On The Rebound

I'm not talking about a lusty affair after coming off of a difficult break up. My marriage is perfectly intact and happy. Though since I've been happily married I do seem to have been embroiled in a lusty affair with food ... but I digress.

On the advice of our youngest's physio we bought a mini tramp. Not only is it fun for the kids to play around on, it's therapeutic, helping improve coordination and strength. I thought it might also be good for me to sneak in a little exercise here and there. I could bounce, bounce, bounce off a few calories while having a laugh. The trampoline even came with a workout DVD. Perfect.

So, I put on my gear and rolled out the tramp. I threw in the video. Like all other exercise productions on came the "instructor." And like all other work out productions she had a perfectly cut body and an annoyingly perky voice. She led me through a highly inadequate warm up and then climbed up on the tramp. Ah, the fun part. Perky Perfect started to jump, her pony tail flipping in a hypnotic rhythm with her bouncing. Then she said it. "Isn't rebounding fun!" Rebounding?! Ah, great. She had to ruin my happy jumpy time by giving it an official exercise name.

Suddenly the bouncing started to actually feel like exercise. Every muscle in my lower extremities ached with each jump. Then Perky Perfect piped up again "I bet you have a big smile on your face! Rebounding is soooo much fun!" Ah, actually honey, that was a grimace on my face because lactic acid is eating a hole through my calves, but thanks for noticing ...

I struggled my way through the rest of the work out. It was tough. No kid stuff. The next day I did it again. I was actually starting to enjoy it. Not Perky though. I became very bored with her very quickly. Fortunately there are only so many "moves" you can do on a mini tramp, so it wasn't too difficult to memorize Perky's routine.

Subsequently I have kicked little miss Perfect to the curb. But not my beloved mini tramp. I have managed to bounce for 30 minutes every day except one in the last week. I put my trampoline in front of the television, tune in to a favorite show and bounce away. The kids even join me and allow me to get my work out done. Hallelujah! Have I actually found an exercise routine that is kid-friendly and doesn't require me to negotiate with my husband for 30 minutes of his valuable time so I can burn some calories?! Perfect!

A Berry Fruitful Garden

Thursday night I received a panicked phone call from my father. He was leaving town in the morning and had just discovered that his raspberry patch was bursting at the seams with plump ripe fruit (I guess this mediocre, wet July we've been having was to the plants' liking). He had already picked 14 pints and couldn't do anymore. He implored me to come over on Friday and harvest what I could. I did. Ten more pints came off of the berry laden canes. Today my sister and brother-in-law harvested the remaining eight pints. That's 32 pints! Most have been frozen, some ear-marked for jam and of course more than a few eaten. In honour of this berry extravaganza here is my mother's raspberry pie recipe (the only thing I truly craved when I was pregnant with my five year old). Enjoy!

Grandma Nancy's Glazed Raspberry Pie
(Makes one 9" pie )

Ingredients:
1 quart raspberries
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup water
2 1/2 Tablespoons cornstarch
pinch of salt

Cook 1 cup of crushed berries with the other ingredients until thick. Pour this over the remaining whole berries in a baked pie shell. Chill.
Serve with whipped cream.

Night Caller

Last night was the first in many that both my girls were having a good sound sleep and neither had awakened me. I was lost in a beautiful slumber when at 3:00 a.m. I was roused by the shrill ringing of the phone. My thoughts immediately flew to my grandmother and father. My granny is 88 and hasn't been well lately. My father has a chronic form of cancer which is currently flared up. I scrambled to answer the phone.

caller: (teenage male voice) Hi!
me: Who is this?
caller: Rodney
me: I think you have the wrong number.
caller: (said very flirtatiously) Oh, I don't think so ... (I'm beginning to feel slightly creeped out)
Actually I'm just really lonely and am randomly dialling numbers trying to find someone to talk to. (now I'm beginning to feel annoyed)
me: Rodney, I have two young kids and need to be up early in the morning.
caller: Oh, sorry. Have a good night ... (cut off by me hanging up)

By this point I was fully awake. Initially I felt a pang of guilt. What if Rodney really did need someone to talk to? I replayed (repeatedly) the conversation in my head. I came to the conclusion that he was a little too peppy and "friendly" to be someone in crisis. Then I kicked myself that we don't have caller I.D. I would have loved to have phoned young Rodney at 6:30 this morning to tell him that I was now fully awake and would really enjoy having a little chat. Sheesh! It's bad enough that my own children disrupt my sleep on a regular basis. Now, on a night they decide to give me a break I have somebody else's kid waking me up!

