Perhaps? WTF? Or Why I Hate People…

Sometimes, like the shoelace that breaks at the end of the day, one teeny incident pushes me over the edge. I spend a lot of time trying to be honest, dependable, accurate and polite. Probably too much time. Anyway, life has been hectic but the daily ups and downs of my everyday existence are doable. It’s the continuous stream of ridiculous, non-committal, time-wasting glitches that makes my blood pressure rise and ugly words spew forth from my usually complacent mouth.

Like the conversations I’ve had at drive thru restaurants – specific, detailed orders that end up in the bag all wrong. How hard can it be to leave the pickles off the cheeseburger anyway? Or the junk mail in the mailbox, set carefully on the little sign that says “no junk mail please” placed there after filling out the post office form that said, in other words, “keep the crap out of my mailbox.” Or the no fat hazelnut latte that when first tasted ten minutes into a drive to the city, does not taste like hazelnut, does not taste like anything except milky coffee. Stuff like that.

Today, after a morning of running around, a relaxing coffee and some other stuff, I phoned the Epcor Centre to order tickets to the Allison Kraus and Union Station concert in July. Much anticipation – it promises to be good entertainment. However, I am not behind the 8-ball here – I should have been on the phone yesterday at 10 am when the tickets went on sale. Apparently this is a popular event and good tickets, especially 4 in a row, are becoming as scarce as hen’s teeth.

When the website doesn’t work, I call the box office number. A pleasant, female voice asks if she can help. “Yes,” I say. “I need 4 tickets to Allison Kraus – what are the best seats you have?” She asks for my name, address, phone number, email address, shoe size and if I’ve had a nose bleed lately (well not quite) and if I have tried ordering on line – general question to see how many people are using the website I guess. I tell her that a) it’s not working, and b) the handy little map that allowed me to choose seats in the past is gone.

No acknowledgement whatsoever. She tells me she has four seats quite a distance from where I was hoping but still good seats. I ask her if any of those seats are on the end of a row – she asks if I would like to check the map. “What map?” I ask when I should have said, “Can’t you check the map?” Whatever.

She directs me to the map and when I say I’ve got it, she says none of those seats are aisle seats. Arrgggghhh. So, because we are going with another couple, I ask her how long she can hold the seats, I need to make a call. Apparently she can’t hold the seats.

I hang up, call our friends, confirm that they still want to go, and redial the box office. “Can I help you?” says the same sweet voice. “Yes, yes you can,” I say. Those who know me will realize that I am getting a bit tense because I am talking like Phineous now. I ask her for four seats to Allison Kraus and by the way, are you the same person I was talking to about 3 minutes ago? “Perhaps,” she says. Perhaps???? Perhaps???? WTF?

The Elephant in the Room

Recently, my daughter separated from her husband. Specific details don’t need to come from me, but I’ve been asked a couple of times why I don’t blog about how I feel about this. I don’t because it’s not mine to blog about. The following is a list of ten casual observations on life in general.

1. Some animals actually do crap where they sleep.

2. Sometimes love isn't enough.

3. The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree.

4. Doesn’t matter how low you go, there’s someone for everyone.

5. Don’t expect anything and you won’t be disappointed.

6. Kids blame themselves for their parents’ problems no matter how much of a jerk their absent parent is.

7. Sometimes the best brings out the worst in people.

8. Getting over anger is easy; getting over betrayal is not.

9. When you stop banging your head on the wall, your head stops hurting.

10. In any major conflict, there are no winners, just survivors.

IMHO

“You wouldn’t let your grandparents choose who you date - then why let them choose your government.”

I’ve received this post yet again tonight on my Facebook feed and it has pushed me to the brink. Social media grandstanding by overly zealous political party supporters – it doesn’t matter which party – is getting on my nerves. Do they think that by posting every day, sometimes several times a day, about who deserves my vote, who does not, why someone does or does not deserve my vote and, as in the above quote, leading me to believe there is a snowballing trend toward the involvement of young people in the political process is going to influence how I vote? Think again.

I abhor age discrimination almost as much as I resent over zealous political supporters clogging the airwaves (or whatever you call the equivalent in cyberspace.) This may seem to be a change of topic but take a look at the quote above. Choosing a date is a personal thing – grandparents don’t expect to be involved in “choosing dates” nor would they want to. The thought is actually a little creepy.

Dates are personal, however choosing our government is not. This trend toward favouring the young by discrediting the old is blatant age discrimination. What wisdom is there in suggesting that the vote from the under 30 crowd is somehow more important than a vote by their grandparents? What makes this generation think that what they have to say is more informed, intelligent, and credible that what the over 60 crowd has to say. Does experience, understanding, and a sense of history have no significance?

One of the greatest problems among members of society is the trend toward creating divisions rather than pulling together. Certainly anyone over the age of 18 has the right to vote. It’s up to the individual whether or not they act on that right. And one vote is one vote – none more important than the rest. So why not encourage everyone to become involved, to get out and vote, rather than divide the voters by age. Welcome young voters, welcome middle aged voters, welcome senior voters. And let the most informed, the most involved, the most committed, come out on top regardless of age.

And puleeeze, if you want to tell me how to vote, infringe on my privacy by calling me in person. You'll get an ear-full.

Off they go

Check out http://sting-finland2011.blogspot.com . Our granddaughter and son are off to Finland with the ringette team that she plays on and he coaches. The whole team (and their parents) have been working and saving for two years in order to make this trip a reality. They promise to send back comments and pictures as they tour for the next ten days. I'm looking forward to following along.

