Silkpurseproductions’s Blog

Every time I get my car serviced, whether it be for something big or just an oil change, I have found that no matter where I take it they put in a nice new shiny air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. It’s a funny thing but that never use to happen. This may seem like a nice gesture, or good customer service but I take it personally. They actually have to remove the air freshener I have there when I take the car in to put the new one on. To date no one has actually thrown it out. They usually leave it somewhere I can find it.
I just had my car serviced this is the air freshener I found dangling when my car was returned to me.

Their idea of an airfreshener

Ok, it is cute. I believe it is the AFLAC duck.  Always, a hero.
This is MY air freshener that was hanging from my rear view mirror when I took my car in.
I have had it for some time and am rather attached to it. I’m sure I don’t need to explain myself.

My idea of an airfreshener

When I first acquired my little friend, I had just spent a couple of hours waiting in line with a lot of other people (mostly men) waiting for my cars E Test to be done. As I patiently waited my turn I watched as the attendants would offer an air freshener of their choice to each male customer. They were all scantily clad women and they had to choose between 5 different poses. It didn’t bother me that the male indecision of which lovely they wanted hanging from their mirror was adding an extra 5 minutes to each service. What did bother me was when the customer was a woman they simply installed a great big yellow happy face from the mirror. Yes, I said a “Happy Face”. When it came my turn I interrupted the installation and said, “You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m sure you can do better than that”. They looked at me, rather sheepishly and very slowly retrieved a box from behind the counter. Some of the finest male specimens I have laid eyes on lay in that box. There were 5 choices (and a few choice words from me for hiding them behind the counter). I demanded one of each and they didn’t argue. I had a lot of fun mailing the other four to friends I knew would appreciate them.
Here’s the thing, it doesn’t matter if it is a mechanic or just a friend, or even a boss who borrows my car (as long as they are male), when I get it back they are pink behind the ears (sometimes even quite flushed) as they hand me the keys and I always have to search for my air freshener.
I’m pretty sure the air freshener part doesn’t even work anymore. I can plant other air fresheners around my car for that. But seriously, who would want to replace that grin with a happy face? Not this girl.

Today is the 11th day of the 11th month. At 11am I was with my Dad participating in Remembrance Day services. My Dad is my “Hero”. The following is a story he wrote years ago for the “Humour In Uniform” section of Readers Digest. I would like to share this with you. My copy is hand written and I will type it out without any editing.

17 Year Old William Duncan Gillies

It all began in 1939, a war erupted, I was underage when I enlisted (seventeen) so the first three months my duty was guarding the locks of the Welland Canal, then six months of basic training.  Training can become boring so I volunteered for the Pipes & Drums of the number two training depot stationed at Camp Borden.

This was an enjoyable time, we practised daily and took part in parades for War Bond Drives where the local residents fed & treated us royally.  When in camp the retreat ceremony was one of our duties this was an interesting and colorful performance that ended with the lowering of the flag to conclude the day.

During all the guarding, training, and parading I followed the progress of the war with great interest, in particular the exploits of the British Tank Corps and the German Panzer Divisions.  My interest was whetted to the point that I decided when I was old enough my service would be as an adventurous tank driver.

So it was in mid 1940 a notice was posted on the bulletin board the 11th C.A.R. (Ont. Tank Regt.) wanted volunteers.  At last my dream had come true.  I was in a tank troop.  Imagine my surprise when on my very first day the Sergeant said I could drive!  The troop assembled in groups of five (a tank crew).  Four men formed a square and the tank commander (a Sgt.) took his place in the center.  It was then my balloon was punctured.  The Sergeant turned to me and with a slight smile on his face ordered,

“Driver Advance!”

There were no tanks in Canada we trained on foot.

 

Submitted by

 Wm. (Bill) Gillies

These days we are consumed with catching H1N1 and various other contagions. I would like to share with you some joy I caught recently.

