ROBBLOG #998- Slap!

 

A phrase that comes up time and time again when reading one of my favourite magazines- English Home,  is : "I don't have anything too precious."

The homeowner on one hand is meaning he/she doesn't have a lot of breakable, expensive, nice things

that could be broken by visitors. On the other hand maybe he/she has already dispersed precious keepsakes.

Either way it's not my way.

When thinking about the future and what I will eventually do with all my "stuff", I realize my major problem is I have too much stuff and it's all precious- to me at least. I know when I shuffle off to the great beyond nobody will want this stuff.

That's a shame.

Much of it is family stuff.

A clock from my Dad's Dad- my Grandfather. 

A charcoal photo of my Grandmother and her brother.

A rocking chair from Lottie- my Mum's Mum and her China set with it's 22 ct gold trimmings.

There's more but I'd be here all day listing the items including a Santa Claus from Christmas 1963 given to me by my Grandmother Lillian Reid. That furry Claus started my Santa Claus collection. HIs beard is a little ratty and yellowy all these decades later but he is still my favourite.

Maybe I can slip him away with me.

Comforting thought to say the least.

I'd better stop or I'll start bawling....

It's a conundrum.

Nieces and nephews have no interest.

The Mister and I have no kids.

Yes folks- I'm barren!

My Siblings have some stuff of their own so they don't need mine to add to their pile.

Do you worry about things like this?

As I start working my way through seventyhood, I seems I have the need to disperse these "precious" things- a plan even.

Not that I plan on going anywhere soon but there's that old adage-

Here today. Gone tomorrow.

Then the Mister has to deal with it.

He tells me not to worry about it.

"What will you care"- he says, "You'll be dead!"

I guess this means I won't have any of my "precious accoutrements in "Heaven" unless he sends them Canada Post Express to wherever I'll be. I must remember when I do leave to jot down a forwarding address. That would be helpful- wouldn't it?

Now that I think of it, if I stopped reading Obits from back home, I'd be better. 

Every few weeks I search through the listings of those who have passed. Usually there's one or two folks I knew way back when- like the High School History Teacher Mr. Wilson whose class I never actually took but used to talk to frequently.

Probably because my cousin Jude babysat for he and his wife.

It's a strange place to be this 70 something.

I don't feel like 70 something but apparently the BC government has plopped me in the fragile senior category offering me my Senior "booster" Covid shot and imploring me to get a flu jab.

I've never had a flu shot.

Like the anti-vaxxers, I guess I feel I can beat the flu.

I am invincible.

Maybe what Dr. Henry here in British Columbia is saying to me is a wakeup call.

In person- like Cher, she might slap me across the cheek and say- 

"Snap out of it!"

Ouch!!

ROBBLOG #997- French like France

 

First off.

Notice this Blog is number 997.

Only 3 blogs and I reach 1000.

A milestone. What happens next?

I had planned to stop writing at number 500.

What happened?

I should go back to number 500 and have a read.

This past week, I slipped into Homo Depot to buy chalked paint.

For several years I have had a yearning to paint our oak dining set and hutch French Linen White.

We had been through a few days of fog and mist and rain when about 4ish in the afternoon I says

to the Mister- "That's it. Homo Depot has the chalked paint I have been wanting back in stock. I'm going to do it!"

And I did.

I painted and chalked my little heart out for a couple of days. Then, I waxed my work.

Overall it was pretty easy.

No prep.

Just paint- although a wipe down doesn't hurt.

Chalk paint doesn't splatter much and it goes on quickly. The end product is bee-you-tea-ful.

A French White Dining room in a day plus a few hours to wax once the chalked paint is completely dry.

This Solid Oak Dining set was made by Mennonites in Ontario- near Guelph, thirty four years ago.

It has stood the test of time but it was looking dated.

I love the French look. Some call it Farmhouse.

The Mister calls it- "I'm not sure but as long as you like it..."

I am used to these retorts these days.

Anyhoo, I do love the look and it brings the white woodwork in the dining area to life.

So back up a bit.

When I stepped into Homo Depot I walked into seasonal splendour. The store just inside the main doors was stocked from ceiling to floor with Holiday decor. There was not a ghoul in sight only reindeer, Christmas Trees and sparkle.

