I am finding it tough to watch the Olympics in Russia, and it's not only because of the Russian treatment of its own people, the workers who weren't paid for construction, the half-finished, empty venues or the anti-gay Russian sentiment.
It's not entirely because of the entirely plausible cheating scenario in ice dance.
It's also not because of my refusal to pay for television; there are lots of ways to find the games without paying for cable - mothers in law, for example and this year, the Internet has been particularly helpful. What a difference from Vancouver when Bell/CTV wouldn't broadcast anything without your fees paying for it.
It's certainly not the performance of our athletes.
No, it's the commercials.
Now, I've been crying at sappy commercials as long as Bell has been exploiting familial love for profit, but this year's crop is so laced with saccharine, my teeth are aching.
The first time I saw the salute to motherhood, I admit I teared up.
The fifty-first time I saw the salute to motherhood, I was disgusted at the sheer emotional manipulation coming from the advertisers (and I still teared up).
The Coke spots tugging at the heartstrings with Special Olympians while congratulating me on drinking 16 teaspoons of sugar at a time? That one really gets me caffeinated.
Add the sonorous, tinkly-music profiles of the athletes' 'profiles in courage', and I doubt I could carry on a conversation with any of them if I were ever in the same room.
Here's the thing: there's PLENTY of drama on the ice, the snow and the tracks. Must everything be so over-the-top?
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Thursday, February 13, 2014
We already won.
A bright spot has arrived in what seems to be an unrelenting winter and I'm not talking about the delicious-smelling pot of groundhog stew bubbling away on the stove.
Georgian bay is mostly frozen over, which means any new snow has to come from the south.
We now know there are fewer days of winter ahead of us than behind us.
The sun is still out at six pm.
We're feeling hope.
And now, in tropical Sochi, Russia, Canada's winter athletes are skating, skiing and sliding their little hearts out while we here at home are amazed at their grace and fortitude.
A poll released recently said most Canadians consider the games a success for Canada only if our millionaire hockey players get another gold to add to their basement honour walls.
I think they've already been won, on the tracks: the cross-country ski track, where a Russian racer broke his ski and the Canadian coach came running with the replacement; the long track where a Canadian skating racer felt his teammate had a better shot at a good result and handed over his place at the games which had been earned, fair and square.
Those are the stories that will stick with me. I don't care if Sidney Crosby nets the overtime winner against the US - been there, done that.
It's the humanity in the face of adversity that makes me happy, and you can call me as sappy as the saccharine, tear-jerking commercials all you want.
Georgian bay is mostly frozen over, which means any new snow has to come from the south.
We now know there are fewer days of winter ahead of us than behind us.
The sun is still out at six pm.
We're feeling hope.
And now, in tropical Sochi, Russia, Canada's winter athletes are skating, skiing and sliding their little hearts out while we here at home are amazed at their grace and fortitude.
A poll released recently said most Canadians consider the games a success for Canada only if our millionaire hockey players get another gold to add to their basement honour walls.
I think they've already been won, on the tracks: the cross-country ski track, where a Russian racer broke his ski and the Canadian coach came running with the replacement; the long track where a Canadian skating racer felt his teammate had a better shot at a good result and handed over his place at the games which had been earned, fair and square.
Those are the stories that will stick with me. I don't care if Sidney Crosby nets the overtime winner against the US - been there, done that.
It's the humanity in the face of adversity that makes me happy, and you can call me as sappy as the saccharine, tear-jerking commercials all you want.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Haiku for a Refusal to Run in Winter
Oh, I see you there, man
In your goggles and your tights.
I will not join you.
I am not hurting
Not broken, injured or bowed
But merely lazy
Clinging to my girth
Which I earned with carbs and sloth
I refuse the cold.
Minus ten is it.
Colder and I don't leave home
Tough Canuck? Not me!
Springtime please come soon,
I cannot afford new pants.
Shoes await gravel.
In your goggles and your tights.
I will not join you.
I am not hurting
Not broken, injured or bowed
But merely lazy
Clinging to my girth
Which I earned with carbs and sloth
I refuse the cold.
Minus ten is it.
Colder and I don't leave home
Tough Canuck? Not me!
Springtime please come soon,
I cannot afford new pants.
Shoes await gravel.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Stoppit
When I get home from work today, I will choose whether to have a beer to end my day.
