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During my breast-budding twelfth year, I was asked to be a bridesmaid at my brother Bob's wedding. This was to be my first foray into the land of “BIG GIRLS” and I was squirming with joy.
Our elegant, red velvet dresses were designed for a more mature figure than my training bra enhanced chest could manage so it was off to the ladies wear section of Walkers Department Store for what was to be my most exciting clothing purchase to date: a padded bra.
After months of squeezing, pushing, pulling and staring my AAA breasts into existence, I finally had the full meal deal, albethem, fake. The two deeply padded cones, securely strapped to my chest, gave me the confidence of an aristocrat and an enhanced bridesmaid’s sense of duty. I danced with every person at the wedding. Besides the lovely bride, I was the junior belle of the ball.
Later that evening, slightly worse for wear due to my exuberance on the dance floor and my lack of experience with long, restrictive dresses, I stripped off my gown to discover that the right cup of my fiber enhanced figure had been poked in and was completely depressed. There was no way of telling how long I'd been a one boob, whirling dervish. Embarrassment washed over me.
What did I learn from this? For starters, and despite the manufacturers claims, artificial body parts were not to be fully trusted. But more importantly, I realized I need to keep an eye on my breasts, no matter no matter how great the dance music is.
Let's teach our girls about their bodies.
SR
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My Grade Five female body anatomy lesson came in two stages. Early one Saturday morning, my more developed friend Winnie knocked on my door, and blurted out something to the effect of, "Has anyone told you about menstruation yet"?
It was a reasonable question. My mother had died when I was six, leaving me in the care of my father, an advancing alcoholic. Winnie's mom used Winnie as the go between instead of being direct with my dad.
Turns out, my much older sister had beaten Winnie's mom to the punch. A few weeks early, with no discussion or eye contact, she had given me a small book titled, "You are a Young Woman Now." It showed a rough and tumble Tom Boy type like me being transformed into a tidy princess. It mentioned, 'that time of month'. The booklet didn't mention blood. But I was smart enough to know that something would be happening, down there.
That was it. Sum total of my female body anatomy lesson. When Paul MaKee told me I should go and see the teacher, immediately after performing my best yet cart wheel for his viewing pleasure, I didn't ask why. That time of month had arrived. First recess, grade seven. Who would have guessed.
Ma Bell was no shrinking violet. If you've ever been to the Bell Museum in Baddeck, N.S., you would know that she was side by side with hubby Graham, working on inventions. This
ad campaign that Bell is currently running, must be making her roll over in her grave. Surely in 2005 we can do better for our girls than my experience. And I would hope that we have evolved to a point in our understanding of women's health that would make Ma Bell proud.
SR
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Cassandra has posted her comments about Bell Canada's dark age ad campaign on her Blog.
Female body owner Maureen from Toronto is circulating a short, sweet and direct email encouraging people to complain to . Media Watch .
To see the offending ad, click here.
It boggles my mind how many hands and eyes this mixed media campaign would have passed by in order to bring the ads to the public. Who are these people who think that we need to be protected against being educated about the female body? And who actually cut the grade five textbook? In my day, you'd get the strap for that!
SR
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Gonzo journalism's king took his own life on February 20th.
I had never read a word that Hunter S. Thompson wrote, nor had I ever met the man. But one of my calendar models often found herself in Hunters employment, helping with the logistics of getting one of his magazine rants off to press. I'd hear the occasional story. So I guess you'd call that one degree of separation between me and Hunter.
Last spring, I got a call from Colorado asking me to send a couple of copies of the Breast of Canada calendar down for Hunter and his gang. Considering that I've sent copies to Woody Harrelson, Paul McCartney, Oprah, Sarah McLaughlin, Bare Naked Ladies, Jan Arden and our countries Prime Minister and Governor General, firing off a couple to Woody Creek was another casting of seeds. Yah never know who's going to dig your art. And it's very cool when someone wants to have a look.
Apparently Hunter lived hard. And from the reports, he died just as hard. I trust that his wife, son and friends will eventually find peace with his passing.
SR
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Last week I followed up on the complaint that I had made regarding a Bell Sympatico ad that had come in my paper.