I was born and raised in Niagara Falls, Ontario. I’m a “border kid”. This means I have spent my entire life crossing the border to the US, back and forth, paying tolls on the US highways. Border kids have spent their entire lives with their mothers dragging them to the US half naked and returning home with so many clothes on we resembled the little boy in A Christmas Story who couldn’t put his arms down, or get up when he fell because his mom had him dressed like the Michelin Man. Yes, we were born and raised smugglers!

I still travel to the US on a regular basis. No, of course I would never smuggle! My sister lives there, my niece lives there and believe it or not I get my hair done there. I have been crossing the Grand Island bridge for as long as I can remember. Paying the toll and getting to the other side. Seldom have I ever heard a peep from anyone taking my $1.00 US. I make it a point to always say “hello” wait for a response and then say “thank you” when they raise the barrier. (I know, it is just bred into my Canadian genes to be polite.) I don’t believe I can remember a time when anyone even met my eyes. There was one time when I hesitated, ever so slightly, and the guy screamed at me “GO!” My passenger was shocked, and asked, “Did that guy just yell at you?” Yes, yes he did. I have always thought this must be one of the worst jobs in the world. These people must really hate their jobs. When I was little I thought these tiny buildings were where they housed all the unhappy people in the United States of America. I was always concerned that if I complained too much about my layers of clothes I would be put in one of these little houses for punishment.

A few weeks back my lovely niece, Hinda, and I went for a run to the US. I wasn’t really paying attention as I pulled up to the booth entering Grand Island so I was really caught off guard when this great big, shiny grin greeted me with a “Hiiiiyaaaa Baaaaabeeeeee!”. I had no control, I grinned back like an idiot in shock. My niece looked a little like a deer caught in headlights and she had a big grin on her face as well. I greeted this friendly woman, and thanked her. “You both have a wonderful day now,” she said as she raised the gate. I hesitantly moved on. I said hesitantly, because I did not want to leave this wonderful woman that could spread such joy. Hinda, who is not a border kid but her mother is, exclaimed “Wow”, and asked if that had ever happened before. Honestly, never! Absolutely never! We had caught it, though. The joy had entered my little Honda Civic and it stayed all day. We laughed, smiled and talked about that lady all day. We told my other niece and my sister. We told pretty much anyone who would listen. For a few days I thought of that woman who obviously loved her job, loved her life, loved people and was just full of joy.

Weeks went by, I crossed the bridge several times…same old, same old. I forgot about my person of “joy”.
This past Monday, my husband and I ventured that way, as we approached the toll I realized I had never told him about the “Joy” lady and started to as he pulled up to the booth, and this face came in the window with a big grin and said, “Hiiiiyaaaa Baaaaabeeeeee!”. He grinned. I grinned. I leaned forward and waved, she leaned forward and waved, and gave me another “Hiiiiyaaaa Baaaaabeeeeee!” My husband pulled away. He said, “Do you know her?”, I said, “no, but doesn’t she make you feel like you are old friends she hasn’t seen in awhile?” We grinned and giggled the rest of the night about it. I phoned Hinda, and told her we had just encountered the “Joy” lady, and she started laughing and talking about her, too.

Other than calling her the “Joy” lady, I have no idea who this woman is. In my opinion she is the best asset the Grand Island Bridge Authority has and she should probably be training all their employees. I will look for her every time I cross that bridge, and next time I will stop long enough to thank her for spreading the “joy”.

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At a recent Toastmaster meeting it was pointed out that the lovely town that I live in has a relocation program for geese. Seriously, the Town of Oakville has a “Geese Relocation Program”. Forms are filled out, Town Staff gets involved and there are lots of rules and regulations on how to go about this. Apparently, there are people and businesses that actually make a living relocating geese. There were many suggestions that evening on “alternative” solutions (some included stuffing) and better ways to spend our tax dollars. I kept my mouth shut as the conversation brought to mind a couple of times that I ran afoul of some of our fine feathered friends.

