On being ... too many choices

By Ingrid Sapona 

I’ve decided to renovate my bathroom. The extent of the changes I can make hinge primarily on two factors. The first is the basic structural limitations related to the condo building itself. For example, I don’t think I can change the toilet’s location, as the refuse has to flow through the pre-existing piping. Actually, maybe there is a way to make drastic changes, but that brings me to limiting factor number two: budget. In my case, the sky is definitely not the limit! 

So, the only (arguably) structural change I’m planning is replacing the tub with a large shower. Since that involves removing floor and wall tiles, rather than try to salvage any, I’m going with all new tiles. And, though I’m perfectly happy with the size/shape of the vanity, the top is dated (Formica, if you’re wondering), so I’m replacing the entire vanity. Actually, the lighting is probably the most dated looking thing in the bathroom, so I’ll be replacing that too. 

Because the shower is the focal point, I’ve put a lot of thought into how I want it to look. I poured through photos of bathroom renovations. They all looked beautiful, of course. (No one posts pictures of their ugly renovation, right?) I was surprised at how quickly I managed to rule out certain looks. Take shower niches, for example. Though they may have started out as utilitarian – a place for your shampoo and stuff – they’ve become focal points in so many design magazines. But the more sumptuous or intricate the niche, the less likely you are to see any shampoos or toiletries in them. And, if there are things in them, the stuff is all in beautiful, opaque bottles. My Pert shampoo and can of shaving cream are UGLY – they’re not something to display. So, no niche for Moi! Ultimately, I came up with a design I like that is simple and yet I hope reasonably elegant, and highly functional. 

Once I made the threshold decision of what to keep (basically just the toilet) and how the shower would be configured, the next step was shopping for materials. When I re-did my kitchen a couple years ago the colour choices kind of revolved around the kitchen counter material. That made sense at the time – and I do LOVE my kitchen – so my first stop was the countertop folks. They were happy to show me things, but they urged me first find shower floor tiles that I love, and then choose a countertop that would go with them. Ugh… 

There are so many tile places and hundreds of tiles to choose from. In short order they all started looking the same to me and none of them seemed right. Eventually, however, I found some that I did fall in love with for the shower floor. Then I had asked one of the designers at the tile store to suggest some wall tiles that worked with the floor tiles I liked. The designer showed me a few and the choice was pretty straightforward. I then took the tile samples to the countertop folks and in two minutes they pulled a couple samples and one of them was exactly what I was hoping to find. 

But that wasn’t the end of the choices. I knew what I wanted in terms of the sink faucet, so that was pretty easy. But silly me, I thought picking shower hardware was all about the type of showerhead. Turns out shower technology has evolved, with decisions about things like pressure balance and built in thermostats to be considered. I haven’t chosen the shower hardware yet – I suspect that’ll come down to price. 

The options for towel racks and toilet paper holders almost pushed me over the edge. There are all sorts of shapes and details to consider, like flange (aka rosette) or no flange? Visible or concealed screws? As I was mulling the options, I looked at the installation instructions on a few. The diagrams were straightforward, but mention of a backing plate was off-putting, especially since I didn’t see one in the diagram of parts included. I decided to email my contractor the instructions to get his thoughts on whether they might be more trouble than they’re worth. So, that decision is pending too.

After settling on a light fixture, I went on the lighting store’s website to find out about the type and the maximum wattage bulb that the fixture accommodates. Such details were found under the “additional product details”. In scrolling through this info, I noticed two items that piqued my curiosity: Prop 65 and Prop 65 Description. Turns out Prop 65 is a California law from 1986 that requires businesses to provide warnings to California consumers (that end up benefitting non-Californians like me) about whether a product contains certain chemicals that cause cancer, birth defects, or other reproductive harm.  

Regarding the Prop 65 issues, the product details for the fixture I chose indicated No and No listed chemicals. To that I say double WHEW! Whew that the fixture has no such chemicals and Whew – I though had a lot of choices to make with this reno. I can’t imagine all the choices manufacturers have to make! 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona

On being … “free” food

By Ingrid Sapona 

In May I applied for a new credit card. I met the minimum financial thresholds to qualify for the card and applying on-line was easy. Within a week I had the new credit card. I wanted this particular card because it does not charge an additional fee on foreign purchases – you pay only the foreign exchange rate. My other cards charge a fee of 2-2.5% on top of the foreign exchange rate. So, even with an annual fee of $150 (waived the first year), given that I’ll be travelling overseas later this year, I’m sure the savings will cover the annual fee. 

