Christmas Past

The  red trucks drove down the country road followed by the ambulance and police cruisers.  Strangely silent. No  flashing lights. No sirens. Hardly a hint of haste. Only headlights that were needed  were visible in the fast approaching dimness of a mid winter cloudy afternoon.

 They were the last of the vehicles that trailed behind the dark coloured hearse which travelled a bit faster and with more urgency .

The country neighbours watched from their porch balcony doors commenting quietly as they texted their family members and other neighbours to report on the latest happenings 'down the road'.

*********************************************************************************

It had been a dreary day all round.  Hopefully the plough would be down the road in a couple of days.  Things always seemed to take so long over the holidays.  Although she really had no real need to have the road ploughed.  Everything she needed was right in the house.  The deep freeze was well stocked with meat and vegetables.  The canned goods pantry was almost filled to overflowing.  The wood bin was full with dry seasoned poplar.  Poplar that had been seasoned two years which in fact made it a joy to start with just a few coals at the bottom of the grate; that could throw heat right to the top of the attic in 15 minutes if one wanted to warm up the mouse nests that were built along side the brick chimney.


The last few days had been very quiet in the small  semi isolated farm house.  Being 2 miles off the main highway and the last house on the grid made passing traffic very rare and actually quite startling when one saw the rare lights from a hunter's truck or the sound of an ATV rambling over cultivated fields.

She looked out across the shrouded field engulfed in the dark of an early winter's evening and remembered the time he had gone into town on such a night and she had been left behind.  That had been the night that she had seen lights whirring around and around the  same stubble field and had become quite alarmed not knowing what exactly the lights meant; not knowing about snowmobiles and where the far roads led.  A time long passed .  An occurrence never again repeated.

Walking back through the kitchen, she examined once again the cleared cupboard surface, glanced up at the sole kitchen light in the middle of the ceiling before she flipped the switch creating yet another dark space so seemingly early in the day.

Guided by the faint light from her bedroom she made her way mainly by feel towards the bathroom where she prepared for bed.  All was quiet.  The television had been shut off early in the afternoon.  No radio sounds with twinkling carols and sweet yarns of some stranger's sticky Christmas memory intruding this evening.   Just quiet.  Just the silence.  Just the memories.

The sheets in the bed were cool and she wiggled her legs and toes to bring warmth.  Then she remembered that she had not put wood in the stove.

Crawling out of bed with a soft groan, turning on the harsh light in the hallway she made her way back to the living part of the dark house. With the help of the dim light in the basement stairwell she found her way down to the wood stove.   She opened the metal lid and saw that there was hardly even the slightest glow of embers at the bottom.  Taking the metal poker she stirred the ashes hoping to revive the doleful gloomy sparks into something to  help contribute to the starting of a fire.  Placing the split poplar wood layer upon layer over the embers she reached down and opened the door at the bottom of the stove wide open to allow the air to pull a draft through the meagre sparks in order to start a real fire faster.. 

She left the door open and went back upstairs.   She would return later to close the door when she heard the whooshing of the air traveling up the chimney, part of which was situated right in her bedroom.

Cuddling down in a ball she lay there in her bed listening for the chimney sounds. She could hear the wind coursing through the evergreens just outside her window.    She thought of other Christmas Eves.  Christmas Eves of huge meals in the kitchen and candle light shimmering from garlands hanging from the ceiling.  Christmas Eves of games and 'little' presents. Excitement and picture taking under the tree. The  hanging of stockings , cheese balls, and punch bowls.  She closed her eyes and thought of the times of Santa and the  soft tip toeing as presents were put under the tree.  

She could hear something.  A horn? An alarm?  Surely not time to get up yet. No alarm was set. Probably just a dream.  Ignore it.  Probably some snowmobilers roaring around on Christmas Eve.


 

The Heartbeat of One--Hallowe'en Edition

The light was fading and the trail was getting harder and harder to see. 

 She rued that she had not taken the flashlight from the back of the car. 

 Flashlights always seemed so cumbersome but as  she shifted the weight of her backpack from her hip to her shoulder while half stumbling over a muddy rut , she thought  of the fully charged red emergency 'lantern' as her father called it sitting unused but not unneeded a fifteen minute walk away in the opposite direction.  

