15 Years

   I am married to a woman, Doralyn, who is almost fifteen years younger than I am. I did not set out to marry a woman fifteen years younger but fell in love with someone who laughed at my jokes, was beautiful, loving, cared about my life and the people in it, gave of herself freely, read my mind, and, most importantly, kissed Syd. The fact that she happened to be fifteen years younger was irrelevant.

No age difference....right??

   Usually, the age gap is inconsequential. Many of our interests are the same and the ones that aren't only serve to keep us balanced. 
   Physically, I have always been pretty active and would guess that I am on par with men who are fifteen years, or more, younger. Mentally, I am slowly passing over into the "senior" zone and this is where likely the age gap makes itself felt the most. 
   I forget, she doesn't. I have been cast adrift in a sea of technology, she sails that same sea effortlessly. She cares how she looks. Me, not so much.
   The age gap also means that I have had fifteen more years of life experiences. I witnessed the Beatles. She sort of heard about them. Often I have found myself making cultural references about things she was never around to experience. Or possibly even care about!
   That fifteen year difference has also led to interesting relationship observations, particularly when we look around at the other people in our lives and consider their age differences.

My son, Bryant, in the middle.

   This same fifteen year gap exists between my oldest son, Bryant, and Doralyn. Then there's the aforementioned gap between Doralyn and myself. After that, there's another gap of the same length between myself and Doralyn's mum, Marlies. Finally, were he still alive, there would have been the same difference in ages between Doralyn's mum and my dad. At the same time that our age difference seems so viable, it is almost impossible to imagine any of those other people in our lives with the same age gap being paired up together!
   Another thing which never occurred to me when Doralyn and I started this journey is that I am going to be retired long before she is. At this point, I am actually only about a year and a half away from either full or semi retirement and Doralyn will still be heading off to work every day. Then, by the time she's ready to retire, I'll be almost eighty. Hard to say what kind of shape I'll be in as we're trying to enjoy our retirement together!
   As much as I've been talking about this fifteen year difference, I am also a firm believer in "you are as young as you feel". This and the fact that, physiologically, people age at totally different rates is something I place some faith in. What seems like a tenuous fifteen year age gap may, in reality, be more like a five year age gap. And that's workable, right?

My Dad, Doralyn, myself, and Doralyn's Mum. LOTS of 15 year gaps there!

   I also tend to define my age somewhat by the peer group I feel as if I belong to. I have been working at the same place for almost thirty-five years and have always considered my co-workers as being part of my peer group. As the years went by and the ever-expanding group of co-workers became younger, I still considered them part of my group. Occasionally, however, I'd find myself having a discussion with a co-worker about one of their parents and then realize that I was older than that parent! Yet, in spite of this, I still identify with the co-worker.
   Family-wise, I am part of "The Kids". There is the matriarch, Marlies, and then "The Kids". I tell myself that I am part of this group and then along comes my brother-in-law's wife, Sabrina, whose mother, Naheed, must obviously be  part of the older group, "The Parents". Naheed, however, is the same age I am! So, this "fifteen year" deal gets a little complicated sometimes...
   All in all, I think about this age difference very little. At the same time as I might be planning for the future, I am not wary of it. As much as possible, Doralyn and I take care of each other on a daily basis with little regard as to how old we are. There are old souls and there are young souls and I think that, soul-wise, we're right about the same age!
   
   
   
   
     

You WILL Scream About Ice Cream!

