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!

Adaptability: Part Four: Living in and Loving my Rented House.

Who could possibly believe how we lucked out! I don't know where to begin. Well, let's see. It was mid February when we signed the lease and the Landlord was happy to let us bring our painter in around the beginning of March. At that point, all the property in the house would have been moved out, allowing us free and clear access.In the meantime, the landlord had no problem with us coming in and out whenever we wanted for measurements of this and that. Can you believe that? Of course, we didn't take advantage of his generosity anymore than we had too.

We found our fantastic painter through our neighbors across the street at our 'old' address. His name was Luigi, and he was about 70 years old, strong as an ox, and worked with no one but his wife, a lovely Filipino lady, 30 years his junior. We settled on a price after he saw the house, and waited patiently for the go-ahead to start.

This man was the Michelangelo of house painters. He knew his paints like no one's business. He actually created a wall color for the hallway areas, just for me. Working alone, and sometimes with his wife, he not only patched, sealed and painted the walls, doors and windows, but also varnished all the wooden floors in the house as well. The painting job lasted almost one month. Day by day, I was there with coffee and dough nuts in hand. Every now and then, he would treat me to homemade Italian goodies as well. Watching one wall after another come to life with fresh new color created this crazy feeling of ownership, room by finished room.

In between visits to the house, I was experiencing a grand mal version of deja vu! I was once again shopping for appliances and lighting! But how things had changed. Even though the landlord graciously agreed to pay for half of the appliances, I still had to be extremely conservative with my 3 choices: fridge, dishwasher and oven range. And I was: I kept the stainless steel, however, choosing the best of the average. I had to co-ordinate the timing of the delivery of the appliances with the gas man's schedule. Then I had to shop for the lighting fixtures. Let me remind you here that the Landlord agreed to pay for 100% of the lights. With that in mind, I, once again, conservatively chose overhead fixtures for almost every room. Not a single potlight in sight.

I refuse to talk about the packing up of the 'old' house, the move which took two solid days, or the unpacking at the new house. The labor involved was non-stop, intensive and back breaking. I have no idea where I found the strength, perseverance and energy to do what I did, because I basically did it alone. ALONE. OK. I'm lying. My husband did pack up his own office. But I completely packed up everything from the basement upwards. I had created a schedule for myself 16 weeks earlier, after the House A was sold, and pretty much stuck to it.

There wasn't just a packing schedule, but there was also a financial budget in play, daily. I would sit at the cold granite island with an adding machine and go over and over the finances: we wouldn't see any money from the house until May, and until then, everything from the movers to the painters to the appliances and lighting and more had to be put onto our credit cards.

And after all was said and done: the real estate commission, the lawyer's fee, the pay back of all credit debt and the line of credit, one half of the appliances and painting and the first and last month's rent, there was almost 'bubkas' left, and I'm not kidding! But still, we would be a lot better off for having paid off the credit debt in full, than a lot of other people.

Once the new home was settled and we had our chance to settle in, we found something we hadn't had in such a long time: peace, contentment and joy. Joy with the house and with each other.

My marriage, prior to the move, was on the very brink of damnation. We couldn't stand each other. The pressure of our money woes, the loss of my business and the ongoing lawsuit had driven a wedge between us so deep and so wide that we we both just wanted to jump in. And actually...... the timing was perfect. I needed space. I needed to find out if we could miss each other enough to come back together in a new and better way. I didn't want this beautiful new rented house to be tarnished with all the ugliness that was pent up inside us. And so it was decided that he would move out for the summer: May, June, July and August, and then we would see.

It happened, but not quite on my time table. He ended up moving into the new house for a couple of weeks, and then, after efficiency apartment hunting for what seemed like forever, he finally chose a place mid-town.

I want to tighten up this part of the story. Our separation lasted all of 6 weeks: he started calling me almost immediately; then I met him for a lunch date ( he had a single long stem rose for me);
then he started coming up to the house once a week for the day. And even so, I found myself crying hysterically all the time. Could it have been from pure unadulterated exhaustion? Maybe, but in my heart, I was desolate and couldn't believe how much I missed him. Beyond the emotional grief, he was racking up all kinds of new debt for his rental place! So-o-o-o-o

We re-united in the middle of July, and started to live that life I spoke of earlier: peace, contentment and joy.

I have never lived in a home before that gave me and us such happiness. Every room has its own special delights. This is the part where I relish making comparisons with House A. First, House A faced north/south, while House B faces east/west. That alone speaks volume when you realize that the majority of the windows are on the front and back of homes (mansions may be different, but I wouldn't know). Light versus no light. I could stop right there and you'd understand. But there is so much more to compare.

