Easter insanity

Canadians love their long weekends. Especially ones that happen in the warmer months. If you're lucky enough to work for the government or are part of the education system, you even get an extra day at Easter. So what do we find to do on our stat holiday? Usually work.

Unlike most holiday weekends, Easter is rife with opportunities to exhaust ourselves. First of all, there is spring cleaning. Since all family members are home and available (if you're lucky and you can find them), some of the larger chores can get done. This often turns mothers/wives into raving lunatics as they try to organize their children and spouses into effective cleaning machines. I don't know why we try. If I'm a typical mother (and I think I am, although some would argue differently), then I end up finishing or redoing the chore. Which either means that I'm a perfectionist, or my kids figure that if they do a half-assed job then I'll never ask again. It's probably a little of both.

Another fun project for Easter weekend is gardening. Since the weather has warmed up and we've emerged from our snowbound state (well, at least if you're in Ontario), the ugly evidence of winter is everywhere. Time to rake, dig, cut back, scoop (for dog owners, probably the worst lawn chore), and fertilize. This is back-breaking work and, if you're lucky, you can charm your husband (or significant other) into helping out. On rare occasions, I've even managed to enlist my sons but it's usually accompanied by grumbling about crazy gardeners and gets deserted about halfway through with more important plans, like biking with friends.

Easter also gives us time to do some family things like dying Easter eggs and setting up an egg hunt. Even though my boys are in their teens, they still want me to find those hard-to-discover places to put their chocolates. However, they are both much taller than I am so I have to use hiding spots that are close to the ground but above my dog's head (she's a miniature poodle). Not the easiest thing to do. Strangely, I've found chocolate eggs in September in my laundry room. For some reason, they never go there.

Finally, to really challenge ourselves to make the most of this weekend, we have a big Easter dinner. This year, I volunteered to take on our family feast which included 22 people. This involved rearranging the main floor of our house, cooking for three days and cleaning as much of the viewable surfaces that I could manage. I vacuumed twice because I have a cat and nephews with allergies. We also had to clean the cages of all of the reptiles so they'd be more presentable (not that it makes everyone comfortable with them). This year, Ben's girlfriend, who is a holiday freak like me, and my culinary arts boarder helped me decorate my tables with Easter baskets, confetti, chocolate eggs and party favours. It was a lot of fun and I slept like a baby when it was all over.

Can't wait for May 24 -- the next long weekend. I should have recovered by then.

More Walk Talk

Sunday dawned cold and windy with a dusting of snow. The perfect day for a 10k walk for Multiple Sclerosis (yeah, right). I hauled my winter coat out of the closet, pulled on a turtleneck and gloves and joined my team, the Globetrotters, for the 8am registration.

Maybe the weather should have clued us in that this was not going to be a memorable walk for any of the right reasons. When we arrived at the "launch site", we discovered that the registration desk -- donuts, coffee and all -- was being packed up and moved from the parking lot. Apparently, the "drinking establishment" (Barrie radio station's way of saying "bar") was not available as planned and everything was being moved to city hall. Now, if I was in Toronto, this would seem like a big deal but in Barrie, it's only a couple of blocks away.

When we got to city hall, we had to wait for the volunteers to set everything up again before we could register and get some breakfast. Unlike the previous year, there were no maps of the route or t-shirts for every participant. My son was getting surly without his tea and our momentum, which had started out high, was flagging. And, when we took a glance outside, we noticed that a nice little snowstorm had blown in. Staying in bed seemed like it would have been a great idea.

Western half of Kempenfelt Bay, Barrie

However, we waited out the politicians, the radio hosts and the warm-up and finally took off for our brisk walk. When I mean brisk, I don't just mean our pace, I mean the weather. The Walk for MS in Barrie takes the path around Kempenfelt Bay which includes a lovely breeze off the lake. This was not the case on Sunday. On Sunday, it was a north wind which assaulted unsuspecting ears and made us glad hoods had been invented. Of course, the wind moved from our right side to our backs as we rounded the bay and the sun was peeking from behind the clouds, so when we reached the 5k turnaround, we decided to soldier on for the full 10k.