While driving to work one day, along the QEW from Oakville to Burlington… a drive that in another world (one that would not include the always backed up QEW) would take 12 minutes, I was brought to a standstill just short of my exit. I could see the police vehicles across the full stretch of the highway and down the off ramp, lights flashing. This did not bode well. As always, I immediately got my patience in check, said a little prayer for whoever was involved in the certain crash, and thanked God once again that it was not me. Time does not fly by as you sit and wait these things out. I was able to make some calls to get things going at work as my car slowly crept forward onto the off ramp. “Ok, I’m on the ramp now and I don’t see any crash, so it must have been cleared away, I won’t be long now…
“Are you freaking kidding me!?”
Needless, to say the person on the other end of the phone was a little taken aback at my break from protocol. There in front of me with a police vehicle on both sides and one behind was a family of ducks being escorted across the highway and down the ramp. When I relayed this information to my place of employment, they questioned the time of day being a “little early” for whatever I was on. After assuring them that I was clean and sober and disconnecting I called the local radio station to report the traffic situation. After they stopped laughing they put me on the air where I was able to give a waddle by very slow waddle report of the feathered convoy with the police escort for the next 20 minutes. Turns out that day must have been the day all the ducks decided to “get to the other side” because there were reports of these police encounters all day long. I’ll bet those police officers never thought they would be writing up duck reports when they graduated police academy.

Years ago when I was still making a living as a photographer I was sent on assignment to a farm in a rather remote area. I love shooting outdoors and was looking forward to the flower and fauna shots ahead of me. Appointments were always scheduled through head office in Toronto. Our assignment sheets would have the name, address, the nature of the shoot, specific things to look for, etc. If there was any kind of safety issue it was always noted big and bold and red. Farms in remote areas often have guard dogs, swamps or sink holes that can all be treacherous so I read my summary sheet carefully. Seeing no danger warnings I exited my vehicle and started to unload my equipment for the day from my trunk. These were the days before digital – nothing was small. As I draped myself with cameras, lights, lenses and tripods to trek into the site I felt a pain in my ankle. Thinking I had simply bumped into a stump or stone, I continued to take steps toward the doorway of the building. Again a pain at my ankle, again, again…both ankles were screaming out in agony now. I stumbled, but caught myself with visions of thousands of dollars worth of equipment crashing to the ground. The pain was excruciating. Something was hammering away at my ankles. There was a blur of activity as hands reached out to help me and I saw feathers floating in the air. Panicked voices…”You were supposed to wait in your car till we came and got you. We told the lady on the phone, make sure she stays in her car till we get there. She has to stay in the car, we have an attack duck. We’re so sorry. Let me take that. Here, we’ll help you inside”…
“Wait a minute, wait just one darn minute there, did you say you have…you have an attack what?”
“We have an attack duck.” “You have an attack duck. Of course you do. Who doesn’t have an attack DUCK?” After the trip to the emergency ward, the wrapping, the icing, the crutches and the prescribed pain killers I called my office. “Is there anything you forgot to tell me about that assignment today.” “No, you had all the information. I bet you had a great time, they had a really good sense of humour on the phone.”
“What do you mean?”
“They had us going trying to convince us that they had an ‘attack duck’. Can you imagine?” Well, as a matter of fact, City Girl, I can! I hung up and put my poor bruised and swollen ankles up on a pillow.

Duck, duck, goose…it’s all gone to the birds!

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My Favourite Alter Ego

Have you ever wished you could be someone else … just for a day?
Maybe not someone else, maybe just a different you…
Google yourself. Oh, come on, we all do it. We use to do it just for fun. Now we do it to verify our online presence. In this era of social media it has become necessary to have an online presence and to keep it fed and at the top of the ladder. Just for today, I decided I would try to be one of those other “Michelle Gillies”.