If I have the beer, I will likely have some popcorn to go with it, and if I have the popcorn, I will likely turn on the TV while I eat it, and I will likely wake up in about an hour with a fuzzy, drooly head. My fuzzy, drooly head will likely mean I won't go for a walk today. If I don't go for a walk today, the dog will be restless tonight, which means I won't get a decent sleep, which means tomorrow is going to be a tougher day than it needs to be. So, I'm not going to have a beer. I want one. I really really do. But I'm not going to have one today. I have decided. Tomorrow when I get home, I will make another decision and it might be different.
Earlier today, when I ate 15 enormous gumdrops left over from Christmas, that, too, was a choice. I decided to eat them. I feel terrible right now and I want to barf, but I'm not going to blame my tummy ache on anything other than my terrible, delicious, sugary choice.
Every day is a choice. Every meal is choice, every cigarette, every workout, every time you change your sheets or yell at your kids, it's a decision. That's the difference, I think, between people who are happy and those who are not. The ownership of the decision. Happy people, even if they're doing things that are ruinous to their health and well being, generally tell me they have chosen their path with clear eyes. One of my girlfriends recently said, "I'm done with the gym. I'm not going any more." She seems pretty happy. She found an hour a day with which to do other things.
Another dear friend is in a bit of a pickle. I love her and I want her to be happy, but right now, she's not happy. What she is, is frantic and a bit scattered, not sleeping well, unsure of why she's doing what she's doing and equally unsure about what she can do to change her situation.
I wasn't sure what else to say about my lovely friend's predicament. I have listened and not judged and not held back my affection as she works through her situation, but she seemed stuck, so, as Marilla Cuthburt would say, I, '...put my oar in.'
Her face was blank for a second when I said to her, "You know, you could just stop. If you wanted to. It's not easy, but it can be done. You can just stop. Just decide. And stop."
Does it matter what her situation is? Alcohol, obesity, a bad job, a broken heart, spouse treating her badly? Nope, not really. Your behaviour is your choice. Your reaction is your choice. My reaching for the 20 disgusting, amazing gumdrops? A choice. I know where the garbage can is, and so do you. Of course there are consequences: 25 gumdrops = 1 tummy ache. Refusing to accept your circumstances = a whole bunch of other decisions, some scary, some exciting.
Weigh the consequences, make a choice. Tomorrow, you get to make it all over again.
If I have the beer, I will likely have some popcorn to go with it, and if I have the popcorn, I will likely turn on the TV while I eat it, and I will likely wake up in about an hour with a fuzzy, drooly head. My fuzzy, drooly head will likely mean I won't go for a walk today. If I don't go for a walk today, the dog will be restless tonight, which means I won't get a decent sleep, which means tomorrow is going to be a tougher day than it needs to be. So, I'm not going to have a beer. I want one. I really really do. But I'm not going to have one today. I have decided. Tomorrow when I get home, I will make another decision and it might be different.
Earlier today, when I ate 15 enormous gumdrops left over from Christmas, that, too, was a choice. I decided to eat them. I feel terrible right now and I want to barf, but I'm not going to blame my tummy ache on anything other than my terrible, delicious, sugary choice.
Every day is a choice. Every meal is choice, every cigarette, every workout, every time you change your sheets or yell at your kids, it's a decision. That's the difference, I think, between people who are happy and those who are not. The ownership of the decision. Happy people, even if they're doing things that are ruinous to their health and well being, generally tell me they have chosen their path with clear eyes. One of my girlfriends recently said, "I'm done with the gym. I'm not going any more." She seems pretty happy. She found an hour a day with which to do other things.
Another dear friend is in a bit of a pickle. I love her and I want her to be happy, but right now, she's not happy. What she is, is frantic and a bit scattered, not sleeping well, unsure of why she's doing what she's doing and equally unsure about what she can do to change her situation.
I wasn't sure what else to say about my lovely friend's predicament. I have listened and not judged and not held back my affection as she works through her situation, but she seemed stuck, so, as Marilla Cuthburt would say, I, '...put my oar in.'
Her face was blank for a second when I said to her, "You know, you could just stop. If you wanted to. It's not easy, but it can be done. You can just stop. Just decide. And stop."
Does it matter what her situation is? Alcohol, obesity, a bad job, a broken heart, spouse treating her badly? Nope, not really. Your behaviour is your choice. Your reaction is your choice. My reaching for the 20 disgusting, amazing gumdrops? A choice. I know where the garbage can is, and so do you. Of course there are consequences: 25 gumdrops = 1 tummy ache. Refusing to accept your circumstances = a whole bunch of other decisions, some scary, some exciting.