When you opened the front door at House A ( my ex-owned house), you walked into a charming old-fashioned foyer, the kind they don't build into a home anymore. You could sit on the rattan bench to remove your shoes or boots, leave your outer wraps there if you wanted but no one did, because that little foyer, was frigid! Then, you would walk through glass paneled French doors into the main hallway area which curved around each side of the Scarlett O'Hara staircase. At this point, there was no side windows letting in the light, so the entire area, beautiful as it was, did not have that lovely airy feeling that House B has.

There is a foyer at House B as well, but its not enclosed. Yet it has two full size closets on either side with mirrored sliding panels. Above the door is this massive arched window which allow the light to virtually pour in morning and afternoon. The main hallway also curves around a curved center staircase, but is far larger and longer. In fact, House B, as it turns out, is a longer house than House A . There is no second floor over the front part of the hallway which means the ceiling height is about 20 feet high. Need I say more, other than to point out that along one side, going up at least 10 feet is this massive wall mirror, (which the Landlord had put in, not me), not to mention a very acceptable spiral Austrian glass chandelier. Neither the mirror or the chandelier would have been my taste, but surprisingly, they are indeed gracious elements in the main hallway area.

The formal living room at House A, was indeed impressive. It had a cathedral ceiling, a wood burning fireplace and two front windows with lead panes. The colors in the room were a combination of soft yellows and burnt oranges, giving the room a very warm Tuscan flavor.
Unfortunately, this was absolutely the coldest room in the house: a combination of being the front room, poor duct work and a high ceiling. What's more, my husband had a perpetual 'hate-on' for this one room. He constantly complained that he wanted to change the furniture and convert the room to a 'manly' library. Never happened.

The front room in House B is much smaller, with a regular ceiling, two front windows and faces west. It holds the very same furniture, the same color painted walls exactly, that was in House A. But this room is warm, bright, and cozy. Moreover, my husband loves it, claiming that the furniture now looks like it belongs!



The other rooms that offer a comparative significance are the kitchens, the bathrooms and the basement areas. The kitchen in House A, as already detailed in the previous post, was simply spectacular, and admittedly, never to be replaced. But it faced south, and still never got the same light as this kitchen does, facing east. Although smaller, it is still incredibly spacious, With the addition of a free-standing tall Billy cabinet from Ikea and a butcher block island with three large stainless steel drawers, I have all the space I needed. The cabinetry is old fashioned, the counter tops are some kind of mottled arborite, and the floor is a white ceramic tile. And who cares? Not me. Everything works. I have convenience, space and light. Better still, there is this very homey, lived in feeling about this kitchen which brings a smile to our faces everyday. And I cook, almost everyday, which is much more than I ever did over my 8 burner Viking range. The truth is, I miss nothing about the other kitchen. It was fabulous and expensive. And this kitchen, by comparison, is convenient, cozy and comfortable, a much better deal.



I had this colossal sized spa-like en suite bathroom in House A, and we both shared it. The en suite in House B is all mine. It is small and charming and pink-tiled. I painted the walls above the tiling a dark slate grey, minimizing the pink tone of the tiles, and the overall effect is feminine with a hint of drama. The shower stall is tiny, with enough room barely to move around in. But I love it. Everything is right there at my fingertips, and I'm always warm. Beyond having two sinks, and a step-up jacuzzi, the toilet and bidet are in a separate little room, adding to the charm of my perfect little, private bathroom.

My husband's bathroom is down the hall: larger and tiled in a soft gray. Much more masculine. He too has a separate room for his toilet. He loves his bathroom as much I do mine!

And then, finally, there is the finished basement which houses a party room with a gas fireplace, a long wet bar with a shiny black counter top. (Remember that little fridge in our bathroom armoire? Well now its behind the bar, where it more rightfully belongs....still empty,ha ha).
The party room is large enough to hold a ping pong table, courtesy of the Landlord. The adjacent room is the main part of the basement, and sports a massive pool table, again, courtesy of the Landlord. Too good to be true, eh? Off that room is a spacious office for my husband with a small side room which we use for business storage. There is still another very large room which is used to store clothing and unopened cartons, a small bathroom with a shower, a cold storage room and a separate furnace room. The entire area is carpeted in red. Not my taste, but hey, who's complaining. So, over the winter months, I continually beat my husband at ping pong, while he continually beat me at pool.

Finally, there is the comparison between the two decks. House A had this magnificent spacious deck, which I had built. All the lawn furniture was right at my back door, but it was just a regular door with a screen door on the outside and 3 steps to maneuver when serving outside. We used to enjoy sitting on the lawn swing, on the second level, but it was so far away from the kitchen and anything we wanted, that it became a chore just to go out there. Here, in House B, we have this small little deck that actually holds the swing, barely. But we open our double glass sliding doors, and poof, we're there! It's like having the outdoors a step away, and because the deck is that small, our view from the kitchen table is of the lawn and the ravine. In House A, our view was of the deck, and then beyond that, other homes of course. Having a ravine in your backyard is worth more than anything else. We are so a part of nature that the peace that surrounds us fills us up with sheer joy.

