The expiry date on the carton of milk read:

“January 19, 2006”

I realized upon lifting the carton that there was just enough milk left for one more bowl of cereal.

I stared at the date; it was as though I was peering into the future. 2005 would be gone, but the bold promise of fresh fine-filtered milk would live on well into 2006.

As if by instinctual reflex, I closed the carton and placed the milk back in the fridge for use in the new year. Something about the idea of the existence of a constant in my fridge door, bridging the space from calendar year to calendar year, gave me great comfort.

Some years go by much like the Young and the Restless. One can tune into an episode in January, and then another in December, and not have missed anything of substance. The characters are still suspended in the same inane conversation, the maid may have come in and out of the scene a few times in all her pointlessness, but the only material change is perhaps the total collective number of face lifts undergone by the cast members.

In these years, I gaze backwards up the time line linking the December me, to the January me, and I see myself walking backwards, in my parka, then in a sweater, then with an ice cream (mint chocolate chunk), then with an umbrella, and then in my parka once again. There have been minor prop and character changes. But from my December vantage, I peer backward into my January eyes and I realize that, most importantly, I am unchanged.

Other years, like this one, when I sit in my parka and gaze back, I don’t recognize the January me. I want to slap the January me and warn her not to float so haphazardly into February. I want to warn her to soak in every minute of every day going forward, because when she emerges at the end of the year, she will have been fundamentally changed by every minute of every day she experienced.

This isn’t the space to rehash all that has come to pass in 2005. This will not be my “year in review.” But maybe this year, rather than trying to reconnect backwards with my former self who no longer exists, I can send a shout forward to the future me. I’m leaving her some milk so that when she goes to fix herself a bowl of bran flakes in 2006, she can draw on some of the goodness left in the past, to gain strength to walk consciously, full of whole-grain fibre, into her future.

Dreidel, Dreidel, Yawn.........

When I was younger, the highlight of Chanukah was the game of family dreidel.

I remember the sheer exhilaration of being up ten pennies one minutes, and then losing it all the next. I anxiously anticipated each turn, and I spun the top with unbridled delight.

Determined to relive that childhood wonder, I insisted that we play a game of dreidel at M’s Chanukah party last night. I printed off a make-your-own-dreidel cutout from the internet, and went to work folding and taping.

After a few glasses of wine, some latkas, and some vegan chili, I announced that it was time for dreidel.

Even the lovely hostess M, who always humours me, was somewhat skeptical.

I insisted that fun would be had by all participants. M doled out the pennies and the game began.

After about ten minutes we were all bored stiff.

I tried to increase the drama by upping the stakes. Each player would now put in, *gasp*, three pennies each turn, rather than one.

Still bored.

I quickly thought up an adult modification - strip dreidel:

Gimmel: tell someone to take off an article of clothing
Nun: nothing happens
Hay: tell someone to half remove an article of clothing
Shin: take off an article of clothing yourself

O glanced at his younger sister sitting across the table, and at M’s husband, and gave a forceful, "um, no."

Why was it that I now found this game so boring? Had I been so corrupted that nothing but sex and high-stakes gambling could hold my attention?

Luckily I didn’t have to stress about this too long.

At my next stop that evening I found myself playing with the host’s table coasters. They are made of little rainbow coloured plastic people that fit together like puzzle pieces. Their baseline configuration is a ring. Their little arms snap into each others’ stomachs and they can also be made to sit on each others’ heads.

About an hour passed and I realized that I had made the plastic people lock into each other in every permutation and combination possible.

Seems that as we get older, our attention spans don’t wane, our tastes just become more sophisticated.

Everyone Pees



A few years ago my sister bought me the book Everyone Poops for my birthday – a picture book by Taro Gomi. It has very funny illustrations of all different animals’ poo – from giant elephant dumps to little rabbit pellet poops.

A week or so ago I was in line in the bathroom at a very upscale club. In front of me was a model-like scenester diva. Every inch of her body revealed extreme contemplation and intense attention to detail – from her two-tone shimmery eye makeup, to her layered tanktops of various levels of frontal plunginess, to the designer scent that was diffusing down the concentration gradient from her wrist to my nose.

