I found this draft from 2 years ago.

I was so much younger when I wrote this (!) and I forgot to post it I assume.  I'm turning 61 this year. Madness.
I'm obviously obsessed with age and need to get over it. So I will post this and put the subject to bed once and for all. Except I totally agree with what I said below. I'll underline it for you so you know what I'm on about.

Getting older ain't for wimps!
I know there's no alternative to it and it comes to all of us but I just think it's so unfair that we don't all age at more or less the same time.
I know, that's not plausible and clearly I haven't thought that through properly but I'm trying to make a point here.
Just as the realization is dawning that you are getting past your sell by date, comes the knowledge that the world is full of younger and much more beautiful people.
Who said the world belonged to them?
Who?

If they market any products to people my age then it's for something health, diet, teeth, bladder, arthritis, depression, depends, dysfunction, or dental fixative related.
Young people get funky music, sexy men, with no shirts on to boot, gorgeous models with funky clothes and shiny, shiny hair, perfect teeth and perky tits.
OK I know they're not my demographic any more but still.
I'M NOT DEAD YET!

Sorry, was I yelling?

I don't feel any different to those younger people.
It's just on the OUTSIDE that we.... er differ.
Inside, I'm still vibrant.
As long as I don't forget to exercise regularly, eat fish and greens, take my Vitamins every morning, noon and night, have my bones scanned yearly, my breasts squashed regularly and my insides probed with scopes now and again and I'm  in bed by 10, not forgetting to pee before I go.

I'm not THAT old.
Okay, I'm 59 this year which probably seems ancient to YOU, but God help me, when I'm 70 I'm going to yearn for this age.

I look in the mirror and thankfully my eyesight has declined with my looks so I'm not that aware. Except last week when I was being tailed by a woman across the aisle in the department store. Every time I looked up she looked back at me. She was middle aged and tired looking, overweight and quite drab! JEEBUS! It was me. I was walking past the same mirror. I wanted to lie down and die right there in the store. Cry in fact. How could this happen?  And,  more importantly, When?

Two weeks ago I went to enrol myself and a friend in an aerobics class. I dashed in after work and spoke to the fitness centre supervisor; filled out the forms, gave him my credit card and just before he processed it  he looked up at me as if for the first time and said, "Is this a normal membership, or do you want the senior's rate?'"
My heart stopped!
There was a rush of blood to my ears and a bloodcurdling scream threatened to leave my body.
Holding myself in check I pondered whether he was referring to the 55 plus senior. They call it grey power these days. AND though I don't even have any grey hair thank you very much, I was willing to settle for that at this point.

I tried to keep my voice level and portray a calmness I wasn't feeling. "It depends. What age is senior here then?'
"65 and over" he replied matter of factly.
You know that sound effect in the movies when the same words repeat over and over like a bad echo?
that's what I heard.
65! 65! 65! 65!!!!!!
(like on Revolution Number 9 by The Beatles. Number 9, Number 9, Number 9.)
I clutched the edge of his desk to prevent me from leaping across it and strangling him.
How dare he?
How could he?
I have NEVER been so insulted!
Then I choked back a tear.
"No." I said quietly as he processed my credit card. "Just the NORMAL membership."


See, not only am I old, I'm not even NORMAL anymore.
Nowadays I look at Judy Dench with a new found respect. Helen Mirren, Meryl Streep, Sharon Osbourne, women of my age. I have to look to them to carry the torch.

My boss turned 60 last year and she has just paid 9 THOUSAND DOLLARS for new teeth. She's had her hair dyed and her moles blasted off her face, she's lost 20 lbs and wears nicer clothes. She's obviously afraid, vewy vewy afwaid.

Just Do It!

So where was I?
I am still running and training for the Great North Run in Newcastle, England in September of this year. (Me and about 50,000 other people.) Thankfully it's still far enough away that I am not feeling panicked about it. YET!

I manage to get out most weeks 3 times a week, in spite of the disgusting amount of snow and below zero temps that we have had. I never pictured myself running in fine weather least of all in the cold, ice and snow,  but I've made the commitment and I have to stick to it.
Hang on, I will just take a minute to digest that amazing statement.
That is just SO unlike me.
I'm usually good at starting things but don't always follow them through.
I remember my mother used to roll her eyes whenever I made a big announcement about something I was going to do. She always told me I was a good starter and a bad finisher. Mother, you should`ve used reverse psychology on me.

So the flights are booked, my other half is coming to cheer me on. I`m running with my sister and her two daughters, my own wonderful daughter Jenn, and my amazing niece whose mum is one of the ladies going through the breast cancer treatment right now. This year the GNR is sponsored by Morrisson`s, the supermarket chain, so my sister Vron says we`ll be sure to get a pie and a packet of crisps at the finish line.

