Get My Goat!

There is just something about some people (men) that they (men) do not make good caregivers when one is laid up.
Sure they (men) are willing to help..but they (men) just don't understand or have the foresight to anticipate real needs.
They (men) will say they are ready to help.  They (men) ask the right question, "What do you need?". But when one is in pain,  one doesn't really know what one needs.   I did ask for my knee medications and received them.  I did ask for coffee and received some.  I did ask for a tensor bandage and ice, and both were brought in a quick and timely manner.
   I also did not ask for a pillow for my shoulder, neck, and head , and thus, I did not receive one.  Nor do I have a blanket, telephone, or book to read, all apparently because I did not express my need for such.

It is curious to note that I did not ask to be left alone in the house for 2 hours at a time, but I have been.
This puts me in mind of when we (I)  had 5 goats to milk.  I was worried that if I were ill there would be no one to go to the barn who could milk the animals as I was the only one who knew how.   I suggested that there should be at least one other in the family who should learn how to milk.
 

Relief and appreciation flowed as the quick and ready response to my lamentation was , " Don't you worry about milking the goats if you get sick." This  positive feeling  was  just as  quickly squelched with a gentle pat on the shoulder and the following addendum,

"Yep. If you are ever so ill that you can't go to the barn to milk goats, I'll just bring them here to the house."

Smokin'

Although I couldn't describe myself as a 'smoker' until I was at least 19, I can say that I had had some adventures with smoking and cigarettes on a semi  regular occurrence during my preadolescence years.

I am not quite sure when I was first introduced to smoking cigarettes.  I was probably around 4 or 5  I suppose.    It  probably occurred when our family would visit our neighbours across the field.  It was a household of at least 5 bachelors  and their mother.  My sister and I always basked in the attention we received from these wonderful uncles who would carry us around, lift us high into the air, tease us with funny faces...and let us puff on a cigarette whenever they thought mom wasn't watching.  These would be the traditional 'roll your owns"...soggy ends, no filter, and ashes dropping at every turn. 

.  Now, just because a person says they smoked does not necessarily mean they always smoked tobacco,  nor does that suggest that they smoked anything illegal. It simply means they smoked..and in my case during my sixth year at school it meant that I smoked  pencil shavings.  This lesson in "just because something looks like something does not mean that that something tastes or  smells like it looks"  is still burnt into my memory and my throat.

  The actual buying  of cigarettes was a rare occurrence for this rural child who did not receive a regular allowance , so when  the opportunity arose to buy a ready made pack while visiting a town friend  for a sleep over, it  did not go wasted.  After we purchased a pack of MacDonald's  (.42 cents)  from the local gas station, we walked out  to a grove of trees in the middle of a cultivated field  on the edge of town, and proceeded to smoke  all 25  of the perfect filtered tubes in one afternoon.    The delirium and nausea which plagued us during the night caused only minor concern on the part of my friend's mother who thought we had both caught the flu at the same time.

 Besides the act of  'pressure smoking' to avoid the risk of being caught with the contraband in hand, a child who wants to smoke must oft times resort to out and out thievery.  The same child who would never think of taking money from their mother's purse or rifle through their teacher's possessions will, from personal experience, steal a cigarette or two from their mother's cigarette drawer while she is  napping, or even daringly sneak into the teacher's car during noon hour to pick out a few sticks from the pack so invitingly sitting on the driver's seat.

A smoking child does not only have to contend with the moral decay  caused by sly and  devious  thievery as well as the obvious health concerns. This child must also cope with the most basic of all human emotions; which is  the thrill of the  gripping  fear of getting caught.  We , the smokers in the school, would watch carefully as the teacher would go for his recess smoke break in his car.  We would sit still, wondering quietly, eyes locked, breath abated,  if he would "notice". 

 I would lie awake nights listening for mom opening the cupboard door where she kept her carton of cigarettes fully expecting her to realize  that one package of her duMaurier's had simply vanished.  It was  indeed a time of adrenalin and stress that is probably not unlike that  experienced by any thief or embezzler.

The epitome of this stress occurred one  spring evening after a friend had visited for the afternoon. We had taken our stash of cigarettes out to the edge of the road allowance, and after having braved the threat of snakes, thorny rose bushes, and scraped knees we hunkered down beside a stone pile and proceeded to enjoy our ill gotten cigarettes.  

 It was around 8pm later that evening.  Twilight was setting in.  I was upstairs in my room.    I could hear Mom walking around downstairs.  I could hear the voice of our hired man call out.  I heard water being poured into pails. I heard the truck start up.  I looked out the window to see what was up. 

 The stone pile was on FIRE!



Now , I won't say that I was a religious child, rarely having been taken to Sunday School, but I can say that it was pretty much then and there that I decided to 'go clean and straight' that very moment.  I don't believe I smoked another cigarette until I was 19. I can  also assure you that I bought almost every cigarette I smoked from my own money until I quit the habit 10 years ago.

I can only imagine the rigour of the religious experience that must have occurred in the hearts of the youngsters mentioned in the  attached link.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2113802/Kosice-Slovakia-Children-burn-14th-century-castle-cigarette.html

Player's, Black Cat, Alpine, Macdonald's, Sweet Caproal, Peter Jackson's,
                        Alpine, duMaurier, Macdonald's Menthol 


If you can think of other brands, please list them in the comments.

Games

I recently learned how to play an interactive two person  virtual game of Scrabble online*.  

It was actually a lot of fun.  We chatted on the side bar about the game, our families, and the weather.  It was almost as good as being there. 
One of the best parts of the whole experience, besides not having to travel icy roads, was that the computer monitored the game  by allowing or disallowing words,  and also kept the score.  The dictionary was only a click away and, as we didn't finish our second game, it was safely stored for our next visit.  

 Of course,  being from the generation I am, I marvelled about  how inventive mankind has become to be able to accomplish such a feat of being able to use the instantaneous technology of turning bits of light on and off in order to enter the realm of competition however trivial or serious. I also   was surprised at the fact that I was able to use this part of virtual reality without listening to a 'menu' or have the screen mysteriously turn black (while not often anyways).

