Arc De Triomphe

During one of my Christmas breaks between University semesters a group of friends and  myself went on 'tour' visiting our respective families.   A couple came from Regina to my parents' farm home , slept overnight, and then I joined them on the trip to another friend's home for an overnight stay in another rural community and consequently piled them and their luggage into the ever more crowded compact car and drove again to another community staying overnight and again traveling the next day .  We went from Lemberg, Wapella, Redvers, Weyburn and Halbrite and back to Regina in time for classes to begin.

It was at this time whilst staying in a modest  farmhouse which was probably built in the 1920's and heated by oil furnace that I was privileged to witness a family's literal 'timeless' New Year's tradition.

The morning of January 1 of this particular year my friend's Mom asked him to go find the ladder and bring it to the kitchen.  He nodded knowingly and went outside soon to return with  a frosty wooden step ladder marked with  the paint splatters of many household renovations from the past.  

I watched with curiosity as my friend,without direction or comment, placed the step ladder directly in front of the archway between the kitchen and living room, while his mother was interestingly enough busying herself by ripping pages off of calendars.

It was only when my friend ,  giving a brief knowing glance at his mother, climbed the stepladder that I noticed several calendars tacked to the wall above the arch.  I counted twelve calendars in total.

It was then that I realized what was going to happen.  The twelve calendars from 'last year' were about to be replaced by twelve calendars of 'this year', with each showing their own particular month of the year.  Every calendar was different, from a different place of business or particular theme.  They were different sizes and styles.  Some had tractors or prairie scenes, others were from local grocery stores or drug stores with images of flowers, birds, recipes, or animals. Some had large numbers and days displayed which would be  easily read from the floor, while others  smaller and more compact which would make viewing  more difficult. 

 Much, if not all,  of this melange of pictures, colours, size, and print was 'par hazard'. I do not believe there was a conscious choice made as to which  picture would be  chosen  to rest for the year beside another as calendar pages were ripped off. The goal was merely to have one page of each coming month of the year be exposed.  

The evidence that this was not the first time this was done was not only the almost total non verbal communication between the two decorators, but also by the numerous faded rectangular shapes that dotted the archway along with the telltale holes left by tacks and staples in the  long ago painted pressboard.

While perhaps some of the balance, colours, and spacing was not quite 'right' artistically, there was something 'right' in the son and mother camaraderie as he descended the ladder and  they both stepped back and looked up approvingly at the next year's Arc De Triomphe . 

 

 

 

It is a nice memory.

Then I.....

 I went to the city to do spend some Christmas money and this is what happened.


  First I saw a Digital Toaster $119.99.

 And then I thought, "What fer?"

 

                                            

 Then I saw a Cuisenart Breakfast Centre (Silver) $149.99

 And then I thought, "What fer?"

 



 Then I saw an Electric Fondue @ $114.

 

 And then I thought, "What fer?"

 Then I saw a Popcorn Maker @ $79.99.

 And then I thought, "What fer?"

 Then I saw a Multi Slice Toaster @ $130.

 And then I thought, "What fer?"

    Then I saw an Individual Coffee Maker @ $219.99.

 And then I thought, "What fer?"

 

 

 

 



 Then I saw a Neuro Fuzzy Rice Cooker and Warmer in Premium White @ $245.

 And then I thought , "What fer?"

 

 

 Then I saw a Home Bakery Bread Maker @ $184.

 And then I thought , "What fer?"

 Then I saw a Programmable Tea Steeper @ $140.

And then I thought, " What fer?"

 Then I saw a Vintage Style Hot Dog Toaster @ $39.99.

 And then I thought, "What fer?"

 Then I saw a Mug Warmer @ $14.99

 And I thought , "How is THAT gunna work?"

 



Needless to say my cart stayed empty and I didn't have to wait in line at the cashier.

 

 

'Tis the Season to think of the Reason.

Yeppers..presents are opened. Turkey is cooked. Candy is gone. Pudding has been downed.  Tree has lost its lustre. Carols have become monotonous.  Work is hearkening above the chorus of angels.  Bills are arriving as the guests are departing.

It's Over!

    or is it?