So I run with a group of fellow nutters in a club I`ve joined and in our group, the 5K group, we go out together and do our run in a series of 10 and 1`s. That means we run for 10 mins and walk for 1 minute. Don`t ask me why we do it that way, it`s just what the club does. But believe me when I say that that 1 minute break in between the 10 minute stretches is the one thing that keeps me going. If they took that away I could never run again! Honestly.

I`ve done 2 5K runs so far and the second one was a bit better than the first, time wise. There was another one this last Saturday but it was knee deep in snow and I get so tense trying to stop myself from falling that I can`t do it justice. That`s my excuse. So instead I went to a spinning class at the gym and the instructor yelled at us to ride like maniacs over the top of blasting music while the sweat dripped off my nose and onto the floor. It was fantastic!

So that`s where I am now.
Before you get any inspiring mental images of me loping along like a gazelle, I should disabuse you of that notion by telling you that right now I`m the oldest and the fattest and of course the slowest in our group. But I can only improve, RIGHT!

That was me before my first 5K run, The Santa Shuffle, in December last year. Believe me I did NOT look this good at the end of it. The nuclear reactor type glow is caused by the `go-faster-stripe` illumination on my jacket. That`s so they can find my body faster when I fall into a ditch.

Why don't you shout into my ear trumpet?

There's nowt wrong with getting older.
Because we know what the alternative is, right?
It's just that when you do start to get older then you realize you are now perceived as being 'past your sell by date' by others.

Namely: YOUNGER PEOPLE. 

I know. I was young myself once. I can remember it quite well, because it feels like it was only yesterday.
When I was younger I thought that anyone who had 10 or 20 years on me was over the hill and I dismissed them, for the most part, as has-beens
I wish I could go back in time and smack myself one upside the head. But it's part of the natural order I suppose.

Luckily, I am reassured by there being lots of famous, and not so famous, people in my age group who are still waving the flag for my generation. YAY FOR THE SEXAGENARIANS. Yes, we are defined as such because WE, of course, invented sex.

My peers are still doing their thing, some better than ever, (Annie Lennox for one) and  are aging gracefully, i.e. without the aid of plastic surgery. Believe me, in the industry I'm working in now I see people who are a lot younger than us who have been under the knife, or have been injected with something to fill in lines or plump up wrinkles. They may get rid of a line or two, or lift a sag here and there but the end result is still scary. It doesn't look right! Sorry. Why are we afraid to look our ages?

But, that's not what I was going to say was I?
I am on about young whippersnappers who think that the world belongs to THEM. That what they have currently at their fingertips, i.e. technology and other such amazing resources is their birth right and that people of my generation don't get it. They behave as if we are still trying to come to terms with the invention of the wheel.

Case in point:
I'm quite sure that a woman in her twenties with whom I work, speaks more slowly and a tad louder when she's telling me something about her life. Last week, talking about how she's charting her exercise schedule, she asked me if I knew what an APP was?
?
So I replied quite loudly, hand to ear in my crotchety old lady voice; "A NAP? YOU NEED A NAP? I'll give you a nap in a minute when I knock you out missy!"
She thinks I'm funny.
I really would like to slap her.

The thing is you do get a bit more forgetful as you get older. My mother had dementia so I am always on guard of course and I sometimes feel that the kids eye me cautiously when I make a faux pas in the lingo department. They do talk over the top of you too when they're all together. Luckily my other half and I in return, make eye signals to each other over their heads and realize that we were the same when we were, (oh that lovely word), younger  and no doubt their kids will do the same to them.  Ah, the circle of life.

So where was I?
Who are you?
Has anybody seen my keys?

Oh right. I was going to tell you that after my last post where I wrote about doing the Great North Run Half Marathon next September, (if-I-can-get-a-place) that I'm sticking to my guns. I've been walking/running for the last month and have joined a Running Club. The first 10 weeks are done as a clinic and the last one will be a 5K run on New Year's Eve. I think I'm the oldest one in the new runners group!

I may be heading over the hill, but I'm damn well going to run down the other side!

What was I thinking?

I am nothing if I'm not impulsive.
Therefore, it should come as no surprise that I just sometimes open my mouth and say things before I think them through.
Like telling people I want to participate in the Great North Run in 2015.
I was inspired after watching the fabulous opening ceremonies online and by my niece who was running for her charity, Alzheimer's, because that's what took the life of her grandmother, my mother.

This is a 1/2 marathon, 13 miles to be exact and it takes place in the North East of England every September.
Over 50,000 people participate.

What was I thinking?

