Who'd have thought...

On Saturday I went to my local farmer's market, I pleasure I truly enjoy. I bought all my fresh fruits and veggies and plopped them at a picnic table along with my Mom. I went back for our reward, yummy Organic caffe Americanos. I got to chatting with the guy next to me in line, talking about the different coffee names, and then was on my way. When I returned to our picnic table, two ladies had joined us, and my Mom was chatting away to them.

Well, one woman and I started chatting while she waited for her husband to arrive. She thought he was side tracked because he tends to like to chat a lot. His nickname was "Jabber". Well, my eyes widened, as that was one of my nicknames in high school, partly because of my last name, and partly because, well, I liked to talk. I told this story to my picnic table companion, and said my last name is Jablonski. Her response, "Mine too." "No way." " Way." 

What are the odds of two Jablonski's, unrelated, sitting beside each other at our local farmer's market? Her friend said, that her husband was just coming up. I saw the man she pointed to, only to notice that he was the "Jabber" I was jabbering with, while waiting for our coffees. Too funny. Just shows, that in a multicultural place like Toronto, a Jablonski is as common as a Smith or a Jones.

Who knew?

Vigor...

Barb and I,
8:00 am Saturday August 20 2011 in High Park — pre-walk.
Full of vim and vigor — really!

As in vim and vigor!

My word of the week from Andrew.

Vigor would be me, Saturday morning, generally at 8:00 am, in High Park with my walking partner Barb. Barb and I started out as running partners and met at a marathon training group, Jeansmarines, and that was eight years ago. Neither of us had been runners, and took up the crazy idea of running a marathon - yeah, the whole enchillada, 26.2 miles. We did it. Barb had completed her marathon the year before I joined the group. Well, as the years have moved on, many races have been completed, and our bodies have spoken to us, we are now quite happy to be walking briskly together, rather than running.

Barb may complain about the 8 am start time, and I may dread the humidity, particularly this summer, but we ultimately feel full of vigor each Saturday. We meet in the parking lot of the Grenadier restaurant, look at each other bleary eyed, moan that it was hard to get up, and get moving, but know we will feel better for making the effort. 

We both enjoy getting out, moving, and sharing our time together, and feeling healthy. We note the swans along the lake front, how quiet or ferocious the lake can be, have skirted the ice and sleet in the winter, dodged the puddles in spring, listened for the peacocks calling out from the High Park zoo, and savored a clear blue sky. We have spent many hours out on the paths, sidewalks, streets and trails together. Much has been shared about our lives, families, friends, work and travels — all while feeling full of vigor.

When I first started the whole running thing, I couldn't imagine running a marathon, then I couldn't imagine not running at all. I'm now content with walking each week on Saturday with Barb. I'm no whippet, and running never came naturally to me. I was always a fast walker, and have embraced it. I keep track of our distance and pace, and more importantly, calories burned, each week. I am happy to say that walking has allowed me to feel full of vim and vigor.

Voluminous...

Ah, the word of the week assignment from Andrew - voluminous.

All my life I have dreamed of having voluminous hair. I grew up with those Breck Girl ads of the 1960's & 1970's where those brunettes had lots of big brown hair. I have tried perms & highlights, curlers and hot rollers. Alas, I have my Dad's fine skinny brown hair - never to be seen as voluminous. I tried so hard in the 80's having long hair, and perming it, trying to create the illusion of lots and lots of mane-like hair. Sadly, it was an illusion in my mind only - I've seen the pictures.

We never have what we want out of our hair. Those with curly hair want straight. Those with straight, want curly or voluminous in my case. At least I don't have frizzy hair, or dry hair or over processed split ends. My hair is very shiny and healthy looking, with no grey hairs at my age, another gene I owe my Dad for. My stylist insists there are a lot of skinny hairs though. Yeah right.

So, my lot in terms of my hair life, is fine, brown (well now caramel and honey toned highlights thanks to my colourist, I told you, I'm trying anything to give it body) straight hair. Could be worse...

My Mom has voluminous red hair.
I have the skinny brown with voluminous hair envy.

Secret?

My word of the week from Andrew - secret.

I'm not going with the obvious - Secret deodorant or The Secret (the recycled ideas in a book/DVD of the same name).

We all have secrets.
And we all can be seen as mysterious because we have them.
Some are very private hence the nature of the word secret.
But, how do we keep them and can we always keep them clandestine? 

A secret wall, or secret passage?

My Dad once owned a building which had a false wall, revealing a staircase to a "secret" room. This room contained lovely old antiques, stored away for well over 80 years. Because it was next to an old railway line, everything was covered in black soot. The building was once a general store, and the owner was clearly a Freemason, a secretive order, if you will. He was clearly the secretary, as there were books and books on minutes of the meetings. But what I remember more, was a beautiful Eaton's brass headboard, with the sticker still on it. I still have that brass headboard.

So, from this secret room, hidden by a secretive man, who belonged to a secretive "club" all was revealed. Not sure why it needed to be a secret, but, proving, that sometimes it is hard to keep a secret forever.

Golden

My word of the week from Andrew - golden.

Golden wedding anniversary? Witnessed my grandparents - even their diamond.

Golden jewellery? Not a huge fan - perhaps it was the overdosing of it in the 70's & 80's that did me in.

The golden rule - treat others, the way you would like to be treated. That's the ticket. That is my idea of golden. I think most religions have a version of this thought - as it is a universal outlook - or at least it should be...