Urban Panther's Lair

The Lair has moved

The move is over, the boxes are all unpacked, and the pictures are on the walls. That's right, the Lair has finally moved to its new home. So, if you are here from a feed, please head over to

www.urbanpantherslair.com

and set up a new feed!

See you over there!

Down for Lair renovations

Okay, I am FINALLY doing it. I am moving over to Wordpress. There will be no Urban Panther posts from now until the Lair Open House.

I have my team (yay, I have a team!) working on the move. If all goes well, we go live Monday, March 16. If all doesn't go well, we go live, um, well, when all goes well!

Once we are back in business, if you have a feed to the typepad URL, I will post the Open House announcement on this site. If you have the urbanpantherslair.com feed, you will end up on the new site.

See you soon!

Urban Panther

Commuter

Margaret leaned her head against the glass window. It felt cool against her forehead. A welcome relief from the stuffy heat of the crowded bus.

She didn't think she would like commuting, but Michael had more flexible work hours, allowing him to take Thomas to day care. And since they only had one vehicle, that left taking the bus as the only option for Margaret.

But it was okay. It actually allowed her about half an hour to transition from home to work in the morning, and work to home in the evening.

She originally thought she would get a lot of reading done. Something she didn't have the luxury of doing at home. But, it turned out that Margaret preferred people watching.

From taking the bus at the same time everyday, she had gotten to know the regulars.

At her bus stop, she had the dapper little man in his trench coat and fedora, with a perfectly trimmed mustache. He reminded her of how she imagined Hercules Poirot looked like, from Agatha Christie. She figured that if he ever talked, which he never did, she would be quite shocked to find he didn't speak with a thick French accent.

And there was the little old lady who had 'her seat'. Woebegone to you, if you sat in her seat. She would stand in front of you, glaring down her nose, tsking and a-hemming at you. It wouldn't matter if the bus was virtually empty, that was her seat. Margaret got a lot of amusement watching people squirm under the piercing stare, until they finally moved.

Of course, there was the usual assortment of teenagers in every size, shape and consistency under the sun. But they all had one thing in common, and that was a backpack. And for some reason, they all seemed to think that the pack was simply an extension of their body. Such that, every time they turned around, the additional twelve inches of teenager would smack someone in the face.

And Margaret's personal commuter type was the cell phone talker. It was amazing what people would unwittingly disclose about themselves to complete strangers by holding phone conversations on a packed bus. Scary actually.

One young woman was clearly purchasing something over the phone, because she gave out her credit card number, her full name, and her address.  If anybody had their wits about them, they could have written it all down and gone on a shopping spree, courtesy of their fellow bus rider.

Margaret did actually say something to a teenage girl. This young thing had managed to inform a crowded bus exactly where she worked, what time she was getting off work, and the route she was taking home.

"I'm afraid, hon, that wasn't a very safe thing to do."

The girl looked at Margaret as if she had two heads.

"What wasn't?"

"Well, you just told a bus load of strangers that you work at the Bayview Mall, that you are getting off work at 9:30, and you are taking the number 87 bus home."

This got Margaret a look of indignation that only teenagers can pull off with such perfection.

"You fuckin' listened to my phone conversation? Mind your own fuckin' business!"

Margaret didn't bother pointing out that everybody on the bus had no choice but to listen to the phone conversation. Instead, she just made a mental note to not bother the next time. After all, the bus ride was supposed to be her tranquility time. Not time to have her head snapped off by silly little gooses.

Ah, her stop was coming up soon. Transition almost complete.

From Worker Bee to Queen Bee in just a thirty minute commute.

For more stories about Margaret see:

Faerie glasses
Birch bark

And I am thrilled to announce that Theme Fridays are back. Please check out Annie, Jessica and Christine to find out what their commuter did.

Stuffing my face

Over at BlogToFit, the Mother Ship of Weigh In Wednesdays, Tara has given up refined sugar for Lent. That's forty days without sugary goodness, and pasty white flour.

Foolishly, I joined in. Not that I celebrate Lent, but, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Oh, I brazenly announced that this would be No Big Deal, because I don't keep that type of stuff in the house anyway.

Except, I wasn't counting on two things.

1. We hosted a party the previous weekend

This meant leftover potato chips (regular old greasy; sour cream and onion). It also meant a gift of Laura Secord chocolates.

2. Pre-menstrual Syndrome

My once per month downfall, when I want to consume every carb and sugar in sight.

And, like I said, normally I can't find any bad carbs or sugars in the house, and I'm way too lazy to go out and buy them. Which makes me safe from myself.

