THREE WEEKS OF HELL

My so-called flu blossomed into a 3-week nightmare. The coughing spells, which were part of the flu, or so I thought, became quite severe, causing pain to my ribs so much so that I had to hold my ribcage and sit upright to cough. But it didn't help. And the cough was deep in my lung area and almost non-stop. It was Victoria Day here in Canada, the long week-end, and my husband and I finally decided I better get to a walk-in clinic as fast as we could. It was 5:00 in the afternoon. We went to 3 different ones, and each one was closed. We had no choice but to go to Emergency at the hospital.

I felt guilty: somehow a terrible cough , body aches and lethargy don't warrant the attention of Emergency doctors the way broken limbs, etc. do. But we were there. The rigmarole that you have to go through is unbelievable. First the nurse calls your name, asks for symptoms, takes your temp and blood pressure. Then you go and sit down and wait to be called to register: OHIP, address, phone number, etc. and then you're given the proverbial paper wrist bracelet, which indicates that you are now the property of the hospital. After registering, we were told to literally follow the red arrows on the floor to the section where a doctor would eventually see us.

We waited approximately 45 minutes. Finally we were seen. The ER doctor looked at my throat from a distance, listened to my lungs for one brief second, told me he could hear wheezing, and declared I had viral bronchitis. He prescribed a puffer, steroids for one week and codeine cough syrup, because I told him to please give me something to make me sleep through the night because I couldn't stand the racking cough any longer.

From there we went to the pharmacy, paid a small fortune and took my drugs home. I went to bed and didn't get out of it for virtually 3 weeks!!!

A week later and nothing was helping. I was as weak as a kitten, the cough was still very severe, and get this: I got laryngitis. Laryngitis meaning I was absolutely unable to speak. And if I tried, I was exhausted. And then, if all this wasn't enough, one evening, as usual, I took the 1 teaspoon of codeine cough syrup before trying to sleep. I had been taking it every night since the ER visit of course and it put me to sleep until the morning each time. This night was to be different. About twenty minutes after taking it, I suddenly developed what I though were gas pains in the area of my diaphragm. I was lying on the bed, and all of a sudden, I was writhing in pain. I instinctively forced myself upright and started to walk around the upstairs trying to expell gas from wherever it would mercifully escape. You cannot begin to imagine the pain I was experiencing. The walking wasn't working and I was beginning to panic. My husband heard me walking around, came upstairs and decided that some Pepto Bismal would settle my stomach. Wanting to believe him, I gulped some down. He then went down to the basement to his office to continue working, convinced that I was going to be OK. Minutes later, I became severely nauseated and ran to the toilet, where absolutely nothing happened excepted the most awful gagging.

The pain was beyond anything I could explain, and in my anguish, because I couldn't speak (the laryngitis), I found a book on my night table and sent it crashing to the floor below. My husband came running up the stairs, took one look at me, and said we were going back to the ER. It was about 11:30 at night by this time. I agreed of course. I was in my pajamas and he kept insisting I dress. There was no way. He put on some clothes and I lay down on the bed, and all of a sudden, the pain stopped. Literally. It was over, just like that. I started to cry from the sheer exhaustion of it all, which only upset him more, and he kept insisting that we go, and I was trying to tell him in my raspish whisper of a voice, that I was really better, and the tears were more for relief than anything else. He was beside himself and actually called my sister on the phone, at 12:00 midnight to get her to make me go. I was able to whisper to her what happened and that I was better.

The next morning, quite exhausted, and still very sick, , I e-mailed my sister to please call my doctor. I had an appointment that very day.

My husband dragged me down there, virtually. I was able to rasp out what had happened at the ER. She listened to my lungs, told me my lymph nodes under my chin were swollen, and I shouldn't still be this sick. She said this could possible be bacterial and not viral as the ER doctor had thought and let's be safe. She immediately sent me down for a chest x-ray, blood work, prescribed heavy duty horse-size antibiotics, and told me to go home, rest, continue using the puffer and she wanted to see me in one week's time.

