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Earth: The Pinhead of the Universe. Making me … what?

Posted on May 24, 2012 by Astra

I recently visited the Museum of Science in Boston with my family and discovered something rather distressing.  We went to the Hayden Planetarium’s presentation of  Undiscovered Worlds: The Search Beyond our Sun which revealed to me in dramatic fashion and great astronomical detail by Harvard and MIT PhDs that I am, against all superior judgment, NOT the centre of the universe.  Okay, that was a bit of a cosmic shock, if I may say so, but I guess I had it coming.

For some people, it’s important to be one leap for mankind closer to answering the almighty question, “are we alone?”, but for me the answer to that question now points to more species slowing my high-speed internet and clogging my satellite TV.  Sad face.

In the two and a half decades since I have graduated from university, astronomers have discovered the existence of exoplanets – planets that are outside our solar system.  An unbelievable 800 or so such planets have been discovered. As astronomers find more of these exoplanets, like HD 142 b in the constellation of Phoenix (yes, that’s far, far, FAR away – farther away than Pluto), I am not only closer to realization that I am not a dominant force in this universe, I now also have to get used to the fact that I am really rather insignificant.  If  our sun is nothing more than a pinhead on a vast sandy beach in the cosmos, what does that make Earth?  More to the pinhead, what does that make me?  A tiny speck?  A speckle of a speck?  A “pinhead” used to be a bit of a derogatory term, but now I find out that being a pinhead at least has some significance in our cosmos … while I have none … barely even a speck of dust! This, on a Monday morning.

During the presentation, I found myself thinking Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hears a Who, clearly providing some explanation why I am not an astronomer from MIT or Harvard.  Horton said, “There’s a tiny person on that speck that needs my help!”

In the vast cosmos, I am not even a tiny person on a speck.  I’m not even a speck.  I slowly started to feel invisible, like I do at BestBuy on the Saturday afternoon before Christmas.  Or when asking for technical assistance from my internet provider.  Or while waiting 45 minutes for my scheduled doctor’s appointment.  Or when having to wait for my kids down the street around the corner from their teen party.  Come to think of it, apparently I have a great deal of experience being inconsequential!  Horton, I just want you to know that I aspire to be more than just a pinhead.  I’m working hard to be the best terrestrial speck possible!  In the immortal words of Horton, “A person’s a person, no matter how small.

If there was a bright star in this cosmic disappointing discovery it was in reminding my family that THEY are not the centre of the universe either.  And that my star-gazing friends, made my starry, starry night.  Nananabooboo!

Do you wonder if we are not alone?  Or like me, would you rather be left alone?

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Timmies: apparently you can’t just take it or leave it.

Posted on March 9, 2012 by Astra

I’ve really done it now. I’m pretty sure CSIS is on my tail and the RCMP is monitoring my internet use. What’s the cause of this new found surveillance anxiety? I happened to casually mention to a another hockey mom the other day that I was somewhat ambivalent about Tim Horton’s coffee.

“Are you kidding me?!” she asked, with an expression that suggested I had just committed an act of treason under section 46 of the Criminal Code of Canada. She looked around nervously to see who have witnessed this brazen lack of patriotism. She whispered, “You don’t like Timmies?”

“It’s not that I don’t like Timmies,” I offered, trying to make up for the life of social isolation to which I’ve clearly just relegated myself and my family. “I just don’t love Timmies.”

Tim Horton’s coffee (aka, having a Timmy or getting your Timmies) is as Canadian as a loonie or legally drinking a 2-4 while still a teenager (by the way, those are not connected and should not be confused). She continued, “Sorry…” (also uniquely Canadian – we start every sentence with ‘sorry’), pulling me the the side of the hockey arena foyer, away from glaring disapproval of the Timmy crowd and adding, “It’s just that I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like Timmies coffee. I can’t live without my double-double!”   Oh, I do love a good latte but honestly, I’m good with any old coffee as long as it’s not decaf and not three days old. To state this publicly is apparently very un-Canadian.

