I used to be the person giving nicknames (which actually is a nuclear family trait) but now I am getting ones. CCC in an email this morning referred to be as PQ – Pajama Queen. How cute is that? My pajamas are pink flannelette with penguins on them. Sexy I guess, but only if you like penguins. (Who does not, pray tell?) I am being called PQ because I am indulging in Pajama Days. I loll around my chic apartment all day in my pjs. The advantage? I write best and most prolifically on those days. The Trump International Hotel did not allow Pajama Days (stupid dress code). But my apartment does not demand a dress code. I have also allowed three people to call me Auntie Alexis – one a little girl and two grown up guys. One grown up guy is the father of the little girl. The other said: “Me too! Me too!” I graciously responded: “You may call me Auntie Alexis if you wish.” I wonder if he will?
Jeffrey of the Trump said something brilliant yesterday. I was telling him of the joy I was finding in my apartment, accompanied by a surge in creativity. Jeffrey opined that the surge was because the apartment has become a sanctuary in contrast to the months of being transit and unsettled. How profoundly true! Looking back I have been transit during the entire life of this blog. I was living in Dolphin Square when the blog began in January of 2017 but I knew I was on the way out. I knew not where or why but the student visa was about to expire, the flat had to be vacated and I was about to be homeless. The changes I have been through in these ensuing months have been countless but here I am HOME, at last. It is perfect. I am so proud to be a Canadian again and this is the most beautiful of all cities. I am surrounded by supportive friends. No one could wish for more.
It is important to have friends in your life, it is also important to have heroes. Every once in a while it is possible to have the two wrapped up in one. I have three such men in my life. I shall speak of one. Technically this man is not my friend, he is my ‘adopted’ child, Son, the Crooner. The first of my four ‘adopted’ children. Why is he my hero? For many reasons – his unfailing good humor being one trait. But the main reason he emerges as my hero is the charitable work he does in his country, the Philippines. For the past five years he founded and has funded a day care center in his home “town” of Santa Barbara Barrio. It is called Pinagpala Day Care. . He gathers together little girls and guys, preschoolers. The little ones come every morning, are fed so that their empty stomachs do not interfere with their studies. They have a curriculum that includes mathematics, English, reading and values. A wonderful woman is the volunteer teacher, she is the hands on person as Son the Crooner is in Vancouver. Some of the parents, those not working, also volunteer. Son, the Crooner travels to the Philippines for his vacation and this year will spend a month there, to be with his children, his support staff and just hang out. The kids have uniforms, they have desks. This is all due to the generosity of my Son, the Crooner. He is giving back – he was raised in this same poverty stricken area by parents that have too many kids. But he does not want others to suffer and go through what he went through. So this is what he does. How commendable, How wonderful. How self less. We, (I guess I was planing on having a fund raising event at the Trump which would have made so much sense. But someone put the nix on it, for whatever nefarious reason. So we are working on a plan which would enable readers of this blog to make a contribution. Stay tuned.
But back on the Equinox front. Hottie and I continue to train outside as the weather remains pleasant. But, I do admit, that I am getting sick and tired of the routine. There are stairs, there are leg extensions, there is sit and stands, there are push ups. I will give Hottie this – it has worked like a charm. My arthritic knees barely give me any trouble and it gives me such a feeling of mastery and accomplishment. Hottie and I talked about this yesterday. I could have gone and got a knee replacement but how can one having a feeling of accomplishment under the knife of a surgeon? There are also repercussions. The attendant problem of recovery and anesthetic. Another alternative: I could shuffle around and feel sorry for myself – the fate of most women my age. But instead I have Hottie and knees that work! Yeah me! We have the greatest of all relationships and laugh constantly as we walk around outside. This is an example. We are talking about this guy and his illusions. I say:
Me: I just want to prick his balloon
Hottie: You mean burst his balloon
Me: Nope. I prefer prick.
Hottie: I suppose you are going to blog this
Me: Of course.
But the boredom is getting to me. I am now praying for rain so I can stay in the gym and get a new round of exercises and some machines and be around other handsome trainers. I am not only praying for rain, I think I am going to do a rain dance. These are desperate measures for desperate times. Not only that, when I was in California I bought some very hot new gym clothes. I am going to be the best dressed woman in Equinox and be a credit to Hottie. Perhaps I will just pretend it is raining today. I do have a vivid imagination, in case you have not already noticed.
The photograph shows my Son’s kids. Apparently I now have 74 grandchildren. If he is the Son, then I am the grandmother. It boggles my mind. From childless to 74, that is a giant leap.