Bra --Eh?

Everything has to be sporty it seems.


   Men who wear sports jackets are deemed to be cool and self confident. 


  Cars that are labeled as sporty make those who drive them seem to be a little more intelligent than the driver of a seven seater van full of car seats and muddied license plates.


 Going out to a Sports Bar on a Saturday night , or any night for that matter, implies that you are with it, got it , and want to meet others who have it as well.


 Yes, personalities, mechanical devices, and clothing for men have long been described in terms of the general adjective of Sports. In fact,  it has probably only been recently, I am guessing the last 20 years, that this  adjective has been attributed to that often beguiling, burned, and bejewelled piece of woman's apparel referred to as the 'Bra'-- pronounced BR--Ah --(the sound one makes when it is off ).



I am referring, of course, to that piece of spandex, elastic, rubber, padded, one piece, super soft and oh so super strong device designed to compress, hold, hug, and support one's mammeries in total submission and stillness no matter what physical activity the rest of the body to which they are connected to are doing whether it be climbing, crawling, running, or breathing--the Sports Bra!


After having recently purchased not one but two of these devices on the advice of one of my ( I am assuming well meaning) co workers I eagerly went home to try on my new  snazzy sports purchase while looking forward to the delight of soft but firm support 'in all activities' as was advertised on the label. 


Wanting to partake of the full experience of  'new' I decided to have a refreshing shower before I tried out my new body image device.  I toweled off with anticipation. I released the soft new white piece of apparel from its cardboard holder  and examined my purchase closely.. 


  Noticing almost immediately that  shoulder straps, cups , and back bracing thick elastic cross straps were all permanently sewn together without any opening clasps I started to pull this symbol of sports and health eagerly  over my head. 


  As it seemed a bit snug (but aren't all things new and worth it snug these days?), I  decided that perhaps more force might be necessary to pull the whole of the bra over my shoulders while at the same time putting my arms through the vaguely distinguishable arm holes.


  Success! 


 But wait...the arms went through the openings but alas only part way and as a consequence of moisture from the fresh shower and the consequential roping of the cups and rolling of the back cross straps, the new purchase of spandex and support quickly became  something that one could liken to a  saddle cinch that one finds strapped from one side of the underbelly of a horse to another.


The more one squirmed, the more one wiggled, the more one swore, that rope like tangle of synthetic fabric held on to skin, fat, and muscle every bit of tight as a boa constrictor hangs on to its first meal in a month. 


With arms  bound up in the air like a bank teller held at gun point , perspiration beading not only upon my brow but on other and under various body parts constricted and exposed , I managed to kick at the bathroom door while  breathlessly calling for Help!




Thankfully I was not alone, thankfully someone was home, thankfully I did not have to try to phone.








* I personally refer to these articles as Br--aaas (long a for the
phonetically alert) .
-- Don't ask me why but I think it might be that I am Canadian.

The Grinch

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A Car Party

Tis the Season for Gaiety, Gifts , and Get Togethers. So when I was emailed a few weeks ago about a Legion  Pot Luck Christmas Party that  my local Legion Branch was invited to  in the town just down the highway, I decided  that it was time that we started participating in the  heraldry of the Festive Season.


I booked off work.  I organized the roasting and seasoning of ribs.  I planned the 'Bean Pot' casserole.  I chose carefully the mode of transportation  of  food to venue-- keeping in mind the risk of tipping and juice leakage.


All went well.  Lots of parking it seemed at the Legion Hall upon our arrival so we didn't have issues with carrying casseroles into the building.  I did notice almost immediately  while standing at the doorway , that there was very little activity in the kitchen and before I could comment I was greeted by an acquaintance that informed us that the evening supper was being catered to and there was no need for a potluck. 




Knowing that plans often were changed  on short notice we returned our food offerings to the back of the van and  went back to the hall.


After paying for our meal ticket and sitting down at the table and not unlike a character from an episode of that long ago television show "Where are You Now?" , I  slowly got  an inkling of something strange in the air as a) the Bar  was not  opened and I had understood that Happy Hour was to be held from 5-6--- thus explaining our  early arrival time; and b) I  did not recognize  anyone as Legion members per se  sitting at the tables. These feelings of  uncertainty were easily put aside due to the warmth and welcome of everyone in the room.


 This  warm holiday hospitality helped  to glean over any question of date and locale even when  I was a bit taken aback as it was announced that the membership fees were $25 this year as our Branch's fees are somewhat higher.  That and the fact that this Branch was selling calendars for $15 was again a source of  mild surprise as I hadn't realized that Legion Branches were selling calendars as a fund raiser.  


It wasn't until the comments about auctioning off some cars were made that I realized that ' even if I knew where I was doesn't mean that that is where I thought I was'.  In fact it finally occurred to me that I was pretty much in the right place at the wrong time as 'my' Legion Pot Luck supper had been held the evening before and I was in actuality attending the Saskatchewan Rustriders Antique Car Club's Christmas Party.


  There hadn't been a change from Pot Luck to catering, there hadn't been a change in membership fees, and the Legion had not started selling 'car' calendars to raise money. 


When I explained my error to the Master of Ceremonies I was assured that our presence was welcome and there was enough food for all .


