The Glory of Autumn and All Those Leaves

I read that our autumn colours are going to be disappointing this year because of the weather patterns. What they should have said was that there may not be the usual vivid, jewel toned panorama that takes your breath away, but the glory of autumn can be found in smaller doses, as long as you open your eyes to it.

For me, autumn is one young sugar maple tree; barely twenty feet tall in my yard. That one tree will turn an amazing rainbow of colours for me. It will make me wonder yet again how a green tree can turn so many different shades of red, peach, gold and orange.

Then one leaf will fall, and my attitude will change. Two leaves and my muscles shake. Three and the bottle of Advil rolls towards me. A heady gust of wind comes and just like that, the trees are nearly naked and my rake is banging itself against the shed door, dying to come out and play. This must be why autumn is also called fall. This is where the glory of autumn ends for me.

After waiting as long as I possibly can to put off this chore, I make it out to the shed. The door creaks eerily as I open it. My hair blows around my face as the wind kicks up again. I turn and watch more leaves fall. I look back at my rake and cringe. It growls at me, hungry for exercise. I put on my gloves. The rake jumps up in anticipation, shaking off the cobwebs of a quiet month or two.

I look at the wooden handle, so eager to be in my hands. “Now listen,” I sternly tell my rake. “I’ve got only so much muscle power, patience and skin thickness on my hands. As soon as I reach the end of my play list on my MP3 player, you’re going back in the shed, got it?” The rake jumps into my hand in acquiescence of my rules. I plug in my earphones, press play and let the rake drag me unwillingly to the back yard.

When looking at an expanse of lawn the size of ours, with the gorgeous trees dropping thousands of leaves, I feel helpless. Where do I start? Should I do a pattern? A bunch of small piles? Is that my phone ringing? Is someone here? Maybe I’d better go check. The rake begs to differ and digs its tines into the dirt. Fine.

I plough ahead and groove to the tunes plugged into my ears. I make it fun, dancing as I rake for what seems like days, and only when my arms scream for a break do I stop. I am proud. My pile is huge. I turn around and realize I’ve barely started. I sigh. The wind blows. The leaves fall again. My pile scatters and the rake laughs. I’m done for now, because tomorrow I have to go buy a new rake.

 

Flickr Tags: autumn,fall,leaves,fall colours,rake,laughter,funny,life Lessons,random

Not So Good Things. . .

I am a positive person. It’s in my blood. It’s always half-full and things are always great and can only go downhill if I allow them to. It happens sometimes.

Sometimes, I just want to lift my middle finger high in the air for all to see, just so they know I feel, how cranky I am that my life isn’t as sunny as I’d like it to be.

But here’s the rub. Beyond the middle finger, sometimes I am so perplexed by human behaviour that it makes me want to cry – because there is nothing I can do about it.

What can I do about the high school kids that think so little of life that a gun and death to others are the only answer? What can I do or say to the parents that don’t know their kids at all – that can let their kids go so far into the dark that they would take their own lives?

What can I do when this happens again and again through history?

What can we do?

What can I do about the tornadoes that take lives? What can I do about toddlers ripped from their mother's arms only to die, cold and broken miles away?

What can I do when the whole nation mourns Whitney Houston (as I did), but doesn’t mourn the domestic violence in our world, the poverty, the war, the genocide and starvation?

How can I get through to the people that hate a president but won’t give him a chance to make the change the U.S. so desperately needs?

Monday blues, that’s what it is. I am weeping for a world I feel helpless to change, yet my corner of the planet is a wonderful, blessed life where my biggest complaint is that there is  nothing good on television.

What can we do?

 

Technorati Tags: Whitney Houston,Obama,High School Shooting,Tornadoes

Sunday Good Things–Add Your Own!

Saturday’s Good Things

 

Friday Good Things

 

Ponderings from “The Secret”

Really, it’s no secret – it’s common sense, and it’s what God intends for us. Please read on:

“So often when things change in our lives, we have such a resistance to the change. This is because when people see a big change appearing they are often fearful that it is something bad. But it is important to remember that when something big changes in our lives, it means something better is coming. There cannot be a vacuum in the universe, so as something moves out, something must come in and replace it. When change comes, relax, have TOTAL FAITH, and know that the change (God has) is ALL GOOD.

