Ode to Technology!!

I found myself pondering about technology.
Perhaps it had something to do with my twitter post, this morning.
It appears I lost 7 pounds.
Did I? When did that happen?
My account was hacked.
Seems to be a common occurrence these days when one juggles email accounts, twitter, Facebook,  LinkedIn and so on and so forth.

Over a delightful morning brew with Baileys, I began thinking about when did I get all involved with technology.
My earliest memory of technology brings me back to my tween years, visiting San Diego, roaming the aisles of Price Club (now Costco). My uncle and my father were looking through the "computer" aisles and hearing them both chime in that "these look like the wave of the future".
They were staring at a Commodore 64.

We brought one home that summer.
We plugged it in.
We patiently waited for something to start.
Yet the screen was lit. The cursor was blinking.
But now what.

It took my father a while to realize we had no softwares installed on the unit.
And yet the manufacturer's box advertised all sorts of "nifty"things this Commodore 64 could do.
But now what?

My dad hired a son's friend who was ten or so years older than I.
He was a university computer science student.
He had a friendly disposition.
He taught my sister and I the basics of programming and algorythms.

It got boring.
In fact, it got to a point where I would look forward to his visits solely to bask in his scent.
AZARRO!!
Were it not for his weekly visits, I wouldn't have the need to pick up the keyboard and sniff out his scented fingertips all over the keys.

Yup that novelty wore off fast!

The next computer to enter the home was in my teens.
It was a PC.
One software for word processing was installed and it was, indeed, a primitive one at that.
This was the start of typing school work, and later on in university typing all projects, essays and proposals.

I would have to say that computers took on a whole new purpose once internet became available.
I remember the day I had attended a workshop on internet usage.
I was working with my (then) husband and we needed to upgrade the computer system at work.
The technician was insisting that we attend this workshop that will change the way we see communication.
At the time, listening to the droning of this GURU about the internet, made my husband and I immensely uncomfortable. The talk seemed vague and we couldn't see clearly what the future held for us.

Today, I can't imagine life without it.
I use it daily for pleasure, for work and for boredom!
Google has become my dictionary.
Itunes is my life line.
Facebook is my social life, albeit a virtual one.

My sons take ALL this for granted, in that they do not realize the extent to which information is readily available to them.
I am fully aware that I sound like some elderly person, recapping how it used to be.
That being said, I recall the countless hours of sitting at school and university libraries, sifting through books to search for the knowledge.
Today, one GOOGLES it.

Which brings me back to losing weight on my Twitter account....

Dear Hacker,
You have such wonderful strengths in technology and science.
Can you not use your strengths to better this planet and continue the paths that the JOBS and GATES of this world have done to improve and ease our way in and around this place?

Remembering a Tyrant

My Grand-parents with their three out of four children.

My maternal grand-father.

He passed away a few days ago, in a hospital bed, facing Mount-Royal and the famous cross.

He was 93.

He wasn't an easy man.

He didn't give you warm fuzzies.

If anything, you feared him.

Most of his existence, he lived a reclusive life.

He had no friends.

Towards the last two decades of his life, HE managed to alienate each and every one of his children, his grand-children and shockingly his GREAT-grand-children ( He had three).

Up until my parents became grand-parents to my sons, I really didn't have a healthy concept of what it meant to boast the joys of grand-parenting. Witnessing my parents cuddle, play, feed, read, wipe away tears and kiss "boo boos" away, made me aware that grand-parenting is a blessing and not some curse.

My sons are lucky!

They are loved.

Most importantly, my sons feel the love.

I didn't feel the love.

I feared my grand-father instead.

I tip toed around him.

Most times, I even hated him.

My Grand-father with his four children, wife and a mystery person

Our family celebrations usually involved someone cursing someone, someone crying, someone YELLING, followed by months of silence and then the YOUNG usually would have to meander their way back, pleading for forgiveness from the GRAND POUBA. Never mind memories of Brit Milas and Bar Mitzvahs with some dramatic twist, thanks to none other than my grand-father.

My perception of him?

 A tyrant.

Most often, he would sit at the head of the table and dictate.

No one dared sit on Archie Bunker's chair.

He ordered his wife around.

He ordered his four children around.

He demeaned, berated and scolded his children, as if they were still five.

He was fond of "threatening his grand-children" with belts. Naively, I would stare at his belt, as he snapped it like some animal trainer. I won't mention how docile we were, as grand-children.

As long his grand-children didn't make too much noise, didn't create too much mess and stayed somehow "out of the way", and enjoyed watching countless hours of world news, all was well in his home. If you liked Walter (Cronkite, for you neophytes), you were in my grand-father's good books...for a few seconds, at least.

