I have always been a bit of a waif and stray over the Christmas period. The only-child syndrome -- no siblings and no cousins, aunts, or uncles within thousands of miles.
Not a holiday that really impacts me greatly. I don't put up a tree; there is no wreath on my condo door and I am not traditionally religious.
The only vestiges of the festive season around my livingroom are the Christmas cards sent by those who still go through the niceties of the season. (Much appreciated, by the way!)
I am not the Grinch...far from it. Although, I believe I do have that reputation. But as experienced by the odd green character from Dr. Seuss... even the Grinch finally got with the program.
By all the world's standards, I have a lot to be thankful for. Place to live? Check. Recent model car? Check. Enough food? Check. A bank account with a total above zero? Check? Some meaningful work, albeit not as much as I would like? Check. A few good friends? Check.
But I had a lesson this week in humility.
I work a few months of the year as a senior editor at a large publishing company in downtown Toronto. Nice desk, nice computer, cheap and good food in the company cafeteria and a great boss.
There is also a lady who comes around every morning around 11 a.m. to empty my trash. There is never much in my rubbish; a few sheets of copy paper, maybe a coffee cup, a banana peel.
She empties my container. I briefly turn around, smile and say thank-you. I often wonder if many other people even do that much, or if she is invisable.
I casually mentioned to one of my co-workers earlier in the week that it might be nice to have a "whip round" for the cleaning lady. For those who don't speak Brit, a "whip round" is a small collection of money.
There are only five or six of us, so it wasn't going to be much of a haul at five or ten bucks a head. Since Christmas Eve is a half work-day and we were not sure if she would be at work, today was presentation day. When our hard-working friend came around to empty our trash, my colleague to whom I had made the collection suggestion had put together a lovely card, stuck a small ribbon and a candy cane on the envelope, and we presented "our lady of the recycling" with our small offering. It was maybe $30 or $40.
I am still shaken by the reaction. Most of us have so much and often forget that other people, even in our very midst, often have so little. And sadly, expect no more.
Our lady hails from a far off land. She commutes by train early every morning from the outer suburbs of Toronto to come in to our glass tower to do what most of us consider menial work. I don't know much more about her than that. I do not know if she is married or has children. I do not know if Canada is all that she expected. But I do know she is happy to have a job.
And I do know that today, this Grinch was very close to tears. I have never been hugged so hard or so often by someone for so little. It was little hardship to me to toss in a few dollars for someone I truly believed deserved a small acknowledgement. But her reaction was as if we had all given her the winning ticket on the lottery. It wasn't one million dollars, it was, well, very little.
As Dr. Seuss might say, "She hugged us all, the tall and the small. And for such a small token; our savings far from broken."
Well you get the picture.
And that is what Christmas really should be all about. At least for me. It doesn't matter where I go or what I have to do on Dec. 25th -- it doesn't matter if I just stay home and watch TV and eat a frozen turkey dinner.
What matters is that one person, who did not expect it, was made happy...totally surprised and grateful for such a small, small gesture. And in return, "our lady of the recycling" gave us so much more than we gave her.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
No Easy Zzzzzzzzs For Me
"To sleep, perchance to dream - aye, there's the rub." So said William Shakespeare, but what did he know?
To sleep, perchance to, well, sleep would be my preference! If only...but there's the rub, indeed.
Everyone goes through sleepness nights at some point, but in the past few months Mr. Sandman has all but deserted me. Oh, I can fall asleep just fine, and then "bingo" -- I wake up at 4 a.m. On a good night, maybe 4:30 a.m. after four to five hours sleep.
I am talking wide awake. Not a roll over, open-one-eyelid, swear at the clock, and drift back to sleep kind of scenario. This is a wide-eyed wanna get up and dance kind of awake.
Problem is the urge to dance quickly disappears a few hours later. It is especially bad during those periods I have to get up early, trudge to the bus stop, and present myself for a paying job. If I wake up at 4 a.m. and toss and turn for three hours, by the time I get to work, I am exhausted before I even log on to my computer. By 2 p.m. I am a very cranky little puppy! And since editing is my job, bleary eyes are a bit of a problem. My boss actually likes me to have my eyes open when I edit copy. He says it helps prevent libel suits. Point taken.