A Woman Of Inspiration

This post should really be En garde! part deux since it is about another Olympic fencer. I think, though, that her story can be inspiring to all women.

Her name is Jujie Luan. She is a foil fencer, immigrant to Canada, and member of our 2008 Olympic team. She is also a mother of three and fifty years old!

Luan was born in Nanjing, Jiangsu province China (probably another reason that endears her to me since this is very close to our youngest daughter's birthplace). As a young girl Luan excelled at high jumping. Since the area was rich with promising track athletes she turned to the sport of badminton. However, at the age of sixteen an official decided that she should be trained in fencing and against her wishes Luan was removed from the school's badminton team and compelled to begin instruction in foil. Initially she resisted participating in her new sport, but the realization that this could be her opportunity to travel to Beijing and possibly beyond became her inspiration.

In just four years this young athlete would reach the status of icon in China. It happened in 1977 at the junior world championships. In Luan's first bout, her Russian opponent's blade snapped and punctured her left arm, her fencing arm. The match was halted while Luan received medical attention. The metal was removed from just below her bicep, she was bandaged and the tenacious 20 year old returned to the piste. Despite ongoing bleeding deep in her arm Luan persevered through the competition and climbed the podium to receive the silver medal. Her bravery was heralded in China in books and a film retelling her life story.

Jujie Luan went on to become the first Chinese athlete ever to win an Olympic fencing medal when she brought home the gold from Los Angeles in 1984. According to one article, she was so driven to win that she told her love, a man named David, that her motivation would be their future. They could not be married if she did not win the Olympics.

Luan retired from competition in 1988 after the Seoul Olympics. She and David were married and they immigrated to Canada in 1989. Since that time she has coached fencing in Edmonton.

Luan came out of retirement as the Sydney Olympics approached. In less than a year, at the age of 42 she trained herself and attained the qualification standard. Because she had not competed in many world cup events leading up to Sydney Luan entered the Olympics with a low international ranking. As a result she met a highly seeded competitor in the first round and ended with a 35th place finish.

Luan returned to Edmonton and continued with her coaching career. However, once again as the Olympics loom on the horizon, she has decided to return to the piste. This time the venue is her home country, China. At 50 years of age this self-coached athlete has met the International Fencing Federation's stringent qualifying standard. The once reluctant fencer, turned young hero will be returning to her homeland. She is now a mature woman representing a new country, but I believe that the people of China will still cheer just as loudly for their beloved Juijie Luan.

En garde!

The opening of the Beijing Olympics is a little less than three weeks away. While I enjoy watching most of the sports I have to say there is one that is very near and dear to my heart. Fencing. For eight years when I lived in Ottawa I fenced competitively on the national circuit. It is with mixed emotions that I will tune in and cheer on our Canadian team.

At times I miss the sport a great deal. When you train three times a week plus compete one or two weekends per month it becomes very ingrained in your being. When I "retired" it left a big hole in my life. I regret that I never stuck it out long enough to test my full potential. My weapon, women's sabre was just in it's infancy when I left the sport. It was only beginning to be recognized at the international level and I never had the opportunity to compete outside of Canada. I often wish that I had pushed myself to continue and take that next step (there were a variety of personal reasons why, at the time, I had lost my desire to compete).

However, it is with pride and excitement that I can say that I have shared the piste with our Olympic Team's Sandra Sassine and Wendy Saschenbrecker. They were just teenagers at the time, but fierce competitors none the less. I am thrilled that they have achieved this success. Unfortunately women's sabre is not likely to be broadcast (fencing tends not to get a lot of air time) and I will probably only see these girls on the CBC's highlight show.

However, two other members of Canada's team that I also watched grow from gangly youngsters into world class athletes are foilist Josh McGuire and epeeist Sherraine Schalm. These two likely will make some of the regular Olympic coverage and I look forward to cheering them on. In fact, Sherraine has become a bit of a media darling and for good reason. She's witty, talented, not only as an athlete, but also a writer (she has a published book called Running With Swords) and she isn't hard on the eyes. Even more, Sherraine is a medal contender, so don't be surprised if you see her climbing onto that coveted podium. I won't. You can follow her personal Olympic journey here and here.

In the mean time I will put my regret aside (and I must emphasize, though it should go without saying, that I would not trade the life I have now for any of it) and will live the Olympic dream vicariously through these talented Canadian fencers. Allez!

