Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!

My! we Canadians are an apologetic lot. Sorry about that, you Americans. We're just nicer than y'all. Our mamas brung us up right.

Example #1: I was out there today on my bike. I was riding on the sidewalk to get to my house, and came up behind somebody who was obliviously in the way. I said "excuse me". And that innocent pedestrian said... "Sorry!"

Example #2: Later I was at the post office to pick up a giant box my mother had mailed to me for my daughter's birthday. I had my bike parked against a pole. Somebody else had their bike parked against that pole. I stuck the huge box over the baby seat. Just then the owner of the other bike came out of the post office. He went to unlock his bike, and in so doing, tipped my bike over. So I said... "Sorry!"

I counted today. I got five sorries and gave out three. Here's the funny thing. The apology is as likely to come from the person in the wrong as the person in the right. Wow, how utterly civilized we all are up here in Canada.

The Ramblings of a Discontented Office Drone

I really really want to escape my present job but I don't try all that hard. The few resumes I send out there just disappear into the ether. My resume is pathetic, with one real job in my lifetime (I'm not counting the McJobs), and no real education beyond a worthless diploma in Ceramics from a fourth rate college, which doesn't even offer the Ceramics course anymore. Moving on to some bigger and better occupation doesn't seem entirely possible given all that. I fancy working for some small, cozy, non-profit org, doing their books and managing their member database. That's my dream... sigh....

Okay well as long as I have to work it's what I would be somewhat satisfied to do, for a while. My real goal in life is to win the lottery and be done with work forever. I would get a pottery studio in some warehouse somewhere, with other artists in neighbouring studios for company. I would get a big cozy armchair to sit in and avoid potting in. I would make useless, non-functional pieces of pottery. No dishes. I would putter in my pottery studio. I might read books and drink cappucino in my armchair, with nary a worry about insomnia since getting up to go to work would be a thing of the past. I used to have a studio in a warehouse, shared with a few others. In fact I have had three different studios at various times. That was back in the day when I was mostly unemployed yet somehow getting by. Bloody kids are such a responsibility, demanding regular feedings and requiring me to work at a real job to support them. I wonder how I managed to get by without regular jobs, back when. It's not like I was dealing pot or selling my body on the street. What a mystery.

Mental Flossing

I just flossed my teeth. Whoo! Pat on back! Now what the hell is wrong with the rest of you? Like 99.9% of the rest of the population (or maybe I'm overestimating how many people actually floss) I didn't floss my teeth except occasionally in a pre-dentist panic, until my 30s. The only reason I started flossing at all was because I was dating (dating -- ha! actually merely having sex with) a man who was a hygiene freak. He showered several times a day, changed his clothes at least twice a day and brushed frequently with determination. And flossed, of course. He insisted that I should floss my teeth too. He would not kiss me unless I had brushed AND flossed. Since I really wanted to get into bed with him, (reasons for wanting that must have been purely pheremonal. He had a small penis and was not so good in the sack), I would oblige. (Side note -- we only ever had drunk sex because he was too uptight to share germs when sober). (Side note #2 -- he was an alcoholic).

The great change in my attitude towards flossing, from sexual duty to personal responsibility, occurred when visiting the dentist for a cleaning during those five and a half months of my dalliance with the germaphobe. The dentist x-rayed my teeth. I had no cavities. I was leaving the office, on my way out the door, when the dentist came out to the reception area and called me back to show me my x rays. He pointed out the area between the teeth. He said normally that area is dark which indicates deteriorating enamel. But the areas between the teeth on MY x ray wher NOT dark. Quite light in fact! Due to flossing, said the dentist. Something he rarely saw, said he. WOW! I felt like I had been given a gold medal. Never in my history of visits to the dentsit had I ever been praised for my dental hygiene. This was about the best feeling in the world.

And now I floss regularly. And so should you! (Side note #3 -- my mother-in-law has terrible gum disease and has lost many teeth to it. I asked her if she flossed. No, she said, do you think I should? I politely refrained from saying DUH!)

Monday's Retirement Plans

Every two months I round up at least three garbage bags of stuff and give it to the Canadian Diabetes Association when they call for donations. I don't know where the stuff comes from. We don't seem to buy bags of possessions that aren't edible, yet every couple of months there is junk to give away. And still we're drowning in it. I'm tired of picking stuff up off the floor. When I retire I am getting rid of all our possessions and buying an RV. I will spend my life in warm climates -- assuming there is still gasoline for personal use vehicles in the year 2030. And also assuming my husband is good with these plans. And also assuming there is still winter anywhere and the need for going south still exists. Should global warming bring year-round summer to Canada, then we're moving into a tent. We'll own two sets of clothes. Who cares what you look like when you're old, right? Cooking will be easy, with just two pots and limited options on the campfire. Dessert will be toasted marshmallows or nothing. Life will be grand.