FACEless Day 1

I am for the next 46 days Faceless.  I have chosen as my token suffering for Lent to not turn to Facebook for what has been increasingly  my  first source of  information, gossip, banter, unusual recipes as well as bizarre photographs. 


 I have not deactivated my account. That would be too easy. 


 No, I have chosen to simply let my account lie dormant but  at the same time active in that it still receives information, inbox messages, photographs, and tantalizing and clever jokes, cartoons and odd health tips--Oil Pulling Anyone?   


There were a few strange moments this morning during my mounting mourning routine.  I went to my laptop...turned it on..closed down the Facebook automatic search notification, turned to my email, CBC news, SaskObits, SaskJobs, and Sask Roads..and finally Twitter..a poor Facebook second.  No notification scanning to be done, no in box messages to be read and answered, no bit of Facebook stalking done this morning.  No attempt at clever comments on my status, no thought of choosing a new Facebook Cover or Profile Picture.


  No.  Nothing like that at all.  Simple information gathering from impersonal sources...radio included.


There is without a doubt a sense of loss, a sense of dread, and an unease that is probably connected to chemicals  in my body doing 'their thing' as one habit is replaced by another no matter what that habit is--healthy or unhealthy.


So for the rest of this 'One Day At A Time' day I will have to make new choices to connect with others, gain information, and  perhaps find enjoyment from something not digital-- the way I used to a mere 5 years ago.


 

"Render unto Caesar" Mark 12:17

It is that time of year again.


No, I am not referring to that time to start plants in little peat pots in hopes to get a jump on the summer garden...
                       although for some it is.


No, I am not referring to the time of year to start planning summer vacations....
                      although for some it is.


No, I am not referring even to the time of year when one starts to Spring Clean...
                       although for some it is.


I am referring to TAX TIME.


The time when grown adults, who often have well paying jobs, who are usually responsible, law abiding, compassionate citizens turn into a form of rascally petty thieves whose sole goal is to deny central government of even $1 of extra cash. 


   

The emotions that surround the filling and filing of income tax forms either personally or with the help of a professional range from panic, guilt, desperation, and fear, prompted primarily by out and out lying either by omission or action. I have actually seen people get in a disgusted rage when referring to their  henceforth fired accountant who actually suggested that they have to PAY money at tax time.    Receipts are hoarded, gas bills padded, expense accounts justified. 


 The morals and ethics of every citizen in Canada is exposed at Tax time.  People who would never ever think of shop lifting, cheating on their spouses, or driving away from a 'bumper thumper' will without conscience or hesitation try to claim the dog food bought for their Chiwawa  as a security expense for their business  or  submit lunch bills  for their uncle's funeral as tax write offs.


I believe I have a bit of an odd attitude to Income Tax.  It comes from the fact that for several years neither I nor my husband  did not have to pay anything into the government  tax coffers.


 Ten years to be exact. 


 These years of absent income tax payments were not a product of careful accounting, deceitful declaration of income, or even choice. It was  simply a time of low income, almost unbearably low.


It is from that experience that I take great pride in being able to say that 'Yes, I have to pay income tax."  For me, being able to pay income tax means that I am a contributing member of society who has earned a right to voice my opinion on how tax dollars are spent and  on whom they are spent. 


I love that  I  can drive down the paved road to my place of work to earn money that is taxed so that I may count on trustworthy policing, good education for our young people, be cared for by an educated and ethical medical profession, and enjoy cultural activities ranging from hockey to listening to live symphony.


  My country is a thriving and respected entity in the world that promotes peace and respect for all no matter what religion, race, or cultural background and the reason for this is because of regular citizens' tax dollars being spent carefully and with the goals of excellence in mind.


So to those who whine or try to cheat on their Income Tax Returns  because they are expected to contribute to the well being of the Best Country in the World  I say Shame on You.


 I wish them all the best when the next big issue arises in their tax time trials--


                                  ---that  being the  AUDIT.












 

AMAZING!

Hummm. 'Someone had to go to Town today".

If I were a 'Bet Taking Woman' these are the "Nay" odds I give that one of the following will be brought home:

1. Roses --- 15 to 1 .
2. Chocolates in a heart shaped box--10 to 1....
3. Diamond earrings (faux) --20 to 1.
4. Real Diamond anything --Double down 150 to 1.
5. A NEW car.---All Bets are 20 -1. With cash down--no limit.
6. A bottle of red wine --the bubbly kind--in the fancy red twist off top plastic container--5 to 1.
7. A big bag of Cheezies---3 to 1.
8.The cake that I have already ordered from the Bakery-- that has "Happy Birthday Irwin " written on it...which I put on the list- is actually picked up. --2 to 1.
9. A new broom from the Co-op (advertised special)--3 to 1.
10. Lingerie--aka--Lace for the Potato--7 to 1.
11. That he comes home at all-- All bets off.

The house does not make book on certainties.

BETS are ON !
...5 will get you 10 if you can guess the 'rest of the story'

 Valentine Surprise was...

 A Five pound box of pork breakfast sausages that were on sale.

A surprise is a surprise..

 I suppose,

          'sigh'
       
                   I suppose.