Only, it was all there. And on Saturday I STUFFED MY FACE. It was not pretty. Downright scary, as a matter of fact. Chip after greasy chip went down my throat, long after they ceased to taste good. One chocolate, then two, then three, then, yes, four!

I was on a full blown binge.

Soooooooo ... my Lent Intent was off to a very bad start.

And this is why I do not keep any of this stuff in the house!

However, Sunday I got control of my act. I made rye and caraway bread, and bran muffins. I also thumbed my nose at the potato chips, and laughed in the face of the chocolates.

I am back on track!

100 Push Up Challenge Stats

Day 1 - 3    Day 5 - 11    Day 9  - 13
Day 2 - 5    Day 6 - 11    Day 10 - 16
Day 3 - 6    Day 7 - 14    Day 11 - 17
Day 4 - 9    Day 8 - 13    Day 12 - 21

The stand off

Charlotte stood in front of the full length mirror and took in her new outfit. Earlier that day, she had stood in her walk-in closet agonizing over what to wear. She had nice clothes, but she was tired with nice. She wanted sexy. Not sleazy sexy. Classy sexy.

So, she had hopped in the car and spent hours at the mall trying to find the perfect outfit. And here she was wearing it.

Pointy high heel shoes. Dark jeans. White tank. Classic cut blazer.

She had the body to pull it off. A runner's build. Slightly tom-boyish, with just enough curves to make the overall effect of the outfit very feminine.

She had also bought a fashion magazine that showed how to give your eyes that sultry smokey look. She never wore make-up. He didn't like it.

"Women shouldn't wear make-up. It's stupid."

But, she had followed the instructions in the magazine, and was quite pleased with the look. She just did her eyes, but even that made a world of difference. She didn't look so tired, and the green in her hazel colouring really came out and sparkled.

She had even pulled out the straightening iron, which her daughter Margaret had given her years ago, but she had never used. It took her twenty minutes to painstakingly get her wiry hair under control, but it was well worth the effort.

Not bad for a middle-aged woman, she thought.

"What are you doing?"

Charlotte flinched and turned around to find him in the doorway of the bedroom.

"I'm getting ready for the party," she said with what she hoped was confidence, although she was already preparing for the attack she knew was coming.

"Why are you all dressed up? We aren't going anywhere fancy. We are just going to someone's house."

"I'm not really dressed up. Just jeans and a tank top."

"You are dressed up. Christ, now I have to dress up. I was just going to wear jeans and a golf shirt," he fumed.

"But that's fine. Really. I'm not all that dressed up. I'm just wearing jeans too."

"Well, you can't wear that. If you do, I'll look stupid just wearing jeans, and I'm not wearing dress pants. We are just going to a house party for crying out loud. You'll have to change."

Charlotte turned and looked at herself in the mirror.

"I'm not changing," she whispered, more to herself than him.

"What?"

"I'm not changing," she said a little louder and with more strength.

"I told you, you can't go like that. I'm not dressing up, and you'll look stupid going like that to a house party."

Charlotte turned around to face him. Throwing her shoulders back, she looked right at him.

"I am not changing," she said, slowly and patiently. "You will look just fine with what you were planning to wear, or you can wear something else. This is what I am wearing."

His eyes narrowed, and Charlotte could almost see the him plotting his next chess move. She always thought he looked like a rabid dog at this point in their stand offs. Wild desperation, with an uncontrolled need to lash out viciously.

She braced herself.

"What the hell did you do to your eyes? You look like someone punched you. You look absolutely ridiculous."

Check Mate.

She wasn't going to change her outfit. And she wasn't going to remove her make-up. But he had won the game, because they would go to the party and he would charm everyone with his wit and smarmy graciousness. But every time they would be alone, he would make it clear to her he was having a horrible time, because he was so uncomfortable. And that they better leave, because it was cruel of her to make him stay like this.

And she would ignore him for as long as possible, all the while getting more and more anxious, until finally she would make her excuses to the hosts, and they would leave, before the party even really got started.

So, in the end, it really didn't matter what she was wearing. Sweat pants or sexy jeans. Make-up, no make-up. The Charlotte who was going to the party was wearing camouflage and simply trying to survive.

Leaving words behind

Your whole life is a rehearsal for the moment you are in now.

Judith Malina

For Then Thursdays, I have been looking through my photo albums, and reminiscing based on those images. I thought I would mix things up (okay, because I bore easily) and try something new. So, I hauled out an old journal, fully intending to pick a passage and write about that.

So, there I sat with the journal in my lap, turning pages.

Turning pages.