The credit card is a VISA card and it’s co-branded with a rewards program called “Scene”, which I’ll explain about in a minute. Because the VISA card was issued by a bank I don’t regularly bank with, to get electronic statements I had to register on-line with that bank. During this on-line registration process, I inadvertently registered for a Scene membership. About a week later, a separate Scene card showed up in my mail and so I stuck it in my wallet and forgot about it. 

When Scene was launched years ago, the rewards were mainly free movie passes and popcorn at a cinema chain, so I never bothered registering for it. Last year a major grocery chain adopted the Scene rewards program. I shop there sometimes, but not regularly because their prices are always a bit high. I also find that often when they put items on sale (like coffee), they don’t stock extra – so they run out quickly. They’ll issue a rain check, but that’s time consuming and a hassle. And, since they’ve adopted the Scene program, I’ve noticed more and more of their specials are exclusively for Scene members, which just annoyed me more, causing me to shop there even less.  

Well, the first time I was checking out at that grocery store after getting the VISA card, when the clerk asked if I’ve got a Scene card, I wasn’t sure which she meant so I pulled out both cards. She scanned the Scene “member” card and asked if I would be paying with the Scene VISA card. I said yes, but I asked why I have two different cards. She explained that you get more rewards if I you scan the Scene member card and then pay with the Scene VISA card. Ok – whatever, is what I thought. 

The next time at that grocery store I was buying a $13.00 rotisserie chicken. After swiping my Scene member card the clerk said, “Oh, you have $10 in Scene points – do you want to use them?” I did and so my bill was reduced to $3.00. Wow, I thought… The same thing happened to me the next two times I shopped there. Most recently I was stocking up on coffee (using a rain check from a prior sale) and a few other things and my total bill was about $55. After swiping the Scene member card, I was invited to redeem $50 of Scene points! Jeez… Since I got the credit card and signed up for Scene membership, I’ve saved $90 on groceries. (I suspect these benefits might be some sort of sign-up bonus I wasn’t aware of.) 

I find these lavish windfalls troubling. Though I don’t mind saving money – these rewards come at a cost to all of that store’s customers. The high cost of groceries has been in the news a lot here. Earlier in the year grocery CEOs were called to testify about their business practices – everything from questions about price fixing to squeezing suppliers for better margins. The end result was the grocers agreeing to a code of conduct for fair and ethical dealing with respect to producers and suppliers.  

But, the grocers weren’t asked about the impact on overall grocery prices of special deals only certain customers can take advantage of. For example, it’s quite common these days for sale prices to apply only if you purchase multiple units of a given item. I get that such “deals” drive increased purchases, but they end up penalizing people who don’t have the money to make multiple purchases. Similarly, not everyone has enough income to qualify for special credit cards that offer cash-off bonuses, like that VISA card. 

At a time when food insecurity is at a crisis level – one in10 Torontonians rely on food banks to make ends meet – I would rather have grocers drop prices by a nickel across the board, instead of favouring certain shoppers or shopping habits. That would be fairer and better for all, I think. Meanwhile, to compensate for the “free” groceries I’ve received through the Scene program, I’ve donated the equivalent to the food bank. This small gesture, however, is just that – a gesture. Donations to food banks are a short-term solution. We need to raise our voices and urge grocers to treat all shoppers equally. In the end, society would be better off… 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... a delicious dilemma (or ode to a peach)

By Ingrid Sapona 

A couple weeks ago I was at a restaurant with a friend and the seasonal salad featured peaches. It seemed early to us for peaches, but the restaurant was at a winery and it wouldn’t surprise me if they had their own peach trees. So, we decided to give it a try. Well, the salad was delicious! It was the perfect combination of salad greens, red onion, julienned red pepper, feta, lightly curried, candied pecans, grilled fresh peaches, and the perfect maple vinaigrette. 

Enthusiastic about this season’s crop, we stopped at a nearby farm stand to take some peaches home. Since they were the first of the season, I figured they probably weren’t freestone, but that was ok. (For non-peach-o-philes: freestone peaches, of which red havens are my favourite, have pits that release from the peach with the merest tug. Red havens are extra special because the peach flesh left behind when you pop the pit out is a lovely red that makes the peach look even more inviting.) 