Dr. Michelle Gillies. My father always wanted me to be a doctor. This version of me is a lecturer in Chronic Disease Epidemiology at the University of Glasgow. I’m not even sure what that is but it sounds pretty complicated and although I would love to visit Scotland I’m not prepared to move there.

Michelle Gillies loves mushrooms!  OK, that one is new! Is there anyone who would not have checked that one out? It turns out Michelle is the proud owner of Brisbane’s (Australia) lovely new haven for hand-made and eco-friendly gifts The Nook.  Yes, Australia is also on my “to visit someday list” but, I got lost just looking at her unique wares in her shop, online…I would never be able to sell any of it, I would just want to keep it all.

This one is great! “Don’t you just love dressing like a pirate and getting chased around a soggy forest by very immature adults dressed like Indians? Nope me neither.” That is how this Scottish Michelle starts her blog “Days Like This” I think this Michelle and I were separated at birth, I’m not a fan of the camping thing and I have definitely had days like that!

Of course I always run across the Michelle Gillies with the arrest reports for crazy assaults that somehow involved cats. I use to get her phone calls from collection agencies. People send me newspaper clippings every time she makes the papers. Once, at Casino Niagara, I went to check my “Players Points” and was surrounded by undercover RCMP officers. Seriously, they made a circle around me before I even looked up. They had guns! After some interrogation and someone producing the mug shots of the Michelle in question I was released and the casino bought me dinner for my “embarrassment”. Who could eat!? I got the heck out of that place.

My former boss once walked into my office with that “cat that swallowed the canary” grin on his face. “Michelle, I just googled you…” I sat there wondering what deep dark secret he had dug up out about my past, or if that criminally minded Michelle had reared her head again. As I watched him, I could see the crimson beginning at his neck line and expanding to full faced red. He stumbled over “There were naked pictures…”. He showed me on the computer what he had found. (Sorry, I am not  linking you here!)  She was gorgeous! Stunning! Breathtaking! Sexy! Did I say gorgeous? I looked him straight in the eye and said calmly, “Yes, that’s me.”

In my dreams, but only for a day.

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Thank you for reading my blog.

We Canadians are famous for our politeness. We throw around “Excuse me”, “I’m sorry”, “Please”and “Thank you” with abandon. It’s like it’s second nature for us. Maybe that is because it is second nature for us. We could be known for worse things! However, our common use of these polite phrases can make us take them for granted.

At a recent seminar entitled “Knocking Down Silos”, www.realhumanbeing.org the speaker, Dave Howlett, guides us to become “Real Human Beings” (RHB). Among the several insights he offers on the road to becoming an RHB is this challenge. Over a period of five weeks, send out two thank you cards each week. That means you have to actually buy 10 thank you cards. They don’t have to be fancy or expensive. It means you have to buy 10 stamps (remember those?). You have to actually write something in the card and mail it. The key is to make them sincere and specific. Send them to people who have made a difference in your life. This seemed like a simple task and I was eager to tackle it. There are many people in my life that made a difference and when I really thought about it, I had neglected to let them know that. The results were astounding!

As I wrote my first couple of cards I found myself pouring out feelings of gratitude I had never put into words. I scribbled out mistakes and created words (no spell check here) and made a decision to mail them as I wrote them, errors and all. I can’t tell you the sense of fulfillment that came over me as I dutifully mailed these cards. If the results stopped there, it would have been enough. That’s not what happened. I received an overwhelming response. Every card I mailed was gratefully acknowledged, read and re-read, and cherished by its recipient. My 87-year-old father received the second card I wrote. Now, my father knows I love him and I know he loves me. We tell each other every time we talk. This veteran of wars, marriages, and life phoned me in tears, overwhelmed by this card. He talks about it constantly and shows it to everyone who will let him (he’s really not one you can say “no” to). He has insisted on displaying it at his wake (hopefully not too soon).

