More Beans Please

Oooooh. The Winter Solstice has arrived, the darkest day of the year, and from here on in it will only get brighter. The tree bones are prominent, and although there is no snow, there is a wintery feel here. Is it solstice or solstace? My spell checker is saying solstice so I will go with that. I can only recall one Winter Solstice that really stands out. It was about ten years ago. My eldest daughter was two years old, and we were invited to go to "Balanced Life Garden's" which has since changed it's name. It was to be a potluck, and a get together of "earthy" people. At the time, I thought I was earthy, the type of person who enjoys getting together with what I thought were bohemian types. The long flowy skirts (no I don't wear them now), the bellbottoms, heck I have chosen to wear bell bottoms (brown corduroy is the best) since I was fourteen. We arrived at "Balanced Life Garden's" with a bean salad. It was a very good bean salad, I figured the everyone would enjoy the vast assortment of legumes and it would give protein to the masses. I set my salad (along with tongs) on the large table. We were instructed to sit in a circle and "share" our most earthy vibes and "special" (I despise the word special, and use it only if I have to) moments regarding winter. Now, my daughter was in daycare at the time, and had just learned the concept of currency. The couple that we went with had a couple of little kids as well, and they were dressed in their earthy finest, with beads and hemp clothing, meanwhile my daughter was encased probably in a polyester blend. During "circle time", a girl piped up "My favourite time in the winter (now, this has to be noted that the speech of the speaker was very slow and monotonous, airy, and I think she may have had some chemical aid) . . . "My. . .favourite . . .time . . . in the . . .winter is stirring a . . .large . . . .pot . . .of . . .soup . . .on a . ..stove". I forget what my favourite part of winter was, I probably quipped, Spring Solstice, but meanwhile, as the circle "shared", my daughter started having a hissy fit. "Weeeeeee havvve no MONEY! We don't have MONEY". This was an absolute "no no" in the books of the group. . .the dirty looks pierced my husband and I from the circle. I could feel my face going bright red. I almost died. I wanted to get out of there soooooo fast. (Again, I think my left eye was beginning to shut tightly, and I realized, man, I am not like these people, I don't want to be like these people. I am so glad that I did not have the nauxious weed police bust me for overgrown foliage. . .I am so glad that I didn't decide to bury my placenta under a life tree). What was even more funny, was it was supposed to be an open understanding group of individuals, yet they were judging my family because my daughter had learned that we didn't have a lot of loonies, and the fact that my daughter displayed frustration, I didn't reprimand my daughter in a bad way, I only asked her to "shhh honey, we have money, don't worry, here's a nickel". The potluck part was no better, instead of having utensils, everyone was eating with their hands. Including the bean salad, there were other earthy delights there as well, but, it wasn't fricking finger food. (When I go to Ethiopian Restaurants, yes I eat with my left hand, that is permissable, you are in an Ethiopian Restaurant). I think I saw someone eating soy tapioca with their baby finger. Meanwhile, my daughter was still screaming about our financial state (we were on OSAP at the time, just students). (We actually had to take her outside, because she was causing bad vibes). We got the other couple (whom we drove, I think most of the people rode bicycles there, even in the harsh brutal winds and snow), and said we had to leave. The only thing that would calm my daughter down was the tape that we recorded from the record "Father Abraham in Smurfland". It's worse than the Chipmunks. We burnt some rubber in the old 86 Toyota Tercel four wheel drive wagon (well, we tried to), and got home safely, with the remnants of the bean salad, which I promptly threw out, because I didn't know if people were using their hands to scoop it from the bowl (in flu season for goodness sake).

Be My Head

A friend recommended a book to me that I really didn't enjoy. "The Artist's Way", it seemed too new agey for me. Not that I don't like New Age stuff, just some of it bores me to tears, or it is written poorly~~~ "Drawing Down the Moon" for me was a huge flop. I specially ordered it, and was very dissappointed by the writing. I figure if you are going to go to the trouble of writing a book, write it nicely. When I read something like that, I expect it to be life changing, but when it seems like it is written sloppily, I just can't. This was a book I needed for a few essays I did in college regarding Wicca. What I did glean from The Artist's Way was to write two pages per day, or set aside an hour for writing, without worrying about grammar or spelling. Which I really haven't been doing lately, I have tried to perfect the art of procrastination. So, without a topic or an idea, I am just going to write aimlessly from now on. Last night I did have a dream and it was based on the book Ozma of Oz. My mother, had picked up a few of the first edition Oz books at a garage sale for me when I was about eight. In the story (I think it was Ozma) a woman could exchange her heads. She had a room of them and depending on her mood, she could just put a head on that suited her demeanour. Blonde heads, Red Heads, Brunnette Heads, ugly heads, pretty heads. It must be Bub's comment that sparked the dream. I was exchanging my head, but it was a really ugly head that I had decided on. I didn't wake up gasping or flailing like I usually do. Sometimes Adam will catch me sleepwalking or actually standing on the edge of the bed. The worst sleepwalking experience was when rented an apartment in downtown London. I ended up on my front porch, in my skivvies (actually it was a one piece pastel flowered ensemble, that had a back flap with buttons). It must have been break time at Labatt's and there I awoke. Or when I lived in a high-rise I found myself out on the balcony. My daughter's are like that too, they wake up and talk in a very strange language. I have had to hide all the stuff from the medicine cabinet because my eldest daughter walked in her sleep and came to me with a bottle of peroxide, and said she was "thirsty". It brings to mind that really great Flaming Lips Song . . ."Be my head, and I'll be yours". I am getting excited for Christmas. . .today dh is off on shutdown, after work, although sick as a dog, it will be a nice rest. I miss having "shut down" and I still kick myself for quitting. With the sixteen hours that we were away from home, the girls were frazzled. So here I am, missing work, (actually, the action of leaving for work, and going to a place to work outside the home, and the social interaction there). I have a lot of work here with the rentals, today I have to get my handy dandy drill out and fix some of the skirting around the rental, try to find a new lock to install in the mudroom, take Wookie for a jaunt in the woods, and tidy up the house, find the Sister's Fats and maybe give them a brush. Mabel was running around last night, for a fat cat, she sure can be active. Her stomach hits the ground, I know that this is not good, but, I have them on special kibble, yet if I don't feed them when they want it, they scream at me and try to trip me. I also have some books out from the library that may be overdue. . .a travesty. I am really anal when it comes to books being overdue. The funny thing is I can't find them and two of them are on organization. Anytime that I take out books on organization, they get lost. There is also the John Irving book that I haven't touched (The Hotel New Hampshire guy). The doby next door that I have been looking after (visiting), had a doodle and a pee on the floor (next door). Talk about gross, the dog is so big that the turds are the size of my pug or a small chicken. The cat's that the tenant has, knocked over all their t.v. stuff on Sunday, I had no idea how to get it working again, so the animals next door have been without the Shopping Channel for a while. It kept them company. It is a very sunny day outside, I am wondering if I can actuallly cultivate Hens and Chicks inside (no not the feathered ones, I am not that nuts)"Sempervivum". They may look nice. I did manage to snip my baltic ivy that I am trying to grow on the embankment (for lack of a better word) outside my house. If the snow plow and the road salt doesn't kill it, I will be very happy. I am a black thumbed gardener, I try my hardest, but I can't seem to grow a nice garden. I can't see the forest for the trees, I plunk things. Then halfway through the summer, in full knowledge that I shouldn't, I dig things up and move them. Then I forget to water, and things just fry on the south side of the house. My only salvation are my hollyhocks, and I am going to try to start some inside this year. I have some black ones that are absolutely gorgeous, I am in love with the hollyhock, malva, rose of sharon, anything Althea. Now the government is telling me it will be another three weeks for the vendors permit. . .not that I am going to sell my wares at a flea market, (that is just not me). But I would like to have been able to hit some trade shows, the ones where you can buy wholesale, and you need a vendors permit to get in. Oh well, such is life. Fifteen minutes of power typing is enough for now. I have to get trucking.