Playing games from a distance, however, is not a new idea.  People used to, and probably still do, play chess via the  regular postal service. 

What I do find interesting is that the premise of many of these online games is  exactly the same as those that have been played for decades if not centuries.  These games have been played by real people, using the same rules, in a social setting to pass time and chat with little variation except that nowadays one can play against the computer itself without having to actually connect with another human being.

Now this was where  I was going to write about the earliest games I ever played  such as Snakes and Ladders and Checkers, along with card games such as  Fish, Rummy and Durok.  I was going to mention playing Floor Curling in  the country school using red pencil marks and checker pieces (that also doubled as Crokinol shooters) to make 'houses and rocks' to the extent that we actually had 'bonspiels' at noon with draw times and prizes.  I  was thinking that using white sugar cubes  with pencil marks for dice while playing Monopoly in this same school might be an interesting comment.  The time I made my own Rumoloi Game out of a piece of bristol board and an old deck of cards was also going to be listed.

But instead , I think I will mention  how my husband in his bachelor days , living alone, two kilometers at the end of a road only accessible by snowmobile in the winter, without  a telephone, was never at a loss for entertainment or for a game playing partner.   In fact, I don't think I have to actually mention this as I will let some pictures 'do the talking' .

Othello

              Note: the change in player piece colours, beer label, sitting position.

 * When does the use of  interactive, virtual, and online become redundant?

The Right Channel.

I have just suspended our Satellite Television Service beginning March 31, 2012.
 
I did this  because as the days grow longer we plan on doing more things outside in the evenings..

I wonder how this will  truly change our lives...for change it it will.  Perhaps we will eat at the kitchen table once more.  Perhaps we will take more walks. Perhaps we will have fire in the fire pit on the deck more often. Maybe we will play the CD player again while delving into  Gin Rummy or  Chess on our treasured Wedding Gift to Each Other Chessboard.

Reading and Embroidery will be done.   

There will be  a certain type of quiet in the house. 

Our home will not be bombarded with unexpected and unwanted advertisements encouraging us to buy something that up until that moment we didn't know existed let alone knew we  needed. ( I still rue my Slap Chop envy).

 A friend of mine who taught school in Resolute Bay, in the then North West Territories 40 years ago told me that the residents there had great difficulty understanding that what was seen on television was not reality.  I am not sure of the reason for this. Perhaps they didn't understand the concept of drama or acting. Perhaps it was the not having any other contact with  southern culture, that  these people actually believed that what was shown on the box  was how people lived in the other parts of the world.

I wonder if we as a society haven't fallen into that same trap as those people in Resolute Bay.  I wonder, has the repeated exposure to violence, both emotional and physical, sexual freedom, pain free marriages and divorces; along with  problems being  solved within a 30-60 minute time frame,  made it so that we, also,  are not too  sure what is and what is not reality?  Have we, over the years, been so tied into 'what's on' that we don't know 'what's happening' in real life  anymore than our northern friends?

I think I am just realizing how much power I have given to all those directors, producers, and marketing agencies in my life.  I have allowed those people to dictate to me through cleverly written, and carefully selected scripts  just what is and what is not acceptable in terms of some of life's most important issues. 

 The only thing  more bizarre than the loud and  fast paced  commercials filled with unproveable short quips are laugh tracks.  I wonder how much the use of  laugh tracks has actually effected what people think is laugh worthy. I suspect that whoever invented laugh tracks had a firm understanding of Pavlov and his dog experiments.

Yes, the next 5 months will be quieter and with the quietness will come more freedom.  I won't be 'tied' to when Big Bang is on.  I will probably sit in other parts of the house more often.  For sure I will sit on other sofas and chairs  in the living room not having to be within "television view.  

AND...after 5 months of not having Satellite Television I will be $250 richer, which is sort of laughable... with or without a laugh track.
 
                                                                   

My first clue that we were watching too much television was when one Sunday in church my 3 year old ...wanting to sing along...handed me the hymnal and asked me to 'put it on the right channel'. 

LOOK AT ME!

I can NOT tolerate people who do not have eye contact with me during a conversation.

It must trigger some primal response , but whenever I encounter someone who determinedly looks away, either at the floor, ceiling, or to the side, I am almost instantly angered.

 Knowing that anger is a combination of fear, hurt, and frustration I have tried to pinpoint the exact nature of the emotion that this 'eye' issue arouses.

After some research I have discovered  writings that state that the lack of eye contact can  indicate a  low self esteem on the part of the person averting their eyes.  That may be true when one is dealing with a child who is dealing with an adult or one who has been found guilty of some misdeed.

 However, this theory of lack of self esteem in an adult doesn't ring true to me because I do not feel angry with others if I sense their self-confidence is lacking. In fact, I like to think of myself as being, moderately at least, accepting and encouraging to anyone in troubled times.

 Its my theory that eye aversion is perhaps an  action of self-protection because if one doesn't look the other in the eye then  whatever one says might not be considered correct or taken seriously by the recipient, and therefore the speaker may not be considered to be wrong or foolish.  Eye aversion acts as a shield in this case...'if I lower my eyes I am saying I might be wrong , and then if I am not saying I am right then I can't be caught being wrong...and then you can't do anything bad to me."

  I do consider eye aversion coupled with speaking in a slow low tone to be overtly manipulative.  Not only does the listener have to filter the meaning of the words and subconsciously analyze the credibility of the speaker as a consequence of  there being  no eye contact, but this same listener also has to strain to even hear the words spoken.

 This effort on behalf of the listener immediately places the power of the interaction squarely in the hands of the speaker.  The sway and natural give and take of the communication is interfered with as the focus has been turned to  understanding the non verbal parts of the conversation.  The listener is at a disadvantage because besides having to try to process the verbal communication through filtering sentence structure, syntax, and emphasis which are all part of normal listening; the listener also has to analyze the lack of eye contact as well as cope with the physical part of just  hearing the words.   At this point the effort to concentrate on the speaker becomes, to me, annoying.

  This  annoyance brings me back to the anger issue triggered by eye aversion.  Lack of eye contact, to me, may be triggering my own insecurities with regard to self-worth, respect, and being valued.