How can such a simple gesture mean so much to people? My theory is that you have acknowledged their contribution to you, and too many people go unacknowledged for anything. Needless to say, I have long ago seen the end of my original obligatory 10 cards. I continue to send out “thank you” cards on a regular basis. It’s a simple thing but I am always rewarded with a smile, a hug or just a “thank you”.

(I have had many requests from people to read the speech I gave on Winnipeg last winter. As I am venturing back to Winnipeg in a few weeks I thought I would kill two birds with one stone and rework the speech and post it as a blog. I hope you enjoy it.)

How many of you have ever been to Winnipeg? Or as I like to call it Winterpeg!  Was it by choice?  Would you go back?  Just so you know when I first wrote this, the temperature in Winnipeg was -29C (-20F), and they had 4 ½ feet of snow in their yards.
My husband, who shall remain nameless for his own protection, happens to be from Winnipeg, born and raised, Winnipigean.

I have spent the last 12 years, every single day of it, finding out why Winnipeg is the “Centre of the Universe”.
First and foremost you must realize that for my husband his world revolves around food. Now I am not talking about gourmet French cuisine here. I am talking about plain ordinary home cooking, the way my “Auntie” made it or my “Mom” made it. My nameless husband is a French fry and hamburger, pizza and meatloaf kind of guy.
When friends or family come to visit from Winnipeg he e-mails them a list
-rye bread from Cubs Bakery… because he has not found a decent loaf of rye bread since he has been in Ontario
-cabbage rolls from Auntie Edna’s
-and don’t forget the perogies from Alisha’s
His absolute favourite restaurant in Winnipeg is a chain of greasy spoons called Salisbury House where he can get the “world famous” NIPS …not really sure why they are called that…they are really just hamburgers. This chain is owned by none other than Burton Cummings.

Which brings me to the fact that anyone and everyone, who is anyone, is from Winnipeg. Did you know that Burton Cummings is from Winnipeg? Did you know that Randy Backman is from Winnipeg? Both of these men we know from the rock band “The Guess Who”.  I have many times heard the story of the little scrawny boy with the sax (that would be Burton Cummings) wandering the halls of the “Y” playing a few tunes.  Another alumni of my husband’s alma mater was David Steinberg renowned comedian, director and producer.  Doug Henning, Monty Hall and Chantal Kreviazuk.   Mimi Kuzyk, Neil Young and Peter Nyguard.  Lynn Johnston, Izzy Asper and even the father of our Medicare Tommy Douglas are all from Winnipeg.  By the way Tommy Douglas also happens to be the Grandfather of Keiffer Sutherland. There are few times I can see or hear anyone without hearing that little voice (my husband’s) telling me they are from Winnipeg.

Of course, serendipity always tends to play with me. I can admire a one of a kind scarf and the shopkeeper will tell me it was handmade in Winnipeg.  I will bring home a new centerpiece for the table and before proudly setting it in its place of honour, turn it over to read the story of how it was made in Winnipeg.  Some of you may remember that I was in search of my family heritage at one point in my life…no one, especially me, could have been more surprised to find that my birth father hailed from Winnipeg.
In my 12 years of hearing how Winnipeg is the Centre of the Universe I have always managed to dodge the Winnipeg “bullet”. I was too busy… or backed up… or just couldn’t get away right now, whenever the nameless one returned to his homeland. This year I found myself without one excuse not to go, I was “in transition” so I had the time.  Tickets were available with airmiles, Cousin Ray who often stayed with us on his business trips to Ontario treated us to hotel accommodations and loaned us a vehicle.  So the last week in August for his birthday we were off to Winnipeg…the trip was mapped out by way of his favourite restaurants and anyone who wanted to see him had to meet us for a scheduled meal.  We literally ate our way through Winnipeg and I came home 7 pounds heavier.