I spoke with Tamara (Bell executive)and she said that they were not going to pull the ad or stop the campaign. I asked her if she had received any other complaints. She said that besides mine and my grade five teacher friend Katie's, about five complaints had come in. I asked Tamara how many complaints it would take to have the ad pulled? She wouldn't speculate. I asked her what her opinion of the ad was. She claimed not to have one. So I said I'd see what I could do to up the number of complaints to the tipping point.
Looks like the tipping point may be just around the corner.
Today I heard from Katie. Katie showed the ad to her union rep who then contacted the Status of Women committee chairperson and brought the ad to her attention. The chairperson was appalled and will add more push to this rolling ball of dissent.
The committee have decided on a four step action plan that includes engaging Elementary Teachers Federation of Ontario (ETFO) provincial's officers that deal with Women's Issues to directly contact Bell. Then they will alert StatusNet about the ad which serve is all the Status of Women chairs throughout the province. Then they plan to inform the federal reps at their upcoming Winter Meeting and have Reps encourage members to complain to Bell too. And finally, after the Winter Meeting, they will put the information on WaterWorks in the ETFO Conference and encourage members to complain to Bell.
How very interesting and empowering. I see the scale tipping.
SR
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I spent the morning in a massive complex of greenhouses, filled with blossoming African Violets. The humid air and bright atmosphere loosened my hips and relaxed my walk. Tannis, my plant science technician by day, musician by night friend, escorted me on the excursion. She was stripped down to a tank top in no time, white, bare arms swinging loosely at her side.
I wanted to sit myself down for the day, maybe sip on a fruity cocktail and bask in the riot of colour and thick, warm air. Ah....winter in Canada....makes the slightest sense of summer seem so spectacular.
The millions of African Violets made me think of my Granny Marshall. She was 96 when she died and in good health right up to her last few weeks. One of the larger residents of my Grannies nursing home lost her balance and fell on Granny, breaking her hip. She died shortly thereafter.
Granny always had a hanky, embroidered with violets, tucked into her bra. I blew my nose on it many times as a child. She wiped lots of my tears away. And sometimes, she would have hard candies wrapped inside as a special treat for me.
One experience can open a floodgate of memories. Guess I'm spending the day with Granny.
SR
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Stephen Fearing is one of Canada's finest singer songwriters and one of the boys in the band Blackie and the Rodeo Kings. He is also a Breast of Canada calendar owner.
I ran into him and his wife Chris this morning at the Guelph Farmer's Market.
Apparently, last February, Stephen returned home from doing errands to find a photo shoot taking place in his neighbours back yard. A photo shoot for the Breast of Canada calendar that happened to end up as the image for January 2005. The pic, by Olivia Brown, shows a single model, making a snow angel, hat pulled low, scarf wrapped tightly, with what may be a laugh but could be a scream registered on her face.
Stephen reported a similar reaction....sort of a laugh, kinda a scream....and the impulse to cover his eyes. Then, buy a calendar and hang it on his wall.
Now Stephen gets to play a unique part in the Breast of Canada experience. He's got his very own story to tell. And tell it he does.
BoC. Guaranteed to Inspire Conversation....at the Guelph Farmer's Market.
SR
PS My other blog is called: Calendar Girl Blog
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I mentor a young woman named Stephanie. She has been very busy filling out forms and preparing business plans for some start-up funds she is hoping to secure so that she can build her new business and eat at the same time. Not always easy to accomplish.
As she waits for the results of her application, her bank account is dwindling and her panic is starting to surface. I asked her what her plan B was and discovered that in fact, she had put all her eggs into one 'start up' basket. Even though we had talked at length about establishing other income streams in the off chance the start-up does not come through, and, had even identified one source that required little effort on her part, she had not followed through.
Why?
It appeared that good old paralysis had set in.
I've learned, many times over, that being painfully stuck, staring at your feet, micro-managing your pennies, usually boils down to a strongly held, and unexamined belief about success and what success means to you.
So I asked Stephanie what she believed success looked like. Turns out, for Stephanie, being successful meant living completely out of control and out of balance. It meant no time for her son, friends or family. It meant being on the go constantly. It meant a life so sped up that everything she valued fell by the wayside. And it meant making lots of money.
No wonder she wasn't keen on moving toward her goal. Even though most North American's live lives in the fast lanes, it's no secret that a vast percentage are not happy, even if they are affluent.
So, I asked her who was in charge of her success. More revelations followed. Seems her future customers were poised to take over Stephanie's life. Because.....
