I used to purchase sheets of OC Transpo bus tickets to help my offspring get around town if they didn’t have a loaded or valid bus pass.
I would also carry extras with me as a backup plan if my PrestoCard balance ran out or to help out if a bus buddy forgot their pass.
Soon that will no longer be an option.
Ottawa’s public transportation service will not accept paper tickets after April 30th. Commuters will have to have a Presto Card handy and loaded or carry $3.50 in exact change.
So, you could offer to pay for a fellow OC Transpo commuter who has forgotten their pass or doesn’t have the $3.50. You could offer them your backup stash of coin or indicate to the driver you wish to pay for another’s fare with your PrestoCard.
The latter will cost you 5 cents less but require social interaction with two people instead of one and delay others getting on the bus…
I suppose I will use the PrestoCard payment method for a friend instead of offering cash. It’s a matter of me remembering to load enough on my card.
On a related note, I wish PrestoCard would send an email or text to notify you when your balance gets to a day’s value or less.
Gone are the days of the paper passes 😦 and Federal tax credits for using public transportation.
I find this ticket-less system counter-productive and risky:
Low income riders have to jump through hoops to prove their financial status in order to qualify for a Community Discount pass.
Social service agencies can no longer provide bus tickets to their clients so they can get to appointments or related events.
Buses may be carrying more coin as alternate payment rather than paper tickets. This could make for theft opportunities or cause more fuel usage due to extra weight.
Are you an Ottawa public transportation user? How are you adapting to these changes? What’s your opinion on this new system plus the city’s attempt to prepare commuters for the late and over-budget Light Rail Transit system?
Canadian winters… You adapt to the season or you escape to warmer climates.
For those of us who are not beach lovers or sun worshipers, we choose to stay and make the best of it. Sometime after January 31st, we start complaining.
Public Transportation experience
We pop our Vitamin C, D and Omega-3 and absorb the glow from the DayLight lamp while we curse the inconveniences of the season. We get in gentle exercise, cautious walks outdoors, small social gatherings then retreat indoors for quiet activities.
As someone who appreciates the quiet and calm of my humble abode, I make efforts to refresh my living space and head space by performing winter housecleaning and preparation for the Lunar New Year. It’s a valid excuse to add ceremony to housework, to make it fun and hopeful.
Of course, when you share living space with cats, you adjust the placement of items to maintain harmony in your home.
Cats avoiding the cleaning staff
One way I refresh my head space is learning new things, doodling, listening to uplifting music and reading. When you’re a bus mouse, you can get in some good reading time – if you can find a good seat for the long workday commutes.
I Ching Handbook
So as we navigate through and negotiate with Winter, we can remind ourselves that it will soon lead to Spring.
There is hope.
Thanks for reading along! How do you survive Winter in your neck of the worldly woods?
That’s a bold prediction from someone so naturally fair of skin and hair.
I am okay with that possibility.
First, I can say that because I have brown offspring from a mixed marriage. In my eyes and their doting Aunties’, these children were beautiful, intelligent and well-behaved.
I was often oblivious to the colour of my children’s skin yet experienced some strange looks and comments when we were out in public. The most humorous and innocent was when a child at the local park asked if I was their babysitter.
Yes, they have met challenges with finding their identity, their place in society. They adapted. They survived. Some of them identify as Black or POC (Person of Colour). None of them have adopted urban stereotypes nor have they been in trouble with the law.
To me, they are beautiful humans, the next generation. I raised them to be positive contributors to their community and to society. They know how to speak up when they see injustices. They too will make beautiful babies if they so choose or can afford to raise a family in this precarious economy.
In the 90s, I grooved to this song from Michael Jackson. It spoke to me – except for the beginning featuring a loud, dysfunctional family then the parts where MJ is grabbing his genitals, smashing up a parked car and vandalizing empty store windows. Apparently, the main body of the “Black or White” short film reflects the song’s lyrical plea for racial and cultural unity. That message was lost on me into the eight minute mark. I think MJ also wanted to express issues with father figures, the automotive industry, consumerism and colonialism.
You will be thankful I found the shortened version.
My second posit is that my white, blond son from an earlier relationship chose to marry a lovely woman of Asian origin. I see that he inherited the “non-conformist” gene as well as the blond one.
Their children are beautiful. My grandchildren are beautiful.
