Holiday Poem 2015 Best Wishes from the Slaters

It’s just days before Christmas

And it’s time to reflect;

As the presents get wrapped

And halls become decked.

So much has transpired

Since I last wrote this poem;

The pace is so harried

Both at work and at home.

But instead of lamenting

How fast all the time goes;

Things that make me smile wide

Shall fill the lines of this prose

My three lovely offspring

Who fill my life with such joy;

Won’t make Daddy so happy

When they bring home the first boy.

Our oldest is Haley,

Smart, gorgeous and tall;

Amazed on the golf team

Man, can she crush a ball!

Our next one is Ainsley

An entrepreneur all the way;

She’ll do whatever you ask

As long as there’s pay.

And Maddie’s the last

A strong will, lots of might;

She’s sassy and sweet

And she’ll win every fight.

These three lovely ladies

Can be both wicked and nice;

And because of these girls

Our life’s chock full of spice.

And the best of my bunch

Is their mother, my wife;

Laura’s funny and smart

And as sharp as a knife.

She works super long hours

To make our family shine;

She inspires our brood

And slaps me back into line.

When I look at our world

So much gloom and such strife;

I just think of these ladies

And I cherish my life.

The best of the season

To your family and you;

Merry Christmas and such

From me and my crew.

To wrap up this poem

A small dream I will share;

With world peace up for grabs

One final thought, if I dare…

The New Year is coming

And with joy will I jump;

If our friends cross the border

Can dump that chump Trump.

Best Wishes from Sean, Laura, Haley, Ainsley and Madeline

Dedicated to the memory of Janet Novak...a very sweet lady.

Namaste, baby!

I recently decided that my exercise routine needed a bit of a boost...a little something different to keep things interesting.  My lovely wife Laura took up yoga a couple of months ago, so I decided that I would join her on Sunday mornings at the gym with Jessie, a friendly yoga instructor who takes her yoga practice seriously, but doesn't take herself too seriously.  Sounded like a fit to me, so off we went.

In the first class, I decided to take a place on the floor as far away from Laura as possible, so as not to embarrass her with any of my less-than-proficient newby yoga moves.  I walked into the room, and with as much stealth as a jaguar, took my spot in a far corner. Far from Jessie, and even farther from Laura.  I rolled out a borrowed mat, crossed my legs and tried to look like I belonged there.  My plan went completely to hell when Jessie called me out as a new person, then proceeded to spend the next 5 minutes, talking directly to me, in front of the rest of the class.  Cover blown.  All eyes on the chubby new dude.  Awesome.

Just trying to blend into the background.  #epicfail

So class number one went relatively well.  I will say that I spent the entire time focused on not falling over versus on my breathing.  I'm not sure that I ever once 'invited the breath in'...in fact, I was doing all I could to stop it from escaping.  Some poses were pretty OK, and others, WTF?  Is the human body supposed to bend like that?  Holy man. Anyway, the hour ended, and on the ride home, Laura seemed a little miffed that I positioned myself so far away from her.

At my second class, a week later, I decided to roll out my borrowed mat right beside my lovely bride. I was completely amazed and wildly impressed that she is so limber.  This chick can bend in half at the waist and put her forehead on her shins. She can lay on her back and bring her shin to her nose.  Who knew?  As the class progressed, I was very focused again on not falling over, and on trying to remember to breathe.  About 15 minutes in, I was attempting some twisted maneuver that involved a crazy lunge, one hand on the ground and another in the air, when out of nowhere, I hear, "Pssst...Pssst...Psst."  I looked around to catch the gaze of my lovely wife who then informed me in an angry whisper that I was doing it all wrong. Argh. 

Umm...no.

The pssst-ing went on for another 10 minutes or so.  I knew I was doing it wrong, but I just couldn't quite get into the required position, so I either bent my knees, or dropped a knee, or backed off a stretch.  Laura, thinking she was helping me, was just stressing me out. On top of sweaty and groany, I was now pissed off. I may be the only person in the history of yoga to actually growl. Gandhi would have been so proud. Eventually, she stopped trying to correct me.  On the ride home, she looked right at me and said, "It looked like you didn't really achieve a state of serenity at yoga today, honey."  I pulled the car over and left her at the side of the road. OOOOhhhm.  Serenity now. Serenity now.