I don't think so TIM

 I think if one has really celebrated a true Christmas filled with Peace On Earth and Good  Will Towards Men showing kindness and forgiveness to all then I suspect that Christmas 2012 will never truly end.  I bet its effect will reverberate throughout the coming months even if not everyone understands  all the theological implications and possibilities.

The Miracle of Christmas that God sent His Son to live among us here on Earth is not the end of Christmas Miracles.

 I think Christmas Miracles still happen every year  even after 2000 plus years in the form of the amount of Forgiveness, Sacrifice for Others, and expressions of Love not only towards family , but also towards strangers that occurs for these few short weeks of the year.

 The effort to reconnect with one another through gift giving, traveling long (and short) distances to be with friends and family, along with  the expressions of Good Will through seasonal cards, letters, emails, and visits all prove to me that Christmas Miracles happen and continue to act as banners for the Reason for the Season.

There were many many people in many many lands affected by this year's Christmas.  Many people found it in their heart to reach out, to forgive, and to feel compassion for others that perhaps if it were not for the Season these relationships and opportunity for growth would not have occurred.

Tree drying up? Yep.
 Gifts all opened? Yep.
  Food all eaten? Yep

Christmas over?
            Nope..not by a long shot.

 

 

 

Christmas Letter

I am hesitant to call this a Christmas Letter but as it is the Christmas Season and it is a type of letter that is what I shall call it.


Thus....

My Dear Friends both Virtual and Virtually Forever, as well as Strangers from places around the world that  I only can see through my Stat Counter, I say a Joyous Hello to You All.

This past year has in so many ways been truly  the most absolutely   depressing, devastating, painful, disappointing  and bitterly unrelentingly miserable year. I cannot in my 60 years of living on this Earth ever  recall having such an unending litany of loss and despair as I have had this year.

It seemed that every month there was  either a passing of a friend, news of family strife, an illness to be coped with, some one's loss of husband, wife, or mother, tragic and uncontrollable natural disasters;  along with news that Evil had once again manifested Itself in death and wanton destruction. 

2012-- A very dismal year indeed. An "Annus horribilis" as someone once said.

And now it is Christmas.

 What is there to celebrate?  Why should one literally BUY into all the fuss and faldoral of trees, gifts, food, and glad tidings? What good would it possibly do?  To what end? People playing at "Happy Families". People pretending that they can afford all the money spent on too much food and too many gifts. People deciding that 'because it is Christmas' they will put up with the situation just for now.  People stuffing bad feelings, bad memories, and tolerating bad behavior for the sake of the holidays.

For the past months, I  have truly wallowed in a pity party of hurt pride and petty grudges.  I was angry, terrified, and discouraged at ever being able to be or feel 'right' again.  I dreaded waking up in the morning to face the world, and I dreaded sleeping too much for fear of dreaming beautiful outcomes only to awaken to reality.

Christmas...Bah Humbug would have been the polite terminology used to describe the language of the on-going conversation I had with myself in my mind and to most people in the world who made the mistake of asking how I was doing.  I saw Christmas as something yet again to get through. Another way to remind me that  everyone else is happier, healthier, more deserving,  more blessed,  and more loved, as well as  richer (and thus smarter), kinder, and  ultimtely better off.

As I revelled in my miserably magnificent misery I asked myself:

Is Christmas an arbitrary day to celebrate a birth of Someone that so many turn their back on as soon as the tree is down , the presents are opened and the bills arrive? Yes.

Is it full of sadness, strife, worry , and more often an occasion of loneliness for the poor and forgotten? Yes.

Is it a time of endless reminder that Peace has not yet arrived, Joy is not for All, and still another year has come and gone and Nothing has Really Changed? Yes.
  
What happened then?

 Well in Hoffmanville they say..that this old lady's heart may have grown in some way.

  It perhaps was because of what the doctor did say...

...but I think perhaps it was the Hoar Frost display.