So there we sat surrounded by a roomful of die hard car enthusiasts.  We were entertained by lovely music of Guitar Playing and Country and Western Singing, Joke Telling, and Gift Exchange (which we were allowed to be part of in spite of not having brought any gifts ...if you don't count the two  rapidly cooling casseroles in the van).


It was quite a lovely evening.  The conversation around the tables consisted of discussions and debates of various exhaust systems, paint, carburetors, and engine specifications . 


One of the most unusual and probably unique aspects of attending a Christmas party of car enthusiasts was the much anticipated Car Auction.


At the head table on display there were about 10  New Hot Wheel  Classic Model Cars 'still in the package '.  Midway through the evening of singing entertainment the action turned to an auction of these Classic Model Cars.  Each car was duly taken around the table so that all potential buyers knew the make , model, year, and colour of each .  There wasn't one miniature model that did not illicit knowledgeable comments about engine size, gear ratio, or muffler specifics.


  An auctioneer was assigned and the bidding was  ON!


Not one of those little  classic model cars were sold for less than $20 and some even went for $40.  My husband and I watched the auction with interest and amusement as the good natured jibes and 'one upmanship' bidding raised the value of each car to many many more times than its 'normal' worth at Wal Mart.  


After the auction had been completed and the cars turned over to their new owners, I realized that all the proceeds of the sale were going to go towards the local Secret Santa Program for the underprivileged --just proving that the Hot Wheel cars weren't the only things that were Classy at this Christmas party.




It was all in all a happy accident that could have happened to anyone...as is proven by  the guy that sat close to us  as he had accidently attended the Legion  Christmas Party held  the previous  night thinking that the Car Party was being held on that date.


 It is all part of the Saskatchewan Small Town Experience that people can just show up at a group function and are welcomed as long lost neighbours and friends.


I am going to another Legion Christmas party next Sunday...or at least I think I am.

What Good Service Looks Like Part 1

Yesterday after a particular harrowing experience at a local Optical Store in Yorkton, Saskatchewan...see previous post... I had the occasion to visit Canadian Tire in the same city.




The outlet was moderately busy with the hustle and bustle of clerks and shoppers interacting cordially and pleasantly.


My husband decided on his purchase and told me that he would go to the cashier ,  pay for his item, and take the item straight out to the car.   It was understood that I would stay in Canadian Tire until his return.


After several minutes after I had done my browsing I decided that my husband had had probably enough time to return to the store so I actively started looking for him.


I had toured the store  at least two times without any success so I had the idea to phone him on his cell phone.  After digging through my purse I realized that I had left my own phone in the vehicle.


What to do? 
I approached a clerk by the paint counter and  after explaining my dilemma I asked if he could call my husband on his  phone thinking he would use the store's phone on the counter.


This clerk, however, took out his very own personal phone and handed it to me and said that I was welcome to use it to call my husband.


Which I did and immediately got in touch with my husband who was a mere two aisles away.


Wonderful service from the clerk who went above and beyond what I had expected.  He lent me the use of his very own property in order to help out a potential customer.


BRAVO Kind Sir!

Loblaws Superstore Optical Yorkton

I recently went to Loblaw Optical in Yorkton Superstore in Yorkton, Sask.


I had ordered two pair of glasses there about a month ago. I paid for them upfront .


I received a phone call about a week ago telling me that my glasses were in and I could pick them up.


Yesterday, during a miserable prairie day that included freezing rain warnings I travelled to Yorkton..a one hour drive..specifically to pick up the glasses. 


Upon arriving at the Optical centre I told the receptionist who I was and she said that I would be required  to talk to the technician before I could get my glasses . There were a couple of other women ahead of me. I suggested that perhaps I would come back in 15 minutes and the receptionist nodded that that would be ok. 


In fifteen minutes I returned and the receptionist told me that it would be another 45 minutes because the technician had JUST gone into a consultation with a contact lenses measurement.



I said that that is ok..I would just take the glasses anyway.



The receptionist told me that it was against the law to give me my glasses without talking to the technician first.



I explained that I was from out of town and expressed that I didn't really want to wait another 45 minutes..and that I would just take the glasses and go. 

  The receptionist told me that they had 'lots of people from out of town" and that I couldn't get my glasses until I talked to the technician because it wasn't legal.  



I then asked if I came back in 45 minutes could she put me in a queue so that I would talk to the technician then...the receptionist told me that I couldn't have that done because it was a 'walk in clinic' and they don't take appointments..(apparently they do take appointments for contact lens measurements however.)



I then stated that either I get my glasses now or give me my money back. It was about this time the receptionist told me I was rude and not to return to their place of business again....which I readily agreed to...but I still needed my glasses. 
 

The technician came out and proceeded to talk to the receptionist in the back room and then told me never to come back to the store again and that I was a very rude person..and that they didn't like dealing with people like me , and I must never never come back again...which I readily agreed to do...but that I still wanted my glasses and I would gladly go.



There was a customer's husband sitting waiting for his wife to get the contact lenses measured who chimed in against me telling me I was rude and asked me why I was giving the receptionist and technician a hard time....which I totally ignored and did not reply to at all...In fact after the first comment I turned my back on him and ignored his taunts..focusing on my need and repeated requests for either my money back or my glasses.

