pals were beginning to flock south until next spring, I decided to open up a social media discussion on the possibility of upcoming travel to the Caribbean in the winter of 2021.
I knew I might be encroaching on a tricky topic with some controversial dialogue happening, yet in the wide reaching forum I created, my network answered both respectfully and with personal honestly.
Wind blown, cruising the Mississippi River aboard The Natchez New Orleans TAKEN: MAY 29th, 2019 |
As I sit here and type, I can't help but revisit the very first comment on my thread. A seasoned traveler wrote – “No travel until I’m vaccinated!”
On the day of the election of the 46th President of the United States, I can’t help but wonder what’s next in both the virus protection and travel departments.
Right or wrong, a vaccine produced without proof of proper exploratory stages, pre-clinical development and regulatory review for approval, is not something I am rushing to put into my body.
The shoe on the other foot reminds me that my thread wasn't intended to be a vaccination debate, more about travel input and opinions as I am hoping to hatch a plan and ultimately travel while respecting imposed limitations.
With my sunny wings potentially grounded indefinitely, I know I could always travel and remain in Canada, which is probably my best option at this point. I have family and friends out it BC, so that may be my overall 2021 birthday trip goal.
That said, vaccine or not, if the mandatory 14-day quarantine upon return to Canada is lifted, I will be sitting on a beach in the Caribbean quicker a snowsquall can move into Muskoka knocking out a neighbourhood of Bell satellite dishes.
Trust me.... Here, with our unpredictable winter storm crap?
That's 5G, Flash Gordon, blink and pack because you're leaving on a plane, fast!
#nufsaid
2020 Great Pumpkin Carving Event (l-r) Goob, JMRex, Sweetie, Jukebox, Tam_lya TAKEN: OCTOBER 12, 2020 |
For well over a decade, the weekend before Hallowe’en I have lugged a pumpkin into the cottage and carved it the night before it was closed for the winter. For whatever reason, watching my last seasonal effort of the season flickering by the fall moon light was tradition I always looked forward to.
That said, have you ever had a nagging feeling that something bad was lurking around the corner, and no matter what you did, you couldn’t seem to shake it? This year, I had an eerie feeling my annual pumpkin carve wasn’t going to happen; hindsight has confirmed my ‘spidey senses’ were correct.
In Canada, we traditionally celebrate Thanksgiving the second Monday of October. Feeling unsettled through the month of September, I decided to buy pumpkins for the kids to carve before we ate our family feast.
I don’t want to get into the if and or buts here, I just want to reaffirm that when a loved one doesn’t want to seek medical help you can’t force them and it isn’t your fault. In the end, all you can do is love them and hope they understand how their decisions have effected every single person in their lives.
I am one that has been, and always will be, grateful for the little things in life. Like grown children that willingly participate in a pumpkin carving contest because their mother loves how their simple glow at dusk makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Peeps... Hug the ones you love. Really tight. Because everything can change in the blink of an eye!
Raking leaves... My pregame for snow shoveling! TAKEN: OCTOBER 8th, 2020 |
When walking in the evening with the pups the last couple of weeks, I noticed the neighbouring yards quickly filling with colourful foliage.
Tonight, a sight to behold, I couldn’t help but giggle thinking those vibrant leaves offer their ultimate beauty… When they are being cleaned up by someone other than me!
As you know, I chronicle in this electronic journal every October just how much I love this time of year. Everything feels crisp, the wood burning stove at the cottage makes everything really cozy, and gravy officially becomes my favourite food group.
For whatever reason, I find there is a harmony offered in autumn that no other season brings. A mellow sense of calming that I've enjoyed and embraced which always brings me into a familiar cyclical rhythm.
The leaves fall and get cleaned up. Enough wood gets split and piled. The garage gets cleaned out of spring and summer crap... and weekly outdoor burning of yard debris kicks off with the help of a wee bit of gasoline.
For some strange reason, specific fall activities seem to help me prepare mentally for the bright white blanket that arrives in early January; when my snowshoes relieve my angst.
All of that shared, I can’t help but be preoccupied with the fact that this will be the first fall in the last six that I won’t be jumping on a plane for a burst of November vitamin D.
I was chatting with my bestie today. She also suffers with Seasonal Affective Disorder in the same way I do. With everything locked down, we discussed what the next six months of darkness may offer. I know there’s no magic wand that can help but I am hopeful our daily check ins and dialogue will get us through.
As World Mental Health Day approaches October 10th, I can’t help look to the inspiring quote: “When darkness comes, let us not condemn the dark, but light a light to illuminate it.”
They mean that I need to buy more happy lights, right?
Because that’s how interpret it... as I head online with my credit card!
My Annie on the left and my Puddin' going full tilt on the right! TAKEN: September 20th, 2020 |
Vacation the first week of August may have been a total bust but the weather the last week of summer more than made up for it. I don’t know about you - but there has always been something with the end of September atmosphere that genuinely put an extra skip in my step.
For obvious reasons, as fall approaches each year I always make the effort to give my pups as many unique experiences as possible. I suppose it’s because I know, for the most part, nature is preparing us to hunker down in darkness as we wait for the pre-winter snow to arrive.
