My grandmother's blue eyes sparkle with mischief. Dinner is almost ready, but she's up to something. "Where's my handsome boyfriend?" she demands, waving to my hubby, Joe, who grins. He knows what's coming.
"Now, Joseph," she says, using his full name, as she did with my late grandpa during their 52 years of marriage. "This is very good scotch. Are you trying to get me tipsy and have your way?"
"Well, you are a fine-looking woman, Isobel," he admits on cue. She pats his butt and giggles, like countless times before. "There may be snow on the roof," she chuckles, winking at me, "but there's still fire in the furnace. I don't feel a day over 70."
Grandma goes to her first hockey game Make that 96 years young. Not that you'd know, because age has never held my grandmother back from anything. Since Grandpa died in 1989, she has made a religious pilgrimage to Medjugorje, Bosnia; taken cruises to Alaska and the Caribbean; and visited family across the country. Last year she checked yet another "first" off her bucket list: attending an NHL game.
Grandma loves hockey almost as much as she loves Jesus and gravy. (During Ottawa Senators games on Hockey Night in Canada, she perches on her armchair, tut-tutting the play while my mother, Rose, loudly "coaches" from the couch.) So when my parents bought premium-level seats for Grandma to see her beloved Senators battle the Boston Bruins, she was delighted. So was the crowd, which gave her a standing ovation after the announcer flashed her face on the video scoreboard and she responded with a near-perfect Queen Mum wave.
The game itself went all too quickly. "Look at that!" she exclaimed when a Sens player, chased by a Bruin, deftly backhanded the puck. "That fellow thought he was going to take the puck away, but our boys were too good!" She was also hilariously outraged with Bruins fans, whom she deemed "a bunch of traitors," when they loudly cheered their team's win. "This is the home team and they're doing the likes of that to them!"
If she missed some of the finer points of play ("Oh my, they skate fast!"), it's no less than you'd expect from a farm girl born in 1918. After all, "Proper ladies didn't go to hockey matches back then," she tells me.
Growing up in a different time That's hard to comprehend, knowing my grandma was a tomboy who'd cut school in MacGillivrays Bridge near Williamstown, ON, to ride her horse bareback, her waist-long braids flying behind her. She skated and played baseball. She milked cows before breakfast and cared for the youngest of her 14 siblings.
Tough as it was to be a feisty young woman growing up in that era, she persevered via ingenuity and good humour. Even her 1936 courtship with Grandpa during the Great Depression took some doing: Grandpa spoke no English, and Grandma no French. She learned the days of the week so he could ask her out. "Lundi?" he'd ask. "Non, Mardi ou Jeudi," she'd reply.
Today, she still teaches her family to stand tall, behave with dignity and search for good in others. Her wisdom may sound like tired old bromides, but it still sticks like gum to your shoe. Once, when she caught me gossiping, she fixed me with a stern look before sharing a story about tattling neighbours in Montreal, where she raised eight kids alone during the Second World War while Grandpa was away working as a train engineer. "Sweep the dirt from your own doorstep," she said, patting my hand, quietly acknowledging my transgression, "before you look for dirt on others'."
What's left on her bucket list? So what's left on Grandma's bucket list? She talks about travelling to Alaska again, this time first class. "I've done without all my life. I'd like to go and be treated like Lady Godiva," she says. To which I reply, "You know she got around naked on a horse, right?" At the other end of the phone, Grandma starts laughing, until she can't breathe. "Well, girl," she says, between gasps, "I guess I'll have to make sure I get a room by myself!"
I laugh, too, but after I hang up, I think about how Grandma's "getting on," as she puts it; I don't know how many more firsts she'll have. I think about the character that has sustained her through all her other firsts: the first time she rode in a car, at 18 (after having grown up with a horse and buggy); the first time she buried one of her children, lost to cancer; the first time she held me—the first of many adopted grandchildren and great-grandchildren—at 10 days old, and told my mother, "This child belongs with us."
"I've had a good life," she's been saying lately. I can't help but tear up, knowing she's preparing me. "Now, girl, none of that," she always responds, lightly touching where my heart is. "You know I'll be there. Just remember what I taught you." I will, Grandma, I will.
These supposedly healthy exercises could be hindering your fitness goals. Here's why you should ditch three common culprits for more helpful exercise habits.
