Up and Away!

Sometimes we can get to where we are going by never knowing where we are.


As I was on the way to see a doctor about my sore knee, I thought it best to use the elevator to get to his office on the second floor of a new building out on the grounds of the University.

 I found the elevator readily enough after walking half way around the building and back to my original point again to recheck exactly which way to go to find the elevator..which of course was in the  opposite  direction. 

After walking almost the same length around again I finally found what I was seeking.

Stepping into the elevator was a relief until I spied the buttons listing the floors and their labels.

There was the obligatory B..for basement I presumed. I later found out unnecessarily that my presumption to be correct on the return trip from the doctor's office.

There was the 1 for what I understood to be the main floor..or ground floor..the one I was standing on.

 Then there was a 2..  Hurray! The floor I was looking for.

 I looked at the next button and what do I see?

 I see a 2 1/2 beside it.  Hmmmm.

The archaeological/engineering possibilities and/or impossibilities started flying through my mind as fast as blue birds  flit with panic from bird house to bird house searching for the correct place to roost. 

 Just who would dream up such a floor number as 2 1/2?  How would one even get out of the elevator if the door did indeed open at 2 1/2?  Was I misreading the numbers?  Had I really finally and ultimately lost my grasp of reality?  Gosh..what have they invented and what the H E double hockey sticks do I do now?

I pushed the 2 button.
The elevator rose. 
The door opened.  I peered out. 
I saw the huge expanse of a gymnasium looming in front of me.
No sign of doctor or offices anywhere.   I returned to  the elevator and with the feeling of surrealism that I think that Charlie Bucket must have had as he entered Willie Wonka's Glass elevator....
I pushed  the 2 1/2 and waited.

The  door closed softly. 
I felt the elevator lift. 
Suddenly the opposite wall from the door (the one I was leaning on) started to move and slid open to reveal a busy hallway with  signage denoting the office numbers of chiroprators, surgeons, and physiotherapists. 

 I had arrived!

 I am not sure where I was but I do know that I was there and am not there now.

It is what we know already that often prevents us from learning.
Claude Bernard

The BEAR is Awake!

 Just read this on line on CBC network.

These are my thoughts.

This is just so typical. People will protest the saying of GRACE at a graduation exercise...but at the same time will not protest the buying/selling and dispensing of liquor to high school students at the bush party following graduation.  Parents willingly 'supervise' other other peoples' drunken children at these functions whose stupidity is only surpassed by the parents who allow strangers to 'supervise' their own drunken children. 

People have to get some common sense and quit bowing to peer (beer) pressure and start bringing some dignity back to the transformation from childhood to adulthood. Prayer or no prayer..people have their own personal choice ..but the children who do not want to attend the after bush party are bullied by the communities who embrace these activities with every bit of lack of empathy and boorish selfishness as any group of grade nine girls can be to the deemed 'outcast' of the group.

I think it is a total COP OUT on the part of the authorities, school boards, parents, government legislatures, and all those who will be 'upset' because Grace isn't part of the Graduation Banquet not to stand up and stop 'Safe Grads'. I refer to those graduation functions that involve the 'hidden' location where students and guests from whatever unchecked backgrounds are allowed to consume alcohol.

   This type of activity should be a concern to each and every responsible adult in the community..not just those whose children are graduating that year.

 Standing Up against Something means standing up for it until that something is STOPPED...its not saying once..in a safe environment..in a soft voice...that you don't agree with something. Standing Up means putting yourself out there and speaking until everyone who needs to hear you has heard you.

   Grace may not be said at some graduations this year...but you can bet there should be some prayers sent up to protect any young person who comes from a community that allows Bush Grads to exist; whether they are in attendance or not. When one thinks about it, both groups of young people are being bullied.. those that attend (parents included ) and those who do not attend..(parents included).

My point about the CBC article  is not a Christian point necessarily. No one is saying in the article that people can't say grace at their own tables ... and LIKELY there are some who would anyway because the chosen Grace Saying clergy of the night wouldn't be the acceptable clergy for some other congregation. Putting the beer party issue aside (for a mere second)...it would be interesting to know exactly and truthfully how many people who identify themselves as Christian actually say grace at every meal.I wonder how many of these Christians will still not stand up against the beer drinking party issue, but will instead point a self righteous finger  at the person in the CBC article.  I think God--any one's God.. is just as equally concerned about the health and well being of our young people as He is about whether we are giving thanks for our abundant food supply.