 It was a most lovely and most beauteous  cross country trip  full of God's unique and unmatched artwork in the form of copious amounts of hoar frost on trees, grasses, and fences that I think caused this heart of stone to beat once more.   A  vista of nature's  pristine lace passed by my vision for  over 2 hours from horizon to horizon as we travelled to the city. It is something that I  will only  describe as a Gift and  not a mere 'accident' of Nature. It was  that that  I believe slowly softened  a heart that  had indeed become 'three sizes too small'.  

No...nothing has really changed--

--except for me-- 'something' has.

 For now anyways. 

 There are still issues, still worries, still conflicts, and a certain part of life that isn't quite right...but along with all that there is something 'a little bit more'.  

Maybe Christmas doesn't mean  that 'right now ' all has to be right. After all even He had to wait 30+ years to show us why He was here.

Maybe it just means that we only have to keep Him on our horizon.
 The beauty of the frost filled landscape  on  a Winter's Day was my own reminder that Much is well and Much will be made well again-- in some way; perhaps, and more probably, with as much mystery and beauty as are the crystals of hoar frost layered with care and marked precision by the hand of a Master over and over again on each minute  needle of a whole and complete 20' Pine tree.

 I hope  all your lives will be touched by the same Creator  of the beauty  displayed before me that cold northern winter's day, not just during the Christmas Season but throughout the coming year. 


Best Wishes for Joy, Peace, and Comfort for 2013.

p.

   Hoar Frost Crystals

... surprisingly not unlike 'thorns'.

P.S.

The only Guest needed for Christmas has already arrived.
The only Gift needed to be purchased has already been given.

What in the World?

End of the world eh?

I was just thinking of all the ramifications of that.

 No more world, eh?

 Where are we going to put everything?


 No more saying to the young "Go and See the World."


What will Love do  exactly if there is no World for it to turn?


What will we say instead of " What in the World? 

--"What in the vacuous space of minutia matter in random orbits around the sun?"...Just doesn't have that  same catchiness to it."


Kind of sad to think that there will be no more "World on a String" lifestyle.

Maybe the World will truly now simply be an 'Oyster'.

I bet Globes will be on sale on Saturday!

If the World is round, how can there be an End?

*********

I'm all bathed..clean clothes from the skin out...I might be going on a big trip--or not.

..Mom always said to wear clean underwear just in case.



Oh Where Oh Where will our Little World Go?
Oh Where Oh Where will It Be??
Will we be Wandering?
Will we be Wet? Or will We be Flying around Free?

Oh Where Or What will
You Be?

 

Tinkle, tinkle.

There are a 1000 stories to be told in the Memory Called Christmas...and this is only one.

I had two younger siblings...10 months apart...a brother and a sister.  They were about 1 year old and almost 2 1/2 years  old--crawling--barely walking.  The  decorated  3' tree was set UP UP UP high on the lace covered sewing machine stand in the living room.   Presents wrapped, ribboned and labelled were under the tree.

They were left alone for not even 15 minutes in the living room while the rest of the family were busy preparing supper in the kitchen.  My mom wandered down the hall to see what was up when she heard something tinkle, and let out a gasp and a scream as she scooped up the two babies and shooed the rest of the family back down the hallway.  

 The sewing machine was no longer covered, the tree was on the floor, and the  blinking of the Christmas lights highlighted the shine of  of the ribbons and sparkly paper strewed around the room. Every present had been opened , inspected, licked, shook and finally ignored and ultimately spread around the living room.  Socks, jewellery, toys, games, baby dolls, puzzles -- all were exposed to the pre Christmas air. 

The general family population was banned from the living room for the remainder of the evening as Mom spent the time rewrapping and relabelling.

I think THAT was the year that I received my first bottle  of Evening in Paris Perfume and my 12 year old sister received a volume of  the Bobbsey Twin Books that interested her not in the least.

I can smell it just seeing the bottle.



I do not recall what we had for supper that night.

The 1st Christmas Pageant.

My earliest recollection of a Christmas Concert is the Christmas when I was five and not yet attending school.  It was held in a country school 2 + miles away from our farm.  I distinctly remember sitting on the front bench in front of the stage--green heavy curtains decorated with Christmas stickers just inches away from my nose.  I also remember the hiss of the gas lanterns hanging from the ceiling.  The one room school was packed-- Mom and Dad, Grandpa and Grandma, and everyone else who lived in the community. Most there had children performing, but some, like the family of 10 bachelors and their mother who often boarded the teacher, were no doubt in attendance. 