Our first clue that this was not a great idea should have come when we realized the route was not marked. Unlike the earlier 5k, there were no arrows pointing us in the right direction. Since Zac and I had done the walk in 2010, we knew which way the route was supposed to go so we followed a few other stragglers determined to stick it out. Of course, we had no idea if those stragglers were on the walk or not since there were no identifying t-shirts. Halfway around the route (at least, we think it was the route), we realized the other participants, and there were only about half a dozen, were following us.

Soon, it was just the 3 of us on the path. I don't know what happened to the other 10k walkers. Maybe they got somebody to pick them up at some point or went to Timmy's. As we passed the 5k turnaround on the way back, we saw the MS volunteers packing up and taking down signs. We figured we had to be the last ones coming in.. With the last kilometre stretching before us, we looked up towards our destination and saw that a friendly little blizzard had struck up just ahead of us. Beauty. We walked with our hoods pulled down over our heads, blinded by snow but determined to make it to the end. I felt like something out of a movie, when we finally made it back to city hall, shook off the snow and emerged from our "traveling" clothes.

So there you have it. Borgtrotters Adventure #1: Walking on the Wild Side. Will we do it again next year? Of course. In fact, I'm walking for Kid's Help Phone on May 1. Hopefully, there won't be a blizzard.

Walk the good walk

There's a lot of buzz these days about the benefits of walking as exercise. It's the newest fitness craze and you can tell because all the capitalists are jumping on board trying to make a profit from it. I love walking but not because it's trendy (if you know me, that's a good way to get me to stop doing something). I just don't understand why people are making such a big deal about it all of a sudden.

When you're a baby, learning to walk is monumental. It's the stage in life that officially changes your title from "baby" to "toddler". I guess babies know this because they try to walk as soon as they possibly can. Then, once they can actually move on their own two feet, they just run for the next year or two. Unfortunately, as kids get older, parents try to make them walk less. They drive them all over the place to instill a sense of dependence that their children won't lose until they get their own car. I live across from a school and at 3:30 every day there is a long line of cars waiting for the bell to ring. Even on beautiful, sunny days. How will children ever know what their boots are made for?

I started "power walking" with a friend on our lunch hour over 20 years ago as a way to escape from the stress of a job that was, essentially, a creative sweatshop. It was a way of rejuvenating my brain so that I could sit down and churn up new ways to describe vacuum cleaners, jewelry and appliances for the next 4 hours (I wrote for Consumers Distributing, we sold everything!). I was subjected to a great deal of mockery by my workout warrior friends. It was the height of the Jane Fonda era and only high impact and step workouts were fashionable.

Today, you can join a walking group (Running Room/Walking Room) and buy special equipment just for doing something you were born to do. Although I have to say, I swear by walking shoes. I bought a pair of Avia walking shoes last year and they definitely add an extra dimension to your daily stroll. When I walk, I usually take a few accessories -- my Walkman MP3 player (come on, you can't walk with an iPod), my walking shoes, a plastic bag and my dog. We take off for an hour or two and check out the park and my neighbours' gardens. 

Exercise, fresh air and my best friend. Even the occasional chat with a passerby. And, now there are studies that report that walking will prolong your mental faculties as you age. These are good reasons to walk, whether Oprah says so or not. The other good reason to walk is for a cause. I decided that, if I am going to walk for myself, I might as well walk to do some good. So, this weekend, I am doing the Walk for MS for the second year, probably in a snowstorm if the weatherman is right (but when does that ever happen). If you read this and want to sponsor me, click on the link below. I'm great at walking -- I suck at soliciting sponsors.

Walk for MS 

Trouble, your name is Cat - astrophe

I live in a house with many pets. 17 in all. Some are furry, some are scaly, and some only last for a few hours (we call them, food). 

I already wrote about Roxie so it's time to give the other troublemaker her due. If Roxie is the Poodle Princess, then Catastrophe is the Tabby Queen. Where Roxie wins attention by being cute and fun, Catastrophe gets it by being annoying and a little bit crazy. She has not exactly won the hearts of the household (in fact, my husband uses an adjective for her that I can't use in this blog, generally between "stupid" and "cat").

I'm the only member of my household who is not allergic to cats. My youngest son has the worst reaction which sets off his asthma and makes it hard for him to breathe. Of course, he was the one who brought the cat home. Surprisingly, there was a girl involved (read heavy sarcasm). They were walking through a field and this little kitten started following them. When they reached the road, they were worried it would get hurt so they decided to take it home. To my house, because her father said no. We tried for two weeks to find a new home for the cat but no luck. Finally, Roxie and I convinced my hubby to keep the cat -- Roxie because she thought it was a fun, new toy, and me because I wanted a nice, furry pet that I could pet. Little did I know.