I have tried turning the TV off an hour or more before retiring for the night. Or turning the computer off for the same length of time (having been told the blue light from a monitor or TV screen makes the brain more active... and God knows I do NOT want an active brain at 11 p.m.). I have tried warm milk, warm baths with lavender scent, and reading. Not one thing has made any difference.
A new bed didn't help either; neither did an orthopedic pillow. Flannel jammies, or no jammies...nothing makes a difference. I still wake up.
So I asked my family doc, Bernie, to send to me a sleep clinic. One of those overnight rest homes for insomniacs.
I presented myself to the clinic at 9 p.m. on a Tuesday night ... jammies in tow. (I didn't think they would appreciate the no jammies look...and considering how cold the room was I should have packed a parka.) Armed with a book, reading glasses, and high hopes that maybe a different atmosphere would induce sleep, I was almost looking forward to a night in the Motel 8 for Insomniacs paid for by our provincial health care system.
For those who have not had the "pleasure" of attending a sleep clinic, all I can say is if you didn't sleep well before, you sure won't sleep much that night. At least I didn't.
After being hooked up to a head full of electrodes to measure my brain waves, two bands around my chest to measure heart rate, electrodes on my legs to measure muscle and leg movement, and a couple of plastic thingies up my nostrils to measure oxygen saturation, I could barely move.
I usually sleep on one side or the other... being hooked up to all these wires meant I could only sleep on my back. Personally, I think that was an evil plot to make me snore. I am persuaded almost everyone comes out with a diagnosis of sleep apnea so the clinic can sell you one of those masks that make you look like Darth Vader but keep you alive at night, since sleep apnea suffers stop breathing.
At 11 p.m., it was lights out. The sleep technician came on the loudpeaker in the ceiling over my bed and asked me to breath, hold my breath, and a number of other exercises to make sure the electrodes and other probes were solidy attached and properly monitoring my every move and breath. Then I was supposed to fall asleep. Instead, I kept thinking about her job -- watching people sleep all night. I wondered if the boredom put her to sleep! Maybe I should apply.
An hour later I am still staring at the ceiling. The room wasn't totally dark and I could see the outline of the furniture, which didn't help. Then I guess I drifted off. I can recall waking up at least three times, and then woke up for good at 5 a.m. I got up and said I might as well go home, because I wasn't going to fall back to sleep since I knew I had to get up at 7 to go to work anyway.
It took half an hour to unhook me from all the wires and tape. The first thing I did at home was dunk my head under a hot shower to get all the goo out of my hair used to attach the brainwave electrodes. That was not pleasant. Then I had marks all over my face and a rash on my cheeks from the tape used to keep the nose apparatus in place. I went to work looking like I had spent the night with a sheet of sandpaper for a pillow.
The good news? Well, I don't have sleep apnea (no Darth Vader mask for me!), apparently I didn't snore, and I didn't have restless leg syndrome. So I still have no idea why I keep waking up at 4 a.m. They called it "interrupted sleep pattern" and I am supposed to go back for a consultation at which the sleep clinic boffins will probably advise me to drink warm milk, turn the TV off an hour before I go to bed or take a hot bath.
Apart from taking a rubber mallet and hitting myself over the head when I wake up -- I am not quite sure what else to do.
As an old friend in New York City, who is almost 86, told me... "You are probably just getting old and don't need as much sleep." Gee, thanks for that!
For the past 15 years, she has regaled me with tales of waking up at up at 3 a.m. and watching reruns of The Golden Girls until she nods back off.
Just shoot me now!
Suddenly I am getting verrrry sleeeeepy....after all it is 4 p.m.
To sleep, perchance to, well, sleep would be my preference! If only...but there's the rub, indeed.
Everyone goes through sleepness nights at some point, but in the past few months Mr. Sandman has all but deserted me. Oh, I can fall asleep just fine, and then "bingo" -- I wake up at 4 a.m. On a good night, maybe 4:30 a.m. after four to five hours sleep.
I am talking wide awake. Not a roll over, open-one-eyelid, swear at the clock, and drift back to sleep kind of scenario. This is a wide-eyed wanna get up and dance kind of awake.