Holy Smokes!

Last night I caught my three year old smoking. Well, she hadn't really sparked up a ciggy, but what she was doing was almost as shocking. She had taken a pair of table legs from a doll house and had one hanging from her lips while the other was gripped firmly in her hand. When I told her to take the white plastic tube out her her mouth she quickly demonstrated to me that it was ok, she was just puffing on a cigarette. I was horrified. Initially I blamed it on my sister (sorry Sis!) since she is the only person that my daughter sees smoking on a regular basis. However, my sister never smokes in our house, so I was a little surprised that a three year old would so demonstrably mimic a behaviour that she hadn't really been exposed to that much. Then it dawned on me. The culprit wasn't my sister, but a movie - Grease. Both of my little ones love musicals, with all of the singing and dancing, bright costumes and high energy. A dvd that sees high rotation in our house has been Grease. Admittedly a lot of the subject matter is much too mature for a five and three year old, but I (obviously naively) thought that it would be over their heads, that they would bop along to the tunes and not clue into the grown up stuff. Wro-ong! Big lesson for me. There is lots of smoking in Grease and apparently as a result I have a three year old who has decided to take up the habit. Now I'm thinking it's just a matter of time before my five year old picks up on the sexual content. Needless to say this title has been pulled from our dvd library until later notice. Much later!

The Zoo Dilemma

Friday we are bringing the girls to the zoo. I am torn. There seems to be something fundamentally wrong about taking animals out of their environment and putting them in enclosures for curious humans to oohhh and ahhhh.

On the other hand, often people respond better to a cause or a situation if they can relate to it. If we can see endangered animals up close perhaps we can develop a greater empathy for the creatures of this planet.

There is also the benefits of in-captivity breeding programs. Many species that are in serious peril often persist because they are being nurtured in protected environments. Recently the CBC documentary series The Nature of Things featured a program about threatened wildlife and conservation measures being taken in China. One of the animals highlighted was a creature called the Milu. These deer-like mammals were once extinct in the wild but through the reintroduction of the species, from a herd that has been in captivity in England, the Milu are now roaming again in Jiangsu. (Of course we must acknowledge that if it weren't for the devastating affects that humans have brought on the planet there would be no need for conservation measures, but that's another post ...)

So Friday, we will enter the zoo with a burden of guilt. But we will also enter with hope. Hope that we and our children will take away more from this encounter with some of nature's magnificent creations than a tacky souvenir from the gift shop. And hope that one day there will no longer be a need for such institutions.

Hair ...

long beautiful hair, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen ...
What is it with men and hair? If there is one thing about me that disappoints my husband it's my hair. He, like many others of his sex, prefers long hair. Being a woman of shorter stature and maturing age (well, not that mature) I don't think that flowing lengthy locks suit me.

I used to have long hair. Half way down my back hair, substantial enough to twist into three braids which I in turn braided together. The waves when I unwound it were glorious. My live-in boyfriend at the time apparently thought so. In fact I always suspected it was behind our breakup. While he was away on a bike trip with the guys I cut my hair off. I thought it was time for a change. I went for a cute shoulder length do. I loved it. Evidently he didn't. Very shortly thereafter he ended our two year relationship. He would cite other reasons (the usual "I don't want to hurt you" blah, blah) but I always suspected it was the hair. I considered it the Samson effect. I chopped off the locks and the power was gone.

My hair never seemed to be an issue with the guys I dated after that. In retrospect they probably never noticed. Then enter my husband. My wonderful, sweet husband, who just happens to hate my hair. He seems to feel that I've somehow betrayed him follicularly. I'm not sure why. When we met I was sporting a mid-length style. He was never lured with promises of Rapunzelesque locks. No false advertising here. But every time I return from the hair salon I get the same disappointed sigh, perhaps a half-hearted "your hair looks nice" quickly followed by "but you know I like your hair long."

I am not alone in this land of hubby hair hatred. A girl I used to know told me that she had long hair throughout her courtship and the first weeks of her marriage. Then she decided to go for a new look and cut it. Her husband didn't speak to her for several days. Finally she gave him hell and asked if he had married her or her hair. More than once I've related this story to my better half. Every time he sides with the husband and cites radical hair chopping as a "deal breaker." While I know he is joking, I am also aware that his remark isn't without some truth in the man-world.