Stephanie was uncomfortable saying the word NO. Or even No Thank You.
Leaving only YES or the vague cousin, MAYBE as an option.
This meant that everyone else was left in charge of Stephanie. Without the ability or willingness to communicate using the word NO, Stephanie was putting herself in a vulnerable position. Stephanie was not in charge of Stephanie and the passive aggressive choices she left herself were few. She could either hide/freeze and do nothing, thereby passively avoiding any action or she could get angry and blame people for putting on the pressure. Neither would serve her well in any capacity.
Defining what success means to you may prove revealing.
And realizing that No is not a three letter word will help immensely. In fact, the skillful use of the word No demonstrates how truely tuned in you are to your reality.
SR
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I am busy writing a yoga gear website that should be live sometime in early spring. I will keep you poste. I study yoga and have for about 15 years in a loose sort of fashion so the writing gig is a natural fit for me. Currently, my two yoga instructors are beautiful, agile, young women with lovely energy. I enjoy them both immensely. Last night in my class, thanks to having spent the day with yoga words flowing out my finger tips, my mind drifted back to my first yoga class at the very drafty and creaky Delhi Rec Centre in Guelph and my first yoga instructor.
Gerta, was a marvel to behold. A tiny, graceful 70 plus year old woman with the calm of a summer breeze would sweep into the room with her gentleman of a husband in tow, he carrying her little box of props. He would promptly leave as the 20 or so of us yogis settled on our yoga mats.
Over the next 90 minutes, Gerta would lead us through a vigourous yoga class that pinnacled with Head Stand which she always demonstrated to perfection. I was in awe. Her firm yet friendly instruction inspired even the most timid to progress. And eventually I found myself doing an unassistetd Head Stand.
It was very evident by Gerta’s strength and flexibility that yoga was good for your health. In fact, I have since learned that yoga is excellent for stimulating your lymphatic flow and detoxification of the lymph glands. In some circles, this is being touted as a way of reducing your risk of breast cancer.
During final relaxation, Gerta would end our classes by reciting the following passage by Thich Nhat Hanh. I still use this quote as my mantra. Especially good during times when I’ve forgotten to breath or have decided that what going on isn’t perfect.
Breathing in I calm my body.
Breathing out, I smile.
Dwelling in the present moment, I know this is a wonderful moment.
SR
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After posting yesterday's blog, I decided to send news of the festive Dead Bra Day frolic in Nova Scotia to the media. But not just any old media. I wanted media with a well cured sense of humour. Someone who gets 'funny', in its more whimsical, at 'no ones expense' form.
As It Happens, a stella CBC Radio program that runs from Monday to Friday from 6:30 to 8:00pm was the obvious choice. Besides, I had just sent complimentary copies of the Breast of Canada calendar to co-hosts Barbara Budd and Mary Lou Findlay a couple of weeks ago. The DBD story was the perfect follow-up.
Will be very cool if the gals of Jordan Ferry find themselves being interviewed on national Canadian radio. It's already exciting that we are even trying.
SR
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I just never know when folks will take me up on my suggestions. So imagine my delight when an email arrived yesterday, featuring the results of a Dead Bra Day Celebration in Canada's bonny east coast province of Nova Scotia. Apparently ten gals gathered, with multiple dead bras in hand, and hoisted them up Linda Goodick's flag pole, just under her beautiful Canadian Flag. (Historical note for proud Canuck's....today is National Flag Day of Canada . Our sexy red leaf clad gal turns 40!!! Lordy lordy.)
One photo shows a lengthy tail of boulder holders, flapping gaily in the brisk Atlantic, off shore breeze. I could hear the proud tooting of a trumpet and the wail of bag pipes even though none were reported.
What was reported by Christine VonMaydell, winner of the 2005 Most Dead Bra Award, was the following titillating account of the day's celebration.
"We had a wonderful Dead Bra get together and strung about 30 of them up the flag pole down at Linda's. I got first prize for the 'most dead' bra.... stretched, stained, and stapled (not really, just safety pins). We toasted the various dead synthetics with an ice-wine/brandy combination.... and of course some warm chocolate goodies....perfect for the cool February afternoon. Had many, many belly laughs."
February 13, 2006 is just around the corner girlfriends. Dig out yer dead bras, bring out yer dead bras, string out yer dead bras.