Shortly upon our return I received a phone call from my oldest sister on my father’s side.  A family reunion had been planned because some relatives were returning home from California and it would be a wonderful opportunity for me to meet, be met and bond with my absent family.  My sister bought the plane tickets.  Accommodations arrangements had already been made. Again, I had no excuses… so I was off to Winnipeg for Thanksgiving week. Did I mention the unknown heritage of mine was Ukrainian?  Those people know how to cook …and eat. I was on antibiotics at the time that were to be taken on an empty stomach.  Three days in I clambered up the stairs and said “people, stop feeding me, I have to take these on an empty stomach and my stomach hasn’t been empty since I got here”.

There is a reason the people of Winnipeg all have “Friendly Manitoba” on their license plates.  Truth be told I met some of the most wonderful people who made me feel truly welcome and like I belonged… and they were actually related to me!  While I was there I introduced several of them to facebook and we are all “friends” now and keep in touch on a regular basis.  One of my favourite friends I met while in Winnipeg is Sammi and although Sammi is not related to me in any way we definitely bonded.  We were a great source of amusement to everyone as I gleefully hauled out leftovers and Sammi would trundle over to greet me as they looked on and watched the “city kid” feeding their pig.

Recently, in my job search, most of my solid leads seem to be coming out of …you guessed it, Winnipeg.  So, I’m off to Winnipeg for some job interviews shortly. (I will again be interviewing while in Winnipeg this upcoming trip.)

The reality is that Winnipeg may very well become the centre of my universe!

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NOTE: My husband is not alone in his obsession for food from his homeland. I recently stumbled across preparations for the Manitoba Homecoming 2010 and much to my amusement and his enjoyment, found that many of the activities centre around the food establishments on his list

Lake Scugog-A "backyard" in Nestleton,ON

It’s that time of year when many of us spend more time outdoors than in. There are back yard parties, barbecues and get togethers…you get the idea. In some cases people literally move outdoors. You may visit someone and never see the inside of their house. Personally, I believe we learn a lot more about our friends, family, colleagues and acquaintances by spending time in their back yards rather than in their homes.

Growing up in the Niagara Peninsula, I was surrounded by the breathtaking beauty of the city’s “backyard”. Of course part of it ― some might say the best of it ― was the natural wonder of the Horseshoe Falls, the American Falls and the Niagara River. The rest of it, however, was lovingly and painstakingly cared for by the Niagara Parks Commission. I understand the “painstakingly” part, because we had “show gardens”, in our own backyard which required a lot of upkeep and work that usually fell to the younger members of the family. Many’s the weekend I remember spending on my hands and knees, weeding the perfectly laid out and intricate floral patterns. To this day I hate gardening! But I didn’t mind being able to walk outside and pick the fresh peaches, cherries and plums that grew from the trees surrounded by the well-weeded flowerbeds. Early in my adult life, when I took on gardening again, I bought a ton of flower seeds. Determined to not create any form of symmetry, I carefully ripped the top off each package and put them in a big mixing bowl, then stirred vigorously. There was no way of knowing what I had planted where. It was always a surprise when something popped out of the ground and bloomed. Of course there were times when we weren’t sure if it was a flower or a weed … and I liked it that way! Ok, it wasn’t one of my better ideas.

Without mentioning any names, here are a few of the backyards I have experienced that gave me a look into the people that own them.

One of the most adventurous backyards I spend time in is decorated like a Tiki Hut. When you walk out onto the deck, which takes up most of the space, you are surrounded by tiki torches. You can amble up to the bamboo bar with its thatched roof and order any number of exotic beverages, or just play with all the shells covering the bar. In the evening the fire pits glow and the coconuts flow. When I leave, I always find it jarring to realize I wasn’t in the tropics.