I now own my own mat and I like going on Sunday mornings.  I feel pretty good when I'm doing it, and I feel really good after.  I still don't do very well, but I'm getting there. There are poses I like and poses I dread.  I do like the 'rock and rolls', where you roll your legs back over your head.  Perhaps it's the frat boy inside of me, but when somebody inevitably passes wind during a rock and roll (last week someone let a really loud one go), I'm amazed that the entire room doesn't erupt in laughter. 

Check out this video: "If Gandhi Took a Yoga Class" It's funny, but there's a bit of swearing

Namaste, baby.

All Tech'd Out and Ready to Go

It's mid-January and we're firmly in the midst of the post-holiday season hangover.  The tree is gone (much to the delight of the kids), but the lights are still up because it's too cold to go up on the roof to take them down.  The gifts are all either being used or worn, and based on how much yelling my lovely children are doing, the holiday spirit is definitely in the rear-view mirror. 

I made out like a bandit this Christmas. As usual, Laura shopped like a pro and I came away from the holidays with all kinds of new clothes, toys, and as usual, some very cool wearable tech. She's a great shopper, and she knows exactly what I like. I buy her jewelry and she buys me tech. This year I got a new battery pack for my phone (because she's tired of me not answering because my battery is dead), a Jawbone UP bracelet that tracks my movements (because I sit too much), and a cool Martian watch that connects to my phone and displays my text messages right on my wrist (because she doesn't like it when I miss her texts). 

I love my new Martian Notifier...I'll never miss another thing.

On my left wrist I have my new watch.  It's pretty awesome.  It will find my phone for me, take a picture using my phone, act as a flashlight, and display my texts, emails, and any notifications coming from my phone. I'm not sure, but it may also tell me the time.  I love this little piece of technology.  It vibrates to let me know that something interesting is going on that requires my attention. Under the watch face, it's got a small screen that scrolls my messages.

On my right wrist I'm wearing my new Jawbone bracelet.  This fantastic thing monitors my movements all day long and counts my steps.  It measures the intensity of my movements, and it even tells me how long I'm sleeping and how good a sleep I've had. Thank God for that, because I've always wondered if I've had a good night's sleep or not. It's pretty accurate-when I wake up feeling good and well rested, my Jawbone knows it and congratulates me for a job well done. It also gives me little buzzing reminders to that I've been sitting for too long and that it's time to move around a little. 

A tiny little thing that knows so much. 

All of these devices make my phone the centre of my universe.  The Jawbone communicates with me via an app...  The app tells me how much I've moved, how well I've slept, and how I compare to the rest of the Jawbone universe.  I was happy to learn that at least one week I was in the top 10% of male Jawbone users in my age category. Great news.  Or maybe there are only 8 men wearing Jawbone bracelets in my age group. Or maybe all middle aged dudes (that's the first time I've ever referred to myself as middle aged) just sit around.  Either way, I felt good that day. My watch uses an app on my phone to gather all the meaningful stuff going on in my various inboxes to share with me on my wrist.  Good work, Apple and Google, if the phone wasn't already important, it's now downright indispensable.

The down-side of this amazing tech is all the buzzing.  I'm constantly buzzing.  My phone buzzes in my pocket.  My watch buzzes when I've got a message, and my Jawbone buzzes to say, "...hey chubby, get off your ass and move around!"  Sometimes there is a delay in my phone getting the messages to my watch, so I'll get about 10 messages buzzing at once.  If that happens when my Jawbone decides to talk to me, and when my phone has something to say, it feels a bit like I'm in the electric chair...I'm a walking vibrator.