That was Monday, May 26th. By Wednesday, the cough had all but disappeared but my energy was still around zero, which was a lot better than the minus numbers it had been for the previous weeks. I had to push myself to do anything and still have to at various times throughout the day, but I was told this was normal for bronchitis. The energy is the last thing to come back, and takes it's sweet time.

During all of this, my husband was a King of Kings. He cooked, brought food up to me, cleaned as best he could, and was there for me throughout the whole ordeal. I don't know what I would have done without him there for me.

The whole thing was quite the experience, simply because I never get sick. I'm just one of those people who, up until this time, had had no more than a cold. The laryngitis continued for seven days. Apparently, the coughing had been severe enough to bruise the vocal chords, and only time would fix it.

But today is June 2nd, Monday. I saw the doctor earlier, and she informed me the blood work had come back showing bacteria and the chest x-ray, thank God, was clear. She was glad to see that I was looking more human than the last time she had seen me. She wants more bloodwork just to make sure the bacteria was out of my system. I thanked her profusely and that was that!

HOW AN IDEA IS BORN

You have to be at the right place, at the right time and with the right person to have something that may have been said to you countless times before finally take hold.

It was this past Mother's Day, when after a great dinner, I slipped out the back door for some fresh air. My older brother was already outside. He is aware that my husband and I have been working on the Internet ever since the school closed, and he has never had great faith in its ability to generate a substantial income. And although he has said this before, he said it again. " You should really think about opening up a Montessori school again, unless of course, your internet business is really doing great".

My immediate thought was of course, I don't have the money I would need to do it, and its been 4 years since I last did it. He replied, " you can always get people to invest", and I replied that I don't know anyone like that. The conversation ended there.

The next day, my husband came down with the flu, and before he was halfway through it, I got it. Strange as that seems, it happened that way. He actually recovered within 24 hours, and I'm writing this post from my bed, where I've been for the last 2 days. I have an intermittent harsh cough, chills, body aches and fatigue. I take nighttime cold tablets and daytime tablets. I'm drenched in sweat periodically and feel filthy. But this idea sprouted wings during this time.

During these sick days, I was speaking to my sister on the phone, as we always do, and I mentioned to her what our brother had said to me. What she next told me, really blew me way.

Apparently, ever since I lost the school, both my brother and my Dad had mentioned to her, on many, many occasions that they might be willing to help finance, in part or in whole, the idea of opening another Montessori school!

Whether or not, they meant for the two of us to do this together, or just me, wasn't really important. I wanted this idea, if it was going to see the light of day, to be a joint venture for both my sister and myself. I realize the scope of this business, having done it when I was so much younger, and there is no way, I'm willing to try it alone at my ripening age.

Both my sister and I, over the last few years or so, have gotten very close. That's a good thing if we're going to run a business together. Also, we are both financially in a very rocky place. Being only 6 years younger than I, she too, is very cognizant of how fragile our positions are, working for other people. We both know that we need something of our own, that will provide enough income to secure our futures.

That alone is enough fuel to light our fires. However, there are considerations that have to be ironed out if we proceed. Our family relationship for one. How many families have been torn apart because business was a part of the picture. We would have to find ways of safeguarding our relationship. Moreover, having done this before, I have the experience and she doesn't, and yet we both want this to be a 50/50 partnership. On the other hand, my sister's business experience is marketing and advertising, which will be integral in attracting enrollment. I need to refresh my knowledge of so many aspects of the business, and it seems to me that while I'm refreshing myself, my sister can be learning. We have already started the process. She has e-mailed me a slew of questions which I answered.

We're in the middle of May, and schools open their doors in September. Is it possible? Can we pull this off? I think we're going to try. I'm waiting to hear from her to get her total commitment and only then can I bring up this idea with my husband. Going forward, I would want his understanding . He would have to agree that it is the wise thing to do at this point in our life. He would also have to be willing to take over my side of the Internet business and make it his. I'm pretty sure he'll be OK with it, but we'll have to see.

So, if both my sister and husband are on board, I will take great delight in chronicling our adventures in setting up a private Montessori school, in my posts, from now on. Stay tuned!.

Sent as an E-mail, It Deserves Center Stage as a Post!

