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That’s a Mighty Fine Driver You Have There Sir: The Un-fore-seen Benefits of Golfing with Your GF

basket-of-golf-ballsToday was a first. The left side of my mid-back is whispering caution to me. It’s rather insistent that tomorrow I may be in some pain. The right side is nodding in agreement.

My sweetie finally took me to the driving range. Brave? Yes. But not brave enough to take me out on a for-real golf course, and who can blame him?

About midway through the ‘jumbo’ bucket of balls, I thought that I had hit him in the back. You see, I made contact with the little white devil, but it took off toward my baby on a trajectory akin to tiles blowing off a space-shuttle. I must have missed his left ear by an inch. For a full two hours, he patiently took me through a range of clubs and tried teaching me the basics, and he didn’t swear once…out loud.

bad golfer

As you all know, I’m incredibly patient. Ok, maybe a teensy-tiny-eensy-weensy-bit patient. Or not. By the time we were chipping,  I held out my hand and let him know I was already an expert and his blathering was unnecessary. My chipping as it turns out, sucks.

My putting is slightly better if I have my arms over my voluptuous breasts, which means the damn club sticks out perpendicular to the ground and I have to bend over like some weirdo with a metal detector on the beach to ‘pendulum’ like my sexy instructor was trying to demonstrate. You see, his breasts are significantly smaller than mine, and penduluming is not such a challenge for him.

I made contact with the ball (most of the time), and if I were aiming 120 degrees to my right, I was dead on target. By the time I finished with the driver, I could really appreciate my man’s talent.

And maybe that’s why I think I’m going to love the game. A woman like me likes a challenge, and some fun. I can’t wait to go again.  Perhaps when my man buys a helmet he’ll take me on another hot driving-range date.

Laugh as you may, it was a great way to spend the afternoon. I’m a strong, confident, capable woman. There are very few things that a man can do that impresses me to the point I’m actually attracted to him because of it.

But today was the day for my man. He was good at it. Like, crazy good. He made it look easy, and I was struggling to even connect.  It made me kinda hot for him, in that grrrrr, you’re a manly-man kind of way.

He doesn’t know it yet, but his patience may just pay off for him two-fold. He may have a willing partner to hit the links with every chance we get, and he may also have a lady who needs to go immediately home for some good lovin’s when we come off the course. All of a sudden, I can appreciate his driver just a little bit more.

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Romance: The Thing that Haunts Us

addamsToday I teared up when a gal-pal of mine told me the lengths to which her true love goes to woo her. Romance is a lovely thing, and it makes my heart happy to hear that there are people out there who make the effort and take the risk.

When I hear love stories like this, it makes me dreamy and hopeful and a little jealous too. I mean, why isn’t my guy like that? Ah, yes, the WHY’s always haunt us.

The truth is that each and every relationship is unique with benefits and drawbacks, and a one-of-a-kind intimate alchemy that cannot be distilled by anyone else. Truth be told, they can’t even be distilled by the people in them. C’est la vie.

Why did you fall in love? Often, and in the best relationships, it’s inexplicable. It’s a je ne sais quoi that cannot be expressed in language. It’s all a matter of the heart.

Romance is emotional not logical, so it’s hard to explain the importance of it to someone who prizes logic over emotion. Logic is safe (it’s black and white after all, and our brains love to neatly categorize), but what makes us human (our ability to feel) is the drive behind it all. So, in my case, my man isn’t great in the romance department, but he’s wonderful in other ways. And yes, the things that I adore about him are also the things that could potentially find me sporting  an orange onesie. This is a universal truth.

A hard lesson that I’ve learned is that romance and true love are two very different things. Ah, now there’s the rub darlings.

True love breeds romance, and romance alone eludes true love. I’m a true romantic, and I like to think that there’s a balance between people like me, and people like my guy.

If you are with Mr. or Mrs. Romance, enjoy every second. If you are not, don’t let it haunt you. You will never know WHY or WHY NOT. Rest assured; it has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with an individual being vulnerable enough to play, to open their heart, and to be tender.

 

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Midnight Visits from the Ghost of Granny; Living with Intention & Gratitude

There were many nights that I used to get up in the middle of the night and see my Grandmother at the kitchen table.

I thought of her last night, when the rest of the world was in slumber. I know that  she had her own heartache and troubles, but she inspired me with her courage and zest for life.

Inspired by the woman who most inspired me, I have decided to go about my day with intention. Beyond the BIG things; my son and my home, there are little things that I am grateful for every day. So I give to you a list of things that make me happy/am grateful for, and I hope that it may inspire you.

  1. A good pair of tweezers. Oh yah baby. Women of a certain age can appreciate this as much as a man appreciates that little do-hickey end of a hair trimmer that removes ear hair. Sometimes it’s just the little things.

tweezers

2. The friends who love me. Like really love me, and manage to keep the flame of silliness burning alive and well within me. You know who you are; The Lovely L., The Amazing C., The Rolicking R., The Daring D.,  the Mumster and the Fearlessly Creative C.