The other rooms in the houses: bedrooms and family room and main floor office, are basically more or less the same, which of course is a plus feature for us.

House B, as you can picture, is pretty terrific. Being a rental, we don't have to think about realty taxes or repairs. Our heating bill is a fraction of what we spent in House A. The thermostat is set at 20 degrees Celsius, and wasn't changed once throughout the coldest and snowiest winter on record. We have a dream landlord who has given us a three-year lease, and if we're lucky, he'll extend it. We don't have crown moldings and high-end fixtures or appliances, but we don't miss one expensive thing. Better still, we have happiness and love in House B. We never really had that in House A. And the moral of this story is: Money and fancy houses can't buy ya' love!

Adaptability: Part Three: Losing and Finding My Home

Moving from House A to House B:

House A was my dream house.It's beautiful, isn't it? I bought it 5 years ago in February 2003. I had scrapbooks (which I still have), filled with 'wish' items on every page. I constantly bought house and home type magazines, thumbing through and ripping out picture after picture. I was incredibly organized and methodical about it: from the flooring to the walls to the fixtures to the lighting in the ceilings.

In 2003 I still had my school, so my budget was pretty wide open. I already had my contractor picked out (that's another post to come), and we set up a schedule for the renovations, starting in March. First would come the demolition stage. There wasn't a single upgrade in the house. The previous owner, a widower, lived there with the original builder's supplies: arborite counters in the kitchen, tiled and broad loomed floors everywhere, basic bathroom fixtures and not enough storage space. So, with plans for a high-end kitchen, wood floors, added closets and an upscale ensuite, everything had to go.

While all this was going on, I was busy with a decorator, picking fabrics for existing and new sofas and chairs and even duvet covers. I was also shopping for new appliances and fixtures too. I'm a pretty good cook, and the kitchen then, was going to have everything it needed and more. I bought an eight burner Viking range (2 of the burners were changed to a griddle!) with 2 ovens; 1 convection/1 regular; a wall with 3 built-ins: a Fisher Paykel convection oven; a warming drawer and a convection microwave. Add to that a huge Sub Zero fridge/freezer combination; a trash compactor and finally a Miele dishwasher next to a huge double sink with a goose neck faucet and a garburetor. Seven high-end appliances all in stainless steel. Wow!

That was the perimeter of the kitchen. To the left is a partial view of the kitchen. It's a shame you can't really see the details. Dead center was this massive granite island with a hammered stainless steel vegetable sink at one end. At the other end was the overhang with 3 bar stools . The floor and the counters were also granite and the back splash was a tumbled marble tile. I had extra deep cupboards on the top, pull out cabinetry on the bottom, and crown moldings around the whole ceiling. Plus, there was a built-in TV unit with bookshelves for my cookbooks, and finally 3 different sets of pot lights with individual controls. The eating area held a 6 seat table by a large bay window that overlooked the deck.

Ah, the deck.


It was approximately 800 square feet on two levels. The second level was built to accommodate a hot tub. I knew we were never going to have a swimming pool, so I thought a hot tub would be the next best thing. We went to the Home Show and spoke to the salespeople and daydreamed how wonderful it would be to slip into a steamy hot tub at the end of a hard working day. However, somewhere between putting down a deposit and delivery, we changed our minds. First of all, we realized, that if you have never ever done something different in your daily routine by the time you are in your 40's or 50's, the odds are that you aren't going to suddenly incorporate it on any kind of ongoing basis. And let's face it, to have a hot tub just sit there unused would have been ridiculous. And second of all, we learned that the upkeep of a hot tub was just as involved, time consuming and costly as a pool is: cleaning, filtration, motors, covers, chemicals. So we bought extra lawn furniture instead. And we did use the deck. I even had family bar-b-ques. So, that was my dream kitchen, inside and out, and the costliest part of all the renovations.

Sounds like heaven, doesn't it? Well, OK, it was pretty spectacular, and visitors constantly oohed and aahed. But there were certainly chinks in the armor. Before I talk about the chinks in the armor, I think we all should pause for a moment to consider this. There is no part of this story that is about "o, poor little rich woman. Shouldn't we all feel sad for her!" No way! Please remember as you read along that is a story about how I've adapted to a much lesser life, and frankly appreciate it all so much more. But I take my time getting to that part of the saga, relishing every sentence.

So where was I? O yes, the chinks in the armor. Well, for one thing, that very expensive granite, which covered counters, island and floor was freezing cold to the touch all the time. The massive hood over the oven range let in more (cold) air than it ever sucked up, and caused a permanent draft in the kitchen. And since I cleaned the house myself, the kitchen took almost one whole day to do properly, so it was always half done. I used the griddle only once, and it turned black right away, so I really never used it again. I never used the warming drawer and rarely used the wall oven. Generally speaking, it was a superb kitchen that should have been far more comfortable than it was, and should have been cooked in more often, but wasn't.