OBITUARY: THE SAD PASSING OF COMMON SENSE Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm, life isn't always fair, and maybe it was my fault. Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting (adults, not children, are in charge). His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned, but overbearing, regulations were set in place. Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate, teenagers suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition. Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job they had themselves failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer paracetamol, sun lotion or plaster to a pupil, but could not inform the parents when a pupil became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion. Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband, churches became businesses and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home, but the burglar could sue you for assault because you protected yourself and your own. Common Sense finally gave up the will to live after a woman failed to realise that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap and was promptly awarded a huge settlement. Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust, his wife, Discretion, his daughter, Responsibility and his son, Reason. He is survived by three stepbrothers; I Know My Rights, Someone Else is to Blame, and I'm A Victim. Not many attended his funeral because so few realised that he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing. Author Unknown

A LIMITED KNOWLEDGE OF MOTHERHOOD

I have never been a mother. There was a time in my 30's when the biological wave of maternity swept over me and my first marriage. My then husband was 15 years older than me, with 2 little boys, three and five, from his first marriage, when I met him. I was 21 and he was 36. We lived together for 9 years before we wed. Early in our relationship, he made it clear that he never wanted to have children again, and I, in my youth, rapturous love, and naivety, agreed. Once we were married and I entered my thirties, everything began to unravel. I wanted a baby so bad I could taste it. This new all consuming feeling led to the most deep-rooted anger, resentment and guilt either of us had ever experienced. We ended up in therapy which led to our eventual divorce. I was 35.

But I had my school, and everyday I was surrounded by the faces of over 100 children varying in age from 2 1/2 to 12. And it was enough for me. I convinced myself that I was never meant to have children, and the years went by. I enjoyed a slew of men friends, but I never had a baby. Instead, I had dogs.

I raised all of them from puppyhood: first a sickly maltese, (the runt of the litter), then an Old English Sheepdog (he looked liked a bear cub when he was 8 weeks old), and finally a Shih Tzu who lived for 17 joyous years. All of my motherly instincts were in full force during their lifetimes. I would be up in the middle of the night at the slightest whimper. I cleaned up poop and pee and soft, fluffy little rear ends. I force-fed baby food through an eye dropper to my first, the Maltese at one point, and rocked all of them in my arms at one time or another. They were my babies.

But this is the story of mothers I know. First there is my one and only wonderful Mom, who is 87 and still alive. And everyday, I thank God that I am that lucky to still have my Mom at my baby boomer age. She isn't senile and she is in relatively good health for a woman her age. I mean to call her everyday, but I get busy, or I'm a bit depressed and I don't want her to sense my mood, which she would, so my calls are more infrequent than they should be.

I have one sister, a few years younger than me, who is the mother of a 26 year old, a 22 year old and a nine year old. I have watched her bring up the children from infancy and today, she is a single mother, and all three children live at home with her.

There there is my brother's wife, who is Italian. She has three sons: a 45, 25 and 21 year-old, and all three live at home!

I know my husband's mother in Italy as well, who raised two sons: the younger one, 46, lived at home until recently.

I know these mothers intimately, as only a daughter and sister can. I love them, respect them,and admire them for all that it takes to be a mother. But I wouldn't trade places with them for all the tea in China.

I wouldn't want their job at my age and have to reckon with the results of my mothering abilities. I wouldn't want to have my grown up children living at home with all their little idiosyncrasies. I wouldn't want to fret about the boyfriends, the girlfriends, the sex, the drugs, the driving and the late nights. I wouldn't want to have monitor internet activities to stave off potential God knows what out there. I wouldn't want to deal with their lack of ambition or goals. I wouldn't want to have to support them when they should be self-supporting. I wouldn't want to be the one who always had to be in the middle of a sibling squabble, large or small. And I wouldn't want to have to settle for the companionship of my grown-up children instead of a mate or outside interests. I certainly wouldn't want the guilt of being too much of a 'friend' to my children rather than a parent. Or giving them too much or not having enough to give them. I wouldn't want to have to be both mother and father and finally, I wouldn't want to go to bed at night, knowing I did the best I could, but wishing still, that I had done better.