If he visited us in our home, my parents began to nervously circulate around their very own space.

My dad would automatically be "de-throned" from his usual seat at the table.

The menu in our home would reflect this tyrant's NEEDS.

And this heaviness would enter our space...all in the name of FAMILY.

Rosh Hashana and Passover celebrations (euphemism for torture) usually entailed HIM leading the entire service. I recall this one time, my father, in his late forties, barely gained courage to inform the Tyrant that he would like to start having the celebrations at his home, as he would like to officiate some of these holidays too, before he grows too old. For a few years, we didn't hear from the tyrant. He was fuming with the decision. Rather than pat my father on the back for being "ready" to handle the responsibility and passing the torch, he shunned him. From that day on, we had small gatherings at our home, as my uncles and aunties had no choice but to attend the Tyrant's "celebration" and leave us to fend for ourselves....All in the name of family spirit.

A few hours before he passed away, I entered his hospital room, suited in some canary yellow "lab coat" and watched this tiny framed individual, with laboured breathing and I  found myself talking to him. Who are you? What did YOU like? Did you have dreams? Did you accomplish them? Did you have a passion? What was your favourite colour? I knew he liked Syrian food, and he loved his Arak!With all his longevity, I didn't have the opportunity to KNOW THIS MAN. Better yet, he was not open to the experience.

I finally had the courage to tell him "It is too bad you didn't have it in you to give unconditional love to your children. It's all they ever wanted."

My mom

 I barely stroked his index and walked out of his room.

No tears. How odd. 

I teared when I saw my mom lean over her father's bed, after 16 years of having been alienated from this man.

I teared when I saw her stroke this man's bald head.

I teared when I saw her whisper words into his ears.

For that, I teared.

One of his grand-children referred to him as "PRIMITIVE", yesterday afternoon.

Interesting wording, I thought.

Truth be told, it made sense.

This man, came from another "civilization", travelled the world and refused to adapt, to change and to "blend" with every bold step he took to cross the Seven Seas. Up until his dying day, he stayed true to his 1918 timeline and brought that part of the world into the 21st Century.

Shalom Aba!

As we lay you down today for your final resting place, be grateful that today is Sukkot and eulogies are not permitted at this time.  For it not for this blessing, few would know what to say in your honour.

Try to remember what my mother told you minutes after you passed away, "if in heaven they give you a new heart, learn to use it more kindly!"

Oslo and the midnight sun

Oslo, Oslo!!! What a pleasure it was to roam the capital....only 600,000 inhabitants in Oslo and over a million live in the Metropolitan area, yet one in five people own a boat of sorts, which explains why Oslo has a large harbour and many marinas. As for the midnight sun, not sure why this term is used as the sun sets around 10:30-11pm and rises around 3:30am ( if not sooner!).  No shortage of daylight and plenty of time to roam and stroll though the city. The body feels tired but the mind keeps going on!

Initially, I was surprised to see few cars on the road in and around the city center. Pedestrians can run relatively freely without having to face noise pollution and or traffic. Most cars in Oslo cross the city center using tunnels. Unlike Denmark, Holland or Germany, biking as a main means of transport is not all that apparent. Locals use the trams, the subways and buses. Tourists, however, can get duped by the taxi system. Thanks to Rick Steves, I was well informed to ask for one specific cab company. Yet even so, the driver managed to pull a fast one; arriving at the destination, the meter would read one thing while he requested another sum of money. “Minimum charge” he would chime. Not sure why the city of Oslo has yet to standardize these guys.

The harbour front boasts huge cruise ships that dock daily. Looking ahead into the Oslofjor, one sees 40 some odd islands with summer cabins for the locals to escape city life, to swim, to have a BBQ and most of all to relax. Aboard a cruise that sails further out into the water, one notices the most unusual landscape: summer cabins in bright colours in the valleys along with twin miniature versions by the edge of the water. Apparently, way back when, when the locals wished to swim and failed to “find” swimsuits, they would enter the miniature cabins that would allow the vacationer to remove their clothing in privacy while slipping into the water for a cool swim.

A multitude of mini museums are available in a park like peninsula, which showcase the rich history of The Norwegian Vikings (Viking Ship Museum), The Kon-Tiki Museum (which Thor Heyerdahl proved that early civilisations and their then technology could have crossed the oceans), and The Fram Museum (with the tales of Norwegian explorers who attempted to discover the North pole (failed), then attempted and succeeded to discover the South Pole, and in the process made an English explorer terribly disappointed as the challenge was already had by Norway).