The en suite sported a massive sized glass shower enclosure. It had 3 body sprays, a hand-held shower attachment as well as an overhead rainfall shower, a marble bench and enough room to fit a family 0f six. O yes, it was also equipped for steam. Outside the shower area, the marble floors were heated on a timer. The tub was a luxurious air bubble jet system that could simulate different wave motions in the water. There were two sinks of course, the toilet and a bidet. The cabinetry was that distressed look (very fashionable) and included a free standing open armoire that housed not only a television, but also a small fridge. I almost forgot one more little thing: I had one wall inset with a dryer: for drying or warming up towels! It was extravagant and expensive.

As far as the shower goes, (or went): First, you had to step over a too high ledge. The drain was right under the overhead shower, so it was never comfortable to just stand there and enjoy. When you did move away, it was cold. The marble bench was freezing cold and slippery, and the 3 floor-to-ceiling glass walls were a nuisance to clean.


We never used the heated floor timer, because working from home, our time in the bathroom was whenever. We also forgot about using the fridge to store bottled anything, and it just stayed there, unused. Ditto for the dryer. Don't ask me why. The bathtub, I must confess, was fabulous, dahling, but getting in and out was tricky and dangerous. All in all, as spacious as the en suite was, there was no sense of privacy about it at all. All the fixtures were there in this one great space that we both shared.

Those were the two major renovations in the house. A couple of walls were removed, doors added or removed, and new wood flooring on the upstairs level. This last part proved to be the beginning of a very miserable time with the contractor. He used wood that was too new, which simply means that depending on the weather, it would expand or contract, leaving huge gaps between the wood strips. We could never get him to fix them, and our relationship was never the same after that.

As wide open as the budget was, it stopped at the basement. After all, there was only two of us, and we certainly didn't need the additional living space. In a way it was too bad for a couple or reasons: One: I ended up having my desk and working space set up down there, if you can imagine , amongst the wooden beams, exposed wiring and dust. Two: The basement area was actually at ground level with a huge bay window and walk-out, which, Three: meant the selling value would have been higher had we fixed it up.

I think it's important to understand, at this point, that not only was this my dream house come true, it was also the home I expected to live and die in, really! So there was always going to be time to do the basement at some point down the road. Or so I thought.

When you buy a home for the first time, it's amazing how many things you have to begin to understand and deal with, at one time or another. There was the furnace, air-conditioning and humidifying system, one connected to the other. There was the water heater and the water filtration system, which voraciously gobbled up heavy, heavy bags of salt. There was the duct system, so crucial to the air quality in the house, and of course the hydro boxes with its many switches, and never knowing which one was what, because they were never labeled correctly.

And with all this knowledge came the bills: our heating bills were the most outrageous of all: it took us forever to figure out why. It seems the duct system and the furnace were a mess: there was never enough cold air in the summers, or hot air in the winters, and we were constantly adjusting the thermostat, causing our bills to escalate. Beyond all the other normal bills, which never seemed to be normal, as well, there were realty bills and house repair bills, like a leak in the roof over the entrance of foyer, which destroyed the ceiling and wallpaper, two garage doors that needed to be replaced and God knows what else that I refuse to remember.

We lived there for one year and 2 months before the school closed. In that time, we were debt free and we even doubled our mortgage payments. Life was sweet. Over the next 3 years however, our sweet life changed. It became darn right sour: the happiness faded behind a cloud of debt and new found fear. We were dealing with money woes, lawsuit woes, relationship woes, and to top it off, my husband's father passed away in the summer of 2005 in Italy, adding to our pain and misery.

August 2006: We had run out of time. No more arguments, debates or procrastination. We could barely keep our financial heads above water, and we refused to sink any farther. We had to sell. The process began by interviewing 3 different real estate agents. They were all very savvy and were only too happy to show us their portfolio of homes they had sold. We started to familiarize ourselves with real estate jargon, and eventually chose a mother/daughter team to work with us.

Once our home was in their hands, we decided to start looking around, checking out neighborhoods, searching the Internet, figuring out a rental price range and seeing what that amount would give us. After that, we made appointments to see homes privately, and then through Open Houses. This process began in September 2006 and lasted until February 2007, with a small break over the Christmas holidays. Five months of searching! Our criterion were straightforward: we wanted a house with a yard in a nice neighborhood, and a nice landlord who would give us a long-term lease. This pending move was going to be colossal, expensive, and time-consuming, and I didn't want to look forward to having to do it for a very long time to come.

It's a fascinating human phenomenon: when you embark on something new, in this case, selling a house, and looking for a new one, your eyes only seem to see 'For Sale' or 'For Rent' signs on your outings. It's like you develop a special antennae that focuses in on your needs, to the exclusion of anything else. Needless to say, we had a notebook and pen for jotting down addresses and phone numbers along the way.