Response to Comment

My computer has shut down and had irritating fatal errors, so this may be scattered. I think your son is very brave and very noble to be going to Afghanistan, to fight for what he feels is a "good thing". It was not my purpose to minimalize and dismiss his or your ideology. I respect those decisions, as I respect all the soldiers that are over there fighting for the "greater good". Which possibly may seem hypocritical to my blog, but to me it is two separate issues. Albert Camus wrote "The true patriot is one who gives his highest loyalty not to his country as it is but to his own best conceptions of what it can and ought to be." My personal views vis a vis Middle East : I do support the troops over there, but I do think (imho) that the Canadian's role of "peace keepers" have been abused by the US. Unfortunately, the role that they are in, in Afghanistan (imho), is one of cleaning up the unfinished job of the Americans. The initial mission for the US was to find Bin Laden, and bombed the crap out of Afghanistan,~ the idea of helping was ancillary to that. The Taliban shite (human rights issues) have been going on for years, and thank goodness that Canada is there to try to clean it up. I would like to see some other countries giving a bit more help to the Canadians over there (if the job isn't done, it should be done faster). And yes, that is what the Canadian troops are doing, trying to support and nurture basic human rights, but there ought to be more support from other NATO countries. We have approximately 2300 troops over there, and other countries have sent troops, we are in the most dangerous area. Based on population other allies could be sending more. But again, it wasn't until the 9/11 attack that the American's actually seemed to have a huge problem with the lack human rights (not just women's) in Afghanistan. I agree with the good will and the effort that our troops have put in to the Afghanistan mission, but I am saddened every time there is a loss of life. I do not agree with the full head dress of women (reasoning behind it), that they do not have the right to education, or to go out alone, without the company of a brother or a male relative, the list is extensive.. I do not agree with a lot of the treatment of "people" in general. Lines between culture and inherent human rights are tough. There is no black or white, only shades of grey. I still hope that there will be true peace, but one that is not etched out of war, and fighting. Yet a peace that is founded by a deep realization, that although people may differ in beliefs and culture, it is not the dissimilarities, but the commonalities and the interconnections that people ought to focus on. Idealistic, yes, likely, no, but hopeful, yes. And yes, I do enjoy that my head sits on my neck quite firmly, and that I am not in a situation where I have to worry that it may become disengaged from my spinal column. Personal opinions on equality: In my opinion, we are all made of the same "stuff". . . .on the sentient scale, we are all equal, yes, even the Drug Lord down the street. . . . I may not agree in principle with the actions, but as a "person", with the same inherent make up, I would say that yes, because of this he is equal to me, not in action, but in existence. I may not like what he is doing, I may disagree completely with his code of conduct. As a person though, he has inherent rights. I may also bitch about the state of his house, and how I wish that he would get the heck out of town and stop trying to sell my kids drugs, I may despise all the slippery slope conditions that this man brings. I also may call people assholes, but , they are people who just happen to be assholes, not assholes that happen to be people. People in the first sense (cementing the basic right)asshole in the second sense. Would I agree with a group of cannibals, who by cultural upbringing, decided that my baby toe looked delicious, would I give it to them? (No!, Grab your own finger frittata.). Would I agree with what they are doing? No, here is where the formalist view comes in. I think cannibalism is wrong because it doesn't universally support or nurture basic human rights. Let me also say this: I am a die hard Synoptic Agnostic Relativist that can be seen sneaking sips from the Formalists and Contextualist Cups depending on the day, time, idea. I am the first to admit that I am not as up on my politics as I would like to be, native land claims, or sewer and water stuff , or what may be the best cheese in the world either ~gouda is always good. I may at times seem hypocritical, which, conversly I do not feel that it is a bad thing to change your mind if you have the facts, and if you responsibly choose to do so, or if someone nudges you just the right way, because of a very good argument. Hell, it is good to change your mind, that way you are not static. Being static and caught up in dogma is the worst thing in the world to me. And opinions are opinions, just like gourds, everyone has the right to them (lame digression), and I find it fun to discuss, because, you learn a lot more from listening then you do flapping your pie hole. Although, I have been known to do that at nauseum and argue a point that I do not agree with just for the hell of it, or to ruffle some feathers.

Still Crunching Along

Well, the old computer is still crunching along. Thanks Bub :) for all your help, I really appreciated your ideas and comments. I tried them all. . . it took a while, but I think my 'puter is plain old pukey. I like watching that firewall thing do it's job, it is kind of mesmerising. It has taken me approximately 15 minutes to write this. I have posted on another site, and have not been able to respond to a really fantastic comment made by garym about the Hope Bay cottagers (South Bruce Peninsular Site). Very frustrating. My email is up and running smoothly though. I had a very odd day. . . it started with a filling at the dentist's. The smell of a dentist office is enough to put me over the edge, let alone the idea that there is a hole in my mouth that isn't supposed to be there. I wasn't in the most upbeat of moods and when I returned home, very irritable. When I parked "Antonio" (my truck), I saw that Canada Post had delivered a notice to my door. Not the front door, but the side door. This is the door that the dogs go out to do their business. Meanwhile, my front entrance, with all it's seasonal splendor (the foliage that I removed off the spruces, and any evergreen tree that happened to be on my property, or my neighbours (yes I solicited at their home as well~~~"can I steal some of your Yew?"), went unnoticed. My front door looks very welcoming, and you do not have to dodge puppy grenades to get there. Yet the Canada Post Lady went to the grenade entrance. I had forgotten to do Poop Patrol yesterday, and as you can imagine, with three dogs, it wasn't good. I felt horrible. I can just imagine this poor lady doing a jig to evade the grenades. I am going to make a sign. Anyhow, I waited in line at the Canada Post office, supposedly a parcel awaited me. IT WAS HUGE. I signed for it, and took it home. What it was took me completely by surprise. It was an oil painting by my Aunt. I couldn't believe it. A few months ago, I contacted someone regarding a painting, I won't give the details, but it was bought through an auction, they won, I didn't notice that it had been up for auction until the auction ended. I told them of the history of the family, etc. I offered to buy it from them, they agreed, I sent them my particulars, and then nothing was said. Suddenly it appeared in the mail. There was no note inside, so I contacted the person through their email. I asked how much I owed, and thanked them for the surprise parcel. I was shocked by the response I was given, and have not stopped sniffling all day. I have removed names, in case it makes the giver uncomfortable. But this person moved me. . .I am utterly "gobsmacked". . .flabbergasted. . .at this act of kindness and goodwill, and generousity, that I had to share. "Please consider this a Christmas gift with no strings. I mean that. It is a gift to me just knowing that I returned the painting to one of its immediate family members. I hope that you and your family find the kind of joy that we found in having it for a few days (we hung it on our wall while I was waiting to hear of your address) and admiring it. And if you must, repay my gift by saying a prayer for the United States that we may recover our senses and open up dialogues which lead to peace, prosperity, and harmony with other countries of the world rather than war, disease, and pestilence. I hope that you have a very Merry Christmas and a Healthy and Happy New Year!" The painting is hanging in my living room, (the one with walls). Everytime I look at it, it honestly brings tears to my eyes, not because of the painting itself, but because of the action associated with it. I phoned my other family members and asked them what I should do. It is hard to accept a gift like this, but simultaneously, to diminish the message of the gift giver, would (I surveyed this) be in bad taste. It took me at least four hours to write him back, this is how I replied: "I am at a loss for words (and utterly shocked). . . So much so, that I was unable to write you back immediately. Your words and thoughts evoked tears. Your gift, your sentiment, was truly altruistic and completely unexpected. It is, in this, that holds the true message of Christmas. You have genuinely touched me, and those in my family that I have contacted. Yes, I will say many prayers for your country (and all countries involved and their soldiers), and hope that there will be true peace, but one that is not etched out of war, and fighting. Yet a peace that is founded by a deep realization, that although people may differ in beliefs and culture, it is not the dissimilarities, but the commonalities and the interconnections that people ought to focus on. In reading your letter, a quote by Norman Maclean comes to mind: "Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters." What a unforgettable and precious gift you have given me and my family, of both words, and gesture. Thank you, and Merry Christmas to you and your loved ones." It is not my wish to offend the gift giver, if he ever encounters this blog, but I am in awe of the gesture, and the perspective it gave me at this time of year. And that the idea that Christmas transends the "gift",(this is so easy to forget)). It is truly the thought that is important and the message given by the giver. His intentions were unadulterated, and will never be forgotten. Nor will his message regarding the futile state of war that has hung over our heads for the past few years. ~~It's time to come home.

My computer is acting up. For some reason, it takes forever to load web pages. I have highspeed cable (the only highspeed option up here). Yes, I am running Windows 98 se (old school yes, but I am not in the market for a new computer just yet), the spyware thing is running, the antivirus has been running. The only thing I can think of is that possibly some neighbour has been downloading way too much Celine Dion or Waylon Jennings. Honesty, it is almost like I am running a 14.4 modem, on my old Power Mac. I make tea in between checking road conditions, and have even made crepes while waiting for wightman's bulletin board to load. This frustrates me, I am not able to start any auctions (yes, those Otto and Maria Jelinek skates are still up for grabs). Also I will be introducing my own line of mineral cosmetics (in the next few weeks), I have test driven them, and have decided to go retail! If the computer doesn't start behaving, I feel like I will have a hissy fit. The minerals are great, natural sunscreen, good for your pores(it is all natural, no additives, no bismuth, absolutely pure pigment). Unlike the Bare Escentuals that can make some people itch, especially after working out. Nothing harmful, acts like a spa treatment, reduces breakouts, great on any type of skin. . . I also have to think of a good name for the products, and that is driving me nuts because my creative side has gone the way of the Dodo Bird lately, and between the dogs, the shift working husband (I am in the kitchen all the time), the house, the mess, the rentals, the fear of driving in snow, I just feel like I am a shell of a woman, but at least my face will denote radiance, when I when I am stressed out because of the wonderful cosmetics that I am wearing.

