Your Friday Smile!

One day little Johnny heard a noise and peeked into his parents room to check it out.
He opened the door to see his mom bent over the dresser and dad going at it, behind her.
Johnny's dad saw him and gave him a little wink as Johnny closed the door.
After business was finished, Dad went to check on little Johnny.
He opened his bedroom door to find Grandma bent over the dresser and little Johnny going at it behind her.
Dad yelled, 'Johnny, what the hell are you doing?!'
Little Johnny replied, 'It's not so funny when it's YOUR mom, is it?'

***

Little Gloria attended a horse auction with her father. She watched as her father moved from horse to horse, running his hands up and down the horse's legs, rump, and chest. After a few minutes, Gloria asked, "Dad, why are you doing that?"

His father replied, "Because when I'm buying horses, I have to make sure that they are healthy and in good shape before I buy."

Gloria, looking worried, said, "Dad, I think the UPS guy wants to buy Mom."

Have a great weekend everyone!
For those of you who took part in the NaBloPoMo, we did it!
Congratulations!

And please, if you haven't yet, tell me your birth date here. Thanks!

Yes it is all good.

In 25 days it will be Noel!!! Twenty-five days people! Get busy! Come on! Stop procrastinating and get your ass in gear! Like it or not, it’s on its way!

This morning I feel happy, despite the sore tooth and everything going on in our lives, I feel happy. I’m happy to be alive and to see these nice big white flakes slowly falling and covering the ground… It is beautiful when it snows like it is at the moment. There’s something soothing about it. The cold that comes with it isn’t that great, but it is also part of the deal. I’m happy that the guy for our cabinet doors just showed up, one hour late, but at least with all our doors. We will finally have the kitchen we wanted and paid for. I’m almost giddy at this point! We’ve only been waiting for these for the last five months. Who dare say we are not patient folks? I’m happy that I’ll be seeing the dentist, again, this afternoon, because the pain in my tooth which had the root canal is getting worst instead of better. Pain should decrease not increase after a treatment like that. I just hope there’s nothing seriously wrong.

Even if I haven’t seen my doctor yet, that will be tomorrow afternoon, I know that I will not get great news, but at least it is not life threatening, so I'm happy. I can deal with illness, but cancer or brain tumour, at this point, is not something I wanted to deal with. (In case you're wondering, I do "know" because I got a copy of the report from the MRI I went for last week.)

I’m also the happy recipient of this, from Parisukat.
Isn’t he sweet to think of me as a friend? I sure think so!

Overall life is good, even if it is sad at times, or infuriating or destabilizing, it is not effortless that’s for sure! But I have to say, it IS good!

#401!

I just realised that yesterday's post was my 400th!!! I just thought I'd share...

I got gently tagged by Robert (a.k.a. "Nascar") at “Observations from the Back 40” to do an interesting meme. How can I resist this Redneck?!

The rules are quite straight forward: list 5 to 10 courses you would take to improve your life. One of those should be taken with the friend who tagged you. Then tag 5 others....

1. I would love to go for a professional cooking class. I do cook a lot already and I managed fairly well in the kitchen, but what I know is self-taught. I would love to learn how to “play” with a knife the way the Chef’s do and to be able to create dishes from scratch…

2. I would love to go for a driving class of big vehicle, like the 18 wheelers. That would be the class I would take from (or with) Robert, he’s been a driver from many years, so why not! Always was intrigued by those big boys.

3. I would love to take a Hungarian class and be able to speak fluently and practise on a regular basis. I’ve taken Japanese for a few years but because I have nobody to practise with, I’ve lost it all.

4. I would love to take a writing class, to write better and to "capture" my readers, and not read as someone who’s French writing in English.

5. I would love to take a designing class. Designing as Debbie Travis or those people on “Trading Spaces” who come up with great ideas, not too expensive and it looks great.

I’ll just do five, but there are so many classes I would love to take, like medicine, vet school, web design to name a few. I know that it’s never too late to do so, but let’s face it, I’m lazy and comfortable at the moment, so…

I will not be tagging anyone, but if you’d like to take this and run with it, be my guest!

Something to look forward to?

We’ve been having some interesting conversations with my FIL lately. He’s been a widower for over four months and has been acting somewhat different than his usual way. He went away to Europe a few weeks after his wife’s passing. He visited is sister in Hungary. Before he left we told him not to bring back any “baggage” (meaning a new wife). When he came back, we were surprised by something he did while visiting his hometown village. He decided to find his “first love”, the girl he was seeing when he fled Hungary. He left Hungary during the revolution, and made his way to Canada. He was 19 at the times, and his girlfriend was 15. Somehow, through phone calls, he did manage to find her back, fifty years later. She had never left their village, had gotten married, had children and is even a grandmother. He did arrange to meet with her. They had coffee. When he told us about it, I was touched by how romantic it was, and yet I felt a little concerned. What motivated him to do such a thing? When asked, he simply answered that he wanted to know what she had become. I did manage to get out of him, that he still had some feelings for her, and was happy to see that she had a good life.

Since he’s been back, he’s been often saying that he needs to meet someone. He doesn’t like being alone. A few weeks ago, he came over for dinner and blurted out that he was meeting a lady for lunch the next day, on a date. We teased him a little about it, and at some point, I told him (me, not his son!) about protection, and how he should wear clean underwear, etc. It was awkward to say the least. My FIL is the sweetest man you want to meet, but at the same time, he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. He had been married for over 45 years, so hasn’t been on many dates.
Last night, he came over for dinner. He was a bit disappointed that it didn’t work out with the lady he had met. They went on a few dates when she told him that she wasn’t ready to get involved with someone. At times, the things he says are heartbreaking. He sounds so desperate. And yet he is no naïve. He asked us, how should he approach a woman, how does he know if he’s making a good impression or not? How does he know if it will click with this person? How does he see her true character? Hubby and I spent the evening talking with him, coaching him so that he could go out and find himself a date.

It is a strange feeling to tell a 71 years old man, that women enjoy a clean man, with good looking teeth, who’s not too judgemental and you can make decision. I’ve often helped friends, or listened to friends who were single and looking about potential places to go to meet new people, but a 71 years old man? That was a first for me! We both tried. We tried to boost his ego a little, we reassured him as much as possible, and reminded him that there was no time limit. He had to take things as they come. Not to rush in anything, for the wrong reasons.

His wife was so controlling that she basically took away all his self-confidence. He has lost his bearings. She always told him how to behave, what not to say, etc. Without her he feels lost, and it’s only understandable. He doesn’t want to “date” he wants a companion, a “life partner” as he says. At times it’s so cute to hear him but you can’t help to feel compassion for him. I just hope he won’t settle or be taken for a ride…
___
Image: Dating

Aha!

Ever had this feeling when you’re with someone where they say something and it takes you right back to your teen years and almost feeling the same way you did back then? That happened yesterday.

Last month I did reconnect with a girl friend from high school, and have seen her once since. She had invited me to dinner a few weeks ago. I went. At first it was a little awkward, because even if we do know each other we had not socialised in years. And I do believe that people do change, a little, at least I hope so… We didn’t talk about personal stuff that much, since she was excited to show me what she does. She’s been creating jewellery for a few years, like what you see on “etsy”, with semi-precious stones. She does make gorgeous pieces, so to encourage her I bought a few pieces (3 pairs of earrings and 3 bracelets), those would be cute little Christmas gifts. She remembered that my birthday was coming up and told me to pick a pair of earrings, so I did. The ones I chose she had only made one so she said she’d delivered them for my birthday. Overall it was a pleasant evening, and not too personal.