My grandchildren.
It was comments I heard years ago from a stand-up comedian that stuck with me and inspired me to draft this blog entry.
Quoting Paul Rodriguez, “One hundred years from now, our children’s children… everybody’s going to be Filipino”
(Start at 1:30)
I’m okay with that.
Regardless of their skin colour or which version of the Creator they honour, I have hopes for my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren and those to follow.
I hope the shared traits of humanity such as compassion will calm the fear and hatred of those feeling threatened. Is it possible that the good ole boys are scared? Are they trying to protect their heritage, their culture?
Why did it take public outrage at his initial comments for Tweetle-Dum to finally denounce the white supremacists?
Let’s remember that this continent was occupied by other people thousands of years before those European colonizers and immigrants arrived with their ships.
The first people had a respect for the power of nature, the seasons, the animals they hunted for food. They hunted out of necessity, not for sport. We could learn from the First Nations about living in harmony with nature and planning seven generations ahead.
It’s going to be a struggle but people will learn that harmonious survival of the human race and Mother Earth is more important than skin colour, religious dogma and power. At the basic root, we need to ensure clean air, water and arable land.
Here are some changes i would like to see in our gently blended future:
Muscle cars and air-polluting auto racing will no longer exist. Neither will fossil fuels.
Reusable energy from the sun, wind and oceans will power our needs.
People will be educated, active and civil. We will see a return to public discourse and philosophical discussions.
Artists will be respected and supported regardless of their eccentricities ;-^
The fashion industry will reuse materials and will not be so frivolous and wasteful. We will do away with stilettos, latex and skinny jeans.
There will challenges with how we define culture.
Some people may still want to pierce their body parts, tattoo their skin and dye their hair to stand out, to show their individualism or create a sense of belonging in some form of neo-tribalism. Some may try to appear so unique as to bleach their hair blonde. I hope the chemicals don’t harm their brain cells or our ecosystem as a result.
If we deplete and pollute this planet to the point of no recovery and have to spread out into the galaxy, to meet and rely on other species, I just hope we can still celebrate and respect diversity.
What was the point of the series? Celebrating diversity. Here’s Star Trek creator, Gene Roddenberry, explaining: pic.twitter.com/toaFoGQNXx
Did you like to run and play ball in your big backyard or in the park with other kids? Did you like to colour, to play in the dirt or puddles? Did you try to run away into the nearby forest but return home in time for dinner?
I think that the age range between 8 and 11 years old is one of innocence, adventure and discovery.
This deep thought has been brought to you by page 106 in a book of daily inspirations. I think it is a good reminder for ambitious, jaded adults.
Good advice: observe babies
…except for the part about pooping in your pants.
When I was ten, I enjoyed playing in big puddles, engineering canals and small towns. I enjoyed playing with Barbie dolls, playing school with my siblings and friends. I enjoyed drawing pictures. As I matured, I had dreams of creating greeting cards or children’s books.
I didn’t care about fashion or boys. I didn’t know our family was poor. I was oblivious to the inhumanity happening in our country, in our world.
I didn’t even know I was fat until it was pointed out by a friend’s older brother.
Central Experimental Farm, reaping what was sown 2016
For me, 2016 was a year full of challenges and opportunities, reunions and departures.
I can accept that winter is here and we should acknowledge its presence as part of the cycle of life. Also, I can’t afford to travel to somewhere exotic or warm…
Central Experimental Farm December 2016 – Covered up and ready to start all over again
As a parent and grandparent, I have concerns for the future of our planet and humanity now that the pendulum has swung back to allow for unbalanced, machismo leaders to take the reins of power. Many of us are wondering what the heck went wrong… Yet, I can cherish the moments I had with loved ones this year and will embrace naive hope for sharing happy times with them again.
My gift to readers of this blog is another time-lapsed photography project. You may remember and hopefully enjoyed the four seasons with two trees from the autumn of 2014 and summer of 2015, and that whimsical cat grass grow-up project this past summer.
This latest obsession was started with joy as I celebrated new opportunities and gave thanks while waiting for the weekend bus near the Central Experimental Farm.
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Thank you for dropping by. I hope you enjoyed that. Here’s a soundtrack and some nostalgia for those of you born before 1963…
That question was recently asked by what could have been a younger, curious version of myself.