I had a quick look even though I was on a chalked paint mission. On a top shelf I could see a six foot Eiffel Tower. Definitely not as large as the original in Paris but with the twinkling lights it was a very reasonable facsimile in understated gold.

When you visit the tower in Paris it actually is a rusty brown.

This store model was a flat gold. It drew my interest because I bought the same tower in white years ago.

Since my purchase, the twinkling lights have all stopped twinkling and I have had to re-string it with simple, white fairy lights. It works. Just not as pretty as with the prelit twinkling lights. I noticed the price at one hundred and seventy dollars was not as pretty as before either.

I believe a ten dollar can of gold spray paint could give my tower a lift but I'd have to remove the lights, then spray the gold and re-string the lights.

Not sure I'm up for the redo.

I've painted enough this week but never say never.

As a final thought I encourage you to think about "prelit" anything. Over the years I haven't had the best luck when it comes to prelit trees- indoor or outdoor as well as prelit geese. It sure saves time when decorating a tree. Then one year you plug it in and half the tree is dark.

I am thinking about that this year.

Our huge 14 foot prelit, 900 light indoor tree from Costco is looking at its 6th year this Holiday Season.

I hope the heck it works when I plug it in.

If it goes dark you'll hear me scream from British Columbia all the way back to Ontario!

ROBBLOG #996- Sore as "Ho"

 

I fell walking through the man door into our garage.

It was wet out front.

I was barefoot.

I went outside to take down a pumpkin banner that was flapping and snapping in the mountain breeze.

As I stepped into the garage over the threshold and through the door, my right heel slid forward on the floor causing me to fall on the cement on my left knee. I am bruised on my knee and sore from neck to waist on my right side. In hindsight, if I was attempting the splits as a ballet dancer I would be proud.

The Mister opened the door into the mud room just as I was getting up.

He panicked.

I said I am fine but I'll be sore.

What is it that makes us Seniors fall?

I came in the house. Iced my bruised knee and sat down to peruse the CBC News website.

On the second row of stories down the page was the headline- "Risk of Falls for Seniors".

Apparently we seniors- over 65, flop to the floor enough times to have falling related injuries the number one reason we are hospitalized.

I may have gone to the hospital if my right leg had been wrapped up around my neck but it wasn't and I didn't. The article pointed to hearing loss and vision loss as the causes of us smacking the deck. Losing our balance was the result. In my case it was a slippery garage floor. Good Gawd, I might have chipped a tooth or broke my nose. I wouldn't have gone out for weeks what with the swelling and black and blue around my eyes, nose and mouth.

Of course, I repeat- I am fine but I am sore.

I don't feel like 70 but somehow some things I do point to the fact I am and I am not pleased.

A neighbour asked if I wanted to borrow a cane.

"Have one and used one before"- I said, "but thanks."

Crap.

These days my skin is much thinner too. I can mark my arm with anything vaguely sharp like a rubber ball- and have blood gush forth like never before. If our Mini Schnauzer pulls at my arm wanting a treat or a walk, her nails gouge my skin. The rich, crimson blood flows around the blonde hairs on my arm and droplets hit the floor.

This is crazy and the marks take longer to heal than they did in my previous youth.

Some days I should just lock myself in a padded room.

I'd be safe.

Lonely but safe.

I'd better go and apply another ice pack to my knee.

It's smarting a bit.

I have Dr. Ho to help my right side. He doesn't come to the house. I keep his equipment in a drawer in the "Boy's Room"- our main floor powder room.

I use his pads quite often.

Buying his contraption in a search for pain relief, I feel that I have provided extra cash so he can continue to enjoy his life on his huge yacht with all those nubile, blonde girls sunning themselves on every deck.

I'm sure Dr. Ho is well aware how often we oldsters fall or are in pain.

He's stepped up to the plate

...which is better than falling on it. 

ROBBLOG #995- Over the Log

 

I had to reach out to a friend who had recently sunk down a dark, black hole called depression.

It's a bitch.

I suffered from depression years ago.

It's still there inside my head.

At my lowest point down that hole, I was given a choice- hospital or staying with someone- outside of my immediate family, who would care for me. My Cousin Judy- who passed a couple of years back, stepped up to the plate.

I will always love her and will never forget her for that.