Saturday morning she called me to wish me a happy birthday and we agreed that we would see each other on Sunday so that she could drop by and deliver my earrings. We had agreed for late afternoon. She showed up at 8:30pm. Hubby had only seen her once before. Her being late was how I remembered her. She was very excited and giddy, which I assumed was because she wasn’t comfortable. She even said she felt shy. We did a quick visit of our place and sat in the living room. Her explanation for showing up at that time was because she didn’t want to come at dinnertime… except that we never have dinner before 8pm, but she didn’t know that. She had brought some of her jewellery and displayed them all, which I thought was a bit strange, since I had seen most of her stuff two weeks prior. She showed Hubby, who wasn’t interested AT ALL. I felt for the man. She wasn’t his friend and we both enjoy our Sunday evening, quiet, just the two of us, well not this Sunday. Long story short, at one point I called her on the fact that she wasn’t listening ( it is one of my pet peeves to not be looked at when I’m talking to someone. I find it rude. ) she was sorting through some papers while we were talking. She looked up and said, “I’m listening!” I answered, “Sorry I haven’t reached that level of communication yet, I still like to be looked at when talking with someone”. She got really defensive and even accused me of judging her intentions. And at that exact moment I felt like I often did with her in high school. It was so strange and yet a part of me went “wow, some things never change”. If I were Oprah I would have said that was a “Aha! Moment” and remembered why we had lost touch…

We carried on nonetheless. I gave her food (since she had not ate) and even gave her a pair of winter boots and shoes. I’ll be hosting a little get together with girlfriends in a few weeks so that she can sell some of her jewellery. She’s going through a rough patch and I do want to help her. But I won’t be dragged back into those teen games of ours. I wasn’t a happy teen. Like most, I had issues. I’ve been working hard on bettering myself.

Since her departure last night, I’ve been thinking about how good I have it. I am happy with our lives and wouldn’t trade it with anyone. I have a loving husband, health and we are both well within ourselves. That peace and serenity we have achieved is priceless. We love being together and even if I do know this, last night made me see it even more.

Thank you, thank you!

Thank you all for your kind & silly wishes. It means a lot. I felt the “luuuv”, that’s for sure!

Well, yesterday was a good day overall. We took it easy, received a few phone calls for my birthday, slowly got ready and made our way to my mom’s. She had asked what I wanted to eat for my birthday dinner and since it had been ages since I hah had her Chinese food I asked for that. She made some delicious egg rolls, some fried rice and some cherry sauce chicken balls. It was delllliiiiiiiciiiioooouuuusssss! There’s nothing like a good home cook meal by mom!

My mom lives one hour away heading North from Montréal, in a little village. The temperature change is always noticeable and yesterday was just another one of those times. It was snowing, big white flakes, gorgeous and to add to the magic of it all 2 deers came in my mom’s backyard and ate the carrots and apples she left for them. They are gorgeous animals, but so nervous. I guess it makes sense, especially that the hunting season just closed…

She had also made one of my preferred desserts: apple squares. Had a nice big piece with a nice cup of tea, and then proceeded to the basement to play some baby foot with Hubby and some sand bags game with my mother and her “manfriend” (at 77 he’s too old to be called “boyfriend”!).

We came home with a bag of leftovers, and a full tummy. If that’s not a good day I don’t know what is! Sometime simple is good…

___
Image: Thank you

All about AGING today...

Since it is my birthday today and I don’t really think I’m old just yet, despite what my body keeps screaming at me, I thought I’d post the following is for those who are at the 'Old is Old is Old is Old' age, for those who are approaching that age and for those who have that age to look forward to.

"OLD" IS WHEN ... Your sweetie says, "Let's go upstairs and make love," and you answer, "Pick one; I can't do both!"

"OLD " IS WHEN ... Your friends compliment you on your new alligator shoes and you're barefoot.

"OLD" IS WHEN ... A sexy babe catches your fancy and your pacemaker opens the garage door.

"OLD" IS WHEN ... Going braless pulls all the wrinkles out of your face.

"OLD" IS WHEN ... You don't care where your spouse goes, just as long as you don't have to go along.

"OLD" IS WHEN ... You are cautioned to slow down by the doctor instead of by the police.

"OLD" IS WHEN ..."Getting a little action" means you don't need to take any fibre today

"OLD" IS WHEN ... "Getting lucky" means you find your car in the parking lot.

"OLD" IS WHEN ... An "all nighter" means not getting up to use the bathroom.

AND

"OLD" IS WHEN ... You are not sure these are jokes.

***



...and tonight I'll be going to my mom's for dinner where a good "home cook" meal will be awaiting us... yummy!

Your Friday Smile!

A sadist, a masochist, a murderer, a necrophile, a zoophile and a pyromaniac are all sitting on a bench in a mental institution, bored out of their minds.

"How about having sex with a cat?" asked the zoophile. "Let's have sex with the cat and then torture it," says the sadist.
"Let's have sex with the cat, torture it and then kill it," shouted the murderer. "Let's have sex with the cat, torture it, kill it and then have sex with it again,"
said the necrophile.
"Let's have sex with the cat, torture it, kill it,have sex with it again and then burn it," said the pyromaniac.

Silence took over... and the masochist says: "Meow."

***

A man was sitting on a blanket at the beach. He had no arms and no legs. Three women were walking past and felt sorry for the poor man. The first woman said "Have you ever had a hug?" The man said "No," so she gave him a hug and walked on.

The second woman said "Have you ever had a kiss?" The man said "No," so she gave him a kiss and walked on.

The third really beautiful woman came up to him and said "Have you ever been f*#ked?" The fellow said "No."

She said "You will be when the tide comes in. "

Happy weekend everyone!
Please let me know your birth date (here)

It’s beginning to look a lot…

We had our first snow yesterday but it quickly turned into rain. Now everything is white, but it’s more like a freezing rain type of thing, but nonetheless, it is white, thus beginning to look at lot like Christmas! In less than 32 days! Sorry to all the “Grinches” out there, but this crazy Canuck loves Christmas!

Last year, was the first year I didn’t put up our Christmas tree. It didn’t feel like Christmas. I had put out some decorations, but no tree, because I had had surgery and with everything going on I didn’t really feel like it.

This year, again, there is lots going on in the family, but I will be putting up our tree. I just love the way it looks, with its lights, ornaments and everything else. I really do enjoy this time of year.

Last night, on our way home from errands, we drove on Ste-Catherine street and I felt like a kid! I was so excited to see all the trees decorated, the lights. McGill College Avenue, is gorgeous with all its trees of lights. Gorgeous, don’t you think? (and that was taken a few years back!)

I love Christmas and all that is related to Christmas. As I am getting older, not so much the family gathering, since I love to be home with Hubby and our cat, in our pjs, under my love throw and watching a good movie. But we can’t really stay that way; we have family duties and must see the relatives. It’s part of the deal.

