The Pits and Pieces

  Have you increasingly felt you’ve lost your ability to focus? That the distractions keep coming at you? You’re not alone. And it’s not you. It is by design. Yes, the tech giants WANT to keep you online on that ‘infinite scroll’. STOLEN FOCUS by JOHANN HARI is carefully researched as he delves into how our society is losing its ability to think deeply. And at a time when we need it most.   With the speed of everything coming at us, what we do is ‘scan and skim’, leaning towards the simpler stories, the quick bites, the sparkly bits. We absorb less and less. But what is chilling is: this is the INTENTION of the algorithm design. To keep us scrolling online, liking and arguing, while they collect data on us, to…of course, sell more to us, because it’s all about ‘economic growth’.   HARI’s research into this book led him to many experts and social scientists in the field and the revelations that the algorithms on social media encourage us to ‘condemn more, understand less’.    Because

    Two planes, two trains and two buses took me from Toronto to Madrid, Malaga, Granada, Cordoba and home again.   While traveling and exploring, eating and enjoying art, culture, history and, on this trip, one tennis event, part of me always asks myself: Why do I travel? Why leave the comfort zone of home, the familiar routines, the place where you know who you are - and step out into the unknown?   It’s a question I ask myself each time and I’m not sure I have the exact answer.   Apart from the obvious expense, travel can evoke some anxiety as you navigate foreign places and modes of transportation, getting from one place to another (especially solo) in a country where you know no one and don’t speak the language other than a few basic phrases.    I do have part of the answer to my self-imposed question: I believe for me travel is about enriching my life experience, expanding my world and satisfying my curiosity. And in the process, absorbing different cultures, tast

  We’re not beacons of wisdom just because we’re older. To prove that  my post today is about small things that sometimes occupy my mind. *   Is it a sign of aging when we become increasingly irritated by the thoughtless behaviour of others? Does it shrink our world to notice and be annoyed by such things? It’s Saturday morning and I arrive at my club for my weekly doubles match. I walk towards the little bay area where my locker is situated. I know what to expect. It’s always the same. Strewn on the floor around my locker, jutting out into the hallway sits a huge gym bag, shoes, a coffee cup, various bits and pieces, towels, all in a sprawling, unsightly heap on the floor. Across the aisle, also spilling out into the narrow hallway sits a similar pile. I grit my teeth and try to shove aside a portion with my foot as I sidle up to my locker. The two owners of the gigantic piles of possessions, saunter from the shower area, towels wrapped around their waists, chatting at high volu

  Despair:   over humanity and the atrocities we can inflict upon each other, upon innocent children. Disheartened:   over the divisiveness that prevails. If one asks for humanity, then one is called out for being anti something else, or of being ignorant of the facts and history. If one says nothing, one is deemed insensitive. Everybody talking, shouting over each other, no one listening. Everyone convinced of the ‘rightness’ of their words and viewpoints. And meanwhile, children are either dying or condemned to a lifetime of post-war trauma. Horrified:   over how a world can watch a war that is raging on innocent civilians. Self-defense is the act of protecting oneself. But, for how long and by what barbaric means?   Does a heinous act justify more brutality? Sadness:   over the tragedy on each side, the hostages, the families, the man from Gaza who was interviewed on CBC and who said he regrets bringing children into the world, into Gaza, because he cannot protect them. Those we

  Since I moved here almost 7 years ago, I have taken numerous pictures of spectacular sunrises. They fill an album in my phone, creating ‘memories’. But why keep them all? Why do we store so many pictures on our phones and rarely look at them? Same for keepsakes tucked away in cardboard boxes. Memories occur when we reach back into our minds and hearts and re-live an event from the past. But with smart phones, memories now seem to live outside of ourselves. They’ve been outsourced . Here are your memories, our phones tell us. Here – have a taste of sunrise from 2021 and a serving of Christmas solitude from 2020 along with a side of pasta in Italy in 2018. Memories are within us, there to be recalled at will or triggered organically and unexpectedly by a smell, a glimpse, a taste, a phrase, a song. They’re not meant to be served up to me on a platter. That’s not how it works. But we’ve willingly bought into this new definition and processing of memories, and I can’t decide whethe