The next day, as I washed the peaches, my thoughts returned to that salad. Did I have the ingredients on hand? Might I be able to reproduce it? Peaches: check. Greens, red onion, red pepper, feta: check. All I needed was a recipe for curried, candied pecans and maple vinaigrette. A quick Google search turned up a few options for both and my pantry had the necessary ingredients for those too. 

I was torn. Even though the winery restaurant wasn’t a fancy place, I’m well aware of the problems with trying to recreate a dish I’ve enjoyed at a restaurant. The risk is disappointment because I’ll never get it quite the same as the one they served. For example, I know I tend to be heavy handed when adding nuts and cheese to salads. (I love nuts AND cheese and sometimes it seems – in my salads – that greens are primarily a nut and cheese delivery device.) And even if I make a real effort to be more judicious with the nuts and cheese, who’s to say the recipe I use for the candied nuts will be spicy enough and sweet enough – rather than too spicy or too sweet? 

But those reasons for not trying to make the peach salad aren’t the only obstacle. The hurdle I confront when I consider cooking with fabulous local fruit is the reality that I find it just as satisfying eating the fruit qua fruit. Or, to put it another way: it seems a waste to relegate the perfect peach to a mere salad ingredient when it’s delicious on its own. 

I have the same issue every time I see recipes that call for watermelon. Nothing says summer to me better than a cold piece of sweet, juicy watermelon. If you peak in my frig in late summer, I guarantee you’ll see the better part of an entire shelf given over to watermelon (cut or waiting to be cut). Given my love for watermelon – and the fact that unlike other fruit that’s grown elsewhere at different times of the year and then shipped so that we treat then as basically season-less – I can never bring myself to use it as an ingredient. Yes, I agree there’s something magic about feta with watermelon and a hint of mint – but… Honestly, if the watermelon’s sweet and ripe and cold – leave the mint for a mojito and the feta for a charcuterie board and pass me a chunk of the watermelon! 

Don’t misunderstand – there are plenty ways I happily cook with fruit. I gladly add apples to salads, or use them for applesauce to serve with pork dishes. I’m happy to add blueberries and bananas to pancakes, and to use mango for a chutney for sandwiches or burgers. And of course, fruit is the star of many wonderful desserts I love making. But in all these examples, the other ingredients you’re combining the fruit with (especially sugar, butter, and eggs in the case of many desserts) kind of transform the fruit. In those cases, it almost doesn’t matter if the fruit is fresh and in season.  

Ultimately, I decided not to try to recreate the restaurant peach salad. The curried, candied pecans were an important ingredient and I just didn’t think any of the recipes I’d found for making them seemed right. But, because peach season is here, the New York Times that week ran a bunch of recipes featuring peaches. One of them caught my eye: Tomato and Peach Salad with Whipped Goat Cheese (by Alexa Weibel).  In reviewing the recipe, I realized I had all the ingredients. And, since I didn’t have a pre-conceived idea of what the dish should taste like, the risk of disappointment was less. So, I decided to sacrifice, er, use a few of the precious peaches to try it. Well, I’m thrilled – and, if I’m honest, relieved – to report that it was fantastic! Absolutely worth the peaches and something I will no doubt make again before the last of the local peaches are gone. 

Ah, the summer. Flavourful and fleeting … Enjoy all of it, however you will… 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... cringe-inducing

By Ingrid Sapona 

I’ve written before about being a news junky. And with so much turmoil in the world right now, I sometimes find it hard to control my fear and anxiety. Tuning out has never worked for me because I think if everyone simply tuned out, things would be even worse. (I have to believe that most people behave at least a bit better if they think others are paying attention.) 

So, I’ve been thinking about ways of managing my anxiety about different news stories. One way is to remind myself that it’s ok to see things as gray and that I don’t have to come out one way or another on every issue or story. There’s a lot of talk about the fact that we live in a polarized time. Well – that’s because so many people seem to feel they have to stand on one side or the other. There are a few things I do end up coming down firmly on one side of, but it seldom is an automatic process. I try to sorting through the facts, and then identify my beliefs, my concerns, and my emotions. 

I also try to separate out different aspects of a story and try to identify exactly how different parts of it make me feel. In other words, I try to separate out the different shades of gray. That’s how I discovered the cringe factor. I categorize cringe-inducing things as stuff that produces an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Mind you, it’s a complex feeling – often a mix of dread, frustration, and sadness. 