  These bush parties are illegal..and they are  illegal for several reasons. Alcohol and teenage brains do not mix the same as a fully developed adult brains and alcohol does for one. 

Several people do get home safe  that graduation night, but  what about the message it sends to the teen and up coming teens? ALCOHOL and TEENS are not a natural function..it is a socially learned function...(don't get this mixed up with the line "learn to drink" as no one learns anything when drinking. )

People mention the ONE night that grads are safe. I think we should set our standards higher and aim to have 52 weekends/ 365 days a year   when our teenagers / grads are safe. What is so great about being killed on the highway by a drunken driver on a non graduation weekend? Yes, a lot of teens will make their grads a big drunk in any event, but a lot of teens and parents would not be pressured or bullied  into attending if the communities et al wouldn't put their stamp of approval on it.

  Lots of teenagers have sex on graduation too...should we put out a mattress and play soft music while  handing out condoms and pills just so there aren't babies for the New Year?

Stupid is stupid at any level. Graduation Bush Parties are  especially so because there seems no end as to how society can mess up the people we claim we want to educate and nurture.

Elsie May Cooper -- Nurse by Experience

There is something about being unhealthy physically that makes one revert back to being about 5 or 6 years old.

  I use the term physically unhealthy because if I were not to do so,  this little dissertation would have to include the mentally unhealthy. The reader has not that much reading time to spare,  nor do I have that much writing time left in my life to write on that topic to do it adequate justice; even if I were to limit the discussion just to my own personal experience. 

  Illness was quite common in my growing up years as I did not receive immunizations for measles, mumps, or chicken pox because none had yet been developed.  Indeed polio was still a distinct possibility for someone from my generation until that precious little pink drop was given out during the mass oral vaccine clinic held at the Town Hall in the early 1960s.  

 So being ill and lying quiet while the world turns around me due to fever, pain, or nausea is not something that is foreign to my experience.  But what is foreign is that when I am experiencing  any of these symptoms my mother is not there to relieve them.

 My mother was the BEST when any of her children were sick.  She had the innate understanding of what it would take to make an ill child feel  just that little bit more comfortable and cozy.  Fresh crisp linen on the bed with a fluffed  and turned pillow,  along with clean pajamas waiting to change in to after a night of feverish sweating*  were just a few of the sick luxuries one enjoyed.  Snacks and meals served on a tray would include special dishes from the china cabinet. Toast with jam would be cut up into 1/8ths in restaurant type triangles. There would be jello or ice cream along with easily digested vanilla wafer cookies. Sore throats were cooled with a glass of the rarely tasted Apple Juice.

  Bibs and towels, along with baskets and 'calling' bells were bedside ready for any unforeseen incident.   The 'sick' would be preciously tucked into mama's bed just down the hall from the kitchen where one would be easily accessible if one called out.  I can remember hearing the MixMaster running as the radio played  in a distance while Mom went along her busy rural 1950's housewife  duties,  made busier by my presence in her bed.

I say that Mom had an 'innate' understanding of being able to make a sick child feel well, but actually that isn't the truth.  My mother had this understanding because she,  herself,  had spent 10 months in hospital suffering from a severe accidental  scalding received at the age of 9 during the early 1930s.  This accident  placed her life in jeopardy more than once over that time. 

She carried the scar from that experience on her left arm for the rest of her life, but just as the hot water seared her skin,  I believe it was the devoted and caring life saving nursing that she received while in Brandon General Hospital that gave her the ability to care and nurse her own children.

Brandon General Hospital circa 1930

I hope I was able to tap into a little of Mom's nursing ability whenever my own children suffered through broken bones, fevers, sprains, pneumonia, and allergic reactions.  They should be grateful that I did, however, shy away from mustard plasters  and the Vick's On Sock Wrapped Around Neck cures.    

The smearing of Vicks on a grey sock and wrapped around a  child's neck while  pinned  in place at the back was believed to be therapeutic in treating soar throats, colds and sniffles when a child would   finally be sent back to school.  It more likely simply contributed to the disease not spreading as no one would approach the wearer due to the warning odor which accompanied the neck decor.