Frogner Park (75 acres) was heaven on earth! Imagine a beautiful green park, manicured to some extent, with tall trees, green grass (not green weed), and 600 sculptures in bronze and granite of nudes by Gustav Vigeland, who captured universal themes in life such as birth, childhood, romance, struggle, child-rearing, old age and death. An artist who marvelled at August Rodin’s carving talent, he required  funds to begin his life’s passion. So in 1921, he made a deal with the city of Oslo where he would be offered a studio, a park and material...in exchange, he would beautify a park with his sculptures. I was moved by many of these displays. They were thought provoking and generated a well of emotion from within.

The people of Norway are reserved at first glance. That being said, they are more than happy to help a traveller find their way, share their favourite points of interest in their hometown, and they do so with a smile and in English! Education being free, they tend to be highly educated with a proud sense of philanthropy. I had the pleasure of meeting a local on a terrace and needless to say, three hours went by relatively easy with conversations about local politics, economy, day to day life, the trend of their society and immigration. Did you know that should you decide to get an education in Oslo, even as a foreign student the tuition in non-existent! As a parent, I am wondering why wouldn’t I invite and or convince my sons to consider studying abroad.

Food for thought!

Free manicures in Copenhagen? What else?

So... my nail chipped...in Denmark.
Mundane, I know.
But somehow, the nails need attention.

Unlike back home, where nail salons are like Starbucks at every corner, here in Copenhagen salons are exctinct. In fact, after close inspection of the "Dane finger nail", much to my chagrin, nails are bare and "au naturel". As beautiful, blond, svelte  and blue-eyed they may be, the lovely Lady Danes are in deep need of pedicures too!

I digress. I decide to take matters into my own hand. Of course, I wouldn't be caught dead applying my OWN polish on holiday. Instead, I head to their big department store called Illum and walk along their perfume and cosmetic counter and mingle with the lovely blonds. "Hello, is anyone available for a manicure?" "A what?" they reply. "A manicure". You mean a massage and polish. I shudder at the thought of a massage. " No, no, a simple change of polish".

Walk over to the Clarins counter, and be greeted by gorgeous Lilia, your picture perfect Dane, and sit at her counter, while she gives you a FULL mani, with O.P.I. product and REFUSES to get paid. That's right, refuses. Imagine my, yet again, shocked face. Free? Nothing is for free. What do you mean free? I don't have to buy a product? Lilia says "no".
In fact, one step further, I try to tip the lovely Dane and she won't accept. Her answer, pure and simple, is the nails look sloppy and you need new colour. Besides, I enjoyed chatting with you and connecting with a Canadian. Wow!

Lilia and I chatted for an hour and half about her life in Denmark, her life with a Lebanese man who won't commit, her desire to have one child soon ( she felt 30 was getting old!), and her dream to sing professionally. Apparently, that tiny sexy frame with blue eyes has a raspy alluring voice to swoon even the deaf.

I leave Denmark tomorrow with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for having witnessed over and over again random acts of kindness by the locals. We should ALL remember to do so in our daily lives. What a nicer world on which to roam!!! Wouldn't you agree?

Welcome to Copenhagen!

It’s been a day and a half of trudging in the rain. I know I sound depressed. Truth is, if I had my Billy Boots on and a raincoat to keep me dry, this dreary cold weather in Denmark wouldn’t phase me in the least. Yet, I will pleasantly say that this setting has enabled me to nap in the afternoon, with a tiny window blowing in cool, fresh air, listening to the rain drops falling on the cobble stones. Every so often, (not to the hour or half for that matter) the church bells ring to remind me not to sleep too deeply.

Welcome to Copenhagen!

My initial exposure to this Danish city was a wee bit of a disappointment, as I had walked along Strøget, known as the longest European shopping street (finished in 1962 and apparently other Euro cities shortly after have duplicated this model for their tourism industry). What once must have been a typical 19^th Century architecture on this Danish street now looks like Americana with 7eleven’s, McDonald’s, Burger King, Irish Pubs (Home to the Vikings who journeyed to Ireland and brought back various influences), H&M and so on. Street crepe stations everywhere to feed your urge to nibble. For 30 Danish Kroners (5 to $1.00 CAD), the street vendor will fry you up a crepe with either Nutella or brown sugar and fold it into a paper wrap to allow you to continue on your merry way. Last I had checked, crepes are from France, Nutella from Italy, so I am not sure where the Danish experience here is. Delicious, never the less!! 