Take the Biden-Trump debate as an example. Like many, I found Biden’s performance worrisome. The press and punditry’s unrelenting focus on calls for Biden to pull out from the race has been distressing to me. In contrast, the complete glossing over of Trump’s lies during the debate and the moderators’ automaton-like unwillingness to deviate from their prepared list of questions ‒ rather than bother to formulate thoughtful, on-point follow-up questions ‒ left me angry. 

But Biden’s reassuring Democratic governors that he figured out the error of his ways in terms of the debate prep and that he’s come up with ways of avoid such a fiasco in the future simply made cringe. He told them he’ll get more sleep and that he’s told his staff to avoid scheduling events after 8 p.m. Oh Joe… did you have to tell anyone that? Couldn’t you just have kept that between you and your staff? Surely folks at the White House must realize the risk that some will see the need for such accommodations as further proof that Biden’s too old for office. Oh…cringe. 

The recent revelations by Alice Munro’s daughter about her sexual abuse by her step-father were disturbing. The fact that Munro knew about it and remained silent about it and stayed with the man who abused her daughter was shocking. While I’ve not heard anyone doubt the truth of the daughter’s story, some people question her motives for going public. Some think what’s in the past is past and they feel she shouldn’t have revealed the story to the public at all. Others question the timing of the news – coming so shortly after Munro’s death. They wonder whether she raised it now just to sully the Nobel laureate’s reputation. 

I’ve never read Munro so the news didn’t feel particularly personal to me. But, when I read the daughter’s account, I couldn’t help but cringe, thinking about how difficult this news will be for so many. Of course, I felt for the daughter for having been abused and for her having to live with the fact that her mother prioritized her marriage over her. I also admire the bravery of Munro’s daughter and I hope the news helps other victims realize they are not alone. But I also feel for Munro fans, as I’m sure they’re left questioning the way they interpreted and related to Munro’s stories. 

For me, recognizing a cringe reaction is useful because it’s a reminder to myself that some things can be interpreted in different ways by different people. In other words, it’s a reminder that many things are double edge swords – capable of cutting two different ways. And that reminds me that just because something may be uncomfortable doesn’t mean there’s one right way of interpreting it. And realizing that helps me remain calmer and more comfortable staying in the gray zone, rather than rushing to judgment. 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona

On being … different roles

By Ingrid Sapona 

The other day I ran into a senior who lives in my building. It had been a while since I saw her and her husband. I always used to see them together and so I asked about him. At this question she teared up a bit and said that her daughter was upstairs with him while she went to the market. She then explained that he’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, which she sees as an especially cruel twist of fate. “He was such a prominent lawyer for 50 years and so smart and with it. And now, he can’t figure things out or remember things,” she said with a tear. 

It was sad news and I told her how sorry I was for him – and also for her and her family, as I’m sure it’s hard on all of them. She mentioned they have a caregiver who helps out a couple of times a week, which she appreciates – but I could see how tired she was. Though I don’t know them well, I felt comfortable enough to raise something that is sometimes easier to hear from a stranger: I wondered if they’ve considered the possibility of – at some point – finding a dementia care place for him. 

I wasn’t surprised she appeared crestfallen at the idea, or that she said “Oh no, no…”. But I was surprised by what she added: she said she didn’t know what she’d do with herself if she didn’t have him there to look after. “You know – he was the one who everyone knows. HE used to talk to everybody. I would send him down to get the mail and he’d be gone three-quarters of an hour, talking with the concierge and others. When he got back, I used to tease him saying I was worried that something happened to him. But he just laughed and said he was talking to so-and-so,” she said. “The thing is, I don’t know people. I don’t really have friends of my own,” she added. I tried to reassure her that many people would be here for her, but at this point, she can’t see herself in a role other than that as the wife of a once gregarious lawyer. 

What my neighbor said brought to mind something a family friend said years ago. We were at a memorial service for a friend who died unexpectedly, leaving a wife and child. We were all saddened by the death and we talked about how bad we felt for his widow. The family friend then remarked that he also felt bad because she’d realize there’s more to it than just missing her husband. He referred to what he called “the division of labour” in a marriage – the practical, day-to-day things the deceased probably took care of that would now also fall to his widow. In other words, he was talking about the nature of roles people take on in the relationship of marriage. 