*This was in the days when clean PJ's were usually only allowed once a week as time washing with a wringer washer and cistern rain water were premium commodities in rural Saskatchewan.

                Patient: "Nurse, I just swallowed my pillow!"

Nurse: "How do you feel?"

    Patient: "A little down in the mouth."

Milk and Cookie Gang

I was going to write about how my friend and I were discussing the fact that it must be tough to be a young person these days.  I was going to mention that there are just so many decisions, temptations, and so called 'freedoms' for young teens and adults,  as well as so many ways to mess up and get hurt.  I was then going to list them all and point out just how much better it was in 'my day' and how there was none of 'that' type of throwing away money, flagrant waste of youthful years, and certainly none of that 'sexual' freedom went on during the 60's or 70's.

But then..I realized I would be most certainly be wrong if not actually out and out lying if I tried to tout this line of insight as Truth.  I would be wrong not to think that people of all ages..not just the youngins.. mess up and hurt themselves.  I wouldn't be in total error when I say that it is tough to be a young person these days, but I would be in error if I limited  the argument to just young people...it is tough to be any age these days.

Perhaps the only difference between being young today and being young "yesterday" is that some of  the 'yesterdays' got to be  sheltered in the culture in which they were raised longer.  We weren't sling shotted through cyberspace being exposed to EVERYTHING out there in one huge leap. 

 The 'yesterdays'  transition into the world was more gradual...at least mine was.  When I left my parents'  rural nest, I only had to travel an hour to be in a different milieu...the city.

For the first year or two,  I travelled by bus nearly every weekend back to my small town to reconnect with home.  I remember the first time I didn't come home for three weeks as I can recall my mother commenting about it to  the neighbour .

The absolute BEST thing about coming home during those early years of adulthood was the group of young people that also returned on a regular basis.  It was a mixture of young men and women who pretty much had the same idea of what fun was...and had the same little idea about romance or sex.  Our cumulative knowledge of drug information was somewhere between Aspirin and Halls Cough Drops.  An alternative lifestyle to this group would have meant someone whose mother worked outside the home or whose brother cut hair for a living. 

  It was a group of friends who accepted each other's foibles , and yes,  oddities .  This 'gang' of young  people knew each other as well as any sibling group.  They knew, or suspected they knew, your fears, crushes, and even your state of digestion (wink) and teased accordingly.

Yes, there was beer drinking, card playing, dancing, and even some random groping and lip smacking out on country roads no more than a mile or two from any of our parents' homes.  I remember packing a car with about 10 people ( with  more hands than one would think possible)  traveling down a  dirt road (the kind that the dust is like black flour) and being stopped by of all things a member of the Royal  Canadian Mounted Police. He (there were only He's then ) just looked in the car..saw how many people there were...asked for the driver's license..saw the name..and simply sent us on our way.   We were  a harmless bunch and he knew it. We gave him no hassle and we received none.

After a few years the 'Gang' sort of melted away.    Non Gang marriages  started to happen, travel and work demanded more time, and adult responsiblities slowly encroached.
  
 Life with its determined measure of joy, worries, losses, dashed hopes and expectations have taken a toll on each member  of that little group of comrades, myself included; which makes those lost  days of the Milk and Cookie Gang that much more treasured.

                        

What really is a pity is that I doubt if a picture of the 'Gang' ever existed as cameras in those days were primarily the objects owned by the 'real' adults.  This contrasts greatly with  today's  world of cell phone cameras and makes it one 'freedom' of today's youth that would have been good to have 40 years ago.




I think it would be a good idea to have a Reunion..and have a Milk and Cookie Gang Float in the next home town parade. 

Par Hazard!

I always marvel at people who say there is no God.

My first thoughts on these occasions  go to the obvious somewhat unbelievable scientific 'chance' facts that even science can't explain .
 

Here is just a short list:

1. Smoke goes up instead of down. All campers in our parks should be quiet grateful for this chance happenstance. .  One can only imagine the chaos that would result  in our campgrounds if all the campfire smoke just crept along the ground smoking out tenters and disturbing ground sleepers of all species.

2.  Our noses point downward.  Yep...pretty 'lucky' I'd say...a big drop in drownings during rain storms have resulted since that scientific  happening occurred.