      We don't eat a lot of ice cream around here but occasionally we buy it for special occasions (hence the "occasionally") and this past Mother's Day weekend I picked up some Breyers French Vanilla for dessert.
   Now we didn't actually get around to eating any of it but the other day Doralyn spotted me coming upstairs with the tub, planning on a bowl of it for myself. She had one of those omg kind of moments and told me I needed to watch this video while I was eating the ice cream.
   She then proceeded to sit beside me and my bowl and play this video for me. It was a ten minute video of some guy who had discovered that Breyers Family Classic ice cream (the same kind I was eating) does not melt! He had taken a bowl of Breyers and three other bowls of very well-known ice cream and left them all out, uncovered, on his kitchen counter for a couple of hours. The three other bowls of ice cream had become blobs. The Breyers, however, remained essentially unchained, retaining its original shape. 
   The fellow on the video then went on to leave all four bowls out on the counter for a full twenty-four hours. At the end of that time, the Breyers still had neither melted nor even changed shape!
   It gets worse. The man leaves all four bowls out on the counter for a whole week. At the end of this time, the three bowls are still blobby messes but the Breyers has now developed blackish, mouldy spots!
   By this time I had finished my bowl of Breyers but was now trying to figure out a way of un-finishing it, short of sticking my finger down my throat.
   Later, it occurred to me that we now had this unfinished tub of Breyers to dispose of and why not do the same little experiment ourselves? So about 6:oo p.m. last night, I left the uncovered tub out on the counter. This is what it looked like when I set it out....
   

Kinda looks like ice cream, right...?

    And this is how it progressed over the next twenty-four hours....

Kinda still the same , 4 hours later

Very much the same, 24 HOURS LATER!

    Full disclosure here, I lied when I said "ice cream". It's not actually "ice cream", it's a "frozen dessert". If you had sent me to the store and asked me to pick up a "frozen dessert", I'm not sure what I might have come back with but Breyers French Vanilla probably wouldn't have been it...

Safety precaution

Ooops, I said "ice cream", didn't I ?

    I took a pic of the ingredients label. I'm not a scientist so I'm not sure what the offending ingredients are which cause this frozen dessert to not melt. Whatever they are, I imagine ski clubs could use them come summer!

So if you don't want something to melt,
put plenty of THIS  crap in it

    I finally threw out the Breyers today. Because you want to know, it had gone very soft, sort of the consistency of stale Cool Whip. I kind of wanted to stick my finger in it but was afraid something might bite me. Totally unaware of the local by-laws for disposing of bio-hazards, I simply deposited it into the garbage.

Falling Down

   This morning, while Doralyn was in the shower, I headed downstairs as I do every morning and made a hard left into the kitchen to....wait.....that's what I would have done if, in fact, I had actually been at the bottom of the steps when I made that hard left! 
   Instead, I stepped out into mid air, sure that my right foot was about to make solid contact with firm parquet floor, when this was unfortunately not the case. Yes, I began my day lying in a heap on the floor just outside the kitchen door. 
   A quick bodily check and I was soon back up on my feet, almost none the worse for wear. Unfortunately, it's a little hard to disguise the sound of a 226 pound man doing a face plant on a hard wooden floor at 5:56 a.m. when the only other person up and moving in the house is safe in her warm shower and Doralyn soon appeared, in a towel and still dripping, saying it sounded as though I had fallen down the stairs. I confirmed that there was a reason for this, she asked me if I was okay, I confirmed that I was, and she headed back upstairs. Likely wondering what fate had brought her.
   This is not the first time the exact same thing has happened. A few months ago, I pulled a similar maneuver going down the steps into the lower level of our house. I thought I was already at the bottom when I wasn't, yet. Again, that time, no major damage done. I at least partially thank many years of playing sports as a kid and then as a young man for my ability to "take a hit" and survive, relatively unscathed. This is fine but, intellectually, I know I can't keep doing this.
   After my first little mishap I found myself consciously making sure I had actually reached terra firma pretty well every successive occasion I had for walking down stairs. In the mornings, I generally find myself going down the stairs in the semi-darkness and when I think I have reached the bottom I will actually take one more exploratory step, just to make sure that bottom is, in truth, where I'm at. This morning, I did not do this for some reason.