In spite of, or perhaps as a consequence of my own inner messages , I believe that  anyone who does not look me in the eye according to cultural norms is as creepy as people who do not know personal space boundaries.

I  avidly avoid both types  and hope that I am never confronted with someone with both issues.  Now that would be CREEPY indeed.

                                              

   

Shamrocks and Potatoes

St. Patrick's Day is one of my favourite special days.  It's a day more for fun than anything else.

Parades, jokes, laughing,  and gatherings with Irish foods and drink.  Anyone can participate to the degree to which they are comfortable and, at the same time,  one can bow out  and devoid themselves of any celebration without any religious, sexual, or political ramifications..well at least where I live.(see note).

One only has to don an article of green clothing/ jewellery, or  hair adornment , including green balloons, even if it's by mere happenstance;  and one will be greeted by all as a co-celebrant in this primarily celebration of the Northern Hemisphere.

Songs are sung of the Emerald Isle, and jokes are made in good natured  banter.  Dancing is almost a requirement.  The music made by fiddles, drums, and accordions abound. 

Food is simple fare.  Stew and potatoes. No special baking, no barred food items due to religion or history, and the best advantage for some...no fruit cake.

It truly is a day of simple Joie de Vive.  


http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=fvwp&NR=1&v=lHwg5KdAflg



note:  Where I live St. Patrick's Day is the  excuse used  to serve Green Beer at the rink. No one cares what gender a leprechaun is and an Orange Man is just another name for the guy that drives the fruit truck from B.C. 

60 years

It took me 60 years to learn that:

1.  Just because you think something is the truth, someone else will think it is a lie.

2.  Saying things louder does not make your side of the argument more plausible.

3. If enough people are involved in the decsion making process, the right decision will be reached.

4. Sometimes the people you dislike  like you...a lot!

5. The chances that you outlive your pet are very slim.

6. There are many people to love, but very few to be in love with.

7. When you ask something from someone, be prepared to have them ask you for something.

8. Always have a Plan B.

9. Always have a Plan C.

10.  Keep  the interior of your car as clean as you would want it if your Boss was going to ride in it.

11.  Its okay to have fish sticks and KD for supper.

12. Always work as if the video camera is turned ON.

13.  You don't always have to tell people you are right.

14. You don't alwlays have to tell people they are wrong.

15.  A compliment is only a compliment if it is sincere.

16.  A sincere compliment is like a sparkle to the soul.

17.  A sincere compliment given is a reflection of both the giver and the receiver.

18. Learn to play a musical instrument..even if it just a comb and tissue paper.

19.  Read for half and hour everyday.

20. Do not listen to the news everyday.

21. Make it a point to eat with another person at least one meal a day.

22.  Following a cat for the day can be an interesting pastime.

23.  Visit  with an old person once a month.

24.  Make it a point to say , "How Interesting! Tell Me More." when encountering new experiences.

25.  Do not text and drive. 

Bun Ratty Castle

The batter, having being bungled in the bowl, made these home baked 

bronzed brown buns  better bird  bait,  albeit  less the bacon bits and bone

meal, than any basic white flour breakfast biscuit brought home from a

bakery bargain bin.

More Coffee Anyone?

Gratitude must be greater whenever a gift is not only freely given  but also given when it is needed--p.hoffman         


  Most of the snow has melted and that which hasn't has a nice crust on it so if a wind comes up there won't be any drifting.  The frost is still in the road bed so country grids are still  firm and pretty much rut free.

This would have been the type of evening my mother would announce after the supper dishes were done and the floor swept, "I am going to Sophie's for coffee. Do not phone me unless someone breaks their leg or the house is on fire." That would be the last we  four children would see of her until the next morning a breakfast.

When I was a single woman living alone in the town where I taught school ,  4 or 5 mothers from the community would periodically show up on my doorstep for coffee.  They would arrive  around 7:00 pm and often not go home until after ll:00 pm...laughing as they left that it was I that would have to see their children at school the next day.

I was of course flattered that these ladies had chosen my humble abode to spend their time .  

I should  have caught on when one  of these visitors would invariably  comment, "Oh it's so quiet here." which would be followed by a  knowing  laughter from the other 4  women in attendance.

 Another clue should have been  by the hush that fell upon the group like a grey and dusty army blanket when the phone rang. The  conversation would only resume until after it was determined that the caller  was not any of my visitor's family members.

   Of course, now after having given birth to 4 children , it has  become clear to me what these mothers' motives for visiting were. Where else in town would these women be safe from telephone calls and child interruptions? What child was actually going to phone the teacher's number to ask to speak to their mother because of some minor mishap?

  My house was the most child proof structure without a legal age restriction in the whole town.  I was, in fact, these women's needed Coffee Out Friend.

 I was fortunate to find my own Coffee Out  Friend quite early on in my child rearing years. Those evenings when I got into the  car, alone, and drove those  five relatively quiet miles on gravel roads to her farmhouse are vivid and treasured.

 The  talk about recipes, gardens , and grocery sales while drinking coffee and eating pieces of cake that I hadn't made myself, are as an integral part of my memories of raising a family as are Christmas Concerts, Band Recitals, Science Fairs, and  Skating Lessons.  My Coffee Out Friend's hospitality and the periodic sanctuary of her house were every bit as important to the raising of my family as were my childrens' teachers, coaches, and  doctors.

 My  Coffee Out Friend  has long since  moved to the city.  I would have loved to have gone to see her at her farmhouse this evening .   I don't  need her the same way  anymore..... but I miss her.  I suppose I miss her just like I miss the reasons why I had needed her  in the first place.

The important thing is that when I needed her I had her.

                                                                          
                                                                      

Licorice Baby

Until just quite recently I have always hated licorice.  I am not a fussy eater (a self evident statement) but licorice was the only food in the North American diet that I abhorred. Absolutely could not stand it.  My motto all my adult life has been, " I would be a skinny person if the world was made of licorice."  I could not even swallow the most minute bit of Tiger Tiger ice cream.  I had some on my tongue once and had to run and rinse out my mouth the taste was that  'distasteful'.

I say it has been only until recently that I have  hated licorice because in the last year or so I discovered that I actually like it .   It took the discovery of chocolate covered licorice bits to even tempt me to put licorice in my mouth .  I figured in  all my prairie  classiness that  I could suck off the chocolate and spit out the licorice, but I found instead that I quite  liked the taste combination and decided to widen my licorice  taste experience.  I  can now truly say that licorice is  part of my dietary source of something unpronounceable and unspellable.

Thinking about this flip flop of dietary preference I started wondering about  why I had hated licorice so much.  Had my body metabolism changed over the course of 50 plus years? Had I not been allergic to licorice as I had always thought?

Then I remembered....

I was about 3 at the time. It was a warm summer's day. My dad had driven into the yard from town.  I went to greet him and he said, "Come here, I have something for you."  I went running towards him in eager anticipation thinking 'Daddy brought something for ME!'  He leaned into the cab of the truck and brought out a bag of candies and said , "Here you go!"  I was totally thrilled and I followed him into the house with candy bag in hand busily  opening the crinkly and colourful treasure. I walked into the farm kitchen carrying my gift.  I saw  my Dad , my Mom,  and a neighbor sitting at the table as well as  my 9 year old sister, Linda.

 That is when these words struck my ears, "You have to give Linda some of those candies."

I can still  hear the sound of   candies hitting the floor, the cupboards, the ceiling, and  the table as they landed. I can see the look of shock and embarrassment on my mother's face as her three year old struck up a tantrum of  greedy indignation .  I can hear my father and neighbour's laughter.    I know there was this loud siren sound coming from what I realize now was  my voice box as I was suddenly lifted and  taken down the hall . Then after being bare bottom spanked and sent upstairs to bed , I  found myself to be , of course, candiless.

The whole incident from the time Dad drove into the yard and me being in my bed  took probably less than four minutes..but it has remained in family memory for well over 50 years.

My Dad in particular liked to recall that little story ..throw it in my face if you will.  If I ever got upset over something he would comment, "It's just like the time you threw the candies." Then he'd laugh.

Yes I remember that bag of candies very well...and I also  remember  that it was a bag of  Licorice Candy All Sorts.


Two more points I think should be mentioned:

 a.. Who in their right mind would buy one bag of candy for two children?

 and

  b.  Linda snuck  some candies upstairs for me... I don't remember eating     them but I do remember her bringing them.

                                                       

Willie

 It is 3 am. The wind is blowing and blowing.  Our road will no doubt be blocked by the freshly fallen snow by morning.  The snowblower has a flat tire, my husband will probably miss work, and our aged blind/deaf dog is somewhere 'out there' overnight.

Willie was whining and whining to go out around 4 in the afternoon so we let him outside. As it was a nice calm sunny afternoon  instead of watching where he went, we just let him stay out until dusk.  When we went out looking for him there was no sign.  Perhaps he is safe.  Perhaps he found a little spot to curl up in and sleep.  The weather is quite mild inspite of it being windy and he might be okay if he just curled up and went to sleep until daylight and sunshine warms the air again.

He has been a good friend to our family for fourteen years.  Never a snappy moment, except when the big dog got after him and roughed him up and hurt his ribs.  A great ball of white fur that jiggles and dances as he walks.

Willie's bark is (I will use is until I know otherwise) not a real bark. The sound he makes is a cross between a howl and a call almost like a yodel.
Whenever we go for walks down the road , he  proudly struts on ahead of us.  Apparantly one day he even managed to jump onto the school bus while  the kids were getting on.  The bus passengers always looked for the little white dog at Hoffman's every morning.

He is a pretty dog when he gets cleaned up.   It is often quite an ordeal to get him shaved and washed.  Tonight his fur is long which might well be a blessing for him wherever he is.

 I hope he is sleeping somewhere warm and safe from harm of any kind.

His life has truly been a gift to us and no matter where he is tonight part of him  will always be in my heart. 

                                                    

KONY 2012

http://vimeo.com/37119711



Please watch this video link.

Bunnies and Hindsight

.
Hindsight provides new eyes.

---WAYNE W. DYER, You'll See It When You Believe It


My dad was a hard working mixed farmer who also spent long hours working in road construction and land clearing.  He was rarely home for supper and often wouldn't get home from a long day at work until  after we children had gone to bed.  The barking of the dog and the lights of the truck shining on the bedroom ceiling as Dad pulled into the yard after a long day either on the field or at the road construciton site are vivid  childhood memories.  Because of Dad's busy work life, there were many birthday parties, trips to the lake, and sports events where his absence was the norm.

  If Dad managed to get home before our bedtime one of my favourite jobs was to  untie the laces of his boots and help pull  off both boots and the underlying long grey red trimmed work socks.
 They say that the olfactory senses are capable of triggering the  memory portion of the brain. However, in this instance, I think it is just as well that  the memory portion of the brain can  also shut down the olfactory memory of feet being released from 18 hours of active confinement. It is, therefore, a memory not unduly dwelt upon.

In light of this information regarding my Dad (his habit of hard work, not the smell of his feet) it is somewhat surprising that he took any interest in our family having rabbits for pets.  Owning these  rabbits were in contrast to the occasional Jack Rabbit that Dad would bring home  from the field.  He'd walk in with his tool box under his arm and say, "Call the kids.".  When we were all standing  around, he'd  carefully open the lid and there would be a cringing terror stricken rabbit ( or in Watership Down terms,' a rabbit in a deathly State of Tharn').  These bunnies were rarely kept longer than overnight because, as experience proved, they never survived long in captivity.

I do not now where the rabbits came from or even remember their arrival. I do know that the housing of these rabbits in 'freedom giving' cardboard boxes resulted in some  panicky late night  measuring, sawing, and hammering in the basement until there was a chicken wire rabbit cage with privacy hatch ready for "Blacky' , 'Hoppy' and 'Spotty".  I vividly remember this cage being manufactured as I was the proud pencil holder, square stabilizer, and ' nail hander' during the building process.

 
Yes, Mr. Dwyer, hindsight has given me new eyes.  Just writing this has given me a renewed insight into  the type of father my Dad actually was.  He could be described  by some as a work alcoholic, absentee father, but part of him obviously wanted to be part of our lives as much as we wanted him to be.

  Even if the words were never expressed, this taking the time from his life of overwork and money worries to build a  rabbit cage  so his children could enjoy some house pets exemplifies the action of the verb called love.

                                                            

Spring Sounds

 "Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush."
- Doug Larson


When I read the above quotation I immediately thought of my friend J. who had come over with  her parents to visit one lazy Sunday afternoon in March.  It was  an early spring.  The fields were too wet to work  and puddles of water mixed with ice and snow dotted the farm yard.

We were about 9 or 10 and we decided to go outside for a walk  and leave the adults and other siblings in the house.  Armed with rubber boots and lots of warnings from our parents (that would be our mothers only)  about falling in the water and getting our feet wet we finally left the house to explore.

We spent the first while outside dutifully walking around the brownish murky barnyard puddles.  We played a bit putting sticks in the water going through one side of the culvert and running across the gravel road to wait for the sticks to come through on the other side.

And then we decided to walk out into the field.

Who would have ever thought that a stubble field of #2 Black soil covered in barley straw could harbour such a boot sucking knee deep splotch of mud?  I had only taken one step and I knew I was in trouble . I immediately pulled my foot back and successfully extracted myself and the boot from the mud hole of doom.

  Unfortunately my friend J had been walking beside me with a great deal more zeal.  As I looked over I could see her white socked covered foot being pulled out of her boot  which was by now sunk up to about a half inch from the top and then seeing the  same white socked foot not so gently falling back into the mud just next to the boot and disappearing until only the ankle was showing with the edge of the pant leg just as quickly sinking, sinking, sinking.

  That's when I heard the call.  That sorrowful spine chilling call of desperation and panic resounds in my head every spring whenever I spy the wet syrupy mud on a field newly blackened by the flush of spring water.   These are the words that taught me what adrenalin was; these are the words that triggered the inner voice to say "Run Penny, Run!". These are the words that I think of anytime in the spring when  my husband pulls out the rubber boots and announces he's going for a walk to check the water.  It is because of these words of 50 years ago ringing in my ears   that I worry and wait until I hear the door opening marking his return.

Call Mother! Call Father!

Call Anybody!



Sadie Hawkins' Day

Sadie Hawkins day has never been a very successful day for me..nope..not ever.  In fact any day where I was put in a situation where  flirting, charming, and sashaying were expected, I was a dismal failure.  Before you ask yourself the inevitable question of "Why am I not surprised?" let me describe a few instances of my failure as a  Junior/Senior High vamp and/or love goddess of the Prairies.


Some girls could  just BE and boys would glom on to them like bark on a tree.  All these 'girls', I  privately referred to them as chickypoos, had to do was ARRIVE  in the dance hall  with their  cashmere sweaters, flipped hair, flawless skin, and snazzy pale pink lipstick, and  there would be sort of little moan from the stag line .  You  would see  little black combs being pulled out and ties being straightened;  all the while  the smell of breath mints would gradually waft over the dance floor.

What did these girls have that I didn't? I would wash and curl my hair , brush my teeth , shave my legs,  and tweeze my eyebrows (mostly all before I actually got to the dance) and STAND around. 

You've heard of wall flowers...while I was more like a wall dandelion.  .I can only think of ONE time at a school dance that I actually got asked to dance. All I can really remember about the 'incident' was that I was taller than the fellow .  I was eye level with  his brushcut hair standing on end and the  smell of  hair gel lofted into my nostrils leaving a permanent memory  so that whenever I see hair cream on  grocery shelves  the song "Its My Party"  runs through my mind for the rest of the day.

If  I   ever tried to actually flirt with someone it would fall flat..flatter than  my ...ummmm ...I shall say hair sprayed kiss curls. 

For example :
Me (to nice looking boy)--You got your hair cut.

Boy:  Yeah

Other girl:  You got your hair cut.

Boy: Yeah. Wanna dance?

or

Me: (то football hero) Gee you played football really well today.

 FB Hero: Yeah. 

Other girl:  You played a good game today.

FB Hero: Wanna dance?

I would in desparation 'sashay' over to the stag line and say : "Hi fellows."

 I'd get some comment like , "What are you doing here?" or "Well..if it isn't one of the Dixon brothers!" or "Can we borrow your truck?"

Yep, some girls had  ''IT" and I most definitely did not.

 Did it matter then?  Yep, most definitely. 

Does it matter now?   Моst definitely maybe not.
                                    

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XsYJyVEUaC4

Step Four

Step Four
Made a Searching and Fearless  Moral Inventory of Ourselves


This one will probably make you cry hot angry self-righteous tears of regret and embarrassment. 

This step doesn't allow us to focus on anyone else but ourselves.  We do not think about who did or said  what horrible thing to us .  This is totally our journey and no one else's.  Its success and /or failure is due to our  choices and is not incumbent on anyone else's opinion or attitude.


  We have to look at every motive, character flaw and attribute.  Like good owners  of a hardware store we are going to examine every part of ourselves ...the good and the bad.

We can start by revisiting  some instances where there has been strife or conflict and examine our part of the problem.  We have to ask ourselves what part did we play in the situation that made it worse? What boundaries did WE break when we yelled, criticized, threatened, manipulated, or tried to control with our anger?

This step requires that  you take a piece of paper and faithfully write down any character traits that you can identify as being part of your own personality, both the good and the bad.  There should be quite a few ..more than ten for each I suspect for a good honest start.

The following are some character words that you might draw upon in making up your list.

critical, impatient, controlling, judgemental, superior, prideful, fearful, irresponsible, dishonest, manipulative, dramatic, sarcastic, unkind, thoughtless, rude, presumptuous, arrogant, pompous, ignorant, stubborn, procrastinate. daydream, brag, belittle, obsess, blame, aggressive, lie, unforgiving, etc.

And the more positive...

kind, loving, generous, thoughtful, pleasant, even tempered, responsible, faithful, accepting, tolerant, humble, honest, calm, easy going, prompt, practical, conscientious, polite, forgiving,  etc.