Bonanza!

Where is this month going? 

 February is almost done.

 It is almost Valentine's Day.

 We will soon be at the end of the shortest month of the year and we will soon have Marched our days into the next artificial demarcation of time and space. A demarcation which will involve not only the changing of the calendar month but also in some parts of the world, for whatever feeble and misunderstood reasoning contrived by modern man, even the hands on the clock.

Fifty years ago to nearly the day, I stayed home and babysat my two younger siblings as our parents went to the neighbour's for a visit and a game of cards on a dark midwinter's Sunday eve. 

It has been said that the recklessness of youth is a result of the combination of the misuse of power too soon granted combined with choices too numerous and dubious to describe and serves as a recipe for regretful rumination repeated in reveries of regret. 

(Okay, it was  I who said it.)

  This regret is then often threaded into the tapestry of a life of self doubt, self deprecation and second guessing that covers every future decision and stays as fresh in the individual's  psychic  as if one has never left that time and place continuum.

I can speak of this time shift phenomena with the authority of a veteran having experienced my own choice not well made as it was I, a twelve year old girl, living in rural Canada on the Great Plains of North America, who ultimately switched the television station to the only other channel that was offered to watch something long ago forgotten by all, probably even by the producers of whatever was telecast on that station that night, due to this very unfortunate sense of misplaced power combined with immature decision making.

As Bonanza* was just finishing up and the CBC news cast of the evening was about to begin around 11:00pm that fateful Sunday February night, my parents returned from their visit. 

  My dad came to the living room door and said, "Did you see those wild guys on Ed Sullivan?  What a bunch of  kookie looking long haired guys!  Girls were screaming in the audience.  It was crazy.  They looked like girls themselves!"

I remember thinking, "Yeah. Right. Big Deal."  as I turned off the set and went up to bed and slept what was to be my last regret free night absent of sober second guessing and carefree confidence.

Actually that isn't really what I wanted to write about.  I wanted to write about the Olympics and the flag issue and the gay issue.  I just really wanted to say that if having the Olympics in Sochi will help bring light to the inequalities of a group of people who are being denied their human rights and helps to bring illumination to all the injustices of this group around the world, then maybe, next time,  we should have the Olympics in  central Africa , Afghanistan, or even Iran and other countries where starving children, women, and civilians  are forced into slave labour, the military, and prostitution. 
Maybe flags  then would then be raised to protest those injustices and  athletes could bring their adopted foster  foreign children to the podium to enlighten the world ..or would that be too flagrant an exhibition? 

  I do remember a  time in  Olympic history when South Africa was not allowed to participate in the games 1964 -1988 due to apartheid  and also seeing Civil Rights activist athletes holding up their fists in a  peaceful Black Power protest as they stood on the podium.

 In the meantime perhaps this might be the  theme song of the closing ceremonies in Sochi.

The link obviously is not working...but if I remember correctly I think itcwas a link to a Beatle's song.

* The television production of Bonanza was aired following the Ed Sullivan Show every Sunday night and was watched faithfully by television viewers of the era even more so than Ed Sullivan unfortunately in this instance at least.
 

Safety First

I recently came across a video on Safety on one of the Social Media Sites, and while the antic  was quite entertaining to watch and no doubt fun to do,( Why wouldn't being strapped into a harness connected to the end of a huge back hoe and swung around like a limp rag back and forth NOT look like the fun it no doubt truly was?)  it struck a bit of a chord in my memories of a more innocent age, where 'fun was fun', 'if you could do it you should';  all under the umbrella of the motto, "Might as well give it a try."


I'm talking about putting your five year old child into a bucket of a D2 Caterpillar Tractor and lifting the bucket up to its full extension while giving her a ride around the yard for 5 minutes.   A thrilling experience as I recall and one which made any little ride at the local fair  in the future pale in comparison.

I'm talking about such times as allowing your children to ride in    the  expansive back  WINDOW  of the 1966 Ford Meteor as you drove across gravel roads to the nearest town five miles away, in the sun and in the heat; mainly because they slept so well there.

I'm talking about getting your child to 'test' the electric fence to see if it was working, be a marker in the field for the fly over crop sprayer,  and to sit on the top a  15' stack of bales piled on a wagon as it lumbered across the field towards the farmyard....along with getting her to help 'wash' tools in  a pail old diesel fuel.

I'm talking about expecting your child to skate on the frozen dugout  'around the water hole''; to only spray the DDT on the back legs of the cow as you are milking; and to  please wash  their feet in the cow trough before coming into the house after playing in the barnyard barefoot.

I'm talking about bringing home pink candied popcorn covered in Red Dye #4 for a treat and wondering 'what has gotten into those kids?'  

I'm talking about letting your child play with that silver stuff  from a broken fever thermometer for hours at  time...'kept them busy and quiet.' 
 
Yes, safety wasn't as big a concern as practically in  the child rearing days of long ago...there were no fancy child resistant medicine bottles, covers for electric plug ins, or much care given to baby crib safety...I recall my sister sleeping in the drawer of my parent's dresser whenever we would visit my grandparent's house.

Thank goodness society has taken the time to change some of the more dangerous practices that once were commonplace.