Life is so different today for these Gen X and Yer's. Where we grew up with television, they grew up with cell phones, text messaging and XBoxes. We baby boomers grew up in a relatively rich and stable economy with a strong work ethic while these kids live in a technical, wobbly economy, and still don't know what they want to do or be when they grow up. How could baby boomer parents possibly have known what lay in store for their offspring? How could I or anyone possibly blame them for not preparing these children for this frenetic crazy world we now live in.

What I know is that hopefully, if a parent instills ethics, principles, morals,responsibility and etiquette in their children from an early age, then, somewhere, down the road, these kids wake up one fine day, find a good job, make a decent living, move out, get married, raise children, and start the whole rigamarole all over again.

In the meantime, I no longer have my beloved dog. On January 10,2007 we had to put him down at the ripe old age of 17. And now, we really can't afford to have another dog. I miss having a baby.

WILL I EVER MAKE A 'COMEBACK'?

Yesterday, my husband and I treated ourselves to a movie in a real movie theater where the price just happens to be cheaper than other mainstream cinemas. We saw "Ironman". I always had a thing for Robert Downey Jr. ever since I first saw him in "Only You", a 1994 film with Marisa Tomei. That particular movie had some romantic fluff stuff that obviously appealed to me back then. Ironman was fine, not super special. The special effects were incrediby high-tech, which got my husband's attention, so that's good, because he usually refers to movies of this genre as 'cartoons', meaning, they have no resemblance to real life. During the film, your attention is riveted to the action but when its over, its' over. You walk out of the theater with very little to ponder about the story itself.

But I did think about the fact that Robert Downey Jr., like a host of celebrities, in all areas of entertainment, have been making comebacks this year. Careers in hibernation are seeing new lights on the horizon. Everything old is new again.

So why can't I have a 'comeback' too? Surely you don't have to be rich and famous to do so, or am I wrong?

I've read several articles lately on how baby boomers are re-inventing themselves in their 50's and 60's. Many are empty nesters; many are now widows or widowers with the rest of their lives still ahead of them, and many are newly retired, seeking new skills, and new careers.It is very apparent to me, that this segment of the baby boomer crop are well off, with enough money socked away to allow themselves the luxury of choice.

I am not in that league. But I'm a Baby Boomer, right? I should be in that league. I am that generation, where everything was ours for the taking. Work was what we thrived on, and independence was what we breathed. Success at the top was what we strived for and attained. We were and are the the wealthiest, living generation.

And I did all of it. I moved out of my parents' home when I was 18. I started working that same year during the summer. I graduated from university with a B. A with a major in theater and psychology. I supported myself financially throughout my entire life. I opened my own business (a private Montessori school) and ran it successfully for 25 years. I enjoyed great monetary success at the height of my career and remembered to invest chunks of it every year. I've been and am married, I bought the beautiful house and traveled wherever I wanted. I had the golf course, the jewelry, the clothing and the car.

So how come I have relatively nothing left. How come I no longer have the freedom and the luxury of choice? Why am I stuck? I made my mistakes, but didn't everyone else?

And what about people like Chris Gardner? Remember his story in "The Pursuit of Happyness". He came out of nothing and became a self-made wealthy, wealthy man. He did it and countless others have done it. So why can't I?

I think I know why. I lack passion. I think passion is at the crux of my problem. Passion is the driving force behind every successful person. And without it, its hard to make your dreams come true.

I didn't grow up dreaming and wanting to be the owner of a private Montessori school for 25 years. I never even wanted to be a teacher! I grew up in a home and in a generation where getting a job and paying your own way was the expected thing to do.
I grew up in a home where going to university and getting a degree was the expected thing to do. Nothing along the way really ever inspired me. Well, that's not really true. I wanted to be an actor and to sing professionally with all my heart. So, at the tender age of 18 I applied and was accepted as the first Canadian ever, to work as an acting apprentice in Summer stock theater in New London, New Hampshire. I also immersed myself in Theater and acted in musical productions during my university career.And I was talented. I got rave reviews, and I LOVED IT!