At some point, we even explored country living and a lagoon city, where homes were on canals. Luckily for us, we visited this unique area in the winter time, which quickly deflated that idea. Having no children and a portable business (E-commerce), we were extraordinarily fortunate that we could virtually choose to live anywhere, and thus, our explorations were endless.

Looking back, this house hunting process served two very crucial purposes. The first one is obvious: we needed a new place to live in. The second purpose was less apparent but extremely significant: It was an ongoing adventure that consumed, distracted and replaced all the feelings attached to losing our first home. We were just naturally more excited about where and what our new home would be, than depressed about letting go of the past.

We created a lot of unnecessary worry house hunting so early. There were times when we really wanted a particular place, but we hadn't sold the house yet. Just imagine the conversations we had with prospective landlords. As much as it was an exercise in futility, it provided us with great negotiating skills that would hopefully come in handy later on.

Our real estate agent team was selling the house, and we naturally asked them to help us with finding our new home. The truth is, as the months marched on, we weren't overjoyed with their performance. We were all frustrated for various reasons, and frankly, the idea of giving them a double commission (even though it was only for a rental), really bothered us. Nevertheless, they took us to see a lot of properties, sometimes more than once.

In early February 2007, we got our first offer. It was 9:00 at night, and was signed by 12:00 am. Three hours of back and forth, and sheer panic. My dream home was going, going, gone! Both parties were happy with a 3 month closing date. And at that point, two decisions went into effect immediately. First, we had to escalate our house hunting, and second, a 12 week packing list had to be created right away.

One night, my husband, on line as usual, came across a local community magazine for our area, and there he spotted a private ad for a rented house, 5 minutes away by car, from where we were. I made the phone call and we were invited to come over right then!

In truth, the house was a disaster. It hurts me to try and describe what we saw, and yet....... you could still see the essentials. The general space, the windows, the backyard, the size of the rooms, the number of bathrooms, the finished basement. The floors on the second level were completely redone with wood. The kitchen, the dirtiest room we looked at, still had everything I wanted and needed: cupboard space, room for a portable island, and a lovely eating area overlooking the backyard. The backyard backed onto a ravine and was almost completely private because of the beautiful trees.

I remember that the day was gloomy and cold, as February usually is, and still, we could see the potential of this house. The owner was prepared to wait for May; agreed to allow a painter of our choosing to come in and paint in March; agreed to pay half of the painting, and agreed to paying for half of the new appliances that the kitchen needed: stove, fridge and dishwasher! He also agreed to pay for all of the new lighting fixtures everywhere, as long as I chose them.

He went on to explain that he knew this house intimately, and even worked on it when it was being built. And so when I asked him how he felt about converting to gas, he didn't blink an eye, and insisted that he could do the main work, and then bring in a licensed guy to certify it. So I was able to purchase a reasonable gas range and oven, and use my gas dryer from the soon-to-be 'not mine anymore' house. Then he said he would install all the new light fixtures for us as well.

Honestly, it was hard to believe that he would keep his word. It was just too good to be true. But he did. He gave me checks for all my receipts, one by one, and did everything single thing he promised and more.

Of course, I wrote up a very simple contract/lease for the both of us, which he and his wife signed. Oh, did I mention we have a three year lease????? And that was the beginning of our new lease on life in House B!

Adaptability: Part Two: Working from Home

Falling from Grace.... The loss of my school and how I've adapted.

I remember a million instances when I would meet someone, anyone, and the inevitable question was waiting: "....and what do you do? "Oh, I'm the Principal and Owner of a private Montessori school. " We all know that anyone or anything associated with Education is impressive, and so, people responded impressively. Honestly, I never felt the pride I should have, not ever. For me, the 25 history I had with my school, from inception to demise, was one day at a time. It was difficult for me to ever stand back from it, and see it with the proper perspective it deserved. Or even appreciate what I had accomplished. In truth, I always deferred to my staff, a wonderful group of teachers who directed the teaching in my school. In my thinking, were it not for them, there would be no school. I know that's not entirely true. I hired them, after all. And I interviewed the parents at that first crucial meeting, and I designed the layout of my school, incorporating warmth and character into its very walls. And I did this, and I did that.

Unlike so many other career-oriented people, I never identified myself with the school, at least not to the point where I actually fell apart when the doors closed. All the things I should have missed, I didn't. Not the children's voices, not the weekly teacher meetings; not the holiday programs and not the scheduling and programming. In a way, this must sound so callous on my part. But I haven't forgotten any of it. I just have chosen not to miss it.

I'll never have it again. It's gone. What's the point of ruminating about what I would have done, given another chance. The past is the past, and cannot be re-done. Of course, I learned valuable life lessons: don't take for granted something it took the better part of 25 years to build; don't sit on your laurels; don't entrust or trust anyone with too much information; don't try to escape when there are issues to be dealt with.