   

   I'm going to blame the cats. On my way down the stairs this morning, two of them rushed past me, ostensibly to begin their day but possibly as part of their deadly plan to distract me from my normal stair routine. I found myself bemused at their fervour and looking forward to their antics and totally entered a different realm of cognition. Hence the disaster which befell me.
   Part of this, I'm sure, is the aging process. As a young man, I really don't remember ever falling down stairs, at least not stairs that were clear of ice or obstruction. These days, it seems like a fairly common occurrence. I even occasionally lose track of where I am when I'm walking up the stairs---somehow or other, in mid-step, I'm not quite sure where I need to put my foot next. I have to concentrate more than I ever used to, and this seems all wrong, dammit!
   Okay, so this is a cautionary tale, I guess. Like a minor car accident reminding you to drive a little more cautiously, I imagine that this morning's mishap will linger long enough to remind me the next time to make sure the ground has firmly come up to meet me before I then move on. Other than that, we might be looking at either kiddie slides or parachutes to get me out of the house in the morning!
    

    

Doralyn Gets Inked!!

   About a year and half ago, for her birthday, I gave Doralyn a gift card for a tattoo. 
   She had been talking for the longest time about wanting one so I went downtown to the Perfect Image store here in London and purchased a card. We then spent about a year and a half occasionally talking about it again before gathering up our resources to get it done.

Where our adventure began! Perfect Image, in Waterloo.

 
   Doralyn got on the Perfect Image website and went through some of their artists' portfolios before deciding on the person she wanted to get a consultation from. Perfect Image has several outlets in Canada and as it turned out, Doralyn ended up picking an artist, Eli Deschenes, who worked out of the Waterloo, Ontario store. We went down there a couple of weeks ago to meet Eli (short for Elizabeth) and talk about some of the ideas Doralyn had in mind for a tattoo. We set up an appointment for today, the 13th, to get it done.
   What we failed to notice, however, until we took a closer look at the gift card, was that the card was supposed to be used at the store where it was purchased. This became a major sticking point, unfortunately! We were given the e-mail address for Kfir Ohayon, the general manager for all the stores in this area. We pleaded ignorance (true enough) and Kfir did us the extreme favour of letting us transfer the gift card to the Waterloo store. Kfir, you rock!
   Our appointment in Waterloo was for noon and we arrived an hour early so we had a bit of a picnic in the car. Then on to meet Eli!
   She showed us a couple of design elements for the tattoo Doralyn had talked to her about in the consultation. We then had a discussion about size and placement and, before long, we were off!
   Eli very graciously allowed me to sit in on the tattoo and also to take copious pics during the process. She is a young and extremely personable woman and she and Doralyn hit it off right away. Good match! 
   Doralyn had only minor discomfort during the process and most of this occurred right near the end. Here are some of the pics I took as we went along.

Eli applies the stencil and a few preliminary markings.

She then begins the outlining.

More outlining, from a different angle

The finished outline!

The colouring begins!

And continues...

The finished project!

Happily-inked Doralyn and talented Eli!

    All in all, this was a wonderful experience and Doralyn loves the new tat, saying it was exactly what she envisioned! And not only that, she now figures prominently on Eli's Instagram page! Many thanks to Eli Deschenes for the wonderful job!

As Long As Bonanza And Part Of Bewitched

      One day last week, I was hanging around with someone and they asked me how much longer I was going to continue to hang around like that.
   The answer was "about an hour and twenty minutes". There was a brief exchange about how long this actually was and then, to be clearer (and cognizant at the same time as to this person's age and life experience), I said, "About as long as Bonanza and part of Bewitched."
   There you have it, two new units of time!
   I do this a lot, and mostly with myself. If I know I need to hang around and wait for an hour for something to occur (and because I am of a certain vintage), I usually visualize myself plopped in front of a T.V. screen somewhere, watching Bonanza or Ed Sullivan or Perry Mason. If I only need to wait half an hour then it could be Bewitched or The Flintstones or maybe even the Dick Van Dyke Show. God forbid I need to wait an hour and a half so then I imagine "The Virginian". Any much longer than that and I end up turning to movies like "Cleopatra" or "Gone With The Wind"!
   Of course, I make reference to an age when you had no choice but to watch commercials (or head to the bathroom) during the course of a show and that added up to the half-hour, hour, or ninety minutes. Nowadays, with the advent of a PVR's  ability to pause, rewind and fast/forward, a show can be as long or short as you'd like it to be. You can go to the bathroom and cook a roast, if you want. Hell, you can go to the bathroom and then go on freakin' holidays, for that matter, before the show starts up again!
   So, lost on a new generation is the ability to gauge time by T.V. show length!
   While we're on the subject of gauging time, there was a day when, if someone asked you what time it was, you would look at your watch or the clock on the wall and say something like it's half past three or it's about a quarter to ten or I've got about twenty after two. There was a certain amount of imprecision around phrases like those but they still did the trick.