  The issue I had was not the fact that the contact lens person had an appointment...my issue was that I wanted my glasses so I could go on my way.  I had no problem with the technician serving the contact lens person...my problem was that I wanted my glasses. ..simple as that...the contact lens person had  prearranged appointment. --.I had no demands to stop that appointment in anyway..so I don't understand why the customer's husband was berating me other than some character trait of his own driving his actions.  





The receptionist and technician commented again (they did this about 15 times in my mind) that I was a rude person who they did not want in their store ever again...and they mentioned that they even had 'back up' from the customer's husband who commented again about what was going on and how I was bothering these people...I could hear him swear .





Finally after I am guessing about 5 to 8 minutes of this back an forth horrible attack on my personal character the receptionist brought out one pair of glasses and again told me never to come back...

I then asked for the second pair of glasses... She said ,Y"ou have another pair? She looked up on the computer and realized that I had indeed paid  for prescription sunglasses-- also on order . I asked if they were ready too and she replied in the same voice she had used all during the conversation...'no they aren't ready yet '... I took the first pair of glasses and said I would be back on Tuesday to see if the sunglasses were in.

All in all this was a horrible experience. I feel I was bullied for whatever reason by the receptionist , the technician, and the unnamed husband of the contact lenses person.

I did not swear. I did not intimidate. I did not call names. I did not label. I did not bang or threaten in any way.  (I did tap on the counter as I recall)

I was firm in my desire to get my glasses without benefit of having a technician due to road conditions and time restraints.

I was never told that there was a possibility of having well over an hour wait to pick up the glasses when I purchased the glasses or when I was phoned that I could pick them up.  

I was not treated with respect as I was told I was a horrible person with a bad attitude...and told repeatedly over and over and over again never to return..even when I  readily agreed that I would not. There would be a lull in the conversation and the technician would say it again to me and I would say..no I won't come back...another lull and then the receptionist would say something about my horrible character and I would say that I won't come back...and then they would repeat it again. The fact that they allowed another customer to chime in when I never even addressed any comment to him or about the contact lens customer  was also  abusive.

The receptionist did not tell me that if I left in the first instance..when I said that I would shop for 15 minutes..that the technician would be busy for  the next 45 minutes at 1:00. If I had known that I might have chosen to do other errands in Yorkton and then perhaps returned at 2pm .. But when I returned after the first 15 minutes and then was told I would have to wait another 45 minutes and only MAYBE get to see the technician....without any chance of being in a queue because it was a 'walk in clinic' without appointments except for contact lenses people I felt I didn't want to 'hang' around on the off chance of being put off again for another hour...especially in light of the rain warning on the highways.

I am beginning to think that the reason they told me so many times not to come back as it is a method to insure that I can't complain about the glasses.

It was a very upsetting experience. My background in getting new glasses has often involved having them mailed out to me so when I asked just to be given the glasses it did not seem like such an unreasonable solution to the problem.


Actually the glasses I did receive don't feel as good as I would like but  I didn't get an opportunity to even put them on my face as I felt I had to get out ASAP. If I had known how they felt before leaving I could have possibly left them there and talked to the technician another time. That option wasn't even considered by either the receptionist or technician...as I was told almost as soon as I said I would take the glasses or my money to never return to the store again.

I am a woman of Metis descent which may or may not have played into the situation.

I have had some experience with working with bullying as I am a former university degree teacher,   and have worked in areas dealing with dysfunction and abuse. I believe I was a victim of a sort of gang bulling mentality from the receptionist , technician and customer in this situation.

I talked to the manager in Yorkton Superstore about this incident .  He didn't take my name or number...but I did feel that he listened to my complaint.

My biggest concern now is 'How am I going to get the sunglasses which are paid for and on order?" How am I going to walk into that place of business without going through that whole ordeal once more?  I certainly am not allowing that technician to discuss the quality of sunglasses with me...a sort of intimate scene..after she had berated me and insulted my character yesterday. 






@  an aside note:  The receptionist finally did give me the glasses...without my consulting with the technician...so did she break the law  that she cited almost from the beginning or did she not?

Ukraine Today

This is part of a letter I received from a friend who is a native of Ukraine and  who is currently living there..  I thought it important that people are allowed to read about his perception of what is happening in his country.

 I think not many people know the truth about this war and situation around it. Russian people

affected by a modern technology turn a person in zombie. Their TV is lieing about Ukraine a lot and

showing a lot of movies about war. They want to increase level of agression against Ukrainian. I

think some a new experiment is running in Russia, how  provoke hate form people to close friends,

relatives and common people in short period of time. 

As I wrote you before I had had a lot of work last weeks. I do not know why but I think the war also

gives a part of trouble in general situation. This is the biggest part. All discussions between people

are around of military, Russia, war, poverty, a fear to lose a job, how to live in the nearest and distant

future. Everybody turns to deep crisis in every conversation like it or not. Russia with criminal

rabbels in the Donetsk region deploy  forces and any bony knows when they can start attack.

People in that region are very sufferin from the famine, espesially old people. Russia do not give any

help for people who live on the occupy teritories by Russian militants and pro-Russia domestic crime.

Moreover, they do not give any a possibility to send some the humanitarian help from Ukrainian side.

Russian militant bandits take from the civil people businesses, cars, food, houses, every thing that has

some value. Who has a tommy gun that has a privileges. My friends said me that who was garbage

because did not want to work, now with gun is desiding who will live in Donetsk region. Hundreds

thousands people left this region but a lot of there are there. It is really horrible.  