I know I was first introduced to Santa Claus that night thinking that, for a fact, he sure reminded me of my Grandpa, but being not that well versed as exactly who Santa actually was I thought nothing of it at the time. That  is kind of cool that Grandpa was my 1st Santa. He would like to know that I think. ( I think he probably does)


I do know one of the 'littler' kids jumped off the front bench and ran and hid under their mother's chair at the sight of him. 

It would be about the last week of November I suppose, when the teacher would give us seat work, and then call us up one by one and designate our  eagerly longed for parts for the Concert. Everyone was given opportunities to perform--from Grade One to Grade Nine. Poems, recitations, drills , songs, solos, play parts, and of course, the Pageant roles. Lines for memorization would be written out by hand in plain print by the big kids--the Grade 8's and 9's-- and handed out to each 'star' to take home to practice.

Toward the second week of December the classroom would be changed into a concert hall!  Desks would be shoved aside and the stage would  be erected by busy fathers who had taken time off from the farm to set the board and plywood platform against one side of the classroom. The wire for the curtains were strung and the piano moved to the correct position.  Traditional classes were forgotten but education still reigned as lines were learned, scenes prepared, and music practiced.  The creative energy of these productions would out do any digitally enhanced, multimillion dollar Broadway production of today.
 

I don't know why exactly, nor do I know how, but by the beginning of the last week of practice I would invariably know Everyone's lines, poems, and recitations. I must be an aural learner because I could do this just by listening.The teacher would often have me be the unofficial prompter.

I remember having to  run off the stage during a play yelling, "But I don't want to go to bed." There was a time when  a boy and myself had to sit on the stage and recite a story about the stars. We acted out Frosty the Snow Man, Good King Wenscelas. We  even did Hula Hooping and Square Dancing. Toinettes were played and acrobatics performed. I once presented a poem about teaching a calf to drink out of a bucket with nothing but a an empty pail for a prop.

The concert that I think stood out for me as well as many others in our  prairie school, which was performed by predominately children of people from Northern European stock, was the year we presented an excerpt from Uncle Tom's Cabin. I played Topsey.

Costuming would be the primary concern. I have no idea who decided to put 'whatever it was' that made my face look black but put it on I did. I was about 8 years old at the time and the only one of the cast who required the blacking.   I do not know exactly how the story went but one of my lines was , " I weren't born. I just grewed."  I then  broke out in song singing Mamma's Little Children Love Shorten' Bread  unaccompanied. For the finale I did  forward somersaults across the stage showing aptly fitted  over sized white flannel underwear contrasting against my black stocking covered legs.  The presentation was a great hit. There was lots of appropriate laughter throughout followed by a great round of applause.

I remember going off the stage and looking for the towels and  cleanser that I was to use to get the 'black stuff' off my face.  I frantically searched through costumes as I could hear that soon my next on stage performance would be expected--that as a Scottish Highland Dancer.

Now I know that Highland Dancing is not to illicit the  peals of laughter as what it received that historical Christmas Concert night.  I am sure underneath that layer of black 'whatever it was'  my face was glowing red. No doubt that warmth probably contributed to its being even more difficult to remove when the time came.

The story doesn't end there. 

There was still the Pageant to be performed.

 There were the shepherds' costumes, the kings' garb, and Mary and Joseph's outfits all  to be  organized. There wasn't a towel or a housecoat left at  anyone's home  in a five mile radius. The only costumes that were actually made were the Angels', complete with wings , tinsel, and white crepe paper dresses. 

 As  is  often the case, the Pageant was  presented  with the use of  a  narrator who read the Story as the actors quietly took their places on stage,  with various Carols  being sung between presentations. 

As I, being an Angel, stepped onto the stage singing Joy to the World there was once again a soft titter of giggles passing over the crowd . After a moment or two, however,  there was a  hush and the Story continued with as much solemnity as it deserved.   Away In A Manger got just an extra  bit of a high note that night as
the  designated Angel from Afar looked lovingly over to the cradle where the Babe was supposedly lying, and saw instead the lost jar of  'whatever it was' one was to use to get the black off angels' faces, if required.