On Hubby’s side of the family (on his mother’s to be more precise), we do a gift exchange. I’m almost all done with my shopping, since I shop all year-round. I’m one of “those” people who if I see something that I think you’d enjoy I’ll buy it then. I hate feeling rushed and I’m really not a big fan of crowds. I don’t get all flustered about Christmas shopping because I don’t really shop during that time, unless I really have to. For the past few years, Hubby’s aunt was taking care of assigning the people for the gift exchange. I hadn’t heard anything about it for this year, so I decided to take care of it.

Because of everything going on at the moment, I feel somewhat guilty to be looking forward to Christmas. It might be their last, for some. It won’t be an easy time yet again this year. Last year, we knew it was my MIL’s last. Emotions were running high. Before she died she asked that each of us picked something of hers that we’d like and we will be getting it this Christmas, as a gift from her. It will make for yet another emotional family gathering.

I know I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I do feel a little awkward being happy and giddy when there’s so much crap going on around me. And yet, I should be cherishing life and all that it has to offer, ‘cause who knows what it has in store, right?

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends. There is so much to give thanks for, isn’t it?
___

Image: McGill College Ave.

Following fragility...

From the comments I got yesterday, most of us are not too comfortable with death or worst, even to think about our own death. I’m not really surprised. How many times have I heard people say things like: “I don’t want to think about that!” or “We don’t talk about that…” Why? Why are we uncomfortable with it? It’s part of life, and it’s the only certainty we have on this earth (besides taxes), we will die. It is the only thing also that makes us all equal. No matter if you are a rich little princess, an ex-pop diva, a psycho bitch from hell, a good Samaritan, a poor homeless junky, that is the one thing where it does not matter, we are all the same: we die.

I’ve always been aware of death. I cannot say that it scares me. It doesn’t, really. I would rather say that it fascinates me, or at least intrigues me. I’m in no rush to find out what it’s about, but I’m sort of comfortable with it as well. A teacher of mine told me that we should live life in order to prepare our death. He’s right. If you look at it that way, it might change how you feel about it. You know it’s going to happen, so why not prepare for it? It’s like winter here. We (Canadians) know it’s coming and yet every year drivers are caught without their winter tires, just like this morning (we had out first snow fall today). Well, maybe this is a bad example, since it does come back every year, but nonetheless, we know it’s coming and we have to wait for the first snowfall to change our tires. Why is it that we always have to wait until the last minute? There’s laziness, procrastination, not wanting to do something we don’t really like, or simply thinking that if you ignore it long enough maybe it will go away. None of these works, we are intelligent enough to know that. Let’s face it; it doesn’t work for winter or death. And yes it sucks! We have to prepare those around us as well as ourselves; we don’t really have a choice. It will happen.

Remember a few weeks back I had posted that link to Professor Randy Pausch’s lecture on Oprah (the short version). I also have the long version, here. If you haven’t seen it, check it out, it’s worth your time.

I’m always surprised when I hear someone who says they have faith to be afraid of death. Maybe I’m not afraid of it, because I do believe there is something after death. Yes, I do believe in reincarnation. There is too much for it to be the end. Maybe it’s out of fear that I believe, but no matter what, if I was to go soon I wouldn’t be lying on my death bed thinking “Oh, I should have done this, or said that…”. I don’t want to go filled of regrets and wishes, I want to go full of love, happy memories and a sense of accomplishment. I’m working hard at becoming a better person, and every day I try to do well, or at least not to do bad or to hurt others. Some days are better than other, but at least I’m trying…
___
Image: Dying Dahlia

So fragile

We all know life is fragile. But, unless we are sick or in pain, we don’t really think about it. Our bodies might be sturdy, our armours and yet at times they feel like rice paper that the smallest thing could piece.

Last week was a rough one for some relatives. They received bad news. I feel sad for them as well as somewhat guilty because I’m planning my Christmas list.

I feel bad to be happy and joyful when some people are dealing with the fact that this might very well be their last Christmas. We all know that we are going to die, one day, but knowing that you may have only so much time left, that’s something else. We often hear “Life is too short”, “We only live once”, “Make the most of this life”, it might be true. We don’t always choose how and when we’ll leave this world (except for people like my dad). We don’t choose to get older, it just happens. We can choose how we aged though. We don’t always reach our goals or get what we deserve. We do what we can, but what about what we believe?

Hubby and I talked about it and even if it’s only “theoretically” we both agreed that we would try to do as much as possible to enjoy the time we had left, especially if we’re able to, physically.

What about you, if you were facing your death or your spouse’s, how do you think (we can only assume here) you would want to spend that time? Would you want to travel, see the things you never did or stay home with those you love as much as possible? Would you let yourself go and await death, or would you try everything possible to fight this? Would you choose to die in peace with yourself and those around you, with dignity or would you let the medical system prolonged your life by medical means? All these questions are hypothetical, because none of us knows how we would really react when facing our own mortality… But at the same time, I believe that those are questions we should ask ourselves before we are actually facing that time. I know I did.

One for the Good Guys

A young Canadian soldier was attending some college courses between assignments. He had also completed missions in Afghanistan.

One of the courses had a professor who was a vowed atheist. One day the professor shocked the class when he came in. He Looked to the ceiling and flatly stated, "God, if you are real, then I want you to knock me off this platform. I'll give you exactly 15 minutes."

The lecture room fell silent. You could hear a pin drop. Ten minutes went by and the professor proclaimed, "Here I am God. I'm still waiting." It got down to the last couple of minutes when the young soldier got out of his Chair, went up to the professor, and cold-cocked him; knocking him off the platform. The professor was out cold. The young man went back to his seat and sat there, silently. The other students were shocked and stunned and sat there looking on in silence.

The professor eventually came to, noticeably shaken, looked at the soldier and asked, "What the hell is the matter with! you? Why did you do that?"

Came the reply, "God was too busy today protecting our soldiers who are protecting your right to talk stupid and act like an asshole. So, He sent me"

THIS IS GOOD, KEEP IT GOING

Hope she's resting in peace...

A year ago at this time I was crying.
A year ago today I held Cathy’s head in my hand for the last time.
A year ago today I decided to let her go.

I often think of her, and feel the void of her absence.
She brought me so much joy and love.
She made me appreciate the morning sun, the birds chirping and how quiet our neighbourhood was during her first outing.
She would bring a smile to my face just by the way she would wait for me.

I miss her so.
She was ma p’tite doudoune.
I can only hope that she is waiting for me by the Rainbow Bridge…

May you rest in peace Cathy.

Meme Time: 7 Things about me

I’ve been tagged for a meme (talk about timing, I was going blank!)

Here are the rules:
a. Link to my tagger and post these rules.
b. Share 7 facts about myself: some random, some weird.
c. Tag 7 people at the end of my post and list their names (linking to them).

My “tagger” was Galoot.

Here's my list:

1. I can talk about anything, from body functions, sex to religion; I think I have no taboos, or very little…

2. I re-use paper tissue, i.e. I might use the same tissue twice (yeah, I know…).

3. I talk to myself, in my head, a lot, in English even if my first language is French.

4. I need to rub my husband calf with my foot before falling asleep.

5. When I think I tend to chew the inside of my mouth (just realised that as I was thinking about this…).

6. In elementary school I used to love to stay after class to clean the black board and vacuumed the erasers.

7. I never attended a sleepover, a graduation or high-school dance.

Here are my seven tags:

Ananke
Kim
Marius
Monkey
Pigeon
Simplypink
Wreckless

Have fun!