A few times each month, I spend three hours of bliss volunteering in a small bookshop.
I get to meet interesting people, stroke and skim through the latest items placed on the shelves. Not a month goes by without me purchasing something of interest to me or someone I love. I like the fact that sales revenues go towards purchasing new books and supporting programs for our local libraries. Being in that book shop is the closest I can get to working in a library – for now 🙂
My recent volunteer shift was graced by the usual lingering regulars and families attending events nearby. It warms my heart when children express delight as they find a book or two that they want their parents to buy.
One particular tot caught my attention while exploring books with her older sister, parents and grandmother. She approached the front desk, her blonde head barely above the counter, her blue eyes peering at me.
“What’s your name?” she asked in a sweet and barely audible voice.
I responded with a smile and asked about hers. Her Mother responded on her behalf due to the child’s limited conversation skills.
Then the child asked, “Why are you here?”
“Why am I here? Well… I like books, I like meeting new people and selling them books.”
Then she skittered away to explore the shelves with her family.
Soon she returned to ask again “Why are you here?”.
After I repeated my previous response I wanted to ask the wee thing if she was being philosophical about the big picture but I decided it would just confuse matters.
It was cute. It was thought-provoking in a naive kind of way.
I think that was a helpful experience for those basic queries we should ask ourselves often, like “Why am I here?”.
If we cannot answer the why, we could at least ask, “What am I doing during my time here?”.
Three weeks ago, the resident artiste provided me with five morning lessons of gentle sitting and stretching, gentle Yoga moves for Salute to the Sun. That was three months after she gifted me a “high-end” Yoga mat for Mother’s Day.
Like I said, I don’t like rushing into things.
On the first day, the Tabby cat took position on her living room perch in preparation to supervise. As we have seen in a previous post in another blog, she’s not a fan of exercise for the sake of exercise.
On the sixth day, I proceeded to perform the sweaty, grunty feat in the privacy of my room. Soon the Old Boy wandered in to complain and rearrange my sweaty towel.
The Salute to the Sun routine goes something like this. With time and commitment, I shall be so graceful and poised. It has been two weeks during which I think I have succeeded in getting myself into a routine as part of a healthier lifestyle.
I aim to perform this sweaty morning ritual at least five days a week;
I time each session for 15 to 20 minutes;
These are small steps in supporting a healthy habit for body and mind;
As with most challenges in life, you just gotta remember to breathe – and repeat as necessary.
I am grateful for the resident artiste, bread baker, cook and cat sitter for persistently nudging and motivating me. It’s only a matter of time before she turns me into a vegetarian too.
What small steps do you take to keep yourself in good overall health?
Thanks for dropping by.
You might be interested in this book I wrote about a priest, his biological daughter and a retired exotic dancer dealing with family issues in a small Georgian Bay town during the 1970s.
Come on Boomers, who didn’t get a thrill from striking matches or flicking cigarette lighters, experiencing that primal awe of having fire at your fingertips?
Who didn’t test their lungs out of curiosity and peer pressure with a prized pack of Du Mauriers or Old Port wine-tipped cigars? Who didn’t deeply inhale the aroma of a freshly opened pack of cigarettes?
Who didn’t get dizzy and nauseous their first time?
Why didn’t they stop there?
In my young adult years, smoking was part of dance bar outings and mostly a social crutch. It gave party-goers something to do with their hands while practicing conversation skills and courting rituals. That was so many years ago and before I carried my children.
From my caffeine-induced, Sunday morning Web research, I can see that smoking started as an experience of the spiritual, for Native Americans to call upon and to give thanks for the six energies. The peace pipe was an important symbol to the indigenous people in the Ottawa Valley as well. Tobacco was used as an offering to the sacred waterfalls named after the pipe bowl.
So with smokers these days, does that mean people are trying to capture that inner reflection or reaching up to the divine? Do they want to meet their maker sooner than intended? How much of their earnings have gone up in smoke?
I often wonder if smoking (and now vaping) are subconscious, primal desires for the comfort of suckling at our Mothers’ breast as well as reaching for the Divine. At least those who choose vaping are doing it to wean them off the death sticks. You can do it!