Weigh the consequences, make a choice. Tomorrow, you get to make it all over again.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Let's not call it a Resolution
We've heard a lot in the last few days about New Year's Resolutions and whether we make them, how quickly we drop them or how we regret making them out loud in a drunken voice at a big party.
I heard a terrific idea this week, and I think I am going to try it, and I'd like you to consider it, too: you get yourself a big jar or crock or container of some sort and some wee scraps of paper to keep handily nearby.
Through the year, when something terrific, awesome, extraordinary, amazing or even just good happens, you write a bit of a detail about it on one of those little scraps, and drop it into the jar.
Next New Year, you open the jar to remember all the times you were amazed or blessed or felt lucky.
You don't have to put something in every single day, but only when the spirit moves you. Honestly, there are no rules.
I expect my jar will be have a few notes about how happy I am that my dog did not eat anything toxic or deadly today, or that I made it home from the grocery store with every single thing on my list.
This little idea seems like a good resolution; fairly easy to keep and it might even be a fun event for next year's New Year's Eve Party - "Look! Another day Emma didn't kill herself by eating my socks! Yeah!"
It's this or lose those pesky ten pounds that keep following me around.
Ya, totally going for the jar, as soon as I finish the peanut butter inside.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Putting the fun in dysfunctional
I originally posted this about four years ago, but I think it bears repeating.
Let’s face it, Norman Rockwell wasn’t a documentarian, Martha Stewart likely dines alone over the sink, and Hallmark makes it all up. So, if you, like me, have a family gathering coming up in the next while in honour of Christmas, I offer the following tips (some of them tongue in cheek,) for getting through a day or a meal with some of your more… interesting relatives:
1. Focus on the children.
They have not yet been completely messed up by their messed-up parents so there’s actually hope for a decent conversation if they’re old enough to speak. Don’t ask a lot of questions- just get down there and play with them. Be the fun auntie or uncle who really takes time for them. Be warned, they might not realize that you’re using them as a diversion and may take to clinging to your leg. This also can be helpful, as it takes up tons of time that would otherwise be spent hearing from their parents about how marvelous or disappointing they are.
2. Focus on the food.
Being busy preparing things is an awesome way of not having to hear about how evolution doesn’t really exist, or how auntie so-and-so did cousin such-and-such wrong this year. Prepare complicated and difficult dishes so you’ll look like you’re putting a lot of effort into the family rather than avoiding them.
3. Have a project.
Bring a notebook or some paper and ask everyone for recipes or favourite memories of Christmases past or something like that. It provides a natural talking point and can help you avoid hearing the stories about this year’s surgeries and other disgusting medical issues.
4. Drink heavily.
Kind of goes without saying, doesn’t it? Plus, it might have the added benefit of providing a distraction if your two uncles look like they’re actually going to have that long-threatened fistfight; you could provide a way for everyone to think about something else.
5. Be an anthropologist.
This one is handy only if you’re in the right mood, but it can extremely useful for the particularly difficult family. Pretend you’ve been dropped on foreign soil and must report back to your mother country on the attitudes and mores of the inhabitants with an eye to beginning trade talks or an invasion. Ask lots of questions, and do what you can to remember the answers as though you really were writing a report, because you are. When you’re telling your friends about the craziness you experienced at the Christmas dinner table, you’ll want to be well prepared with the inevitable details they’ll ask for.
6. Have some fun with it.
This is a tip only for the very, very brave or those who have taken tip #4 a little too seriously. Ask the crazy conservative about Sarah Palin, talk to the atheist about the vast void of nothingness that follows death, or even question the closeted about their love life. While asking the obviously closeted about romance might seem odd, it does the triple duty of a)providing a timekiller, b)giving the relative the chance to use the stories they’ve been making up for just such a situation and c)(bonus) provides assurance their secret remains safe.)
Here’s hoping your Christmas dinner is delicious and entertaining.
Let’s face it, Norman Rockwell wasn’t a documentarian, Martha Stewart likely dines alone over the sink, and Hallmark makes it all up. So, if you, like me, have a family gathering coming up in the next while in honour of Christmas, I offer the following tips (some of them tongue in cheek,) for getting through a day or a meal with some of your more… interesting relatives:
1. Focus on the children.
They have not yet been completely messed up by their messed-up parents so there’s actually hope for a decent conversation if they’re old enough to speak. Don’t ask a lot of questions- just get down there and play with them. Be the fun auntie or uncle who really takes time for them. Be warned, they might not realize that you’re using them as a diversion and may take to clinging to your leg. This also can be helpful, as it takes up tons of time that would otherwise be spent hearing from their parents about how marvelous or disappointing they are.