 She quickened her pace as the roof of her destination could be seen through the tops of the trees.

The 18th century wooden house was set two miles from the main highway on an unused dirt road.  A  mere trail would better describe the  grass covered route. How it could be considered a road on the computer map was beyond her or anyone's guess.  But she had  finally arrived , flashlight or no flashlight, road or no road.

The two story  structure had only two windows on the ground floor and two on the top. A  door faced the approaching path.  The windows seemed to gape wide eyed and dark as she approached the door and took out the key that had been sent  to her  along with the directions in the mail.  That was a few short dsys ago after she had placed the ad on Kijji Real Estate Section for Out of town property.

The key slipped in easily and as she turned the lock there was just the slightest resistance and then a click and the door swung inward into the darkness beyond.

Grasping her backpack strap she stepped in and slid her hand along the inside wall searching for a light switch or panel.  None could be found.  Her eyes gradually became used to the grey light inside and she  could  make out a the shape of an cosl oil   lantern on a shelf not far from the entrance.

  She placed her knapsack in the doorway stoop to hold the door open to let in the dimming evening light .  She walked towards the lamp.  Taking out her lighter, being grateful for her smoking habit, she removed the glass from the lantern and touched the lighter flame to the wick.  

Light in the form of a fading arc shone from the flame. 

As her eyes grew accustomed to the pale glow she became aware of an unease that perhaps was due to the damp and cold that seemed to surround her .  She raised the wick in the lantern and as she did so the light grew brighter but the dampness seemed to became colder .  She sensed a movement of air across her face as she leaned over to pick up her backpack which allowed the door to close slowly and without sound.

  Picking up the lantern she proceeded to explore the room where she found herself.  The floor was of a dark wood.  The room itself was bereft of any evidence of furniture or even usefulness.  There were no obvious clues to determine its past useage be it kitchen, living room or a combination of both.  There was a doorway in the far corner and with lantern and knapsack in hand she walked over and discovered a curving stairwell leading to the second floor. 

She started the climb upward.  The  wooden stairs were worn and cut so as to accommodate the circular design of the stairwell . Therefore she could not see the top of the stairway until she was only a few steps away.  The lantern light seemed to fade as she climbed higher until the  light from the waning flame dwindled to nothing until only a weak orange glow remained at  the precise moment her foot touched the top landing. 

 She looked downward  at the stairwell and was tempted to return but  as she could only see an enveloping darkness combined with what seemed to be an actual  encroaching mist now instead of the intense dampness that was felt on the main floor she decided against it.

She sensed rather than saw the outline of a window about 10 steps away . She carefully, with one foot sliding in front of the other, approached the outline.  She tightly clinched her knapsack in her fist  as she peered through the dirty window pane.  She saw only the forest that surrounded the building and the faint trail that brought her to it.

There seemed nothing left to do but to stare out of the window and wait and watch.

  The darkness grew deeper. 

 The lantern grew cold inspite of concentrated efforts to relight it with the  lighter.

  She felt rather than saw the mist wrap around her. She began to feel a  deep and penetrating chill. 

Taking out her cigarette pack she decided that at least the burning cigarette would provide solace as well as a bit of warmth against the seemingly insidious moistness that even started to cause a dampness on her clothes and made her grip on her knapsack wet to the touch. 


Time dragged on.  She decided to sit down and wait until daylight as she daren't try to manoeuvre that now slippery circular stairway in the blackness.

The darkened silence that settled in the building  was strange to someone who was used to city lights and sounds.

  That quietness of one that makes the individual believe that they are the only living thing in existance fell upon her. 

 That quietness that allows one to hear their own heartbeat and their own breathing .  The intake of air and the body's momentary stillness followed by the inevitable explusion of warm C02  and smoke became oddly comforting to her.

  She could almost believe she wasn't alone and that she had a living breathing companion  near her in the dark. 

   She put her dying cigarette  out on the cool moist floorboard. 

 In spite of the chill she slept.  She dreamt of warm  sunshine on a  beach. The  dream was so real that just for the slightest moment she felt the pressure of something coarser than sand  pressing over her body and neck.   She seemed to be caught in the strap from her knapsack . She struggled to free herself ...but for only a moment.

What was that red flashing light?