  This week I commuted into the office after about two years. Before COVID, I was already working from home three days a week, into the office for two. Around November of 2021, I returned to the office briefly a few times before reverting to solely work-from-home. But this past Wednesday – a commute back to the cubicle farm. And what a shock to my system it was. The drive to the train station in the still dark early morning, the crowded commuter train, the even more crowded subway platform and subway car. Commuters’ habits haven’t changed much: everyone eyes down on their phone, people blocking the doors on subways, backpacks bumping into you and all, without exception, looking as if they would rather be anywhere other than where they were. I took a walk at lunchtime and was surprised at the changes in the area – a new IKEA store, cranes, buildings demolished, restaurants closed, others opened, the smell of cannabis wafting everywhere. At the end of the day, I walked (lugging laptop)

  This is my sewing kit. Yes, it is, laugh if you must. Inside an old ice-cream container sits: one pin cushion, a soft tape measure, a few spools of thread, some random buttons, a packet of needles (unopened), and those iron-on hemming strips. I believe the pin cushion belonged to my mother. I’m not sure how it made its way to me. I don’t sew. A full five years or more after I moved here, while searching for a flexible measuring tape, I realized this sewing kit was still sitting in a cardboard box in my storage locker. It dawned on me . . . yeah, once upon a time I think I had a sewing kit. As you’ve deduced, my sewing skills are non-existent. My mother once had a sewing machine (the kind you cranked by hand) and attempted to teach me and my sister to use it, but I quickly abandoned the idea. Same for embroidery and knitting. I had one piece of embroidery that I dragged along with me for a few grades when we had ‘sewing class’ in school (restricted to the girls while the boys played

  Hello October. Fall is the season of change, of letting go. * This past week I had lunch with a friend who recently left a job where she was overworked and underpaid. She is close to me in age stuck it out in this job for a few years. But, as she just acknowledged to herself and me, she allowed the situation, allowed them to take advantage of her, didn’t stand up enough, and got sucked into believing she was indispensable, giving her ego a boost, but not her paycheck. As with so many conversations I have with older women these days, at this stage in life, we increasingly ask ourselves if this is how we want to spend our days. And these questions often bring a shift, a change, a movement towards that which fills our heart with joy. Sometimes the questions don’t have easy answers as we delve into why we remain in a situation, be it a job or partnership or friendship or living situation.   The obvious answer may not be the true answer; the obvious answer may be one that we have

  The Netflix series Blue Zones examines areas in the world where there is a higher concentration of centenarians (people who live to 100 or more). And what are their secrets?  It breaks it down into 4 categories: 1.        Eat wisely. Many eat foods that are mostly plant- based and  come from the earth nearby. Also – eat until you’re only about 80% full. 2.        Have a purposeful outlook on life. A Plana Vida . They wake up each day knowing there is something they will do. But they also have a lack of stress, or if they do, it is very short-lived. They work hard, in short, concentrated hours, and then they rest and enjoy life. Contrast this with how we sit at our desks from 9 to 5, even eating lunch there, the keyboard collecting weeks of crumbs. 3.        Move naturally. No gyms for them, but they’re walking everywhere, often uphill; they chop wood and lift heavy pails, ride horses, grind food by hand. No gym membership or machines or weights required. Movement is part of the

  September has always seemed like the start of a new year, especially if you’ve had kids going back to school. But even once my child grew up and moved out, I still get that new-start-to-the-year feeling after Labour Day. A new year implies new beginnings, new goals, new challenges, new routines and learning. But, does it really have to be? What if we focused on what we already have and dug deeper? Or . . . tried to unlearn habits and beliefs we’ve held onto that no longer serve us? Over the past three years I’ve taken up a lot of new things which bring me joy and fulfillment. I’m not sure I have room in my days for more. What if I spent my energy going deeper instead of casting my net wider? On a recent podcast, I listened to an interview with a woman who is 102, Dr. Gladys McGarey , a doctor who still has a 10-year plan. She advocates giving wild energy to your life, not pulling back on the things you love doing just because you’re getting older. I love the idea of spending your

  Dear Blog Reader Who would have thought, when I took blog school  almost two years ago, that I would still be here. When I signed up, spontaneously, without much thought, I had no idea that one of the requirements was that you actually had to HAVE a blog site, and as part of the sessions, you would be required to post actual blogs! I’d blithely assumed that the course would be all theory that I could put into practice later . . .   or not. If I had known I’d be expected to write blog posts right away, every few days . . . well, I would have dithered, and not signed up. But once Kerry Clare told me I was in, and what was required, I quickly set up a site, and . . . 99 posts later . . .   here I am with # 100. Photo from Unsplash And who are you out there, reading this blog site? Other than a few regulars, I don’t know who the readers are. So, why do I keep writing these posts? What have I written about? Mostly ponderings and observations about life as an aging woman, friendsh