I am 5.3 years old...in Cat Years

Today, the unthinkable happened.  I was mistaken for a 40-year-old woman. 

Now, this is not the worse thing that has happened to me.  It's not as bad as when my best friend married my fiance [I'll write a post on that soon], or not nearly as bad as when I wet my pants while seated in the dentist's chair [I was 7, it's important that you know this]. 

But it hurt.  And it dominated my thoughts for the entire day.  Every time I caught a glimpse of myself in a window or mirror I'd ask myself, "Does this girl look 40?"  But that exercise was about as successful as looking at my own butt and telling myself it didn't look big.  And it doesn't.  I think.

By the time I got home tonight, I realised what bothered me most was the fact that I am bothered by the thought of being 40 years old.  And I know many vibrant, young and successful 40 year olds.

It's just that I never thought it would arrive this fast.

Cat Age Calculator

Me and my first cat 'Grumps'- I was 4.

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Right on Queue

A few weeks ago I walked into my favourtie  Timothy's coffee shop and stepped up to the counter to order a latte.  The girl serving asked me if I had been in the queue and pointed to a small gathering of three people standing single file to the left and behind me.

"No"  I said.
"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to join the queue", she smiled and served the person behind me. 

So I did.  I walked to the end of the line with all three people watching me and stood patiently.  When I reached the counter the girl served me as if she'd never seen me before.  I thought she was rude and immediately texted my husband, telling him of this bad service.  Telling him I'd never go back.  "She was so-unCanadian" I declared, ending my message with an orderly line of three exclamation marks to emphasis my outrage !!!

Some days later I relayed this story to a Canadian colleague who I've since adopted as my cultural coach who said,  "Oh, yes that's the way it's done here.  We queue."   He sat me down and explained that Canadians queue for everything, food, coffee, trains, buses, streetcars, at the doctors, even at the hotdog stand.  Plus, he could almost guarantee me that the three people in queue at the coffee shop probably wanted to 'take me out'.

I share this story with lots of Canadians who are surprised and somewhat confused that the concept of queuing should seem foreign to me.  One French Canadian told me that a recently published survey revealed that Canadians, if given the choice, will join a longer queue than a shorter one.  He even went as far to say that queuing here is different to queuing in the United States.  "There, they queue to stop violence" he told me.   I laughed.  But he was serious.

Since the queuing discovery I notice long lines of orderly people everywhere: waiting to cross the street, waiting for the train, on the train preparing to alight at the next stop, at bus stops, streetcar stops, hotdog stands, coffee shops, womens bathrooms, waiting for an elevator and inside the elevator (those getting off last naturally settle to the back of the elevator).  It's like living in a synchronised society.

The reason I find this strange is that in New Zealand and Australia (where I lived for the last two years), people pretend to queue.  They fake it.  You might think you're standing in a queue, but you're actually standing with a mob.  A mob of people who will race you to the door of the train to grab a seat, or push ahead of you to get their coffee first.   There are no "sorry's" or "before me's".  Oh no sister!  And if you don't adapt to this you'll be late to work, die of thirst or starve.

At first I found queuing unecessary, even juvenille.  I'll even go as far as saying that I found it a little pathetic.  But when I compared the queuing system to the mob mentality I've grown up with, I have to say it's a lot more civilised.  It also works.  I've never once been shunted out of line waiting for a coffee or missed a train.  I am treated as a person should be - with respect.  If someone moves in front of me, they usually say sorry and with their hand outstretched offer me the right of way.  I do believe its an old fashioned concept called 'manners'.  And I like it.

So, to the lady who served me at Timothy's at 1st Canadian Place, Toronto; thank you and I'm sorry.   I was out of line.

Good Night and Good Luck

I'm afraid of dying in my sleep.

It's a new fear I've added to what is already a comprehensive list which you'll be pleased to know, I promise to cover in another post soon.  I fall asleep easily, but wake with a jolt before midnight and don't fall asleep again until 3 am.  Then the alarm goes off at 6.00 am.

Sleeping was the number one thing I was good at.  I could sleep for 12 hours straight.  I think my record is 18 hours.  Now, I get about 3-5 hours of sleep which are riddled with vivid dreams and nightmares.  Not ideal.  [More on the dreams later].

I've done the research.  Googled my symptoms and taken natural sleep aids, gulped wine, walked miles, meditated and listened to soothing music.  Nothing works.

I confessed this new fear to my husband, who has studied psychology.  I've kept it from him for the past few years and last week while we were watching an episode of Grays Anatomy there was a scene where everyone was being real honest and showing their vulnerable sides, I turned to him and said "I'm afraid I'll die in my sleep".   He broke open a Toblerone and we munched our way through the possible reasons that could bring this on.  None made sense. Including the theory that our bed might be facing the wrong direction. He wasn't buying it.  So he researched it.

Turns out this fear comes from the fact that I might be scared I'll die before I've achieved what I want to.  In essence, I'm afraid time will run out.  And it's true.  The clock is ticking.  I'm nearly 40.  I feel that my career has taken a step backwards since moving to Canada.  And I'm tired.

Moving here has been exhausting.  I've just put myself through several of the major life stressors that you could ever inflict on yourself.  Moving to a new country, finding a place to live, starting a new job and a death - my grandmother died earlier this year and she's the main character in all my dreams.  And while the first three things on that list seem like achievements, I feel like I'm not getting anywhere.

My grandmother would always tell me to 'hold my head high'.   "Keep your chin up" is what she used to say.

I'm trying.

Seeing is Believing

After four months of being in Canada and three months into my new job I'm beginning to feel like I'm fitting into this new country of mine.  But progress has been slow.  I'm only just starting to hit it off with a few people which gives me comfort that this move is the right thing for me and that I'm surrounded by nice people.

One of them is a very smart individual who thinks that I'm a  'seer'.  She's convinced that I get 'vibes' off people, or pick up on thought patterns or something.  How did she come up with this?  Well, through many of our interactions I've made a few observations of people in the office and they've been accurate.  This unsettled her.  One day she closed the door to her office and told me so.  She came right out and asked me if I was a 'seer'.  I laughed.  She was offended.  Then, I thought that if this is a Canadian thing, someone should write a blurb about it in the 'handy things new immigrants should know' section of the immigration leaflet they hand out when you enter this country.

I know what you're thinking, (metaphorically speaking) perhaps I am and this smart individual has stumbled across a hidden talent.  But she is young and she is wrong.  I am not a 'seer'.  I am 38.  And when you reach 38 you've seen a lot or 'been around'.  And I've seen more than I should've.  So folks, what I have is cognition. Which is bascially the 'experience of knowing'.

It is even possible that I am wise.