The newspaper article stated that the cause of the fire was attributed to careless smoking.  The victim's name will not be released. 


In other news, the authorities reported that an abandoned car was found in the same area of the fire.  They noted that a  red lantern type flashlight was found blinking on the front seat of the car by a passerby.  Anyone who has information regarding the whereabouts of the owner are asked to call their local police.

Library of Love

Assignment 2

“I wasn’t planning on this. Falling in love with you was the last thing I wanted. Because I know our time would have to come to end. Yet, here I am, begging you not to turn the page.” Who is the speaker and who is the speaker talking to? Finish the scene.



"I wasn't planning on this. Falling in love with you was the last thing I wanted.  Because I know our time would have to come to end.  Yet, here I am, begging you not to turn the page." She whispered softly. Her breath hot on his gilded leather jacket.

"Must I illustrate to you the danger of this relationship? You know  I must finish this.  It isn't right to any of those involved.  I am being sought.  This chapter must end."

"Please no.  I beg of you.  We could make it work." she persisted as she held him close. .

He  shrugged her cloying fingers from  his supple spine and turned away as he stared up at the shelves on the far wall.

"My future is not here but in higher places.  I cannot go on any longer."

"But my darling, we have kept away from prying eyes for so long now.  I have carried you close to my soul for weeks. Please let us keep this chapter going." , she said as she stroked  the cover of his jacket. 

Resolutely he pulled away.  "You are tearing me apart!  Please stop!"

"It is your Title isn't it?  You worry about your Title!"

He slipped out of his jacket  and fell to the floor.

 Finally  he was away from her grasp. 

"Read my lips." he shouted.  "It is finished.  It is THE END."

There was only a quiet hush. 

A pause.

 A sigh. 

And then she helped him up and gently placed him back in the  library -- three shelves up.

Ivanhoe  was finished . 

She would never touch him again.  The book was closed.  The chapter ended.

After a few moments she glanced along the rows of books and she saw  an interesting title and reached out.

"Perhaps ...this time." she thought as she gently placed her long and delicate fingers around the cover. As she slowly and lovingly pried the pages open  she sat down on the window seat where the morning sun highlighted her glowing face as her rosebud lips repeated the title over and over and over...

."..Tom Sawyer....Tom Sawyer."

Canadian Election

Election time is   nearly here
Hopefully the result will soon be clear.

Our country's future is greatly at stake
How many seats will each party take?

Steven or  Justin? Tommy  or May?
I think it will be a mixture at the end of the day.

Oil and gas worries, headdresses and fear,
Refugee crises and trade wars draw near.

This time next week the deed will be done
All the signs and billboards will  all be  as one.

Piled in a heap for the Hallowe'en  fire
Let us hope that the rest of the country isn't put out for hire.

 









 

Turtle Wise

They told me seeing a turtle on your wedding day would bring good luck and I didn't argue.  One did not argue with one's future in-laws but I just wish they hadn't tried to prove it. 

It was a glorious day.  Beautiful fall leaves decorating trees, lawns, and roadways.

All was ready.  Bridesmaids and flower girls adorned in their finest matching outfits.  Best men clean shaven with fresh haircuts and bow ties.  

The reception area was festooned with balloons and flowers.  We had gotten a 'deal' from my future husband's second cousin's sister on the use of the reception area.  She arranged the rental of a small town's hall just outside the city limits for a really modest price. 

 The delicate aroma of the carefully prepared  luncheon of chicken salad croissants and lightly spiced cabbage soup wafted over the dining area tables set with Royal Albert Chinaware of the Pettipoint design. The covered chairs  were set precisely in front of each place setting awaiting the arrival of the 30 invited guests.

The ceremony was lovely by anyone's standards.  The soloist sang beautifully. The bride was exceptionally lovely if I do say so myself, and the groom was especially handsome.  After the "I do's" were done and the deed was signed we dutifully walked down the aisle into the fresh autumn air  to an awaiting Limousine where wine was being chilled and the kisses would be hot.

Just as we were whisked away amidst  hearty congratulations I noticed a small package beautifully wrapped in gold foil and blue ribbon sitting on the seat beside me.  I thought immediately that it must be a gift from my true love, my most recent husband.  'A Token of love Devine' no doubt. 