That year's concert was the talk of the countryside well into the New Year. 

I believe it was probably the first 'interracial'  Pageant on the Prairies-- if not North America.

 I am proud to have been a part of it-- intentionally or not.

 

If you click on the program it will enlarge and you will be able to read it more readily...and even see MY name.

This is the Toy Soldier Play that was mentioned in the program.  Guess who the one sitting down is with her mouth open?...blah, blah, blah. ( I can name all the cast here if any one wants to know or want a copy of this.)

Before one projects any type of Sociological slur on this incident, it must be remembered the time in History (50+ years ago in rural Canada) where this was presented. This was a time of limited contact with ANY other race, limited access to cultural differences, with solidly ingrained opinions thought of as truth due to ignorance and genuine lack of understanding , which were not necessarily based on hate, fear or conscious malice.

People often just believe what they have learned to believe until they learn to believe differently 
 

This ,These, and THAT!

This

Becomes

These

These

Become

This

This

Becomes

This

And

Miraculously

THAT

Becomes

This

The Circle Completed

(I tried :/)









What a Deal!--for Some.

I find it strange that a small town in Saskatchewan would publish a coupon book that gives % discounts on purchases in various places of businesses in that town, but ONLY give it to the people who live in the town and not to the outlying commercial catch basin. 

Some of these same businesses do, however, like to provide advertisement flyers in my 'rural' mailbox encouraging me to purchase from them. I also received a notification that I could go to an Internet site and vote for a new addition to the local town swimming pool.

I seems to me that if I am good enough to be persuaded to vote and to buy in my local small town , then I should also qualify to receive the % discount coupon book that the residents of the town qualify for.

  I understand that there is a discount coupon for an upcoming concert to raise money for the local theatre . I wonder how well the theatre will fare if only the people who are chosen to receive the discount attend? 

As I am a member of the Co-Op and the Co-Op was one of the coupon suppliers, it bugs me not a little that anyone in town could benefit from the coupon and not necessarily be a member.

Do these merchants forget exactly where their bread and butter comes from?  Do they actually think that their monthly profit (if they do indeed have one) comes solely from the pockets of the townspeople in this little town in rural Canada?  Do they forget  about the countless numbers of vehicles that  are driven into town everyday from the countryside in order for their  operators to purchase groceries, fuel, hardware necessities, pharmaceuticals, and dry goods?  Do these merchants think for one minute that without these residents from the outlying regions being a part of the  local volunteer backbone, that the town would be able to operate the recreational facilities , service clubs, religious organizations, and cultural events with just the people who live within Town limits?

Yes, Town residents do pay taxes for the upkeep of Town infrastructure, but the merchants of this little town should remember that taxes are also paid by landowners and residents who live in the rural area and that these monies also contribute to the upkeep of roads, schools, medical facilities, as well as  police and emergency services which are used and enjoyed by all in the district.

Could not having a genuine and simple GOOD SALE on goods and services to all who chose to venture to Town to purchase  the oft touted "Locally" been a better idea?

Nothing like a Good Sale to warm a customer's heart and create a lasting memory and a tendency to buy again.

Nothing like a Snub to promote a feeling of not being welcome, not belonging, and not counting that will make a customer turn the opposite direction when they get to the highway and go to the next town where their purchase choices are greater and their business is appreciated.  Often, they can even purchase Online and not ever leave their yard except to pick up the mail.

You can't sell anything to anyone if your store is empty of customers--with or without coupons. The way this small town orchestrated their attempt at marketing is a sure way of having lots of items on the shelves, few people in the aisles, and little cash in the til.

Simply :  WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??

Great Fun!

It was a crowded day at the Mall.  People were jostling, bells were ringing, cash registers chinging.  The food court was FULL. The sound of hundreds of inaudible conversations was deafening. 