On my first visit to one friend’s home in Mississauga I followed all the twists and turns into suburbia and pulled into the driveway of a lovely home, not unlike many lovely homes I have been to. Not too big, not too small. He answered the door, invited us in and casually said, “It’s such a nice day, lets go into the back yard. We could go for a walk if you like”. A walk? In the backyard? Ah, yes. His “back yard” … the majestic Bruce Trail. The Bruce Trail, with the trees so tall you can’t see the tops, is the oldest and longest continuous footpath in Canada. It runs along the Niagara Escarpment (an UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve) from Niagara to Tobermory, spanning more than 885 km of main trail and 400 km of side trails. Next time I bring my hiking boots!

Some people have water in their backyards. I have spent many summer days in the backyards of people who have pools. These yards are usually immaculate with pristine water in the pool. But, I spent this past weekend in Nestleton, ON. teaching someone the basics of twitter, linkedin and facebook. While fervently bent over the computer I could look out on her backyard. It was calling me. Lake Scuggog. Her backyard was Lake Scuggog! I just wanted to run to the end of the dock and jump in the boat and cruise!

One couple I know has a very distinct back yard. It is large and well kept and backs onto a creek. Near the creek end, attached to some trees are two identical hammocks. They like to lie beside the babbling creek and read, together. I think this is lovely and it tells me a great deal of the nature of the solid relationship this couple has. What truly makes this yard unique, however, is that smack in the middle of it stands a great, huge, full size, anchored in cement, ham radio tower. The husband is a ham radio operator and enthusiast. A “by the book” kind of guy, all the proper permissions from all the proper authorities were in place before this mighty tower took ground. The telling tale of this couple, though, was his wife’s reaction. With sheer pleasure on her face she simply said, “It’s his hobby and he enjoys it so much!”

My favourite backyard story is from a man I never met. He is the only person I will name here. Sean Platt, also known as WriterDad wrote a blog called “Wrapping the Morning Glories” that actually made me weep. It reminded me of the childhood gardens I didn’t fully appreciate at the time, and of my own personal childhood “Narnia”.

As for me and my backyard…I live in a condo. My backyard is a balcony that is half taken over by a gas barbecue. In one tiny corner is my chair where I sit contentedly every morning with a coffee and a book. My feet hang over the balcony as I greedily soak up the morning sun which moves on by 9:00 am. It may not be the “Narnia” of my childhood but it is my little piece of paradise.

So…what’s in your back yard?

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Have you ever been in the position of really needing someone you can count on? Who would you turn to in a crisis for support? I think we have all had that moment in our lives when we really need support from another human being. Whether it’s because of illness, loss of a job, death of a loved one or just because you did something really stupid!

As you read this, I challenge you to discover who you would place in the front row of this theatre we call “life”.

Recently I attended a seminar put on by Canadian Women in Communications and the speaker offered us this very same challenge. At first glance it seemed like an easy exercise…at …first…glance. Who would I put in my front row?

In theory your front row is comprised of people who will back you up no matter what. No questions asked, they have your back. This row could be as small as one single person. Someone who will stand by you as you take risks, no matter how silly they may seem at the time. It might surprise you that, many people you would think at first blush would be there, don’t make it into your front row…like family members… close friends and sometimes, just sometimes even your spouse or significant other. (By the way a little suggestion here … if your spouse does not make it into the front row…keep it to yourself or believe me you will have a whole other set of “exercises” to go through… this is the voice of experience speaking on that one!…just keep it to yourself.)

It may be easier for you to figure out who is in your second row first. This row should contain people who you are close to but for some reason or other didn’t make it in your front row. They may be family going through their own issues. They may be friends who are too busy with their own lives right now. They may be that one person at work you always have lunch with but never see after hours. These are people who are in your support network or people who can help you achieve your goals, but, it is the “for some reason or other” part you have to pay attention to. There is a lot of pressure in that front row and there are times when those people need to be let off the hook.