So, imagine my surprise that while visiting Rochester this past weekend (I know, I know, I’m living the dream), I see a Tim Horton’s coffee right next door to our hotel. Not far from this Timmies, was of course a Dunkin’ Donuts.

Given that my son had a most thoughtfully scheduled 7:15am Saturday morning game that required us to be on the road to the arena by 615am, I casually mentioned to my son, “Hey! Let’s hit up Dunkin’ Donuts this morning for coffee and hot chocolate, okay?” He looked at me in as much disbelief as a 14-year old can feign at that hour of a Saturday morning. “But Mom, there’s a Timmies right here”, as in, why go anywhere else? So for all my faithlessness in a Canadian institution, my son set me straight (again).

Then later that day when I heard ad ad on Rochester radio for Tim Horton’s Café and Bakeshop, I just about flew off the road.

Café and Bakeshop??  Are you kidding me?   Calling Tim Horton’s a café and bakeshop is like calling Dunkin’ Donuts, Le Boulangerie et Pâtisserie de Dunkin. I guess I know very little about American consumerism.

There are over 4500 Tim Horton's in Canada - finding one does not really require an app!

So it would appear that Tim Horton donut shops (and let me be be clear about this right now: they ARE donut shops) might be the next great Canadian export since Pamela Anderson.

And to that I say …

Americans are just gonna love their double-double.  Always Fresh. Always Tim Horton’s.

Have you had your Timmies today?

 

Author’s notes:
CSIS is the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, responsible for matters of national security. Like the CIA and MI5, CSIS works domestically and internationally in identifying and controlling threats to Canadian national security like terrorism, and general indifference to Tim Horton’s coffee. 

A loonie is a Canadian one-dollar coin, so nicknamed for the Canadian loon which adorned the first mint.

The legal drinking age in most Canadian provinces is 19 (except in Alberta and Quebec, where it’s 18, eh!).  A 2-4 is a case of 24 beers.

A double-double is a coffee with 2 sugars and a double shot of milk or cream (could also be Pamela Anderson’s cup size; I hope there will be no confusion).

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Posted in "I kill me!" (aka Humour), Family Life, Family Travel, Hockey Mom: My life with stinky laundry. Bookmark the permalink.

Yakkety Yak – Please Talk Back!

Posted on November 18, 2011 by Astra

Car chats – Part I

On the road again...

I spend a lot of time in my car. 

Not just because I drive to and from work, but also because I drive to and from hockey – A LOT of hockey.  These days, these car rides provide an opportunity for peace and quiet as my teenagers plug in and tune out (a fine legacy of Steve Jobs, I might add).  My two teenage boys are generally a quiet pair these days anyway as convo with their mother is not a cool way to spend their time. No matter, I think to myself, I got my coffee, I got my own own music, don’t worry be happy, right? My 11-year old daughter is still the chatty Cathy (and her name’s not Cathy by the way, I think it’s Linda Blair or something like that).

Anywho, once in a blue moon I am enlightened by my kids.  Here’s what I mean:

On a 4-hour trip from Ottawa to Toronto for a tournament, my oldest son spoke precisely six words to me.  And what were those six words? “That was a really good book!”  I know! I couldn’t believe it either, since I was convinced the only thing he could read started with the words , “In sports news today …” Ah, hope springs eternal with a sprinkle of creativity: I had secretly downloaded S.E. Hinton’s “The Outsiders” audiobook onto his iPod before leaving on our epicly quiet hockey road trip .  He actually noticed it there and listened to it. Not being a particularly avid readers, I am constantly looking for sneaky little ways to talk book talk with my boys.  He loved it. What I didn’t even realize, however, was they were studying this book at school and he was a little behind in his reading. The audiobook had saved his hide for English class on Monday.  Hope they have one of these for Twelfth Night…

I prefer to live with PonyBoy tuff talk for a while.