What's your type?

I found this little test at Trueself's today, did it and thought it was kind of right, what do you think?

Your Blogging Type is Artistic and Passionate

You see your blog as the ultimate personal expression - and work hard to make it great. One moment you may be working on a new dramatic design for your blog... And the next, you're passionately writing about your pet causes. Your blog is very important - and you're careful about who you share it with.

What's Your Blogging Personality?

Anyu (final)

A few years ago, Hubby had to have a hip replacement. On the eve of his surgery he talked with his mother and told her that the day of his surgery (which was the following morning!) he didn’t want ANY visitor but me. That was all. They could come and visit him the following day, but not on the day of his operation. He knew he was going to be out of it, and didn’t want to be social. His mother agreed and asked him to make sure that I would call them as soon as I knew anything.

The morning of the surgery I drove Hubby to the hospital, waited with him until he was rolled off to the O.R. A nurse told me it would be a few long hours and that I should go home. I did. At the approximated time he was supposed to come out of surgery I called the hospital and was told that he was waking up. Everything went well and he would be taken to his room within the hour. I noted his room number, and proceeded to call my in-laws. At that exact moment I felt more nervous than when I saw my husband being taken away for surgery, that’s how bad it was! She answered. I told her the little information I had and as I was wrapping things up, she said: “We’ll drop by later on to see him”. I asked her what she meant exactly, since her son had requested no visitor the first night. She then told me that she knew what he asked, but she was not a visitor, she was his mother. I was so pissed off that she couldn’t respect her son wishes, and told her so. “He will want to see me” was her answer. I was about to tell her off, so I just said: “He asked you, yesterday, not to come on the first night. He asked me to let you know how things went. I did that. Thank you.” and I hung up. I made my way to the hospital, in a snowstorm, fuming! I called a friend to vent and man did she get an earful!

When Hubby was brought to his room later on, he was wide-awake and was managing his pain. At one point he asked if I had called his parents. Told him about my conversation with his mother. He then asked me to call his parents; he wanted to talk to his mother. I dialled the number and watched. It was the first time I heard him give crap to his mother. I didn’t understand everything, because most of it was in Hungarian, but there was no mistake about the tone! His parents came to visit the following night, and she gave me the cold shoulder. That was fine – it was not like I was happy to see her anyway!

There are so many other anecdotes I could write about, she had a way with me that just didn’t work. Last year, she got sick and this is when her attitude towards me started to change. I wrote a few posts about it all. Here’s one.

Last year, at Christmas, we all knew it was going to be her last Christmas together. Her cancer was spreading and one evening while we were visit her we made peace and I wrote this. Some people were actually surprised that I forgave her and moved on. It was pointless to hold on, so I let it go. It's all a question of choices, we choose how we live (and to some extent) and die. I felt sorry for her, for all that time she wasted being angry. She had to face the fact that she was dying, and that wasn't easy.

Despite everything said and done, I'm happy that when she died we were friends, she realised that I was there for her and that in that in spite of our "history" I did love her. I know she died knowing that.

Hubby wrote a beautiful eulogy for her where he was honest. He didn't sugar-coat it in any way. You can read it here.

She touched my life in a very special way, and she also gave me the greatest gift ever; her son. Notwithstanding her crazy behavior towards me, she raised the most wonderful man, and for that I will for ever be grateful to her. Köszönöm szépen, Anyu!

Your Friday Smile!

***

Government Contract Bid, is this only in Canada?

Three contractors are bidding to fix a broken fence at 24 Sussex Drive, Ottawa, Ontario ( the Prime Minister's Governments paid for Residence): one from Alberta, another from Newfoundland, and the third from Quebec.

They go with a government official to examine the fence.
The Albertan contractor takes out a tape measure and does some measuring.
He then works out some figures with a pencil. "Well", he says, "I figure the job will run about $900: $400 for materials, $400 for my crew, and $100 profit for me".

The Newfie contractor also does some measuring and figuring, then says, "I can do this job for $700: $300 for materials, $300 for my crew, and $100 profit for me".

The Quebec contractor doesn't measure or figure, but leans over to the official and
whispers, "$2,700".

The government official, incredulous, says, "You didn't even measure like the other guys! How did you come up with such a high figure?"

The Quebec contractor whispers back, "$1,000 for me, $1,000 for you, and we hire the Newfie!


I just realised that we passed a milestone on Wednesday, Nov. 14th @ 6:44pm (local time)...

"Stories 2 Tell" has had
OVER 15,000*
Unique Visitors
since June 24th, 2006!

Thank YOU for being one of them!

*and it was Purple Pigeon

Have a great weekend!
Tell me your birth date, here.

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Image: Woo

Anyu (part 2)

Hubby never told me exactly what his mother had said about me, but I know that she accused me of being a cult leader among other things. Yes, a cult leader! After all I had brain washed her son into marrying me, through my karate teaching (I was that good an instructor!).

As time went by, things didn’t really get better between us. We would see his parents on family occasions only. One year, at Christmas, I had my hair coloured red, fire truck red (it was Christmas after all!), and while driving to a cousin’s house, I realised that my hair colour would be ammunition for my MIL; yet another thing for her to judge. I told Hubby that I was done trying, and if his mother gave me any attitude I would just ignore her. As soon as I came in, his cousin screamed with excitement at my new hair colour. My MIL was standing by the door and the look she gave me was just what I needed. I wished Merry Christmas to my FIL, skipped my MIL and proceed with the rest of the family. She did not like that. At that exact moment I knew I was “done” playing that game. My FIL asked me to go talk to his wife, to say hi to her. I politely answered that I was done playing nice. I had reached my threshold. He knew what I meant. Meanwhile, Hubby was being “talked to”, in Hungarian, by his mother. From the tone of it all, I could understand that she wasn’t happy.

One Easter, I had bought little chocolate bunnies for everyone and a centrepiece for the table, also made of chocolate. When we arrived, cousin’s wife told me to set up everything, which I did. When my MIL came in and saw the table and the little bunnies, she commented on how nice it was. Cousin’s wife told her it was from me. (She always tried to help mend things between us, but it never worked). MIL answered: “oh well”. During the meal the topic went to bad wedding gifts received. We had a received a really bad platter (with naked people on…) and cousin’s wife couldn’t get over having seen it. When she mentioned it, my MIL said: “It must have been her friends who gave them that!”. The worst part is, she was right! I didn’t answer and went into the kitchen, and started cleaning up. At some point she came in and told me I was being helpful. I bite my tongue, once again. Let’s just say that cousin’s crystal glasses are pretty sturdy because I squeezed them hard!

The following Christmas I was surprised when she gave me a brooch that said: “Cat Lover”. The fact that it was the only thing I got when I realised what other gifts they had offered everyone else became funny to me. I had to laugh (or I would have cried too often). And at least I like the brooch. Some relatives were not at ease with the situation, and would tell me about it. I would tell them not to worry about it. That was just the way it was, nothing more. With time, people started to “notice” things a little more, or, my MIL wasn’t being as careful as she used to be. People also realised that I had made many attempts at peace.

I did reach a point where I didn’t even want to see my in laws at family gatherings. It was sucking the life out of me, and was also creating tension with Hubby. I felt like he wasn’t backing me up when I needed him to. He felt stuck in the middle, helpless. He so often reminded me that despite my best efforts, it wasn’t me and it was useless to try to fix things.