I cuddled closer to my newest "Raison D'etre" and shook the package gingerly while sipping on the red wine.  He claimed that he had no idea of what was inside and nor had he had any idea  from where the package came.   But I all knowingly suspected that it was just merely a playful love ruse to add to the excitement of the day.

I teasingly took the parcel and placed it under my sweet loved one's nose and he gently but firmly pushed it aside.  I shook the golden nugget once more and could hear a light thud thud sound.  'Hmmm...not  anything that is actually attached  ...so it probably isn't jewellery.'I thought. 'Interesting.'

I glanced out the window of the Limousine to see how close we were to the reception hall.  It looked like the driver was taking the long way through the suburbs. 'Typical.' I thought. 'Taking the slow way to pad the fee.'

I  slipped off the seat and gingerly leaned over trying not to get my dress caught between my feet and the floor and  verbally indicated that we were only obliged to pay the previously agreed upon price for transport from the church to the reception and that we would like to get to said reception as soon as possible with no dallying.  The driver assured me that he would pick up the speed and consequently made a sharp turn and proceeded towards the speedway.

As there were no more than fifteen minutes of travel left in our journey to the festivities,  I daren't not get my hair mussed so I placed the brakes on the kisses and focused again on the package of gold.

It was about the size of a block of butter.  I carefully removed the ribbon and then slowly and precisely picked at the little pieces of tape until the golden paper fell to the floor and revealed a purely white satin like box with a hinged lid. 

I knowingly winked at my new husband as he gazed at me with love filled eyes and then I flipped the lid.

There it was.
Staring at me eye to eye.
Blinking slowly.
Mouth gaping. 
 Feet slowly wiggling. 
A live Turtle!

Over the sound of the screams , which turned out to be mine, I could hear laughter.  Hysterical laughter. It was the type of laughter that takes away the person's breath so that there was also a sound of gasping combined with a laughter  so loud and raucous that  it made even the limousine driver turn to see what the commotion was about.

Charges of involuntary manslaughter are taken quite seriously in our country.  The jury it seemed just didn't want to understand why it was apparent that the turtle was caught in my sweet, sadly departed, husband's throat in spite of the fact that the  driver had hit the brakes to avoid hitting a rabbit that had run in front of the vehicle.  The driver said he had been momentarily distracted by the strange sounds from the back of the limo.


Now I am doing 10-20 in Federal Prison.

 Stupid Rabbit.




My assignment was: Start your story with “They told me seeing a turtle on your wedding day would bring good luck” and end your story with “Now I’m doing 10-20 in federal prison. Stupid rabbit.”

 

NEIL YOUNG - OLD MAN

Senior Moment

On a recent post on a Social Media Site there was  cartoon of two unicorns watching the Ark sail away in the distance.  The caption below it  read, "The Original Senior Moment".
 
This brought to mind some recent incidents that I have  begrudgingly been able to pass over as Senior Moments mainly because the people involved never had set eyes on me before nor would they ever again.   The first incident was when I decided to take a tour of an Historical Brewery while on vacation.  When I walked into the establishment I saw that there were about 15 people gathered in a huddle listening intently to who appeared to be  a costumed guide.  I immediately ran up to join the group and found myself suddenly being intercepted by a uniformed person who informed me that while I was correct in the fact that the tour had already started I had to first pay at the cashier's outlet down the stairs and to the left.  After I  had paid the $23  the cashier told me they would let me know when the next tour would begin approximately 20 minutes hence.    I sat quietly on the bench designed for waiting tourists and  proceeded to take out my treasured  novel and decided to pass the time reading.   A while later I happened to look up and there up on the balcony again was another group of people paying rapt attention to the same previously mentioned historically costumed tour guide.  I had missed the first few minutes of the tour and had to hasten to put away my book and run up the steps.  I felt the eyes of the security guard on me once more and caught the rapid glances between tour guide, guard, and cashier before I was included in the group and finally guided forward into the depths of history.
 