3. Birds can fly and elephants can't.  Can you imagine the mess that an elephant hitting your grill at 90 mph would create?

4. Our eyes are on top of our head and not on our chin.  The bumps and head bangs that have been avoided just because of that little accidental positioning must be phenomenal.

5. We humans have hair on our head instead of our hands.  This makes both hair styling and eating pleasant experiences.

6.  We SWALLOW our food after it is chewed  rather than the alternative...

7. Its good that teeth are harder
   than most things we put in our mouth.

8.  Its good that lips are softer than most anything else.

9.  How fortunate  we humans are
     that it is US that can read and not the dog.

10.  ...and lastly...I am so very very glad that my son was wearing his helmet when he hit the drainage ditch while snowmobiling..the one and only time he had 'randomly' chosen to wear it.

 

      Coincidence is when God chooses   to remain anonymous.
                                                             --Mrs. Miracle (via Gayle Beck)

One long. Four short.

When I first married and came to the 'farm' to live I had to get used to a few things...one of them being that there was no phone.  I knew that prior to 'landing' of course,  as I had to phone my future mother-in-law's  number so she could pass on messages to 'Lovey' for me.  I guess it would be like having your Mother-in-law  as a friend on Facebook with you nowadays...lots of coded messages.. inboxing , and usage of Privacy settings. 

It was not long before travelling 3 miles to get to a phone ceased to be romantic, and we inquired about getting a phone  'put in'. As the cost of getting underground telephone lines dug in across the neighbor's barley crop was a bit formidable , we opted to have the lines dug in  in the fall after harvest was complete.

It was marvellous!  A lovely brown dial desk phone..on a party line..but a phone nevertheless.   Who cared if the old gentleman's phone down the lane rang every evening at 9pm?  Who cared if the teenage girl across the highway forgot to hang the phone up properly rendering the whole process useless for all three families until someone drove over and told the teenager to put the receiver on the cradle straight?   Who cared if sometimes I answered the neighbour's phone par accident and vice versa?  It was a phone and it was all that mattered.

  It was a link to the 'other' world.  The world from whence I came.  The world of old and faithful friends from communities I had travelled from.  The world of singlehood, freedom, and financial security.  I finally could contact that world and have conversations in relative (or rather non-relative) privacy in my own home.

 As the concept of Bundles and other telephone plans were not yet developed the use of the telephone for long distance calls was actually quite costly.   One time I received a sort of Thank You card from my telephone company. I received  100 minutes of free calling anywhere in North America.  I saved that card for my birthday and locked myself in our one and only bathroom with the phone and called my former roommate in California.  I can still hear the surprise in her voice when she answered and the lovely feeling of being able to have a relaxed and leisurely conversation with a good friend.

Yes the phone became my focus.  I used to run to the phone the second I opened the door to see if I had missed a call. The first thing the              children would report ,upon my arrival home, would be 'who called'. There would be the required piece of paper and pencil set down right beside the phone so accurate messages and return phone numbers could be written down.
The new phone book was displayed and hung up close by..for ever ready use. The clipping of the corner pages to the right telephone exchange was a ritual in my own family, with a nail hole hammered through the top corner and a white string threaded for easy hanging.

If the phone rang in the middle of a meal, game, or conversation all focus was upon the caller and the message , no matter how often or how unimportant. If the phone didn't ring during the day, I would start to feel awkward and uncomfortable. 

Dial Forward 30 years.....


I unplugged my phone today. No, not permanently. Not even for all day. I did plug it in to see if there were any messages I wanted to reply to..but there weren't.
 
It has just been so quiet and nice.  Even with call display one feels compelled to go to the ringing phone to see exactly who is calling and try to determine if it is a computer generated call from 'someone' wanting 'something' from you..no matter how much they insist that you have won a trip somewhere.  I think I will leave it unplugged more often than not.  After all..what is messenger manager for if not to take messages and have them delivered at MY convenience?

 So glad I finally figured out that solution.




Some phone numbers from my past:  88r14--my parents', 88r2 --my grandparents', 66r23..my country school, 335 2855, 335 2834, 698 2702, 698 2967, 527 4253...all of these were important at one time.  I thought I'd remember more.  I guess now one has only storage for email addresses .