This got me thinking about the actions and behaviours that end up accompanying the roles we play in relationships with family and friends. In particular, about the extent to which we shape the roles and how they shape us, whether we realize it or not. I doubt my neighbor whose husband has Alzheimer’s intentionally ceded to him the building of friendships. Though she realizes that’s what happened, I imagine all these years she was just focused on supporting him and her children, which was enough until now. People who lose their spouses (whether by death or due to debilitating illness) are forced to take on new roles, which is difficult at any time but even more so coupled with the heartbreak of loss. Could they have prepared themselves for their new roles? Perhaps – but I think much of what makes a good relationship work is that people are comfortable and happy in their roles, so there’s no impetus to make changes. 

But what about when you realize you don’t like the contours of a role you’ve had in a relationship and you’d like to evolve it. Say, for example, that you’re tired of being the social convener or schedule maker. Though it may be something you’re good at, perhaps you’re tired of it. Or maybe it’s something you should let others learn to do, as someday they may have to. 

How do you change your behaviour in a role without completely jeopardizing the relationship? That can be tricky, I think. For starters, it requires awareness of the complex texture of the relationship. And, because you can’t control others’ behaviour, you have to figure out what you do that contributes to the way others in the relationship view your role. Only then can you even hope to change your role and the relationship along with it. 

I have no answers, though I think the first step is becoming aware of the nuances of your role in different relationships. Seeing your roles clearly requires objective awareness of others’ roles too. If you’re happy with a role, there’s no pressing need to change your activities or behaviours. But life has a way of bringing unexpected change. I think the more you’re aware of the nature of the roles you play, the better equipped you might be to foster – or accept – changes to those roles. 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... your recovery time

By Ingrid Sapona 

I’m currently taking an exercise program for folks who’ve been diagnosed with osteoarthritis (OA). The idea behind the program is that exercise is one of the best ways to improve the quality of life and reduce pain associated with OA. We’re learning exercises aimed at strengthening our legs and hips to improve our joint mobility and stability. We share feedback about which activities we find challenging and which don’t really bother our particular joints. In response, the physiotherapist suggests ways of making a given exercise a wee bit easier or a bit more challenging. The exercises are meant to be fatiguing enough that we feel our muscles working. Discomfort during the exercises is ok – but actual pain is not what we want. The rule of thumb we are to gauge things by is whether, 24 hours after the exercise, our muscles and joints have recovered. 

Even before the course I started paying attention to how much I can push my walking and still be able to get up out of a chair later (my personal recovery litmus test). So, for example, I’ve been testing to see if the distance has much of an impact on my leg pain and stiffness or whether the terrain makes a difference. Another alternative I’ve tried is a long walk every other day instead of daily. I keep hoping I’ll come up with a magic formula – the optimal length of walk or type of workout – that provides the fastest recovery. While I may never zero in on an optimal formula, I’ve come to realize that focusing on recovery time is as useful, preventing me from dwelling on current aches and pains. 

Since starting the course, the idea of focusing on recovery has captured my imagination. So much so, in fact, that it occurred to me the idea might be a useful way of thinking about things besides just physical recovery. So, for example, the other day I was going to some event and – as is often the case when I’m driving – someone did something that really irritated me (they were looking at their phone instead of turning when there was a break in the traffic, or they were tailgating, or something). Alone in the car, I gripped the steering wheel and swore at the driver under my breath. 

A few minutes after the incident, I realized my irritation at that driver’s behaviour had morphed into aggravation with traffic and I soon found myself in a bad mood about even going out. Despite the temptation, I didn’t turn around and head home. Instead, I decided to focus on using the rest of the drive to recover (i.e., calm down) in hopes that I could enjoy myself when I reached my destination. I was doubtful about whether I’d be able to recover in time, but I gave it a try. (Turns out the drive was long so I had enough recovery time and I ended up enjoying the evening. Whew!) 

Another opportunity to focus on my emotional recovery came after an argument with a friend last week. After we parted company, I couldn’t seem to get the fight out of my mind. The next day I continued replaying the quarrel and I still thought I was in the right, but I knew that the disagreement wasn’t worth breaking up the friendship over. That fact alone, however, wasn’t enough to get me out of the mood I was in. 