So what happened. I finished university with a degree in hand and I thought about getting a job, so I could move out of my parents' home permanently and be able to pay my rent. Montreal and Toronto were not cultural cities back then, and the only place to go and make my dreams come true was New York. And that, for me, was the most implausible, unrealistic and scary idea I could ever think of! I was 20 or 21 years old. And I didn't have a clue about surviving in a strange city like New York. Neither did I have a clue about surviving in my own city, on my own, but it obviously seemed like a safer bet.

I'm going to veer off track for a moment to make a point. I saw another movie on DVD lately, "Lions for Lambs" with Robert Redford. In one scene, a college professor (Redford) implores a young, privileged, brilliant student not to give up on his class, nor life, but instead to participate in making the world a better place. Redford continues to plead with him, saying that being in your twenties is the best time of all, when all your ideals, beliefs and dreams are at their freshest, not tainted by the years ahead. And that those years ahead changes everything. Nothing will ever feel the same or be the same once life takes its hold. Now, in your twenties, you can have it all, do it all, be it all. WATCH THIS CLIP!
So there it is, and there I was. Not participating in the life I had dreamed of having, and maybe, could have had, back in my twenties and into the future years.
That dream was built on a passion that was alive in me only as long as it was convenient. And that same kind of transient passion flares up every now and then for something that I want to have, want to do, but never about what I want to be. That's because now we're talking about a different kind of passion, one that burns from the inside out, that no fear of the unknown, could ever contain. I missed out on that kind of passion.

I don't believe that passion is genetic. You're not born with it. It is something that is inculcated and ingrained in you by your parents and environment. And it is continually nurtured with guidance and praise and inspiration as you grow up. You are taught to follow your dreams, and the money will follow. You are taught to believe in yourself. You are told that you can accomplish anything and everything your little heart can dream of.

But I didn't grow up that way. My father was too busy providing for a family, and my mother came from a home where her mother wouldn't allow her to take gym with the other girls, because she was afraid that she would hurt herself! My mother became a dreamer, not a pursuer of dreams, and thus the generation of women in my family were and are doomed to follow the path of least resistance. At worst, we are accomplished hobbyists and dabblers. At best,we,the daughters, have had successful careers.

Grown up with no money. Not a good combination at all. Passion doesn't even enter the picture when there's no money. The only dream you try to keep alive is the ability to put food on the table and pay your rent. And that is what Robert Redford meant in the movie: if you don't act on your passion in your twenties, that raging fire becomes glowing embers and then finally, soot. Life happens, and it changes you. Your priorities shift and you become a sheep to your needs instead of a wolf howling with passion.

I grieve for my lost passion. I truly understand what George Bernard Shaw meant when he said: 'Youth is wasted on the young".

And yet, I am a baby boomer survivor. I am filled with optimism and faith. I reserve my dreams for the nighttime and I spend my waking hours in 'comeback' mode.

Playing With Steam or How I Fell in Love with Shirts

My husband is Italian. He grew up in a household where a suit with a shirt and tie was the normal way to dress for a man ...everyday. Fast forward many years.....now married to me, and living in Canada, he has lost the suit and the tie, but still prefers to wear a shirt everyday. Ok. A fib. Sometimes, he will actually wear a Lacoste top. The point is, he has a rather large collection of shirts: cotton, linen, synthetic, dress, and casual. But none of them are short sleeve. It would seem that Italian men don't wear short sleeves. And what's more, he never, ever, owned a pair of jeans until he met me! Thank the Lord for me. Wait, there's more. He refuses to be got dead in shorts of any length, which is a real shame, because, like most men, he has great legs. And he won't wear sandals . Thankfully, our summers are short, here in Canada. But I digress.

Back to his shirts. During the Winter, Fall and Spring months, my husband would wear one shirt per day. Normal, right? Come Summer, he might wear 3 shirts daily. I know I don't have to explain why. And here's the point. Year after year I have watched him take his shirts to the dry cleaners every single week. And then a few days later, I have watched him go and retrieve them, all on disgusting wire hangers. Much more to the point, this was a costly expense.