She saved me.

You saved me Jude!

I always suffered most at the changing of the season from summer to autumn. I don't know why.

Late August through the fall when it seems everything dies.

Weather changed. Seasons changed and so did I.

At that lowest point I stopped going to work. I lied. I stayed home. In my state of depression I needed to be alone and to be surrounded by my things. I remember thinking if I was a millionaire I could deal with this. I wouldn't have to work and I could take off somewhere whenever I wanted.

I thought it would cure me.

It would have made me feel better but a cure? Not sure there even is a cure. 

It's more of an understanding how to cope and still live a normal life- not that I personally have lived a "normal life" whatever that is...

One day- the final day before I got help, my Mum and Sister, found me crouched in a fetal position

between my bed and a wall.

I was so low.

So low...

I wasn't answering my phone.

People were worried and rightly so.

When I was at the bottom of that dark, deep hole, I had to be on drugs to level myself out.

This was about 1980.

Mental Health issues were not talked about.

If one was depressed one was told to pull up one's socks

and get on with it. 

My Dad told me that.

The brain knew different, however.

A broken arm people could see and understand.

A Mental illness and confusion- not so much

Anyhoo, it was three months or so for me to get back to feeling sort of okay. 

I had put on weight. 

My clothes felt tight. 

My cheeks were chubby.

I was tired but looking forward.

I was "okay enough" to be out in public and even well enough to want to return to work.

I tried.

It didn't go quite to plan.

My work- CHAY FM at the time, let me go.

I went in for a meeting all set to go back to work and they kindly let me go never understanding what

pain I had been through. None of the three managers at the meeting could look me in the eye.

I was done.

I bawled my eyes out in the car as I drove home.

One of my major problems resulting in "the Great Depression" was being in the closet.

I was 29.

On the final day I saw a psychiatrist he said to me:

"Rob you know what you have to do, so go out there and do it."

I did.

I called someone I had met that I knew was Gay and off I went to Toronto never telling a soul why.

After a few weeks- and not long before Christmas, I began to come out to family and friends.

Imagine if every straight person had to come out to family and friends.

For most Gay folks- like myself, it's a journey we must take.

It's like jumping over a log to a better side of the meadow.

Crossing a line in the sand to personal freedom.

It felt great and so right and remember this was 1980 not 2021!

It's a life-changing experience and takes guts but it's a road to wellness I had to take and wanted to take.

My Mum called me one day and said my Dad didn't want me to come home for Christmas!

How nice!

After struggling for months this was not what I needed to hear but I was stronger and moved forward.

Then, at the last minute she called and said Dad had changed his mind.

"Come home for Christmas"- she said.

I said- no.

I had other plans.

I had to watch myself for a few years.

I had to be careful and watch for depression's warning signs.

Things eventually fell into place.

After a relationship from hell in Toronto, I met the current "Mister" on a plane to Honolulu.

A few weeks later when we met up back on Toronto, I told him what I had been through what with depression and coming out a few years before.

Funnily enough, I helped him come out. He hadn't jumped over the log as of yet.

He helped me with my depression. He stayed strong when the vile illness tried to rear its ugly head in the next few years.

I still have "episodes" now and then. 

A small blip but I handle it as best I can.

At least I don't curl up between my bed and a wall any more!

Just a couple of years ago I wanted to go back to Ontario when I found myself dreadfully homesick. I thought maybe we- I, had made a mistake coming to the Island.

Depression is a devil of an illness and creeps up on you.

I had tears.

I tried to feel better and did eventually. Nothing like 1980.

I was just sad and feeling away from everything I had known.

Several people back in "Old Home" had passed and we couldn't go home.

The "monster" lurked and I had warning signals but I beat it back.

I'll always have some form of depression. 

It's in me.

I have to control it and I do.

Recently, I asked the Mister- "If we still lived in Orillia right now, would we make the move to the Island?"

It's a hard call to make and I don't know why I asked the question in the first place. I still get a pull from "old home" and the Autumn season now and then it leaves as quickly as it comes.

Most importantly, if you believe you are suffering from depression, know you are not a alone.

That's the most important part of all this depression crap.

You go to the people who support you and understand and it's not always those closest to you. 

Some people have a very hard time sorting through things like this and want no part of it.