On the other hand life is running and I try to continue to learn Engnlish in spite of difficult situation

around me. I am responsible for my family at first and I must make every effort for changing

situation for us at least. 

I Am Not Apologzing

Mental Illness Cause for Radicalization?


I do believe that there are some like those mentioned in the article who are in danger of becoming radicalized, but I also believe there are others who are deliberately and methodically designing ways to undermine the security of the country and our way of life through violence and extortion.


 I am not going apologize for being born in North America, I am not going to apologize because I work, pay taxes, and obey the laws of the land.


 I am not sorry that I live  in a free and democratic society that strives for the  safety, freedom,  education, and health of all our citizens .  I am not going to apologize for the many Canadians who sincerely work towards the betterment of many people around the world.


 Just because other countries all over the world near and far are used to guns, terror, and ignorance on their streets and in their government  does not make what has transpired on Canadian ground this week any less evil or justifiable. 
 
 ISIS is not a little band of  down trodden mentally ill rebels living barefoot lives in mud floored huts in the middle of the desert.  They are oil rich and are bent on destroying  anyone who gets in their way including their own people.  Their motives aren't to better their citizen's lifestyle, to educate their women, or to allow freedom of expression and religion.


 I don't like that and I am not apologizing for wanting them stopped.

September 1

A new month thus commences.
The calendar days are so far clear as the empty numbered rectangles
await, empty, and open to possibilities.  Spaces
to be filled with the recordings of the evidence of time being used.

How much of what happens this month will make a mark on the month that follows?
How much of what happens will have no bearing at all on any future happening except in the mere recording of the moment?
How much of what happens will not be a result of our choices?

Will we look back in 30 days on a calendar full of  hastily crossed out mundane activities, or will we look back on these 30 days and realize that each day had a mindful purpose whether it be in terms of knowledge acquired, wisdom shared, a relationship improved, or our souls enhanced in whatever way that word means for each of us?

Perhaps instead of waiting for the empty calendar spaces to be filled by what often is merely the rambling demands of the outside world, we should  insltead take charge and fill them now  with our  own goals and our own needs  whatever  they may be.

Perhaps an appointment of a  quiet time alone with oneself, a  time blocked especially  for  learning to be done,  a dedicated hour or so for a friend  with whom to reconnect, or some other personal unmet want to make this month's calendar be one that, when it is perused in 30 days, will  contain more items that have been checked off with enthusiasm rather than crossed off with relief.

Cat Pie

*  Note: Content may offend some.


**  Note: correction...Content will offend some


*** Note: Correction to the Correction...Content will offend several.




My first memory of cats is one that involves the cats in the barn whose job it was to control the ever present mouse population.  The eager presence of these sometimes tame but more often than not semi wild cats was a given whenever it was milking time.  The vision of the spray of milk arcing through the air as scampering  cats ran towards the white and warm liquid as they tried to get as much into their mouths as possible, along with the consequent purr that  accompanied the  licking  and grooming , brings back those  memories of simpler times where man and animals lived in the state of  mutual benefit and understanding. 




Having said that I would now like to draw attention to the fact that not all cat/human interactions have been positive.  Indeed, sometimes the  feline -- homo sapien social intercourse is often  down right dangerous and deadly, with the emphasis on deadly primarily applying to the feline species.


One example of this unfortunate state of being can be illustrated through what has sadly become one of my most troubling lingering memories of   what was  to be our family's joyous traditional Christmas Eve journey to my grandparent's farm home .  As it was  a cold winter night, my dad went out to the garage to start the car so it would be warm for his excited young family.  The garage where the car was parked was about 300 feet from the house.  All the doors and windows were of course closed due to the cold weather.   Suddenly there was the most high pitched unforgettably haunting screech that lasted for less than 10 seconds coming from the direction of the garage  Fearing that something horrible had happened to my father, we rushed to the door and called out in concern.  Dad came to the garage door looking pal and shaken.  A cat had apparently crawled up under the hood of the car to nestle in beside the warm radiator and probably had fallen to sleep. Sadly and memorably it was still there when Dad turned the ignition and the fan on the now broken radiator had started to turn.   


Another example of how quick and tenuous is that of the life of felines when they coexist with people, however brief, has recently been shared with me and I shall now share  this tale of catastrophe with you.


A couple were driving along on a rural road one afternoon.  The gravelled road was lined with taller grasses. As the road was well graded   the vehicle was traveling at a steady speed when suddenly a cat darted out from the long grass and the inevitable sickening 'thud' was heard and  inevitably felt as the car tires traveled over delicate bones and flesh. Miraculously a cat was seen in the rear view mirror slinking slowly into the ditch.
   The brake pedal  was slammed and the vehicle  came to a sudden halt.  Driver and passenger looked at each other in horror at what had just transpired.  


Being the humane people that they were, they decided to get out of the car and go back and search for the victim, as they feared that no animal could survive such an encounter. The thought that they had been the cause of any animal lying suffering and alone weighed heavily on their minds.  After a short search of the area they found what they had feared--a lone cat lying flat on the ground obviously in pain as it hissed and clawed the air .  The driver of the car ran back  to the vehicle and quickly brought out a shovel from the trunk, prepared to do what 'had to be done'. He  proceeded to hit the cat on the head  in order to shorten the  poor animal's pain and suffering  This was not an easy task as it took several hits before the cat's  crazed and anguished cries were finally mercifully silenced.