Social behaviour
I’d like to thank those public transportation users who walk a few meters away from the shelter to light up and begin your ritual of self-reflection while waiting for the next bus. Please complete your ritual by stomping out your cigarette instead of tossing it into the dry grass beside the bus shelter, and please completely exhale your sacred smoke before boarding the bus.
I will be sure to not sit close to you and experience the stench wafting from your hair, clothes and breath.
Be kissable
Another reason to quit smoking is to increase your attraction and possibilities for pleasurable mouth pressing activities.
Ah yes, pleasurable mouth pressing activities and making for romantic memories…
Thanks for dropping by. May your lip puckering activities be refreshing, memorable and sweet.
I am a white woman, a parent and a survivor. As a woman over 50 I feel invisible to most eligible men. I do not have a reliable partner, don’t own my home nor can I afford to travel to tropical locations every winter. I will be lucky if I can retire in comfort by the time I turn 60 years old.
Whenever discussing retirement plans with friends or colleagues, I joke that my insurance was to be extra patient with and kind to my children so that they will take care of me in my old age.
My beautiful adult children are Millennials. They are testing out their respective paths, life purpose and independence. Some are taking a little longer than others due to childhood trauma or the ridiculous limitations of the economy.
My Millennials were not handed everything on a platter. We were barely scraping by in the early years while surviving home life with an unstable, controlling individual.
It saddens and frustrates me when the older generations and entertainers poke fun at Millennials.
“Millennials are getting dumped on from all sides – from parents, employers and the economy. “My Millennial Life” takes a look through the eyes of a group of resourceful, charming and talented 20-somethings and the obstacles and opportunities they face in getting launched and making their mark on the world.”
I love my Millennial room-mate who cooks healthy meals, cleans the humble apartment once a week, and looks after the cats while I am away – all the while using artistic skills to earn a modest income.
On a related, rippling note I am sad to acknowledge recent violent events south of the border. Some parental concerns and human rights issues catch your interest even more so if your Millennials are also dark-skinned, dealing with social anxieties or are gay.
They would seem to be fncked whichever way they turn. I know they can overcome challenges with courage, intelligence and strength of character.
Do you enjoy your solitude? Do you find it conducive to navel-gazing and existential contemplations?
Do you alternately feel a sense of inclusion and connectedness when in a crowd of like-minded strangers?
I do.
One way I experience the latter is to treat myself to a personal adventure on the Doors Open Ottawa tours. This was the third year that I explored the city on my own, learned new things, admired architecture and met other interesting humans.
Yesterday’s weather was perfect for being in the sun, walking, busing, touring around Ottawa.
My first stop was a disappointment. It seems that arriving at noon is too late to get on the guided tour list for the temple of online commerce, Shopify.
Still determined for urban exercise and discovery, I walked from Elgin Street all the way to my next desired stop, The Temple of Science.
Science. Apologies for this ear worm coming at you.
I arrived tired and sweaty at the National Research Council Canada (NRC) – Temple of Science on Sussex Drive. After freshening up in the ladies room and refilling my water bottle, I unwittingly jumped the queue, ignoring protocol by inserting myself into the next guided tour group. I blame it on the heat.
It was a very interesting, fast-paced walking tour. Kudos to the staff and volunteers.
@NRC_CNRC who could resist the attraction to The Temple of Science, the lamp of learning? That was very interesting! Thank you.
The wait on Sussex Drive for the OC Transpo bus downtown was very long. The buses were not obeying the GPS offerings according to various smart phone apps shared by me and my random companions. At least we had a bench in the shade of nearby trees. People came and sat. Some gave up and started walking.
It wasn’t the first time I used a park bench for deep thinking activities. I had plenty of time for people-watching, casual conversation, contemplating the Universe, and … catching up on some reading. I really hope to finish Masters of Time this weekend!
Waiting for another bus on construction-cramped Rideau Street provided a different lens into humanity, social interactions of ragtag gangs rallying back and forth in some loud, shared purpose. I was relieved when the next bus finally arrived.
Next stop was the Saint-François d’Assise Church, another temple of sorts. It was cool and quiet except when someone was demonstrating the organ (!). I admired the wooden pews, the statues and all those candles.
Presque tous les panneaux d’information et de la littérature était en français!
Now resting and reflecting on a rainy Sunday morning, I plan to head out for another educational tour. I think I convinced one of the young people to join me.
On a parting note, here is something else to contemplate:
