I Have A Blind Date

So, my family and friends are on a campaign to get me to see and commit to a new doctor. Those of you who know me well know that the prospect of seeing a doctor for me is worse than:

1. root canal without anaestetic;
2. cleaning up the high school toilets after the big prom dance;
3. skydiving with a parachute that has a broken ripcord; or
4. dancing naked in my fifty-year old body at a body parlour.

None of which I've done of course. However...you get my drift.

In any event, in order to get my people off my back, I canvassed my network for doctors. Came up with several possibilities. As I worked down the list, I called the first doctor who seems like a possibility based on the description.

I ask the nurse "Is the doctor taking new patients?"

"Yes", says the nurse, "but only after a meet-and-greet". "

A meet-and-greet", I enquired "is like a blind date?" (My first ever blind date with a woman!).

"Yes, just to see if you like each other, if you click".

So, I have my blind date next Monday. I've made my prep list:

• Get a new outfit and maybe new shoes. Definitely new underwear in case she likes me so much that she wants to do an immediate exam.
• No drinking, or eating garlic, on Sunday.
• Early to bed so I look like a healthy patient and not one who will give her too much trouble or expect too much of her.
• I won't have a cigarette before the appointment in case she is adverse to treating a smoker.
• I'll walk tall, shoulders back, and breasts out, like my mom told me a healthy woman walks.
• I'll bring my health card in my fancy gold business card case so she knows I value my health.
• I'll bring my oversized bottle of liquid calcium and engineer it to fall out of my purse; I'll then ask her if she'd like to share a sip with me since it's blueberry flavoured. We can bond over sips from the bottle and she'll think I'm a health nut (hopefully, not just plain nuts).
• I'll skirt any stories about health issues in my family, in case she doesn't like my genetics.
• I'll feign that my favourite things to do in the whole wild world are waiting around in doctor's offices and medical clinics. I'll tell her that's the way I've met all my best friends and interesting companions.
• I'll be impressed and nod at all of her words. I'll smile alot and even laugh if she tells any jokes. I'll let her talk about herself more than me.

Do you have any other suggestions? Should I bring flowers or candy? Or is that too forward?

Okay, what if she doesn't like me?

Perhaps I'd have to go back to my network for names of psychologists in order to get over a broken heart...stay tuned!

Glover Law: The Gold Tribal Law Firm

I am delighted to report that my two teams from the University of Toronto did an amazing job at the Osgoode Hall Law School National Undergrad Mooting Competition! I had such fun helping them to prepare and, in turn, my volunteering taught me a lot. I have once again learned the value of gold.

My newest friends worked so hard. And we had so many laughs along the way. It is always an amazing thing to me that I will meet up with four strangers sometime in January, as I have done each of the past four years, to talk about the law. They, strangers to the law. Me, strangers to them. We built a team and a solid spirit that has us cheering each other from the sidelines of our life and hugging tightly no matter the result. And we laughed.

Every experience to me is a learning one. I believe that one of my teams should have made first place (well, they both couldn’t!) But since they made it into third place, I remembered a study that had been done of silver medalists at the Olympics. Interestingly enough, according to the study, silver medalists are not as happy with their medal standing as the bronze medalists are. Intuitively, it makes sense. It is always harder to come second – right in front of you on the gold platform is the proof of what could have been. The bronze was just happy enough to be on the platform! You have proven to be worthy of the platform -- and the color of the medal doesn’t matter.

No matter their standing in the Osgoode Moot, my team this year was gold. I have a favourite book, “The Outsiders”, that talks about how one has to “stay gold”. Though nature cannot stay gold, according to the poem by Robert Frost, the book inspires the thought that humans can aspire to stay gold. They can stay gold by believing in themselves; by taking the right path no matter how life might push them astray; they can help others with a kind hand or a healing heart; they can offer unconditional support to each other; and they can give the gift of laughter or poetry or sound or comfort. That is what it means to stay gold.

Garenee, Mike, Peter, and Sarah: You are Gold. In two short months, you delivered to me the power to believe in you, in your future, and in your dreams. And, most importantly, we learned and laughed together. You can and you will Stay Gold.

And, if ever you feel somewhat tarnished by life, call me. After all, you have promised to be part of my life forever with this picture (readers: check the sign on the podium!)

The newest, sexiest, and goldest partners of Glover Law!

You Can Stay Gold...

Happy Birthday, Pharmacist Man

I know that Random Acts of Kindness are the most important paths on our journey through our life. And I am so grateful that I am occasionally placed in a situation where my acts of love and grace can be completely random.

Actions are, in my life, not random if they are connected to things done for my friends and family. Because my purpose is to help those in my closest circle, my family and my friends. That is not random; that is deliberate. I choose to spend my time on those I love.

So, when a completely random act comes along out of nowhere, I think about the grace that has come into my life by serendipity. My conscious mind is in sync with my spirit.

This week I was in a card store, buying birthday cards for the many people in my life who are born in February (is that a coincidence?). Along the long isle comes a well dressed lady. She says to me “you look like the kind of person who would help me”. Immediately, I say “yes, of course, how can I help?”

She says she is almost completely blind. But, she wants to buy a birthday card for her son, her only child. However, she can’t read anymore and she needs helps. She needs my help.

I lead her to the section that has the little popup cards that say “Son”. I pick a card and start to read for her, not so loudly that others in the store might realize that she is in a somewhat helpless state.

She says the first card is way too sentimental – her son is a pharmacist and would not like a sappy card. So, I pick another one that I think she might like. The card is about the little boy who loved his momma; his momma who always believed in him; the son who became an important person in the world; the son who became important because of who he was. But in his world of great importance, he would never once again achieve the importance that he delivered to his mom by being the son he was.

Because, and I am testimony to this inarguable truth, here she was in a store relying on a completely random stranger to find the perfect card that spoke her love for him. Whether or not you think the card is sappy, it hit a chord for her. Perfect pitch.

Totally random act. I am whispering the words to this woman and we both have tears streaming down our face. We are connected through the love that we have for our children. And we do not even know each other!

Happy Birthday, Pharmacist Man. I hope you know how truly blessed you are to have a Mom who would rely on a random stranger to understand the love that she holds for you.

As for me, I am going to hang out at the particular store during the middle weeks of February so I can be once again in the universe of love that a random act of kindness can deliver. It gave me much. Random acts of kindness always rebound. And you are forever changed and blessed for being a part of the experience.

I Am My Mother's Favourite

I met a woman the other day at a business event. In the manner of getting to know one another, we drifted on to the subject of the recent death of her mother. She was slightly uncomfortable about the fact that, despite what she knew was her mother’s unspoken wish that it not happen; she and her siblings had drifted apart over the past year since the “matriarch’s” death. Her mother, like mine, was the glue that held the family together. Without that glue, the fabric of the family was slowly and wordlessly tearing asunder.

I remembered that, as she lay dying, my mother had asked my sisters and brother to stay close. She knew that family was a bond and that we were brought up to believe in our ability to count on each other, especially when there was nobody else around on whom we could count. One of my mom’s expressions was “blood is thicker than water”, signifying the strength of the family bond over other relationships such as marriage or friendship.

Of course, my sisters and I always kidded each other that “Mom loved me the best” and cited various examples of how that was so. Under all of that was a desire to be the favourite child, the golden one in mom’s eyes. When asked, my Mom would also say that she loved us equally. Still, we were ever watchful when Mom paid another of the sister’s special attention, lest our fantasy of being the favourite be shattered.

On occasion, I have wondered whether my three children have felt the same way about my mothering style. Do they feel I have favoured one over the other? Does that create a problem for their relationships with each other or with me? Are there some wrongs that I have done that I should right while I still have the time?

Then I came across this wonderful book called “I’m Still Your Mother”, by Jane Adams. In it, she relates the story where her grown-up son confronts her with the claim that she loved his sister more than him. She offers great advice: When children claim that you loved their siblings more than them, it doesn’t matter what you think or what your truth is. They interpret the past in a way that you can’t change. It’s their truth, their story, and they are sticking to it: “You loved the others more”.

The fact is that we didn’t love our children equally. We loved them differently, because we were different parents to each of them, depending on who we were when they were born, what kind of family environment they were born into, how much they needed us, and how their traits, characteristics, and personalities jibed or clashed with our own. We didn’t treat them equally either. We treated them differently, for the same reasons. And when we face, feel, and communicate that to them, two things happen: We confirm the truth they intuitively know, thus validating their emotional experience, and we provide a context for that experience that frees them to work out their relationship among one another without our interference.

I know that is true of my kids. I was a different person in a different part of my lifetime with each one of them. They each were born into different environments and, in the case of Lynn, into two entirely different families. Each one of them needed me more or less depending on the stage in their life. And they all had different traits and personalities that determined how they interacted with me and how I much I was allowed to demonstrate my love for them.

I know too that the depth and complexity of that love changes as my kids turn into successful and loving adults. I remember when Corey was four years old and he didn’t want to grow because he always wanted to be “my little boy”; he asked me if he could always stay the same size and age. Then at eight years old, as I remarked how much he was growing and reminded him of his wish, he chided me for even thinking that his childhood fantasy was possible – after all, “Everyone has to grow up, Mom, that’s just life”. Fast forward through many years when a hug from his mom was the most embarrassing thing on earth and an “I love you” never graced his lips.

It is New Year’s Eve on the Year 2000 (Y2K). He is leaving the house, all six feet two of him, to go to a party. He walks out the door then comes back in. Walking over to me, he leans down to my height and gives me a hug. He says, “If the world comes to an end tonight, Mom, I want you to know that I love you”.

Now, as Corey learns what it is to be loved as a parent, through the grace of Ayden, not a call or visit goes by where he doesn’t tell me he loves me. Love, full circle.