I had already developed that warmth that comes from wearing too many layers of clothing inside a warm and crowded building.  My feet were starting to itch inside my boots.  My parcels were feeling heavier and heavier while my bank account was getting lighter and lighter. I was fading in terms of being a careful and discreet gift buyer.  I was almost at the end of my list of 'must gets' and my bus was due to leave within the hour.  It was now or never if I was going to be able to purchase those last few 'need to buys' as I wouldn't be back into the BIG city until at least the New Year.

My eyes were starting to glaze over as I tried for the umpteenth time to somehow ignore  that itchiness in the untouchable and unreachable spot in my back that just cannot be scratched through three layers of clothing in public, when I glanced  over the railing down to the floor below and spied what I really wanted the most and had never been able to get in 60 years of Christmases.

Immediately my senses were attuned as to the situation.  I surveyed the upper deck of the Mall and found the fastest way to the escalator down to the main floor.  Itchiness, fatigue, and financial boundaries were forgotten as I focused on the goal.  With quickness and the finesse of a deer jumping over a barbed wire fence I darted through the melee of shoppers who were walking in the opposite direction until I reached my longed for desire.

 I looked at my watch and pondered the time it would take to acquire my treasure, calculated the risk of missing the bus, and saw that there wasn't even a line up, the lack of which I took to be a Sign that IT WAS MEANT TO BE.

My heart panted with excitement and Joy! Joy! Joy! I took off my jacket, threw my purse and parcels to the floor and ran over to my sought after Objet d' Amour.  

He asked me if I had been a good girl...and I had to say

NO!

It was great fun!   

.

Being Hung Out to Dry

A Cold Afternoon

This has been a cold and quiet November afternoon.

The only sound in the house is the hum of the refrigerator and the snore of the dog who  nestles against me like a burr  to a sock.

  

The chill is due to the lack of fire in the  wood stove.  I did fill it with wood but not soon enough for it to 'catch' and so instead of going through the routine of making kindling and rearranging the split wood I have opted for donning a sweater 'from a corpse'*  while  waiting for someone else to do it when they come home from work.

  

The chilliness isn't really too bad to tolerate except that my violin is probably tuning out with every passing minute due to the change in temperature causing the shrinking and cooling of strings and  the accompaning give and take of its wooden frame.  This perhaps may explain the reasoning behind the term "winter fiddle"...as in the lyric of the song that starts out with "The twists  of your heart are like the strings of  a  winter's fiddle ."*

Thinking of wooden frames and cold puts me in mind of the wooden laundry clothes dryers they had in my mother's and grandmother's day.  If a person wants to know COLD all they have to do is hang some wet sheets and laundry outside on a line on a cold winter's day to 'dry' and then in about 3 hours haul them all back in again to drape, or rather LEAN them over a wooden rack.   Thinking of carrying frozen sheets inside puts me in mind of hauling slabs of drywall into the house.  I think the biggest fear would have to be chipping off a sleeve, pant leg,  or corner of a sheet while manoevering door jams.

 I distinctly remember playing hide and seek with my sister and brother, and crawling under the rack and getting wet because  the clothes were dripping.   I was so surprised that something that hard could be dripping water. I don't think I really could grasp the logic around  the idea that  you put something wet out to dry but, ultimately, you still had to bring it in to finish the job.  

  The  wooden window sills in the house would be laden with thick edgings of ice due to  the humidity  of the 'dry thawing' of the week's laundry.

  

  No Wonder our mothers and grandmothers had arthritic hands.

No Wonder window sills rotted out. 

 No Wonder fiddles sound the way they do.

* second hand clothes from a a thrift store

... a phrase  from the book "Love in the Time of Cholera"--Gabriel Garcia Marquez

* not a real lyric to a song.. I just made it up for effect.

What's the difference between a fiddle and a Chain Saw?
You can turn a chain saw off.

Why are fiddles better than guitars?
They burn longer.

Thinking Like a Mouse

 

*Thinking Like A Mouse

 

 

Living in rural Canada for over 60 years pretty much guarantees that somewhere, sometime, and at the most unexpected places one will have come across at least 50 mice in one's lifetime--at least 50  even if you don't count what you find in the barns and bins. 