Turning pages.

Absolutely nothing inspired me to write a post.

I am not a daily journal writer. I write when I am blocked. Or my emotion is so intense about something, I think I am going to explode unless I release it on paper.

And apparently, I release it real good, because the words no longer meant anything to me. They were simply, well, words. Written words in this case.

And I realized that this was similar to spoken words I had recently experienced.

You see, a long lost friend phoned me completely out of the blue. She moved to the other side of the world a very long time ago. And we basically have had no contact in almost twenty years.

Her knowledge of my life ended twenty years ago. So, it made sense that our conversation was all about my life from age nine, which is when we met, to age twenty-five.

This meant, we discussed the death of my sister as if it happened yesterday.

And we discussed my first marriage as if it happened yesterday.

But like the written words in my journal, these spoken words just washed over me. They did not invoke a single emotional response.

Because, since the time my sister died, I have come to peace with our unsettled relationship. And I was able to find the closure that was hard to find because I wasn't able to attend her funeral. And I accepted that I have a nephew out there whom I have never met.

Because, since the time my marriage ended, I have come to understand why it did not work. I have worked through the reasons why we got married, and why we were not right for each other. And I actually like my ex husband, and he is a fantastic father to our three children.

Turning pages.

Turning pages.

Until I found the quote at the top of this post.

And this meant something to me.

My long lost friend asked me if I was getting upset talking about the past.

I told her not at all. Because everything in my life, the good and the bad, has made me who I am today. And, I told her, I like me. A LOT!

My life has been a rehearsal.

Rehearsals are for practicing and making mistakes. They are for refining your craft. They are preparation for the actual show.

And the show is the moment I am in now.

And I plan on having a really good run on Broadway, baby!

Do you keep a journal? If so, do you go back and re-read passages? Or, like me, do you never go back to those written words again?

Supersized to hardly nothing at all

I really don't have too many food vices.

I would not thank you for anything less than 85% cocoa dark chocolate.

I do not like cake of any kind. Okay, maybe a nibble of creamy cheesecake, but only about three forkfuls.

I do not like donuts. One bite of a Krispy Kreme donut cured that a couple of years ago.

Chips, pretzels, corn chips ... nope.

But I do have one craving that pops up around four times a year.

McDonalds.

Yep, sorry, but it is true. I am coming out of the closet. I actually like McDonalds.

But the other day, on one of my quarterly McD experiences, I realized that even this guilty pleasure is losing its appeal.

Allow me to walk you through this sad state of affairs.

In my early thirties, I ordered a Double Big Mac (yes, DOUBLE Big Mac), fries and soft drink. Supersized of course!

In my mid thirties, I switched the soft drink to milk, and stopped supersizing the fries.

In my late thirties, the Double Big Mac became a regular Big Mac.

In my early forties, I dropped the Big Mac in favour of a Double Quarter Pounder.

And there I was, the other day, with my Double Quarter Pounder, my fries and milk, and I could barely choke my way through it all.

HOW SAD IS THAT?!

Next step, obviously, is ordering a regular Quarter Pounder. And if that goes wrong, I guess it's that pathetic dime sized piece of dubious meat they claim is a Hamburger.

What is my world coming to?

100 Push Up Challenge Stats

Day 1 - 3    Day 6 - 11 
Day 2 - 5    Day 7 - 14
Day 3 - 6    Day 8 - 13
Day 4 - 9    Day 9 - 13 
Day 5 - 11

 

Sight unseen

Saturday night, the Lion and I hosted a Winter Cruise theme party. We try to host three parties per year. One in February to beat the Winter blues. A barbeque in the Summer. And a Hallowe'en costume theme party in October.

Each party, we invite the same core group of friends, and then we always try to introduce new people into the mix.

This year we invited a long lost high school friend of the Lion's, and three people we have never met before in our lives. That's right, for sake of argument, we were all complete strangers.

You see, we invited people we met through the blogging community. Hence, we have only 'met' online. And not only did they accept the invitation, they drove great lengths to get to the party. Literally! 

Musecrossing (aka Christine) and her husband made the two hour trek from Montreal. Deep Friar came from waaaaaaaayyyyyy up north, also a very long drive for him. To show up to a party hosted by people they had only come to know through the written word!

What an incredible risk, eh? At best, we just might not have hit it off in person. At worst, any one of us could have been lying through our teeth about who we really are.

And yet, the Lion and I extended the invitation to strangers, and these strangers accepted.

Why? Because I believe we all share some things in common.