 
This same feeling of  as the French would say " walking beside myself" occurred as I lined up at Timmies to order a much needed beverage and a little snack.  While standing dutifully in a moderately long line (less than 10 more than 5) I examined the menu  lit up high above for all to see.  I idly started to imagine and compare several choices and combinations of choices based on calories, tastiness, cost, and most importantly ' chances that it would be good' when I felt a soft and tender tap on my shoulder.  Thinking that perhaps there was someone in the establishment that I knew I turned around with a smile and was surprised ( and not unpleasantly so) to see that it was a nice looking ruggedly handsome young man who had tapped my shoulder.  I was understandably curious to know why he had  felt he had to catch my attention and in response to my quizzical look he pointed to the cashier while commenting that she had been free to take my order for several seconds.
 
I immediately sauntered quickly over to the counter to order while apologizing.  I  recited my order and paid for it dutifully.  The person who took my order seemed to suddenly disappear. I assumed she  had gone to  prepare my request so I again focused on the menu flashing above and waited.  Finally after quite a while it seemed, the server was standing in front of me. She explained that my order was at the end of the counter and would I please move along so others could place their orders? 

 Perhaps this is a case where a Senior Moment becomes a Senior Minute, or what might better be more accurately described as a Senior Quarter Hour.


 Senior Moments can be a bit embarrassing while being the cause of some confusion for not only the Senior but also to those around them.  These 'Moments" are no doubt happening more and more every day and in every way as the population ages and medical advances allow this population more interaction with people of 'youth'. I am referring to those who cannot explain away their own random acts of mental lapses on the confusion of age.

The members of the  population who have not  yet achieved this license of guilt free social faux pas have only their overuse  and abuse of drugs or alcohol intertwined with their limited IQs or life experience on which to blame their less than socially acceptable behaviours.

Take for example the young, beautiful , nubile, and otherwise intelligent example of femininity who admitted to me that she had gotten massively drunk at the bar and had made out with an 80 year old.  

 Yes, this seemingly unseemly example of what happens when you are  a young person who has drank too much might seem distasteful to some.

But I bet it was 'somekinda ' Senior Moment/Minute/Quarter Hour for that 80 year old. 

 In fact, I wouldn't doubt that his family can find him hanging around that bar a lot just to see if he can experience 'deja vu'--another type of  phenomena that has been used as an excuse for even more and varied Social Anomalies too numerous to mention at this moment--Senior or not.


Have you ever had a Senior Moment you would like to share? 




 

Ripple Effect

 Today I witnessed something that brought a tear to my eye not only because it was an act of care and  love and value of family,  but also because it brought to mind the never ending consequences of a similar event that occurred 75 years ago.   An event which was motivated by determination and bravery and value for the future generations.  An event  which if it had not   proven successful might have made the occurrence of today's  happening an impossibility.

We went fishing and camping this weekend at our local semi isolated spot.  I describe it as isolated but in actuality it is not too  " Far from the Maddening Crowd " if  one counts the arrival  of  numerous boats, owners, and trailers all in various states of repair, age, and rust. 

  It being the weekend of Father's Day there were several couples of younger men and older men out for their obvious obligatory time of togetherness  on  the recent Friday and Saturday evenings.  

 Last evening one  of the younger men was particularly chatty and seemed to approve of our camp site and cheery fire.  When this same young man and his father returned today to launch their small  14 foot aluminum boat with 9.5 hp boat motor, it was only mildly surprising that this time  they also came with lawn chairs and cut fire wood in the hull.   Upon further investigation (via binoculars) we noticed that this couple had taken their boat to a part of the lake accessible only by boat, which had  a sandy shore and proceeded set up a fire pit and a circle of chairs.   We  watched with interest as two cars arrived on the edge of the lake and several people got out with coolers, babies, and life jackets in hand and stood on shore waving to our 'picnic ready' Pop and Son duo.

Then we watched as the small boat made its way laboriously across the lake towards the shore where the waiting hoards awaited and proceeded to load as many passengers as the captain deemed safe and motored back across the lake to the sacred and well prepared picnic site.   It took three trips back and forth before everyone was safely on solid 'sand'.  Three hours later we watched as the same procedure was repeated only in reverse.  Finally a fourth trip was observed to bring back lawn chairs and coolers.. The captain had to load the  boat on the trailer at the dock and  then travel back home again  for work tomorrow.

  I am sure all involved were  accompanied with memories of happy times and sandy shoes to dream about and discuss with glee at the next gathering of the clan.


