Oly fever

Five more sleeps until the Vancouver Winter Olympic Games opening ceremonies.

Uh, yeah.

Now, don’t get me wrong – oh, go ahead and get me wrong, if you want to. I don’t care. But, just for the record, I do enjoy the Olympics, both winter and summer. Ever since I first discovered their existence, for the 1972 Munich Summer Games, I have religiously watched the events on TV as much as I could. I have learned to appreciate all kinds of sports. I have been to the Munich site. I have visited the Calgary site (Winter 1988). I even made a pilgrimage to Olympia, Greece last summer to the site of the original games, for heaven’s sake!

Look! Here I am walking down to the original Olympic stadium!

And here is the stadium itself!

And here I am at the remains of the Temple of Hera, where each Olympic flame is lit, and then transported to wherever the next Games will be held!

Is that proof enough? I like the Olympic games!

I just don’t like them here and now.

I don’t think we can afford such an extravagance right now, not when our government is cutting expenditures everywhere, particularly our provincial government. The economy went down the drain last year, taxes have been raised, people lost their jobs left right and centre, social programs have been decimated, health and education budgets have been slashed to the bone (and in some cases, to the point where health care facilities and schools have been closed down) – yet somehow, the province of British Columbia and the country of Canada can put on a gazillion-dollar two-week party.

Personally, I had no idea it would cost quite so much to host a world-class sporting event! I hadn’t a clue how much disruption there would be downtown, with all the road closures and restrictions. I just never thought about it before.

The only inkling I ever had was when the city of Montréal finally paid off its Olympic debt from the 1976 Summer Games – thirty years later. And I thought that was maybe the result of poor fiscal management.

I don’t think so now. I think that this is just the way the Olympic games have evolved. They’re just bloody expensive to host! And tickets are either stratospherically priced or impossible to get, so most of us will be sitting at home watching the competition on TV, just like everyone else around the globe.

What does Vancouver get out of all this hoop and la, anyway? Well, we got an enhanced highway up to Whistler – the cost of which is apparently NOT included in the Olympic expenditures because our government has said that the highway needed upgrades anyway, so it would have had to be done in any case. We also got our SkyTrain rapid transit system out to the airport finally, after almost 25 years in operation. I wonder if the government is putting the same spin on that expense as with the highway to Whistler? We got a few new buildings and upgrades to existing buildings that will be hosting various events – many of which will be converted to other purposes after the Games are over. Again, a lot of this may have been needed anyway, but I question whether or not it was all needed at the same time. Normally, governments budget for things like skating rinks and housing a little each year, not all within a couple of years with the accompanying whack to the public pocketbook.

But the government cannot control the weather. And in Vancouver, we are currently experiencing a rather warm and mild winter, with a consequence of no snow at Cypress Mountain. Cypress is in the suburb of North Vancouver and is the site of the snowboarding competitions. So, more expense in the form of helicoptering and trucking snow in from nearby, higher mountains as well as from the interior of BC.

The powers-that-be are expecting a huge influx of tourists who will spend, spend, spend during the two weeks of the Games. Will they spend enough to offset the enormous amount of money that the people of BC and Canada are spending to put on the Games? Who knows? And will Vancouver become the vacation destination of choice for all those people who will be watching on TV? Will there be an economic spin-off for years to come? Again, who knows?

I do not have tickets for any of the events, nor do I plan to go downtown and check out the Olympic frenzy that is predicted over the next two weeks. I will be watching and cheering on Canadian athletes in front of my TV, however. I will be going with the kids and staff of my school to see the Olympic torch relay this week, as it passes nearby. And I will think about the fact that I will likely be paying for all of this through my taxes for the rest of my life.

But when a Canadian athlete wins our first gold medal ever on home territory, I will probably completely lose all negativity. In fact, I know I will!

Go Canada go!

Gym dandy

I’ve done something that I never thought I would. Never in the proverbial million years. No bloody way. Anybody else, but not me.

I have joined a gym.

It was DD’s idea, and she pulled a little bit of a guilt trip on me. “But Mo-o-o-o-om! I rea-ea-ea-ea-eally don’t want to go by myself!”

And like all good parents everywhere, I capitulated. I even paid for her as well as myself. That’s just the kind of mother that I am.

But really, who am I kidding? I need to do this for me. I’m starting to get the muffin top. I’m getting a bit saggy here and there. I’m beginning to notice that I don’t look so terrific in sleeveless tops any more. I see that my body is not as young and firm as it used to be. I am aware that my body now lacks tone and definition in spots.

Dammit, what I really want is fabulous arms like these:

And I will get them. Someday. In a galaxy far, far away, no doubt. If ever I can remember what to do on each machine without having a trainer follow me around explaining it yet again. If DD ever stops laughing at me long enough to actually help me when I’m particularly confused. (You know, DD, one day you too will be my age, and you too will not learn new things quite as quickly as you did when you were 22. Yes. True fact.)

I will keep you posted periodically. Maybe when I can do one real push-up. One. That’s a realistic start, don’t you think?

Hammam-I-am

My friend BFJ and I went to a hammam on the weekend. What’s a hammam, you ask? I answer that it’s a steam bath, followed by a full-body exfoliation, a rinse, and a massage. Sometimes it is called a Turkish bath. (Except in this case, it was in Vancouver, so “Turkish” really doesn’t apply.)