I suspect that probably for every male from the age of 13 to 89, the idea of Safe Sex  40 years ago meant a whole  different set of ideas than what it brings to mind nowadays.  Some of which probably involved  the  "Where....?", the "When....?" , and  the "How.....?".  (So that you wouldn't be discovered either by parents, spouse or neighbour --or God Have Mercy--  not by all at once; so you would still get home on time; and  so no one would get pregnant).

 All these questions would have to be safely answered before one even got as far as  the idea of ' With Whom'?

https://www.facebook.com/HooningFTW

A Time to Smile

 6:30 am.

It is a NEW day according to the clock and calendar.

 In fact it is so new that the sun isn't even up.  It is still actually pre -dawn where I live.  One can not see anything except the gray light of a nearly full moon muted by clouds and fog.

The house has that  pre-dawn chill that one only notices the moment one's feet hit the floor as one leaves the comfort of a warm bed.

 The news stories on the Internet have a very few 'new' items as the day itself is too new.. Although it is a bit odd that the obituary page has been updated for the day.  There are very few Social Media types monitoring their pages so early.

The day ahead seems like a smooth clean tablecloth spread out in anticipation for whatever will be laid upon it for the day's unique feast of choices, visions, and experiences;  mixed with moments of annoyance, humour and idle musings, seasoned with regrets and optimism whether the sun shines or the snow blows or the rain falls.


Soon enough the day will end, the sun will have fallen below the horizon once again and one will muse silently and sometimes verbosely  about the happenings of the previous twelve hours as they are  consciously and unconsciously stored away as memories.  Some moments will have been deemed to be tedious and repetitive, uninteresting, unimportant and even unsafe and will be buried away far from the conscious mind never to be reexamined or exhumed.

There will no doubt be something new to be learned, joy to be experienced, unhappy moments to be endured as this day progresses from the dark unknown to the full exposure of the noon day brightness whether the sun shines or not.

No, not every moment of today that is kept at the forefront will be worthy of note, worthy of memory, worthy of rumination to be repeated in an attempt to impress others in future conversation by accident or design, and that is ok too, because otherwise we might not be able to enjoy such things as:

The dog's day has already started as she barks at some unknown source of perceived threat in the bush. An example of the clock of the animal world being just a little bit ahead of  Saskatchewan Standard Time with little or no attention paid to Day Light Savings or to the WWVB Atomic Clock time signal transmitted from Colorado.

Without Prejudice

 Without Prejudice


I suspect that being a man, a guy, a male, a fellow, or a person of masculine characteristics in our North American culture can sometimes be a little isolating and somewhat sad.

In fact, when I look at some of the men, guys, fellows, and people of masculine characteristics that I have the had the privilege to call husband, relative, friend, or acquaintance, I know that the above statement is true.

I have personally seen some of these  people who are blessed with the XY chromosome  cope  with  mistreatment and  misunderstanding in various unhealthy ways.  Sometimes it is through anger, resentment, self medication with alcohol or drugs along with stoic silence  with regards to their feelings of disappointment, regret, or  resentment about being treated unfairly. 

Nothing really remarkable is in the above paragraphs--no new thoughts, nothing original, nothing that most people haven't noticed for themselves.

BUT--HOWEVER--LET ME ADD THIS----



Recently I have been privy to witness a slight veering away from the above direction that most men, guys, fellows, or persons of masculine characteristics have followed since the ideas of 'manliness' and 'machismo' were hatched by some, no doubt very troubled and clouded thinking individuals,  who believed that the  difference between men and women can be defined in the amount of tears that are shed,  along with  the amount of hair on one's face, size of one's breasts, and beer that one guzzles.



This veering away from this 'masculinity' of which  I write occurred  recently  when someone whom I shall henceforth refer to as M (for MALE) went to the local tire shop for a repair.  He was asked how work was going and he informed the questioner (a male) that he had been 'Let Go' from his place of employment.
  Following the repairs M,sat and had a cup of coffee with the owner and a few other  male customers who considered sitting  in a tire shop garage drinking java a wonderful and enlightening time in comparison to having to  deal with  snow, shovels, or machinery.


It was around this little round coffee stained pedestal table in a cement floor garage, that this veering from the macho man stereotype to which I have previously referred to occurred.

 One of the coffee drinking, mitt sitting, toque wearing, local area guys asked  how it came  to be that M had lost his job.

 As M proceeded to explain, he had the full attention of all three of the men at the table, plus the young man working in the little room at the back.  In fact, the telephone rang twice  during his dissertation but the owner didn't answer either time as he was too interested in hearing the story, and when he did answer the phone, he asked  M to stop  talking until he came back.   As he spoke, M , often heard comments that proved that he was being listened to...some  in  knowing agreement, some in surprise, and others with complete  and quick understanding of the situation.

 But mostly and more importantly, M  simply heard attentive and understanding silence. 


 M was listened to by his peers.  M was listened to by four people he did not know except to do business .  None of them were a relative, a professional, or anyone who would have a preconceived notion about the matter. None of those sitting at that little table was anyone who had to be on his 'side'. 

 In fact, I doubt if 'M' could name even one person of this non-judgmental and supportive group.