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3. Creativity and the friends who value creativity as highly as I do…

drum beating

4. The legacy of a kick-ass granny, who knew how to balance compassion and strength, especially on the days when you felt like giving up. Her fearlessness and curiosity always give me a kick in the bum.

grandmothers

5. Sports. For instance, this year, the Toronto Blue Jays are playing in the semi-finals. Sports give us something common to be emotionally invested in, talk about and bond over that isn’t too personal. Sports give us easy, enthusiastic conversation without the monotony of the curse of middle-age; talking about work, our failed marriages or how we still don’t have a clue what’s going on. Sports are highly under-rated.

octoberbaseball

6. Witnessing the evolving relationship of couples who love each other. They know the value of what it means to love when it’s easy, and when it needs to be fiercely fought for. Depth never came easy. Kuddos to my pals, the Kick-Ass Ms. K and the Debonair Mr. D. I admire your commitment to one another…

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7. Junk Food. Oh yah. The ultimate narcotic.

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8. My cleaning lady. Yes, my granny would swat me behind the ear for not cleaning my own house, but some things change.

cleaning-lady

9. Feeling motivated to get back to the gym. Anyone who is a little on the pudgy side knows the anxiety of being seen wearing spandex in public.

gym

 

10. Bread, blue cheese and red wine. Accompanied by thoughtful, fun and intelligent conversation makes it even more delicious…

glass-red-wine-blue-cheese-15246901

 

 

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Turn Your Lights Down Low: Healing Your Heart

Love, it’s a flighty bird, but a beautiful one nonetheless.

May your love be greater than your fear. May you want it more than your ego needs to be seen. May you be brave enough to mend it after it’s been broken.

Andshelaughs · andshelaughs writing · Art of LIving

Cow Tea-Pots & Other Dreams

cowteapotA young woman held her lover by the hand and reached up on her tip-toes.”Do you remember at the beginning of our relationship when I told you that I’ve always wanted a cow teapot?” She stroked (yes, caressed) the ugliest tea pot I’ve ever seen. It was in the shape of a Holstein cow, with it’s tail curled as a handle.

I immediately felt emotional pain for the young man. Who on earth cares about a cow-shaped tea-pot? What on earth would possess anyone to reveal that to someone at the beginning of a relationship other than recreational drugs and too much tequila?

At first my thought was, ‘this is over the top’. Who cares? Who really freaking cares about your tea-pot darling?

The reality is we all do.

It’s about the need to connect. That’s what the tea-pot is about. Our need to connect is even more powerful than any numbing agent out there; prescription drugs, booze, therapy or any other obsessive behavior. As human beings we have a great need to connect with one, special person who gets us. Who loves us no matter our penchant for weird kitsch like cow tea-pots and Jimmy Buffett costumes.

The evening I overheard this little nugget of ‘please remember me’, I was having dinner with a friend. Most of the dinner was about girl-stuff; being mothers, wives, and our loss of who we are in the middle of all of that (I’m not a wife,  I’m currently hanging out with a gem who thinks commitment is letting me know where he is sometimes).  We talked about our children, our work, the details of our personal lives, and we considered the quality of our romantic partnerships.

Feeling taken for granted is the biggest killer of joy on the planet.

Cow Tea-Pots matter. How you take your coffee and tea matter. What your favourite section of the newspaper is matters. How you feel matters.

I’m sure I’m not alone when I say I have a  man  who has no idea how I take my coffee or tea. With sugar right? No darling. Not for the past 42 years, but thanks for caring. If your partner would rather be on the golf course than in bed, and planning anything romantic is beyond their grasp, but planning social events for a dozen people is nothing, give the whole thing some serious consideration.

I’ve suggested setting a goal of hiking the Bruce Trail as a couple-something new, active and with a common goal in mind, but I know that it will never happen with my partner. I will have plenty of time for that however when he’s off on his own. Cow-teapots? Pul-eaze. Not even close.

Cow-tea pots matter. Because it means they listen, they care enough about why on earth that damn ugly tea-pot means so much to you, and they listened not just to the words of your story, but to your connection to it all.

When you are with a man who,  doesn’t have a clue  what kind of perfume you wear or a thousand other things, I have some advice for you. As much as it breaks your heart to think that your lover does not love you, but takes you for granted instead; wear the red dress and go to dinner with friends on your own (they will love your teapot stories), hike the trail  (who knows who you might meet), buy the lingerie, and don’t ever make your time a priority for someone who takes yours for granted.

Go for the person who knows all about your cow teapot, or in my case, the pin-ball machine.

 

 

 

 

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Sensuality; The Elixer of Life

stephanie-sarley
This is an image by Stephanie Sarley; Fruit for Feminism.

At this age, we’ve all had lovers. To be considered  a lover, one must be sensual, and as such, must be able to arouse and sate the sensuality in their beloved. Lovers are rare.

