Snow, snow, snow.................

     I am missing my fun day as I am stuck shoveling snow.  I went out twice yesterday but stopped short from completion since I have injured my shoulder.  My neighbour helped clear the driveway with his snow blower for another car of his family to be squeezed in.  He also covered my green bin with a small mountain of snow.  Oh well.  Mayor Ford was going to do something about extra cars on drives but the people who like to hog them complained too loudly.
     I wonder if I could give off the appearance of being a sweet helpless old lady if I would be able to sit back and relax.  Where's the shawl and grey hair?  I guess I just look too good, independent and lively.  If it snowed more, I would buy a snow blower too. But where on earth would I store it?  I noticed a huge beautiful house in Niagara Falls (mulitple listing) with a private drive, garage, pool, cabana etc.......all for 245,000.  That is cheap compared to Toronto.  You can't buy much with that.  I was so tempted.  My mom said that I could go when she dies.  Funny lady.  Anyhow, the house sold.  I even emailed the real estate woman saying that if the house did not sell I might be able to buy it in another year.  Of course she did not reply.  I like looking at houses.  I even considered being a real estate agent (but do not care for the schedule) because I like going through them.  I like seeing how they are constructed, painted and decorated.  I find myself imagining how each house can look.  I have never been able to afford what I really like here at home.  Of course I am not going anywhere soon.  I have too many commitments right here.  However, I would not mind living in New York City or Disney World or more practical Niagara Falls.  I was sharing the latter concept, with a classmate looking for a house.  She is retired.  "They have only one Geriatric doctor for the whole Niagara area!" She responded.
     Oh yup, everyone is getting old these days.  Baby boomers are supposed to dominate.  What?  Not enough specialists for the old?  Are they legalising mercy killing yet or do people still go to Europe?
      Can you imagine?  "Not enough beds, sorry.   Here is a needle to put you to sleep.  You will not feel a thing." 
      "  You want to live in the middle of nowhere, in a glass house by the lake?  You think doctors make money out here.  Solution?  This will make you go to sleep.  You will not be a burden on your loved ones and besides they want your money and deserve it."
        What a comedian this morning.  Let's get back to the snow.  They showed an 80 year old woman on the news last night merrily plowing the snow away with a gas snow mower.  I wish I had her energy this morning.  I have just put my shoulder on ice and want to write a bit of my book before I go out and try to find my green bin.
     Aw, the city snow plow just went by building a neat huge pile to block my driveway even more.  What fun!   The news kept going on about where the snow plows are.  If they stood in one location long enough they would have seen them.  I saw them twice yesterday on my street and my neighbour saw them a third time.  How many other times did they pass without being seen?  I actually waved at the driver when I saw him coming.  The street was deserted.  I had hoped that he would not pile up more snow on my driveway but I must have been dreaming.
     What I would actually like to do now is make a snow man or snow woman or snow baby (probably easier).  During the last snow storm, a neighbour down the street had a huge snowman with a cool head of hair.  It was all spiked and painted yellow.  Very original.  I wonder what could I do to my snow baby?        
     Well one day, I will want to make a nice huge snow man with the help of friends.  Can I persuade any body?
     As kids, we want to grow up to do all the good stuff that is fun and then we grow up and get so serious.  Well, this kid grew up and wants to still do the fun things, like make a snow man.
     What will you do on snow day?  Tobogganing is fun.  I used to do that a lot with my parents.  I was still at it in my teenage years.  But in my twenties it was harder to convince others to share in this past time.  I also got too busy with other stuff like dancing.
      This snow is quite nasty in some areas.  If you do not have a snow blower, take your time and try to push the snow rather than lift it; that is what the news said though I have been doing that since I can remember.  Don't push yourself beyond what your body tells you.  Have some fun out there, if you can!  Build that snow man!   What do you think?  What would you like to do?  Why are you not doing it? 

Do you need psychotherapy/pastoral counselling?