SR
PS My other blog is called: Calendar Girl Blog
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Today is the contrived, consumer driven day designated so that you can prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that your love for your significant other is deeper, truer and more enduring than all other loves.
Good luck with that.
I'm trying something different. Instead of focusing my loving feelings toward someone else, I'm going to direct my appreciate towards myself. I will give myself a hug for eating well every day. I will pat myself on the back for sticking with my daily exercise routine of walking and my evening yoga practice. I will smile at myself in the mirror as thanks for the rest and quiet I give my body and mind. I will take pride in my growing ability to say "no thank you" to many of the requests I get for my time and energy and be delighted with how much energy I now direct into my own passions and projects. I will notice and acknowledge my slower pace and greater attention to the details of my world. I will breath deeply and with greater satisfaction, knowing that by taking good care of myself, I am giving a gift to everyone that knows and loves me.
Your friends and loved ones wish you good health and happiness. They cannot give you either. It's entirely up to you to create that for yourself.
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The first time I saw the word peri-menopause, I laughed. How perfect I thought. Peri is kind of like the word period with a bit missing. And meno with pause stuck on the end is like menstruation on hold. My translation is 'little bit of period, kind of like usual, not sure when it's coming.' Or even more succinct 'put away the white pants.'
What I'm learning, as I enter the menopause staging area of my life, is that my breasts, more than ever, are my best friends. They tell me what they know. They tell me where I'm at. And even better they are clear about 'what's coming down' so to speak.
My boobs are much better informants than the little red dots I put on my calendar. Now with a cycle that runs between 17 and 28 days, my little red dots offer no advance warning at all. But my tender breasts are more than clear about my impending peri.
My right breast is the most vocal. At first I didn't understand it's new and loud message. Given how much time I spend learning about breast cancer, I immediately made an appointment with my doctor, just in case. Alice arranged for me to have a mammogram. My first.
The technician squashed my mouthy breast and her quieter friend until they both cried uncle. Actually, I cried uncle. Okay, maybe I simply cried. I felt ouch like nothing I can describe. But then again, I've never had a baby so what do I know about ouch.
Turned out my 'telling it like it is' breasts were simply doing their job. They were announcing a change. I simply didn't understand the message. So I squashed the messenger.
But now I do understand and I listen. And I appreciate the news. And I'm really glad that my informants are keeping me abreast.
SR
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Yesterday, my BLOGS server took a nose dive and stayed down all day. I wrote anyway. Simply couldn't post until now. So here you go.
A couple of weeks ago, our city announced their proposed 2005 Municipal Budget. They are an unfortunately short sighted bunch who seem to dislike anything creative, even though creative is one of the main features of what puts Guelph on the map. The budget cuts reflect their attitudes. Which fueled the following letter to our city press from me. It’s not exactly about breasts. But certainly my rant speaks about what I believe constitutes a healthy community. I don’t want to live in a tread mill town for robots. And definately not one blanketed in The Bozone Layer
Dear Editor,
If the fine people of Guelph understand why this town possesses a "different feeling" from other communities, then the calls and letters should be pouring into our mayor’s office over the recommended $175,000.00 cut to the $370,000.00 Community Services Grant budget.
Guelph is an internationally recognized, thriving cultural community that both cultivates world class talent and innovation and draws it to our doorstep. Our reputation as a pulsing creative centre is a major drawing card, used daily by our bureaucrats and politicians to entice industry, business, families, students and workers to Guelph. People want to live and work in a place with a soul and heart beat. And that is precisely what Guelph’s culturally creative community gives our city.
So you’d think these same bureaucrats and politicians would understand the wisdom of investing in our cultural economy, an economy which in 1999 was estimated to be worth $2.24 trillion U.S. globally. (The Creative Economy, Penguin Press)
Evidently and shamefully our bean counters and leaders don’t get that we are lucky to be living in an extraordinarily talented town. Instead, they propose a form of ‘cultural cashstration’ as a solution to a poorly managed and dated economic development and budgeting process.
Removing 47% of the money from a budget is not a cut. It is a gutting.
I've recently learned of the Bozone Layer. According to the Washington Post, Bozone is the substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating.
The Bozone Layer has clearly surrounded Guelph City Hall.
Sue Richards
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