I call such moods sour because they’re like a sour taste – they can linger and they can distort the way you perceive other things. I find it useful to distinguish sour moods from other kinds of moods because I’ve figured out things that can help speed my recovery from such moods. For example, when I’m in a sour mood, I don’t really want to be around people. So, I burrow a bit – avoiding calls and emails for a few days. I also find it helps to do something with my hands, like bake, or do a craft, or even clean. The final part of recovering from a sour mood is always the conscious decision to get over it. I know… why not just decide that on day one? I’ve tried that, but it doesn’t seem to work. Why not? Well, maybe because – like recovering from physical stresses and strains – it’s a process that takes time… 

What do you think? Have you noticed whether you’re quicker to recover from things physical or emotional? Have you got ways of speeding your recovery time? Or are you more inclined to just let things run their course? 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona 

On being ... maladjusted

By Ingrid Sapona 

I write this with some hesitation because I appreciate that I’m in a comfortable financial position as compared to many. I also don’t want this to sound like the comments that one might hear from an old uncle recalling the price of things in his youth (no “back in my day admission to the talking pictures cost a nickel!”). So, with those disclaimers out of the way, today’s column is – in part – about the cost of things. But really, it’s more about my trying to learn to accept prices as they are, rather than getting stuck on what I think they should be. 

I’ve never been a big shopper so it doesn’t take much to surprise me price-wise. I couldn’t tell you the going price of a suitcase, cappuccino maker, throw pillow, or (fill in the blank). And of course, there are lots of services I’ve never needed so I’m constantly amazed at what people pay for specialized work. Just the other day I was shocked when a friend said it’s going to cost $5000 to have an old tree removed. Yikes! 

Because big ticket items – say a car or a sofa – are never impulse buys for me, I don’t get that hung up on their cost. One reason for this is that with such items there’s usually quite a price range and usually there are options/choices that impact the price. And, as I decide which options and features are worthwhile to me, the price usually narrows. In the end the decision comes down to a calculation of whether I want/need/can afford the purchase. The deliberativeness of the purchase process acts like a shock absorber so that the final price seems magically right (or at least justifiable). 

I’m not particularly bothered by many items that have gone up a lot over the past few years – like groceries or gas. I think I’ve managed to become a bit desensitized to the increased grocery prices because of the way I shop. I’m in the habit of checking the store weekly fliers on the Flipp app to see what’s on sale. As I swipe through the fliers, I do shake my head at the price of things (for example, seeing butter on “sale” for $4.99 was a shock initially, as that’s what the regular price used to be). But after seeing the prices in fliers, by the time I head into the grocery store, I have unconsciously adjusted to the higher prices of many items.

 

The two types of expenditures I really have a hard time adjusting to are the cost of going out to eat and in-person entertainment. No, I’m not talking about the price of Michelin-starred restaurants or tickets to see Taylor Swift. I’m talking ending up with a $50 bill (plus tax and tip) for lunch with a friend where one of us has a burger and fries and the other a sandwich with a side salad and no alcohol. Or two cappuccinos, one almond croissant, and an apple tart costing $32 at a gallery café where you have to carry the coffee and pastries to your table and bus the dishes afterward. Really? (Or should that be: Really!) I wonder whether my late father who owned a small breakfast/lunch place would have called that highway robbery or just obscene. To manage my shock at that café’s prices, I try to comfort myself with the notion that it was a rare indulgence (and remind myself that I’m lucky to be able to afford that) – but that only goes so far for me. After that, I’m more likely to think to myself, “Well, I’ll just never go back to that place again…” And that – in a nutshell – is the attitude I feel I need to overcome because it prevents me from enjoying going out. 

The same happens with the price of going to the theatre. I used to love going to plays but I have a hard time accepting ticket prices starting at $60 for local productions (not Broadway touring shows) – plus a ticket processing fee and tax. And, when you factor in the hassle and aggravation of trying to get to the theatre, it can be hard for me to justify the expense. That said, a girlfriend and I recently saw a play ($150 for the two tickets, including taxes and service charges) at a theatre company that is known for premiering plays by new playwrights. The theatre itself is small and my recollection of it (last time I was there was probably 10 years ago) was that the building was pretty basic and rather run-down. For this production all seats were the same price and it definitely seemed expensive to me, but the play sounded interesting so we decided to go. 

We got there a bit early and while waiting to get into the theatre, I was struck by how much nicer the lobby was than I remembered. Yes, it then occurred to me that the higher ticket prices impact the overall quality of the theatre experience, not just the performance. Well, I’m happy to report the play was excellent. It was interesting and thought provoking and on the drive home we couldn’t stop talking about the subject matter and how we might behave in that circumstance. All-in-all, it was certainly well worth the cost of admission AND the hassle of getting there, which truly is saying something in my books. Indeed, the evening got me thinking a lot about my need to get over the shock of the cost of tickets and instead think about how exhilarating a live performance can be. 

So, the bottom line is I’m working on being better at adjusting to prices of things that I can afford, but that I sometimes begrudge paying. I now realize that what I’m maladjusted to isn’t just the price – it’s the enjoyment I miss out when I forgo things I can otherwise afford. It’ll take some time to change, but I daresay it’ll be “worth” it. 

© 2024 Ingrid Sapona 

On being … bucket list-less

By Ingrid Sapona 

I imagine you’re familiar with the concept of a bucket list. For those who aren’t, it refers to things a person would like to do before they kick the proverbial bucket – in other words, before they die. Wikipedia says it was coined in 1999 by Justin Zackham, a screenwriter. Apparently, the first item on Zackham’s list was to write a film that gets produced by a major motion picture studio. He soon realized the idea of checking things off one’s bucket list was a good premise for a movie and so he wrote a screenplay about it. It became The Bucket List, the 2007 movie starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. 

I honestly don’t remember if I saw the movie, but I doubt I did because the notion of having a bucket list doesn’t appeal to me. I’ve thought about why it is that the idea never captured my imagination. I do wonder if my reaction has anything to do with not wanting to think about my own death. Indeed, I find typing “my own death” even a bit disconcerting – I am definitely not yet one with the idea of my life being over, however inevitable a fact that is. 

Don’t get me wrong – I don’t reject the idea of a such a list because I can’t think of things I’d like to see or do. For example, seeing the fjords of Norway appeals to me, as does going to Antarctica. I would also love to master working with chocolate. For that matter, I’d like to become adept at making pasta from scratch and I’d like to write a play that gets produced. But would I feel unfulfilled if I die without doing these things? I don’t think so. 

So why write a column about a concept that I don’t much like? Well, it’s because it seems to come up a fair bit lately in my social circle. If the phrase “bucket list” doesn’t actually come up, a variation along the lines of: “better do X while you still can” does. Sound familiar? I realize such things are on my friends’ minds because many are in the process of transitioning from working full-time to semi-retirement or full retirement. 

I think what bugs me the most about the concept of a bucket list is the social pressure to articulate such a list for one’s self. It almost seems like having a bucket list has become a substitute for having career goals. I guess if you were diligent about establishing and checking off career milestones then shifting focus to a bucket list makes perfect sense. Come to think of it, maybe the fact that my approach to my career was more organic than planned explains my discomfort at the idea of having a bucket list. 

Looking back at the non-work things I’ve done that I’ve enjoyed most, the one thing they have in common is that they came about by happenstance, not by planning. For example, when I volunteered to be on the publications committee of a newly formed international law association, I never dreamed it would be my gateway to spectacular travel. Through that association I ended up at black tie galas in Buenos Aires, Madrid, Mexico City, Berlin, Santiago, and Monaco, where the guest of honour was Prince Albert. When I signed on to edit the journal, I certainly didn’t expect I’d meet royalty! 

Another source of unexpected delight came as a result of my responding to an ad by a travel app company looking for writers. It was 2011 and I didn’t really know what a mobile app was (I didn’t even have a cell phone at that point) but I thought it would be a great way to learn about apps. So, I pitched them the idea of an app about Ontario Wineries. It took some time to convince the company, but they finally agreed. In the process of creating the app I met interesting people in the wine business, I learned a lot about wine, and I discovered parts of the province that I might never have seen. 

These kinds of experiences enriched my life in ways I couldn’t have dreamt of and even if I had thought of them, I wouldn’t have been able to come up with a plan to make them happen. They happened organically and simply because I was open. To me that seems the key – being willing to try something without knowing what direction it might take you. So, as I head toward retirement – no bucket list for me. My plan is to do more of what I’ve always done: keep my eyes and ears open and take the plunge when things come up. 

©2024 Ingrid Sapona