You’re your third row consists of people who you are not close but who will be helpful regarding information or other contacts so that you can reach your goals. These would be people who you don’t know well but have met through your networking channels. Personally, I have several of these groups. I belong to HAPPEN, a group for people in transition, WIFT – Women In Film and Television, CWC – Canadian Women in Communication and of course First Oakville Toastmasters.
How many of you have heard of LinkedIn? This is a new internet networking tool for business people. Yes, you actually meet and have professional relationships on line! I must admit at first I was a little skeptical, but I have LinkedIn with or “met” some of the most helpful, talented and gracious people this way…without even leaving the comfort of my own home.
Each one of these groups that you belong to can lead you to meet people who can help you achieve your goals. Often, you meet people during these networking sessions that you develop a connection with and become closer to. Guess what? One of your first two rows just got fuller!

Now, let’s talk about those people who would be in your fourth row. This row consists of people who you should avoid. They are the people who are poisonous to your dreams. These people shouldn’t actually even be in the theatre, never mind a row.
Here is the rub…it may just be a question of timing. These toxic people may normally be in another row but perhaps their circumstances affect their attitude.
I am reminded of one brave young woman who shared that she and her husband always had each other’s backs. No matter what they supported each other and would figure it out together…until one day when she was 8 1/2 months pregnant, her husband came home and said he was very unhappy with his work and wanted to quit his job. Looking down at her baby mountain, her hormones kicked in and she simply said, “No, you can’t do that! I can’t get on board with that!” She seriously, left the theatre!

Keeping that in mind, timing and circumstances, that is. Who would make your front row? They are there for you. They encourage your dreams. They don’t laugh at your ideas (unless of course they were meant to be funny). They don’t question your sanity. With no hesitation you feel their full support.

Now, That’s your front row!

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 A month ago I decided it was about time to start blogging. I had procrastinated for some time because I knew (and had been warned over and over and over again) that it was very important to be faithful in updating a blog. If you truly wanted to have a successful blog you had to have fresh material posted at least weekly. The first week of March I finally bit the bullet and wrote my first blog, posted it and then sent out links informing everyone that I had “crossed the line and there was no turning back”. That was March 6th…one month ago. Well, as they say “timing is everything”!

March 11th I ended up in the emergency ward with the man of the house. As we all know there is no such thing as a quick trip to the emergency ward. We arrived at 5:00 pm and when I left at 12:30 am he was finally being given treatment. In the wee hours of the morning he was admitted to hospital. Three weeks, two surgeries, anesthetic, morphine, blood transfusions and eight catheters later he finally came home. That was two days ago. For those of you holding your breath he will be fine after some lengthy recoup time. But, as I said timing is everything…

Around Christmas time a close friend of mine who suffers from MS and is in a wheelchair sent out an email for help. He needed someone to watch over his blind 92-year-old mother in Niagara Falls while he went away for a much needed rest during spring break. I wasn’t working and was feeling the Christmas Spirit, and also thought it would give me a chance to catch up with people back home, so I volunteered. My friend’s timing for asking was perfect. Couldn’t have been better. The hospitalization of the man of the house, on the other hand, was really bad timing (although not his fault). Couldn’t have been worse. For 10 straight days I spent the day in Oakville hospital and drove to Niagara Falls each night to stay with my friend’s Mother. My first night I was able to sleep back in my own bed, I put my feet up and turned on the TV to veg. The phone rang at 10:30pm. My Father had been taken into emergency in St. Catharines. Talk about timing! The third week of March, First Toastmasters of Oakville, the club which I attend, had their theme set…”Timing is Everything”…Come on, you have to see the irony here. Really, it’s hysterical…perfect timing! It was also the week of my birthday (and St. Patrick’s Day). Lousy timing. Then of course, let’s not forget the “concert of a lifetime” that had cost us a fortune in December – our tickets for Fleetwood Mac were for March 26th. Hmmmmmm, timing.

Perhaps I picked a bad time to start a blog. Bottom line, you can plan, you can time. You can plan the time. But sometimes, no amount of planning can control the timing. My plan is to continue blogging, when I can… and when the time is right.

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