M left that little tire shop with a lighter heart and a better feeling  about himself , carrying with him a higher self-worth than he had when he first walked in. 


I have long thought that angels take on a varied array of characteristics, and this time, I believe,  they have dressed in greasy overalls, warm toques, and snowmobile boots.

The above article is merely the opinion of the author and is not intended to represent, replicate, or depict any real or vaguely imagined in any way, shape, or form, any enterprise , or company ; or to suggest  or hint that any privately owned business  in any small town in any province in any country of the World would actually act with malice and mean spiritedness to allow any hard working , honest, dependable individual to be insulted, sworn at, and physically threatened by other workers. 

Gift from the Past

I received a strange sort of gift this Christmas Season.

Totally unexpected and out of the blue type of thing.

There came in the mail on Christmas Eve a brown papered wrapped shoe box with my name and address in handwriting that I immediately recognized without even having to look at the return address.

It was a parcel from a someone from my childhood past whom I had not heard from for at least 10 years or so.

Exciting! Surprised! and indeed even some Wonderment as thoughts of "What on Earth? " and "This is Really Something" to think that this person had actually sent a parcel along to me at Christmas.

I quickly tore open the brown paper, noticed my name written on the outside of the shoebox (yes it was meant for me) and lifted the lid to see layers of newspaper.  Placing my hand in amongst the crumpled pages I found several  fragile items wrapped within.  

As I excitedly extracted each from its blanket of pulp and ink I realized that there was a theme to the contents. The  several miniature tea cups and saucers, figurines, and sea shells, all of which had been resting safe and sound high up upon the kitchen shelf out of harm's way in my parent's farm house for all of my childhood, had not been seen by myself for over 20 years.

 I commented to my family that I found that the wrapping was a bit haphazard as some articles were paired oddly with the others.  I remarked, " This almost looks as if my long lost friend has taken lessons from Mom in the art of packing."

It was only after I carefully washed the dust off of each treasure and placed it carefully on a shelf, high up and out of harm's way, safe and sound  in the kitchen,  had I a chance to look again at the parcel and the newspaper that kept those  irreplaceable bits of glass and sea shells safe through the Christmas mail.

It was then that I realized that the date on the newspaper was not 2013..but rather 1994.  It occurred to me then  that those little gifts were not from my long lost friend so much as they were truly from my Mom , and the wrapping methodology was really hers and not randomly mimicked by the one who mailed them.

Sort of neat to think about.  Mom's hands were the last to touch those frail and fragile bits, and the last to wrap them so they would stay safe. Her thoughts were of me some 20 years ago as she wrote my name on the shoebox and sealed it tight.

The figurines were  made in Occupied Japan which, along with the tea cups and saucers, were gifts from a childless aunt. The Sea shells are from a pen pal I had from Sointula , British Columbia when I was five years old.  I would dictate the letter to Mom, she would print it, I would  then  retrace the letters onto another piece of paper. I think his Mom did the same for him.  Our correspondence continued until we were about 10 or 11.

O Christmas Tree

A few days ago , an evergreen tree was chopped down from the grounds of a local church.  The trees in the church yard had been planted nearly 30 years ago and tended faithfully by one of the members of the congregation. It was quite an upsetting time for the church as a whole to grasp the fact that such a deed had been committed by someone in the community.

Many people initially exhibited anger, dismay, and disgust at the total seemingly lack of respect shown to the church and its members. " How could someone do such a thing? "  "Thievery" "Report them to the police".   

Others responded on a different note, "We must forgive." "Find out who they are and tell them we forgive them."  "It is only a tree--forget about it."

The controversy went back and forth with thoughts of WW JD? along with suggestions of letters of forgiveness being sent to the Editor of the local newspaper.  Such ideas were challenged by thoughts of building a fence perhaps around the church yard to keep people out or perhaps installing a video camera for security.  

It is not certain what the good members of this Christian church will choose to do in response to this seemingly travesty  of fairness in this Season of  Goodness and Light.

Now I am not well schooled in theology or bible studies, nor do I attend any one denomination of 
any Christian church on a regular basis, however,
I will venture forth in describing my opinion on what an appropriate response that this church might take.

1.  It is JUST a tree.
2.  There must have been some reason why the culprit decided that THAT tree was the one to take. Perhaps it was shaped and full. Perhaps the church grounds were the only place where they thought they could take a tree without getting caught.
3. No, it doesn't seem fair that someone who has worked over thirty years have something like that stolen from them in a wink of an eye. Gone forever.

4. I think we should ask why would anyone think it would be so necessary to have a tree that they would go out and STEAL one..even one from the church.

5.  I think that perhaps the problem lies not in the fact that a tree left unguarded has been taken, but 
somehow the true message of Christmas has not only been lost on the person(s) who have done the stealing, but more importantly and even more tragically the people who purport to know what Christmas is all about have seemingly lost track (at least for the moment) of the Message that Christmas should convey.

   
A  beloved tree has been stolen
From the church grounds.
Taken  home to celebrate 
The birth of a Savior.
To  decorate and place gifts underneath,
To show  love to one another.