My White Tree

Here it is, I let the kids put the baubles up. Wookie has been taking them down.

My Bubble

In my thirty two years of living, I have educated myself. I have learned not to try to kill a bumble bee by spraying windex. Even when it sits on your bathroom light fixture. I have learned that liquids can cause the light bulb to blow up. I have learned not to attempt to remove the bee with tweezers from the filament of the bulb, because you get catapulted through the air and end up lying sprawled in the tub in the starfish position. I have learned that the above mini saga is grammatically incorrect. I have also learned not to throw things at people, because I always hit them in the eye. I have learned that you do not have to like everyone, because not everyone will like you. (I have no idea why the wouldn’t like me, hell I am fantastic, teehee). I have learned that the Chinese Restaurant on the north end of highway 4 in Clinton, has chicken balls so good, your cheeks feel happy. I have learned never again will I buy a 136 year old house because it has potential. I have learned that I must use four wheel drive ALL the time in the winter, not just when my husband says I should, but when I feel it is necessary. I have learned to do doughnuts on purpose today. I have learned that the more I know the more I don’t know. I have learned that before letting my husband go gung ho removing walls, to duct tape his thumbs together and just say no. I have learned that patience is a virtue, but sometimes I don’t feel virtuous, nor do I want to be. I have learned that even though I despised white Christmas trees growing up, man, they sure look swanky. I have learned that the “Electrical Code Simplified”, should have a precursor, the “Electrical Code Simplified Simplified” (what’s up with the guy in the kitchen and the rat on his table?)

Spider Update

I found this pic at http://www.ojibway.ca/spiders.htm , I don't even like searching for spider pics. I hate when the page opens and all you see are legs. I feel faint. Update. This morning, my Boston Terrier was standing up on his hind legs right underneath the ceiling fan in the living room. He never stands. He looked like a man in a tuxedo. He was watching THE spider web down from the centre of the fan. I grabbed the poker from my fire, whapped the web, and was able to squash it with my crocs. What a relief. The eight legged terror is gone, and I will sleep well tonight.

Found the nose dots

I woke up this morning, turned on my light, and thought I saw an extra large black fly drop on the bedside table. No such luck, lying there in front of me was one of those jumping spiders, the same species that you see stuck to your screen door at the height of summer. Although this one was more furry, plain black and quite a bit larger. It was almost cute, if it had been a hamster. The only thing I am terrified of is a spider. I have become more tolerant as I get older, and I am not the kind of girl who, instead of killing them, is so afraid that she puts drinking glasses on them while waiting for her husband to get home from work so he can do the ugly deed of the squish. (Someone told me about a friend who actually did that). No. I just scream like crazy and flail my arms. The only thing that I had to annihilate the spider with, was a tube of moisturizer (kill it with collagen) and a picture of my mother in law (teehee), in the woods near Bayfield Ontario. I was nice, I flipped the picture over, and tried to get it, no avail, started flinging the moisturizer at it, and unfortunately, the fucker got behind my table. I moved the table out, and it had gone. Meanwhile, the kids heard me speaking (more like howling) in tongues. (Clare, you remember that time on the couch. . .I was trying to communicate to you in tongues and wild hand gestures, when you had a spider on your shoulder that looked like it was made out of coat hangers?) Yep, those noises. So anyhow, I went downstairs, and came back up with some wet wipes, not conventional spider killing material, but they work. I thought I saw it (my contacts weren't in), I aimed and went in for the kill. Now, I realize that I MUST have grazed the spider, and hopefully mortally wounded it. Or at least poked the damn thing in one of it's eight eyes, heck it has extras. But I couldn't find any remnants or any evidence of a partial squish on the wet wipe. So, up the stairs comes the Shop Vac, and five hours (yes, a bit fanatical), 43 of my husbands cheapo earplugs (on his bedside table), and two nose dots later, I find myself sans spider. It was too big to just evaporate. I hope it is in the vacuum. But. . .I also know that I have to empty the darn thing. I may have sucked up Adam's uber earplugs that went missing this summer, after he inadvertently tried to burn them. (Adam had some allergies, and had his earplugs along with his tissues in his pocket. . .he threw them into the simmering wood stove, and forgot about them, then realizing what he had done, my father saved the earplugs, and recalibrated (for lack of a better word) them. They had a valve on them. Dad also used the air compressor to blow them out). Adam had received special earplugs from work, that slip right into the ear canal. They are electric blue and look like an old school hearing aid. They are hilarious, and compounded by the fact that his is forced to sleep with his anti bruxism grinding appliance, arm splints and ear plugs, he looks like a real stud. It is possible that these earplugs may be in the vacuum with the spider. I will leave it for him to deal with. Gosh, what a day. I have all 5 of my Vintage Coleman Lanterns, and 7 Coleman stoves on hand, in case of the ice / snow storm that we may have. (My brother says I am "hoarding", but I think he is a tad jealous)~~~("What are you gonna do, try to light up Blyth? Have a cookout with the town when you have a power failure") Too bad I forgot to get fuel. Also, I am trying to heat 2000 square feet with my tempwood airtight downdraft. That is how the spider hitched a ride. . .on the slab wood. I am not even going to spell check or go over this entry until later. I have to search for that spider.

Gun Show

Before I start my rant, I got the funniest piece of spam the other day, and I am going to post the man's picture for all to see. Supposedly he has throat cancer, and if I give all my particulars, I will get one million euro's. Wooohhoooo!!!! I will be rich and buy some cashmere long underwear. Check out the chest hair, I am suprised the dopplers stick. Those spammers are getting very creative. Thanks Hakim Marsha for the generous offer, but I think I will have to pass. I knew it was going to be one of those days when I woke up and my nose ring had dissappeared into the great beyond. I got up, looked at my face and something was missing. My dot was gone. It was the perfect nose dot. Over the past few years, I have kept the nose ring makers in business, I refuse to wear a hoop, or anything other than a small inconspicuous dot. I checked the bathtub, the pillows, EVERYWHERE. My nose repells the dots like deet. Wookie was yelling at me like a howler monkey, Tully was whining "mama mama", and Stella was just snorting. The kids were fighting over the remote. It is raining like crazy outside, and I poked myself in the eye. My bum is sore from one hell of a workout. I love aerobics, but, methinks I worked my gluteus maximus just a little too hard and now I am walking funny. I do have muscles though, holy doodle. I checked out the "guns", and there is actually definition. If someone had asked me if I would ever join an aerobics class or start power walking three years ago, I would have laughed in their face. Not that I am good. I have lost my coordination, and during the class I try very hard not to laugh, because the mirrors that are reflecting back at me show a tall blonde twitching to techno Sheryl Crow and Kid Rock, in an Elaine off Sienfeld kind of way. I used to be coordinated. I used to be sporty. . .until highschool happened, and then I made fun of people like me.

My left eye is stuck

I had a one sided conversation with someone the other day. I felt absolutely drained, and I wanted to cry by the end of it. The person talked at nauseum about a certain subject, and consequently I felt my left eye getting smaller and smaller. I realize,at the end, I only took away fragments of what they were regurgitating. What is it that makes someone a good conversationalist? What makes someone interesting to listen to? I doubt it is based solely on subject matter. It is the way the story is being told. I have a problem with those that recount movies or books. Personally, just tell me if it is good or bad. Please do not tell me what the star of the show had for dinner, and if it included peas or mixed vegetables. I guess the idea of a movie is a case in point. Do you normally see the actors taking a poo? Do you see them caught up in the day to day activities of minute importance? No. Not normally, although I did enjoy in Pulp Fiction when the character played by John Travolta was killed while taking a dump. Pulp Fiction on the other hand was a look at the Absurd, it was contextual. When someone tells a person about their walk the other night, normally, the receiver,does not need nor want to know about the empty coffee cup they stepped on, or the large grapefruit that rolled down the road beside them. (Actually, that may be a good conversation tidbit, the grapefruit, that is). Some people can tell stories, some people just can't. Good story tellers/conversationalists know when not to get caught up in the small stuff, it is to the point, and only the points relevent to the story, or those points that are made to enhance the story, are used. Please ask friends and family if you are a good story teller. Ask them to be brutally honest with you, just in case you may be one of those storyteller's who cannot weave a good yarn or even recount your day to day activities. My left eyelid has still not sprung back from the trauma.