The two people returned to their vehicle and continued on their journey trying to shake the gory scene from their mind's eye while at the same time assuring each other that they had indeed done the right thing.


 Upon reaching their destination and while getting out of the car  the passenger heard something strange coming from the underside of the vehicle. 


After  leaning down and peering under,  the pale faced passenger called out to the driver:  "  Hey...there is a  bloodied cat caught up around the frame."  




Lesson of the Day:  Sometimes you are the Cat, and sometimes you are the Pie, and sometimes you  are the Cat in the Pie.

Campground Adventures in a Technical World

It used to be that when a guy disappears with canoe and camper for ten days he would have done just that . 


 There would be no communication to the those who   stayed back; no  possibility that photos or adventure  would be shared ; no exchange of niceties until the grand homecoming that could only be guessed at in terms of  exact time and date.  


With the advent of  new technology and the yen to 'keep up' with modern trends, those days of total unplugging on the part of this family's fisherman has pretty much ended.


I say   pretty much ended because just because one puts a texting device in the hands of an individual does not mean that communication is automatically the  result of the texting experience. 


 In actuality it can become more of an exercise in reading than writing, employing the use of contextual, syntax, and word configuration clues along with the never ending question on the part of the reader , "Just what the H.... is he talking about?"


Some examples to prove this point.


Very gonning


Sokis, mac salad no luck fishing


Got sun rain sheter


Owls hottun


Very gonning firhing


Fursns is on


Gjawmj mj asj mg  

Have to chrach phonie


Hi had know sereve


Playing majgog


Ok having samno


At camp saw flon chop taters


Noting so far


Haas a good thing


Very gonning


Eat preogies saugeg


Having coffee then firshing


I love you eggs then to flon


2 fish over 75 center meters




I was able to decipher most through the time of day and from my own questions .


Can anyone guess which one probably means


 "I have my jammies on?"



















My most favourite camper and fisherman in the world has entered into the era of high tech communication armed with unlimited texting on his cell phone .

A Book Unread

About 30 years ago I purchased two of D.H. Lawrence's books .. Sons and Lovers and Women in Love...new from Coles...full price.
These books languished for various reasons on the shelf...usually side by side. . untouched and unread...jackets fading, glued binding getting frailer and frailer over the years, dust gathering on their edges.
I recently decided that NOW is the time to finally pick... one of these papered pieces of print to gaze at while the words of the author create his characters, drama, and scenery in the vast .somewhat empty and unused spaces of my brain.

The cover fell off almost on the first day of handling...taking with it the introduction and first page of the 1st chapter. Bits of 'spinal glue' chipped off at every caress of the hand that turned the page.

ENTER the Guttenberg Press and the Adobe Digital Reader along with a few seconds of downloading an Voila.... Women in Love is created in digital form on the lap top...available at the will of a click of a mouse, screen size and font adjustable.

The paper edition now lies untouched, pages never turned, typed print never decoded, characters never revealed on paper, the voice of the author a little more removed from the original pen and ink in which it was first recorded.. It lies alone by the bedside-- a tangible treasure never again to be part of the ritual that involves the sound of page turning, bookmarks, glasses

June

June is upon us!


The gardens are planted, the nests are built, and the sky has already been darkened by rainclouds and shocked with lightning.


Winter colours of blue, grey, icy white snow drifts and  fragile hoar frost diamonds glittering while teetering on frozen and brittle  trees branches have been replaced by  living hues  encompassing all the colours of the wheel-- painted by grasses, leaves and flower petals firmly rooted to the earth.


The brightness of a Robin's breast, the redness of the Blackbird's shoulder epaulets, and the yellow brilliance of the Warbler serve to brighten the sky like flashes of confetti flying by at a wedding festival making  the memory of  falling, always white, always cold, and  seemingly always silent frigid snow  become a memory of  frosted haze of monotony and danger.


All this is accompanied and augmented by  the warmth of a caressing breeze along with the heat of the sun that can be felt not only on one's flesh but also serves to  gently coddle one's soul  as it surrounds us with the nurturing  hope of even better things to come-- before the cold and silence of winter descends once again.


If only June could last at least forever.

A Milestone

My  child has reached a milestone today. 


I do not refer to a graduation, marriage, divorce, or even child bearing. 


I refer to the irreplaceable  loss of that sense of  the safety of immortality that only is allowed to those whose youth has not relinquished any of their peers to death.


Losing  parents, grandparents, and teachers  can be devastating to everyone, but it somehow doesn't change one's inner coil as much as does the loss of someone  with whom you have gone to school . 


 The loss of someone who you have shared so many hours  doing things for the first time at the same time creates a relationship that is neither sibling,  cousin, or even  best friend. It is simply the precious relationship one has with a classmate.  


The common memories compounded over  years  of tests, teachers, projects, sicknesses, jokes, and playmates forms a unique bond that can never be duplicated or ever repeated. When this relationship is too soon ended due to sickness or accident I think it alters us at the most basic level.


We realize that death is not for the aged, the strangers, the others.  We get an inkling that everything is not for ever and ever for everyone, and suspect not even  for ourselves.


We  come to  know instinctively and perhaps even unwittingly that life is just a little bit more precious, fragile, and unpredictable than we had previously thought in that heretofore time of when it had not happened and we had not yet heard.
  