While I was watching this procedure of loading and unloading I thought of the care, attention, and determination of the Captain of the boat as he picked up family members and took them safely to their destination.  It occurred to me that the success of today's activity was probably motivated by the same type of values inherent in  the Captains of the hundreds of little boats that travelled over the English Channel to Dunkirk to rescue the Allied Soldiers some 75 years ago. The operators of so many family fishing boats like the one I saw today, which were en route to Dunkirk traveling the 20 miles across the Channel, were driven by the recognition that there was no question that they had to brave the strait in order to  help accomplish their goal to stop those who would challenge the freedoms we still enjoy  and sometimes take for granted.

  The freedoms to which I refer are inherent in such expression of family values, duty and, respect that was able to be demonstrated by today's captain and his 'evacuees' . 



Today was a balmy sunny day at the lake . 
 
The days of the Evacuation of Dunkirk were shrouded in fog. 
 
Ironic?
Perhaps. 
 
Accidental?
Not Likely.
 
 
 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dunkirk_evacuationDunkirk


 

Big City Attitude--Melville, Saskatchewan

 In the early evening of  January 17, 2015 a friend of mine, a woman  who is of obvious Native Ancestry walked into a Melville establishment where there are Video Lottery Terminals.  She went straight to  the VLT machines and sat with her back to the rest of the room. She was aware  that there was a  table of other people sitting not far from her but she paid no attention to the group and focused on playing the VLT machines as she had done in the past to pass a quiet January evening. She was the only one at the machines.






After a few minutes she heard one of the males at the table behind her say " What ? They let Indians in here now?"




My friend felt her face turn red with shame and embarrassment.  She told me that she just kept staring at the VLT  as she relived those moments years ago when she sat in an all white school hearing the teacher read from the Social Studies text about savage wild Indians living in North America.


My friend wanted to leave but felt that perhaps if she just ignored the comment she would avoid any further barbs thrown her way.  She said she didn't even want to move or draw any more attention to herself.  She said that fear was the biggest emotion she felt while she was sitting there.  She was worried that if she left maybe she would be followed.  She was worried that if she confronted the racist speaker he would find out where she lived, find out what kind of vehicle she drove,  or harass her even more in some other unknown way. So she just sat at the VLT and pretended that she hadn't heard the slur, although she did text her partner in the next town telling him what she was experiencing.




 A few moments later another comment came in the form  of  " First time I've been in here that there aren't any Squaws." from the same voice behind her.   My friend said she heard some  whispered 'Shs shs' coming from other people at the table  and  someone whispering  "She's right there....."


It was about this time that my friend's partner arrived as a result of the text he had received.  They left  the bar together immediately without further incident or comment from anyone at the other table.


One may think that the incident ended there.  The victim left the building.  The main bully and his counterparts continued their evening at the bar.   There was no confrontation.  Just a few little harmless comments for laughs.  No big deal.




Wrong!




  An innocent person was made to feel uncomfortable and fearful due to the mere fact that they walked into a public place alone. An innocent person felt so  trapped and vulnerable in a public place  that they had to call for support  outside of  the building not sensing that anyone in the building could be counted on for support.  An innocent person has to now take the memory of this attack and  process it enough to ensure that if will not affect other choices she makes when it comes to her freely choosing to go out in public alone  for fear of something like this will happen again.


 
This incident was a racially motivated attack  with a victim and  perpetrators.  I use the plural here as the people who were sitting at the same table are every bit as responsible for the situation as the one who was actually making the comments for  "If you aren't part  of the solution you are part of the problem."






I always used to think that Melville was just a small city with not much to make it stand out from any other small city.  But in light of the above incident and the recent labeling of Winnipeg as the most racist city in Canada I guess Melville has more Big City Ideas than I first thought.

A Journey that Changed My Life

A Journey that Changed My Life










There is a contest on the radio that invites participants to write about a journey--a journey that changed their life to be precise.










Now not being anyone who has travelled much, often, or recently it seemed to me, at first flush, that this contest was way beyond my life experience non fictionally or even fictionally for that matter.




I thought of writing about the day that I followed the cat around the countryside forcing my mother and several neighbours to start considering cutting down 100 acres of barley thinking that my four year old little lost body was sleeping somewhere in the middle.


  By the way,  I learned that cats do catch quite a few mice daily ...but as I couldn't count as yet I have no accurate calculation of just how many.  