Have we forgotten how
He showed us His Love 
By placing His  Gift to us
On a tree  so that
We  could also be forgiven,
and brought Home? 

A Christmas Letter from an Eight Year Old Penny.

Dear Doreen,

How are you? I am fine.

The Christmas Concert has been performed.  I guess we did okay after all those weeks of practicing, practicing, practicing--not only lines for recitations and song singing  but also LINING UP. 
I really can't see the purpose  or value in having to line up 25 Grade 3ers according to height --much less  having to practice to do that over and over again,  when in fact from the time we first started to practice until the actual performance night, some of us had grown and the whole order had to be changed at least 3 times before the final night anyways.  


Another thing I learned about Christmas Concert practice is that you find out that that sweet and most beautiful soft spoken teacher you have all during the rest of the year can actually use a voice that sounds a lot like MOM when she finds that you have bitten your sister, locked the cat into the back of the kitchen cupboard for 12 hours, or  used her scissors to create an alternate  hair fashion  for your little brother.

I think one of the strangest things that happened lately is that Mom came home from shopping and instead of unloading groceries  or cleaning products on the kitchen cupboard, she ran straight into her bedroom and rattled stuff around  and then came out with empty bags in hand with a stern and meaningful look on her face warning us not to go into her clothes closet for ANY reason whatsoever..even if there is a fire.   That just seems weird to me --as if we kids ever make it a habit of hanging around in her bedroom closet  just  for Fun and Games (except  for that time when cousin James came to babysit us and he put on that fashion show  with Mom's clothes and makeup on..but I don't think she even knows about THAT) .

 It's not as if there were any video games in there or toys to play with or candies to munch on--well not as least as far as I know anyways.

Christmas is just a little weird though isn't it?  Everyone gets so excited about cooking, baking fancy cookies (just what is with that black stuff that looks just LIKE chocolate syrup but isn't-- that they use to make cookies that look LIKE little chocolate men but aren't?).  

 I had to take some fresh baked buns to the 90 year old bachelor down our street the other day because it was Christmas!  What is it about Christmas that demands that stuff be done like that?  Kindness is what Mom calls it..but as those Buns of Kindness  probably only last I bet only about 2 hours ,  it makes me wonder what happens to that guy from now until next Christmas?

I think I have to go now.  Mom went out shopping again and I see she left her clothes closet door wide open this time ---

Merry Christmas! Happy 1961!

Your friend,

Penny

Thirty two..and I ain't talking teeth...

December 18, 1981  --  December 18, 2013

32 Years

"No day that is gone was shadowless

No night was without its star.

But mingled bitter and sweet has been

the portion of our cup.

The Hand that in love has smitten

In love has bound us up."

--author unknown.

We've cried each other's tears and  braved the world as one.

Time has passed as swift as a Christmas morning and has been  as treasured as the most precious gift ever received.

They say that the present for a 32nd Anniversary is a form of transportation which might include but is not limited to, a car, bicycle, train ticket, cruise, flight, and  perhaps even hitchhiking.

Merry Christmas

Sneaky Season

'Tis the Season of merry making, baking, and thoughts of gift getting and buying.

'Tis also the Season of Sneakiness.

Yes, sneakiness is an inherent part of this celebration demanding every bit as much skill and agility as special  CSIS or CIA agents.  What other time of year  do so many have so many intentional secrets either in thought or deed? 

 What other time of year do husbands, wives, and children purposely hide their purchases unless they are part of the drug cartel or are in some sleazy affair either for love, money, or power?

 The power of observation in the mass population has been  elevated through intense exercise for at least the last six weeks. People around the world have being carefully observing, following, watching and surreptitiously quizzing  their loved ones to get a sense of the  perfect gift to acquire.  People have planned these Christmas purchases and ultimate surprise delivery with as much care as any military operation by having the timing  of the purchase arranged just right, as well as concealing said purchase, covered by then in shiny paper, ribbons, and  obligatory tinsel until the perfect  time of reveal somewhere between 6 pm  December 24 and 8 am December 25. 

 Things have been  and will be covered, stuffed  and jammed into and underneath places that never before have seen such articles.  Trunks of cars, backs of cupboards, under stairways, garage shelves, and under beds will all be precious unlikely storage areas for such things as watches, crystal, books, jewelry, chocolates, lingerie, furs, and even kittens.  

 Ultimately, after all this planning one also has to somehow hide the financial cost from the end of the month bank statement.

Yes , sneakiness is part of the season without a doubt.

My dad had a sense of this sneakiness when he had an especially wanted living room chair delivered on  Christmas Eve by the local McLeod's furniture dealer while our family was out visiting.  He also exercised this same skill when he brought in a huge and very heavy box into the house about a week before Christmas to have us, his two eldest daughters, wrap for our Mom in front of our Mom.  Christmas Day proved that it was a large rock sitting on top of a Smith Corona typewriter.

Granted it seems in some cases that being sneaky and smart are  neither kind or even in anyway connected when one considers the guy whose wife , after all the presents were opened and  there was nothing but paper under the tree, mischievously announced  with a gleam in her eye as she looked at her husband that there is another present to open.  As he sat looking blank and unknowing, the wife went into the bedroom closet and after hearing a gasp, he followed her to see her holding a note that said 'Thank you for the earrings, darling."  A bit of sneakiness gone awry as apparently earrings were found in the same said pocket a week prior.