If they only knew what it was like for us...

So that's my rambling on my life with depression.

Get help.

Keep strong.

Remember "Life is Good".

Lean on those you can.

and

Be Well.

ROBBLOG #994- NO HO HO HOliday Shopping

 

I guess we won't see Berlin or Paris or London this coming Holiday Season.

We've made two appointments during the time period we usually go. We didn't go last season due to covid but we had hopes that this year would be different.

It's not.

Perhaps it's even worse.

Documents needed. Masks. Do this. Don't do that. I'm NOT doing that.

Be safe.

How the hell can we be sure?

Oh, we could go to London and do some of our fun Christmas things like window shopping at Selfridges or having a meal at our favourite Oxford Street Pub The Three Tuns. The question is- if we were exposed to this new strain of covid or the next we'd have to stay another 14 days in a hotel at our expense.

That would break the bank.

Worst scenario- we get covid 4.0 and we'd have to stay in a hospital and accrue medical expenses.

None of this sounds like a good plan.

I know I'll miss the Holiday Spirit conjured up when we've gone in past years. The shopping at Primark

for clothes especially. It's a must when visiting Oxford Street at Christmas. We'd fill a Primark shopping basket with new things- even though we had no need of yet another shirt or pair of socks.

Primark is remarkably inexpensive and yet the store always has the latest in fashions. Hanging in my closet from past years is a grey duffel coat that cost me 30 pounds. The one with the oblong wooden buttons you slip through a small hoop, then turn to secure.

There's the leather jacket that cost 35 pounds. At the time I bought it, I didn't need another leather jacket but I couldn't pass up the price!

In my closet you would also find shoes and numerous styles and colours of shirts all bought for 10 pounds or less. This stuff lasts way longer than the six dollar T Shirts at Wally World!

The tragedy is because of covid we are waiting for next year unless a big miracle happens between now and the first of November. I'd be happy going for an extended weekend instead of the 10 days or so that usually makes up this excursion.

I would love to know I'd be strolling along the Champs-Elysees in Paris ogling the Christmas lights or checking out the Christmas Market. Buying some little thing and having an afternoon coffee at Le Depart de Saint-Michel. 

~heavy sigh~

Not this year.

We had even contemplated starting our Holiday Trip in Berlin. Visiting an Aunt and then taking the train to Paris and then the Eurostar to St. Pancreas in London.

Again, not this year.

Damn.

Damn covid and damn those unvaccinated who are fueling this 4th wave.

The numbers tell the story.

Up to 80% of people hospitalized or in ICU's here in British Columbia are unvaccinated.

Our daily numbers are as high or higher than the wave prior to this past summer.

So the Mister and I are not about to sacrifice our health and safety and head to England- or France, because of the uneducated un-jabbed.

Only this past week we were talking to someone we have known for a few years who works in a busy store here on Vancouver Island only to discover this person is NOT vaccinated. This person is absolutely convinced they will NOT get covid nor pass it along to someone else.

They believe it's all a ruse perpetrated by the government.

They read it on the internet.

Huh, must be true.

Give me strength.

ROBBLOG #993- Any "portico" in a Storm

 

A portico.

I want a portico.

Seems like something someone might shove in my Christmas Stocking. Alas, a portico would be too darn big. 

A portico is a structure- usually made of wood.

I saw one in a House and Home Magazine from a year ago. I bought the magazine last fall but because of our move to this mountain home, I suppose I only briefly glanced through its colourful pages. One of the feature articles was about a Gay couple who had bought at 1795 Georgian home in Chester, Nova Scotia. They called their home "White Cottage" for it is- white. It also has several bars so I would expect "Bar Cottage" would have been suitable as well. I don't suppose they'd mind me mentioning they had several bars since they were featured in the magazine.

From their main living room a covered walkway led the way to this "Portico". A covered portico.

It had a roof- as porticos do- although some may be open like a pergola. 

That's another Blog.

The portico had a river-rock, wood-burning fireplace and plenty of seating. Three sides of the portico were open to the elements, so in a stiff winter wind- as I am sure Chester has, it would feel a bit nippy- even with a blazing fire.

A pile of colourful blankets sat on one of the surrounding benches so one could cozy up tight.