I thought of discussing the day that I journeyed to my grandmother's house on my tricycle  over 2 1/2 miles of dirt country road.  I learned that the next time I did that I would be in quite a bit of trouble if I didn't tell my mom first.   I also learned thanks  again to my mom that one must drive on a certain side of the road as indicated by the pink ribbon that was permanently tied to the right? hand side of the handlebars.




Another journey that comes to mind is the day that my older sister and I, while riding double bareback on our favourite horse across  pastures and unbroken fields to the nearest country school,  fell off. I started falling first  and then due to my 'hanging on'  to my sister,  her following.   As a consequence, both of us were late for school  as walking with horse on the rein is not nearly as efficient transportation wise as riding the  horse.


 The lesson learned from this journey came from   Dear Sis which was quite well impressed upon me for all time  and it sort of following the philosophy of Let Go and Let God...especially if you feel you are falling.












Then it occurred to me that I did visit the British Isles about 45 years ago and that perhaps I did have a bona fide journey to recount.

I did fly to the Bahamas that following Christmas  and I did  fly to California within the same twelve months.












I traveled alone for the most part.










I planned the trips by myself in that I purchased the tickets, decided when, where, and the how of getting to and from the airport, made  necessary hotel arrangements through a travel agent and purchased the necessary (in those days ) Traveller's Cheques  and filled out copious  passport forms.












I figured out how to use various currencies, ask for directions usually more than once  due to not understanding accents and different terminology, and to finally figure out how to use the London Underground without getting too lost, trapped, or 'falling in front of the 'bloody  train'' by watching others and reading the coloured signs.










I learned that getting food poisoning in a foreign country really makes you appreciate your mother more and that no matter how much you wish you were home you have to make the best of the situation regardless of how many times your bodily functions betray your youth and health.








I also learned literally that if you do "Let Go" and  fall off a horse  (rented) you have to get up and climb back on and ride it back to the Office because walking back with a crushed knee would have been more painful than  efficient in light of the heat and terrain that would have to be crossed.








 Yes, I journeyed  a lot that year.  I met many many different people from all over the world--Australia, South Africa, Germans, Americans, Great Britain, and Holland.


 I learned to cope with a varied cross section of cultural norms and 'misnorms'.   The women who washed 'all over' in the public washrooms, the dangerously overcrowded nightclubs with only one exit,  the humble but adequate housing of the regular Briton, and the children selling Conch shells to tourists are just a few.






Did my journeys of that year change me in any ways that were important?  Did they affect my future life choices,  change what I value in life or make me a better person in any way?








I like to think so.




I learned that North American culture is not necessarily the be all and end all.  I learned that there are many people who are very happy and content with living with less than what would be a standard fare here in Canada.







I learned that in general people just want to get along the best they can by taking joy where they can find it,  lend a  hand to a stranger when they are asked, and live  in peace as much as possible.












I also learned that one should never--ever--drink the cordial made from horse trough water-- no matter how tasty it looks or how thirsty you are.

Bowing ..I Hope Not ...to the Absurd

We are in the midst of typical winter weather where frost hangs on the trees with every bit of tenacity as it does on windows and windshields; where the  sharp and inexplicable sound of  a nail being 'pulled' in the middle of the cold dark night can jolt one awake with same burst of terror that one has when awakened by a door slamming or something falling to the floor *.  You know something wakened you but you are quite sure what it was.


It is the type of cold that makes the butter hard in the cupboard, the cloths that one has wedged into the edges of the door  freeze onto the jam, and the wood when placed on top of the glowing embers start to flame even before one finishes filling the stove. 


 It is the type of cold that harkens a cloud of frost filled air to follow anyone who returns from the  outside   become a fog bank of ice and frigidity whose chilly fingers scurry over the floor  seeking warming solace in the feet, legs, and ultimately  spine of any living being six feet from the door  resulting in goose bumps and shivers to its host.


It is during this type of cold that one can only be thankful that wood  and  fibreglass are reasonable
insulation and that the discovery that air between two or three  panes of glass can ward off both wind and freezing temperatures.   It is truly a marvel indeed that within a space of about 6 inches  the destiny of human life is allowed to survive and even thrive in sub zero temperatures.