 

Another observation while roaming the streets, the heart and stroke foundation, here in Denmark, has yet to have educated the ill effects of cigarettes on one’s heart. You will easily find Danes biking along the cobble stone roads, with a ciggie between their lips. I guess they want the full “effects” of nicotine on exerted lungs. Typical life expectancy in Denmark is 78 years of age, surprisingly! Must be all the organic foods they consume. Incidentally, it’s amazing to witness how green, ecological and organic this place is. Wandering inside a grocery store, an organic produce is not competing with anything. Non-organic and organic varieties are priced the same. Eating organic is easy and readily available in local restaurants too. That mesclun salad sure tastes yummy!

English language is readily used by the locals. The Danes are friendly, welcoming, and helpful with the tourism industry. They will go above and beyond to help a tourist out. I had an issue with my three prong wire for laptop and the hotel was kind enough to call in a technician to bring in a new compatible laptop wire while here in Copenhagen. The hotel ran out of umbrellas, and the front desk attendant ran down to his locker room to hand me his very own. I was most touched when a tourist and her baby in a backpack carrier were struggling in the hard rain, and this random local kindly offered his umbrella to the mother and said “to keep your baby from getting anymore wet”. Random acts of kindness at its best!!! I smiled inside and was happy to have witnessed it.

Though they speak English readily, expect to hear cute oddities such as when one points to the right eye, you will hear a Dane say “the right hand eye” or if you care for some runners, be sure to stop by the store called “The Athlete’s Foot”. Amusing, wouldn’t you agree?

I spent a few hours visiting Rosenborg Castle, Treasury and Gardens. History books regarding the monarchy in Denmark seem to praise the life of King Christian IV.  Knick named “a lover and a fighter”, he left a great legacy behind from the Rosenborg Castle (his summer home and place of death), to the Frederiksborg Palace, The Round Tower, and Christianshavn. Many properties around Copenhagen display his logo. A tour into his summer “home” gave me the glimpse of a “party-animal” with an earing, a trendy braid... known to have been a drinker with lovers galore. He exuded sexuality and his choice of paintings reflected his enjoyment of the flesh! (kids, or rather parents beware-PG 13!) He was also said to have been an energetic doer and a warrior.

Interesting fact is most often when one walks around castles from long ago, visitors and museum curators don’t often know the height, weight and blood type of monarchs. Yet, with King Christian IV, through paintings (unusual 3-dimensional), his girth is visible and his height is known from the warrior suits he once wore; during one particular battle costume, he injured and lost his eye (the right-hand eye that is!) and his blood stained his clothing.

Porcelain back in those days was called white liquid gold. It was imported from Asia and King Christian IV enjoyed displaying his Porcelain collection atop doorways, a sign of great wealth and nobility.

Muddling through the rain, I had a chance to roam the gardens and stare at the tall, leafy trees. Quite peaceful, indeed! Never had the chance to pull out my SLR and capture this delightful place, as the rain hit hard.

I am praying for a break in the rain so as to take a boat ride and visit the famous Danish canals.

Wish me luck!

Can a MaSsAgE go wrong?

Before I begin my mumblings about a massage and the predicament of my underwear, let me give you a tiny idea of my long relationship with SPAS. A few years back, when working at an elementary school, I had lost my phone. Needless to say, my phone was found thanks to this lovely, young Israeli teacher. Her comment, however, I will NEVER forget. She said “I tried to look up your list of contact to see if I can guess to whom the phone belonged; all I saw were SPAS, SPAS, SPAS!!!”

I guess there is no point in wondering  how well I know my way around the local spas in my hometown. It’s a sensation I love. It’s the unexpected I crave. It’s the variety in a touch I welcome. It’s that calmness that follows shortly after being rubbed down. I will admit to being spoiled.

Which brings me to Berlin and the wellness spa at my hotel...

After a few days of touring by foot the city of Berlin, I decided to request a massage at the reception of my hotel. The staff was more than happy to accommodate my wish and within an hour I am asked to head to the wellness center. Ah....the sound of that is music to my ears. Upon entering the center, I have to check myself in. It’s a Zen atmosphere, just as I had suspected it would be. Within a few minutes, an older gentleman asks me to enter his spa room and gives me strict instructions, such as “leave your slip on (underwear), lie on your front first and forget about the face/neck cage....just drag yourself down as low to the tip of the bed”. Now imagine those instructions being given to you by Arnold Schwartzneger meets old man.

I was annoyed at having to leave my underwear on. Having had too many massages to count, I do know that I have grown to enjoy an underwear-free experience where a wide-white sheet is draped over you for proper coverage and the therapist can work on your lower back without tugging at anything. Arnold, however, has other plans.