     There has been a lot of advertising lately regarding mental health in an attempt to de-stigmatise.  Celebrities are utilized so that if they can say that they needed help, than someone who is the average Joe should not be hesitant either.
     One of the challenges I know preventing people from getting help is the concept of strength.  " I don't need therapy because I am strong."  How can that strength be defined?  Is it the opposite of "I don't need help because if I get it that means I am weak."  Really?  Is it not indicitive of strength?  Thus the use of celebrities.
     If one has a back ache?  Does he ignore it?  Does he see a physician, a message therapist, a chiropractor or something or someone else to relieve his pain?  Does he ignore it?
     What is the difference between physical and mental health?  The two may be in most cases very interconnected.  If someone is suffering and it is causing stress, it is very likely that this may have physical ramifications within two years if it is not eliviated. 
     In my undergrad, (I mentioned this when I first writing this blog) I was taught that at times it is as simple as needing to confide in someone because there is no other in one's life to confide in.  The "Aunt Martha" so to speak is disappearing in people's life.
     At times it may be a chemical inbalance which can be controlled by medication.  I encourage all clients to have a complete physical as a process of elimination which again I have been taught to do as early as undergrad.  What keeps people from wanting to see a physician?  I remember when I was in Italy, a physician (in my second book) told me that "these people avoid doctors and then when they are so sick that have no choice, they come and then it is too late to help them.  The saying is don't go to see the doctor because he will kill you."  I remember some old Italian people saying just that.  "He was healthy.  He never went to see a doctor and then when he did, it was over."  I always found that humorous but when the physician was explaining this type of mentality among the locals of the area, I realized the ignorance connected to it and the ramifications.
      There are people who have suffered so much that they are simply not ready to face what has happend to them. 
      There are people who see a counsellor and cannot connect with her and so stop trying to find one where a connection is possible.        
       There are people who have positions of authority where people depend on them and they feel they need to go on and on and ignore the symptons they are suffering.
       There is a much longer list but I am sure you know what it is keeping you from reaching out.  Do you see yourself here?  What do you think?

The Alphabet (published poem 2013)

The words stood tall and swollen as they danced, C with B and D with E

Suddenly…….the entire alphabet stopped

And words began to form

After T and Z had kissed

Grape, grrrr  ape grrrr aaaa rape

Gr g grrrraaaaa grapppp

Grapppppppe grape

The words reformed and replayed and danced again

G R A P E

The words lay flat and raised and dance

And stopped

After J and K had fallen

Baby bab baaaaa  a bab ababay

B a b y

And baby grew while the alphabets danced and

Played and stopped and fell and raised

And ate the grapes till they were full and wanted

Milk, mmmmmm ilk miiiiiil millllll

Iiiiiil  illlk  ilkkkkkkkk ilk

Millllllk milk

The words reformed and replayed and danced

Again.

The developing brain and the environment – psych notes continued.

  

Birth

     . an environmental transition

     . occurs at different stages of brain development in different species

By 5 months – bulk of neurons

Late differention: 

Cerebellum cortex, neocortex; hippocampus

Postnatal human brain growth (weight)

Adult:  1250 – 1500 g

Birth 300 g (20% of adult)

4 yr old -      (80% of adult)

9 yr old-      (90% of adult)

16 yr old-     adult brain weight

Rat vs Human

Rat                                                              Human

Birth                                                             4.5 month gestation

5 – 7 days postn                                            birth

21 days postn                                               2 yr postn

    This is important to study alcohol in trimester so we can compare

Next:  APGAR SCALE

     

Post- Formal thought and Social reasoning (psychology notes)

Post- Formal thought and Social reasoning:  Social problems arise out of necessary subjectivity in which there are different views of a situation and “reality” is in part created by the knower (Sinnott, 1984, p 250).  Immature thinkers are more egocentric and less able to detach emotionally from a problem.  Older, more mature thinkers are aware of the subjectivity involved in problem issues and recommend solutions based on understanding and mutual respect for the parties involved.  Sometimes crises situations prompts a shift to more advanced post-formal thought patterns when the world no longer makes “sense” as it has previously.

Sinnot’s (1984) criteria for post-formal thought:

1.  Shifting gears - seeing from another point of view.

2.  Multiple causality, multiple solutions.

3.  Pragmatism - how practical is this? Can we do it? And

4.  Awareness of Paradox – ironies.   

From a Creative writing course expedition

My last Expedition

Well, my final expedition.   I am down at the Harbor Front.  I was supposed to meet with friends and skate.

However, I am typing away and am not paying much attention to my friends as much as I should.  Oh, well. I am outside the cafeteria facing the lakeshore.  I am wearing a heavy white wool pullover, one of many that my mom made for me years ago.  My coat is resting beside me on this picnic table that has seen too many seasons.  I sun feels warn against the cool breeze which stings my whole being.  The sky is bright and light with various shades of white and light blue.  I can see Toronto Island across from me, defined by bare trees surrounding the South side of Lake Ontario.  Tiny dark blue and white waves move quickly in an easterly direction, anxiously demanding spring.  A helicopter flies over me, but I cannot see what type it is because of the blinding sun.  People keep talking to me, some are my friends encouraging me to forget work (they call this work) and skate.  Now a man demands my attention, "Are you going to skate?" he asks smiling.  "No." I reply realizing that I do not know him.  "Hard to skate with a lap top." he continues with a bright smile".  "Especially the way I skate." I reply.  He is not my type I realize as I quickly and habitually give him a quick look over.   I notice a red cap over a shaven head.  He is wearing a beige jacket and blue jeans and I realize that other people I know are now talking to him.  Perhaps they know him, perhaps not.  I look over at his left side and see another man more my type seated on a bench.  He has hair and carries himself well.  Dressed in blue from his baseball cap to his jeans.  He has seriousness about him.  He opens a copy of The Toronto Sun and I realize that I am not the only one here not skating.