Do you prefer THIS.....

   These days, however, the advent of digital clocks and timepieces has taken away any pre-existing inconsequential inaccuracies and has almost forced us to tell the other person exactly what time it is. Whether they wanted to know, or not.

...or THIS?

   Whereas before you might have looked at the rough position of the minute hand on the clock and it's about twenty after two, nowadays you're going to look at your digital device and say well, I've got two twenty-two. Which quite frequently might be followed by oops, now it's two twenty-THREE, and so on. No more sneaking upstairs at round about one when, in fact, it was actually one twenty nine...
   So that was my little "getting old", "the times, they are a-changin' " rant, hope you're not tired of them by now! And, frankly, I really don't give a damn whether the clockface is "sweep" or "digital" as long as it's "large"!
   
   

Yes, Prince Is Gone But Then There Was Harry....

   In what will likely become known as "2016- The Year The Music Died", Prince's name has now been added to the list of performing icons who have passed what seems like long before their times.
   As each and every name has been agonizingly revealed to us, collectively we have mourned and individually dealt with whatever the loss of that artist has personally meant to us.
   The losses in the music world have been particularly hard to assimilate and come to grips with---Glenn Fry, Paul Kantner, Merle Haggard, David Bowie, Keith Emerson---the list just seems to go on and on.

   Social media has allowed us to both mourn the passing and celebrate the life of each and every musician and, most importantly, share the grief. Obviously, each passing has meant something different to us as individuals, depending on the role each performer played in our lives. A term I have heard frequently the last few months is "the soundtrack of my life". Essentially, many of the performers who have recently passed were responsible for the music we all played and the music that followed us around for all our formative years. The idea that the creators of this music are no longer with us seems intolerable.
   As I have dealt with the surprise and shock of so many icons' deaths, I have been fortunate in one way---none of them were intrinsically part of the soundtrack of my life. As much as I appreciated their artistry, there wasn't a lot there that really touched me in an important or personal way.
   

There was a particularly dark day for me, musically-speaking. On July 16, 1981 I was walking along a dusty road in the middle of Pinery Provincial Park when I heard a radio report from a neighbouring campground letting me know that Harry Chapin had been killed in a car crash in New York state. Gone was the artist who'd created "Taxi", "Sniper", "Cat's In The Cradle". "W.O.L.D.", "Circle", and "30,000 Pounds Of Bananas". Gone was the story-telling and gone was the humanitarianism
   This was devastating. My ex-wife and I were huge fans of Harry and had seen him here in London not that long before he died. We had many of his albums and basically worshiped the man. The worst part of it all was that he was in what seemed to be the prime of his career and there was just so much more music to look forward to. The rest of the camping trip was a bust, to say the least. It was like a all of our underpinnings had been removed, in one fell swoop.
   I know that millions of us have been affected similarly in the last few months as legend after legend has disappeared. It is much too easy to forget that, as we have aged, certainly they have as well. And if they seemed too young to die then we need to remember that no-one is guaranteed a certain number of years and that there are forces at work in all of our lives which pre-dispose both life and death.

   I have been what you might have called a "folkie" most of my life. This means that the artists who comprised the soundtrack of my life were people like Simon and Garfunkel, Leonard Cohen, Cat Stevens, Joni Mitchell and Gordon Lightfoot. In recent years we have almost lost a couple of them and it is inevitable that, sooner or later, they will all be gone. They may be gone after me or they may be gone before me. At this point in my life, though, I am not expecting a lot of new music from any of them and am content with the role they have already played in my life.
   This wasn't true with Harry, though.