As you can see from our last adventure photos, Annie is as active as toddler on steroids but the signs of Puddin’ officially becoming a senior are starting to visibly show. Therefore, I have decided that this fall has to be about a balance. Not just energy level balance. Overall life balance; not only for the pups but for me as well.
Such a big and important thought process (and learning curve) for me right now.
In my effort to strive and achieve it, I will no longer be working 50 hours a week and on call from sun up until sun down. I have disabled all alerts on my phone and I honestly try my best to power that sucker down before I serve dinner and leave it off until I wake the following morn.
That change combined with an inner twang for more personal balance, resulted in me reconnecting with my very best gal pal. It’s not like she and I were estranged per se, just both got busy with life in general and became accustom to the Bluetooth on the road home doing all the legwork for us.
I am pleased to report that this very steady September has us getting back to basics where the first question we ask the other is “...How are you doing?” I had truly missed that.
You see, for the last several years I had been so focused on others and their demands, that the little things that mattered somehow got lost in the shuffle. I guess you could say that prior to making this small, almost minor change in behaviour, I was always in search of the answer as to how to create change.
Then, on the evening of September 10th, I realized that I no longer wanted to wait for the opportunity of change. I understood whole heartedly I had to pull up my big girl panties and encompass and embrace the change I was searching for.…So I did.
The rest is up to me.
Just hanging out at the cottage with my big bad bull Moose. TAKEN: SEPTEMBER 2018 |
My very favourite client was in the office last week and he said to me… “Rhondi, just like you, I’ve had Covid-19.”
We burst out laughing after he continued with, “At the end of all of this, I’m not sure if it will end up being nineteen pounds, or nineteen kilograms!”
I don’t know about you, but as an emotional eater, I can generally peg the time of year when circus music begins to chime in my ear signaling me to buy stock in the most profitable potato chip company. And I can assure you, every fall, any and all are generously sampled; as part of my annual stock purchase evaluation.
What can I say. I was a fat toddler. I was power fed homogenized milk, and in those days the perception was the fatter the better. The good news is I shed that baby fat, the bad news is those formed fat cells follow you forever.
I have always been athletic and outgoing but when perimenopause clicked in everything changed. My body absorbed food differently and in one year my metabolism changed exponentially. It was in that moment I knew I was being put to pasture.
Kicking and screaming and the better part of a year later, I lost the excess weight and changed my lifestyle. That was in 2012.
Even with a major change in lifestyle, winters and my seasonal affective disorder in this harsh tundra have me pulling my gravy crutch out of the hall closet bringing the five or ten pound of weight gain that accompany it. The good news is those extra pounds were always shed before I ever had to appear in any sort of summer shorts or swimming outfit.
This year? We locked down. I filled up. The rest is history!
I want to shed the pounds I’ve gained yet I am a creature of habit.
If gravy has a crutch, my philosophy that if I share with the pups I am really only taking in 1/3 of the calories must be a motorized wheelchair. One chip for each of you, one chip for me. One jelly bean for each of you, one jelly bean for me; and trust me, I am always fair in the distribution department.
I guess you could say that the only way the dogs keep the upper paw on me is because they don't have to share their dog cookies with me. Though I must say, on occasion the label on the front of the box has made it cross my mind.
Not gonna lie.... Those gravy covered Milk Bone dog biscuits definitely land within my mid-winter snack bracket!!
#yagottalaughaboutit
It would appear that Annie and I have similar snackage struggles TAKEN: AUGUST 7th, 2020 |
I read somewhere that marriage is an institution designed to let you annoy one special person for the rest of your life. Yet, I’m sure when you flip my blog and bitch about marriage coin really high into the air it would read: The perfect marriage is between a blind wife and a deaf husband.
I know you’ll probably find this hard to believe, but since opening my own business in 2004, as an entrepreneur I quickly learned to hone two very specific social skills.
1. ALWAYS take a 24-48 hour cooling down period before speaking to whom you’re truly aggravated with, because words can never be taken back.
2. AND...Smile and be thankful for every piece of shit pie eaten that generated revenue.
As you can see from my last couple of electronic offerings, this Covid crap has me crazy cranky.
The cherry on top of that statement is our first official summer vacation together since 2012 was received worse than Bob Dylan going electric and sadder than Levon Helm leaving The Band because of it.
We may have only been at our cottage, but it rained six out of ten days and by this past Saturday morning (when our water pump failed yet again) we both hit the ‘this fecking sucks’ wall. It was clear in our Sunday morning volume alone, we both really needed to take a break.
I moved home with the dogs. He did not.
Now, I should share, we rarely fight nor even disagree.
The two of us at my company Christmas Party TAKEN: DECEMBER 2000 |
In our many decades together we have learned to skillfully navigate each other for continued success. In this instance, our small cottage space, two wet dogs, and a thrice mis-installed water pump got the best of us.
How bad was it? If a successful marriage requires you to fall in love many times with the same person… I’m thinking by Labour Day weekend we might be ready for a lunch date.
That said, I can assure you that it was so bad, my best girlfriend will be making one of those famous ‘escape a really bad date’ phone calls; fifteen minutes in.
#yagottalaughaboutit