This  sneakiness also was also explored in our  own household about 32 years ago this Christmas Season.  In the days of having to get a Complete Medical Examination performed before one could apply for a Marriage License, my soon to be husband had to go to his parents' house  and use their phone to make the  required  appointment.  As he didn't want prying questions as to why an otherwise healthy and strong young man would be going to the doctor, he fake limped on his motorcycle accident knee so no questions would be asked.  His concerned mother hovered over him for the next week suggesting pain killers and braces.  His  sore knee was  much talked about at the next  meeting of the Women's Institute  as a neighbour lady had actually seen him limping into the doctor's waiting room.  

  

There was even more talk about two weeks later when the Women's Institute next met in the New Year  about the confirmed bachelor who had somehow ran off with his sore knee and had gotten married over the Christmas Season.

Magpie Musings.

As 2013 comes to a rapid and icy close  cloaked in frigid air and  walking out on frost bitten toes there are still some mysteries of the year that have so far been left unanswered.


Here are my top ten unanswered questions for 2013--some are new...some have replaced last year's unsolved problems due to immediacy and intense need to know..and others are just some random inquisitive thoughts not based on the urge  to increase knowledge but  mostly just about idol if not idle curiosity.

1.  Just who? and what ?and why? are Kardashians anyone should care about? I suppose that could count as three but I am the writer of this and I choose to consider this only one question because it is so trite.

2. Has anyone ever figured out where all those floating feet off of the British Columbia coast came from? Y/N answer will suffice.

3. Why would any one ever shop at Target? --This might involve a paragraph type answer. Use the bottom of this blog if necessary. 

4. Why has my Dad's estate not been settled after nearly ten years?
     I suspect there are a few 'fill in the blanks' multiple choice responses to be explored.  I could have made it a T/F answer as well.

5. Why am I always hungry? A rhetoric question.

6. How can it be that the Government owes me about $3000 in taxes  which I paid last year, but because of an error in calculation I now owe it  an additional $1000 , only to be  reimbursed totally sans interest in the  next tax year?  I expect no response  due to the high volume of calls being experienced at pretty much any time of the day.

7.  Just why were those two cops who came to my house in the dark about a month ago quizzing my husband about how he got fired and advising him that if he wanted to get his job back he could just give the bosses a call?  I doubt if there will ever be a REAL answer that can be published or hardly even talked about..but I do have my suspicions..PANEFUL as it is. To me, however,  the answer is clear as GLASS.  

These last few questions will be in the form of matching.

8.  Why do magpies wipe their beaks         a) no reason
     in the snow before eating a piece of 
     dog food?

9. Why are Senators who steal from           b) no reason
    the public not put in jail?

10. Why is Rob Ford newsworthy?            c) no reason

  

I'm like a magpie. I use lots of different things to build a character.

Andrew Lincoln

(Don't) Wait On Me

Probably the only real reason I like to eat out is the fact that I don't have to do the clean up.

 My actual preferred type of eating establishment is cafeteria style where one simply chooses the food oneself without a barrage of questions regarding sauces, up sizing, or extras.

But as cafeteria style food isn't always available or the preferred social milieu of one's companion, sometimes I have to acquiesce and actually go to a sit down restaurant and participate in the socially accepted interaction between the servers and myself.  

There seems in our society that there is an automatic expectation, an unwritten contract if you will, between restaurant management staff  and their clients that has somehow evolved that implies that the number of times a waiter/waitress interrupts a conversation  to ask 'if there is anything more you need?' is equal to the value and efficiency and ultimately to the enjoyment of the eating 'out' experience. 

I think it is time these restaurants realize that an enjoyable dining out experience is more than having a someone hover over you as if you are going to somehow crash and burn because your every culinary need or whim is not immediately met.  It is time they realized that good service means sometimes no service in the sense that too much of anything, in this case 'hovering' is often intrusive and ultimately really annoying. 
  
How does one get the best service ever in a restaurant  and at the same time have a pleasant conversation with your supper date  without being either ignored or pestered by the servers you query?

Give the waitress/waiter $5 the  very first time they approach your table with menus. Explain that  your goal that evening is a long and intimate conversation with your companion with whom you haven't seen in several months (even if it isn't true).  You could  even suggest that you have to discuss serious private matters concerning your recent Lotto winnings,  or that you are meeting this person on important government security business. This all helps to impress the server that your goal of conversation is more desired than any type of service they may render.

      Inform this person in a polite and straightforward manner that you will not be annoyed in any way if you have to stand up and wave to them if you would like more coffee or  if you require a clean fork or would like to order off the desert menu.

Tell them that you don't even care all that much if the food isn't just perfect, the exact preferred temperature, or even if it isn't what you ordered.  

Tell this person whose feet probably are already tired and hurting, who has dealt with annoying and demanding customers as well as their own supervisors for the past five hours, that if need be, you will tell their boss that you have specifically asked to be somewhat ignored.