Its All Relative...

After spending some time at Foothills Hospital, something I haven’t done for a long time, I was left with the initial impression that our health care system is dying. The general upkeep of the wards, the lack of housekeeping staff and general cleanliness, the lack of privacy and respect for individual dignity are issues that certainly need to be addressed if we are to return to a level of service the Canadian public has come to expect.

However, in this quagmire of specialized equipment, beeping monitors, lack of space, and organized confusion, works a staff that is professional, kind, patient, empathetic and helpful, bar none. From doctors and nurses to housekeeping staff, every overworked one of them is willing to go the extra mile to make patients more comfortable. Even the smallest request is met with a smile and immediate response.

We started out in ER. The ER nurse was cheerful, proficient and compassionate. She was finishing her sixth, 12 hour shift. Overtime. Not enough staff.

The doctor consulted every morning for a week straight – no days off – I guess that’s what residents do. He was never rushed, never put off by the simplest questions.

Blood tests were on time, meds were on time, meals were on time.

Staff members were a league of nations. My husband asked an Indian attendant how long he’d been in Canada. “Four months,” he beamed, “and what country are you from sir?”

A lovely, middle aged African woman passed us in the hall, her cart loaded with bottled water. She told us that delivering water was the most important part of her job, that she was bringing the gift of life to the patients. She told us how precious water is and how blessed we are by its abundance. She went on her way to distribute her sacred offering.

A Korean nurse, male, second year, accompanied our patient for a procedure to an area of the hospital he’d never visited before. He was filled with enthusiasm and wonder, obviously overwhelmed by the sophistication of this newfound department.

The one that really brought things home though was a duty nurse from Romania who told us that she had nursed in Romania in wards crowded, understaffed and undersupplied in deplorable conditions. Our wards, crowded with four beds, were a luxury – smaller rooms in Romania held eight patients. She was thankful to be here and wondered what patients had to complain about. To her, this hospital was heaven.

We left, knowing that hospital care is no longer what it once was but with a firm reminder that we’re pretty darned lucky to be where we are. It’s all relative, I guess.

April Fool...

This morning I am expecting daughter and grandsons to arrive shortly after 10:00. At about 9:45 I wander into the kitchen, notice that new puppy’s newspapers need to be changed. There is a garbage bag on the deck so I gather the papers with said new puppy bounding wildly around my feet, through my legs – changing papers is an exciting event for one so small and new and energetic.

Usually, when I go out onto the deck for such purposes, I leave the patio door open. However, puppy bounding around my feet is also apt to bounce out the door and off the deck, a six foot drop. So I shut the door.

Now I had recently just returned from running errands (who am I kidding, I went to Starbucks), unlocked the door and forgot to lock it again on the inside. My automatic response though, when I go out this door, is to turn the lock so I can get back in.

I turn it out of habit, not realizing I am locking it rather than unlocking it. I carefully shut the door on puppy, stuff the newspaper in the bag and then try to turn the handle. I am locked out. April Fool!

Okay, I think. There are a couple of options here. I can bang on the door with the faint hope that sleeping husband will hear me; I can get the emergency key but that means crawling around in the ice and snow in my stocking feet; or I can wait for daughter and boys to arrive and let me in.

It isn’t really cold and so I choose the latter. I cup my hands and peer through the door at the clock – 9:50. I look down and see puppy looking up wagging her tail. I touch the glass near the bottom of the door. She touches my fingers from the other side of the glass with her nose. It’s like out of a movie. Then she takes off. I can see her whip into the living room. What havoc can she reap there?

Through my cupped hands I can also see the front door, so I will know when daughter and boys arrive. I walk to one end of the deck, then the other to check out the neighbourhood. I breathe in the soft spring air – nice – finally. Not a soul in site but there was frost on the deck and now my socks are wet.

Another check through the door. 10:00. Puppy is nowhere in sight. I wonder if anyone sees me peering into my own house and if they do I wonder if they realize it is my house. Still no one is stirring on the street. Makes me realize that I could be a real burglar or a peeping Tom and no one would notice.

A mourning dove stares at me from a lamppost across the street. I am standing by the birdbath mounted on the railing - her water supply. I hope she has the good sense to go back to her tree before our friendly neighbourhood merlin returns. Sparrows twitter. The dog next door barks. Nothing else moves – not a person or a moving vehicle in sight.

By about 10:05 my feet are seriously cold and I am considering the emergency key but the ice between me and it makes the idea pretty unappealing. I wait. Thank goodness this isn’t a few days ago when the temperature was below zero.

Tiny puppy is back at the door, standing on hind legs looking beseechingly at me through the glass. I worry that in the excitement of people arriving, she’ll get in the way and be stepped on. She weighs roughly 2 pounds.

I see the white vehicle pull up on in front of the house. I see puppy zip down the hall. Quick decision – out through the side gate I go, through slushy ice on the sidewalk at the side of the house so I can go in the front door when daughter opens it with her key, grab the pup, and change my socks. My lord, my feet are cold.

There is a fair bit to be thankful here and a lesson to be learned. Thankful that this didn’t happen in below zero weather, thankful that I knew help was coming, and thankful that my feet have finally warmed up. No kidding – they were purple. The lesson is to always check the lock – either that or wear my house key on a chain around my neck.