While friends from out of town were visiting one year, Hubby’s ex and I started comparing notes (yes, we are one of those weirdo couples who still have contact with their exes) about how MIL was acting with me. She was doing to me what she had done to her. Hubby says that it was at that specific moment that he knew his mother was beyond help. It is also at that moment that he “closed” himself when it came to issues with his mother.

Anyu (part 1)

For some reasons, maybe because Monkey asked me about it, I feel like telling you about how it was with my now defunct MIL. For the people related to her (Hubby, etc.) who do read my blog, please don’t be offended. I just want to tell my story. You knew her and of our relationship. I’m grateful that in the last few months before her death, her attitude towards me changed completely. We made peace, or rather, she made peace with me. From the moment I’ve met her (over 13 years ago) she didn’t like me. I wasn’t what she hoped for her son. I wasn’t Hungarian. I was French-Canadian. I didn’t have a master, like her son. Those were a few of the things she had told me over the years. I never said anything back. To this day, I don’t know how come I never talked back to her, because it is so not me. I tend to be more “in your face” than “shy away”, but with her, I always kept quiet.

While talking with a friend, our discussion led to how my MIL used to treat me. She was mean and rude and despite my best efforts to ignore her, it did affect me. It hurt. Hubby would say it wasn’t me; she treated all his girlfriends that way. I didn’t give a rat’s ass how she treated his ex; it was currently me!

She was subtle at the beginning. She would do little things. When we were there for dinner, all the women would have a fine porcelain cup for their tea, and I would get a mug. She would offer little wooden jewellery boxes that she painted (she was quite the artist) to all women and would give me two Hershey Kisses. People would notice, but nobody ever said anything. That was just her way with me. It was hard to swallow at times. But I never said anything. I never let my “true nature” surface. I was polite and bit my tongue on more than one occasion. I still have the sores to prove it!

As time went on, she became a little more verbal with me. She would take jabs at me. Each time I’d force myself to think that she was a poor, sad woman who needed help, but deep down it hurt.

I had decided that 1999 was going to be a “clean up” year for me. So, in January I had written her a letter in which I simply said that I accepted her not liking me, but wished for her to respect the fact that I was with her son. Hubby wasn’t happy when I told him I had written his mother. He always thought it was useless. A few days after sending it, we had a serious car accident and she came to pick us up at the impound lot. She barely said anything to me, and very little to Hubby. She only mentioned that letter last Christmas. It had been over seven years since she did receive it.

In April 1999, my father committed suicide. Nobody from Hubby’s family came to pay their respect – not one member. That truly hurt me at the time, and still does when I think of it. I wasn’t a “passing” girlfriend; I had been with him for five years at the time. I must say though, his mother had the decency to send me a sympathy card…

Then we decided to get married. We did everything ourselves, and covered all costs. One evening Hubby went to his parents’ and when he came back I could see that he was upset. His mother had given him a choice: Her or Me. Hubby informed his mother that he was getting married to me. Hubby’s parents didn’t attend our wedding in Hawaii. They had also said that they wouldn’t come to our reception in Montreal, but changed their mind in the end. We were welcoming people in and when his parents came in, his mother looked at me, lifted her nose up and said “mphm” as she walked past me! During the dinner, some guests came to tell me that a lady was crying in the bathroom. I told them not to worry; it was my mother in law. It made for some interesting conversation I’m sure!

Curiosity doesn’t pay.

First, let me thank you for your kind words yesterday. It is much better now. He had to do a pulpectomy on my tooth. According to my dentist, the fact that he played in there “disturbed” things, thus causing me pain and since it was such an old filling maybe one of the roots was already dead. He removed the filling, one root was dead on the three so he took out the nerves and cleaned everything up. I’m going for a root canal on the 23rd. Until then I have antibiotics for 10 days and an opened tooth filled with cotton and temp filling. BUT, no pain. Yay!

Now, today’s post:

Since I’ve been blogging I’ve landed on some pretty “interesting” blogs at times, but I just click “next” and that’s that. I am aware do know, that we do live in sick times. Yesterday I talked about how little self-respect workers had, but that is just a little an infinite reflection of today’s world.

It takes a lot for me to get disturbed about something. I’ve seen too many things to let it get to me. I’m not yet impervious to our society’s despicable actions, far from it, but at times, I wish I were…

Every so often I visit some blogs, I have my regular reads and my lurking ones. I tend to lurk at Poppy Cedes. She had this post, which pulled at my curious thread. Even from watching that guy’s reaction I wanted to see what it was all about. He was maybe exaggerating. And what is too much for one, car be ok for another, so I Googled it.

I try not to judge people and at times it is very hard. I try to live my life by the precept of “live and let live”. There are things I don’t understand, some I don’t care to understand and then there are those… like that. I’ve known for many years now that people are sick, in more ways than one, but to watch those two girls and what they were doing is beyond words. How low is that? What were those girls on? Why would someone put themselves through such voluntarily (I’m assuming here, maybe they were kidnapped and forced to do that clip)? I just can’t wrap my mind around it… Of all the things I’ve heard about, or even seen, this is the worst (for me, at least)… What are we turning into?

I thought the guy’s reaction on Poppy’s was funny, but now, I’m surprised he didn’t gag and vomit in his mouth… ‘cause I sure did.

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Image: Curiosity

It sucks!

Today’s post is about me. I feel like complaining a little, so I will… I’m hurting and looking for sympathy.

On Oct.22 I went to the dentist because I had an old filling that broke. He wanted to change it. At times, when drinking hot or cold, it would hurt, so before it got bad, I thought it would be a preventive treatment. $200.00 later I came out of there, frozen, and with some discomfort. At first I thought it was normal, it was on a molar after all, so I took some Advil and tried to forget about it. From experience (I did work in a dental office for a few years) I knew that a little pain was normal. The gums often get a beating during a big filling job.

As time went by it wasn’t really getting better. So I called my dentist, and was told to come in. He did some more work, filing it down since it was a bit too big, and told me to avoid chewing on it, hot and cold for a good two weeks.

I have been doing just that! The throbbing never stops, the last two days it feels like the pain shoots out for one tooth to another. My lower jaw hurts and that problem tooth is on top. I’m in pain and I don’t think I ever had toothache in 40 years. I always took care of my teeth and the only “mouth pains” I’ve had, besides from the braces, were little ulcers here and there. Nothing like what I’ve been enduring the past few weeks. He’s talking root canal, I’m talking pain be gone! Seeing him again today at 3pm.

To add to my pain, our kitchen cabinet doors were supposed to be installed last Wednesday. The team never showed up. When I called the head office I was simply told: “Oh, there was a problem at another site, they won’t be coming today”. I was furious. I waste a whole day waiting for them. One guy showed up the next day, with 9 doors. Our kitchen has 28 doors. Do you think I did the “dance of joy” around this guy? Believe me, I did not!

When will it EVER end? It’s one thing after the other, and it’s never quite done right. Why don’t people take any pride in what they do anymore? What ever happened to pleasing your customer? Don’t any of those people believe in repeat customers?

There’s this general nonchalance that is worrying me. If we all don’t give a f*ck, eventually we will return to our savage ways, and then what? Well, come to think of it, maybe it will alleviate some frustrations to club someone once in a while! I sure would have like to last week!