                The skating rink looks smooth, though some parts are flooded.  People of all ages glide naturally on the ice.  One of my friends, Bruno is complaining that the ice is rough and full of slush.  It makes me feel that I am lucky to be typing.  Bruno suggests I give up the laptop and go skating.  He threatens to throw the laptop onto the rink if I do not skate.  I let him know how much it would cost him.  Errol, another dear guy informs me not to write badly about people.  I tell him I do not do that and then remember what I said about the guy who is not my type.  I focus on the people skating.  Some people are wrapped warmly in lively colors;  others dressed in layers have very little on.  The sun has returned to Toronto.  I do not normally skate here preferring City Hall.  But, perhaps I have judged too hastily.  I listen to the rocking beat of Macraema in the background of a nearby shelter.  I am truly an observer and not a participant.  My eyes wander to a male seated at a picnic table to my right.  He is watching me from behind yellow and black sunglasses.  My eyes move toward the blond woman seated beside him and I immediately lose interest.  One of the women screams out.  She has spotted a hockey player.

       "Who is he?" I ask.

       "Doug Gilmour."

       "Leave the poor guy alone."  I plead.

       "Why?"  she asks.

       "Because it must be difficult to be a celebrity."

  She mingles with the group for a bit and then runs off to find the hockey player.  Simone is a vibrant soul, full of laughter.  I hope she does not find the poor man. 

               

I marvel at the oversized quart of milk by the side of the rink.  Skimmed milk it boasts with a lovely picture of a man and boy casually spending time on a deck.  Their short sleeves suggests a warm day full of pomise ….drink milk and you will feel this nice summer day in the woods, surrounded by nature…..milk…..mmmmm……Actually, I mever liked milk since I discovered it came from a cow.  In my small mind everything came from a factory…..coke, milk, meat…….

                Another man has come to our vicinity.  He is wearing a hockey outfit and is introduced to me.  I do not thinik it is Doug Gilmour and I look out at the rink.  Sea gulls are souring above us in search of food.  I am feeling cooler and decide to put my coat on.

                There is an announcement "Attention all skaters"  the rest is incoherent but people leave the rink.  I smell something nice but I cannot quite identify it.  Is it a pipe or cigar?  It smells nice.  "What is that smell?" I ask.  "Food." is the reply.  I look around and only see people eating ice cream in prepackaged cones. 

Simone has returned without the hockey player.  I point out the man in the hockey suit and suggest he might do just as well just focus on the uniform, I suggest.  " S I l v a"  they pronounce as if scolding a child. 

Another pal complains that it is getting cooler, while Simone repeats several times that it is a lovely day.  A lovely day it is.  It is interesting trying to type and socialize at the same time.  People from adjoining tables stare at us.  How would I describe us?  We are presently a group of about.  15 and we are a mix of different backgournds.  I think we are interesting.  Of course, I am biased.  People are staring at us because we are happy and perhaps a bit loud.  I am quiet because I am typing.

 "Are you a sportscaster?" someone asks me.  It is amazing what comes to the minds of people when they see a person typing away.

"Have you got your skates on yet?  I look up and see Bruno.  Bruno is a real nice guy.  He is big and bold and kind.  I would love to have a brother like him.  "Will you get me a coffee?" I ask.  He gets me one.  Another guy I know comes along and puts his face in my lap screen.  His name is Tony.  "What are you doing? " he asks casually.  " My creative writing course."  I respond.  "Stick around and I will write about you."  He disappears.  Tony lives computers.  He freelances lately after giving up a hectic job with a bank.  Overall, a generally nice guy.  His hair is peppered and he is medium shaped and sized.  Errol is now sitting beside me.  He places his french fries on the table and leaves.  I steal a fry.  He returns and offers me a fry.   Another member of our group begins to discuss…

  

Culture Night at my old school

     When I began my Masters Program at UofT in January rather than September, I didn’t know anyone.  I found myself leaning against a wall at my first function.  It was Culture night.  People would approach me and introduce themselves and everyone made me feel quite at home.  I had brought Apple Pie, as part of my culture contribution.  Is it really part of my culture?  It is if I love it so.   I think that later years I brought Panetone, an Italian delight, normally sold at Christmas. 

