Author: Tammy Karatchuk

Freelance Reporter, Storyteller, and Photojournalist. Author of memoirs and contemporary romance. Former Edmonton Journal figure skating reporter, Edmonton Shaw TV broadcaster, and 680 CJOB (Winnipeg) reporter and weekend anchor. My frosted side includes pageantry, modelling, acting, and sometimes figure skating.

I Owned My Birthday – And It Was Perfect

Hnausa Dock, Manitoba. A little “Titanic” re-enactment.

My birthday was the best.

I didn’t enjoy my birthday last year. Turning 40 didn’t bother me. The day was fun, but it didn’t go as planned.

However, 41? It was perfect. Breakfast in bed. Lunch in bed. I didn’t leave my bed until 2:30 p.m.

I revamped any plans my husband made with no apologies. Before we left the house, I took fifteen minutes to decide what to wear. Spend another thirty minutes on my hair. I decided I wasn’t going to rush. It was my birthday.

Too often, people forget their birthday is about them. They’re caught up in the, “Oh, you planned this for me, and this, and this.” And they’re so exhausted from going place to place, they forget whose birthday they’re celebrating.

The day is about the person celebrating their birthday.

This year, I didn’t have two surprise parties. I love seeing my friends, but not when I’m exhausted from working. This year, I didn’t pretend to enjoy myself in a casino. Why a casino? No idea. I was told they were taking me somewhere with an ice cream bar, and I didn’t ask questions.

But that’s the mistake. Remember when we were little? People would ask, “What do you want for your birthday?” We knew. Nine times out of 10, we knew. Clothes, perfume, makeup, CDs, gift cards, etc. As grown ups, we’re vague. Don’t be vague. Especially women. Be direct.

If you want to spend the day eating a gluten-free Reuben in bed – like I did – say, “I want to spend it in bed – alone.” Or if you want to go on a trip with friends, then go on a trip with friends. If you want to spend your birthday with family or have a huge party, then go for it.

Because your birthday is about you, and it should be your choice how you spend the day.

After all, it is called your birthday.

The Man-Cold – It’s Not Just For Men

I feel fuzzy.

I have a cold. Most often, I can dodge colds and the flu. When I’m sick, I can shake it off after two or three days.

Regardless of how long, when I’m sick, I’m not just sick. It’s the “Man-Cold.”

The Man-Cold is a blanket term for men and women who whine like a puppy left in a kennel when they’re sick. Because we’re sick. And it’s icky.

Day one? The Man-Cold crept in:

“Oh, this is how it ends,” I said, followed by a house shaking cough. “I’ll never finish my novel or see the Alamo.”

“You never wanted to see the Alamo,” said my husband.

“That’s not the point.”

On day two, I was convinced there wouldn’t be a day three. Surely, one shouldn’t feel such ickiness. My joints ached. My nose was red. My eyes. Where were my eyes? My sinuses were so puffy, I looked like a hollowed out pumpkin. My throat felt like a cat used my tonsils as a scratching post. I lay on the couch, staring at Pinterest. I’m sure at that point I was delirious with a pending fever. Pinning sewing ideas when I have no idea how to spin a bobbin.

My husband walked into the living, smirking when he saw me. Pumpkin cheeks, red rose, surrounded by a mountain of tissues.

“What do you want for lunch?”

With the last of my energy, I said, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, then salmon.”

“Almond butter sandwich. Cut into fours. Crusts cut off … please.”

Continue reading “The Man-Cold – It’s Not Just For Men”

A Palm Reader, Cayenne Pepper, and Destiny – When Fate Leads to Confusion

I went to a palm reader, and I interviewed a psychic.

I’m not skeptical, though I’m guarded.

What about the element of surprise? Or is it better to know what’s ahead? When it’s accurate.

February 1996. My friend *Lynn and I were at Polo Park Shopping Centre in Winnipeg. On the lower level was a palm reader. We thought, why not?

I gave the palm reader – let’s call her Lola – my hand. I noticed her nails were bare, except for the pinkies, which were a flaming red. Lola recommended my friend take notes during the reading, then she stared into the depths of my palm.

Too often, people offer information when a they hear minor similarities.

Palm reader: “I feel like you lost someone.”

Eager person: “Yes, I did.”

Palm reader: “Did his name begin with ‘A’ or a ‘T’… maybe an ‘M.’“

Eager person: “His middle name was Anton!”

Poker face, people. Poker face. Back to my reading…

Lola, the palm reader, concluded immediately I liked to spend money. Easy one, I’m in a mall with a ton of bags tucked around me.

Continue reading “A Palm Reader, Cayenne Pepper, and Destiny – When Fate Leads to Confusion”