Thank You Bum and Clad

On Friday, my husband and I started to lay the steel roof down on the main part of the rental mobile home we have, we were half way done. This is the "Best Little Roof in Blyth". Prior to the steel, the first thing we put down was the bubble wrap insulation, then styrofoam insulation between the strapping, then ice and water shield. This was not a job for the faint of heart. Of course it rained prior to the application of the ice and water shield, and there was some water that came inside. I had made an agreement with some new tenants (they were in desperate need of a place, but the trailer wasn't ready). Saturday, as I was standing on the roof, cursing at my husband ("don't think too much, make a decision, and get it done"), (he is a type B personality, and I am a type A), I saw a red Chevy Blazer backing into my driveway next door. I thought I was hallucinating. The Blazer had an aura of light, angels playing trumpets and strumming on harps, rainbows shooting through the air, little gold bells were chiming, along with some background effects from Hare Krishna hand tamborines. . . MY PARENTS had come down to help! I think I may have started jumping up and down on the roof, and my daughter said that I was screaming "my Mom and Dad are here, my Mom and Dad are here"! My mom brought her special soup, and baking and moral support. It has been a hard year. For my husband, with little time, he has been stressed out at work, and the sweat equity on the rentals for both of us, has been a bittersweet pill to swallow. I try and do everything I can, without him, but there are a few jobs that require two people to do the job. My father is the epitome of "Jack of all trades". He can work schematic diagrams out in his dreams, he plumbs while he is flipping burgers, he routers while he is clipping his toenails and he will rewire an engine while he is trimming out a house and eating a sandwich. His mind is hard wired faster than any CPU, and his wit is so quick that most people are too slow to catch it. By Sunday night the roof was 99% done. It needs two vertical little pieces (difficult angles, on the side of the addition that is attached to the main mobile home), but everything is winterized and water tight ( I was in charge of caulking). What a weekend. Blaster (the brother of Wookie), frolicked with my three dogs. I was in heaven. Not only did I have four wet noses in my house (not including my two cats), my Mom and Dad were here. It was such a surprise. It was an action of absolute love and support on their part. I can't thank my Dad and Mom enough.

Stone Mosaics

Well, I just received word that possibly the store that had my mosaics is wondering if I have any more mosaics on hand to sell in their store, it seems that they sold out. Here is a pic of a huge one that I did in 2000. It measures approximately 2 feet by 3 1/2 feet. It is extremely heavy. I still own this one, and a smaller one in my bathroom. So I will have to dig out all of my recycled paint, plywood, mirrors, and all my other recycled stuff to start the process of artistic expression again. The store that sells them is very ecologically friendly. I had stopped doing all forms of art for a while, due to time constraints, people wanting my stuff "for free", or for gifts or whatever. I find that it irritates me. Also when someone wants to replicate my stuff, instead of buying it. I have been doing mosaics for years, and my philosophy is now, if you don't want to pay for it, I am not giving you advice or free art. One year I was nice and gave friends,family and neighbours mosaics for Christmas. I must have done 25 or so picture frames. NEVER AGAIN! That is what stopped me from doing any art, I think I only recieved one thank you card. But then I guess that is considered "Heaven's Reward Fallacy", and I can not expect others to be thankful for a gift that they didn't ask for. Now I am stingy. I will have to talk to the owner of the store (which is a really neat store, very nice products, located in Bayfield, Ontario), and see how many, sizing etc., that she wants. I will also have to buy a few masks, the adhesive really stinks, and gives you dizzy headaches. I love the tactile quality of rocks, smooth ones, they are moulded and etched by the sands of time, water sculpts them. They make me feel tranquil. I guess that is why I have an affinity towards smooth rocks. There is a peacefullness that I associate to them. Imagine what they have seen, the history of the rock.

The Raisin Theory

Instead of going to aerobics tonight, I decided to sit at home and eat the rest of the Halloween candy. Rockets were the only ones left over. I love rockets, a bit sour, a bit sweet. Yes, I feel guilt ridden (actually,not guilty, just missing adult interaction), but between dogs and kids and laundry, I just didn't have the inertia to do the Grapevine, or the Pony. I still am having trouble with my coordination. It is hard being so freaking fantastic and, yet so clumsy. Adding to this, none of my shoes seem to fit anymore, and this includes my workout shoes, which are falling apart. I have glued the soles on with Goop & Carpenter's Glue, and the buggers still seem to fly off. They weren't cheapo shoes either, Nike's, I am so dissapointed. As I recall, the molasses candies were always the last to go. Wrapped in orange and black paper, they practically extracted most of my teeth growing up. I am sure they still sell them, they were so sticky and gross, I don't know why anyone bought them. I feel the same about raisins, as my brother says "they are unwanted grapes". I ate a box (like a kilo), of raisins as a child (sitting under the counter), and try to avoid them now at all costs. Again, with jujubes, I over indulged and ate a whole bag,(hiding behind a chair at the cottage) and will not eat them now. Raisin, what a funny sounding word. Raisin. Raisin. Raisin. Say it three times. Who ever thought of the RAISIN? Here is my theory. Ronald was an old man, who busied himself by picking grapes during the day for his wife, who would then stand in a barrel, and pulverize them with the large bunion, that grew out of her right foot. He was a wine maker by trade. Growing up in the hills of Italy, he picked the bulbous fruit from the vines, and strapped them on his back. He was also a recovering alcoholic, and although temptation was always there, he stayed away from the vino, and was content with the collection of the FINE fruit. (It comforted him to be close to the primary ingredient of his old vice). One day, in the heat of the sun, he was stung by a vicious fire ant and had an anaphylactic reaction. His face swelled up, and he was unable to breath. It was also unfortunate that a large grape was stuck in his throat. He passed out, and remained in the scorching elements for hours before his wife noticed that he had not returned home. "Ronald! Ronald!" His wife called. She had become worried and angst. Through the vines she ran. . .faster . . .faster. The vines lashed out at her swollen ankles, and the perky fruit that hung heavy, stained her dress. "Ronald! Where are you? Have you taken up the drink again?". . . And there he was, lying in twilight, barely breathing. His wife sniffed his breath. . . the bastard had been drinking, she thought. He had fallen off the wagon! What a blight on the family! She thought she smelled the remnants of fermented grapes. But wait, what is this? Beside his gasping mouth lay a wrinkled, turd like, crusty brown thing. Anna had discovered the RAISIN. She quickly realized that the amylase (an enzyme in your saliva) mixed with the juice of the grape, gave off a pseudo booze odour. Simultaneously, the grape had lost some of it's precious juices, and after dropping out of Ronald's mouth had dried in the sun. She popped it in her mouth, and kissed her precious Ronald on the mouth, and revived him. Ronald and Anna became raisin makers, and Ronald did not have to live so close to his temptation. They threw out the vats, and got drying racks instead. The End

What I DIDN'T serve my family for dinner tonight

Instead of the "Continental Appetizer's" from "Cooking For Two" that are pictured above, with an extensive assortment of protien, of which includes eggs, different cheese varieties, what I think is an onion, sausage, a wedge of fresh lemon, a raw artichoke, an open can of sardines (or could that be kippers?), a charming lobster, and some brine products. . . I told them to "make yourself a dang quesadiLLa". ~~~ Just joking, I love "Napoleon Dynamite", and have waited to use that line somewhere.

I really feel the love

I keep making Darth Vader sounds to accompany my new boots. aaaaaaah ahhhhhhhh. My UBER BOOT. They are Ugg Adirondack Otter's. I cannot believe how comfortable they are. Reminiscent of the pug, they are so ugly, that they are beautiful. The first time I wore them outside, I slid in some dog doodle that did not belong to any of my dog's. It was definitely alien dog excrement from elsewhere in town. I shook my fist at the grey sky and cursed the bowel movement that had adhered to my pristine sole.

I feel the love

My feet are encased in ecstasy. I have never, in my life experienced this feeling before. Utter indulgent, self absorbant sheepskin. These boots represent the toils and troubles and the anti-dismissal of my role as a SAHM, and a small business owner. These boots represent the hard work I have done, and the lack of drywall that surrounds me. Yes, I could rationalize these puppies in in any way, but this is what they mean to me.