Don't be surprised that if  when you are doing the inventory  you find yourself listing mostly  the negative characteristics..   I think the fact that we can more readily list negative characteristics  is part and parcel of why we allow ourselves to get in the situation we are in in the first place.  Living in dysfunction requires low self- esteem.

 People who like themselves and know their worth seldom let their lives become so unmanageable because they can more easily identify when something is wrong and are  more sure of the need to correct it.  That is also why I bet many of us felt  embarrassed  when we had to list some positive traits because inside we don't believe we are good enough.

Here's a little test for yourself:

 Go to the mirror and say to yourself out loud.."I am Wonderful".

 Then go to your friend, child, or spouse and say it to them and have them say it  back to you.  I suspect that the younger the person the faster and the more genuine will be the "I Am Wonderful".    Young people haven't been carrying around as much negative self talk for as long a time as we adults have.

It might not be a bad idea to write down that little negative phrase that  runs through your head  (I know you have one because we all do), and have it ready for the next step along with your list of character traits ...the good and the bad. 

Step Three

Step Three :

 Made a Decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of  God as we understood him.

In the first step we acknowledge that we are living a crazy life.  Crazy because we try to control, for example, another person's crazy lifestyle, our own, or a complete stranger's, our children's, other people's children, the dog down the street, and possibly even  the next door teenager's hairstyle.   

In the second step we come to a conclusion that there must be Someone who can help us as we can not find our way out of our crazy life by ourselves. 

When you take the  third step you may think you  are giving up a lot. You  may think you are giving up control over other people, your addictions, your friends, your family and your co-workers.  If you think that , then you are wrong because in fact you never had control over any of those things in the first place.

  I want you to imagine what you would look like if I told you to go try to control the wind.  You would say that I am the crazy  one for asking you to do that.  If  you did go out and try to run a round blocking the wind ,trying to catch it, to slow it down or speed it up ,you would soon realize that that is impossible.  You would invariably look like a fool trying to do it.

That is exactly what most of us have done when dealing with  the unhealthy crazy situations in our lives..we have been as effective and  as crazy looking  as  someone chasing  the wind.

 This Step says that we  now know that we have to let Someone Else do their job.

 Its Time.

Step Two

Came to Believe That a Power Greater Than Ourselves Could Restore Us to Sanity.

The first three words of the second step 'came to believe' means there has been a CHANGE in the participant and not in anyone or anything else in the participant's life.

It does not require you to become an evangelical bible quoting convert full of humble forgiveness and love for all mankind...although that would work too if you have a bent towards that lifestyle

So what does this business of believing in a Power Greater Than Ourselves involve?
   It is like you have turned a key to  a door to  a part of yourself that you have kept shut for too long . It may be a room in your heart that you have forgotten about, or had thought you lost while trying to exhaustion to make changes in the crazy world around you.  Believing is like taking that key and putting it into the door and turning because you are allowing yourself to hope there is something better behind that door...finally.   

What was that reference to restoring us to Sanity? Sanity implies healthy living as a result of good choices both emotionally , financially and spiritually.
 Where is the sanity when you are-- waiting up in the middle of the night waiting for your drunk/drug addict/ meth user/ filanderer to come home?--run out to the garage looking for used cigarette butts to smoke?--lending money you can't afford to lend ?--you think you have the right to make comments about the name someone has chosen for their newborn, or the dress someone is wearing, or comment to a stranger as to what they have in their grocery cart?

This believing that we will become sane again helps us look to the future with optimism and hope that sunshine will return to our world.

                                                       

Step One

1. We admitted that we were powerless over  alcohol .... and that our lives had become unmanageable.


The above statement is Step One of any  Twelve Step program. The word alcohol can be substituted by anything that a person may try to have control over.  

By the term 'anything' that means just that ..anything.  Anything can be your mother, your father, your friend, your in laws,  your professor, your boss, your co worker, your customer,  your drinking, your gambling, your smoking, your eating. the guy driving in front, behind, or beside you, your dog, your cat, your children, or your disease. 

 I believe some indicators  that your life is unmanageable  are if you  lie   awake  at night  reliving all the slights and wrongs done to you during the day,  eat or hide  things in the  basement , car, garage, attic, or crawl space , and have at least once in the past week  yelled at a store clerk, teacher,  government worker, or pedistrian on the street.

If you have the telephone numbers of the police, social worker, mental health councilor, credit card issuer, as well as the Liquor Delivery Taxi memorized to the tune of God Save the Queen you have  issues that need to be addressed.

Another clue to unmanageability might  be indicated when  your  friends find excuses to change the subject, hang up, or walk away whenever your ' issue ' comes up in the conversation. If you are on anti depressants, mood stabilizers and sleeping pills all at the same time and you still find life to be 'high paced" Step One might be just what you need. 


An that's Step One in a nutshell.

FYI..that would be a non addictive, fully paid for, and totally legal nutshell.

    

Did You Get Any Change? revised

God Grant Me the Serenity to Accept the Things I Cannot Change

The Courage to Change the Things I Can

And the Wisdom to Know the Difference

This little prayer is a part of the opening of the myriad of Twelve Step Meetings around the world.

Change is   used twice in this prayer. Once it is described as something that can be controlled and once it is described as something that cannot be controlled.  So  what is with that?  What kind of concept is it that   it is both controllable
and uncontrollable ?  
We worry about things that might change.  We worry about things that have not  changed.  We lament and yearn for the things that do change. 

What really never changes is that we worry that nothing will change.   In effect, we worry that the most  absolute certainty that exists wouldn't happen.

We sometimes don't want things to ever change..and as surely as we change our socks (hopefully and in a timely matter) things  will change. We lose sleep, money, our health, and general well being because of change or the lack thereof. 

 Friendships, business partnerships, and relationships are all developed with some sort of preconceived notion by all involved that something will change...or, conversely, something will never change. It is when that unmentioned expectation is not met that people  start to worry and wring their hands .  It is when this 'change of contract' occurs, people  begin trying to control and manipulate change in their friends, families, and place of employment causing consternation, hurt feelings, and all around chaos.

