The Pits and Pieces

  You know those things that need to be done, and yet you keep putting them off? But they niggle away at you, in the dusty corners of your mind. I checked some of those things off that list recently: -           Get my mammogram done. You probably don’t want to read about that. -           A long overdue eye exam -           Get my fingerprint search done. Yes, you read that right. As part of my job, I periodically need to get my fingerprints taken for a criminal record search. So there – you have assurance that your faithful blogger is a law-abiding citizen. But you knew that already, didn’t you? I may have episodes of crankiness, or rant occasionally at my fellow citizens. But I’m a rule-follower by nature. Occasionally I’ve been known to jay-walk, but that’s the extent of my rule-breaking. At the OPP centre, two lovely officers, one m...

I will admit I picked up this memoir based solely on the words “...In Spain” in the title. Having recently returned from Spain, I was eager to read about someone else’s experience in that country. I checked it out of my local library even as I asked myself: What could I possibly find in common with a US ambassador’s wife? How could her experience resonate with mine? The answer: it didn’t. Not in the teeniest, tiniest way. I do not like to give bad book reviews, because I know that writing a book, putting it out there, is tough, vulnerable work. I also do not like giving up on books, although I was tempted many times with this one. But while reading this, it took me down a path of questions, not the least of which being: What on earth was this book doing on the shelves at my local Oakville library? That it was there said it had garnered some attention and readership. Why? Only because she was an ambassador’s wife?  I’ve heard it said that there is almost no market for quiet mem...

  Why do we challenge ourselves and to what lengths will we go to achieve our desired outcomes? Who are we when we step outside our zones of comfort and familiarity? Alerted to the documentary “Aftershock” by a friend who knows my love for mountains, I watched all three episodes in one sitting. The documentary is about the earthquake in Nepal in April 2015, that caused massive avalanches and destruction, with a huge loss of life – 9,000 people. I watched, enthralled, appalled, heart racing, and in awe at the sheer magnificence and power of the mountains. To quote one of the Nepalis, “In Sherpa culture, every mountain signifies God .” They respect mountains as if they were their mothers. Yet, many Westerners treat Everest as some kind of personal achievement, an item to be ticked off a bucket list, a challenge to be wrestled with and overcome. Human relationships with mountains are varied, the reasons for scaling them complex. Everest base camp is crowded, littered with tents ...

It’s October, my very favourite month of the year. How can you not love October with the explosion of colour outside our windows? The trees ablaze with crimsons, oranges, yellows, reds.  I was on a zoom book launch the other day. It was a book about midlife ( Navigating the Messy Middle by Ann Douglas), which I have not yet read (I've ordered it) so I cannot comment on the book. However, the topic, women in midlife, is one that interests me greatly.  The host made a comment on midlife that struck me. She said midlife was more about what there is to be revealed than about what is disappearing. She likened it to trees in the fall when the vibrant colours are revealed. The vibrancy is not something that is suddenly created. It was always there, but the loss of the green now reveals these wonderful hues. That is what midlife is all about, isn’t it?  It is not about bemoaning the loss of green. It is about revealing the layers and depths that have built up over the ...

  My recent trip to the northern part of Spain was different from other trips I’ve taken in the past (pre-COVID). The hiking and eating portions might have been similar, but the learning part was so different, and so welcome and interesting.  Of course, it helped that the school (Peak Me) was in a small town (Panes) in Spain, nestled in the breathtaking Picos mountains, and that our class comprised a small group of five compatible people: a lovely couple from Wales who had walked many caminos in Spain, a widow from London, a widower from Seattle who had bicycled in Germany before arriving in Panes, and myself, from Canada. There was another small class next door, more advanced, with an American couple from New York and two Swiss women. Picos de Europa Some of us, myself included, were staying in apartments a ten-minute walk from the school, and three in a hotel. The two groups sometimes intersected on the afternoon hikes and in restaurants and bars. On the afternoon walk with ...