Most of us who are older can recall the moment when we learned about the loss of one of our dear childhood classmates...where we were, who told us, and who we in turn told.  I bet most of us called another former classmate to inform and reflect on the loss. 


I know I remember exactly where I was when I heard the news on the radio that two sisters of my age had died from my hometown in a tragic car accident. 


Even now, forty years hence, whenever the victims' names are mentioned in the company of other classmates there is a subtle pause almost like  a quick little hiccup in the conversation which allows a bit of memory to slip quietly by and the conversation returns to the present.  


Other school friends  of my children will pass,  just as many of mine already have. 


Each time it will be a shock accompanied by a  unique sense of loss of that special relationship. 


Each time the shared memories with other former classmates will serve to comfort and console in the way only classmates are able. 

My Fog

I know fog causes lots of chaos with traffic.. although one rarely hears of roads becoming slippery due to fog as is with snow, ice,  and sleet.




For me, if a person has to go without sunlight, I think I would rather have fog instead of cloud and rain.




Fog seems soft and silky to me--like a pair of fresh delicate nylons as they slide over one's  legs covering skin unused to such gentleness.




Rain is often stinging little bits of hard wetness slamming pieces  of  water upon the earth  in loud anger or visible resentment with sharpness and grumbling.



Fog is like a cushioned quilt of spun sugar which wraps around and actually touches each part of the world completely--each crevasse, physical bend, and hidden depth.




Rain falls. Fog rises.




Rain taps  intrusively a thousand times over,  while the fog is silent--simply existing, still and soft as a sleeping kitten nestled against its mother and siblings.

FOG The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on. Carl Sandburg

Ducks and Dancing

The other day someone mentioned how embarrassed they were when about 20 years ago their Junior High School teacher had asked them to dance a waltz at one of the school dances. As she was describing her feelings of horror and embarrassment as the whole school watched , her companion  commented that they doubted that that would even be considered legal  and not  certainly not wise on any school teacher's part in today's world.

That got me to wondering about other pedagogical best practices that have had to be put by the wayside because of today's standards. 

One such practice that has not stood the test of time I suspect is the Girl's Basketball Coach playing alongside the players for a friendly game of tag ball.  Nor would his presence right inside the same  team's change room be deemed acceptable today as it was 40 years ago.

Another thing that would be considered an  'edgy' educational practice at best and even  risking a charge of an assault with a weapon is the tradition of tossing (winging?) of a piece of chalk towards a fatigued or wayward student. Sometimes hitting the aimed for student on or near the head, and sometimes hitting the student next to them instead.

I am also pretty certain that heads might fall if the teacher nowadays decided to pull out his/her very own cigarette rolling machine and roll a few during the noon hour break,  all the while smoking one of the products, and then dumping the ashes into the wastepaper basket by the desk at the end of the day. Windows closed, matches tossed into the top drawer, and ash tray out in the open on the desk.  
Those cigarette rolling machines were quite the fascinating inventions.

Yes classroom rules, social mores, and pedagogical methods have surely changed in an effort to reflect society's values and standards.  Some things that once were common practice and even expected such as the saying of the Lord's Prayer have fallen by the wayside to make way for  practices designed to create more and better educated citizens of the world.

 I would  bet any money that the teacher bringing his own double barrel shotgun along with a box of appropriate ammunition in his car to the school with the plan to walk down to the  creek during the fall noon hour break would probably be frowned  upon by school boards across the land.   Especially if he left  his sixteen  or so unsupervised students on the school  playground playing soccer while he slipped quietly down the path to shoot Mallards with only the blast of the gun giving away his location (if he was needed) and his purpose.

The natural history lesson in science that afternoon fifty years ago was a memorable one as the whole school was shown all the parts of the North American  Duck. All the students from Grades One to Eight were encouraged , albeit gloveless, to touch the webbed feet, the bill, the wings, and the varied coloured feathers. I remember looking at the tongue and feeling the inside ridges in the mouth . We were even shown where the  lead shot had entered and consequently rested in what would become the teacher's supper.

I  have never  since seen a Mallard duck in a pond that the vision of that teacher's bounty lying limp and still with eyes closed on the  grass beside  the school doesn't come to mind.

Probably because we lived in Canada, we were not shown the workings of the shotgun, although I do remember being allowed to smell the empty shell. 

Black and Red Rubbers

The rubber boots are being brought back into the house after a long winter's absence.
.

The mud  

may   now

                                                                                                             

 S     P     L     A    T    T    E   R       

and the waters dare  

E  

S   

I        

R

I will  now step without care,  

while my feet  remain dry.

Floods hold no fear

As ice flows draw near

As the ducks and the geese

With their webbed toes delight

No more than mere man

Clad in Rubbers  shod tight.

One needs the black and the red

The sure sign of brand chic,
The heels give good grip.
The best are NO LEAK.

High waters may serge bringing  muck on the lane

But black with red Rubbers are what's needed in rain

So bring on the weather, the hail, and the sleet

I will be wearing my rubbers and warming my feet.

Easter Beauty

This is a workplace where any abuse either verbally or physically will not be tolerated.

Anyone engaging in such activity will be asked to leave immediately.

This notice or one quite like it is posted on many places of businesses both in the public and private sectors.