Upon being eliminated from an entirely different Toronto tournament, I took my middle guy downtown to see the King Tutankhamun on exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario a while back.  I had somehow missed his transition from dinosaur boy to full-blown Egyptologist, and instead of listening to Eminem or Skrillex all the way home, I got 4 hours of the life and times of Howard Carter and the various conspiracy theories surrounding King Tut’s death. Not sure which is worse. He didn’t even laugh at my Steve Martin version, either. Sheesh!

But I can live with an Egyptologist for a while.

More recently, on our car ride home from our Cornwall tournament, my daughter and I were blasting out Adele, Katy Perry (a little slack here please; her team nickname is The Fireworks, after all), and even the Bieb. Shortly after belting out a Carrie Underwood favourite, I asked her, “So, if a boy ever cheats on you, you’re totally dumping him, right?” She still young, so I am still privy to some of her innermost secrets (aka, the latest crush).

“Totally!” was her response, “and I’d also send him a harshly worded letter too”.   

A harshly worded letter? What the ….?!!!

Who says that about a rotten boyfriend, anyway … Jane Austen? Kate Middleton?

I’m not sure I could live with this.  I invited her to consider taking a more assertive approach and maybe ‘take a Louisville slugger to both headlights’ or some other form of public ridicule but she said “Wouldn’t I get in trouble  for that?” Anti-bullying week and all, y’know.

I told her perhaps that just this once it would be worth it. 

What pivotal or riveting car conversations have you had recently?

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Posted in "I kill me!" (aka Humour), Family Travel, Hockey Mom: My life with stinky laundry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Teenagers!

Posted on March 25, 2011 by Astra

Teenagers are a different species.  How do I know this?  I was once a teenager myself (a genealogical fact evidently dismiised by my two teenagers).  Have teenagers evolved since I was once one?  Is it just mine or have all teenagers decided not to be at all concerned about the consequences of their behaviour?

When I was a teenager, at least I had the decency to be scared shitless of my parents enough to be home in time for curfew.  As rebellious as I may have been as a teenager, until the time I went away to university my curfew was 1am, except on those evenings when I worked until 11pm, then my curfew was generously extended until 2am.   This victorious curfew extension was not granted without a considerable less- than- peaceful protest.

Recently while cruising through the Caribbean, we granted our two teenagers basically carte blanche until 1am (but they had to join us showered and appropriately dressed for dinner each evening).  Fairly liberal for a 13- and almost 15-year old,  n’est-ce pas?  We also knew the ship had strict rules about serving alcohol to minors under 21 (stricter than my own, I would add), and they were in our company during shore excursions (where the drinking age in St. Maarten is apparently 3$ as we were told by our guide) so we felt confident that they were safe and that they were mature enough to handle this added privilege.  This 1am curfew was also in keeping with the ship’s rule that all minors had to be in the company of their parents if out after 1am. 

It would appear my teenagers took this rule to mean that as long as we, The Parents, were still on the ship (i.e. had not jumped or been thrown overboard and hence, lost at sea), we were technically still in their company, and therefore, they The Teenagers were free to party on and return to the stateroom whenever they chose.   After the first misdemeanour, and appropriate parental guidance (aka, lots of yelling and swearing) our oldest was given a choice of a 1030p curfew (would have been tough to enforce since we were not back in our stateroom at 1030p!) the very next night or midnight the next 2 nights (which included our last night aboard).  He chose no Facebook for his first week home.  I tried to tell him that having no access to FB would actually be harder with all these new Friends left Pending but…. what can you do?  I am but one lowly mother.  By 2am our last night aboard, neither teenager was anywhere to be found.  Our lack of parenting skills aside, the 13-year old decided no harm no foul – or rather in this case – foul yes no harm.  Thankfully, not many took notice of the demented  and distraught women wandering Deck 15 in her pyjamas muttering profanities.

So indeed it is very strange, now, to have full, leisurely access to the computer and my own Facebook without having to share it with them.  Though I am no fool:   I know they executed Operation Facebook and swindled their little sister into changing their profile pictures!  However, she now has their passwords so not an entirely risk-free scheme to say the least.