It all looks very romantic- being the feature was shot for the Holidays. A nearby gate adjoining a white picket fence, sported a huge, real evergreen wreath tied with a  holly berry red bow.

A hot toddy, hearty flames and good conversation would make this portico a grand spot to be- even if it were a bit chilly.

Chester by the by is located on Mahone Bay in Nova Scotia, west of Halifax. Possibly their winters are milder because of the proximity to the ocean and the protected bay.

This is an elegant entrance portico.

The cottage is gorgeous and now I want a portico at the front of Palm Villa. We have an automatic, retractable awning installed there now but a solid, all wood, covered portico would be lovely. Not being a carpenter I believe I can see that it would require two stout pillars on one side and the other would be lashed to the house just above the studio window. I would prefer a covered roof so during inclement, rainy weather one could comfortably sit beneath it, coffee in hand.

Again, not being a professional carpenter, I should think the price of construction would be reasonable- meaning not too intolerably expensive. How much can a couple of pillars, a few brackets and a bit of wood set one back? I'll let you know when I find out. It could quite easily be my next major project after we receive the estimate for wooden shutters on four of our windows.

We had roller blinds installed a year ago when we moved in but they have proved unworthy. The original idea with blinds and not shutters was to allow us to roll the blinds up to reveal our million-dollar view. What we quickly discovered come late spring and throughout the summer, there was no view since we had to keep the blinds pulled down eight hours a day to keep the sun from fading furniture and artwork.

Who knew?

Anyhoo, now we are beginning the expensive process of installing wooden shutters which should have been our initial choice. We've lived with shutters in our previous two homes and we know they look classically traditional and allowed us to move louvers up and down to re-direct sunlight.

We're never too old to learn a valuable lesson in decor- are we?

Maybe one day in the near future- after we are shuttered, I can convince the Mister that a portico is the way to go.

Wish me luck!

ROBBLOG #992- Holy Snappers!

 

Holy Snappers! It's September first!

Cool, crisp days are ahead. Like sticking your head in a frost-free refrigerator. Not so crisp right away here in the Mediterranean climate of the Cowichan Valley on Vancouver Island. We still keep mild and there'll be lots of sunshine before the rains roll in come November.

Boy do we need the rain.

It's the same every summer.

Drought, fires and brown.

The "winter" greens up nicely. Anemones, Winter Jasmine, snowdrops and Camellias bloom shortly after the new year a time that our friend Tall Steve calls "spring". There always seems to be something in bloom on our Island.

September first.

School.

Elections (Bah-Humbug)

Harvest decor. Thanksgiving. Light parades. 

Santa Claus Parades and then "BOOM"- Christmas.

It seems to fly by faster every year.

Come September and the first cool, damp day I can't help myself. I pick up my stack of Christmas Magazines that go back more than 20 years. 

I sort them by titles as well as by years.

Some of the Home Magazines from the 80's start to look a little dated. I may flip through their colourful pages like a kid in a candy shop but mostly it's just a flip through.

Here on the Island we don't have raking to do like back at Pine Tree House. Our trees and most shrubs are evergreen- at least on our property. People do have Maples but a tall, Arbutus keeps leaves year round and looks spectacular in January.

Costco will have their assortment of trees ready soon and last week I could see Home Depot was shuffling summer stuff out of the aisle to make way for seasonal decor. Of course, because of the weather here lawnmovers, blowers, mulch, bags of dirt and more are available year round. You won't see a display of shovels and scrapers appear until we have a few centimetres of snow and then it's all very last minute.

Last year just before a freek, February snowstorm the Mister asked the fellah in Canadian Tire for a snow scraper. We hadn't brought one from Ontario.

The fellah scratched his head and said- "We should have a box of them around here somewhere, if I could just remember where. Could you come back tomorrow?"

The Mister assured him we could to which he answered- "A credit card works!"

"We use debit mostly."- replies the Mister.

"No, No."- The Canadian Tire man says, "I mean to scrape your windshield!"

The Island, eh?

So as the light fades a little more each evening and we feel a bit of a "chill" in the air, thoughts- my thoughts at least, turn to another season not too far off where I dream of pumpkin pie, whipped cream,

oatmeal for breakfast and holiday shopping.

I'd better get making a list...