Four years later, I now work from home and very closely with my husband. We are together 24/7. We are not a well-oiled machine, not by a long shot. How could we be: he is Italian, and I'm a Canadian. He is a Leo and I'm a Saggitarian. He is an Aerospace Engineer by profession and I am a teacher (at heart). He is a control freak and I question everything. I am in love with the English language, and he still struggles to pronounce many words. The list goes on and on, but I'll save all that for another post dedicated to him.

Slowly and surely, he has taught me everything I now know about computers, beyond sending e-mails or composing word documents. The Internet has become my second home. Not a home away from home, but a home inside a home. What could be cozier?

There is always something new to be learned and then put into practice. This blog, for instance, being brand new, is just waiting to introduce me to new lessons and skills. So now, when someone asks me what I do, my response is: I'm in E-Commerce. Who would have thought?

Adapting to this new career has had more ups than downs, I'm happy to say. Who wouldn't enjoy going to work in their bathrobe? Or not having to deal with bad weather and traffic jams? Or taking a break with no guilt? Better than all that is not having to deal with everyone else's human condition. Yes, I admit it, I am a loner. I enjoy my own company and I know how to amuse myself, and I like being responsible for me and me alone...... so to speak.

Sometimes I am an equal partner; sometimes just the soldier, rarely the boss, and I don't mind. I was the boss for so long, that taking a step backwards is almost joyful. Let someone else make the decisions that guide our life, for a change. It's fine with me!

What is difficult though, is finding time to run the house. I sometimes think that if I had had children, time management would have been simplified years ago: a mother learns to get up early, make the breakfast, pack the lunches, feed the baby, clean the house, etc., etc., on a very tight, precise schedule, an ability that I have never had to embrace. Even with the school, in the later years, I set my own schedules, avoiding early mornings appointments if I could; leaving early to play golf. It's tough working at my desk when there is laundry, cooking, cleaning and shopping to be done. So my breaks become my housework time, and all is reconciled.

One huge downer is that we don't make one eighth of the money together that I used to earn alone. That's hard to adapt to. When your career pays well, you don't have to think about a blessed thing. There is more than enough to go around. You just don't have to worry. Bills are paid the minute they show up; the Sub Zero is filled to capacity with anything you want to eat; holidays are planned and taken; window shopping is for everyone else and that wonderful, wonderful sense of financial security sends you off to sleep with a peaceful smile on your face.

This new career is fraught with stress. I am now responsible for half the worry for one half of one eighth of an income! Bills now wait for their due date; the fridge is filled with essentials only and our holidays are window shopping! And I look forward to tossing and turning every night, waiting for sleep to overcome me. But there is no escape, no running away to play golf. The uncertainty is non-stop, always there.

I have found that when money is scarce, you work harder, because that is the only thing you can do. You work harder, and have faith that it has to pay off, soon, eventually, whenever. It's so important not to panic. Worry yes, but not panic. Panic paralyzes everything that you need: resourcefulness, creativity, energy and hope.

Worry can kill a married couple working together day and night. Especially when one of you is Italian and highly emotional. So it's up to me to constantly keep the worry inside. When I do let it out, it never goes well, and usually escalates into a very heated argument.

Beyond the mental anguish, though, I've learned to take second seat, and give my husband the limelight he deserves and delights in. He really is so much more inventive than I am, and when his ideas see fruition and some money coming in, we both rejoice equally. Before we began working together, I never really realized how brilliant or even how ambitious he was. I am so proud of what we are doing together: him and I, husband and wife, boss and soldier (ha,ha). More than anything else, we have a new-found sense of respect and admiration for one another. It's forged our relationship in ways I would have never expected. In the end, we are stronger for our worry, and that is a good thing!

Adaptability :Part One: Losing My Business

You know how there are always two sides to every coin and every person? Well, here I am as a great example: I really don't like change. I like my routines. I like counting on something to happen when it's supposed to. I like being in harmony with my body's rhythms. I like precision. I like being organized and even being on a schedule. That's how I like to function. Too bad life isn't like that.
I've lost my business, my home, most of my money and my easy-come, easy-go way with spending. And yet, I've been able to adapt to everything that has happened to me along the way. Both on the surface and on a more profound level. And my adaptability actually is and was no surprise to me. I always knew I was capable of rising above, or finding ways of coping and generally being adaptable to what life was throwing at me.

But there are conditions and consequences to my reconciling with change. The condition is time. I need time to get used to the idea. Not too much time, but enough to let the idea penetrate, and to figure out the upside of what's about to change. The consequence of not having enough time is fear and fatigue. Fear of the unknown followed by immense fatigue that takes its tolls for up to 3 days after the trauma.

Outside of natural disasters and immediate death, almost all traumatic events have a 'time' element involved. I didn't lose anything that I didn't have the opportunity to think, mull over, and to some degree, come to terms with, in advance. Not my business, home, money or even my lifestyle.

