Mother was right about the underwear

I just got back from my annual, two years in a row now, physical. Now that I am in my forties, it’s time to be responsible with one’s own health. Those that know me will be shocked to learn that I was a few minutes late and no sooner walked in than the nurse was out calling my name.

To me, that is just perfect timing. I really am responsible for putting her back on schedule. Plus, I didn’t need exert myself by sitting and then standing again so shortly after. Nurse Ratched needs to work on her bedside manner though.

“Shoes off” is all she said as she pointed to the scale.
“Do you exercise?” she asked. “Hello, look at me.” I thought. I simply answered in the affirmative.
“Do you smoke?” she asked. I answered in the negative.
“Drink?” She caught me off guard. Was this a continuation of the previous question? Or was she actually offering me a drink? I need to go to the doctor’s office more often. I took a shot “G&T” I said. “I’ll take that as a yes” was her reply as she ticked her little box.
I lost interest when my beverage was a no show so politely answered her questions and filled the cup when she handed it to me.

Hustling me into the exam room, she pointed at a robe and said everything EXCEPT (she was very emphatic on that point) your gitch comes off and that goes on. Off came my trousers, it was then I noticed what a sorry pair of underpants I had on. I call them broken in and comfortable. IronMan calls them tissue held together with an elastic band.

I decided that rather than face a man with ratty looking unmentionables, I would play dumb and go commando. He had to do the turn your head and cough and finger test anyway, surely he would ask me to remove them eventually.

Either way he wasn’t fazed. He told me I had put on weight since last year (there’s a reason not to go back next year) and then when I wasn’t all suited up after he had stepped out for about 30 seconds he thought he was all funny telling me it takes longer to dress as you get older. Not funny.

I was then sent to the lab for a needle jab, several vials of blood were sucked out and then I was on my back for an EKG. “This is the worst part” the technician said as she ripped the little tabs off the zones of my body. At least I had the foresight to manscape so there wasn’t much hair to pull on. Or pull off?

“I’ll call you if anything comes back”, so said my comedian doctor. That was it. No sucker for being a good patient? No G&T and no pat on the back. Mind you he did give me a poke in the backside, so I guess I'll have to make do with that.

They Paved Paradise.......

Today was a day of firsts. First day of my new job. Officially, I guess it makes more sense to say the last day of my last job as in a certain someone’s infinite wisdom it made sense to make me do two jobs for two weeks, but whatever. First day of not having my usual social network at work and first day attempting a new mode of transport to work. Yes, I took transit.

I convinced myself it was all very Sex and the City. Young(ish) girl in the big city starting out on a new adventure. Mind you, if it was really like the show I would have been taking a cab and not the Lakeshore Express bus, but still, for an extra $2.50 I felt above the riff-raff. Perhaps it was a little more Mary Tyler Moore. Alas, it was so nice out, I had no hat on my head which I could fling off in the middle of an intersection all the while dancing to my own theme song.

I have to say, RBC’s newest building is about as NY as Toronto gets. As Oscar Wilde said, it will be nice when it is finished. Keeping that in mind, it is a loft style environment. Floor to ceiling windows with automatic blinds that move with the sun, exposed beams, lots of concrete and every possible convenience you could want just an elevator ride away. Maybe not quite NYC, but definitely a step up from Mr.Grant and Minneapolis.

I felt like Carrie, even though I am a little more Charlotte (okay, a lot more) but wanted to be Samantha as I checked out all the Bay St. suits. Yummy. Miranda? Who dat?

Having many parcels from said former job in tow, I splurged for the comfy express bus on the way to work. Apres day of business, I met CJ and we went to visit our uncle in the hospital. After that, a bite to eat and a pitcher of beer ~ summer is here bitches!

As it was getting on in the evening, I thought it would be safe to take the streetcar home. A pleasant enough ride I must admit – I got a seat and no one spit in my mouth, unlike NY in the Spring! Crawling along Queens St., it occurred to me that my day of firsts was also a day, like all will be, of lasts. I saw the haunts of my youthful shenanigans being lost forever.

The 4 story fun house at the corner of Queen and Bathurst (you wanna see my pasties?) has been boarded up and looks slated for condos. The Boom Boom Room (good time Johnny) is a Hero Burger and another locale (the name escapes me) is now “Queen West’s hottest address” and there are only four suites left. At one point or another, it was the last time I passed through the doors of each but no more. Even if I wanted to, they are gone.

So here I sit, Kilkenny buzz fading fast. Glad to have set a ‘course for a new adventure’ (can you name that tune?) but looking forward at the same time to my last day….and early retirement!

How do you like me now?

Okay, so it wasn'tthe FIRST impression I made, but the first day on my new job did not go as well as one would have hoped. Thankfully it did not happen the day of the interview, or who knows where I would be!

Morning was all good. Met people, charmed them to death of course, cause that’s what me does don’t you know? My new boss even offered to take me for lunch! As it was raining, I grabbed my trusty Harrods’s umbrella and we hit the street.