Change cannot be pushed,  pulled, pressured or pleaded with. It comes on its own timetable, with its own agenda, with its own life lesson purpose , and is as natural and as necessary  to the well being of the world as the air we breathe. 


No wonder we who fret, pace,  and  wail at circumstance 'beyond our control' often look haggard and weary compared to those  who take things as they come,  who are accepting of others, and look forward to  seeing what the next day will bring.


Because  one   thing that we can change is ourselves,  I think it is time I change  into someone that will make everyone more comfortable.

 

B-r-e-a-t-h-i-n-g

http://theofleury14.com/2012/02/22/victim-impact-statement/




Thirteen.
   Alone.
       Home. 
          After School.
                Boots Hidden.
                    Dog Barking.
                        Closet.
                            Knocking.
                                Door Opening.
                                    Calling.
                                        Quiet,
                                            Quiet,
                                                Quiet .
                                                   Door Closing.
                           
                          B-r-e-a-t-h-i-n-g

                                                        Until Tomorrow. 

Oven Sweet Oven

My oven is very , very, very old...like 30 + years old.  It is part of the stove and fridge combo that 'the bride never chose'.

 Nope, I did not get to choose what turned out to be my 'lifelong stove'  because my 'lifelong husband' and his father took the initiative, and  the wedding money , and the truck, and went to Yorkton , and  bought the stove,  and installed it , all by the time I (aka the bride) came back from a day of work.

 If that was a run on sentence it is nothing compared to the sentences that have run on and on and on whenever the stove/bride subject comes up in conversation.

The worse thing about this stove is that it has one of those black  all glass oven doors that magnifies every spot of dirt by about 100x..

  The best thing (I thought) about this stove is that it has a 'self cleaning' oven...only trouble is it really isn't.   I am always a bit hesitant of actually using it  because anything that one has to 'lock down' and have heat up to 500 degrees Celcius is just too much like the recipe for a fire  for my liking.  As a consequence of this hesitancy, my oven cleaning sessions have gotten farther and farther apart until  it has been at least 5 years since I actually used the self cleaning feature.   That statement  should conjure up some  sort of vivid imaginings of the condition and colour of  the inside of the oven, even by die hard non baking  people with or without the oven light working (which it doesn't). 

In short..and even in long..my oven is a mess.  This messiness is matched only by the top of the stove.  The shiny paper that once covered the 'faux' silver knobs  has peeled off  only to show the dull gray plastic underneath.  Of course, the non digital clock has long ago ceased to give the correct time and therefore, any oven timer feature has long been a thing of the past.  The burners have all been replaced numerous times along with the rings that surround them. 

I think the most age telling of the whole stove is the fact that the metal part underneath the big burner has completely rusted away.   This is  from  countless containers of   boiling water  overflowing from coffee making, potato boiling, palt making (see note), and pasta preparation . 

 There is now only the soft itchy insulation beneath the  big burner where once there was a metal panel to separate the oven from the stove. Thus  another reason not to start  up the fire bomb of cleanliness.

Yes, most people would replace this 'lifelong' stove  with one that has stainless steel outside,  ceramic burners, convection capability , and an above stove fan. The replacement perhaps would include, dream of dreams, an oven that is placed in the wall permitting eye ball level checking of contents and doneness. 

I really don't know why I just don't take the initiative, and my money, and  the  truck,  and drive to Yorkton,  and buy a  stove, and get someone to install it, all before my husband gets home from work.  It might be because I know it so well.  I know just where to turn the knob so the potatoes won't boil over, I know how long it will take for a batch of bread to bake, and I know which burner to use when boiling syrup for puffed wheat cake.

Actually my 'lifelong' husband is not unlike my 'lifelong ' stove because even with all his faults I know just when to cool  him  down and at the same time  to get him in hot water. 

That old stove is not unlike our  30 year marriage itself..a bit marked up  and scorched ,  time has no meaning, and even if the  light in the oven doesn't  get turned on as often as it used to (wink), things can still heat up pretty quickly creating  a warmth that only those who love the sweet  and savoury can appreciate.

Sometimes I have no shame...no shame at all.  

.note. Palt is a Swedish  dish made of flour and ground potatos boiled for 45 minutes in a roaster on top of the stove.

Space Cats

I just read in the news that John Glenn orbited the earth three times 50 years ago today on February 20, 1962.

I can remember feeling really scared or perhaps the correct word is terrified for Mr. Glenn as I listened to the live broadcast, especially during the time when he went through the atmosphere and there was a silence while the world waited to hear his voice. I am also under the impression that ground control also lost contact with the astronaut when he  orbited to the other side of the world. No one actually KNEW for certain that the missile or the astronaut would survive the flight, the re-entry, or the ocean landing. Exciting times for sure.

I was nine years old then.    It was good fortune for the 15 pupils in my little prairie school to have a teacher who recognized the significance of  the event and therefore allowed and encouraged us to listen to this North American First on the very modern and newly purchased  red  electric radio.  It had only been within the last four years that the school had even gotten electricity.  I distinctly remember the clay piles that surrounded the new power poles with the guide wires that we used as part of our playground equipment..sort of a 'sliding' skin the cat game (see note).

But getting back to the topic of 50 years of space travel, it is hard to overestimate the significance of that day for the future of the world.  Scientific discoveries in all of the earth sciences virtually , a word (I dare to suggest) whose meaning and  common usage  has even changed  , exploded  due to  this   unprecedented interest by not only  by world  governments but also the world's education system.  No country wished to be left behind. It was the time when suddenly it was feasible for people to actually become space travellers, something only before relegated to the Superman Space  Comics.

I personally followed the space program faithfully primarily through reading the daily paper at school. My Dad had it delivered to the school at noon and I would get to read it 'hot off the press' before he even saw it at the farm supper table.   That newspaper was never quite folded  'right' by that time as everyone in class would have had their own look at the latest news.   I could have told you during any Algebra or Gym class in my senior high school years,  when an Apollo space ship was to fire a retro rocket and when and where splash down was to happen.

The Space Program was very controversial even in Canada. Our Department of Education  Grade 12 English Examination included the following essay :  Discuss the pros and cons of space travel in our society.  Give examples of both points of view and using those points  develop a reasonably logical conclusion.   Humph..a lot  to ask from a 17 year old prairie girl who had never even  been in a plane and whose only experience with the stars were the falling ones she observed while sitting in a grain truck  late at  night during harvest.