If you want a shock or a buzz, just get a Martian, and Jawbone and an iPhone and save the hospital visit

So now I have no excuse to not know what's going on.  I am so well connected to the digital universe that I should never miss a thing.  The only thing is that occasionally I'll catch someone looking at me when I'm vibrating. It's supposed to be discreet, but when all the devices buzz at the same time, people notice. And they wonder. But I don't tell.  I just smile.  And buzz. And buzz.  And buzz.

Coffee...I Just Don't Get It

I have a Tim Hortons card. I have a Starbucks gold card. We have a Tassimo, a Keurig and now a Nespresso machine, all three lined up on the counter. I likely spend more on coffee in a year than on any other 'Indulgence'. But I haven't had a cup of coffee in 20 years. I hate the stuff. I don't even like coffee flavoured ice cream or dessert. Sorry, Tiramisu, I want to love you, I really do. But I don't. 

We have more coffee capsules in my kitchen than we know what to do with

I get the 'let's go for coffee' thing. I enjoy plunking myself down in a comfortable chair at Starbucks for half an hour as much as the next guy. I love the vibe. But I don't like the coffee. I get mocked for ordering a bottle of water, but I do. I have a tremendous amount of respect for those Baristas. It's not a job I could do or ever want. I think I'd probably punch someone in the face if I had to stand there and listen to the 'Venti skinny half caf extra hot triple shot' crap all day long. If I was a barista I'd triple up the caffeine in the decaf orders just to see some dude go wiggy when all that high test coffee hits his delicate system. 

Just imagine how much I love ordering for my lovely wife. At least when she liked Tim's it was just a 'large coffee, triple milk'. On our last visit to Starbucks I asked her what she wanted and she actually said, 'Oh, just a grande creme brûlée latte, skinny, half sweet, extra hot, hold the whip, but make sure they put the creme brûlée topping on it, k?'  Are you freaking kidding me?  First, I need to remember that all the way from the car to the store, and then I have to actually say it out loud. Argh. The great news is that my kids are now totally into Starbucks too. So now instead of having to remember one crazy-ass bizarre coffee order, I need to remember four. Thank God those Baristas are lovely, patient people. And polite. And forgiving. 

Now that McDonalds is big into the coffee game, I find myself at the drive thru there quite often. The real challenge with all of these coffee places is remembering their unique ordering lingo. Laura's order there is a Non-fat vanilla latte made with sugar free vanilla. They don't use words like skinny or half sweet, so when you drop those words into the order you really mess up the fifteen year old at the other end of the speaker. I've muddled up Mommy's coffee order more than once.  Result?  Three delightful daughters mocking me from the backseat.  Good times.  

The kid at the drive thru mocks me, the kids in the car mock me.

Some places are pretty anal about their java.  Tim Horton's is such a place.  I guess after all these years, they've earned the right to be a little bossy about their coffee, but on the other hand, with all their new competition, they may need to think about giving their customer what they want.  I have had more than one argument with the Tim's lady about Laura's preference for triple milk.  They have often fought me on the three milk thing, suggesting that it will dilute and cool the coffee too much.  My question is why the hell do they care what you do with their coffee once you've split with the buck fifty to own it. I always win the battle with the Tim's lady, but she looks down her nose at me in a very disapproving way.

So I sit here surveying three fancy coffee makers, just having arrived home from a visit to Starbucks, looking at my 11 year old kid enjoying a frothy espresso she just made herself wondering what's wrong with me...how can I not like it? I've tried to like it.  I've tried to simply tolerate it.  I used to try to drink it when I needed to look grown up. Now I've just given it all up, and I stick to diet coke.  But that's another story completely.

You have coffee for breakfast, I have diet coke.  

Happy Holidays, It's Poem Time!

The Christmas poem has been going since 1997.  Christmas just isn't Christmas for me anymore without the poem.  From the Slater house to your house, Best Wishes for an amazing holiday season and for a new year filled with only happy surprises.  

Sean, Laura, Haley, Ainsley & Madeline

Poem v. 2014

‘Twas the week before Christmas

And all through my house,

Every creature was stirring

Even that mouse.