In an effort to control my rain shield, as it is such a blustery day, I had the arm wresting on my shoulder and the ribs of it were actually rubbing against the back of my head. Arriving at the restaurant, I went to fold away my brolly, only to find it stuck to my head. My curly locks were caught in the mechanism and with my new boss staring at me with that “what the hell?” look, I gave it a yank and found freedom. I couldn’t bring myself to look inside it.

As the waitress showed us to our table, I bit my lip to stop from crying out in pain.

For the afternoon, I was sent off to meet various partners I will be working with in the future. When I met one of them, she said I looked familiar. After the “where have you worked game” we found out we went to the same high school and she was a friend of my sisters! Small world. I was thrilled when she suggested, as it was 4:00 o’clock, that we go for tea/coffee. “Divine” I thought to myself.

Tea in one hand, scone in the other, we were walking across the lobby of RBC Plaza, north tower, and I, clearly not paying attention, rounded a large planter and into the end of a very low bench.

Tea, meet floor. Scone, meet floor. Robert, bloody shin included, meet the floor. And let me tell you, there are just as many people in that lobby at that time of day as you would think and none of them were too quick with the help either!

I would have pointed and laughed if it had been someone else (after checking if they were okay first) so I tried to laugh it off. Not wanting to make an even worse impression, I saved pulling up my pant leg for some private time in the bathroom. Not pretty. These pants are definitely going to the dry cleaner.

Shaking it off, I went home looking forward to Thursday night with the boys. A walk over in the rain would clear my head. But no, my Wellingtons kept waking back on my new scabby bruise. So it was more like a limp in the rain with a bald patch on the back of your head……not the best day.

My Kingdom For a Piece of Cheese

Further evidence was discovered this morning that validates my theory that things happen in three’s. Last year, three garage sales – one, two, three…$1200 for our trip to France. Last year, one, two, three days of good weather for the aforementioned sales.

I fear this season’s trend….one sale, one crappy weather day and lower than usual sales. On the plus side we did manage to off load a microwave, rare at any garage sale, and loads of lower value bric-a-brac items. However, the higher ticket, larger space consuming pieces stubbornly remain.

Our take of $170 barely covers one piece of cheese for CJ! Although, now that she has the straight bear, perhaps she won’t be so easily persuaded by cute French cheesemongers!

I hope next week’s long range forecast is accurate – twice as hot, half the wind and, please Lord, four times the customers!

Take Good Care Now

I guess when they say things come in three’s, they mean everything. Good or bad, right or wrong, it seems to follow that pattern. In the case of the Mitchell family, we currently have dad going through his chemo, Uncle NDP having had major surgery on his jaw and our Uncle Gord who passed away last weekend. That last one isn’t a health problem any more per se, but it definitely precipitated it.

As indicated in my previous posts, I am not adverse to a good funeral. And as long as there is a women’s auxiliary waiting in the church basement, I am pretty much assured that it will be “good”.

Uncle Gord’s funeral had all the trimmings – CJ, having held herself together for most of the day, bursting into tears upon hearing the first note of Amazing Grace, several elders confusing my niece’s boyfriend for her brother (despite their constant hugging and hand holding) and, of course, sandwiches!

At first I was a little worried. “Immediate family” were invited to the graveyard for the internment and was confused as to whether or not that included me. Being assured that it was spouse, kids and brothers and sisters, my tummy (and therefore mind) turned to food.

The hall in the Presbyterian Church was set up just as I had hoped. Under the lovely shine of saran, I saw that which I coveted most ~ funeral sandwiches and squares. There were tuna, salmon, egg (yummy) and roast beef. Shockingly on the light side, was the much sought after cream cheese and cucumber.

Given my uncle’s popularity, I was a little uneasy when I noted that there were only four trays of the delicacies. Cabernet and I chatted as we waited for the “immediates” to return. Apparently, saran is like a magical force field, enforcing good manners in social settings. Hungry yes, but we wouldn’t dare push it aside and chow down before the family did.

Having joined us, grace over, it was go time. Plates in hand, we started up the line and then, someone waved us over to meet some long lost step-cousins children or some such thing. I know, I know, people first, things (sandwiches included) second. But come on, these were primo!

My anxiety eased when I saw the fine ladies of the auxiliary returning to replenish the depleted platters. My brave, or perhaps foolish, niece, tried some odd looking sandwich that had pink, not salmon either, but Pepto-Bismol pink, filling. It only took one bite for her to decide that it was not for her.

Odd or not, I do not waste such a treat, so I finished it for her. I have to say, at first I thought it was strawberries and something, but after spitting a cherry pit into my hand, I verified the source of said sweetness. Mother said she hadn’t had that "treat" for years and loved it as a child. “It” is cream cheese with mashed maraschino cherries. Yes, it tastes as gross as it sounds.

In the end, we all had our fill, and more importantly, it is so much easier to recognise such things on a full stomach, shared many memories of Uncle Gord and had a good ol’ visit with people we don’t get to see enough of.

Uncle Gord, you will be missed.