No doubt it isn't really 'newsworthy' that my generation experienced  great change. Everything  everywhere is in a constant state of change whether its due to technology, politics or world disasters.  All I am saying is that Mr. John Glenn will always be part of my little Grade 4 heart as I am sure  the likes Justin Beiber and  Prince Harry  will be a part of today's little Grade 4 girl's memories.

Oh yes..the essay question.  I wrote in FAVOUR of the Space Program.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-17107817






note:  Skin the Cat is an acrobatic feat that involves hanging on  with two hands to what usually is a rod suspended  across a grain bin (or guide wire). The person then flips their body through their arms nearly ripping their shoulder joints out of their sockets and then flipping back again. (I could never do it properly.

Time in a Bottle

This time too shall pass...

This little phrase is one that my mother  often used. Whenever someone's situation was not what was wanted or expected Mom would come out with this sage piece of advice.

I used to think that that phrase was sort of my  own personal  own 'golden rule',  but now I am not so sure.

 Yes, I can say this to someone who might have the flu, or a parent who is having some difficulty with a teenager, or someone who has just hit a deer while driving to work with their car.  All these times surely do end...people heal, teenagers grow up, and cars go to auto body shops.

Just as surely as this phrase is true for most happenings in the rich culture found in North America, I would say that the antitheses of this phrase is more surely true for the rest of the world.  

This Time Will Never End is and has been the truth for untold masses for eons.  This means that if you were born in an alley in Rio de Janerio statistics show that you probably will die in that  same alley at an age  several years younger than someone who lives in the US or Canada.

This Time Will Never End concept is even more meaningful to someone born with a deformity, an example being a twisted spine that causes daily pain,  living in the Congo jungle. 

It can also  mean that if you are an illiterate woman  in the third world, the chances are that your children, especially your daughters, will NOT live their lives any differently from the drudgery and servitude that you have endured for the duration of the  'foreverhood' of  your life.

I think that the truthfulness of  This Time Soon Shall Pass is not necessarily a sage piece of advice  for the majority of the world.
 It seems that it is  actually no more a solution to any real problem  than an antacid  cures the cause of gluttony that has become so prevalent in our own culture.

Perhaps instead of saying  'This Time Too Shall Pass',  we who live in the the 'have ' parts of the world   should  be  praying  'May This Time Never Cease.'
                                            

            

I have been told that if you hold this up to your ear you can actually hear the 'Sands of Time' passing by. 

Of Course!

It humbles me completely. The idea of being a newbie (which I am 100%) irks me so much - that feeling drives me to work harder.

The above statement was taken from my daughter's blog. 

 At first  I wasn't sure   whether being irked by not knowing something is a product of being humbled; but after some consideration I think  there is truth in the statement.

I never thought that taking Bronze Swimming Lessons at age 33 with a group of fifteen year olds   as being anything but exhausting and dangerous, but I suppose it was humbling. 

 I never thought being enrolled in French Language Courses at the age of 37 anything but frightening , but  yes, I suppose it was  humbling. 

I do know that taking fiddle lessons for the first time a couple of years ago , with a 5 year old,  and a 13 year old in the same class, definitely became humbling  as well as irksome.

I like the idea of learning something totally new to expand my limited horizons so I embarked on a search on the World Wide Web    for interesting courses  and activities that might be available  on line . 

The possibilities seem endles and these are only a few that I found interesting.

Some might say the I would benefit from this as long as I took all 12 lessons.

Another possibility...

And on a different note  although I am thinking a little more equipment would be required.

The learning curve might be a bit steep in this case. 

 And of course there are always the more riske types to explore.

    I didn't know they actually named them...jeepers.
That has to be the weirdest cover /title combination ever!
I think I am  now actually TOTALLY confused....LOL!
If they were the crabs I first thought they were no WONDER they had  a  correspondence course on them..

Live like you are going to die tomorrow.
Learn like you are going to live forever.
                 ...anon         

Baby Bump

My friend is celebrating their sixtieth birthday today.  This actually shouldn't be all that surprising as there were more people born in 1952 than in any other time in the history of the world--the biggest Baby Bump ever. So  if you are lucky enough to be celebrating any birthday this year it is liable to be your sixtieth. 

     Sixty is considered a milestone in our culture.  For one thing, one can apply for Early Canada Pension, qualify for discounts on bus tours , and finally, one can truthfully cash in on some Senior Discounts  ( at least  at some stores and restaurants on certain Tuesdays if you happen to be in the city that day).  Heck one might even get to be 'carded' again.

 Sixty is  also the qualifying age where one can join the local Senior Citizen's Centre. You  may be  familiar with that  social group  in most prairie towns that  usually meet in a renovated abandoned store on main street.  It can often be identified as the building with the  hand stenciled "Do Drop In", "Happy Horizons", or "Pioneer Lodge" signs hanging askew in  blind drawn windows.  Hallowed ground for some. 
These buildings are  the haven of shuffle board tournaments, whist drives, and late-evening/early afternoon  polka / dance parties (depending upon the ethic origin of the community).   The 'Senior's' has always been the  place in town to celebrate  40th/50th/and 60th Anniversaries.   These are only some of the rare times that 'youngsters' are ever allowed inside to view the press board wood panelled walls, orange /brown patterned carpet, and dine on 'beef on a bun'  at fold down tables covered in plastic flowered oil cloth.

People refer to the 1960's as an era of upheaval in terms of social,  cultural and moral values.  One can only guess what the effect of these new '60s' will have on Senior Centres wherever they exist.  Will there be a mass influx of Disco Dancing on laminate flooring? PacMan/Nintendo tournaments? Midnight Vegan Socials?   The possibilities are as  limitless  as the money to be made in stocks in adult diapers, false teeth, and arthritic medication. 

         Best Wishes to all who celebrate their 60th birthday this year. 

 You just wait and see...

the Best is yet to Be! 

    

                                              Psst..           If you can't read this ,  you might be 60.