The posting of this little notice is designed to ensure that all who enter will be treated with respect and safety.

 Following a time spent listening to the ranting of a customer in a local Beauty Salon I suggest that these little posters also  should contain a mention about the inappropriateness of the expression of  racism and prejudice statements as well.  

I think that it should be my right to  be able to sit quietly discussing the happenings of the day with other customers in an environment free from racial slurs that are commonly hidden in  what is often considered as the  innocent reporting of gossip.

At my last visit to the beauty salon in a small town  there was a customer commenting for all to hear about a group of people from a visible ethic background who drunkenly knocked on her farmhouse door late at night.  The speaker did not limit her comments to just the description of what happened, but also commented loudly and to whoever was in listening range that she would never open her door again to this particular ethic group, although she would  do so to  Chinese, Filipinos, and Pakistani people. She proclaimed that her doors would always remain locked against the threat  of such intruders ever again.  She commented on the body type of the individuals at her door, their perceived drunkenness, as well as their accent, and suggested that they were 'eyeing' up her vehicle for future theft.

It was a disgusting display of racism and took all my will power not to comment.  It is fortunate that there were not any young impressionable minds in the salon, although the positive comments she received from other customers were very revealing as well as disappointing to hear.

What was even more disturbing was the cheerful  "Happy Easter!" that this woman proclaimed to  the proprietor  and went on about her sanctified business of the day thinking she had every right to assault whoever was in hearing  range about the incident at her house on the weekend and thus, spread her  accompanying hatred for a whole race once again.

The woman has every right to her opinion.  She has every right to tell people about her unexpected company in the middle of the night.  She does not have the right to slander all the people belonging to the ethic background of her late night visitors in a public place and that is why I think public places should have some sort of little sign that reflects that thought.

Prejudice mongering is every bit as detrimental to  our society as is physical and verbal abuse,

and it is time small town culture starts to realize that fact.

Culture Shock

I recently attended a small rural community's Drama Production of Robin Hood.  I have been  a regular attendee of  this community's annual live theatre presentation for about the last five years.


Many of the actors, stage hands, and directors are people I have known all my life.  90% of the audience are people whose families I have had the privilege to know ever  since I can remember.  The venue is a beloved building that holds many, many fond memories of Legion ceremonies, graduations, and weddings. 


It is a place where I had come to again  to feel safe and accepted, surrounded by people I understand and love,  and with whom I share many of the same values and expectations of how life should be lived. 


I believe the truth of the above paragraph is still valid.


However,  I also believe that the people involved in this production of Robin Hood just simply do not know that one does not treat the people in the gay community in the manner in which they were portrayed.  Gay stereotyping just should never ever be done anymore. I am referring to the limp wrists, flamboyant arm waving, hip swaying, and eye rolling flirty gestures  that  imitated a  cat in heat that was done by  the whiny voiced Will Scarlett in this presentation.  Such a portrayal can only be based on outmoded and seriously dangerous beliefs of what is and what is not acceptable in a an informed and educated society. The acceptance of that type of humour   has gone the way  of wife beating jokes, along with  Chinese laundry references, Blacks eating fried chicken and First Nation peoples wearing cheesy head dresses (As a University of Regina sports team has recently found  much to its chagrin.) 


  Could it be possible that  some of the people involved hadn't actually heard about all the hoopla that surrounded  the  Russian Olympics because of the way Gays and Lesbians are treated in that society?


To be fair to the audience in attendance,  the presentation should have been billed for what it was-- adult entertainment containing sexual connotations, homophobic stereotyping, and masturbation simulation.  


Dramatic productions have traditionally been an opportunity to address issues in society either through serious drama or through comedy.  They can be an opportunity to spur reflection in the audience's conscience or expose truths or common beliefs . 


My initial vision in my mind's eye when I think of this production?  I see the Gay Will Scarlet pressing  his hips into the buttocks of one of the  guards of the Sheriff of Nottingham .  Combine  that image with  Friar Tuck stroking his staff  up and down...up and down and one begins to get the idea of the type of activity that was staged under the guise of entertainment.


    The whole remembrance of the production is tainted with the type of  cheap sexual gestures that is usually only associated with  people who have no understanding of the issues our society faces in regards to bullying that is based on sexual orientation.

The most disappointing part of the whole evening was not just the ruination of what basically is thought to be a children's story (and indeed the original script is meant to be just that), but the fact that so many intelligent and creative people involved in the production thought that to present the play in the manner in which it was would be a good example of what this community deems to be clever and socially acceptable. 

Maybe someday when this community knows better it will do better.  The University of Regina women's basketball team had to attend a few sessions of Cultural Sensitivity after their Cowboy and Indian  cheerleader costume fiasco. Perhaps the organizers and participants of this year's Culture Shock presentation should attend something of the same with regards to homosexuality.

A  short course on Copyright Law might also be in order.

 

Elder Abused

While lying in bed the other night it occurred to me that getting older is getting less and less fun and more and more of a chore.


I commented on this to my husband who was  lying next to me quietly reading his latest novel which was neatly propped up on a cushion on his chest...his layered clip on reading glasses sitting on his nose ...his head lying at a 45degree angle to the pillow displaying a profile I have etched in my memory as a result of over 30 years of married life.  This profile serves to convince me that when one is doing something one loves then one becomes at least 75% even more attractive to others.


