IMG_1878It’s Sunday morning.  I’m back from France, showing up at my keyboard.  I’m tap, tapping away though my head is thick and groggy.  My ears are still ringing and somewhat plugged.

Our flight coming back was almost as eventful as the one going.  My reservation showed cancelled again when we checked in with Air Canada at Charles de Gaulle Airport.  We had to show my ticket purchased at the airport in Saskatoon.  A long phone call later, everything was cleared up.  I was allowed to check through.

We were late departing from Paris due to air traffic and delayed further by strong prevailing winds.  Our scheduled stopover was short in Toronto to begin with and with the delay, we had to hustle clearing through Customs.  It was a good thing they had set up a system of scanners to process the papers instead of lining up for a Customs officer.  Thank God that there were enough personnel to help figure things out. Perhaps this is one of the times that I do appreciate the impersonal, of just feeding things through a machine.

After going through Customs,  we had to wait to claim our luggage and put it onto a conveyer belt for our connecting flight.  I had a good workout galloping through Lester B Pearson Airport.  We made it to the departure gate with just minutes to spare. Whew!

I have to admit that I was a little grumpy by the time we were on the last leg of our flight. There is nothing to crow about Air Canada’s food.  Reheated prepackaged frozen lasagna may smell delicious to the tired, hungry traveller, but then you bite into the overcooked crunchy pasta.  You eat it because there are no options.  Time pass and you forget – till the next meal.  This time is an over microwaved hot wrap sandwich.  On the domestic leg, from Toronto to Saskatoon, there was no food, only water and non alcoholic beverages. Not even a peanut or pretzel.

IMG_1883Yes, I was crabby and critical of the airline. Was it too much to ask for decent food? They provided movies and other entertainment programs but gave out cheap earphones.  I could not hear anything except loud noise.  I spent the time watching the progress of the plane on the map and coughing and coughing.

But I am home.  Sheba is laying beside me. The sun s shining.  I’m none the worse for wear.  The sleep thing is not perfect, in 2 hour spells through the night,  but my cough is a bit better.  I’m pushing the fluids. The suitcases are unpacked.  Laundry is almost done. Now if only lunch could be simple.

But – I am finding the words, having the desire.  I am quite pleased that I kept up the exercise while I was away.  I could even post using my iPhone, but the Internet betrayed me the second week.  My writing is saved on Werdsmith, waiting to be polished and posted. They are not perfect but they have captured some of the memories while in France.



Here it is, another hot summer day, something we all yearn for in winter.  Here I am, in retirement in summer – one year and a week.  If you are expecting me to crow or gloat about it, you will have to wait a long, long time.  You can retire from a job, but you can’t retire from life.

The same applies to summer and vacations.  You still have to do the breathing and eating thing.  You still have to go to the bathroom. Sheba still sheds her hair all over the house. Meals have to be made, dishes to do.  Then there’s laundry and the floor to vacuum.  It’s no vacation at all.  I have never deluded myself on that one!

IMG_1178I’m sweaty and cranky.  My eyes feel crossed and stuck to the back of their sockets.  I suspect I am a little difficult to live with.  But the dishes are done, the floor vacuumed and a load of laundry out to dry.  At last I’m sitting here, tapping out my words.  What story do I have to tell?

Things are never what they seem.  It is often more complicated than you planned and always take longer than you think.  You just never know what turn your life will take.

I remember the time I went downtown to buy a broom and dustpan.  I walked by Sound City and went in just to look.  I came home with a Magnavox cabinet stereo and a portable TV.  I had just started my very first real job at the Dept. of Indian and Northern Affairs.  I didn’t have any money but the store was quite happy to do the financing.

I did get my broom and dustpan that I set out for.  Later, I learned about the high interest I was paying on the TV and stereo and took out a loan from the bank to pay off Sound City. My impulsiveness did not stop with electronics.  A little while later, I saw an ad in the paper about ballroom dancing at Arthur Murray’s.  I phoned for an appointment to check it out.

I came out of Arthur Murray’s Dance Studio a few days later, having signed on the dotted line for x number of lessons.  I signed a few more times after that, ending with a certificate saying I had completed the Bronze Program.  I did not have the money.  It was just shortly after my electronics purchase.  Again, it was not a problem.  They happily put me on the monthly payment plan.

It may have been foolish of me to have spent the money, for it was not small.  But dancing was one of those things I had always wanted to learn.  I never went to any school dances after Grade 8. I felt out of place in our small town so didn’t go to town hall dances either. Arthur Murray was worth every penny I spent there.

I fell in love with all my instructors.  I felt like Ginger Rogers dancing with them.  I did not enjoy dancing with my fellow students that much.  They were clumsy like me!  I unloaded my roommate problems on Mr. Woodhouse.  The problems were bad and she had mental health problems, but that’s another story.

Mr. Woodhouse was very British and patient, had a willing ear and a good sense of humour.  I went ga-ga over Mr. McDonald.  I don’t think there was much talking on my part.  I was probably demure and love sick.  Alan was like a brother.  He convinced me to participate in a dance competition.  I was reluctant but gave in.  We tangoed to Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina.  It was a good experience which meant we didn’t win any ribbons.

I had no regrets over my electronic and Arthur Murray spending.  I was young and trying out my wings.  That was the proper time to fly and be a little daring.  If I faltered, I had time to recover.

I could still fly.  I have the time. Do I dare?


It’s Friday and time for fiction of 100 words, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

I’m a dream girl but not much into fantasy, but I thought it’s time I spread my wings and fly a little.  Everything is possible.


PHOTO PROMPT- Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
PHOTO PROMPT- Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

In my dreams, I soared high above the clouds.  I touched the wings of the silver bird.  I saw the ocean below me.  I felt the air and magic around me.  Higher and higher I flew.

I heard God whispered in my ears.  “You are the child of my universe.  Take care of it for me”

Darkness came.  The stars twinkled merrily.  I reached out and caressed Mr. Moon’s face. He smiled back at me.  Tired, I climbed into his welcoming arms, laid my head against his shoulder and slept.

I woke and the sun shone in my eyes.