I didn’t love my children similarly. I loved them differently. Because they were each unique and they each played a different but equally important role in my life. And it was that uniqueness that I loved differently. Love with equity.

However, I’m not giving up on the notion that I was my mother’s favourite ;-)~

Oh...And about those Pork Chops...

Quite often I am in the situation when one of my friends or family is going through a hard time and I am saying “what can I do?” It can sometimes come off as a trite question, but in my case I really mean it.

As does my sister-in-law, Sharon. She heard all about my ribs and my legal woes. This weekend she was having a family dinner since her youngest daughter, the fabulous hairstylist, Jennifer was coming home (if you are ever in Ottawa, save time for a haircut and you`ll never want to leave Ottawa).

Jim and Lynn and I joined them. Sharon said she was having her famous roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and mashed potato dinner. With her killer, you-can-even- eat-it-cold, gravy. Yum.

After my nephew’s hockey game, we all gathered at Sharon’s home. Nope, not roast beef. Sharon had made:...you guessed it, pork loin chops and applesauce. With mashed potatoes and killer gravy.

My sister in law is sweet and kind and generous. When I think about the many years that I lost her love and friendship over a stupid row, I cringe inside for my own stupidity. Here she was in my corner once again.

Sharon couldn’t be there today to win the day for me. But she could, and was, there for me in her own way.

Give what you have.

To someone, it may be better than you dare to think.

Making sure I was well fed before going off to “war”.

Strength and Honour, Sharon.

Strength and Honour

The short update from January 27. I won!

I went back in front of the Judge who, on January 26, was totally not convinced about the strength of my case. He gave me two weeks to “prove him wrong, and me right”. I had to put together arguments and cases and advocate strongly on behalf of my client. All the while with more seasoned lawyers telling me that my case was a "sure loser".

Jim drove me downtown and came into the courtroom (he had my back and my briefcase ;-).

Then I had to strap on my armour to potentially face the same level of wrath and scepticism the Judge had levelled at me on January 26, if I weren’t able to convince him today.

Oh oh, the factum that I had filed with the Court never made it to the Judge. After a frantic search of the court offices, I found it and delivered it to him to read (not a good thing because there was a good chance he’d make me do all of the arguing orally and slowly, rather than accepting the written arguments and cases). He went off to read it and then came back to the Court to question me.


In front of me, I placed a piece of paper that said:

Fear is the raw material from which courage is manufactured.
Without it, we wouldn’t even know what it is to be brave.

Long story short, the Judge said that I had convinced him!! He ordered judgment against the defendants in the full amount I asked for, plus the amount of my client's legal fees. Needless to say, my client is delighted.

It was a tough two weeks to get from January 26 to today. However, I spent countless (unpaid) hours making sure that I was ready, competent, and courageous enough to win the case. I did - mindful of the Gladiator’s salute - with strength and honour.

On to the next challenge...

Fellow Hijackers

Sometimes when I blog about something, all of a sudden I will see newspaper articles that whisper the same sentiment back to me. I wonder if it’s like being pregnant; all of a sudden you realize how many pregnant women are in your world. Or buying a new car, and then noticing the same model, make, and colour of car on the road beside you. That I would not have noticed yesterday. Some of my friends with different training than I have might know what that phenomenon is called.

Two articles caught my eye this morning. This one, by Corina Milic, struck me. I found myself reading it and thinking:

· Good for her to not wallow in her grief and to find a new path;
· Good for her writing for the Toronto Star (having been laid off by the Sun!) and keeping her
name in print;
· Good for her for feeling empathetic about the other people she writes about that are worse
off than her;
· Good for her for realizing that she had overextended herself and immediately gave up her car
and designer purse;
· Good for her for appreciating her parents and what they had given her, and what they
couldn’t; and
· Good for her that she isn’t whining about “why me?” even if she didn’t see this coming.

Okay, read the story and see what you think. Then, if you’ve hooked into this blog quickly enough, read the comments below the story. Can you spot the fellow hijackers who are similar to people I wrote about in “Hijacking Dreams”? I am astounded by the bitter reactions of some of the commentators and delighted by the others who applaud her efforts.

Then I read this article. Notice how the author is talking about having to speak about a very tough subject with your kids – having no money? Notice how she gives advice about how not to make your kids feeling like they, you, or life is falling short and failing? I absolutely love the advice from the family therapist, Jennifer Kolari: "You don't have to give up on your dream, you may just have to take a different road". I want to be on a plane with that therapist when others around me are trying to hijack my dreams.

As I write this blog, I am sipping coffee from a mug that Kelly gave me this Christmas.

“The Future belongs to those who Believe in the Beauty of their Dreams.”

It is a mantra that Kelly and I share.

Kelly and I are not hijackers. I’ll bet that other also-not-hijackers will read this, will read the articles, and will say “Good for you, Corina. Believe in your dream.”

And just one more thought, Corina...I’m a Canadian taxpayer and I don’t mind helping you pay for your dream. As long as you take a different road next time and skip the designer purse. ;-)