It's been 4 years since I lost my business: I was the owner of a private Montessori school. At its peak we had 150 children. 25 years of running a growing business is a long time. In the early years, I did virtually everything: from the advertising and marketing to teaching; from the basic accounting to painting walls. I had a staff of 25 (way too many people on the payroll) and I had a vice principal/executive secretary for 12 years, who eventually stole over $100,000 from the school (me) from 1998-2001. I will never forget the day she was found out: 9/11, just before the explosions.

For the last 17 years of the school's history, we were in a rented property. With extra classrooms and a gymnasium that were added on, we had almost 30,000 square feet on 10 acres of manicured lawns. It was a piece of Paradise, situated in the north end of the city, down a long private road, a long way from any traffic.

As heaven-made as all this was, it wasn't mine. First the landlord gave me a 10 year lease; then a 5 year lease, and then year to year after that. He planned to develop the whole package (100 acres) into multi-residential homes. At a certain point, I felt I was blind-sided by his conversations about the lease being extended. But truthfully, I guess I wasn't really listening.

I did start the search for a new place at some point, but here again, with hindsight, I recognize that I just didn't have the financial understanding that I needed, to make any kind of a decision. And so, in a nutshell, it all began to unravel, and in the process, I convinced myself that 25 years was a great milestone to have reached, and announced to the shock of the enrollment that I was closing the school doors for good at the end of the 2004 school year.

On one hand, I can't believe now, how little I really thought this through, or how drastically this would change our life. But, on the other hand, I'm not a stupid woman. I knew I was burned out; I remember leaving my school in the charge of my vice principal too many times while I went off to play golf. And whenever I felt guilty, there was always someone to help me rationalize my actions: " Hey, you've worked hard and long to get to this place. You've earned the right to play golf." I knew I wasn't really participating anymore in the doings of the school. I appointed various teachers to handle this or that. I allowed my vice principal to deal with parents instead of me. And I escaped.

So when the end was near, although I thought I had fought long and hard enough to try and save it, I guess I really didn't. I let myself lose my school. My business. My career. My identity. My safe and secure financial net.

Yes, over the years, I invested money in RRSP's ( Registered Retirement Plan), similar to the American 401K, but it wasn't nearly enough, and of course its untouchable before retirement, unless you're willing to pay a penalty.

I had just bought my beautiful first home one year earlier. We took possession in the third week of June 2003, and by August, my contractor sued me, the school and my bank, all on the same day! The whole thing was a convoluted mess that perhaps I"ll talk about in some other post, but for now, the shock value of being hit with a triple lawsuit sent me into a tailspin of action and re-action, that led to devastating consequences.

My husband and I suffered terribly during that time, lashing out at each other emotionally. Our money was dwindling away, and I had to dip into my savings to pay some of the legal fees. There is still a large amount owing 4 years later, which will probably never be paid. We were int debt, and the marriage was crumbling.. When you cast a stone upon the waters, beware of the ripples that go on and on.

One unforeseen ripple was the school. Beyond feeling generally burned out, the lawsuit consumed me. I couldn't sleep; I actually lost 20 pounds out of sheer fear. My stomach was raw and I couldn't eat at all. I couldn't and didn't want to concentrate on the school. I was a mess.
The lawsuit continued for 3 years, way past the school's demise. It was a constant thorn in my heart. Everything had been ruined in its wake and there was still more devastation to come.

What kills me today, and ever since this occurred, is the realization that none of what happened needed to happen. The triple lawsuit arrived on a Friday, I remember, early morning. Had I taken the week-end to calm myself down, come to my senses, put my ego on the shelf and think straight, I would have made a trip to the contractor's home, and talked it out until we resolved it.
But I was a maniac, filled with anger, indignation, fear, humiliation and vengeance. This lawsuit was precipitated by a lot of mis dealings between the contractor and myself. So, instead, we called the most expensive lawyer we could find (I still had my school, didn't I???) that very day, and put things in motion with counter notices, etc. In so doing,we sealed our fate.

The fact that we hung onto the house for 3 more years is ridiculous now in hindsight. But my heart and soul and money were in that house. And besides, I had a large line of credit that the bank was only too happy to give me when we took out the mortgage. So what if I had just lost my financial backbone. We were safe....

Did I mention that my husband never wanted the house, and never liked the house. Because the previous owner was a widow, and his wife had died in that house, my husband thought the house was sad, and not the place for us. Not exactly the most substantial reason to turn down a great price, so I didn't. Things began to happen in 3 month cycles: the renovations went on for 3 months prior to moving in; we lived there busily for the next 3 months, and then came the lawsuit. Almost one year later to the day, the school was finished for good.