 

Not only will you come across them in one's lifetime but you also come across them in your bathtub, sofa, stove and clothes. As well as your kitchen, living room, bathroom, porch, and bed.   They can also be found in your vehicle's air conditioning (@$250 fix), the glove compartment and, of course, the trunk.

 

Some  people are mildly annoyed. Some are angered by the encroachment of these wee little beasties...and some are paralyzingly terrified.  I once had to pick my little sister up and carry her out of the house for fear that she would go hysterical when she saw a mouse scamper across the living room floor.

 

Great and fast moving 'citing scenes' still linger in my mind whenever I think about mice being in the house.

 

Some personal mouse stories:

 

1. As  mouse traps were bought and set  in lower cupboards, I confidently opened  the door of  the upper cupboards where the silverware had been placed  as a precaution. This seemed like a  fool proof good idea until one morning a few days later,   as I reached up  into the tray and a mouse ran across my hand.

 

2.  On a camping trip to Great Britain we were lying in our tents--heads at the door flap, late at night, quietly watching the stars  and talking in soft whispers when I suddenly felt something soft and furry 'flit' across my lips.

 

3.  One summer our cat brought our daughter..the designated TOP CAT of the house , 30+ mice to her bed, late at night. Sometimes they were dead and sometimes they were not.  One would hear the cat's off key yowling, and then a scream, and then a call for 'DAD", and we would know that it had happened again.  The ones that were not  quite dead and just laid down on the bed were the most annoying of course, and sometimes it took quite a bit of crashing, cursing, and banging until they were disposed of.

 

Besides the use of the obligatory and quite frankly only efficient way to control the mouse population in rural Canada , the house cat, the next best thing is having good trigger quick mouse traps. 

 

These traps of the mighty four footed miniature monster must of course be baited with the appropriate matter. 

 

Some say that cheese is best, peanut butter and bacon works pretty well for the non vegetarian mouse group. However, it was found in our house that our mice visitors preferred candied fruit and peel--the type used for festive cookies and cakes.

 

And so the scene would unfold thusly:  first there was the 'spying', then the 'crying', followed by the 'running', the 'banging', and ultimately the finding of the TRAPS.  The children were all younger than 6 when I first recall them watching with awe and admiration as their father after unsuccessfully but bravely seeking to destroy the minute intruder  using with the broomstick method, bring out the Steel and Wooden apparatus.  He would  then proceed to search to the back of the fridge to find the containers of candied peel and fruit left over from seasonal baking.  The children ,  after being warned to 'Stand Back", would stare in silence as the trap was set and baited and gingerly placed at just the correct angle, and finally , slowly and carefully walked  with the grace of a ballet to the exact spot of 'last sighting', and   in hushed silence, smoothly, oh so smoothly, placed down to await its dinner guest. 

 

That bait and trap method has worked  quite well for many years even though not one of the children ever would  even taste a crumb of   Christmas Fruit Cake full of mouse bait.

 

 

 

 

*So, many times I've said that if you want to catch a mouse, you have to think like a mouse and you have to set your traps in the places the mouse will travel.

Phone call the other day:

 Daugter: "Mommy! I thought like a mouse!"
...

 Mommy: "What?"
Daugter:  "I thought like a mouse! I set the trap where the mouse was going and I caught him!"

Now I ask you.......is it a good thing if you've taught your child to think like a mouse?

 

...Thanks to a FaceBook Friend for that little story. DW :)

 

 

I will end this mousecapade with a recitation an  elderly friend performed while attending a prairie  country school about 70 years ago.

 

 

I saw a mouse go up the wall.

I saw its tail. That's all I saw.

 

       

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Requiem

It was suggested by our Pastor in today's sermon that we should think about  our own memorial service and how we would like to be remembered, how we would be remembered, and how maybe today and all the rest of tomorrows left to us can be seen as opportunities to affect that ultimate remembrance.


Thus, these are the things I think  will sans doubt be overheard, and some are things that I hope are overheard, and also some things that I dread will be overheard during  that far off moment in time when Penny Lou Hoffman's Memorial Service will be a reality; albeit  a brief  affair, and I suspect, scantily attended.