Something more magnificent is coming to you!”

--Rhonda Byrne

Flickr Tags: secret,common sense,improvement,change,faith,God,good,future

Just A Few Things To Be Happy About . . .

Music in the air. . .

Reading all night and sleeping all morning. . .

Watching the same television shows or movies with someone even when you’re not together. . .

Steaming cups of hot tea and warm scones to go with them . . .

New shoes . . .

Having a marvellous drink in a glamorous place before going to the theater to sit in the cheap seats. . .

LIKE it if any of these things can bring a smile to your face.

Hey Bachelor Fans!

If you love or hate ABC’s The Bachelor, you will enjoy the best episode re-cap out there. Succinct and sarcastic – chances are you will get a laugh.

From The Hollywood Gossip

http://www.thehollywoodgossip.com/2011/01/the-bachelor-recap-black-eyes/

Yesterday, the Universe Pooped On Me.

First, the dog (read, idiot) went out for his morning run while Peter fetched the paper – wait – the dog fetched, Peter retrieved. But Chip is a Labrador Retriever, so why doesn’t he just get the paper?

Because that idiot dog would rather roll in poop.

How do I find out about it? Ah, the good part.

I'm fresh from bed, dressed in my warmies and thinking about toast and an ice-cold glass of milk when Chip comes up for his morning "OMG it's Joyce it's JOYCE! I worship JOYCE!!”

He runs through my legs as I go to scratch his back. I realize  my pants leg is wet and look down. And see a lovely smear of . . .

Green, unidentifiable, poop.

Good. Freakin’. Morning.

I shriek, as is my favourite thing to do first thing in the morning. I chase the dog away, ripping the clothes from my body, shuddering and gasping and trying not to imagine what type of animal that had effectively just marked me.

Friggin’ GROSS!

Chip got a Palmolive and cold-hose bath immediately.

Then, I get to my office downstairs, where my cat has spent the night. Across the top of my desk is a nice little trail of mouse droppings, courtesy of number one and number two.

Sigh. My pets are SO fired.

I just knew it was going to

Flickr Tags: animals,cats,dogs,comedy,funny,pets,nature,life

be one of those days.

Trying to Change Someone. . . Just Stop.

“A Secret Scrolls message from Rhonda Byrne
Creator of The Secret

From The Secret Daily Teachings

Trying to change someone is a waste of time. The very thought of changing someone is saying that they are not good enough as they are, and it is soaked with judgment and disapproval. That is not a thought of appreciation or love, and those thoughts will only bring separation between you and that person.

You must look for the good in people to have more of it appear. As you look only for the good things in a person, you will be amazed at what your new focus reveals.

May the joy be with you,

Rhonda Byrne
The Secret... bringing joy to billions “

101 Years Young. . . Leslie Menyasz, My Father-In-Law. . .

Can I get an amen?

Yes, we celebrated Dr. Leslie Menyasz's 101st birthday on Sunday, June 13th, 2010. In honour of his staying power, I am re-posting his story, that I was lucky enough to write and get  published just more than a year ago in our local paper.

“June 13^th, 1909. That day was just a little more than 100 years ago. That was also the day my husband’s father was born in Hungary.

On Saturday June 13^th, 2009 we celebrated Dr. Laszlo Joseph Menyasz’s 100^th birthday. Even writing it looks surreal. One hundred years is a long time to view life and the world around you. My father-in-law Leslie still looks at his world through smiling eyes. I wish I could climb in his head and see things as he sees them, as only a man who has lived for one century can see this world.

1909. The Austria-Hungary-Serbia Pig War had just ended, although it would ultimately be one of the causes of World War I. Instant coffee was invented. Lifesavers, neon lamps and talking motion pictures had not been invented yet. A blouse cost 45 cents.