I must have been in a state of suspended animation for the next couple of months, because I remember that I played golf a lot. By late Fall,2004, I was determined to start being self-employed. My first idea was Ebay: I had a ton of clothing and jewelery that I knew I could sell, and I did make some money,but more like pocket money. Then I decided that I wanted to create a food product and sell it. So I spent the next few months creating a tomato product. It was delicious. I worked out the finances, designed the label, contacted suppliers, and even had my first appointment with a high-end grocer in the heart of the city. But when all was said and done, it was never going to pay off. Between making the product, filling the bottles, pasting the labels, delivering the product, buying and storing the supplies and whatever else would need to
be done, I could never make it financially feasible.

Time was marching on, and my husband slowly but surely, began to involve me in his home-based work: he was an aerospace engineer in Italy, and over the years, had amassed an impressive collection of aircraft manuals. He wanted to sell them on Ebay, and needed me to be involved. Just up my alley: a school administrator and aviation. What a match.

So we began the journey, ever so slowly and begrudgingly on my part; ever so controlling and persistent on his part. We fought and screamed at each other constantly. My husband, no matter what he thinks of himself, is not a great teacher. He doesn't have the patience to explain things simply and logically. And so we had a lot of issues to overcome. It took such a long time for things to start gelling for us on so many levels. And in the meantime, we had the bills to deal with, and they were killing us.

When selling the house finally became the topic of the day, the writing was pretty much on the wall, and we really had little recourse. You know, as I recall now, I believe I always knew the house would be our saving grace in those 3 years, and when push came to shove, I would be ready. See how time can soften the blow?

Here I Go! How To Fall from Grace

I'm so anxious to get started that I'm actually trying to write while watching American Idol! Goody, a commercial...... so what to begin with. Why not the Present? I can always go backwards later.

Well, one of the issues on my mind all the time these days is how so many of us baby boomers have fallen from grace.....economically. Yes, yes, even here in Canada, we have all been affected. Sad to say, I am a perfect living example. Up until August, 2004, I had a 25 year old business, all my own, that I had given birth to in 1979. And then poof, it was all gone! Much more about that in another blog. The point is I went from making oodles of money, and enjoying a sweet lifestyle to being concerned about money all the time. Consider the following: the year before I lost my business, I bought my first home. We hung on to it for 3 more years. My marriage nearly fell apart; the contractor sued me, costing me a fortune. In the end, we both walked away, and the lawyers laughed all the way to the bank. Finally, in 2007, we decided to sell. It was an experience that lasted 6 months, through the Fall and Winter, with real estate agents, showings, open houses, constantly scouring the house, and an offer at the end that saw the light of day. We were very lucky. I had upgraded the house when I took possession, and we made back all of that investment. BUT.... we had huge credit card debt and a line of credit, and legal fees to pay off, and that left us with very, very little.

We now live in a rented house. I'm not ready for condo living. I still want to walk outside into my own backyard and sit on a swing or feel the grass under my feet. The rent is cheaper than my mortgage was, and we're not responsible for repairs, etc. We're so much happier here even though we struggle everyday to pay our bills. And that 'happy' factor is worth the struggle and more.

So besides selling our home, I've given up my golf membership; I color my own hair and do my own manicures and pedicures (when I find the time). Of course I clean the house myself. I haven't had a holiday since 2002. We rent movies now, and food shop as frugally as possible. Walmart is now my major shopping outlet. I haven't bought new clothes in years. I hate going to the mailbox (at the end of our street), because I expect another bill to be lurking in there.

The worst part is I worry all the time. Some days I even have panic attacks. Our income is not stable. Some days are great, some are average, some are poor, and some days there is nothing.
And so I worry. I worry about how much we spend on food; how far we drive the car to go anywhere because of the rising price of gas; I worry about getting sick, about taking better care of myself. I worry about my husband and how hard he constantly pushes himself to provide for us.

He had a heart attack this past August. It's not even one year yet. My husband is not yet a Landed Resident (a long story for another post down the road), and therefore isn't eligible for OHIP: the Ontario Health Insurance Plan. There were Emergency Room services; the hospital room, tests, emergency surgery (angiogram followed by an angioplast), the cardiologist on call, the cardiac surgeon, and ongoing medication. All over again, we were beset with bills. To all my American readers, I understand. For the first time, medical expenses were something we had to worry about and pay for, with credit. If I had suffered the heart attack, instead of him, everything, except the ongoing heart medication, would have been paid for automatically by OHIP!

This business of worrying all the time is what scares me the most. Because I just don't see it ending. My husband keeps telling me that we're going to be alright, and I believe that if we just keep plodding away, everyday, something good is going to happen.

All I want to be is safe and secure. That's all. I don't think of luxury. I think of being able to pay our bills. That's it.

I know there are millions of people in Africa and 3 blocks from me, who are much worse off than we are. But this blog is about me, a babyboomer, who is no longer part of that smug middle class. This is my personal story of failure, loss, and starting over. Everything is relative in life, so please don't be too quick to judge me.