This post is about not letting your self-worth and sensuality get lost.  Don’t. Also, don’t confuse sensuality with sexuality. They are two different things, although they have a strong bond.

Enjoying and cultivating our own sensuality is something that I truly believe enhances our overall health; physical, mental, emotional and social.

Waking up alone this morning  I indulged in just-a-few-more-minutes. I spent some time thinking about neuroplasticity, and what I’ve been thinking lately.  I have spent a lot of time wondering whether I’m good enough or not; a good enough mother, a good enough partner, a good enough friend, a good enough professional…

But I always managed to make time to indulge in my own senses. After all, who doesn’t enjoy a long, slow meal at a table with friends with wine and succulent flavours? What about the smell of vanilla candles burning and a bubble bath accompanied by the dulcet tones of your favourite crooner? How about your true love reading Pablo Neruda poems to you while stretched out with your morning coffee? Perhaps it’s just the simple pleasure of being fireside with a good book, wrapped in a blanket with your fur baby curled up beside you.

I am by nature a sensual being. I believe we all are. Even Baptists. I’m not talking sexual here folks, although sensuality sure the hell does raise the bar when it comes to physical intimacy. I enjoy tastes, scents, sounds and tactile pleasure that the world has to offer. By nature I’m a kinesthetic learner.  I’m ‘touchy feely’. In relationship my need for physical contact is great.

I enjoy my wine, my bourbon, and my body. I find comfort in a soft blanket and a cool pillow. I love hugs. Not creepy-old-man-copping-a-feel-hugs, but hugs from my friends, colleagues and my kiddo. I love the strong taste of a good blue cheese, and the sweetness of a candy apple. Yesterday I stepped out the front door of my workplace just after the rain and for a few seconds was overcome by the delicious scent of the earth after an autumn rain.

This morning, I remembered how much I enjoy so many things. How I’ve let lazy lovers fool me into believing something is wrong with me; I’m too fat, I’m too needy, I’m too smart, I’m too fiery, I’m too nice, I’m too harsh, I’m too sexual. I’m not too anything, and neither are you my dear one. Today I vowed to turn my back on these judgments and re-awaken my sensuality; long, slow baths, indulgent fantasies, lingering over wine-rich meals with my friends, music, lingerie and most importantly, allowing myself to want.

 

 

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Winnipeg: What Wonders Await?

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So here I am in Winnipeg.

Discovering that the curtains don’t close over the white blinds isn’t exactly a night owl’s dream.

Being woken up at precisely 6:00am by my morning lark sweetie (and not for sex)- also not delightful. And I’m all about delightful. It’s a damn good thing he’s cute and conscious of my AM limitations.

After rolling over and trying to get back to sleep I decided to get up and start the day. I opened the blinds and welcomed the sunlight, begrudgingly at that hour, but welcomed nonetheless.  I pulled up the crisply dressed all in fluffy white bed, and welcomed some quiet, ‘me time’.

The day takes me a while to ease in to you see, and I’m still adjusting to someone who is a morning person. Sweet love of Jesus, help us both.First of all, I can’t see a damn thing any more without my specs, but I can usually get to the washroom ok. Excess noise (as in anyone speaking words other than, “Would you like a coffee honey” makes my blood pressure raise in a flight or fight response, and I become at risk for a stroke, or homicide.

Despite not having my glasses on, I did spot a giant, black bug in the crack between the tub and the tiles. Suddenly I needed my glasses. Very nice. Sweetie of course was no where to be found. He was either in the gym, pool, or walking around doing some such nonsense that normal people wait to do until noon.

I was stuck with the bug.

I decided it likely wasn’t going anywhere to quickly. Big bugs aren’t like the little wirey bastards that skitter around like crack addicts. Given my AM logic, I proceeded to the in-room coffee station to make what I hoped would be passable joe.

I opted for a flip flop over a running shoe, simply because the sole is flat and I figured there’d be no losing the damn thing in the arc of the toe, or the deep grooves in the tread. Flip-flop samurai. Mission accomplished.

The coffee was a let-down, but I knew what to expect. The local Starbucks sign just down the street was taunting me, but I’m a strong woman, and I can wait until we hit the road later on today.

With my weak coffee and morning fog still lifting, I decided I would find a nice, easy jazz station to listen to while I started my first day of vacation with some writing. Right. I managed to tune in to a full-blast version of ‘Dirty Deeds’, and a twenty year old Trisha Yearwood song that reminds me of my days on the California coast. Seriously, Winnipeg? Really? This is what you’re listening to…le sigh.

I sent a quick text to my kiddo (the reason I’m here), and we laughed about the bug and my morning struggles, and in the end, were thankful to be here, together.

After my early morning of watery coffee, 70’s country and rock, and beatles in the bathtub, I don’t think this fair city can disappoint. It can only charm me….after 10:00 am of course.

In the mean-time, there is sunshine and vespers on Jazz 107.