Trust - we trusted that each person has been revealing themselves honestly through their posts and social medai conversations. Of course, if you are a clever blogger, you can pick up on clues that the person you are interacting with is being above aboard. But, there are some mighty proficient deceivers out there. However, my first inclination is to trust. And apparently our invitees tend to as well.

A sense of adventure - the Lion and I love the thrill of meeting new people. There are so many fascinating individuals in this world, and we like to reach out and meet as many as we can. And talk about a brave thing for our invitees to do! Hop in the car and drive hours to meet up with complete strangers. Intrepid adventurers indeed.

Credit goes to the long lost high school friend as well. While not a stranger, there's a lot of water under the bridge in twenty-three years! He and the Lion could have taken one look at each other, and discovered they no longer had anything to say. And there the poor man would have been, stuck in our house, awkwardly trying to make conversation.

Of course, this is not what happened. In fact, it was old home week, but it could have!

The Lion and I were thrilled to develop new friendships with these 'strangers'. And the core group of friends and the new group of friends melded smoothly to melt away everyone's Winter Blues!

Cheers to all those who attended. The Lion and I are truly honoured to have had such an awesome group of people in our home.

Would you invite people into your house sight unseen? Would you accept an invitation to a party hosted by people you have never met?

Ruined dinner

He had made a pretty simple statement, and once again Charlotte was making a big deal out of it.

It started off with her saying she was upset at some guy who made a U-turn and almost hit her.

"They are illegal. The man's an idiot," he said.

He picked up his fork and knife and went back to the business of eating his dinner.

"Well, actually, they aren't necessarily illegal," she countered.

Christ, here we go, he thought.

"Of course they are. U-turns are illegal."

"Well, no, they are only illegal under certain circumstances," she pushed back.

God, he hated it when people questioned him. People always questioned him. It really pissed him off.

"U-turns are illegal, and anyone who thinks differently is stupid," he said, glaring across the table at Charlotte.

"What are you basing this on?", she asked.

Basing it on? Basing it on? Why the hell did he have to justify anything? He simply knew things, and that should be good enough for everyone. Why did they insist on questioning him? Did they think he was stupid or something?

"I just know," he snarled.

"I see," Charlotte responded, although the expression on her face suggested she didn't. "Well, I looked it up on the Internet to see if the guy could make a u-turn at that intersection, and he could. He just didn't do it safely."

Christ! Did she honestly think the Internet was the last word on everything? How moronic could she be?

He leaned forward across the table, every muscle in his body clenched in rage.

"They are illegal,"he said slowly with every ounze of control he could muster.

He watched Charlotte look down at her plate, and caught the slightest shake of her head.

What the hell was wrong with that woman, always trying to make things grey? Everything! It drove him insane.

It's either this or it's that. It's right or it's wrong. You either know something or you don't. But no, she had to question and discuss everything. Even something as simple as a u-turn.

And it wasn't just her. It was his entire family. Did they all think he was incompetent?

Well, screw them and screw her.

He pushed himself abruptly back from the table, and stormed out the room. Another dinner ruined because of someone else's idiocy.

Early morning memories

There is only one thing that will cause me to spring out of bed at the crack of dawn. And no, it isn't Christmas morning, although that comes in a close second.

Sand dollars.

As soon as I was young enough to head onto the beach by myself, I was out there with the rising sun to search for these treasures. And trust me, you had to get out really early because of the other sand dollar hunters.

Round discs in varying shades of white and grey, lying at the early morning low tide mark.

Some years there would be a bumper crop, and I kept only the perfect specimens. Some years, they were totally elusive and I was lucky to find one in the whole week I was at the beach.

The only family member who ever beat me outside to hunt was my paternal grandmother. And she was an intrepid hunter, who would hitch up her pants and wade right into the tidal pools.

She managed to find the shells even during sand dollar drought. Like she had a sand dollar radar or something.

I think sand dollar hunting is one of my all time favourite childhood memories. Waking up by some internal hunter's clock. Dressing quietly so as not to wake any other family members.

The smell of salt air. The sounds of the waves crashing. The sun just starting to send rays across the almost barren expanse of wet sand.

And the almost zen like focus of carefully walking the tide line, eyes straight down at my feet to avoid crushing my quarry.

I returned to this beach a couple of years ago. Age 42, and there I was springing out of bed at the crack of dawn. Heart racing with anticipation. Childhood rituals repeated without missing a single step.

I hope to take grand children to this beach someday. And I will teach them to hunt for sand dollars. And once they are old enough to explore on their own, it will be every grandmother and grandchild for themselves!

What is the one thing that will cause you to spring out of bed with joyful anticipation?