     After graduating, I was still invited and so last night I returned after picking up my favourite Professor and taking him to the function.  This 80 year old man has a quick spirit and mind.  His body however is a walking miracle.  At least that is how he refers to his still being alive.  With all the ailments this man has, it must be his amazing brain that keeps him going.  And so he should, because he has so much to offer students.  This man worked me to death and life was never my own when I took one of his courses.  He is a legend.  I then took another course with him and wondered if I was a masochist.  I learned so much from this man.  And so I do not mind hanging out with him on culture night and I even find it an honour to be in his company.  His wit never fails and I appreciate that keen sense of humour which can be quite restricted in my line of work.  My peers can be so serious, that my jokes are often misunderstood.  I believe in balance and humour is part of that balance.  Actually, I am coming to believe that humour is a gift and I saw an abundance of it last night.  Though I was in three programs at the same time, I found my life at the college the most accepting and rewarding.  It was also the place where I was expected to work hard and I did.   My life outside my studies and work was minimal for five years.  Now, I can return to school and see those weary, but happy faces from the students and relate.  I can also be very happy that the majority of my studies are over.   Professional Development is a piece of cake.  I have had a good life and am in a good place doing exactly what I want.  I want to help people and I want to write for fun.

    One of the Profs asked me what I was writing and how much I had written.  I told her and said

200 pages.  She suggested that I eliminate the first part.  I was writing too much and people don’t

want to read more than 200 pages.   I didn’t know that.  I must be one of the few who read fat books.  Last year when I was selling my, “Hey Guy Buy Me” at Queens Park, one man began to tell me off, saying that I was charging too much for my little skinny book.  What do I know about the cost of selling books?  I left that up to the publisher.  I think the cartoons in it are worth it and my wit and comedy as well.  But not that guy.  He looked at the cover and began giving me the lecture of a life time regarding the cost.  I did not tell him what my publisher told me about the quality of the paper.  I thought if I had, he might yell out louder while walking away. 

    “How are your books selling and what is the title?”  The Prof who has written scholarly books asked.  How embarrassing among intellectuals to be discussing my comical guide for men.  One person said she had read it and found it funny.  She smiled.  I replied that my book was not selling very much but I have heard that from other writers.  I said I have learned from this experience and will hunt for a publisher who takes care of all that selling part in future.  In other words self publishing may not be my answer, though I really liked dealing with the publisher of my book.  However, one needs help and by the way the Publishers I saw at events give away books they are trying to promote,  I want one of them.  I hear writers tell me that it is not like the old days when lots was done for an author.     

     I learned at the party from one man that he was told to eliminate everything white in his diet.  I thought of everything that I eat, white buns, white butter, white mayonnaise etc…..I learned that too much potassium has the same symptoms on the body as too little potassium.  I think I will start eliminating or decreasing the white in my fridge and buy little bananas.  How much potassium is ok?  What foods have potassium  anyhow besides my favourite bananas?

   The highlight of the night was watching the entertainment.  I am always at awe at how much the students and Profs have to offer.  My academic advisor (past) sang in Latin and played the guitar with a guest.  He has an amazing voice and used to begin some classes singing in Latin.

     What I enjoyed most was a traditional Mexican Native dance and all that was needed was a burning fire to dance around to.  The male actually dented a part of the floor and broke off another, with the force of his dance.  I guess the floor was laminate.  I would try to lean back further not to have him topple over me.  The space was so confined and the dance so beautiful, powerful and traditional.  The costume of feathers and beads and leather was breathtaking.  I yelled out to a Native friend of mine who had been in several classes of mine, asking if she could beat that dance.  I know her well enough to be able to say that.  She chuckled, across from me.

    It was a wonderful evening.  When I drove my favourite Prof back to his residence, I thought about how much I had written and how I had eleven more years story to condense. 

     “I think I will write it all and then keep a copy of that for my records.”  He agreed and suggested that I edit it afterwards. 

     As I sit here thinking of last night and about to begin writing again, I wonder if I should condense everything to 200 pages or to write about the different stages such as Basic Training, Police Training, Ottawa etc…For the meantime, I will continue to write and focus less on details.  Then I will read it all over again correcting what needs to be corrected and then think a bit more about it while I look for a publisher. 

     I know my neighbour had to condense his book, at the request of his publisher.  Ummmmm. In the mean time, I will take a day at a time and savor each moment of this phase of my life and the writing of this book.  This will probably be my only serious book.  I am already thinking of the next one.  Now that I know readers don’t like reading more than 200 pages, I can write so many more books…..YES!!   Will I sell them?  What do you think?