And here’s my father-in-law, learning to live. Learning to walk, talk and survive. A little baby boy that had no idea what he would learn, see and survive in his amazing life.

Leslie was a very smart young man who studied to become an ear, nose and throat doctor. His choice of profession would not only heal others, but it would eventually prove to be a skill so valuable it would save his own life.

Dr. Menyasz joined the armed forces in Hungary to serve as a doctor during World War II. He was taken prisoner in Yugoslavia by the Russians and was taken to an interment camp. A prisoner of war, his medical skill may be all that saved his life. The Russians found him valuable enough to keep alive, although he suffered the starvation and horrible conditions that came with those camps during WWII.

In 1949 Leslie met and married Kathleen. In 1952, their only child Peter was born. Dr. Menyasz had set up a nice practice in Budapest and family life was happy.

At the end of WWII, the Russians liberated Hungary. It was soon apparent that liberation was really domination under tight communist rule. Led by a group of students in 1956, a spontaneous Hungarian Revolution ensued. Freedom fighters fought hard, but Russian tanks fought harder.

The Menyasz family was no longer safe. There was no choice but to flee Hungary and start life over again.

In 1956, Dr. Laszlo Menyasz took his wife and sedated child with nothing but the clothes on their backs and fled Hungary. The stories Leslie used to tell are amazing. The survival. The fear, the sheer determination to make a better life for his small family.

They landed in Halifax, Nova Scotia, like so many other immigrants that year. The Menyasz family settled in Saskatchewan and began their lives over again. Dr. Menyasz updated his medical education to start a practice in Canada, and built a very successful practice that he later moved (with his family!) to Abbotsford, BC.

Of course,  Peter grew into an amazing young man (I’m totally objective).

And now, here we are, celebrating Leslie’s 100^th birthday. With family, with friends, and with others who fled Hungary during those turbulent times. And still we learn more from them.

It’s impossible to cover everything Leslie has seen through the length of his years. But it does astound me. A century of life, and he’s still doing great. Now, if only I could decipher what his sweet smile really means. . . Happy 100^th birthday, Leslie!”

And happy 101st birthday Leslie!

Flickr Tags: aging,Hungary,family,100 years old,immigrant,centurian

Too Good Not to Share the Knowledge. . .

“A Secret Scrolls message from Rhonda Byrne
Creator of The Secret

From The Secret Daily Teachings

Look for the gifts in everything, especially when you are facing what appears to be a negative situation. Everything that we attract causes us to grow, which means that ultimately everything is for our own good.

Adjusting to a new path and a new direction will require new qualities and strengths, and these qualities are always exactly what we need to acquire in order to accomplish the great things ahead in our life.

May the joy be with you,

Rhonda Byrne
The Secret... bringing joy to billions “

http://www.thesecret.tv

Holy Wow, Aging Has Finally Caught Me!

 

Okay – so I’m going to be 45 this year. Forty-freakin’-five.

A couple of weeks ago, I was primping in front of the mirror when a noticeably lighter hair popped up and said hello. Blonde? Nope. Gray. Gray gray gray.

My first reaction? Cool! I’ve finally earned these two badges of honour. Yes, only two, but obviously they’ve talked and have decided to colonize.

I stepped back. Then I stepped closer to the mirror. I tried to separate the grays from the herd of healthy brunette strands but they are wily little creatures. I knew not to pluck them. Someone told me once that if you pluck your gray hairs, the souls of the gray hairs to come get really angry and decide to move in to your scalp earlier, and in massive replacement numbers. So, no plucking.

But how did I feel about these hairs? I mean really, how do we feel when we notice our first gray hair?

One of my namesakes, Cousin Joy, had a beautiful head of amazing silver hair – just shiny and bountiful and a really striking colour – not gray or washed out – but singing with silver, you know what I mean? Her silver hair came in when she was younger, but it arrived on her head with a red carpet and some paparazzi for all to see and pay attention to those beautiful silver locks.

Nope. Don’t think that’s me.

I didn’t cover the gray – I actually went straight to my husband and said “Look what you’ve done to me!”