Unlike my mother, I have always hated ironing: from yanking out the ironing board and setting it up, to filling up the iron, and watching it hiss and spit all over the top on the cover, to the actual ironing of too many items, to waiting for the iron to cool down and putting everything away.
And when you hate a particular chore a vicious cycle begins to happen: what you hate to do the most, just ends up piling up and up and up, in this case, the newly washed and dried clothing that is waiting in a plastic laundry basket. So when you finally do get around to doing it, you're angry, exhausted and fed up.

My wonderful husband, has a love/hate relationship with my housecleaning. He hates to see me cleaning because a). he knows how much there is to do and it's hard work; b). it's time- consuming, which means I'm not at the computer doing a different kind of work; c). he feels guilty because he doesn't help, but makes all the right noises instead. "Tell me what I can do, my love, to help you". With those words, he actually believes he has exonerated himself. It's a running joke every time I clean, and we always have a chuckle over this little ritual of his.

What I don't chuckle over, however, is the fact that secretly, I know he loves seeing me clean the house. I know it because each and every time, he comes up to me with kisses, and hugs and sweet love. Without fail. And I don't chuckle because it's such a sexist thing for me. He loves to see me cleaning because that's the home he grew up in, watching his mother scour the house.

Once again, I"m getting off the point,which is, my wonderful husband has never, ever asked me to iron his shirts. However grateful I have always been for that small mercy, I am totally aware of the extra and possibly unnecessary expense this has caused.

Now picture this. One day, out of the blue, I'm flipping channels and stop on an infomercial. The funny thing is, I never watch them. For one thing, they are so monotonous, and for another thing, I just don't trust the product to do what they say it can do, nor the testimonials. I really believe they are all paid actors. But here I am, on this particular day, a few months ago, and I"m watching this infomercial about my newest best housekeeping friend The Tobi.

Well, I watched and I watched and I watched, and I wanted to believe so much that this was real, and good and worthwhile. The more I saw, the more I believed. The Tobi is a small, lightweight steam machine with a flexible hose and steam head attached. You simply fill up the tank (could be a bit bigger) with tap water, plug it in and flip the switch, and within seconds, you are steaming everything and anything you can get your hands on. The best part was, the bulk of the infomercial was centered on steaming mens' shirts!!!

It wasn't cheap. Two hundred dollars, but I knew the dry cleaning bills just for my husband's shirts alone totaled up to way more than $200 annually. I also knew that if I bought it, there was always the chance that it wouldn't perform the way it did on TV, and also that my husband, (who knows I"m not frivolous), would think it was a gimmick until I could show him something that was 'proof positive', like one of his shirts looking like it just came back from the dry cleaners!

The infomercial almost made it look like fun. Not just fun, but fast fun. Bing, bang, boom! One shirt after the other was steamed to perfection. Which for me, of course, would be a small miracle. And it would have to be just that. For now, in my mind's eye, I could envision loads of shirts that would need washing, drying and then this 'bing, bang, boom' miraculous steam job.

Was I deterred? Not a bit. I picked up the phone, and ordered. I was told that as a special bonus, I was also going to receive a portable Tobi, which I could take with me when I travel. Not a bad idea, if I could only travel! And then the sales person told me it would probably take 4-6 weeks for it to arrive. That was a real downer, because, obviously, at this point, I was hot to steam!

Three days later, it arrived! Yes, you just read right. It arrived 3 days later. I couldn't believe it. It was like Christmas and my birthday all at the same time. And this is what I did, in order:
I dragged it into the kitchen, pried open the box, pulled out the various parts, read the instructions and assembled it in no time flat. Next, I filled up the tank with water, plugged it in, and flipped the switch, and voila! Within seconds, all kinds of steam was pouring out the nozzle head. I was so excited I couldn't stand it. Quickly, quickly, I found something in the laundry to iron. You hang it on a hanger, and place the handle of the hanger on this little notch they provide and start to steam.

O my God! It worked. It really worked. No scam, no hype. It was doing what it said it would do.
And it was EASY and it was FUN. It comes on this telescopic pole which you raise or lower so that you can sit or stand. I was sitting and steaming!!!