After hearing my mumbling complaint about age he  absent mindedly asked, "How so? " --eyes never leaving the page.


As I put down my own 800 page novel and removed my Drug Store Reading glasses and rubbed my aching wrist that  had tired from holding such a book, I reminded him that the mere fact that we were both in bed reading at 8:45 in the evening was an example of  the limited fun to be had at our age. 


I continued on by describing  the betrayal I felt by my own body.


I pointed out that  even on a Saturday night I could no longer  half attempt to get even a little buzz on anymore , not because I couldn't afford the booze or hadn't the time, it was merely because I couldn't stay up late enough for the alcohol to kick in. 


I reminded him that even eating had become a challenge as unless I  only eat porridge or dry white bread I am prone to acid reflux and heartburn.  Anything I do eat anymore just seems to turn to fat and even if I just eat veggies and fruits  and do lose weight my face and arms have the look of a deflated balloon.. soft, wrinkly, and Hallowe'enish.


I went on to say that the real kicker is that my shoulders hurt me if I sleep on my side,  my heartburn gets me if I lie on my back, and if I do sleep more than 3 good hours, I wake up having to use the washroom ASAP and my poor knee  then aches all the worse because it has been  lying still for so long. 


I also pointed out  that to add insult to injury, I keep thinking I am 65 instead of 61. What the reason that would be is anyone's guess except the obvious slow progressive onset of a type of dementia.


At the end of this almost weepy tirade, the reader beside me stirred, turned his head a shade in my direction and simply said, "It's not so bad.  You are still doing pretty good."


Mollified only slightly, I turned  over , switched off the bed light , squeeched down under the covers for a bit of a cuddle  and promptly and without warning...









                                                                .....farted.

Dental Distraction

WHAT is with THAT?






Two years ago while visiting my dentist for a cleaning and  check up,  I was almost tearfully  referred to a Periodontic office by the young Dental Hygienist after being warned of the possibility of losing my whole set of  bottom teeth due to gum disease and disrepair.  


Predictably,  I immediately made an appointment with
the recommended professional at their earliest convenience.  After a long trip into the city, searching Google maps, and scoping out the office where I was to attend the day before so I wouldn't be late, I entered the lush, finely and tastefully décorred office. 


 As I sat waiting for my turn to be called into the inner sanctum of  dental mystery, I started to idly calculate the price of the trip to get me to just the waiting room of this  elite professional medical office. 


 As my musings went from one mounting dollar to another, I realized that this visit probably wouldn't be the only and last trip to this office at least for many weeks if not months.   Further to this total, I started to calculate the probability of the amount of money that would be ultimately traded forward for whatever procedure(s) would be deemed necessary to save my dental future and ultimate diet choices.  True, there no doubt would be some input from public and private insurance coverage, but as one not  to read the fine print of such policies, I suspected that there would be a certain amount of monetary loss from my own back pocket already under great pressure due to the lack of large pockets on any pieces of my non stylish wardrobe.


With these thoughts in mind and a twenty minute wait, I finally was ushered into the 'chair of divine dentistry'.  Before the bib and goggles were even  put in place and the chair tipped, I announced to both assistant and  the Doctor of Dentistry that  if whatever was found in my mouth  that needed to be corrected and the cost wasn't covered by my private insurance then they shouldn't consider doing it.


The shocked reply from a  dark voice above and behind me indicated that if that was the case I shouldn't be in the office (meaning the chair) at all. 


Thus ended my short and not so sweet visit to the world of Periodontics.




FAST FORWARD TWO YEARS


 As the time for another dental check up with  the original dentist and hygienist approached,  I emotionally gritted my teeth as  I was loathe  to actually  face the  'MUSAC' as I sat in the hygienist's chair expecting  to be subjected to a certain  amount of  not so veiled professional chagrin and chastisement. 


X rays were taken, scrapings and swishings were done, as well as  suction and biting completed.


  No comments were uttered other than the obligatory  "Open, Bite, Close, Hold, Turn, Sorry."




I waited quietly as X rays and dental file  were taken to the Dentist for perusal.  I sighed in dread guessing how these two Dental Deities would convey that I had been a bad girl and a negligent patient that obviously cared little about her own dental health; considered as someone who would ultimately be soon only consuming pureed pea soup and mashed potatoes for sustenance in her future of dentally deprived existence of sunken cheeks, flapping lips, and gum sucking.


I waited quietly listening to hygienist and dentist murmuring in the next cubicle discussing my 'case'.


They returned together in tandem  and in  strategic strength from behind my chair. 


"Hmmm. How are you doing today, Penny?"  came the  formative voice that I immediately recognized as the same that recommended procedures such as fillings, braces, cleanings, and extractions for myself and family for over 15 years.




"Not too bad," I replied timidly, head down, eyes averted bracing for the 'verdict'.


He sat down on one of those twirling little piano type stools beside my own tipped chair and leaned over and said, " You have  very healthy gums and teeth. No extra work to be done. See you again in a few months."




Can someone tell me just what is with  THAT?




...a Mandible Miracle?
...a mistaken case of  Gravity of Cavity?  
...a example of a Gumfounded catastrophe?
...a  non case of Oral Disorder?
...a Brush a Day keeps the Peridontist at Bay?
...an example of Insurance Assurance gone astray?