This morning I returned from the hair salon. I am actually trying to add a little length to my locks (getting bored with the short & sassy look). In order to struggle through the hideous "growing out" phase, as every woman knows, you have to keep cutting to maintain some semblance of style rather than watching a once manicured mane morph into a pseudo mullet. Men don't "get" this. Rather, my hubby moaned "she cut it shorter!" I attempted to explain. The "you're full of sh*t" look ensued.

After several hours my husband extended the olive branch and offered the half-hearted "you're hair looks nice." My turn for the "you're full of sh*t" look. Then my step-daughter chimed in. "I think it's cute. You look like a pixie!" While most middle-aged women don't aspire to be likened to a sprite I'll take it. After all, a compliment from a teenager definitely trumps a criticism from your spouse, especially if it's anything related to style. Now if only I could squeeze my forty-something body into some pixie-sized shorts I'd be laughing.

How Do You Like Them Apples?!

This morning I heard a crazy story on the radio. The item featured an interview with an apple farmer. The man told a tale of fruit laden trees, branches broken under the weight of unharvested apples. Shortly the rotting fruit that has tumbled to the ground will be ploughed under and replaced with a housing development. Why would a farmer blessed with such overwhelming bounty sell out? Because he can't move his harvest. Apparently an Ontario farmer cannot sell his apples to people in Ontario, or anywhere for that matter. And why not? Because the market is being flooded by imported produce. Yes, while consumers munch on foreign fruit and swill Asian apple juice Canadian farmers are going bankrupt. This concept is so ridiculous it is hard to believe. Why would I need an apple from the other side of the world when I can get fresh fruit from a farmer less than 100 km away? Crazy. Sad. Infuriating.

The Bucket List

Last night my hubby and I watched the Jack Nicholson/Morgan Freeman movie The Bucket List. If you haven't seen it, the story is about two terminally ill men who become friends and vow to complete a list of must do things before they "kick the bucket."

While this movie plays on the old cliche "live everyday like it was your last" it really struck a nerve for me. It brought memories of my mother flooding back. The two characters in this story have the ablility and means to travel the world completing their inventory of dying wishes. My mother never had their fortunate opportunity. She was admitted to the hospital and did not leave again, her "bucket list" never even a possibility. What is so heartbreaking is that the only item on her list was simply to "go home."

So now that I've depressed you, there is a point to my post. And it is that cliche. And maybe it takes a mediocre Hollywood production to drive it home, but life is short. Opportunities are often limited so ...
take that leap of faith ...
dance like nobody's watching ...
remember it's not the number of breaths you take, but the number of moments that take your breath away ... Take your pick.
Live life to it's fullest and in the immortal words of Miss Frizzle,
"Take chances, make mistakes, get messy."

Now, go make that bucket list! (by starting this blog I've already begun working on mine)

Movie Review - Disney-Pixar's WALL.E

This afternoon my hubby, mother-in-law and I braved the wilds of a Saturday matinee to introduce our three year old to the big screen. We were also in the company of our five year old who was very excited to be seeing the newest Disney-PIXAR release WALL.E . She was not disappointed.

WALL.E is the story of a lonely robot, the last of his kind, left to toil on an abandoned, garbage-strewn earth. One day our leading man, er machine, encounters a feminine robot probe who has been sent to Earth in search of any signs of regenerating life. WALL.E, from hundreds of years of function and innumerable viewings of the classic film Hello Dolly has developed not only personality, but feelings and quickly falls in love with the beguiling EVE (Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator). When EVE is retrieved to her mother ship a distraught WALL.E pursues. Through his quest to follow his love WALL.E becomes an unlikely hero who unwittlingly saves not only the environmentally ravaged planet Earth, but the essence of the human race.

In keeping with true PIXAR style, the animation and creativity of this film is incredible. It is not only a feast for the eyes, but the imagination. Much of the movie is void of dialogue, as the robots interact, but the viewer always hears the message.

This film also carries a strong commentary on our planet's environmental crisis and the devestating effect humans have and could bring to the Earth. It is also a sobering glimpse at what human kind may become as hundreds of years of subgravity and sedintary existence has rendered us into blubbery baby-like beings virtually incapable of independent movement or thought. This message maybe lost on the younger viewers in the audience, but it definitely wasn't with the grown-ups. It was a sobering image.

While our youngest was only able to make it through about two-thirds of the film, it was no reflection on the movie (only an overly-stimulated three year old attention span). Our five year old loved the film, as did I (unfortunately my hubby missed the ending as he was entertaining aforementioned three year old in the parking lot). We are already looking forward to family movie night when WALL.E is released on DVD. A must see!