I bawled my eyes out last Friday.
Tears of Joy. Relief. Gratitude. They felt good. Very, very good. They lasted a good long while. So long in fact there are a few trying to slip out right now, because I can’t even think about this topic without getting emotional.
Apparently some people are surprised to hear that I would cry. What momentous occasion caused my flood? Did I have a new child? Win the lottery? Or a new piece of business?
Nope. We won a high school football game.
I quit French in Grade 10.
My parents warned me not to. In English, to be clear. I didn’t listen. In any language. Sounds natural for a 14 year old, doesn’t it?
Of course, they were right. I was wrong. Still am. Even more so today than in 1979. As my career has revealed the obvious flaw of not being able to speak French, while attempting to be a marketing thought leader in Canada, I regularly kick myself for being unilingual. Especially given the extent to which Québec embraces activation, promotion, celebrity endorsement, sponsorship, festivals and events.
I just started coaching football teams number two and three of the year, so any hope you had of me not blogging about the gridiron is slim.
But this blog has as much to do with your balance sheet as it does your fantasy team.
Summer is over.
At this point my kids would shout, “Well, THANK-YOU Captain Obvious!”
But it is.
I know cause I froze my arse off last night at football practice for my youngest. I am talking at 7:00 PM I was freezing.
Of course maybe my arse was cold due to the fact that I had a colonoscopy yesterday. It certainly was empty! Okay too much information, but if you doubt me just Google Dulcolax and Picolax….
I also know that summer is over because nothing got done this week. Or at least it felt that way. Something about the Labour Day long weekend. Amazing how one final Monday off (with due apologies to Thanksgiving) can create a psychological wall in people’s minds. Somehow this is a slack week. Of course the people working this week won’t agree with me. But trust me, September is tomorrow… not in a week.
My blog needs a vacation. It’s feeling slighted.
It knows I’m on vacation. Last week the Olympics, this week Normandy.
Don’t side with my blog by calling me spoiled. It can see my entire family is on vacation. It doesn’t need new allies.
My blog is feeling treated like a dog. It should feel worse, because my dog is also away, at a friend’s cottage. How does that work?!
By coincidence, my sister is on vacay right now as well. On the West Coast, California style. Her husband used to play football with my buddy Rico. He’s chilling on the East Coast, Hampton Beach style. There is no deep connection here. I’m just trying to make sure my blog feels as crummy as possible. Even if I have to resort to entirely random connections.
Continue reading “Games and Frontiers: European Vacation Stirs a Range of Feelings”
Words escape me.
With powerful memories of the Vancouver Olympics and Whistler Paralympics still fresh in my mind, l booked a trek to the London Games. Yes, I’m incredibly spoiled.
I write to you from Olympic Stadium at this very moment.
The appropriate words to describe how I feel are far beyond my writing skills or even my fictional powers. In part because I was worried that after spending all the time and money to get here that it wouldn’t be as amazing as the 2010 Games.
Silly me. It is unreal here.
Ever heard the expression “Vegas Mile”?
In simple terms, it means the distance between you and an object that appears close but is really far away. Such as a mountain. Or retirement. Or your vacation. Or losing 20 pounds.
Okay the last three were not the right examples. “Vegas Mile” does refer to the trick your mind plays on you when you eyeball a destination and think it’s much closer than it really is. Try it someday. On the Prairies. On Water. On the Vegas Strip.
I think if there was a contagious disease of having “Vegas Mile,” or “VM” for short, it certainly infected dozens of participants at the Oxfam Trailwalker event last weekend in cottage country Ontario. If you don’t know Trailwalker, it’s a 100-km hike that must be completed in 48 hours by all four members of your team.
To call it a hike is unfair. It’s like calling the Olympics a game of tag.
It’s a mental, physical, spiritual and anthropological challenge.
Continue reading “The Crazy 8: Triumph and Tears at Oxfam Trailwalker”
My kids finished school yesterday. Guess that means it’s summer vacation time. So why am I at my desk this morning? Better yet, why are you?
How jealous were you when your little rodents came home yesterday and announced they were sleeping in for eight straight weeks and had little intention of showering, changing their clothes or listening to you?!
What went through your mind as you drove them to the camp bus pick-up location or as their grandparents loaded them up for two weeks of cottaging? How did you feel when your teenager headed to the airport for their job in Banff or simply hopped on the same camp bus, as a CIT, that they used to board as a first-timer?
Look around your office and check out how many people have decided this is the weekend that officially marks summer, and smartly booked today off for an extra long weekend. Continue reading “Summer Lovers”
Do you remember what it was like to be a kid?
I’m talking about being an eight year old. Or maybe ten. Twelve at the most.
What a time.
Your only worries were whether to play baseball or hockey. Go to your friends or have them to your house. Or which magazine to read first.
No bosses. No mortgages. No email.
Look at your calendar. Your June 1st of many moons ago was a welcomed date. It signified that your school year was coming quickly to a close. That your summer break was just a few weeks away. Your teacher was creating fun activities versus drafting tests.
You weren’t thinking of hitting your Q2 numbers, about covering for a co-worker’s vacation or if you were even going to be able to take your own.
Kids have nothing to worry about.
If you believe that, then perhaps your head is buried deep in the sand of your summer cottage rental.
I have no expertise on the subject, but through my work with several clients in the sector, it’s abundantly clear that today’s children face more issues than those of my generation could ever imagine. Divorce. Bullying. Depression. Obsession. Poverty. Obesity. Violence. Isolation. Racism. Continue reading “Child’s Play: Today’s Kids Are Stressed, Too”
I hate golf.
I hate playing it. Hate watching it on TV. Hate how long it takes. Hate how bad I am at it. Hate how much it costs. Hate that everyone in my industry is better at it than me.
Candidly, if you ever played with me you may come to believe that golf hates me even more. I swing like I am trying to kill a bee. My feet fly out of my spikes like a parachuter. My body swings into a corkscrew of tangled parts. I putt with my legs split at the precise angle to take a #2 on the green without getting any on my shoes. My tee shots are so erratic that I thought that “Dick Out” was slang for mulligan.
Speaking of terminology, allow me to qualify my use of the term “hate.” I don’t actually hate the game. It’s probably more accurate that I’m a hater. But I don’t think I am alone. Most people are haters of things they suck at.
But if I am a hater, then surely I must now be rightfully considered a liar. Because dial me back to late Sunday afternoon, and there I was glued to my 55” Panasonic. Continue reading “Perfect Lie”