Now I'll have to put my money where my mouth is and start training. There are a few pros and cons to my entering a competitive race for the first time. A half marathon indeed.
The pros are:
It will be a great boost to my self esteem if I manage to pull it off and as a side benefit I will get fit and hopefully lose weight in the process.

Awesome!

The cons are:
I am 60 years of age and will be 61 next year when the event happens. Maybe it's too late to start doing half marathons. Perhaps my knees or back or ankles will give out and I'll be crippled.
I am unfit.
I am overweight.
I haven't, in spite of searching my memory in a vain attempt to find something that would justify my madness,  ran for any period of time greater than the time it takes to run from the car to a building when it's pishing down.
I don't do any form of exercise at all.
I am lazy.
I am good at starting things but not always good at seeing them through.

So if I can stay motivated that will be the challenge.

I've started a little group on Facebook for my daughter, sister, and three nieces.  We are all aiming to compete (participate) next year. There'll be no competition on my part. Participating is the goal. It's so we can post our activities and progress to 'keep the dream alive' as it were.

So far I've increased my activity by walking daily; with the exception of last week which was very traumatic and I will hopefully post about that this week.
I live at the top of a very steep hill so that should help increase my fitness right?
Ooh that sounds grand doesn't it?
You picture me in a grand mansion at the end of a long, long, driveway on top of a very steep hill?
Not quite.
We live on the Niagara Escarpment which is lovely and from some vantage points on the hill you can see across Lake Ontario to Toronto where the CN Tower marks the horizon. On a clear day it's beautiful.

I stole this picture from the Great North Run website.
That's the Red Arrows Flying over the Tyne Bridge at the start of the race.

What an amazing start. Now if they can just keep jets with multi-coloured jetstreams flying overhead while I run, okay walk, for 13 miles I might stay motivated to finish.

Hello little blog

I do miss my little blog.
I come over here sometimes and have a peek and see how it's doing and check up on some of my favourite blogs; those ones over there on the right.
It's a bit like coming home. I'm not sure why I consistently neglect it but in spite of being full of good intentions it seems to happen.
Not today tho'. It's time I dropped in and brought it back to life a little.

Recently I've been spending a lot of  (okay, WAY too much) time on Facebook where I've been reconnecting with people I knew back in my old home town. Everybody's old home town has a FB page and if you want to go down memory lane it's the best possible place to do it. If they don't have a page for your home town then you need to start one.

There's something magical about childhood beginnings. Looking at pictures of places and people from over home, from times past evokes long forgotten memories which can often be quite emotional.

I think the older I get  means that in many ways, the past becomes more important. It's sort of like trying to figure out who you are and how you got here. I am hurtling towards a big birthday this year and I can't for the life of me figure out where the years have gone.

Someone on this FB page messaged me and mentioned quite a few details about myself and my family she recalled from growing up in the same street.  The funny thing is that I can not for the life of me remember HER. Nothing. I can go down the street and name every family in every house and this involves knowing the names of the people who lived in the houses to the left and the right of where she tells me she lived, but I cannot place her at all. I can picture the houses, the windows, the gardens, the curtains even. When I get to her house it's almost like it's boarded up in my head.  It's weird. I know I will walk or drive down that old street next time I'm visiting and then maybe the memory will be unlocked.

Then I've been messaging back and forwards with a girl I recognized on the page who lived in the next street to me. She had a large black, lazy old dog which we used to have to walk. I remember in her back garden was a magnificent gooseberry bush and we picked it bare and ate every one of those berries until I was almost sick. The first time I'd ever eaten gooseberries and I can instantly recall their taste now. I remembered her older sister who was part of a band with a very American name. Winetka Sound. It sounded so cool. They did 'gigs' in the North East and had a van with the band's name painted on the side. I told her my memories and she was thrilled. But. She can't remember the gooseberry bush and has only a vague idea of who I am. Not that this has stopped us becoming 'reacquainted'. We've been chatting online and sharing our 'my-life-so-far' stories. It seems it's enough that we share memories of other people and places, stories and events to connect us.

I've connected with several old friends from school. I went to the same school with all of the same people from infants to seniors, then I left at the age of 13 to go to a convent grammar school after passing my 13 plus. The worst two years of my life. They showed me the door at 15 which was a relief to me, because I'd never fitted in, but was a big shock for my mother, God love her. I shattered all of her dreams right there. Anyway I know all of the people from my first schools and have connected with them so easily again and hope to see some of them when I go home in May for a visit and a birthday celebration. I don't think I could say the same about the convent school. Don't know anyone from those days and probably wouldn't recognize their names or faces. I do  remember the nuns though.

So anyway. I have to go and fold some laundry and make a Sunday dinner for the troops; i.e. the family. But it's been nice to visit and I might come back again soon.