You put in a lot of effort at the gym and want your hard work to pay off. But some exercise practices could actually be sabotaging your fitness goals. We spoke to fitness expert Brent Bishop about three common things people do to get fit, how they can backfire and what to do instead.
1. Sit-ups Many people who want flat stomachs and strong abs turn to sit-ups, but Bishop says most of us should eschew this abdominal exercise. "It's an exercise that puts you in excessive flexion, which most of us are already in all day while sitting at work," says Bishop. "Your hip flexors are already tight and short, so why tighten them and shorten them more? It puts a lot of strain on the discs over time."
And since the sit-up mainly engages the rectus abdominis (the top layer of abdominal muscles) and hip flexors, it doesn't help tighten or strengthen your core the way other exercises might.
Instead: Try planks. Variations of the plank activate your entire core, including your transversus abdominis (the innermost abdominal muscles), obliques and lower back. Not only will they help you chisel your waist, Bishop says planks promote proper posture, help alleviate back discomfort and minimize risk of injury down the line.
2. Boot camps Not all boot camps are bad, says Bishop, but there's a troubling trend in which these exercise programs urge large groups of people to do as many burpees, pushups or squats as they can, as fast as they can. "It's very competitive. If you can do them fast and do them correctly, that's great. But if you can't do them properly, you need to back off on the reps and tailor your form," says Bishop.
A more-is-better mentality makes injuries more likely because there is little focus on performing the exercises well, and the lack of emphasis on engaging muscles properly makes the moves less effective.
Instead: Focus on doing exercises slowly and properly. Once you can complete them through the full range of motion with perfect form, feel free to speed it up or add weights while maintaining effective posture throughout.
3. Monotonous cardio Many people who are focused on losing weight spend hours running each week or use the elliptical nearly every day because they think cardio is the best way to burn calories. "People who are putting in a lot of mileage are probably putting more stress on their joints than they need to," says Bishop. "If they're not doing strength training, not only are they not going to lose weight as effectively, but they're losing lean mass, too."
Instead: Replace about half of your cardio with strength training. "You're going to increase muscle a bit, so your metabolism is going to elevate and, over the long term, you're going to end up burning more calories," explains Bishop. "Not only that, but if you do high-intensity strength training, there's an after-effect in which your metabolism is elevated eight to 12 hours afterward, so you burn more calories after that workout."
Empty shopping bags, broken chairs, stacks and stacks of magazines—when writer Christina Gonzales realized her mom might be a hoarder, she went to the experts to find out how she could help, and repaired their relationship in the process.
At my mother's apartment, there are a lot of unspoken rules. "Don't open the kitchen cabinets" is one of them. I've only ever used one cupboard, which is right above the sink and houses the sieve, a few large ceramic bowls and the few packs of ramen noodles that haven't yet gone bad. I try not to ask my mom what's in the rest of those cupboards, or why our pots and pans are piled beside the stove and our dishes never leave the drying rack. I brought up the subject once in aggravation when I moved back home two years ago to save money. "You're too much, Christina," she responded angrily. It instantly brought me back to my childhood.
When it all began
As a kid, I was close with my mother, despite her inability to let anything go. From the outside, our family looked normal, but when you opened the front door of our two-bedroom apartment, it was obvious something was different. There were rooms filled to the ceiling with souvenirs of our past: my first mattress from a twin-size bed I had outgrown years before, reusable shopping bags, pillows, suitcases, books, a lime-green swivel chair. My mom's dresser overflowed with so many accessories, half-used bottles of body lotion, old blush compacts and loose coins that you couldn't even see the wooden surface. A layer of dust covered everything, which meant she didn't use—or even touch—the stuff. I was humiliated that our home was so disorderly.
The clutter really began to accumulate when I was about 11 years old. My mom stopped inviting people to our home, and I stopped, too. My best friends in high school asked me why we'd never hang out at my place, and I did my best to dodge their questions. My frustration stemmed from jealousy (why couldn't my mom entertain the way other moms did?) and a fundamental difference in what we thought "home" should mean (I longed to live in a house filled with family and friends; she thought home should be a private retreat). I would cry, yell and plead with her to throw things away, until my teen years, when I started to distance myself emotionally from her. I knew that no matter what I said or did, I couldn't control my mother's hoarding, and it was easier to avoid her—and the subject of home—altogether.