For now, I’m going to club myself to get rid of this excruciating pain… oye!
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Image: Complaining

Veteran's Day

It is the VETERAN , not the preacher,
Who has given us freedom of religion.
It is the VETERAN , not the reporter,
Who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the VETERAN , not the poet,
Who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the VETERAN , not the campus organizer,
Who has given us freedom to assemble.
It is the VETERAN , not the lawyer,
Who has given us the right to a fair trial.
It is the VETERAN , not the politician,
Who has given us the right to vote.


It is the VETERAN ,
Who salutes the Flag,


It is the veteran ,
Who serves under the Flag,


ETERNAL REST GRANT THEM O LORD,
AND LET PERPETUAL LIGHT SHINE UPON THEM.


We can be very proud of our young men and women in the service no matter where they serve.

God Bless them all!!!

About Montréal

A few days ago, Wreckless asked about our city’s name, and why it was called “Montréal”. I decided to dedicate a short post to it, not a history lesson.

In his comment he mentioned that it used to be called Mont Real. I had to think back to my history classes, and remembered that it is thought that maybe the name derived from Mont Royal to Montréal. In the centre of Montréal there’s a mountain called Mont Royal, which Cartier named, back in 1535.

From what I remember Montréal’s first names were actually “Hochelaga”, in Huron-Iroquois’ language, the first real inhabitants of this island. Then, in 1642, de Maisonneuve renamed it “Ville-Marie”.

Funny fact, the neighbourhood we now live in is called « Ville Marie », and is located right next to Old Montréal. East of here is the neighbourhood “Hochelaga-Maisoneuve”.

Check out this map, and click on the left arrow to see the Mont Royal area.

There’s also this article showing parts of Mont Royal, here.

You can read more about Montréal’s history on the Natural Resources Canada’s site, here.

Searching the web, I landed on this blog of a guy (German, I think) who came to visit Montréal and posted about it. It was interesting for me to see his view of our city. Check it out, here. He took some really nice pictures.

And finally, check out this link, this is our new neighbourhood… it even has a live cam and some really good shots. This is worth the click, and maybe it will entice you to make your way here, for a visit. If you do, let me know!

I hope this will answer Wreckless' question...

You might have noticed that I always write Montréal, in French, with the accent aigu, because I'm not a fan of "adapting" a name to a language, either a city name, a person's name, etc. It is a French name, therefore I write it the way it should be.

Cool little test!

YOUR AGE BY EATING OUT

Don't tell me your age; you probably would tell a falsehood anyway, but your waiter may know!

This is pretty neat

DON'T CHEAT! It takes less than a minute.

Work this out as you read...

1. First of all, pick the number of times a week that you would like to go out to eat.(more than once but less than 10)

2. Multiply this number by 2 (just to be bold)

3. Add 5

4. Multiply it by 50

5. If you have already had your birthday this year add 1757 OR if you haven't, add 1756.

6. Now subtract the four digit year that you were born.


You should have a three digit number

The first digit of this was your original number
(I.e., how many times you want to go out to restaurants in a week.)

The next two numbers are YOUR AGE! (Oh YES, it is!!!!!)

THIS IS THE ONLY YEAR (2007) IT WILL EVER WORK, SO SPREAD IT AROUND WHILE IT LASTS.

Your Friday Smile!

There was this couple that had been married for 20 years. Every time they made love the husband always insisted on shutting off the light.

Well, after 20 years the wife felt this was ridiculous. She figured she would break him out of this crazy habit. So one night, while they were in the middle of a wild, screaming, romantic session, she turned on the lights. She looked down. and saw her husband was holding a battery-operated leisure device... a vibrator! Soft, wonderful and larger than a real one.

She went completely ballistic. "You impotent bastard," she screamed at him, "how could you be lying to me all of these years? You better explain yourself!"

The husband looks her straight in the eyes and says calmly:
"I'll explain the toy . . . you explain the kids."

***

A woman went into a store to buy her husband a pet for his birthday.
After looking around, she found that all the pets were very expensive.
She told the clerk she wanted to buy a pet, but she didn't want to spend a fortune.
'Well,' said the clerk, 'I have a very large bullfrog. They say it's been trained to give blowjobs!'
'Blow jobs!' the woman replied.
'It hasn't been proven but we've sold 30 of them this month,'he said.
The woman thought it would be a great gag gift, and what if it's true... no more blow jobs for her! She bought the frog.
When she explained froggy's ability to her husband, he was extremely sceptical and laughed it off!
The woman went to bed happy, thinking she may never need to perform this less than riveting act again.
In the middle of the night, she was awakened by the noise of pots and pans flying everywhere, making hellacious banging and crashing sounds.
She ran downstairs to the kitchen, only to find her husband and the frog reading cookbooks.
'What are you two doing at this hour?' she asked.
The husband replied, 'If I can teach this frog to cook...you're gone.'

Have a great weekend!
and let me know your birth day!

I SOOOOOO needs this just now...

A Lame Tag

Preppygirl, during one of her brief visit, tagged me to list 5 things that certain people (who are not deserving to be my friends anyway) may consider to be “totally lame”, but you are despite the possible stigma, totally proud of.

I'm not sure I'm totally proud of these, but I sure do like 'em!

1. I totally enjoy anything Christmas. I look forward to putting up our tree, to wrapping the gifts, to the whole shebang. Only 47 days before Christmas!!
   
   
2. I’m fascinated by anything vampire… I used to watch “Buffy The Vampire Slayer” (the show), religiously, then “Angel” (loved it!). And now that new show “Moonlight” (I’ll be the first one to admit that one is lame!) but it’s about vampires… so I keep on watching.
   
   
3. I’ve been doing scrap booking for years, even before it was the thing to do, and I still enjoy doing it and keep every little scrap I can for “that page” I’ll get around to do. You should see the crap I’ve kept from the construction of our condo!
   
   
4. I enjoy “Kentucky Pop Corn Chicken”. Some people gags just at the mention of KFC, but I do like it with some sauce and coleslaw! And my stomach doesn’t mind it either!
   
   
5. I enjoy watching Elvis’ movies. I just love him. And I also like his music, certain songs more than others. I blame my parents for that one, but not really...

This was actually a little harder than I thought it would be. It may not be the greatest list, but hey, I enjoy those things and I know that some of you judge me because of that. Hee. I don’t care. I can fully assume my lameness!

Since I had been tagged, I figured I’d give my fellow bloggers participant of the “NaBloPoMo” a “free” post, therefore I tag: Kim, Pigeon, Marius, Monkey and you, if you want to do it.

Have fun!

My Karate Journey (final)

It’s been 4 years now since I stopped teaching and training, and not a day goes by without me thinking about it. Karate has been a part of my life for over 20 years, but I never let it be my life. It was a complement, not a whole. I existed outside the dojo; I was “Stinkypaw” before being “Sensei Stinkypaw”, but both were me.

I truly believe that it brought me a lot physically, mentally, emotionally and even spiritually. It made me stronger in so many different ways. For that I will always be thankful. I’ve learned many things, some I could only explain as “the mysteries of karate”, some were rough lessons, but I did learn. I was also lucky enough to meet amazing teachers, one in particular who truly is a blessing. Because of him I kept going for as long as I could, but it got to a point where I couldn’t endure anymore. I have the utmost respect for this master who contributed so much to martial arts. He is what a true master should be. I feel blessed to have had the chance to meet him and to train with him. That encounter was priceless and it allowed me to see that there are, still, some passionate teachers who do want to pass on their knowledge, and not only collect money.