It is one of these types of cold days that I chose to stop in for a midmorning coffee at a neighbour's unannounced .


It was one of those winter days where footsteps crunch, frosty breath lurks around one's head and quickly freezes the 'all hairs' of one's facial features.


  It was one of these winter days that  I left my vehicle, climbed noisily up the steps of the deck and  I pushed the doorbell and heard the welcoming call of  'Come In the Door Is Open'. 


 It was one of these winter days that I  opened the frost jammed door with a bit of a jerk and went inside  and was immediately accompanied by a cloak of foggy  ice crystals as the cold air met warmth. 


It was one of these winter days that my glasses  fogged up as I entered the house and as I took my mitts off to lift them off my nose I looked in at my hosts and saw  evidence of the beneficial effect of fibreglass insulation and trapped air pockets between two panes of glass, although I was not immediately conscious of that scientific analysis right at that moment. 


What did impress me at that very moment when I returned my defogged glasses to my face is something so image filled, so mind etching, so visually inerasable   that it  can and should only be expressed in rhyme .

Bowing....I Hope Not to the Absurd

Stopping for warmth on a cold winter's day
For a short little chat and a friendly Good Day
My mind became confounded and really confused. 
And not because of the frost or the fog that ensued
 
I saw three great big men at the round table 
And through my frosted specs able 
To see they were naked from the chest up
Eating their cheerios and  slurping from cups.


 As I stood there in shock, I looked in dismay
I said a short  prayer to quickly convey
My hope that I would not ever be able
While during that visit, see under that table.




* I refer to the sound  of a dresser situated  at the end of the bed in the middle of the night falling over because the drawers weren't properly closed.  Apparently it was a traumatic experience for a new bridegroom so much so that it has been referred to at least 4 times a year for the past 30 years of marriage. The tirade usually starts out with..."just like the time you didn't close the drawer of that dresser....."  So the unexpected and unexplained sounds in the middle of the night can bother a person for years to come...or so it seems.

KISS..*.

 In my quest to live minimally, I am attempting to what my  former owner of a TRS 80  Model I husband would refer to as defragging my house. 


   I even have a Social Media feed about living minimally from which I receive daily reminders about how happy, productive, spiritual , and rich I will become when I live a truly minimalistic simple  life.


The main barrier between living the life I live and the life with minimal belongings, things, and general over abundance is that in order to do so I must not not only stop buying stuff, but I must also stop owning stuff.   My cupboards must become decluttered, the bottom of the shelves in my closets must become readily visible, and my knick knack shelves filled with my collection of owls, elephants, and fish have to be limited to only things that are usable, memory laden, or  that which, due to its own physical properties, will become used passively and thus naturally disappear over time...such as candles, candies, and in my house...plants.


I started this process of minimization on a two day binge of cleaning, sorting, wiping, piling, bagging, boxing, and throwing and I have come to the conclusion that  there really isn't anything minimal about becoming living minimally. 


 It takes  quite a lot of work to pick up, examine, evaluate, decide, sort and sacrifice something that one has kept sometimes for decades 'just in case', something that has become like an old friend that one has touched, and yes it must be admitted, even fondled from time to time.


If not buying stuff would automatically make me a minimalist and thus make me and my house  happier, cleaner, and  more organized I could do so in a heartbeat as I live about an hour from any real venue of non necessities.  This fact and the wonderful ability to daily raconteur one's bank account online has proven to be a wonderful deterrent (if not actual hobby) in keeping the balance from being in the red.


Simply saying KISS takes more effort than it looks, takes more courage than it seems, and  takes more faith in the future than one would ever believe. 


May the  expiry date of the food in your pantry  be at least a month away; may your socks sometimes match, and may you learn to own less than you want but just what you need.




*KISS...  refers to KISS it Goodbye.....


 

Bra --Eh?

Everything has to be sporty it seems.


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


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


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


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



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


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


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


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


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


  Success! 


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


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


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




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








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

The Grinch

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A Car Party

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


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


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




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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


  An auctioneer was assigned and the bidding was  ON!


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


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




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


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


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

What Good Service Looks Like Part 1

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




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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


BRAVO Kind Sir!

Loblaws Superstore Optical Yorkton

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


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


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


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


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


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



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



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



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

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



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



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

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



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

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





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





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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






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