When I moved back home at 28—I'd quit my day job to pursue a full-time freelance writing career, and my mom offered up my childhood bedroom as a way to save money—it didn't take long before we had our confrontation about the kitchen cupboards. But this time, I realized I didn't want the cycle to continue; the bitterness I'd carried with me for years had to cease in order for us to have a healthy relationship.
Understanding the problem
What I'd always found most challenging was that she couldn't see where I was coming from—she truly doesn't realize her belongings are piling up around her. Yet, she's unlike the people I've seen on the TLC show Hoarding: Buried Alive; she's physically healthy, she's about to retire from a successful career and she has an active social life. She's also been a giving, supportive and loving mother. So what's the deal? I approached several specialists to help give me insight into my mother's hoarding issue.
Dr. Peggy Richter, a psychiatrist and the director of the Frederick W. Thompson Anxiety Disorders Centre's Clinic for OCD and Related Disorders at Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre in Toronto, says that, while their houses might not look like the ones on TV, an estimated two to five percent of Canadians suffer from compulsive hoarding disorder. Dr. Richter explains that hoarding is more than the inability to throw things out. "Rather, to be considered a clinical condition, it results in a significant accumulation that impacts the ability to use the space the way you would like or the way most people would," she says. "And people may try to minimize the impact. For example, maybe their kitchen is quite cluttered; they can still make breakfast, but they have piles in front of the oven, so they never use it anymore, though they claim they never did. Similarly, someone whose bed is too cluttered may claim that she prefers, and is more comfortable, sleeping on the couch."
Elaine Birchall, a social worker and hoarding behaviour and intervention specialist with clients in Ottawa and Toronto, says hoarders tend to save things for one of three main reasons: sentimental (this item represents my life and is part of me), intrinsic (this item is amazing and offers so many possibilities) or instrumental (I might need this someday). I think my mom is a sentimental hoarder. She once mentioned that her own mother discarded her childhood trophies and awards and that she wished she still had those things to help her reminisce. There's a certain glee she gets from pulling out an item that someone else would've thrown away long ago, like the cheerleading catalogue my now-40-year-old cousin was featured in when she was in high school in the '90s. "It's so nice. Maria was so pretty," she'd say.
Dr. Sheila Woody, a professor of psychology and psychology researcher at the University of British Columbia's Centre for Collaborative Research on Hoarding in Vancouver, shed some light on how to approach my mom's hoarding disorder respectfully and without judgment. "Making your mom's apartment a place you want to live is not an appropriate goal," says Dr. Woody, noting that people with hoarding disorders don't realize the impact of their mountains of possessions. I first needed to accept that this apartment would never become what I'd always perceived as the ideal home. There was one thing that I could change, though, and that was the usability of the space. "If you're trying to make it so that [your mom isn't] at risk of falling over when she's trying to reach something, or not at risk of setting the house on fire when she turns the stove on, that's a very reasonable goal," says Dr. Woody, who adds that it's also important for there to be adequate room to get out of the apartment in case of an emergency.
Finding common ground
To ensure that my mom's apartment was no longer a hazardous zone, I began to help her discard what Birchall calls the "easy wins": For some, these are nostalgia-free items (such as old toothbrushes and grimy shoes) and those that are unsanitary (like expired food); for others, they're items the person feels no extreme need to save. Birchall recommended I calmly ask my mom if we could relocate old things to make room for new items we'd actually use. I did it for the first time a few months ago, when I called her from the grocery store to ask if we had soy sauce. When my mom went and retrieved it, she told me that it was expired. "OK, I'll buy a new bottle, and you can ditch the old one," I responded. When I arrived home, it was sitting on the kitchen counter ready for disposal.
In my childhood, I would've taken the bottle down to the garbage chute that instant, a nonverbal signal that there was absolutely no reason to keep expired condiments. Now, I understand that getting rid of things causes her real distress. Instead of feeling exasperated and ashamed, all I felt this time was guilt. I realized that I'd been acting like a punishing drill sergeant, pushing my agenda onto my mother by barking at her to see things my way. And, according to Birchall, that's exactly the wrong approach. "Even when my patients want to hold on to genuine garbage, unless it's contaminated, I have to do my level best to make them see the reality of this," she says. "And even then, I don't just try to get someone to agree to let go of something; I try to understand what the importance of that item is to them."