Short story re: 'Lovey' and the phone.   He was at home alone one afternoon shortly after the phone was installed.   I called him from town.  No answer. I called again.  Still no answer.   Upon my return home I asked why he hadn't answered the phone.
  
His reply, "I didn't answer because no one ever phones me."

He now answers a ringing phone.

A Library of One's Own

  After much searching, scanning, taping, reading, video taping, downloading, and asking advice , I have finally been able to put a copy of this little story onto this blog.  It also seems to be placed somewhat weirdly on the blog page per se and my apologies for that fact, but to have this even on the page in any form has been the result of a very steep learning curve which as it turns out has not been quite steep enough.

I find it ironic that all the time and effort spent in doing so would have seemed a bit ludicrous to the author of the article, as  the goal of the whole exercise would have been totally beyond what the writer's imagination could have ever envisioned.

This short writing is found in my Grade 7 Reader...Beckoning Trails..and has stuck with me throughout (the exact number which will remain  unmentioned) several years. 

If the print is a bit difficult to read one may perhaps may have to resort to the Zoom on one's screen.

I wonder what Mary Ellen Chase would think of these.

She probably would think , 'Now that's a lot of laundry soap!'

Some like it Hot..Some like it Not!

It has been said, that some North Americans live to work; others, like the French, work to live.
Some people want to be married..others are divorcing.
Some want children..others are aborting.
Some people are concerned with what they eat...others are concerned if they will eat.
Some have acquired so many  'things' in their lives that they can't live in their homes...others barely have a roof over their head let alone any 'things' .
Some worry about what they will choose to wear...others worry if they will have anything to wear.
Some think animals have souls...others don't believe or care about their own.

Yep..no wonder there are wars.

Judge Not. Not likely!

Several years ago there was a   comedian
whose catch phrase was "Here comes the judge! Here comes the judge!"

I believe these few words helped this person's career because  they addressed something that applies to everyone...we all judge.

We judge our spouses, our children, our neighbor's choices, the books we read, movies we watch, and  the performance of nearly every professional in our society.  We concern ourselves with measuring our choices against the choices of others and render the worthiness of each, either good or bad, without necessarily understanding the motives derived from the emotions, history, or psychic of the choice maker.

  Judgement is a natural and human activity and I have no problem with the act of judgement itself.  I believe judgement is part of our innate need to anyalsye and sift through the myriad of stimuli that bombards us on a daily basis in order to feel safe.

What I do have a problem with is when the people who are doing the judging don't think it necessary to hide the fact that they are actually doing it.     This "I am judging you now  and I don't care if you realize it or not" attitude is the basis of many troubled relationships in families, work places, politics and religions.  

 Many people are motivated by the fear of being judged.   I don't think my mother in law ever believed that  I actually made homemade perogies as I refused let her see mine because I knew I would be judged on their size, taste, and texture.   The same person's off the cuff comment(judgement) about how many weeds I had in my garden after I had spent 3 hours cleaning it out    resulted in her hardly ever being invited over during gardening season.

I suspect the fear of judgment is also the root of many a mother's lament of "Why didn't they tell me?"

Just recently I was caught off guard by some one's curious comment (and  the consequent few seconds of silence following my reply) about exactly when my husband and I were married and where we spent our honeymoon.  The little twinge of discomfort I felt as I answered was the signal to me that the inquirer was in fact in the act of judging  my moral state of being. Just  the act of asking demonstrated their belief that they had the right to know, and therefore to judge.

Consequently I judged the questioner to be rude, arrogant, and ignorant . But I didn't (I hope) let them know it.

“Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers”--Voltaire

Licked!

I just looked out the window and saw the most beautiful clear icicles  hanging from the window ledge that I've seen in several years.  The first thought when I saw these was , 'Won't it be fun to grab them and lick them?'   Now rethinking that  thought, I wonder 'Who in their right mind would actually DO that?

To actually 'lick' something frozen that has no doubt dripped slowly down a dirty, insect crawled on (or worse), asphalt covered roof seems almost unbearable but I distinctly remember doing that very thing about 50+ years ago.

There must be something about 'licking' that subtly either destroys germs or renders them harmless in the minuscule consumption of same.  Children lick fingers, toys,  pets, and even shoes if not watched carefully and there has never yet been a flu or sickness that has been attributed to licking per se.  

