Monthly Archives: April 2010

Washroom Adventures

Posted on by Ann

UB shared a washroom tale that reminded me of my most recent adventure in public urination.

Well, not “public” because I am not quite Canadian enough yet to squat on the side of the road when nature calls in the middle of the prairie expanses*, but the public access to washrooms here, and their questionable cleanliness, continues to be a blight upon the resumé of my adopted land.

I was at Safeway on Friday. Yoga was cancelled as Jade’s daughter was felled with the latest plague of pukey tummy cutting a swath through the local schools. Dee was down last weekend and listed about pale and whiny for days after the vomiting ceased. So I cancelled rondezvous plans for lunch at BP’s with Rob and invited him home instead.

In our early days, Rob came home for lunch every day, but this cut into productivity on many levels and we reluctantly called a halt to it at the start of the school year this last fall. Lunch at home is a rare treat.

As I cruised the grocery aisle with purpose, I swung by its only washroom to make a pit stop. Occupied. Shopped a bit more and tried again. Occupied. A third try had me missing the vacancy by seconds as a young woman and her toddler emerged and an elderly man in gray sweats out dashed me for the door.

Heavy sigh.

I know this guy. I have seen him in the store before. He is one of two gentlemen whose homefulness is questionable and who use the Safeway washroom (did I mention there is only one in the entire store?) as a full service bath.

Standing outside the door, I heard the water running and the paper towels tearing. 4 minutes. At least. Water and towel tearing.

He slunk by me with head down and I walked in to find a sopping sink and wet floor.

Normally, I can be very yoga about this. Homeless people need to wash too, but I am less sanguine about the whole thing when I really need to pee. Patanjali just cannot be heard over the urgency of this particular bodily function. I am not above some things.

UB’s restroom tale spoke of being admonished to wash his hands by a “friendly” note** posted anonymously for all.

I didn’t go near that sink and I used the edge of my jacket sleeve to flush the toilet (would show no evidence of engagement – in case you were wondering) and the door handle.

I tried not to think about what might have been washed in that sink.

Seriously, one never knows – unless one is waiting in line.

*On our recent Spring Break road trip to the southlands, there were a few drivers here and there blithely pissing into the warming breeze.

**Friendly note courtesy of UB’s blog. Link in first paragraph, in case you missed it.

Yoga Style

Posted on by Ann

We went over the different yoga movements in our last training session and I found a link that outlines them pretty well.

I am an Ashtangi with Iyengar tendencies for the moment. I think though that I am drawn to the philosophical aspects too. Perhaps it stems from my having wanted to be a priest when I was a little girl? A Catholic no-no and I can’t tell you how frustrated the sisters at my school were when they couldn’t convince me that being a nun was the same thing. Did I look gullible, perhaps?

Cold damp weather is oppressing me today – physically and spiritually. Surprising how quickly a person can be spoiled by sunshine.

Off to make lunch for my honey who is on his way home and then an afternoon on the mat (not with honey – elevate your minds people, I was referring to my yoga mat in my nearly finished new office space – pics soon.)

Stepping Out on My Blog

Posted on by Ann

So when I wasn’t here, I was here and there and there.

First piece I am lamenting my ability to hold the line with the daughter on proper school footwear. As I wrote this for the mommy blog, it reminded me of a middle school friend whose mother made her wear winter boots until May every year.

While the rest of us were splashing about in the April showers in our Adidas (the height of cool in 1977) runners and track jackets, she was shod in grandma boots with the zipper up the front and a mid-calf ringed with fake furry fabric that pilled and her winter jacket from Sears.

“Was she scarred for life?” Rob asked as I related the woeful tale of my old buddy.

“Well,” I said, “the last I heard of her she was a teacher at a community college somewhere in Florida and working on her third husband.”

True. By the time we were thirty, she’d run through two husbands and her potential third was about eight years younger than we were. I don’t know for sure  he was a student, but the evidence was damning.

However, in case you missed Rob’s point – I didn’t – the boots were not the likely cause. She had the misfortune of being the catalyst behind her parents marriage, and her mother felt that her great potential had been cut down before it could bloom by my friend’s untimely arrival. Seriously. Even though we were all very young, it was evident to us that she was flogging her daughter with her thwarted ambitions rather than asking herself why she simply hadn’t used a more reliable method of birth control – like abstinence perhaps? Jae was the family go-to in a Cinderella way while her younger brother, an obnoxious cry baby, was the second coming.

“You are going to cave on the shoes,” Rob told me.

“I told her only as treat,” I conceded.

“You totally caved,” he confirmed.

I have not. Dee only gets to wear the flip flops on the last day of school, which is still months off.

The other posts are about racism in Mississippi schools (hardly worthy of a stop the presses but reprehensible never the less) and bribing kids (in some instances it works beautifully).

Also ran cross this awesome link on Jezebel* that led to a blog post by Paulina Porizkova – the former super model – on the shame not allowing women to age is. Excellent read.

Forgive my lazy blogging. Allergies are kicking me hard.

* A must click. There is a current pic of Paulina that leaves me in awe.