He then pointed to his sexily silvered temples and said “Would you care to explain how YOU did all this, then?”

Yes, I kissed him soundly and scampered out of the room before I started confessing.

So – gray hair. That was the beginning. Now I look down and I see my mom’s hands when she was my age. I can see where my laugh lines are laying their blueprints, and suddenly there’s a sparse moustache to contend with. Sigh. My muscles hurt when I do silly things. I can actually injure my back while petting the cat.

But here’s what I think about all this aging stuff (today anyway). We all seem to get better looking as we age – up to a point when you start resembling a great big grown-up, wrinkled baby – but more importantly - WE ALL AGE!

Go ahead and spend thousands on pretending to stop your aging – you could start as early as 23 like Heidi Montag – the idiot who ruined her already pretty face and body. IDIOT!

Or, be like me – use the stuff that keeps you healthy and feeling good. Tell yourself that your concealer is really working and that your pores are still as tiny as a baby’s. Put a little more colour in your hair and a little more lotion on your hands – and tell yourself that age is just a state of mind . . .

Keep repeating until you believe it.

Then, when you step away from the mirror, don’t move to fast or you might hurt your aging back.

If that doesn’t work – start hanging out with really old people and you will feel like that young hot thing that you still are. . . it’s just that you’ve been around the wine cellar once or twice, youknowwhatImean?

Italian Espresso Roasting, California Style

I’d like to introduce you to Ellie.

Ellie is 51 and roasts her own E-Bay bought coffee beans in her back yard.

Okay, that may not sound like too much excitement, but a lucky (I’m sure – chosen - even) few were privy to her secrets and the tools of her trade. I will start by using the one sentence that Ellie started the whole process with as she took us to her back yard picnic table. “This is a simple process.” Remember that.

First, Ellie shows us a 1950’s caramel corn maker, with an agitator at the bottom to keep things moving. She plugs in a digital thermometer and tells us she’s just going to warm things up a bit.

Next, she drops raw coffee beans (no taste, no smell that I can discern) into the contraption until the agitator starts moving back wards. She pulls out about a dozen beans, because the agitator shows you how many beans to put in by its movement. Huh?

Ellie then puts the lid on her home-made roaster and tells us that the beans will go through a series of smells, none of them pleasant. She also tells us that we are waiting to hear the first crack of the beans as they are roasting. Simple? What?

Ellie explained that as the beans heat, they crack (it sounds like popcorn), but this is only the first crack. And Ellie is right; the beans smell like they are burning. Not a nice aroma at all. In fact, based on the smell, I could give up coffee completely.

Now that the first crack and three or four acrid smells have assaulted our nostrils, Ellie says we are waiting for the second crack of the beans, which is, by the way, a very distinctive sound that is quite different from the first crack.

I ask why these husk like things are flying all over. Ellie shows us the (simple) holes she’s drilled into her roasting machine, so the chaff flies out. The holes are bigger than the chaff, so it can easily separate itself from the beans.

I don’t know about you, but I think chaff flying out of any size hole sounds like a bad thing, and about this time, I think I have landed in the Ozarks at a distillery of one of my Hatfield ancestors.

The second crack has come and gone (not that I heard anything) and now our nostrils are being assailed with an amazing aroma that makes my brain scream ‘give me coffee NOW!’

After the beans have been cooled with a shop-vac colander contraption, the beans are ready. They find their way to the grinder, to the percolator, to my cup. And Ellie, here’s to you, for one of the best cups of coffee I have ever tasted. But girl, that process is anything but simple.

From 1/3/2007

Weights and Treadmills and Personal Trainers, Oh My!

(A re-post of a favourite of mine. Thanks for the indulgence.)

When I was in my twenties, the gym was a place to see and be seen. Sure, we went to work out, but at the time, it was more about how cute the boys looked in their muscle shirts, and how colour coordinated we were in our gym attire.

Now, my metabolism is on permanent vacation, and my body is telling me that it’s quite happy to lead the sedentary lifestyle. My mind is slightly mutinous and tends to side with my body, telling me that laying around isn’t such a bad thing, that it helps with cell regeneration and stuff.