What is a mother to do?

 I am reminded of this famous quote about teenagers….

“Our youth now love luxury. They have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for their elders and love chatter in place of exercise; they no longer rise when elders enter the room; they contradict their parents, chatter before company; gobble up their food and tyrannize their teachers.”
-  Plato in 4th century BC

The more things change, the more they stay the same!

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Eat, travel, write …

Posted on March 24, 2011 by Astra

I am seriously thinking of becoming a travel writer.  That is, as long as I get to pick and choose where I go and with whom I go!  I would so love to write, travel and eat.  No wait a minute, that’s travel, eat and write.  Hold on.  Eat, travel, and write.  That’s better.

***

 The Taste of the Seas gives us a taste of St. Maarten… 

We were all happy enough to be finally out of the cold Canadian hockey arenas to which we were accustomed, but our day aboard the Taste of the Seas in St. Maarten just got better and better.  We were eleven aboard that day in March … this travel writer along with 5 other adults and 5 children ages 10-14.  No one wanted the day to end.

 Our spirits were initially dampened as we were drizzled with rain showers during our 15-minute walk from our cruise ship to Bobby’s Marina.  Waiting 30 minutes for our scheduled vessel, Reel Play, to arrive to the marina didn’t help and it took some time and our own inquiring to confirm that Reel Play, was reely not coming and another boat had been organized.  This travel writer was taking some serious notes about lack of service and the skeptics among us started to worry that our day’s excursion was in jeopardy.  While our departure was delayed a full hour as a result of this miscommunication, the rain ceased and our hosts, Captain Myles and First Mate Mike (aka Jack Sparrow) ensured our spirits and souls were immediately revived with a delicious and potent rum punch.  As the song goes, changes in latitude mean changes in attitude.  Yes indeed, 10am never felt so good in a hockey arena. Of course, we knew we were in great hands since Captain Myles was a transplanted Canadian himself.  I never did get to meet Bobby.

Cruising for about 45 minutes to our first snorkeling destination, first mate Mike (originally from Yorkshire England but more recently from no fixed address) recounted some first rate local lore, geography and economy along with fascinating personal tales of his cross-Atlantic solo sails.  I seriously doubt if any of the stories were true but was not going to risk his spitting in my rum punch.  We were well equipped with snorkel gear and noodles which helped me considerably since I jumped in without fins.  Hey, no one told me a travel writer also has to be good at snorkeling.  In any event, we did not have the cove Captain Myles chose entirely to ourselves, as some scuba divers swam beneath us, but the crowds of other snorkeling destinations we passed along the way were no where to be found, attesting to Myles knowledge of the island and its secrets.  So this is where my career as a travel writer really sinks:  I know nothing about fish or coral, but they were sure pretty and sure colouful.  A warm fresh water shower off the back of the boat relieved us of any salt water discomfort and we were quickly back on the sun deck recounting our underwater adventures…and more rum punch (hic!)

We then cruised back along the coast to the very secluded Mullet’s Bay where Myles anchored as we swam ashore for lunch.  No where in the brochure did we read “our guests will enjoy a delightful swim ashore for lunch”, or we probably would have thought twice about booking, but in the end, this turned out to be the highlight of the excursion!  Seriously, what’s the opposite of ‘all aboard’?  Is it ‘walk the plank’? Or ‘heave-ho’? Maybe that last one is reserved just for me.  The crystal clear blue waters and gentle rolling waves were a perfect sequel to our snorkeling adventure and we enjoyed a shaded cabana lunch (paying no attention to the little vermin we thought we saw in the floorboards) alongside stunning sea and sand.

 Most reluctantly, we all swam back to our boat, where Mike plied us [adults] with some more rum punch and allowed our teenagers to spend 20 minutes doing spectacular jumps and dives off the boat’s deck followed by sunbathing on the boat’s deck while I drank more rum punch and perfected my pirate snarl. 