Clippy`s Helpful Tips pre 2014.

how to buy movie tickets online. find website. google will direct you first to a map on how to get to several movies theatres in your province. not useful, because you need to buy tickets first. select city and theatre. select movie and time of show. select number of tickets required. click on PROCEED at the bottom of the page. when requested enter user name and log in. create new password when username and password are rejected. create new username when robot tells you this is NOT your username!  i) go to inbox to retrieve email requesting confirmation of your application. respond to email by clicking on link in the body of the message. ii). return  to inbox to retrieve your computer generated password.   not working? did you check the box that says yes, you did in fact generate the request for movie theatre membership.. go back and check the box. check ALL boxes to be on the safe side.  connect to the movie website (again). begin the process again and enter the same information using your new username and password.  repeat this twice. passwords do not match.  you have been timed out. go back to email click on link again, don't forget to ACCEPT the terms and conditions of your membership.   
do you want to share your movie membership on Facebook? (no I prefer to keep the exciting details of my fascinatingly hectic private life to myself thank you.) 

select payment method. enter credit card number, expiry date and 3 digit security number on back of card.  complete a security interception by your bank asking for  a password you may or may not have created the last time you shopped online. create NEW password. confirm you are in fact, YOU by entering your date of birth, your mother's maiden name and the name of your first pet and possibly the street you lived on growing up.  verify your purchase and proceed to check out. Not yet? return to movie website and NOW complete purchase. check box to receive tickets in your email. go to email. open attachment. print tickets. tickets do not print. try again. tickets still do not print. printer is unresponsive. reboot computer. wait for computer to restart. now enter your password to log in. ask yourself why do you even have a password on your computer in the first place. wait for printer to begin to print.  Success, it is printing! and printing. it is printing 3 copies of an article it REFUSED to print 3 weeks ago. no tickets are printed. 

3 copies of old article are each 4 pages long. reams of paper are spewing out of your printer faster than it`s ever printed before. it seems almost angry!!  go to email. open attachment and reprint tickets. success. tickets print. 3 times and 3 pages each. hand tickets to daughter who is going to the movies with her niece and nephew.  rip up 23 pages of unnecessary printing in a frenzy. lie down. 

next time go to box office. buy tickets from spotty teenager.  

Happy New Year Bloggers

Close the netty door!

I just spent five minutes reading the comments on my last post. Thanks for those. I was looking for the Like button after each one.I just can't make my mind up on whether I should reply to your comment if you were so kind as to leave one. Do you come back to check or have you just moved on completely? It's a tough call so when in doubt, do nowt is my motto.
Just know that your words are like gold unto me. I love you.

Moving right along.

I was in the grocery store this morning and tho' we are practically a border town, 11kms from Niagara Falls and the bridge to the USA, I try to spend my money in Canada to support, well the Chinese economy basically.  You know, so they become stronger to take over the world, making us all work in their paddy fields and forcing us to bear one child per household, not to mention eating our rice with chopsticks! How ridiculous is that? I'll go to a POW camp first Mr Chan.

And because I'm too bloody lazy to be interrogated by a customs officer for a carton of milk and a brick of cheese, a case of beer and a tank of gas I don't do what most of the people I know do, which is cross border shop. Which makes them think they have the right to say to me, "HOW much did you pay for those? You know you can get that at TOPS, KOHLS, or insert name of US store here ____________ for a buck fifty."
Smug buggers.

But the point of this is, I was strolling down the aisles in a  local Canadian grocery store this morning, which is normally too expensive for my tastes, but I just couldn't be bothered to be bothered and go another 2kms for a bargain at the cheaper grocery store, when  I almost keeled over. There on the shelves, stacked high and proud,  I saw a pack of 12 double sized toilet rolls for $21.99!!!!
My mouth fell open and I dutifully informed several other shoppers wheeling by, as they squeezed the various packages to determine softness.
"Have you SEEN the price of THESE?"

Nobody seemed to care. They were rating the bog rolls by 'quality' amount of sheets per roll, thickness, weight, length and God knows what else!
Have we lost our minds?
I saw an ad on TV for bog rolls the other day, there was some kind of philharmonic music playing while happy people looked content and (smug) with their choice of bog roll????  What is happening to us? Where's it all going to end?

 I would like to go on record here and now, for the 5 people that might drop by in the next 2 months before I post again, that I will never, EVER, as long as I HAVE a rear end, pay $21.99 for bog roll to wipe my rear end on! I will cross border shop before I do that!

Or, if I still can't be bothered to do that,  I'll hang squares of newspaper on a nail on the back of the door like me mother used to when I was a child. It will prepare me for the hardships of the forced labour camp to come.

:-)