Through my years of training I’ve met great people, and I’ve also met some real creeps. For that as well I’ll always be thankful, because without those people I wouldn’t have known what protecting my integrity meant. Overall, I had good teachers. They taught me well… and some lessons could not be learnt in a book, nor on a dojo floor, but only in life.

There are no bad teachers. Only poor students who are not willing to learn…

There is so much more I could write about, but after five parts, it will be enough. Now that I’ve written about karate, I won’t refrain myself to post funny anecdotes that occurred in class. When I started blogging I didn’t want it to be about karate. It was for all the other things in my life what makes me Stinkypaw… does that make sense?

My Karate Journey (part 4)

Since I was involved in teaching and within the organization, I came to realise that the way we were doing things in Montreal wasn’t the same as the rest of the organization. When a student remains local, doesn’t attend international event, he only sees what his instructor wants him to see. But if that student travels, and meets other karatekas from around the world, that student will soon realise that there are differences. Some instructors are in it for the money and others for the art. That makes a big difference in how you treat your students.

When Monkey asked “what is the deal with so many people having black belts?” I couldn’t help to smile. Karate (or martial arts in general) has become a business. People are in it for the money, not really because they care but because it’s something they can do and make money at it. It is too easy to get a black belt. I don’t know how many people I’ve seen going for a test and not knowing the basics of what they should for their grade. When I was being tested for my nidan (second degree black belt), I “helped” some people who were being tested for their sandan (third degree black belt)! It grossed me out to see an “advanced” belt, higher then me, who knew less than I did, and yet she got her dan. When I was told to write a letter to Japan, explaining what that person had contributed to martial arts and it was all bogus, it broke something inside of me. The reality of it was too ugly for me. I was hurt in my values. I felt cheated. I did try to ignore it. But the more I tried, the worst it got for me. I knew I was lying to myself. This is when I stop being involved in helping our local office.

What kept me going was the satisfaction I got from seeing my students progressing, and because Hubby was training towards his black belt. I had a serious knee injury (playing badminton, go figure!) and had to have a few surgeries. That affected me. Also my body was starting to let me know that the abuse was taking its toll on me. So many things contributed to it all, but mostly, despite my best efforts one man stood in my way. There is a strong hierarchy in karate, and in Montreal we had to report to one man, if we wanted to be affiliated with Japan (which I did). That man I thought my friend for many years. He lived by a different honour code and did not represent, to me, what a real karate master should be. I had reached a point where I had to decide what I was going to do. My heart was telling me to continue for my students, even if it wasn’t in it like it used to. But my head was telling me to get away from it all. I slowly took steps back. Before I did though, I managed to bring two students from white belt to their black. One of those two student was Hubby.

I didn’t want to close that chapter of my life just yet, so I managed to get a meeting with our Japanese leader. I wanted him to know how I felt about it all. He listened. I felt like a woman in a man’s world. There were a few occasions where I had been “reminded” that I was playing with the boys, and I accepted that, but a part of me felt like I had invested too much in this, not to be anything but be true to myself. It turned into an ugly political feud, and with each step I was taking, I realised that it was time for me to really walk away. It wasn’t an easy decision. I don’t regret it. I was taken aback the day I realised that I didn’t really miss it. I missed the people, the training, but not the politics of it all.

My Karate Journey (part 3)

After my black belt I continued to train regularly. Many people stop after they have achieved their goal. An instructor told me once that from white to black belt we were shown how to walk, and only once we were black belts that we started to be able to run and walk on our own. He was right. I truly began doing karate after my black belt.

I discovered what it meant to be a black belt. It came with certain responsibilities. I had to help others, be an "example" for them to follow. It wasn’t always obvious. I soon realised that my views of martial arts weren’t like most. I wasn’t in it for the fame or attention, so I wasn't always confortable. I wanted to learn and to teach. I’ve always been very technical. Too often we tend to focus on the martial aspect of it and neglect the art part. I enjoyed both equally. I wanted to know and understand what I was doing. So I started to attend different seminars. I’ve always been curious of how people did things, so when the opportunity came to train with other instructors I would go for it. I learned a lot that way.

I helped in class, demonstrating the moves, being used as a “guinea pig”. I enjoyed that. It’s also at that time that I realised that I could better myself. Many people only concentrate on one aspect of their training. They train to fight or to do katas. I trained to do both. I wanted to be a “complete” martial artist.

Through my helping in classes, I was asked a few times to sub for a class here and there. A friend asked me to take over a class he was giving at a community centre. It was a kids’ class, 4 to 6 years old. I did it, but not without a huge amount of patience and repeating the same thing over and over. With those kids, I realised how much I knew.

Another friend was going away for a few weeks and asked me to replace him. I did. This time it was with adults. It wasn’t much different than with the kids. Then I really saw how well I knew my stuff. I had to explain to engineers and computer geeks how to make a fist, how to kick… it wasn’t always obvious, but I managed. Plus, I was a young woman, in a very male oriented sport. I had to assert myself. Before my friend left for his holiday, we did some sparring. We went at it hard. He thought I had to show these men that even if I was a girl, I could kick some ass. And I did just that! I did earn their respect, and never had any problem with any of them. Once in a while a new comer would try a little something, but I would make sure that he knew his place.

I accepted an offer to have my own classes after my friend came back from his vacation. They were supplying everything. The only thing I had to do was to show up and give my classes. Plus, I would get paid for it! We had a nice little dojo. It was going well. There was a good chemistry between the students and teaching there was fun. I then went for my instructor certificate. I had been a black belt for eight years when I received my certification. It’s at that time that I’ve met Hubby. He was in my class. I was his second sensei (instructor).

Teaching and seeing the students’ progressing made me happy and proud. It felt good to see other people sharing my passion and interest. I was a demanding teacher. I expected them to know their stuff, and I never promoted someone because I felt bad for him or because I needed his money to pay the rent. I had seen that way too many times, which was a sad realisation to see that money (once again) ruled, even in martial arts...

My Karate Journey (part 2)

The style of karate I did is called “Kyokushinkai” (which means “Ultimate Truth”) and it’s full contact. We weren’t allowed any padding, except the “cup” for the guys. The numbers of occasions when I would show up home limping and covered in bruises were frequent, to my mother’s dislike.

Looking back, I would have to say that the hardest belt test was the brown belt (the last one before the black belt), for me it was anyway. Physically it was the hardest. That evening, three of us were going for that test. I was the only girl. There weren’t that many women in classes back then. It was mostly a guy thing. Maybe that’s why I enjoyed it. It’s always been easier to get along with the boys for me. I remember feeling queasy when one of the tested men couldn’t break his boards. He had bleeding knuckles and was ready to give up, but the teachers wouldn’t let him. He painfully did his ten fights. By the end he was crying. I was simply shitting cookies. Because I was so scared they made me go next, naturally. It went fairly well, despite being hard. I did more fights then the required ten. Once done, I even volunteered to fight other people being tested. I was on a high. Adrenaline will do that. Or I had received one blow too many to the head!