The pest man came twice

To deal with that mouse,

But it keeps coming back

It must love our warm house.

The presents aren’t wrapped

The shopping’s not even done,

Our guests get here soon

Isn’t Christmastime fun?

Not a moment of quiet

No time to just sit,

We’re all going crazy

Even the cat’s in a fit.

On the 21^st of December

We took a trip to the mall,

A choice I regret

Not a smart one at all.

The lots were just crazy

As one would expect,

The drivers all angry

Not a smile to detect.

Each year at our house

We do it much the same way,

The same lights and same tree

For each Christmas day.

So Laura had an idea

To shake things up just right,

To change how we do it

A bold new Christmas sight.

So we’re trying it her way

A whole new holiday take,

She went out and she bought

A brand new tree that is fake.

And it’s not just fake green

It’s as fake as they come,

It’s so brash and so white

The kids think it’s just dumb.

For the first time in years

The tree just isn’t real,

Who knew for the kids

It would be such a big deal.

It lights up the room

And most of our house,

We can’t hide from its glow

Nor can our mouse.

The kids hate that white tree

Which makes it even more fun,

If you’re keeping the score it's

Girls zero, Mom one!

If I was to bet

All this angst fades away,

When morning arrives

On this Christmas day.

When they circle around

This glowing festive delight,

To open their presents

Under that tree oh so white.

The tree they despise

But the season they cherish,

The memories won’t fade,

And that tree just won’t perish.

If it's real or it's fake

It doesn’t matter at all,

We spend great time together

And we all have a ball.

So this is our chance

From all in our house,

To send our holiday wishes

To you and your mouse.

The much maligned Slater 2015 Christmas Tree

Admitting Your Problem is Half the Battle

I've denied it for years. My lovely wife tells me I have a problem. Even the kids know it. My problem has landed me in trouble with the people I know and love, and with total strangers. It's even landed me in hot water with the law. Multiple times. I guess I may as well admit it... I'm a crappy driver. 

There. I said it. I've been known to speed. I have occasionally viewed a stop light or a stop sign as a mere suggestion, and I have frequently seen a yellow light as nothing more than a challenge. I've banged into other cars, and they've banged into me. I've been described as a  menace by the people I love. Even my dad feels like he has to comment when we're driving together..."What, you don't stop at stop signs anymore?" as I roll on through. Before she passed away, I was driving with my Mom one day and I did a patented Sean Slater dip-stop at an intersection. She said, "Oh, Sean, your dad wouldn't like that too much."

I've even been stopped by these guys.  For driving in the wrong lane.  Who knew?

To be certain, I know how to drive. I've even taken lessons. I've had my license since I was sixteen and I got it on the first try. I totally get the fundamentals of driving but I'm a multi-tasker and I'm always in a hurry.  Before the angry mob arrives at my door, let me just say that I've never had an accident or a ticket while talking on the phone or texting. I've often gone for years without a ticket, and then I've had a flurry of bad activity that results in a renewed relationship with law enforcement. 

A couple of years ago, I had such a flurry.  Within the span of about 18 months, I got 3 speeding tickets, a red light ticket and a stop sign ticket.  It's bad enough that this flurry cost me a bundle, but worse, it attracted the attention of both my insurance company and our government overlords.  I arrived home from a Christmas vacation to find a letter from the Ministry of Transportation compelling me to attend a bad driver counselling session, and to prove that they meant business, they advised that if I didn't show up exactly when they wanted me to, my license would be suspended, toute de suite.

A view that I'm unfortunately accustomed to.

So I arrived on the appointed day at the appointed time to meet Dave, my counsellor. Dave was clearly bullied in high school and was now using his important role in the public service to exact revenge whenver he could.  Dave spent our time together judging me, being as condescending as possible, and at one point, he even threatened to cut up my license. Heavy on the lecturing, light on the counselling. After an hour of berating me, he slapped a year of probation on me and warned me that he had better not see me back again, because if he did, he'd be compelled to use those scissors. I bolted, never looking back, but unable to shake the sound of Van Halen's Jump that was wafting from the ghetto blaster in Dave's office.