Get the School Out of My Uterus

While reading an article in the Blyth Citizen, I was quite taken aback by an "anti abortion" message endorsed by one of Huron County’s Schools, one of 1400 schools that allowed this through the “Stand True Ministries”. A child refused to speak for the day, and taped her mouth shut on the way home from school. The principal had agreed to this demonstration. In an age where the Lords Prayer, Halloween, and other celebrations have been wiped out of area schools, why should schools promote and endorse anti abortion messages? If we are a supposedly "Politically Correct" society, shouldn’t this extend to Right Wing messages as well? School is not the place for political or moral agendas. If school is a place for this, shouldn’t the opposing message be allowed a place as well? I have yet to see a Pro Choice rally happening in a public school, and there ought to be a balance of Right Wing and Left Wing agenda’s ~if any. If my daughter went to school with a Pro Choice t-shirt on, I am sure she would be sent home. (They don't even allow spaghetti straps). I am very pro-choice (meaning, women ought be allowed to have control over their bodies, and have the ability to choose, though I am by no means endorsing that every woman of child bearing years to run out and have an abortion). I do not think that this is a message (Pro Life or Pro Choice)needs to be promoted in schools. Stick to the Sex Ed and where the ovaries and gonads are situated. Illustrate how the parts fit together. Show different types of birth control, promote abstinence, promote safer sex, educate the kids from a young age. My thoughts are this, yes, abortion is a reality, be it due to pregnancy complications, unwanted pregnancies, rape, etc. Those who adhere to the Pro Life stance are entitled to their opinion as well. But School, be it Primary, Secondary or Post Secondary, should not be a stomping ground for groups with any of these agendas. Save it for the Debate Club or AFTER SCHOOL, if the flipside of the argument cannot be given equal time as well. Actually, the child has a lot of confidence to make her views known, but maybe a street corner (with parental supervision), and a placard would be a more appropriate place to vent.

Frida Name Change

Frida's name has been changed to Wookie. Just like Chewy in Star Wars, she makes sounds. WAAAAAaaauuuuuu. auuuuuuh.

It is Nostril Sticking Weather

Well, the snow has hit, and although there is only about half an inch on the ground, the offending white stuff is here. I have no gloves, my hands look like that of a 90 year old grandmother today. Last night, my husband and I, tried to take three dogs for a walk. It was hell. Frida nipping Stella, Stella screaming, Frida trying to catch up to Tully, Tully tried to hump. I think I may do separate walks for the dogs, Stella and Tully on one shift, Frida on another, until she settles down a bit. The other night was cold when I walked Frida alone. I had talked previously to our groomer about "heel", she said to automatically change directions if the dog is pulling, that way his/her attention is always on you. Well, I must have looked like a complete moron spinning down Queen Street in Blyth, but it does work. What I have found interesting, is the idea of the "loose leash" theory, on how, not to make your dog "heel", but to walk with a slack leash. Which in theory could reduce dog aggression. It may reduce my aggression, as I try to teach "heel". Really Frida is a good dog, there are moments though, when all three of the dogs are extremely irritating and I wish that I could crawl into my own crate for some form of tranquility. I think I am the Crazy Dog Lady. This morning I took Frida out for another walk. I am trying to get her to meet 200 people. Blyth is a village of 600. That means she needs to meet 1/3 of the population of Blyth. She met a very nice lady today with her baby in a stroller. Frida sat, sniffed at the baby, kissed the lady, and was extremely well behaved. I talked to the woman for about 5 minutes, and I thanked her for meeting my dog.

My Great Quote of the Day

I had an epiphany driving back from Goderich. Since moving from London, relocating to Strathroy, and now to Huron County, I have found that I am a social orphan. I feel marginalized, isolated from old friends and the social circle that I left behind. I feel different, I do not have the security blanket, that comfort of being myself, being accepted, being "normal", being understood. In it's place is more apathetic, and more gaurded self, that either emerges in your early thirties or is a result of a defense mechanism. It may be the fact that I am starting to not give a flying turd what people think. (I refuse to join Coffee Break). Well, after much ado: "I certainly haven't made many friends here. . . but I haven't lost any". (Well, at least as far as I am concerned, if I have lost some, they didn't mean anything in the first place). Nice. Nice. Almost as good as "that man smokes so much, you could pave a road with his lungs". Or (this one is from my Dad). . . "Those idiots have left their Brain Packs at home". This was when we were in Owen Sound and my father was trying to park, when suddenly a van load of geriatrics blocked him. I could envision battery fueled bathing caps left by the front door with wires hanging limp beside them. Hmmm. . . deep thoughts. I was just thinking about the Oakridge bus stop in London, usually on a cold winter day, I would forget to wash my face. Or if I did "lavez", my mother did not feel that I was squeeky enough. She would spit on her hand and strategically spot treat. Then I would feel very stiff and unable to smile, it seemed to always happen in the dead of winter, so between dry air and wind chill, my skin felt tight. Another deep thought I recalled was sterile agar and petrie dishes. We had to use them at Riverside Public School. We would shake are heads over the dishes and see what kind of mutant strain of penicillium mould would grow. I will rant more about Riverside later.

Woe is me

After hauling away 12 extra large concrete blocks, I decided to get up on the tenants garage roof. I am terrified of heights, and normally I go into a starfish manuever when confronted with ladders and any height exceeding four feet. I did it! I was able to use the ladder with ease.

Frida

Frida is going to be a big dog. At approximately 9 1/2 weeks she is tipping the scales at around 20 pounds. She went for her first "POWER WALK" tonight with a friend and I. She and her large paws were able to keep up to our gait. Now she is a puddle of puppy on the floor, large floppy paws and all. I am glad I finally got a Duffy dog. I felt so lost when we had to put Duffy down. He was an awesome dog. He loved kids, despised male Energy Marketers, or anyone who was threatening. Unfortunately his hips were failing. Frida, is wonderful, she can sit, shake a paw, stay, alert me when she needs to piddle, and now POWER WALK. I honestly believe that there should be an actual breed recognized by the CKC, or AKC, called the "Duffy Dog". Half Labrador, 1/4 shepherd, and probably some other stuff thrown in there for good luck. The goofiness of the lab counteracts the other parts, but is infused with intelligence and gusto. But before everyone runs out and goes puppy nuts, remember, the late night piddles, the way they sound like howler monkeys when they don't want to be in their crates, and the sheer exhaustion of having to constantly remove your digits from their snappy little mouths. My little Frida Bits. . .My Duffy in disguise.

These Boots Were Made for Walking

I am swooning. . .I am in love. . . make that lusting, after a pair of gorgeous boots that I tried on. Yes, they carry a hefty price tag, about as much as a month's take home pay of some poor pimply kid working at Mc Donalds, or the housing allowance of someone on social assistance. I tried them on yesterday, my foot slithered down the shaft of the boot and landed in sheepskin bliss. I was euphoric, and I still am. I can't say that I am a high heel person. I want to be, but I have issues with a heel. I feel that with my height, I am looking down on people. I feel uncoordinated. I feel like my knees are going to dislocate and I am going to come crashing down, like a tower of clothes hangers. As long as I don't need to walk, I can wear high heels. These boots, "sans heel" were the epitome of perfection. If the boot had a Platonic form, Plato would have chosen this one, stuck it in the sky and labelled it Lisa's Perfect Boot. I yearn for the boot. Chocolate brown leather that I could sink my teeth into. Yummy. So I am going to do some ebay stuff again, get back into the swing of things, and buy myself those boots. I will wear them all year if I have to. If I have to validate my ownership, and the price tag. They are not as much as a pair of Minolos, but they are pushing it. And damn it , I deserve it. I am not getting paid for all the crap that is slung at me. All the painting, all the parenting, tenant stuff, neurotic ex-tenant stuff, reno, lack of reno,dog stuff (Stella swallowed a whole rawhide bone last night, she seems okay, but I am worried about her passing it), puppy stuff, (Frida keeps stealing insulation out of my non walled house), I could rant on and on. I am entitled. When I get them I will take a picture and post it. I thought of doing it prior to my acquisition, but I may jinx myself. (Oh my God, I am obsessed, and sound so deliciously greedy). I do have a few pairs of boots that I love. My Yeti's, two pairs of Roxy boots, Nine West, a pair of Kodiak steel toed work boots (sexy in a rugged way), and my infamous pair of Come $%^& Me Boots that I bought in college. (Yes, I still have them, and they are still smokin'). I remember buying them at the biker store on Richmond Street across from The Richmond Hotel. What a rush. Anyone want to buy a pair of Otto and Marie Jelinek Vintage Blue Suede Figure Skates to feed my addiction? (They are on ebay right now).