2. Focus on the food.
Being busy preparing things is an awesome way of not having to hear about how evolution doesn’t really exist, or how auntie so-and-so did cousin such-and-such wrong this year. Prepare complicated and difficult dishes so you’ll look like you’re putting a lot of effort into the family rather than avoiding them.
3. Have a project.
Bring a notebook or some paper and ask everyone for recipes or favourite memories of Christmases past or something like that. It provides a natural talking point and can help you avoid hearing the stories about this year’s surgeries and other disgusting medical issues.
4. Drink heavily.
Kind of goes without saying, doesn’t it? Plus, it might have the added benefit of providing a distraction if your two uncles look like they’re actually going to have that long-threatened fistfight; you could provide a way for everyone to think about something else.
5. Be an anthropologist.
This one is handy only if you’re in the right mood, but it can extremely useful for the particularly difficult family. Pretend you’ve been dropped on foreign soil and must report back to your mother country on the attitudes and mores of the inhabitants with an eye to beginning trade talks or an invasion. Ask lots of questions, and do what you can to remember the answers as though you really were writing a report, because you are. When you’re telling your friends about the craziness you experienced at the Christmas dinner table, you’ll want to be well prepared with the inevitable details they’ll ask for.
6. Have some fun with it.
This is a tip only for the very, very brave or those who have taken tip #4 a little too seriously. Ask the crazy conservative about Sarah Palin, talk to the atheist about the vast void of nothingness that follows death, or even question the closeted about their love life. While asking the obviously closeted about romance might seem odd, it does the triple duty of a)providing a timekiller, b)giving the relative the chance to use the stories they’ve been making up for just such a situation and c)(bonus) provides assurance their secret remains safe.)
Here’s hoping your Christmas dinner is delicious and entertaining.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Vitamins and Hope
Goodbye, Ginko; see ya, C and it's a denoument for D.
Researchers at Johns Hopkins University have said formally and with research what I have believed for a long time: vitamins and other supplements are a waste of time and money. They do nothing for your health. Nothing. Actually, some of them have been proven to hurt your health, according to the researchers.
What a relief! I own vitamins, but I very rarely take them, not only because my memory is poor, but I have always just somehow figured they didn't really do anything. My sweetie faithfully puts an effervescent Vitamin C pill into his water each morning and while I wonder about it and I generally don't join him, I don't say much about it because his mom swears by it and who am I to argue?
We want to believe vitamins work, because it's so much easier in our minds to take a pill than to eat right, which is more veggies, less fast food, less fat and generally fewer calories. Many of us feel like we're OK to pig out on the burgers and chips: we're covered because we took a multi-vitamin this morning.
I don't exactly know why, but I was never convinced. Now I can feel safe throwing them out and I don't have to waste money buying new ones; the researchers have proven there's just no point.
But don't worry about the companies involved in the 20 billion dollar vitamin and supplement business. The people who believe in vitamins won't believe this news, no matter what pedigree of scientist says they're useless. After all, Mom said so.
And I vow to say nothing, except maybe under my breath.
Researchers at Johns Hopkins University have said formally and with research what I have believed for a long time: vitamins and other supplements are a waste of time and money. They do nothing for your health. Nothing. Actually, some of them have been proven to hurt your health, according to the researchers.
What a relief! I own vitamins, but I very rarely take them, not only because my memory is poor, but I have always just somehow figured they didn't really do anything. My sweetie faithfully puts an effervescent Vitamin C pill into his water each morning and while I wonder about it and I generally don't join him, I don't say much about it because his mom swears by it and who am I to argue?
We want to believe vitamins work, because it's so much easier in our minds to take a pill than to eat right, which is more veggies, less fast food, less fat and generally fewer calories. Many of us feel like we're OK to pig out on the burgers and chips: we're covered because we took a multi-vitamin this morning.
I don't exactly know why, but I was never convinced. Now I can feel safe throwing them out and I don't have to waste money buying new ones; the researchers have proven there's just no point.
But don't worry about the companies involved in the 20 billion dollar vitamin and supplement business. The people who believe in vitamins won't believe this news, no matter what pedigree of scientist says they're useless. After all, Mom said so.
And I vow to say nothing, except maybe under my breath.
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