You can make little rules between you and the server regarding fresh coffee needs and/or when more water or another order for food would be welcome by leaving empty cups or dishes at the edge of the table to indicate that , "Yes, you may now come and see if we need anything else." 

"If I ever own a restaurant, I will never allow the waiters to ask if the diners like their dishes. Particularly when they're talking." - Orson Welles quotes from BrainyQuote.com

(NO) That AIN'T the Truth.

Don't you just hate it when you realize that you are being lied to? 

Especially when the person lying to you is a  friend  that you have extended the sacred bond of trust and the treasured attribute of respect  that inherently accompanies such trust. This trust is as most assuredly melded into  and cannot be separated from any friendship any more than one can separate an egg from a cake that has already been baked, remove a spice from a sauce once it has been mixed, or unsay a word once it has been uttered.

I am not referring to the parts of the friendship that sometimes requires  forgiveness for slights felt due to human error, forgetfulness, even selfishness.  I am not referring to thoughtless acts of  well intended comments that are obviously products of poor listening or understanding.  I am not even referring to habitual tardiness or tenuous appointment keeping.

What I am talking about is  an easily found out  lie that sometimes is placed at my feet by friends as a meager offering designed to imitate a real and legitimate truth. 

This type of lie from one who has been  deemed to be a friend is about as welcome as when our cat decides to bring a dead mouse into the house and leaves it at my feet.  They both somehow think that they can drag anything into the relationship, plunk it down in front of me and walk away and all will be well.  Little do either of them know that  the next time something is laid down in my path of life  in such a manner, the door of trust will be shut just a little sooner and the flow of friendship will be affected forever.

One of the most striking differences between a cat and a lie is that a cat has only nine lives.

Mark Twain

Flakes

Flakes of snow will soon be falling in my part of the world creating havoc for some, welcome diversion for others, and beauty in the eyes of those who like the pristine and untouched whiteness of a landscape smoothly covered in a flaky quilt of delicate ice crystals reminiscent of tatted doilies  spread over the back of a brushed navy sofa.

There are flakes of snow in nature. Flakes of oats and flakes of coconut in the food world.  In the world of elements and machines there are flakes of gold, metal, and paint.  

Flakes are usually light, small in nature, and generally not permanent or deep.  They are usually merely a hint that there is more to be tasted or seen.   Often they are just a decoration, a thin veil or veneer like covering such as  cheap plywood covered with a minuscule layer of precious lumber.

 All these are designed to catch the eye and suggest  more value  and depth than they  actually have.

There are Flakes of Attitude as well.  These flakes are in the form of some of the more ridiculous and trite aspects of our every day living.  These flakes have a way of piling up and covering what is really important every bit as much as millions upon millions of flakes of snow can cover the yellow line on the highway causing danger to all in the vicinity.

Flakes of Attitude involve the use and belief in Botox, Osh Kosh Baby Clothes, Designer Anything and Everything, Horoscopes, Magnets, Rock Readings, Oprah, and The Kardashians  to name just a few. The erroneous thought process that accompany these Flecks of the Attitude are often manifested in the See It Gotta Have It Mentality that is particularly prevalent during these, the darkest days of the year.  Flecks of Attitude can also be described as the phenomena of  'Sideways Thinking'--something that is often only vaguely sensed as an unease, a skip of a beat, or an action or gesture in opposition to professed values and beliefs ie. charity offerings vs. use of third world labourers for materials bought.  

And the NAIL is???

The nail is the fact that the truth of  all Flakes whether they are animal, mineral, or attitudinal will without a doubt sooner or later be exposed for the hoaxes that they are, just as assuredly as the flakes of snow that will land and linger for a while, obscuring my journey in the world  this winter,  and which will invariably be exposed by the warmth and brightness  of truth that can only be compared to the beauty of a  sunny spring day...

...and then the world will be a better place.

Hair Raising

I spent some time in the 'Beauty Parlour' the other day having my monthly to six week procedure done of cut, colour, and, of course, a  glorious shampoo.  There really isn't  anything better than a peppermint shampoo being liberally and robustly scrubbed into one's scalp.  Invigorating and worth every dollar spent having it done.

That is the 'Beauty' of the whole scene.  

Now I will discuss the Beauty of the Parler si on peut le dire en francais.

Yes, sans doubt, a visit to a place where there are primarily women, who have time on their hands, who have the money to spend, and who are without a doubt going to walk out of the premises looking better than they went in, is a place of much chatter, giggling, gossip, and revelations.  

So it was that interesting day at the House of Hair and Spray. 

 The conversation casually started , I think,  with what and how the Hallowe'en Trick/Treaters fared for the young mothers in the group.
They spoke of children wandering into the Liquor Store and actually getting a treat, of home made costumes and other trickery. 

This conversation  ultimately wandered into tricks people have played on family on April 1 (April Fool's Day).  One young woman proclaimed  with unusual glee that that day was her family's favourite holiday (I hadn't realized it was a holiday).  I  continued to listen unobtrusively with head covered in a plastic bag, hair matted down in a brown syrupy mess to find out exactly why this 'holiday' would be so appealing.