When I joined the dojo it was never my intention to become a black belt. I was training because I enjoyed it, not because I wanted that belt. The preparation for that test was more a mental game than anything else. One of my instructors, for at least one month before the test, would tap his thigh, looked at me and said: “better toughen those babies”. His scaring tactics did work. I was really afraid of him and knew I would have to fight with him during my black belt test.

Back then a shodan (first degree black belt) test was a day affair. There’s a written test on terminology, history, techniques, followed by a series of katas and pinans, then some tamashiwari (breaking) and then kumite. Because I was always at the school, and at every activity (I was doing kick-boxing as well, to improve my punching technique), I was “known”. That meant that some people were “waiting” for me… For a shodan we had to do 15 fights, of 1 minute min., but if the instructor was enjoying the fight it lasted longer. Overall the kumite portion lasted about 30 min., one fight after the other. And each person was there to “make you work” or to push your limits. This is when you had to dig deep inside yourself. Yes we did get bruised, and sometimes hurt, but once it was done there was no other feeling!

On that day, I remember walking to the dojo and all the way telling myself “This is the last time you’ll enter the dojo as a brown belt. Next time you’ll do this you’ll be a black belt!” Through out the test, when some fights were harder than other I would repeat that to myself. It was hard. It did hurt but what I did on a dojo floor no one can ever take that away from me. That much I know.

My Karate Journey (part 1)

I decided to tell you a little more of my karate experience, after all I did spend twenty years of my adult life in a dojo, and just telling you how I started and why I stopped would be like ignoring the stuff in between, and I don’t want to do that. Karate brought me so much (besides Hubby) that I think it’s only “normal” that I’d want to tell you about it, no?

In karate we have a belt system gradation, after so much time of training you are tested and given a different belt colour. We all start as white belts, pure, innocent and the higher up you get, the darker it gets (I think it also goes with the bruising). I used to tell my students that the more they trained the dirtier their belt got, the closer they were to the black belt.

When I went for my first belt test I was so nervous. Not for the katas (forms). I always liked the technical aspect of it all, but the kumite (fights) was what I wasn’t really looking forward to. I always enjoyed fighting (I blame my dad for that, with him smacking me around and all), but when in a “controlled” environment I was not so comfortable. After my test I went into the teacher’s office where he congratulated me and said “One day you’ll be a black belt”. I laughed in his face: “Me? Black belt? I don’t think so!” I enjoyed training and the friendships I was slowly making. I would come home and practise on my mother. So many times I winded her, or simply hurt her because she was willing to be my practise target. What I would learn in class, I would come home and show her. And try it. Which didn’t always worked as well as it did in class with someone who knew what was coming next.

As a beginner, I did my first competition, and won a second place in katas. It was among all our schools in the Montreal area, a few hundred participants. I didn’t do so well in kumite, but overall I was happy with my performance. Then I signed up for a Karate-O-Thon. We had to do over 500 kicks, 1000 punches and as many sit-ups as we could in 30 minutes. I did 525 sit-ups. My tailbone was raw by the end and I couldn’t laugh for the next few days my abs were so sore. My parents thought I was going crazy. I had found something I truly enjoyed.

I became more and more involved with helping in the office; being bilingual I was able to do the letters for the head-office in Japan. I was asked to do some demonstrations, a few TV shows, I even got a 5 weeks spot in a 13 weeks self-defence show; the teacher and myself showing the exercise, and then the “real life” scene. That was fun. I basically spent all my free time at the dojo (training hall). I would go to school, then dojo, back home for dinner and my home works, do some sit-ups/push-ups before bed. I ate, breathed and lived karate. By the time I went for my black belt test I had done a few tournaments, Karate-O-Thon and six different belt testing. I was the “Karateka of the Year”, for three years in a row. I was nuts!

This is me, showing off my "flexibilty" after my bleu belt test...

Your Friday Smile!

Little Tony was staying with his grandmother for a few days.

He'd been playing outside with the other kids for a while when he came into the house and asked her,
"Grandma, what's that called when two people sleep in the same room and one is on top of the other?"
She was a little taken back, but she decided to just tell him the truth.
"It's called sexual intercourse, darling."
Little Tony just said, "Oh, OK," and went back outside to play with the other kids.

A few minutes later he came back in and said angrily,
"Grandma, it isn't called sexual intercourse. It's called bunk beds....and Jimmy's mom wants to talk to you."

***

One for my French readers:

Une adjointe administrative ontarienne unilingue anglaise, téléphone à une adjointe administrative unilingue francophone.

L'anglaise demande : «Is Mr Smith there? »
La francophone répond : « Non il n'est pas là. »
L'anglaise dit: « Is he gone? »
La francophone répond : «Y zigonne pas, yé pas là ...hostie !»

Bonne fin de semaine!
Please, tell me your birth day! (here)

Let's Do This!

First, I’m doing this “NaBloPoMo” thing. I’m almost already doing it anyway, so might as well do it “officially”. My only worry is really that the time I had left from not posting I would use to visit other blogs, so “having” to post daily might infringe on my lurking time. I’ll see how that goes.

Second, in order to have subjects to post about, I thought I’d do like a few fellow bloggers and ask you to ask me any question you want, and I’ll try to answer them the best I can.

So, let’s start this month with a question from Monkey: “How did I get involved with martial arts?”

I was never the sport type. I enjoyed playing volleyball, basket, but wasn’t a fan of anything that had to do with running. In my last year of high-school (back in 1983, for those who are curious to know when that was) I used to play basketball almost every lunch period. I had the height and wasn’t that bad. During one of our games I girl tackled me as I was jumping for a loop. I went flying and landed on my ass, with my hands on each side to protect my fall (typical way to land, I’ve noticed that while watching many games). I felt pain, but my coach told me to put some cold water on my wrist and I’d be ok. Later that afternoon, on my way home, I decided to stop by the hospital because the pain was getting worst. Long story short I ended up with not one, but both arms in a cast, from the wrist to the armpit. Those 4-5 weeks were hell! Imagine that, a teen being fed, dressed, washed, etc. by her mom. A real nightmare, for both of us! That happened in September.

I had to apply to some colleges, and decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. At the time, I thought I wanted to be a cop (that changed after my father’s hold-up), so my mother suggested, since I wasn’t the most active one around, to do a self-defence course or some martial arts. There was a dojo a few minutes from where I went to school. She figured it would be good for me physically, and it would prepare me for the “cop training”. One evening, after school, I made a pit stop at the karate school. It was during a kids’ class. The teacher was very patient with the kids and I liked what I saw. I talked with one guy taking care of the office and signed-up right then and there. Since I wasn’t sure I would like it, I only signed up for a month, and asked if I could get my money back if after three classes I didn’t like it. He agreed.

I went back the next day to pick up my dogi (karate suit), and did my first class. I was in the adults’ class. And my partner was a local actor (Serge Dupire) who was really hot at the time. Doing sit-ups with him was motivation enough to sit up and see his pretty face! The following day I was so, but so sore! Every muscles in my body ached. So I went back hoping that doing it again it would get better. And it did. Each class I did I felt better, and actually enjoyed the challenge. I got hooked. I was there every day, but Sunday and only because they didn’t have a class. I liked the energy of it all, and the fact that I didn’t have to run! It felt good to scream, to let it out, and to sweat like a pig… From that moment I never stopped until four years ago…