My husband couldn't believe it when he saw his shirts. Neither could I actually. They were wrinkle and odor free. And they looked as if they had come from the cleaners. I wouldn't lie about this. But it wasn't until 2-3 weeks later that it really hit him how much he was saving and loving it!

I've had The Tobi now for about 8 months, and every time I take him out, I swear it's like having a cheap date on the town with my newest friend: fast and fun times, all on a great budget!

Adaptability: Part Five: Living with Losing My Money

This is such a sore point in my story of adaptability, because I don't believe there is a real adjustment for middle 'classers' like me who lose it. I am able to get way past the business loss, and way past the house loss, because those two things don't flaunt themselves in my face everyday. But the loss of my money... it's a constant gnawing in your head, in your soul, in your pocket and in your life, every minute of everyday.

I want to clarify something right up front. This is not about wanting things. This isl about insecurity and fear. This is all about the nagging worry that won't go away. Not feeling safe is like having a sword on a slender thread, dangling over your life. The fact is, our income is not stable, which is to say, it fluctuates. E commerce is very much like that. One day is great, another day is good, and other days bring in zero. This is a very unnerving way to live, but it pushes you to work harder, always, especially on those days when nothing is coming in.

What I have noticed is that even when we have a good earning day, or a couple of good earning days, the worry still is there. I know that's because every day's income is different and unforeseeable. But I also think that this state of worry has become so ingrained in my psyche over time, that it's now just an uncontrolled reflexive response, and that is so sad and exhausting.

We live in survival mode. Anything above and beyond what we need, if purchased, takes its toll somewhere along the line: a pot of mums, a magazine, a bottle of wine, a lottery ticket. That's how we think. Guilt for the simplest things. Thank God, I've never been a spendthrift nor a shopaholic. The only time I resembled that kind of person was when I had the money to pay for whatever I wanted. I was never, ever, in debt. I always had the money in my bank account to pay for what I bought.

Today, I employ the same rationale. I use my bank debit card instead of credit. The only difference is of course, there is no disposable income to play with, so the expenditures are for the basics. Every now and then, I have to use a credit card and I make sure its a card where I get points, or a rebate, and it's also important for your credit record to keep at least one card active, or so I'm told.

In my financial heyday, I was able to amass quite a lot of clothing, which I hoarded over the years. My taste was classic, tailored and sporty, and for the most part, would always be wearable for years to come. So I have kept the best, and given away the rest from time to time. Most of my wardrobe is Italian and heralds from the late nineties when I was in Italy with my husband, at least 7 times. Most of the outfits don't fit me now, but I have no intention of getting rid of them. On a much lesser level, during those financially free days, I bought some expensive jewelery by a well known designer, David Yurmin. I bought a lot of his bracelets, a watch, a couple of rings and necklaces. I also have a sizable collection of costume jewelery as well.





The point is, I remember very well, back then, that I would tell myself, that all this was going to end one day, and I would be glad that I bought 'timeless' pieces when that time came. And I was absolutely right! It wasn't that I knew enough to shop for mean and lean times to come, but I was obviously wise enough to appreciate my good fortune while it lasted. And for that I'm grateful.

The irony however, (and there always is a 'kicker') is that I have no need or place to wear the clothing or the jewelry today. Working from home creates a very casual lifestyle, and entertaining is a family get-together, for the most part.

Because of our constant money shortage, I have found myself perceiving everything around me differently. For instance, I notice store closings whenever we're in the car, and a sense of sadness overcomes me for the story behind the 'Liquidation Sale' sign. In the past, I probably just wondered what wonderful new store was going to replace them. I look at women's magazine advertising in a different way as well. Instead of the pleasure of admiring high-end fashion, jewelery and make-up, I now view it as excessive and exorbitant. If this sounds like sour grapes, it isn't. Everything takes on a different value when you don't have disposable income.