The New Head Lice Recipe

Here is a quicky recipe, revised (but not grammatically, and without spell checking) and with the olive oil treatment for head lice. So far, my kids are free of lice (touch wood), this school year, but this area is known to be a nasty area for lice. So, I would rather be safe than sorry. I think I am going to order the Robi Comb as well. Here are some tips: Only wash (shampoo) twice a week. I still condition, and wet their heads. When shampooing, I only use the Denorex or the Suave Coconut Shampoo. Another tip, if your child has been around lice, cover their heads in olive oil for at least 2 hours. It will smother any live ones. It takes a lot of shampooing to remove, but it can help. THE SPRAY *15 drops tea tree *15 drops lavender *10 drops geranium *10 drops eucalyptus *5 drops lemongrasss *2 Cups Bottled or Distilled Water *Dollar Store Spray Bottle ****Neem Oil Blend (Neem oil~ I am adding a Neem blend (it has coconut, and catnip) to my headlice concoction this year.) It is very greasy, and you don't need much. It interferes with reproductive functions (supposedly) of lice, also it is a SAFE & natural (don't eat it though) insect repellant (don't eat it or get in eyes). With this repellent, I used about 4 sprays into the above recipe. (Got it at Healthward Bound in Goderich.) *Add 4 or so tablespoons of Suave Coconut conditioner (it has to be the coconut). Shake and spray hair. . Some kids could have a reaction to the oils, (not the norm, but "could", just watch for any rashes, or reaction). You have to put the conditioner in there, it acts as a carrier for the oils. SHAKE &Spray on once in the morning, once at night, or prior to being around kids that areknown to have lice. Make sure hair is damp, you don't have to drown yourchild in the spray. Keep it out of eyes, and face. ****Other advice~ Denorex extra strength (must be the extra strength) Shampoo,~Holy Minty Batman! Leave on for about 20 minutes. If your kid has lice, the lice will die. Then rinse with vinegar, this unglues the the nits from the hair shaft. Then start picking. ****Other remedy (from Deb Hakkers) CETAPHIL ( I think I am spelling it right)hand cleanser, dried on the head using a hair dryer. Supposedly it dries the critters up. Google it, there is a lot of info on it. Lots of hairspray, lots of gel. Check heads at least twice a week. If your kid still ends up with lice, then do the olive oil treatments So many people are using the chemicals (possibly incorrectly, eg. not left on for the full 10 minutes etc.), and the lice actually build up a resistance to the chemicals, more lice are spread and there are reinfestations. Here's a good link.http://www.crisny.org/not-for-profit/nycap/headlice.htm More on olive oil http://specialchildren.about.com/od/medicalissues/ht/smotherlice.htm "OLIVE OIL TREATMENT FOR HEAD LICE Besides insecticidal treatments, olive oil treatment is a safeand effective way to kill head lice.Olive oil, or cooking oil, smothers and kills adult head liceand makes them easier to comb out.The oil also makes it easier to comb out the eggs (nits)which are glued to the hair shafts near the scalp.Whichever treatment is used, daily inspection for and removal of eggs for 3 weeks is necessary to prevent reinfestation. The Olive Oil TreatmentTo kill lice the oil should be applied according tothe following schedule: Apply oil on days 1, 2, 5, 9, 17, 19, 21The treatment days coincide with the life cycle of the louse. You may do the treatments more oftenif you like but try not to miss any of these days. The treatment can also be started with aninsecticide which should be washed out before applying the oil. In this case, Day 2 can be omitted from the schedule. Apply Oil to the Hair ~Apply enough oil to the hair to coat all of it thoroughly. BE GENEROUS. Cover head with ashower cap and leave overnight.Comb out the Nits. The next day, comb out any dead lice and eggs with a nit comb.(metal is best; link has somemore good pictures of actual lice and more info). Layer the hair into sections andcarefully comb over the entire scalp. The oil will slow them down, enabling them to be caught inthe nit comb. After combing, wash out the oilwith regular shampoo.Check for Nits. Check dry hair under a bright light for any eggs you may have missed. Clean the Environment Head lice cannot survive for long away from thescalp (1 to 2 days). Regular washing of bed linen and brushes and combs in hot soapy water will kill any remaining lice. Hats and caps can either be washed in hot soapy water or left for 3 weeks (sealed in garbage bag), or frozen for 3 days, in order to give any attached lice time to die. Important Note If live lice are found the day after insecticide treatment, the lice could be resistant to the insecticide. In this situation, the olive oil treatment may achieve better results. info found at sjshire.wa.gov.au Anyhow, hope this helps.

Broken Toe Blues

In days when doctors are overworked and stressed out, it seems there is little time for a polite bedside manner. “Do no harm” should extend to feelings of patients, but it seems that polite doctors are on the decline, and when you do get one, it is an anomaly. It is a pity, that in Huron County, Ontario, that there is a doctor shortage, in Goderich for example, we are last on a four thousand plus waiting list. Clinton is not taking new patients. In Wingham, where our wonderful Dr. Clare practiced, (recently retired) they have only one doctor in the Medical Clinic, and being an “orphan”, you are forced to use the Emergency, or try to schedule through an Orphan Clinic. There are no “walk in” clinics in this area, and when faced with an “emergency”, you are to go to the Hospital Emergency . It seems straightforward, but in actuality, it is dependent on what is defined as an “emergency”. In my experience, unless you are over the age of 70, or bleeding from the eyes, try to avoid the emergency room at all costs. My husband, who spends nine hours a day, running after vehicles in a car factory, fell on Saturday night. Sunday morning, I phoned the Wingham and District Hospital, and explained that he may have broken his toe. The helpful nurse said that if it didn’t feel any better to come in and get it checked out at 9:00 am on Monday, when x-ray was available. To my husband, as he spends so much time on his feet (30,000 steps per day- I used a pedometer when I worked at his place of occupation), foot pain or the prospect of a broken toe is an emergency. If he can’t keep up with the cars being built, he slows down the line, and possibly could be written up or disciplined. The toe was not better on Monday. After waiting for approximately four hours, we were “seen”. The doctor, hurriedly, looked at the foot, said “This is going to hurt”, wiggled it around. My husband squirmed in pain. He looked at his other foot, decided that his toes were “deformed” anyhow. We said why we were concerned about his foot, where he worked and that he needed a doctor’s note. He said “I am not his babysitter, the note will cost you ten dollars, I can’t just be giving out notes” . I responded “the money for the note is not an issue, as we are concerned about the foot”. “He is not disabled” he said. “That is not what we are asking, we need to know if he has a broken toe”, I replied. The doctor’s comments were unneeded, and judgmental and unjustified. If the doctor in question thought that my husband was trying to get a day off, he was sorely mistaken. My husband does not get paid for his sick days, he is only allowed 10 days per year, and all have to be documented. My husband does not take sick days as a rule. The idea of spending four hours in the emergency room, is not my idea of a “good time”nor my husbands', it may be someone’s form of social life, but being a germophobe, I would rather eat razor blades. He sent him to X-Ray. While waiting in the cast room, I spoke with my husband, who was upset over the attitude of the doctor. From watching the people drift in and out of the Emergency area, it seemed that if you had grey hair, respect and cordiality was given. We were the youngest there, and I realize that a broken toe, on the emergency scale, is one of the lowest priorities. My husband and I were called by him to look at the x-ray. He asked “Mr. Bieman, and you are. . . .his daughter?’ I replied “uuhhh thanks, but I am his wife” ( Did this relationship matter?, Was it a method of consolation that was taught in med school?). He led us over to the x-ray . It was not broken. The doctor’s tone had changed. He may have overheard me in the cast room, complaining about the rude and judgmental treatment, he may have been able to have a rest, who knows. I told him that “we did not come in to waste his time, we realize they are busy, but we were concerned about his foot”, twice (using the broken record technique). He wrote up a note, I asked where to pay for it, “Don’t worry about it “ was the reply, and then went into a wonderful explanation of Tylenol and Ibuprofen. If he could have had this attitude at the onset of the visit, it would have been less stressful, and a better representation of the hospital experience as a whole). Yes, he somewhat redeemed himself in the end. Yet, I cannot help but feel that this doctor, who is a representative of the Wingham and District Hospital, should be acting as a model for the hospital, and the medical system as a whole. Regardless of the injury or illness, people should be treated with respect. We were not grubby looking, we may have looked young. And should appearance matter? (Not!) We may have even caught him on a bad day. (Not likely, I dealt with him before , ( I blacked out in a car that I was working on at the plant, due to a dizziness, nausea, and stomach problem which was dismissed by him, and turned out to be a precursor to a worse illness and pneumonia-- but, I was too afraid to go back to emergency or see any kind of doctor, for fear of judgment, and let it go on for weeks before seeking treatment again). Our tax dollars are paying for a system that is flawed. Doctor’s are paid well for doing a job, a career that is an important one. A career that takes a lot of education, a lot of money, but becomes a status symbol. Having the title of Doctor infront of your name carries weight and respect. It is a career that people need to put their faith in, because we (the people) are trusting that good judgments will be made. Yet doctor’s should not have a “God Complex”, and possibly should refrain from watching "House". Unfortunately, not only are you afraid to use the services that your tax dollars pay for, but you are at the mercy of someone who can belittle and dismiss you, while simultaneously, as a patient, you are trying to trust them. As a layman, you are forced to define emergency, and put your trust and faith in those that are there to help. My suggestion to the Wingham and District Hospital or any hospital~~have a list of ailments that you do not want to treat, turn people away at the door, if you do not want to be bothered, or are having a bad day, sluff people off before they sit down for the long wait. Better yet - make them an appointment at your “Orphan Clinic”. That way, you are defining an emergency, as you are the “professionals”, and you should start acting that way. Oh, and as an end note. . .the toe was considered broken by "professional" medical staff in Cambridge, Ontario.