Besides being a term used to describe a successful sporting event as in  "We licked them good.", the phrase 'to get a licking' conjures up more darker memories.

  At least one commercial chicken company  has also benefited from this near primal act of taste testing  and hence adopted the "Finger Licking Good" motto much to their success.

Yes, licking seems to be the first tried and true test for tastiness and tenderness when it comes to taste tasters of all types, but I believe I will pass on the icicles this time around.......

                                  ....although I will never forget the licking I gave the cows' salt block in the pasture one hot summer day....

                                                     ....now THAT was tasty!

That's the Worst!

I just came across a Twitter Site that had people list "The Worst Feeling" and as I read the statements that ranged  from not being tall enough to do something to seeing someone you love cry, I realized that Worst Feelings don't seem to be the same from one minute to the next, even when the same person is responding.

Yes, I suspect if we all just think for a moment we can without a doubt see something in our mind's eye that has been the absolute 'worst' thing to happen ever.  I suspect just the thought of the 'worst' has conjured up some pretty close 'worst' things and perhaps even one has had to take a second or two to actually choose just what  indeed the 'worst' thing has been.

I know we can all discuss in infinite details the worst of many happenings and experiences relating to  such mundane facets of life as the worst  steak, kiss, marriage, job, shoes, television show and all the things in between.

I could discuss the waitress who told me I looked grouchy and how THAT became one of her worst waitress moments.  I could mention how the rubber bands holding my up grandmother's nylons failed , allowing  them  to fall down below her knees while standing on the  platform waiting for her daughter to come off the train. That was probably her worst travel experience. I could mention the worst first date with this guy who took me on a motorcycle ride for 3 hours and didn't even stop for coffee; but I won't , because I ended up marrying him.

 The term "Worst "used in the colloquial and somewhat careless manner can be for some,  a transient and an ever changing commodity, and if it isn't , then I suspect that in that instance Worst is truly that and condolences and sympathy are extended.




Something someone once said to me:

  Think of the three worst things that could have happened and if what you are worrying  about isn't one of them  then things will be OK.








What I'd really really like to know is this:





         Just What Is  WORSTED WOOL?

Ralphie

RALPHIE

Ralphie the Rabbit eats chocolate not, 

Eating only good grass and any blossoms on top.

His brother had eaten chocolate all the day through

And the last they heard of him he was a brown stew.

No basket for Ralphie,

No  plastic grass green,

Ralphie the Rabbit will no where be seen.

He'll be hidden in thickets, and tall brown long  grass

Yes, Ralphie the Rabbit has hidden his  --ss.

The Sound of Silence

It is a stormy, snowy, windy Easter weekend.  The snow is heavy and wet.  Highways are full of rain, snow, and icy slush, making travel difficult and dangerous .  Our country road will be nearly impossible to navigate, but  getting out of our yard will be our first worry.

This is the type of weekend that we would caution our children to play carefully.  No silly jumping, wrestling, or horse  play  would be allowed because it would be very difficult to get to a doctor or hospital .


It is also a weekend of relative quiet.  The satellite dish that carries our television signal is 'down' due to an accumulation of heavy snow on the critical part of the download device even though it is situated under the eaves of the roof.

 The only sound in the house is that of the water pump starting periodically as it fills the busy washing machine.  Every so often the rumble of a freight train two miles away makes its way into our awareness.
The other sounds we hear are the chipping of our finches and the sound of the wind.

 The purpose of this video is to show not only the heavy snowfall but also to show the quietness in my part of the world.  I recently heard a radio program that described silence as the sound that is left when one  cannot hear any mechanical man made sound. That is why I was interested in recording my immediate area to see the depth of silence in my surroundings.

I apologize for the quality of the picture as I could not actually see the view finder to determine exactly what I was videoing but I would like you to note the swaying of the tall trees, the snow blowing out by the barn, and the sound.

 

The link to the short story was chosen because of the importance silence played in the plot as well as its vivid portrayal of  the type of isolation that we who live in rural Canada experience.   I studied this particular piece  during my last year of university in my Canadian English Literature class. 

 

 

 

http://sussexhigh.nbed.nb.ca/jjohnston/English_123_2009_10/The%20Painted%20Door%20--Sinclair%20Ross.pdf