However tempting that may sound, if I don’t fight the laziness, the ease of sinking into that perfect corner of the comfy couch, I’ll soon become a part of the furniture and Peter will never find me again, until I give him clues with general demands to bring me an iced cap from Timmy’s before Paradise Falls comes on.

And so I joined the gym. The day I signed away a year of my life I went in all proud and strong and a little too loud “I want to join the gym!” I think I was loud enough to squelch the inner screaming of my muscles, cringing in fear. I think I startled the girl behind the desk.

After getting my card, I asked for a training session and was told that I could meet with a trainer the following Thursday. I decided to use the treadmill until then, because all of the other machines look like bionic octopi or something. At the end of my 45 minutes, I thought “I can do this, it’s not so bad.” I kept visiting the treadmill until my appointment, thinking I was going to show that trainer, after I’d built up a week’s worth of cardio.

And that’s where it all went horribly, scarily wrong.

She is way too cute and perky. Her smile lights up the room, and she is as bouncy and energetic as a 6-month-old pup. I loved her and hated her on sight, and kind of wanted to rub her belly. But mostly, I hoped I could catch some of her vibe, so I could build up some excitement for the hell she was about to put me through.

And she did her best, smiling the whole time. Hell started with the legs, then went to the arms, the back, the abs, and, Lord help me, there’s a machine that helped me do my very first pull up. She ADDED it to my routine because she was so proud of me.

I felt like I kept up pretty well. I only sat the wrong direction on two machines, because her way just didn’t make sense. When I fight a bionic octopus, I want to be able to face it. The trainer won. I did it her way. And the octopus won.

I’ve got to go change now. I’ve got a harpoon and some chum, and a bionic octopus to conquer.

Daily Travels and Things I Saw

Seriously, I know our world isn’t quite this sad. Although both scenes depicted images that could be interpreted as distasteful, sacrilegious and possibly disrespectful, I leave it to you to decide.

Me? I thought totally hilarious on both counts. Gotta love the creativity of the human race.

 

Totally dig this ride. You can’t see the detail – and although the windows are scary black, as in – can’t-see-inside-so-there-might-actually-BE-a-body-in-there black, I’m pretty sure this is a non-servicing Hearse. The center of the hub caps sport some pretty sweet skulls that I am sure would sparkle in the sun had it not been hidden behind the clouds. I hope I get to see this Hearse when the owner has finished his vision. I would call Pimp My Ride for this bad boy – oh yes I would.

Now seriously – how can you NOT laugh at this? On the side of  an overpass in Smiths Falls. Hey, we know who will prevail in the end, but it’s nice to know someone is pulling for the pigeons.

People are Funny

You know easy it is to get to road rage, right? You don’t have to own a particularly nasty temper or a short fuse – you just have to, oh – I don’t know. . . drive a car. . . eventually, it will happen.

Say you’re driving on a country road, no cars anywhere. There’s a utility truck pulled off the side of the road about 50 yards ahead and a stoplight about 20 yards past him. All told, a pretty nice drive.

Until the utility truck decides he needs to get ahead of me at that red light and whips a u-turn to shoot in front of me and slam on his brakes. My purse flies off the seat and I curse in Disney language.

Since I am somewhat polite, I don’t do the clichéd finger-flipping and name calling and honking. Instead I shake my head while he watches me in his side mirror. I hope I am channelling the what-on-earth-did-that-get-you-buddy-I-am-so-disappointed-and-your-momma-would-be-too look. I continue to shake my head as he lumbers forward at the green light. And you know he’s lumbering, because really, what good would it do for it to be a fast truck that was worried about getting behind a little ol’ Dodge?

Oh, and I might add that I could understand his urgency if there were a pile of cars behind me. Nobody can be blamed for wanting to beat a long line of traffic. But NO, there was no other traffic. Of course not.

So in my head, I am running the litany of complaints about general incompetence.

After several miles the road became two-lanes. There was a car in front of me. I was parallel to utility man. The light, about 50 yards away, was about to turn yellow.