My Black Thumb

I am seriously considering ripping out my entire garden and starting new. I just cannot stand the disorganized mess that I have. The English Garden effect is not working and I have no idea where to start. I think I have the ugliest garden in town. It may be due to my "plunking" or due to the fact that when we moved here, I had no idea what I was dealing with. Two conical evergreens need to be moved, I want simplicity and romance, with little effort. My garden is South facing, endures extreme heat, and sun.

Fence Hoppers

These pics are out of sequence, but the blokes made it over without getting their bums attached to the fence. When the fence is locked, it is a long walk to the other side of the arena where there is access from the grounds. My last fence experience was a bad one, the seat of my pants caught on the upper barbs and my bottom became exposed (I was eight). I will never do that again unless I am wearing a pair of tough ducks.

where is my blog?

Do unto others. . .

Read my last post. . . Okay, the first pic is half of what was originally sitting on the swing, the candy tube was underneath the swing. The second pic was the pic I took when I realized. . . .hey. . . I should document this crap, after I had removed some of the glass (what was in the bag). Honest to God, I am fed up with difficult people who just seem to think it is okay to do anything, just because they are bored. I realize that yes, you should always support your children, but when they or you are known to be destructive and irritating to others, maybe it is time to do some inward reflection. Ask yourself "How would I feel if this was done to me/my kids/my property?" I am not jumping to conclusions or getting worked up over a pound of glass that was left on my child's swing. This has been 5 years of dealing with Bullshit from these people. This could have really hurt my kids, or someone else. Further more, I don't think it is right for other's to have to put up with renegade children, who don't know how do behave on constant basis. In some ways it was a "good thing" that there was a copious amount of glass there. If there was only a small bit and more inconspicuous, it could have easily been sat upon. This is the first time that I have ever confronted these people about an issue. I don't think it will help, but venting (assertively) sure made me feel a lot better.

Huh?

My daughter came in upset today, she told me that the little boy (who is known for being a terror) put a bunch of glass on the seat of her swing today. I was perplexed. What on earth would make someone do this? It sounded so ridiculous, so I went outside to investigate. I was expecting to see A piece of glass, as in one. What I found shocked me, there was a pile of neatly stacked broken pieces of window panes, old pieces of mason jars tidily arranged on the seat of the swing. It reminded me of the game you play with the blocks. She told me the little boy said with a friend "What happened to your swing?" then as the little rotter ran away he said "We did it!". . . Unfortunately this is not the first time we have had issues with the family, and normally I just ignore it. It seems that again, they have too much time on their hands, and love drama. I personally cannot be bothered with this obtuse bunch. They were very friendly when we moved here, then a woman came up to me and said that they were spreading rumours that we were drug dealers. (As if. . . If we were drug dealers then we would have had a better car, money to renovate, and not stuggling at the time to pay the mortgage). I immediately stopped interacting with them. This irriated them. They also like to (from what people say), phone Children's Aid Society on people who they do not like. I guess this acts as a deterrent to people actually complaining about them. This time, as the "attack" was directed at my daughter, I talked my husband into coming over with me and speaking to the Grandfather. He denied it, the son denied it, (but earlier the sister of the little boy, admitted to him saying he did indeed do it to a neighbour). I was fed up. I said I would appreciate this not happening again, we respect their property (my kids do not run amok and terrorize them), and that we ask the same. Furthermore, broken glass is dangerous. I was polite, but assertive and also briefed him on the property lines etc. This guy is a total putz. Sweet to my face and then was heard briefing his grandchildren accusing us of being liars. Wayyyyyyy too much time on their hands. They should enroll their children in some etiquette lessons, and maybe some parenting lessons that provide the skills for positive reinforcement, instead of yelling in Hick Language at them. We can't even enjoy our backyard.

Published Writings, Essays Etc.

Okay, the guys at York University took my innocent letter to the editor and made it into a PDF. It was made into a puzzle. I must admit, the pictures add a certain flare. It was published a while ago, but I am quite proud of my serious writing. Here is the link: http://www.yorku.ca/earmstro/imagine/imagine07.pdf Oh, you are very welcome Eric Armstrong. (You didn't have the chance to thank me for the use of my letter). :) Actually, Mr. Armstrong was kind enough, after I contacted him, to link it back to my blog. All is well. I will add more scans and links at another time.

I ingested a hollyhock

Okay, I took the plunge and ate it. It was bland, it was comparable to eating wet crispy cardboard. It would be a great addition to salads though, because of the colour factor. Today, I also laughed at a Mennonite's sausage. I couldn't help myself. I was buying a basket of tomatoes from a Mennonite that I had accosted a few weeks ago travelling by horse and buggy up the road. He had corn in the back of his wagon and I ran up and asked him if he could sell me a couple dozen. (It was the worst corn I had ever had in my life, but that was my fault due in part because I hadn't kept it cool enough, and it went mealy). When I went to buy the tomatoes, he said "Would you like to try my sausage?" I couldn't help but giggle. Especially considering the size of the bangers. "Those are some large sausages." I said. "Maybe next time". Good Lord, why do I have to find everything funny?

Hollyhocks

I have an addiction to hollyhocks. I think they are the most beautiful flower. Lush, odd, spiky, old fashioned. The flowers look like something you could set up house in and be quite comfortable, if you were a mini person. You can eat them. I haven't tried, but I will. I expect them to taste bland, but we shall see. Tomorrow I am going to take the plunge and ingest one. I may even take a few pics. That is how I ended up in this tiny town. Hollyhocks. I saw some growing by the side of my yellow brick house, poking up through the huge ferns, beckoning me to buy this money pit with my husband. It looked like a house in England that I had visited. If I wasn't a sucker for hollyhocks, I would be living the high life in a city. I long for public transit, homeless people. . . what ever happened to Crazy Mary who yelled at the pedestrians at Dundas and Richmond. There was another woman who pushed around a shopping cart. . . .she almost looked normal from a distance, and then upon closer inspection, her lips were a gash of red lipstick and with her white hair and pinhole eyes she would startle you. Out of nowhere she would start yelling or having an oration in the middle of the sidewalk. Or the professor. . .he was another really neat character. In the suburbs of Oakridge there was an actual man living in a Goodwill Donation Box. This year, I am disappointed in my hollyhock crop. My black ones did pop up, and I have a very nice coral one. Oodles of pinks and almost a red. I love my malva and my other mallows as well. I just wish I could make them look better from the road. I seem to plant in a disorganized fashion. I need a professional garden organizer, who can tell me what to plop and where. My hibiscus flowers are budding, I can't wait for them to pop. Last year the flowers were as big as my face. It seems that the weather has not been kind to my hollyhocks, most of them blew over in the wretched storms that we had, and with the summer heat, they seem to be at mid fall stage already. Then again, I have heard the flocks of birds in the trees, and again it just seems to premature. Soon the kidlets will be back in school and the leaves will be falling and I will be left staring at the skeletons of trees. Tree bones and mushy pumpkins.