So I didn't ask my mom when she planned on discarding the soy sauce; I knew it wasn't a sentimental item and that she was practical enough to understand it wasn't safe to consume. There was no fight, no power struggle, no "I'm right, and you're wrong." Rather, I gave her the space to decide when it was the right time—if there was a right time—to throw out the bottle. I tried my best to be patient, to have a stress-free conversation and to respect the value of my mom's belongings while holding firm to my boundaries within our shared space. It's a slow process, but it's effective. Showing compassion for my mom's feelings about her stuff makes it easier for her to let things go. When I push too much, we backtrack on any progress we've made. The day after our conversation, I walked into the kitchen and that old bottle of soy sauce was gone. It was a small step, but for me—and my mom—it was a breakthrough.
Social worker and hoarding specialist Elaine Birchall gives her best advice for helping a hoarder.
1. Complete a safety audit. Find the heat sources, such as electrical panels, fireplaces, hot water tanks, furnaces and stoves, and make sure there is a clearance of at least four feet around them, if space allows. The paths to those heat sources must also be free and clear in case of fire and should be at least 33 inches wide.
2. Create boundaries and limits, especially if you live in the same home as the hoarder. Build a positive co-tenant dynamic by defining who "owns" each room and what is allowed in each space. Common areas must be clear so that all tenants can use the space and have a social life.
3. Decide on permanent spaces. A permanent place is a storage area that makes sense for an item. For example, you'd never store canned goods under the bed—you'd put them in a kitchen cupboard or pantry. When choosing a permanent place, hold the item and close your eyes. Ask yourself, "Where is the first place I'd look for this?" That is where it should be.
4. Do your research. Rather than insisting that you know why the hoarder should part with an item, find an appropriate expert source. For example, if a hoarder wants to keep expired foods, go to the Canadian Food Inspection Agency; the organization's website will explain why it's unsafe to keep around.
5. Show respect. Don't apply pressure. Work at the hoarder's pace and don't diminish his or her feelings. Try to put yourself in that person's shoes by doing a mental tally of 20 possessions you love and imagining how you might feel if a family member made you throw them away.
There’s something irresistible about a lemon dessert. Perfect for spring, these flavourful sweets are light and satisfying—you’re never too full for a slice of fluffy
lemon meringue pie or dainty
Dainty and flavourful, everyone loves to indulge in tiny bites of traditional tea sandwiches. Though they appear finicky to make, these tea sandwiches are easy to assemble and entirely make-ahead.
Pinwheel Sandwiches Trim crusts from 5 slices white or whole wheat sandwich loaf, cut Pullman-style. (Ask bakery to cut sandwich loaf horizontally, or Pullman style.) Using rolling pin, flatten slices slightly. Spread with 1/3 cup (75 mL) butter, softened; spread with filling.
Place 1 asparagus spear (or 2 baby gherkins) along 1 short end of each. Starting at asparagus, roll up tightly without squeezing. Wrap each roll tightly in plastic wrap. Refrigerate for 1 hour. With serrated knife, trim ends; cut each roll into 6 slices.
Makes 30 pieces. Pinwheel Sandwich recipe: Curried Egg Salad Triangle Sandwiches Spread 16 thin slices whole wheat or white sandwich bread with 1/3 cup (75 mL) butter, softened; spread filling evenly over 8 of the slices. Top with remaining slices, pressing lightly. Place on rimmed baking sheet and cover with damp tea towel; cover tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate until firm, about 1 hour. Trim off crusts. Cut each sandwich into 4 pieces.
Makes 32 pieces. Triangle Sandwich recipe: Ham Pickle Spread Square Sandwiches Make sandwiches as in Triangle Sandwiches above except use 8 thin slices white and 8 thin slices whole wheat sandwich bread. Cut each sandwich into quarters.
Makes 32 pieces.Square Sandwich recipe: Pimiento Cheese Spread Finger Sandwiches Make sandwiches as in Triangle Sandwiches above. Cut each sandwich lengthwise into 4 fingers.
Makes 32 pieces. Finger Sandwich recipe: Tuna Olive Salad
Choose the best-quality bread. Never serve end slices. Freezing bread before cutting and then spreading makes for easier handling.
Bread should be lightly buttered no matter what the filling. Butter should be at room temperature before spreading. Sandwiches will not become limp and soggy as readily if you spread butter right to edge of bread.
Cut crusts off bread with long, sharp knife after (not before) assembling sandwiches. This keeps everything neater.
Since tea sandwiches should be delicate, cut each sandwich into thirds or quarters or in half diagonally. Or use cookie cutters to cut into decorative shapes.