And who would think that such a thing would exist in Vancouver anyway? I certainly had no idea till BFJ somehow discovered this place and suggested that we try it. I was a bit skeptical about the whole thing, since, as a rule, I don’t actually like steam baths, but I was so looking forward to the exfoliation part (which they call “gommage”) and the massage that I just lay back and tried to enjoy it.

It was tough to enjoy. I don’t like sweating profusely, nor do I like the feeling of my lungs closing in on me so much that I cannot breathe properly. I don’t like having my eyes open and being unable to see – but it’s not dark. I worried about whether or not it would get so hot that my contacts would melt – and then I worried about the stupidity of leaving them in in the first place. I started to zone out over the hairspray in my hair: would it fuse every hair together and make it impossible to brush afterwards?

Well, no to those questions. I actually ended up relaxing somewhat and even noticing the eucalyptus scent in the steam. And I was surprised when it was already time for my gommage and rinse. I found that part very enjoyable, but I suppose if you’re a person who’s not comfortable being stark naked in front of another woman who is scrubbing your body all over (and I do mean all over!) with black Moroccan soap and a rough mitt, you wouldn’t like it at all.

But the massage was amazing. I had the best massage of my whole life! That woman had magic fingers! Sometimes the pressure of her thumbs was almost uncomfortable, but then she would change her position or the pressure and I’d be fine. It was like she could “read” my body and as soon as she sensed that I was starting to feel discomfort, she moved on. I never once had to tell her to ease up, she just knew. She was one good massseuse – and yes, I told her and I told the owner of the place. I also tipped her rather lavishly (I think) to show my appreciation.

And then you are led to a comfy – well, bed would be the best description. You get a blanket to wrap up in and you lounge there amongst the cushions as long as you like, drinking vanilla honey tea and nibbling cookies. Lovely!

So it was a really different and thoroughly enjoyable afternoon – even the steam component. I would highly recommend a visit to a hammam if you’re looking for relaxation.

And the irony in all this? Last summer, I was in the home of the hammam: Istanbul, Turkey. Did I try the hammam experience then? No, I did not.

Silly me.

Copy that!

I tried to use the photocopier at work yesterday. It wouldn’t work – naturally. Our photocopiers (we have two) are in almost constant use, and they do break down a lot. I think we should have a permanent repair person on site, but I know that’ll never happen. We need the money for the Winter Olympics, after all.

Anyway, I investigated further and actually read the screen. It said something about replacing the toner.

Ah, toner! I know what that is! I thought triumphantly. I can do this!

I took the box of toner down. There was one empty cartridge and one full one. These cartridges are about as long as your arm, and about the width of a two-litre bottle of Coke, but they’re not particularly heavy. They’re just awkward.

I opened the drawer indicated on the photocopier. Yep, there was a toner cartridge. I pulled it out carefully. I took the full one from the box, removed its red collar, and just as carefully slid it into place. I had to mess with it a bit, but then it snicked in and I closed the drawer.

I congratulated myself on a job well done. And all I had to do was follow the directions!

I went to put the empty cartridge into the box beside its empty twin. As I slid it in, I balanced the box on its edge on the floor. The cartridge dropped gently in. I lifted up the box to replace it on the counter – and there on the carpet was a HUMONGOUS blot of black toner. Toner is a POWDER! A powder that easily sifts through the end of a box when a supposedly empty cartridge is upended into said box.

I moved the box over. Another cloud of inky powder drifted out and onto the carpet.

I put the box on the counter. The entire end of the box was dark with powder.

I looked at my hands. Black, black, black.

Just goes to show you: I may be a professional, but I am apparently the wrong KIND of professional to deal with photocopiers.

(PS – The carpet was nice and clean this morning. I think I owe our janitor big time!)

Disconnected

I’ve been feeling not-quite-myself lately. So has DD. We were talking about it the other night (one of the few evenings when we were both home at the same time).

She, the English Lit Honours grad that she is, expressed it far more articulately than I, but basically both of us have been feeling lately like we’re not truly here all the time, that we drop in briefly, then we beam out again. We’ve been feeling like spectators in our own lives more often than not.

It’s not that physically I’m unwell – although last week’s bad neck from the dryer door bonk to my jaw was certainly a physical ailment (but two chiropractor visits later, the neck was pain-free again). I haven’t felt depressed or upset or worried or anything like that. I’ve just been … kind of on edge. Kind of distracted. Kind of uninvolved. Disconnected.

Then during a phone conversation with my mom on Saturday morning, she mentioned something about the three-year anniversary of my dad’s death coming up. I vaguely knew it was coming at the end of January, but couldn’t quite recall the exact date and I didn’t want to ask Mom because that sounds pretty stupid, forgetting a date that significant in your life, don’t you think? So I looked it up in my files.

It’s today, January 26.

I think that even though my conscious mind didn’t remember precisely, my subconscious mind sure did, and that’s what’s made my mood so weird lately. And DD’s brain is likely working the same way, as she was extremely close to her “Papa”.

So now that I have this understandable theory as to what’s going on, maybe I can get back to normal now.

I’m off to Unbook Club this evening to not talk about books with the wimmin. That’s pretty normal, isn’t it?