Monday

Mondays. . . I remember Mondays with fondness. Growing up, my Dad had to work on Saturdays, instead his weekend was Sunday and Monday. Monday became the day that Mom would take a day for herself and take the Oakridge Bus up to Fairweathers in Downtown London, or go to the old Central Library. My brother and I would come home from school for lunch, though howling winds and torrential downpours. Dad would always serve us either grilled cheese sandwiches (gurl cheese. . . that's how I used to pronounce them), or ham and mustard sandwiches (ick), sardines and tomato soup. The bread had to be white, at this time in his life he had not caught the fiber buzz. The mustard, an electric yellow smear. I can only now imagine him taking the time, degreasing his hands from the Mini, the MG, Mini Wagon, or the Austin America that he was working on (we used them for daily drives, the mini's), and then making sandwiches that my brother and I despised. My brother had a large head in his early years and he was short. I remember him sitting in front of his sandwich and picking at it. It is odd how you remember things as a kid. When I talk to my father about the Monday Lunches now, he gets a bitter look, and then softens. "Those were darn good sandwiches, I made them for you"~~~~~~~Thanks Dad. :) Oh crum, it's Tuesday, not Monday.

Dis Is Mi Dem Der Pug

This is my pug. . .I just love pugs. Her name is Stella. She has one of the greatest noses in the world. I love dog noses, they look like a sliced mushroom. Spongy and squishy. She hates when I kiss her, she will let my husband kiss her, but not me. She has a defense mechanism, where she will quickly turn her head, yawn and then slap me with her paw.

People Have Too Much Time On Their Hands

Never in my life did I think that I would be living in a small town, the type of town that Alice Munro writes about, where secrets are buried deep, gossip flies off tongues like high school Girls, is twisted like a barbed wire fence and where the "sweet" smell of manure hangs in the air like a wet blanket. Never in my life did I think that I would be considered rural. . .Lord knows I have a heck of a time even pronouncing rural . . .rurrallllll RUralll rurrl. In this town, it seems to have become habit this summer to report "anonymous" tips under the guise of being concerned, but really it is of a malevolent streak. I had a building inspector tipped off about ripping off a small front stoop and replacing it with a stable one. I wrote a letter to the editor: Letter to the Editor I would like to express my thanks to a resident of the Blyth area in regards to a decrepit tiny front porch being demolished and soundly re-erected. It is a blessing to know there is a vein of concern that runs deep in this community. It is also a comfort to know that a citizen may use a pseudonym (a name, belonging to an unaware neighbour) when reporting a "supposed" building code violations. A follow up letter from the Township was received and presented to us by the surprised neighbour (who was falsely named as the complainant). As you could not receive this letter, or feedback from the Township, and misguided worry may be consuming you, we would like to inform you that the front porch did not require a permit, and it conforms to and exceeds all codes and bylaws. I am sure you can sleep more soundly at night knowing that the new porch is safe, it is now not dilapidated. When it rains or snows people will not slip on the slimy texture of rotting wood, it does not have cracks and slope anymore, steps actually run to the front door, and, as an added bonus, it actually has a railing. This porch never did conform to building standards prior to our purchase of the property. As the new owners of this property, we would also like to inform you that all involved know your true identity, and it may be in your best interest to take up a productive hobby, in which you can use your abundant excess time and lack of imagination (one ought to use a completely false name,instead of one already in use, for reporting purposes, if you are too ashamed to use your own). Hobbies performed could include the art of fava bean procurement and display, or erecting seasonal scenes using suet as a medium. Regards, 10:00 pm I just had a neighbour call me and tell me that another anonymous tip was directed at the people who received the letter regarding our porch. The anonymous caller had told the police that a young boy across the street was riding his (I don't know what you would call it- it's like a dirt bike) on the main street, when he wasn't~his mother was outside while he took the bike up to get gas which was a total distance of about 40 feet on a side street, she was out on the porch at this time and was watching him the whole time. The police interrogated the young boy without the presence of his parents-a day later, while the parents were at work, (isn't there a law regarding this)? He was at home alone at the time, and was upset by this. It is probably the same "anonymous" person who complained about the porch. For shit's sake. If you have an issue, don't be such a slimy subcutaneous idiot, and be direct. . . actually talk to the people you take issue with, and / or stop making up stories to drum up drama in your own insignificant lives. I feel sorry for the little kid (who happens to be an awesome kid), and the parents. What is wrong with people? Growing up in a CITY, this stuff never happened. No one cared. I love the city, you could have a seizure on the street and people would just step on you. You are anonymous, and nobody seems to give a shit, and everyone has a life. Everyone is nicely self absorbed and living in their own reality bubbles. Okay I am making generalizations, but, give me a break, these people are just calling in stuff so they can hear their calls on their police scanners-, woohoo, thrill of the day.

I lost my blog

I lost my blog. It was a great blog too- pictures and everything, about how my car and truck got squashed by a 125 year old maple tree that came down in a wretched storm. I lost all my passwords, thinking that I would remember them. Lesson learned, don't expect to remember things when you are in "brain atrophy post catastrophe". I feel like Holden Caulfied in The Catcher In The Rye who broke the Little Shirley Beans record. Well the tree has been removed, my truck has been fixed, the car is a write off. I still have the stump to prove it~~but no replacement car. It was a Ford Tore Ass, and while I do adhere to being a Chevy Girl, it was a pretty nice car. My stinky tenant next door moved out two weeks ago and now I am stuck with a rental unit that reeks of dog and cat pee. She actually left the poor cat (outside for months), I had to phone animal control on the weekend. I thought she had taken it with her. After trying to contact her (she wouldn't pick up the phone, she probably has call display, and she still owes rent). The other thing I found were copious amounts of used Q-Tips, why on earth couldn't the person get up, off the couch, turn away from Dog the Bounty Hunter for a nano second and put them into the garbage is a mystery. Then again, whenever she did allow us entry there was garbage strewn everywhere, so maybe she was just confused and mistook her home as a dumpster. It was like the poo woman from Oprah was living next door. . ." I think I will keep this poo nugget until it gets old and mouldy. . .just in case I will need it in the winter time to burn as an alternate form of heating fuel." Note to self. . . if I ever get that rentable again. . .which seems like the unobtainable quest right now. . . make sure to do credit, reference and an actual lease that has "landlord right to inspect clause written in to it" (Supposedly TPA will have this anyhow in September or October 2006). We have wonderful tenants in our other house, people that are clean, great dispositions, and are genuinely helpful. They really keep an eye on everything and I truly appreciate them. Unlike the maynards that were there before. Animal Control couldn't come out until today though. Meanwhile what had been a formidable cat had been reduced to an antisocial, pus eyed, neurotic feline who was taking shelter underneath the rental unit. I really get irate when it comes to stupid, self absorbed (ooops, I am labelling)people, owning animals. You can take your load of campfire wood, but you can't take your cat? She did take her dog though. . .which she shouldn't be allowed to have after viewing the state of the home. While I was at the dump, (after having to remove all the carpeting) I asked guys if they had any type of humane device to catch the feline in. (You just never know in these small towns what people carry up their sleeves). I have seen a man walking down the street with a hamburger in his back pocket and a cob of peaches and cream corn sticking out of his sock. I digress. ;) Earlier in the day, I had sat at the point of the entrance that the cat was using, with a cat carrier, a can of salmon, a cup of kibble and a stick to try to lock the cage if it did enter. I felt like I was fishing. Kitty bobbed up out of the dark, and would hesitantly edge it's way to my "trap" and then run away. Then I would see it's one eye glinting at me in the dark. (It does have two eyes, but I could only see the one). This repeated itself about four times all the while, I was on the phone with the OSPCA and the wife of the local animal control man. (They asked me if I had "saved" the carpeting. "No" I replied "but I have a hell of a lot of pictures"). My God, all one has to do is walk within 15 feet of the trailer (yes. .. it is a mobile home) and smell the rank reek. It is a combination of stale cigarettes, old urine, and grease. I have been airing it out since July 1 2006, and the place still smells like a cess pool. Today I decided that I will shut the place up again and run the dehumidifier through it. I noticed on July 1 that there was a liquid in the cold air return. I wonder if someone peed in it as well. I need a HASMAT suit. Last night when we returned home from a vehicle hunt there was a havahart trap sitting by my porch. The nice man from the dump had left me the device (he left his card). What an angel. So I baited it and this morning I received a call from one of my nice neighbours saying that I have caught the cat. I hadn't even had my coffee yet, I ran outside in my pyjamas and saw the poor thing. It was scrawny looking, it's eyes were wet, and it had tipped over the salmon, kibble and water. It also looked like the clouds were heavy with rain, so I tried moving the trap to an area where it would be sheltered. It was howling, and hissing. I tried to talk to it (The Pussy Whisperer), with no avail. OSPCA and Animal Control man were called, and later on it was removed. I told it I was sorry. I just can't take in anymore animals. It will probably be put down, which is best. It had been neglected for a long time, and probably couldn't be socialized, and it was sick. I hope Kitty Karma bites this ex tenant on the rear end and everything comes back on her three fold (reminder to self~ use your protective circle this time).