I confess, I look at people differently too, in particular my family and girlfriend. My older brother is very comfortable and his family lives between a beautiful home in Toronto and a beautiful home in Miami. If you ask him how he's doing, he'll complain about his business, his monthly credit card bills and the upkeep of his horse. I wince a lot in his presence. He is a chip off my father's old block, who happens to be very comfortable in his old age as well. At the age of 89, he and his lady friend live in Miami and he is still able to navigate the high seas. I'm not kidding. As we speak, he is in the process of rebuilding his sailboat from the hull up, and is about to embark on a 6-day sailing trip to some islands off the north end of Mexico for a month! Long life to him.

My mother, on the other hand, long divorced from my Dad, lives here in Toronto in a lovely retirement home in the heart of the city. This is during the late Spring, Summer and Fall months. Winter time is spent in Miami in a condo that my brother bought for her a number of years ago. My father provides for her of course, but not nearly well enough. She is 87, still looks unbelievably beautiful, and deserves so much more, yet requires so much less, which is what she will tell me whenever the subject of money comes up.

My younger sister, like me, is struggling too. She has 3 children and currently is not married or involved with anyone. She has a full time job in advertising and makes a very decent salary. But she lives in the center of town where the rents are much higher, and employs a part time nanny for her youngest son, and leases a second car for the older children. Because her expenses are high, her salary barely helps her to meet ends. She and I are soul mates now, commiserating in our misery and finding comfort one each other's shoulders.

My girlfriend and her husband have fallen on harder times too. He lost his business a few years back, and they have had to adjust their lifestyle somewhat. So they cruise less often and enjoy their swimming pool more. Everything is relative, isn't it?

You know what a lottery ticket means to us? It's a chance to dream. I can't help it. Lottery results are announced at 11:00pm. We never check until the next morning. My husband says it's because we would be up all night if we won big. I prefer to wait for a different reason....so that I can fall asleep imagining. Which is not to say we haven't enjoyed talking out loud, about what we would do if we did win big.

My husband is the most generous person I know, truly. So when I tell you that we have agreed to split the winnings down the middle, so that he has his, and I have mine, it is not out of generosity so much as a difference of opinion of how much to spend and how much to invest. One very important point though, we do agree on. We would continue to live in this wonderful rented house, and possibly buy it at one point, if available, and we would not buy a second car. It's a step in the right direction, no doubt.

We don't spend more than $4-$6 a week on lottery tickets, and if that amount affords me no more than drifting off to sleep with visions of sugarplum fairies dancing over my head, than it is well worth it. Those fairies are designing and planting an English garden in my backyard; they are wrapping themselves in new, luxurious bath towels, sleeping in new 600 thread Egyptian cotton bed sheets, and then donning new bras and underwear when they wake, because right now, those are the simple pleasures I envision.

After all is said and done, I don't live in my dreams. I live in the reality of being able to pay our bills and debt, buy our groceries and gas. There is no money for luxury, savings or emergencies. We live carefully.

If there is one saving grace(no pun intended), it is not about coming to terms with less money. It is about what starts to happen as you get older. Thankfully, you start to want less. The hunger to buy and to have bigger and better lessens with age. My mother was and is a perfect example. I noticed this happening to her when she was my age. She was never a big spender, ever. She always bought what she needed, whether it was a blouse and skirt, or a bottle of perfume. Whereas I have always had a collection of perfumes, my mother, would have one bottle only, and when that was almost finished, she'd buy another, usually the same fragrance: Bulgari. Beyond her frugality though, my mother started to give my sister and me little things years ago. 'I want you to have this purse, sweetie. I don't use it anymore'. Or, 'Would you like this ring? I want you to have it'. Whatever it was, it was in perfect condition. That's how my mother kept her things. And it was her way of ridding herself of too many material possessions, and what better way than to pass them on to her daughters.

This 'make do' attitude is happening to me as well. I'm sure its a combination of both the age factor as well as the money issue, but more and more, I too want to divest myself of a lot of the 'stuff' that has accumulated over the years. And yes, there is a little bit of a hidden agenda at play. Living in a rented house has to mean that someday, we may have to move again!!!

So, in the long run, the money woes are aided by the fact that I don't want more anymore; in fact, I want to divest myself of most of it, and if we have to move again, that's a good thing. As for the day-to-day money woes....just like the Duracell bunny, they keep going and going and going!