"Did you leave the lights on in the car?  I hope you locked it.  Some of her relatives might show up."

"102 years old? Wow! The things she musta seen--dinosaurs, dial telephones,   Ford Explorers, and maybe even  daily newspapers.  Just think, she might have even held a paper book in her hand."

 
"Did he say she walked the Chilkoot Pass at the age of 65?"

"Look at all those grandchildren.  They say they were the Apple of her eye--too bad she couldn't have seen out of both."

"I just came here for the lunch.  She wasn't all that good of a neighbour.  Nope never so much as a telephone call when MY mother died."

"You would have figured after all those post retirement years teaching in the Congo she would have been able to afford a better casket than plywood , and wrapped in a Hudson Bay Blanket no less." 


"I will never forget the time she came and picked me up and took me into town when I was sick.  Dropped off a whole box full of casseroles and desserts for the freezer for our family while I was laid up."

"She certainly had a way about knowing what was right and wrong.  Sort of 'my way' or the 'highway' sort of gal--nothing wrong with that except I bet  the highway was a whole lot more friendlier than 'her' way."

"SHE gave to the World Vision fund?...Hmph ,  going by what she gave to the church one would have figured she was dirt poor and scratching for chicken feed. "

"I heard she would only shop at Value Village for the last 40 years."


"Loving wife for 57 years?  Why that poor man had to put up with more whining, complaining, and emotional turmoil than a body could stand. No wonder he  finally found himself a cute 67 year old and took off to finer climes!  Who could blame him?"

" A good communicator?  Is he talking about calling people on the telephone every afternoon, morning, or evening just to gossip and complain? Hanging around Facebook and emails commenting and  posting unsolicited statuses filling up inboxes with mundane messages. I  finally had to Block her these past few years." 

" A loving mother to four children?  Yep she was that, at least that was her goal no doubt.  Apparently not all would agree, but if intentions and preferences count, her name  would have gone down beside some of the great ones; Mother Goose, Mother McChree* , Mother Superior, as well as a bit of Ma Barker."

"A great faith and confidence in the Saving Grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and ultimate Forgiveness of our sins?  Well, who would have thought THAT?  Ol'Mrs. Hold a Grudge Until Yer Teeth Fall Out Hoffman, also known as The Great Reminder of Hurts Done and Faults Discovered?  I would never have thunk it possible." 

"She never was quite 'right' after that knee surgery back in '13.  Too much anesthetic they say does that sometimes, although the wooden leg didn't seem to hinder her much."

"Why don't they mention how much she loved her RED Wine?  Boy, I could tell a few stories....".

" What is with this? Donations may be made to the Muslim, First Nation,  and/or Visible Minority Anti-Email Joke and Hate Literature Fund in lieu of flowers? Sounds almost Communistic."

"Milk and Cookie  Gang Charter Member?  What would that be? One of those fad diet groups I bet. Like Vegans, or those Nuts and Berry Eat Dirt and Be Happy Groups from the big city."

"Well that's that, nice and short.  A bit too flowery but aren't all funerals?  I see they are serving coffee at the luncheon in real cups and it's a sit down affair.  At least someone remembered how much she hated standing in line for food at a funeral..or anywhere else for that matter."  

"Well, if the line up is too long I am outa here. Not catching me being on the clean up committee. She never hung around for that so I am not either. See you at Bible Study."

 

This might be seen as a relief for some if this was to become my headstone.

I quite like the simplicity of this.

Well, clever in its way, I am not sure it holds the message of Comfort in Eternal Rest one might look for.

 

 

I like this one because there is lots of space for writing as I would like it to read:

 

Penny Lou Dixon

Wife of Irwin

Mother of Alexander, Sarah, Rachel, Heidi

 

 

I read about doing this in a book once and like the idea.

Our names forever connected.

 

 

 Mother MacChree *The fabled mother so often invoked in times of crisis. In actual fact, the phrase has its origins in Ireland, where a unique mix of Irish (Gaelic) and English languages produces this phrase. 'McCree' is a derivative of the Irish "mo chroí", literally, "my heart": this results in the whole phrase meaning "Mother of my heart".