Problem is the urge to dance quickly disappears a few hours later. It is especially bad during those periods I have to get up early, trudge to the bus stop, and present myself for a paying job. If I wake up at 4 a.m. and toss and turn for three hours, by the time I get to work, I am exhausted before I even log on to my computer. By 2 p.m. I am a very cranky little puppy! And since editing is my job, bleary eyes are a bit of a problem. My boss actually likes me to have my eyes open when I edit copy. He says it helps prevent libel suits. Point taken.
I have tried turning the TV off an hour or more before retiring for the night. Or turning the computer off for the same length of time (having been told the blue light from a monitor or TV screen makes the brain more active... and God knows I do NOT want an active brain at 11 p.m.). I have tried warm milk, warm baths with lavender scent, and reading. Not one thing has made any difference.
A new bed didn't help either; neither did an orthopedic pillow. Flannel jammies, or no jammies...nothing makes a difference. I still wake up.
So I asked my family doc, Bernie, to send to me a sleep clinic. One of those overnight rest homes for insomniacs.
I presented myself to the clinic at 9 p.m. on a Tuesday night ... jammies in tow. (I didn't think they would appreciate the no jammies look...and considering how cold the room was I should have packed a parka.) Armed with a book, reading glasses, and high hopes that maybe a different atmosphere would induce sleep, I was almost looking forward to a night in the Motel 8 for Insomniacs paid for by our provincial health care system.
For those who have not had the "pleasure" of attending a sleep clinic, all I can say is if you didn't sleep well before, you sure won't sleep much that night. At least I didn't.
After being hooked up to a head full of electrodes to measure my brain waves, two bands around my chest to measure heart rate, electrodes on my legs to measure muscle and leg movement, and a couple of plastic thingies up my nostrils to measure oxygen saturation, I could barely move.
I usually sleep on one side or the other... being hooked up to all these wires meant I could only sleep on my back. Personally, I think that was an evil plot to make me snore. I am persuaded almost everyone comes out with a diagnosis of sleep apnea so the clinic can sell you one of those masks that make you look like Darth Vader but keep you alive at night, since sleep apnea suffers stop breathing.
At 11 p.m., it was lights out. The sleep technician came on the loudpeaker in the ceiling over my bed and asked me to breath, hold my breath, and a number of other exercises to make sure the electrodes and other probes were solidy attached and properly monitoring my every move and breath. Then I was supposed to fall asleep. Instead, I kept thinking about her job -- watching people sleep all night. I wondered if the boredom put her to sleep! Maybe I should apply.
An hour later I am still staring at the ceiling. The room wasn't totally dark and I could see the outline of the furniture, which didn't help. Then I guess I drifted off. I can recall waking up at least three times, and then woke up for good at 5 a.m. I got up and said I might as well go home, because I wasn't going to fall back to sleep since I knew I had to get up at 7 to go to work anyway.
It took half an hour to unhook me from all the wires and tape. The first thing I did at home was dunk my head under a hot shower to get all the goo out of my hair used to attach the brainwave electrodes. That was not pleasant. Then I had marks all over my face and a rash on my cheeks from the tape used to keep the nose apparatus in place. I went to work looking like I had spent the night with a sheet of sandpaper for a pillow.
The good news? Well, I don't have sleep apnea (no Darth Vader mask for me!), apparently I didn't snore, and I didn't have restless leg syndrome. So I still have no idea why I keep waking up at 4 a.m. They called it "interrupted sleep pattern" and I am supposed to go back for a consultation at which the sleep clinic boffins will probably advise me to drink warm milk, turn the TV off an hour before I go to bed or take a hot bath.
Apart from taking a rubber mallet and hitting myself over the head when I wake up -- I am not quite sure what else to do.
As an old friend in New York City, who is almost 86, told me... "You are probably just getting old and don't need as much sleep." Gee, thanks for that!
For the past 15 years, she has regaled me with tales of waking up at up at 3 a.m. and watching reruns of The Golden Girls until she nods back off.
Just shoot me now!
Suddenly I am getting verrrry sleeeeepy....after all it is 4 p.m.
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