After a month of calling this new kitten "Cat" and "X@(*&!-ing Cat", she earned the name Catastrophe. She spent a lot of time clawing furniture, playing tag with the dog, digging in my plants (when she wasn't eating them and throwing up), trying to run out the door, and knocking things over. Christmas was a lot of fun when she climbed the tree to help us decorate (then she had a lot of fun un-decorating). One thing Catastrophe didn't seem to do was sleep. Now, if you've ever owned a cat, you know that they love to lounge. They'll find the most unusual places to roll up into a ball and purr themselves to sleep. Not this cat. And pet her? Not if you like to keep your skin intact!

Catastrophe is always hunting -- something. She found a mouse in the basement, located a missing snake, catches flies in mid-air and chases down (and eats) escaped crickets. Sometimes, she hunts humans -- she loves to stalk you from behind a wall or the top of the stairs. She and Roxie take turns chasing each other around the house. In fact, I finally figured out that Catastrophe has an identity crisis -- she doesn't know if she's a dog, a lizard or a human. The only thing she doesn't want to be, is a cat. She doesn't like to be picked up or petted unless it means she's getting fed. She has everyone in the house trained to feed her twice a day or she will destroy the carpets. 

Whenever we have visitors, we do a tour of the "zoo" and we ensure them that it's safe to handle all the pets  -- except the cute, cuddly looking one. Because, as you know, you are not allowed to touch "the Queen"!

The middle

When I started this blog, I was going to explain the title. Really, I was. But somehow, I got into other topics. So, I decided it was time to explain what "Views from midlife" means.

Basically, the middle sucks. This realization seems to have become something of a trend with bands (Middle Class Rut, Middle Brothers) and TV shows (The Middle). Really, when you're in the middle, you're nowhere. You can be in the Middle East, the mid-Atlantic or the mid-West which just means you're in between two really good things. Middle school is the wasteland between being super cute in elementary school and being super cool in high school. The Middle Ages was a time between the Roman Empire and the Early Modern Era, a "deviation from the path of classical learning" (Wikipedia). The only time being in the middle is a good thing is if you're an Oreo cookie.

First, there is the obvious. I am what my children call "middle-aged", those strange twilight years between cougar and senior citizen. If I am middle-aged, then there are going to be major advancements in medical science because there are no centagenarians in my family tree. The problem with being middle-aged is that you can't do the things you did when you were young because you look ridiculous (yeah, you, with the grey ponytail, the sixties are over!). And you're too young to get senior discounts and a seat on the bus.

I am also a middle child, the one that came between the mature and the spoiled. This could be a good thing or a bad thing. You could get away with a lot more bad stuff because nobody paid much attention to you. They were too busy with the prodigies. Of course, you also got all the hand-me-downs, participated in the same activities as your sibling (family discount), and always shared a room with someone. If you wanted to be noticed, you had to be really outrageous. Or you could just fade into the background. I've known both kinds and I've also noticed that some middle children can swing from one side to the other, sort of a bi-polar thing. Believe me, there are psychiatrists who make money from this "syndrome".

Finally, I am middle class. This doesn't sound like a bad thing but it is the result of other middles, like middle management, which is a scary place to be in this economy. Since you're "middle", you are therefore expendable, not senior and not cheap. Middle class sucks because you need two incomes to make it work. You want to be high class but you don't have the money. Low class sounds awful but nobody expects you to live up to their standards. And it costs less. (All I can picture is the people of Walmart, you know the email I mean).

There are a lot of interesting phrases that make the middle sound exciting. Stuck in the middle -- now doesn't that sound great! The middle of a divorce (I don't know what the middle of a marriage is, probably stuck in a marriage is close). Middle of the road (sounds scary but the music is anything but). The middle of nowhere -- a popular way of saying you're somewhere you don't want to be. Your middle name, something you'll probably never use and often wish you didn't have. Play both ends against the middle -- poor middle, always the loser

So, there you have it. My mid-life started the day my younger sister was born. And it's been going strong ever since. Not that I mind it in the middle. Sometimes it's the safest place to be. And it's definitely the most eloquent finger.