I knew I was in trouble when I saw Dave's ghetto blaster.

So I left there feeling appropriately slapped around, and hell-bent on not getting another ticket.  My hands returned to the 10 and 2 position on the steering wheel, my phone stayed in my pocket, and I became a fan of my cruise-control.  All good and on the road to recovery.  Just as I was feeling like my rehabilitation was taking hold, and I was getting over the shot to my confidence and yes, even manhood following my visit with Dave, I arrived home a few weeks later to find that my insurance company had decided that  as a result of all of this, I was just too big a risk.  Cancelled.  Awesome. Finding another insurer in a short period of time to take on all that risk...was not easy and was definitely not cheap.  

So now, I'm insured again, and when the bill comes in it's like a monthly reminder of my emasculating visit with Dave.  I'm trying to be better, and I have been (although definitely not perfect).  Until recently, that is.  I was out with my daughter Madeline, and I managed to slide into the back of another car in a rainstorm. The cars were fine, and so were all the drivers and passengers, but Maddie was furious.  Even the other driver commented about her death-stare as he drove away unscathed, "Looks like you're in real trouble with her," he said. And I was.  Now she flinches every time she hears that I have to drive her somewhere. Good times.  In related news, my lovely wife will never, ever let me buy a new car,  "...cuz you're just gonna smash it up anyway."

Good drivers don't have the tow truck on speed dial, right?

Hi, my name is Sean, and I'm a bad driver.  There, I said it.  Admitting it is half the battle, right?

Welcome to the Club...

I am a sucker for status.  If you’ve been following along, I’ve talked about how much I love being Super Elite with Air Canada, and Platinum with Hyatt, and Gold with Marriott.  I enjoy the things that come along with all of this status, and I take full advantage of all of the perks. Ask anyone who’s ever traveled with me.  I use the priority line, I go to the airport lounge, and most importantly, I board the plane first. First.

I worked hard for this card.  I'm damn sure gonna use it. 

My passion for status extends beyond travel programs to regular old customer loyalty programs.  Shop here, get points, earn perks. Shop, get, earn, repeat-you know the deal.  It should be no surprise to learn that when I heard of the gold card program at Starbucks I immediately signed up.  I even downloaded the app and loaded up my account so I can pay with my phone.  I used to think that was poncy and flaky.  Now I just think it’s convenient. Yes, I'm shallow. About as deep as a backyard kiddie pool.

As soon as I signed up, I started getting offers from my new buddies at Starbucks.  When you get 5 stars, you earn Green status.  When you hit 30 stars, you become Gold.  The Holy Grail.  When you’re Green, you get free refills on your regular coffee in the store.  When you’re gold, you get those free coffee refills and a free drink with every 12 stars. You also get a fancy coffee beverage on your birthday.

Smart people over there at Starbucks

For the uninitiated, you get one star for every purchase in the store.  For some strange reason, I was getting 2 stars for every purchase.  My lovely wife was furious to find out that I was getting double stars.  I was also earning free drinks at a crazy speed.  Every time the people at Starbucks sent me an offer, I, like Pavlov’s dog, responded exactly the way they wanted me to.  Dear Sean, Go to the store and buy a drink and we’ll give you a free star.  Done.  Dear Sean, Go to the store and buy some take home coffee and we’ll give you 5 stars.  Done.  Twice.  Dear Sean, do naked cartwheels into the store…

The long and the short of this is that I am a marketer’s dream. Everything they wanted me to do, I did.  I probably became Gold at Starbucks faster than anyone on record.  I now have the gold logo on my app, and I’m expecting my special Gold Card to arrive in the mail any day now.  I’m their target customer. I’m sure they’re writing a case study about me.  I’m the proof of concept. Starbucks is brilliant.

They got me.  

The reality is that I really love status.  The kicker is that I really, really hate coffee.