"I will never forget the April 1 that I was six," proclaimed one young woman.  " My mother woke us all up yelling , 'Fire! Fire!'." "I was traumatized." 

Not to be outdone another young woman announced that her Great Aunt Hilda who is 80 years old lies down at the bottom of the stairs and groans every April 1 morning and catches her unsuspecting family off guard almost every time.

A third young woman chimed in that she got her 5 year old daughter to call up her older sister and tell her that 'Mommy won't wake up.' and the resulting chaos than ensued- as the panicked woman hung up the phone and jumped into the car to her sister's to check that all was well before she was told it was a trick.

Then, there was the story about one of their brothers who had gone out the night before April 1 and somehow fell out of a tree simply because in the tone of derision only a sister can muster, "He is a man."

This 'man' supposedly called his father  to say that he needed help because he had fallen out of a tree and had broken his ankle.  His father noting the date on the calendar being the early morning of April 1 merely said, "Sure you did.", and hung up and turned over and went back to sleep."  About  an hour later when the son hadn't yet returned the father decided he should go see where his son had gotten to at such a late hour. He found him , sitting by a curb not far from home under a tree with a broken ankle. 

Now the Nail! The Point!

As I watched the beauticians working hard cutting, colouring , creaming, snipping, spraying, brushing,  curling, and ironing clients' hair I was privy to a conversation that really showed that just because you  have gotten your hair done and you  think you look smart doesn't mean that you are smart..or even kind, thoughtful, or grateful for that matter.

Client:  I'd like to come back before Christmas.
Beautician:  Well, let's see.  I am pretty booked up already.
Client:  It's really important that I get my hair done again before we leave.
Beautician:  Well, how about the 17th..at 8:00 in the morning? I could come in an hour early if you like? 
Client: Hmmm.
Beautician:  That is if you don't think it is too early. 
Client:  I really don't know.  I'm not really a morning person.
Beautician:  (Pause)  How about 6:30 pm that day? I can stay an hour later. My mom can make supper for the kids that night I suppose.
Client:  Sure that would work.


Yep., you can go to a Beauty Parlor every day of the week , at any time of the day, and you aren't going to be very pretty if the Beauty isn't on the inside too.
   

Rats!

The daily menus of many North American households have certainly changed over the years not only due to availability of certain foods, but also in the fact that people are more informed about the effects food has on our minds and bodies. 

 There are all sorts of diets out there that cater to all sorts of people and  personalities in every  sort of profession and   professed life style and philosophy .

There are the diets of the omnivores and  the carnivores, the vegan, the vegetarian, the gluten free, the carbohydrate limited, fat free, sugar free,  dairy free, and caffeine free. There are diets that contain only food that is either raw, fermented, or organic.
Many of these diets are exclusive to any other and  often the consumer relies on their  own understood definition to guide them in their choice of food in  a manner of rigidity reminiscent of Aunt Heddie in Canada's favourite  television program 'Anne of Green Gables'.

Some foods of these diets are a more expensive than others , particularly during certain times of the year here in the Great White North.  Some foods of these diets are completely foreign not only to to the country but also to the palate and the plate. Some foods could never even enter the country along with some of their citizens in years past due to political issues around the world.

My parents would have found it strange to have many of these foods and diets as options on their weekly household menus. Living and working in a culture  to produce food primarily to sell to others for distribution and consumption locally and around the world, our definition of a foreign meal was Spaghetti Os and Pizza, with a semi yearly treat to the local Chinese Restaurant where one could order 'Canadian' and get a hamburger or the Combination Special of rice, chicken balls, and stirred fired vegetables with the most exotic ingredient being almonds.


The Point? The Reason ? The Nail? for all this blither you query?*This does NOT apply to those who have Medical /Religious reasons for their diets.

There is something about a society where people  have the power and are allowed the self important indulgence of  successfully following a self prescribed diet that implies an actual choice of which food to overtly and overly consume, that I find   unctuous and dangerously decadent; especially as very few of these palate preferred consumers can not resist the temptation of loudly judging those who do not prescribe to their particular brand of food consumption. 

 It is worrisome, I think, to have so many facets of our society self identify by what they EAT, instead of self describing their attributes in terms character, values and ethics. 

 Is it perhaps because the former is easier to attain than the latter?



An Example of a Day's Menu 50 years ago.

Breakfast: Puffed Wheat, Brown Sugar, Whole Cows Milk (when we had it, otherwise it was skim milk from powder).

Lunch: Lipton Chicken Noodle Soup, Salted Crackers, Bread/Jam
Velveeta cheese sandwiches (or) Spam sandwiches. Tang for juice.

Supper (Dinner in other parts of the world): Elbow Macaroni with canned tomatoes over top, boiled wieners or fried baloney, and canned peas. Tang or skim  powdered milk if there was any left from breakfast.


Dessert: Canned fruit with real cream or rice pudding with raisins.

Pancakes and syrup were a treat.  Bacon and eggs for the whole family a rarity. Pot Roast and Chicken were for days when men were at the table depending upon the time of year. 

No one dared to declare in those days they were 'chicken free' for the same reason people in third world countries today who dig through the garbage finding rats to eat don't become 'rat free'--they'd all go hungry