He leaves the room and it dawns on me there is this tiny towel with which to cover my shapeliness. My headspace is simple “Caspian Princess, your underwear remains. So what is your problem?” Alright, I face upward and use the towel to cover a zone. He enters the room, sits on a chair at the tip of the table where my toes lie, dribbles lemon oil on my tootsies and begins to rub. Do you see how that baby in the photograph covers his eyes with hands? Well that was me.

Meanwhile, I hear an elliptical, a treadmill, a child running a mock...I explain to him this is not very ZEN. He steps out for a minute, addresses the noise and returns. The noise pollution remains. I try to focus on feet being rubbed and instead my mind wonders off to how small my towel is...and the noise of course re-surfaces. I sit up, holding my chest and the tiny towel and tell him “am sorry, this is not going to work for me”. He looks a little puzzled. He then suggests heading to my room to resume a tranquil session there. I guess I can live with that.

Now I am helping him pack up his equipment. We head to the elevator. We enter my room. He gets his bearings. We are now ready for Take Two. The towel is still small. I do not give in to my inner neurosis about Egyptian cotton and its petite-ness. Instead, I welcome this experience. My eyes are facing the ceiling and he begins to rub my feet with gusto. Unlike other therapists who pour the oil over their hands, he pours droplets on my skin. I embrace this new technique. Shortly after the foot rub, I understand his insistence to have me wear underwear as he does NOT KNOW how to manage the tiny towel. He abruptly throws it over my chest to have access to both my legs and begins the simultaneous rub down of both my thighs.....

And yet I still embrace it.

Now I am being asked to turn over (even though the arms have yet to be tended to). It is at this point that I realize this man is not a professional massage therapist and failed to hold back my laughter as he removed the entire MINI-towel and now my underwear was in full view. No Zen thoughts were crossing my mind now. In fact, quite the contrary. I spent the better part of 20 minutes holding back belly laughs. He was trying to massage the entire body all at once as his forearms tried to rub the entire body from neck to toe. I won’t bother telling you where my underwear travelled, or how wet with oil it got, or how NAKED I felt and never mind his hairy arms that rubbed my delicate skin. 

I ended my massage 10 minutes earlier than expected.

I couldn’t imagine a minute more. 

So much for my quest for a Zen experience in Berlin! How long will it take me to lie on someone else’s massage table?

Racism

While visiting The Radical, Cultural Jewish Museum in Berlin, of the many items on display, my eyes were most drawn to simple writings on a bare, white wall....trailing from one room to the next. It was documenting the earliest anti-Semitic comments in Germany.

Often times, I am asked by other cultures how come Jews are good with money? The question always puzzled me, primarily because I had no idea my tribesmen were seen that way, and why is it? Well, thanks to the insightful museum, I discovered that during the Reich, Jews were not allowed to enter many professions. They couldn't be craftsmen or traders. The church had views on Christians charging interest on loaned money. My tribesmen, at that time, having nothing to do with the Church, began loaning money and charging interest. Is this where our reputation regarding money began? Perhaps.
Then again, what is one supposed to do to earn a living when the government in power segregates job opportunities for some?
Weird thing is that Middle Age Germany was a Jewish Germany, with Jews being the first settlers. Go figure.

Though the museum did have many interesting findings on Jewish Germans and their long journey, I was drawn to the bare white walls with the most unusual sentences, by some famous Germans...
I will recount them and leave you to ponder some of these lines and ask yourself, how is it even possible to say those words out loud and would you catch yourself saying those same words about another religion or culture?

1798- They are nowadays the vampires of society-Immanuel Kant, Philosopher

1803- Karl Grattenauer, legal scholar, demands a yellow tag on the clothing of Jews.

1816- Friedrich Christian Ruhs, historian, demands new laws to protect Christians from the Jews.

1819- Croak Jew, Croak! Anti-Jewish rioting throughout Germany.

1838- The power of the money lies in the hands of the Jews-Catholic Newspaper

1848- The Jew does not work and lives better than we do, so away with the vermin. Poster in Minden.

1850- Richard Wagner, composer, cries out against the Jew-ification of modern art.

1860- Something foreign to us of an unpleasant nature. August Lamey, Politician in Baden

1860- Official dictionary refers to the "Semitic race of Jews"

1897- Jew-free resort.

1901- No Jews, please. Hotel Kolnischer Hof, Frankfurt

1902- The social isolation of the Jewish student has been accomplished. Association of German Students.

1913- A memorandum addressed to the Crown Prince demands that Jews pay double the taxes of Germans.

I stopped collecting the rest of the anti-Semitic words, as it became more and more transparent what would become the fate and future of Jews in Germany and Europe.