Oh yes, I took my chance.

Butted right in front of him like he did to me and coasted to a smooth stop in front of him at the red light.

I see hand gestures in my rear-view mirror and know what he’s saying, though I don’t think it’s sign language.

And it made me laugh. He saw me laugh in the mirror, and it made him laugh.

I stuck my hand out the window and gave him the finger. Okay, not really – I gave him a thumbs up. He returned with a thumbs up as well, knowing I’d technically won that little round of road sarcasm.

If only we could take all of life’s little annoyances and turn them into laughter.

Date Night Gourmet – CHICKEN PAPRIKASH WITH NOKEDLI

Peter and I have decided we’re going to have a ‘gourmet’ night once a week. Now this doesn’t mean we’re trying to cook our way through Bon Appétit or anything snobby like that, but I did discover something about my husband that I didn’t know.

Peter and I were talking about cooking Hungarian Paprika chicken for dinner, and we went looking for the recipe in our recipe cupboard.

Do any of you have a cupboard, or a drawer, or a folder where you put all your recipes? The ones you tear from magazines or the newspaper – with those good intentions of trying them out some day?

Yes, ours is a cupboard. And in this cupboard is a blue binder. In this binder are about 200 pages of college-ruled notebook paper. On on this notepaper, front and back, painstakingly printed in efficient handwriting are recipes. Recipes for all kinds of meals, from all sort of places. Recipes that are alphabetized and cross-indexed and organized.

How had I been married to this guy for all these years and have never opened that binder? How did I not know that he’d gone through the trouble of collecting all these recipes?

Truthfully, this binder makes my Philly Cream Cheese box top recipes look rather pathetic.

When I asked Peter about the binder, he didn’t think it was such a big deal – but I did. He’d written all these recipes down after collecting them. He’d done it when he lived in Vancouver more than 20 years ago. He’d prepared a few recipes housed in this binder, but most were still untested.

And that’s when we decided. Time to test some recipes. And after we test them, we’ll share them with you.

Maybe you’d like to cook with your favourite person or people. The best part – besides the so-far-so-good gastrointestinal pleasure, is that Peter and I are having fun.

We’re not spending the money going out to eat. We’re buying more whole foods and such, which is better eating for all involved, and we’re connecting as only best friends can. With music, laughter and a shared passion for yummy food.

Below is the recipe for Hungarian Paprika Chicken. Try it and let us know how you like it!

Our recipe was prepared while we sipped red wine and listened to a Beatles retrospective on Chez 106. In the news that day was the guy on the plane with the bomb in his underwear.

That’s as snobby as we get.

CHICKEN PAPRIKASH WITH NOKEDLI (Worth every minute it took to make it – triple yummm score.)

Ingredients Needed (chicken):

• 6 whole chicken breasts
• 4 Tbsp butter
• 16 small white onions
• 1 cup chopped onions
• 1 Tbsp Hungarian Paprika
• 8 small carrots
• 2 cans (10.75 oz) chicken broth
• salt
• 1/3 cup flour
• 1/2 cup dry white wine
• 2 cups sour cream
• parsley

Ingredients Needed (nokedli):