She stood with a perfect disinterested expression, eyes gazing to the distance, with her weight on one leg and her arms crossed across her chest. I took a step back from her. I think my subconscious secretly sensed that my aura had no business infringing on her aura’s space.

Everything about her said “look and admire. I am bar-tacular perfection.” And she was right.

A stall came free and the diva went in. She emerged about a minute later and I was next in line. As I squeezed past her I gave her a half smile, acknowledging the awkwardness of cramped bar bathroom situations. She looked through me.

I entered the stall and prepared to put a safe two-ply coating between the seat and my bum, but was stopped short. A golden splattering of urine covered the seat and glistened almost supernaturally in the halogen bathroom light.

For some reason I found the juxtaposition of the image of this mega diva with this bathroom mess to be hilarious. Despite my best attempts I couldn’t help giggling out loud (all the way through my own business).

Some people think that they have the best grandmother in the world. Then they meet mine and they realize that their grandmother may get the silver medal, but mine unquestionably wins the gold. Witty, warm, kind, and smart. She is also a perfectionist.

My grandmother will spend half an hour shaping butter into little perfectly curled pats. Everything in her apartment is placed just so, and at any given time you could eat off her immaculate floor. I have seen her nearly die of embarrassment when she found a fingerprint on a window. Needless to say, her bathroom is always spotless.

But she is getting older. Lately her eyesight has been getting worse and worse. A few weeks ago when she was mixing the dressing for the salad, she tried to pour lemon juice into a spoon but poured half the bottle directly onto the counter. I pretended not to notice, but I could see the immense frustration and despair on her face when she realized what she had done.

I was the first one to arrive for dinner at her apartment for dinner last week. Having consumed too much coffee prior to my subway trip, I was dying for the toilet by the time I got to her place. I kissed her hello and headed directly to the bathroom.

But this time, there was something uncharacteristically out of place. A small but unmistakable drop of pee had been left behind on the seat. I thought of my grandmother and how she would be mortified if she knew she had left this behind.

As I took some tissue and soap to clean the seat, I began to cry.

At work we have two bathroom stalls. The one on the left is a small, regular stall. The one on the right is a larger stall that is adapted for wheelchair access. Though nobody on our floor uses a wheelchair, as a matter of convention the ladies use the smaller stall if it is available.

I entered the washroom and found both stalls empty. I headed into the smaller stall and was greeted by a disgusting yellow-soiled seat. I quickly headed into the larger stall, did my business, washed my hands, and turned to exit the bathroom. But as I did, I met a co-worker on her way in.

I should have warned her to go into the larger stall. But for some reason it didn’t occur to me until after she had headed into the left hand stall. As I exited the bathroom, a wave of panic seized me. She was going to think that I was the messy pee-splattering culprit. It was so unfair.

I was reminded of that episode of Seinfeld where Jerry gets caught scratching his nose but from an angle that looked like a pick.

For the rest of the morning I stressed about how to delicately bring up the topic with my co-worker. What if word spread that I was a filthy bathroom user? I get angry when people fail to flush, let alone when they leave remnants of their nephron-filtered morning coffee on the seat for all to see.

Eventually my neuroses got the better of me and I knocked on my co-worker’s office door.

Me: Hi, um, okay, I have a really weird thing to confess to you. Well, not confess, exactly, because I didn’t do it. But that’s exactly the point.
Her: Okay – shoot.
Me: Well, remember when we crossed paths in the bathroom this morning and then you went into the smaller stall.
Her: Maybe.. I’m actually a frequent bathroom user.
Me: Okay, well, I should have warned you and I’m so sorry but that pee on the seat- it wasn’t mine. I used the larger stall instead.
Her: Oh. I don’t even remember that. But that kind of thing doesn’t bother me. Some people squat and don’t notice the back-splash. I personally choose to sit on a layer of toilet paper instead.
Me: Okay, okay, good then. I also sit. Bathroom time should be one of relaxation.
Her: Yeah, I totally agree. Squats are for the gym.

And strangely, I felt like we had bonded in some small way.

I will update this blog before the end of the weekend.
I'm not writing this because I think anyone is waiting with bated breath for my next update. Rather, it is because I have entered an era in my life where if I don't write things down, they don't get done.

Wake up - Check.
Brush teeth - Check.
Shower - Check.
Eat breakfast - Check.
etc..