One in our group seriously hoped to do some fishing while aboard so I seriously hid any fishing rods I came across (just kidding).  Nevertheless, St. Maarten aboard the Taste of the Seas is a highly recommended excursion – as is the highly recommended crew.  When you go, please say ‘hi’ from the Canucks from Ottawa!

 ***

Honestly, someone please hire me to be a travel writer!  If you do, I’ll even brush up on my fishes – or fish’s – names.  If you send me to Tuktoyaktuk, however, I might have to take a leave of absence.  Location. Location. Location.

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The Road Trip: Part 2

Posted on November 19, 2010 by Astra

The away – hockey tournament is always all things excessive:  too much food, too much driving, too much cheering, too much alcohol, too much noise, too much this and too much that but waaaaayyyyy too little sleep.  Hockey tournaments usually start on a Friday requiring one parent to take a day off work, leading me to my first side note:  my husband and I are fortunate to have generous vacation policies.  Between our 3 kids we need to take 10 days off work for hockey tournament attendance alone never mind medical, dental and teacher appointments or PD Days! 

This tournament was my turn and I was actually trying to schedule in a little R&R and time with my daughter.  Side note #2:  never expect R&R or quality time with your child on a hockey tournament weekend.  As with any road trip, I am up late Thursday night packing, cleaning and making sure there is enough food in the refrigerator to last my weekend bachelors who will call me three times a day to ask where something is or how to make it.  Our trip to the first game unbelievably did not involve a roadside restaurant stop – it was relatively close by.  Even more fortunate was the fact that the mother and I that were carpooling had the foresight to pack the hockey equipment last since our first stop was, in fact, the hockey arena, and not the hotel.  Usually I neglect the all-important car-loading schematic and am unloading all my luggage, coolers, and personal trappings bury us as they come tumbling out of the car in front of all the team, in order to get to the hockey equipment.  Goal scored by the moms on this one.

Checking into the hotel is a feat as well.  As I  overhear someone mention that the hotel is fully booked, I am reminded that I seem to have a knack for checking in just behind the masses, making any special requests to be near other parents or amenities like asking for the clerk’s first born – or more!  As my hockey mom friend and I wait and wait and wait and wait to check in, we send our girls off to locate the trolley for our luggage (a hotel with bell staff on duty during a hockey tournament check in would be like a glass of water in a desert – both are in fact mirages, right?).  Twenty minute later, we’re checked in our girls are nowhere to be seen, nor is a trolley.  Our pint-sized veterans of the girls’ hockey tournament weekend have already had quite the little reunion with present and past team mates and snagging our trolley was not even close to one of their priorities.

With no sherpas in sight, we begin the trek to our rooms with our gear on our shoulders and backs.  Sweating like true athletes we finally coming across our daughters, to whom we pant, “Did you find one?” and the response from four blinking blue innocent little eyes and two mouths saying in unison,  “Find what?”

Maintaining a steady march we haul all this stuff from the hotel lobby (stuff being luggage, coolers, craft boxes, food and snacks and possibly some hockey equipment, jersey bags and goalie pads for good measure) when we come across another mom about to return her trolley to the lobby.  We pounce upon her like two senior citizens at a two-for-one – we literally drop our “stuff’ and pounce on this trolley.  She was grateful not to have to walk it all the way back to the lobby not realizing that we were willing to pay her $50 for the privilege!  Now to organize our stuff on the trolley while dripping in perspiration.  Forget for a moment that both this mother and I are highly educated women – she in fact an engineer – that under normal circumstances would likely be able to marshal the resources required to stock the hotel let along organize this trolley to travel from the lobby to our hotel rooms, which yes, side note #3, are about as close together as Russia and Alaska (which evidently one can be seen from the other).  We unload half the trolley in one room and my daughter and I depart to our room in another wing… only to encounter the worst possible enemy of a body laden with gear:  a set of stairs.  God help us.  We finally get to our room and I immediately set my daughter to task2 which is finding the closest ice machine (my wine needs to chill after all), praying it isn’t broken.

More later because now it’s back out the door to the next hockey game.  No rest for these weekend warriors.

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