• 2 3/4 cups flour
• 3 eggs
• 2 tbsp butter
• 1 cup water

1. Wash chicken; dry on paper towels. Cut each breast in half. brown chicken, 1/2 at a time in 2 tbsp butter in large skillet with tight-fitting cover. turning to brown well. Takes about 20 minutes in all. With tongs, lift out chicken as it browns.
2. Add 2 tbsp butter in same skillet, add whole and chopped onions with 1 Tbsp paprika until lightly browned. Cut carrots diagonally in 1 1/2” pieces. Add carrots to onions, sauté for 2 minutes, stir in undiluted chicken broth and 2 Tsp salt.
3. Arrange chicken in skillet in single layer, bring to boil. Reduce heat and simmer covered for 45 minutes.
4. Once chicken is tender, remove from skillet and place on a platter, keeping it covered and warm in a 300 degrees oven while you make the Nokedli and gravy.
5. PREPARE NOKEDLI: In a large bowl – combine 2 3/4 cups flour, eggs, 1 tsp salt and 1 cup water. Beat with a spoon until smooth.
6. Boil 2 quarts of water with 2 teaspoons of salt (for boiling of Nokedli).
7. Using a moistened spatula, spread dough over the surface. Holding the spatula over the water, use a table knife to scrape off small portions of the dough into the boiling water. Cook 1 – 4 at a time until firm. When they are finished they rise to the top. Use a slotted spoon to remove. Keep them warm and add a small amount of butter. Repeat this process until you have all Nokedli (dumplings, really) made.
8. GRAVY: In a small bowl mix remaining flour with wine until smooth. Add to skillet, stir all liquid together while bringing to a boil. Reduce heat, simmer 2 minutes
9. Slowly add sour cream, heat gently for 1 minute.
10. Remove platter of chicken from oven.  Add Nokedli and pour gravy over all to taste. Add parsley for garnish. Bring extra gravy to the table. Serves 6.
11. You don’t want to know the nutritional contents. Really.

Too Good Not to Share: From The Secret Daily Teachings

“Remember, if you are criticizing, you are not being grateful. If you are blaming, you are not being grateful. If you are complaining, you are not being grateful. If you are feeling tension, you are not being grateful. If you are rushing, you are not being grateful. If you are in a bad mood, you are not being grateful.

Gratitude can transform your life. Are you allowing minor things to get in the way of your transformation and the life you deserve?

May the joy be with you.”

A Secret Scrolls message from Rhonda Byrne
Creator of The Secret

Staying Young Has Nothing To Do With Miracle Creams

I think I’ve found the secret to staying young. And I don’t think it has much to do with lotions, potions, make up or plastic surgery.

Not long ago, I was near a Toys R Us. I was going in just to look, really, and possibly to pick up a gift for my nephew and niece in California. However, about thirty seconds after I walked through the door, I forgot all my dear little what’s-their-names and what child-like delight they would show at whatever gift I picked for them.

My eyes were drawn in all directions at once, which, let me tell you, causes a ridiculous eye strain. The colours were so bright, inviting you to touch, to want. The glitter and shine of the pinks and purples of the ‘girlie’ toys, the masculine blacks, reds and blues of the ‘boy’ toys all made me realize one thing.

It stinks to be a grown up.

I’d like to know who made the rules that say we’re not allowed to play with toys, not allowed to pretend after a certain age. Are you thinking “Nobody told me I couldn’t play with toys anymore…”?

Exactly. Somehow, we let an interest in the opposite sex take away our desire for the very things that made us laugh, stretched our imaginations, allowed incredible fantasies and made us forget about anything that made us sad as children.

Why don’t we do that now? For some reason, we adults change from toys to dates, to bars, to marriage, children, jobs, careers, other people…whatever. Simply said, we grow up.

Who makes the rules on when it’s time to grow up, anyway? Who says you can’t be an adult and still enjoy total reality abandonment like a child does? Like your children do?

Put down your cell phone, PDA, laptop, wallet, glass, newspaper and dinner preparations. Put them all down. Go to your child’s room, the attic or a toy store. Find a toy you used to love when you were a child. Smile at it and remember.

Remember what it was like to pick up your Barbies and immediately fall into their world. Find Ken and make it happen, ladies. Men, go find a Hot Wheels track, or build a fort under the dining room table. Make a tent out of your bed sheets and play doctor with your wife. Grab the pots and pans from the bottom drawers. Raise that wooden spoon and bring back the Racket Band that you used to love when you were in diapers.

Life is meant to be fun, to be enjoyed. Sure, there are responsibilities to be handled on a daily basis. But if we handle them, and then forget them for awhile while we play with the Easy Bake Oven or the Erector Sets….what’s the harm? Find a refrigerator box and climb in. It’s your world. Have fun with it.

Watch children for examples. They’ve got it down to an effortless

science. And, me – I’m working really hard on this and should be an expert in no time.

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