Evolution of a beard

Okay, here I go again, for those follically challenged or follically intrigued (follically may not be an actual word, but it rolls off the tongue quite nicely), here is a great video, and a great song to boot.

Life is good

Not only do I have a habit of over using the apostrophe, but I have a feeling that my quotation mark placement needs overhauling. I had no idea that there was a place called The Apostrophe Protection Society: http://www.apostrophe.fsnet.co.uk Life is good, I will be more vigilant. Now to work on my quotation marks, I found this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quotation_mark I want to thank the person who helped enlighten me on my punctuation journey. (No, I am not being sarcastic). I have avoided my punctuation faux pas, and now I can branch out. Tom Robbins, in one of his novels did a great job of the comma. I forget which book it was, any book by him is worth reading. (Although, you have to be in the mood for his genre).

Too Funny

I had to post this letter that was found on a blog. I am laughing so hard , that I am crying. http://dontmesswithcupcake.blogspot.com/2007/03/have-happy-vasectomy.html It is the funniest letter I have read in a while. The blog is great too. On another odd note, there has been an upsurge in sausage thieves in the Midwestern Ontario area. Not only was someone in Huron County found with a package of hotdogs (I am envisioning "Red Hots") in their purse, another has stolen beef jerky and now this : http://www.owensoundsuntimes.com/webapp/sitepages/content.asp?contentID=459948&catname=Local+News . I guess people are really getting excited with the spring like weather, and feel the urge to BBQ so strongly, that they need to resort to shoplifting. Maybe, just maybe, this thievery is connected to my BBQ that was stolen a few years ago, in the dead of night!! I am using a working computer now, so I have spent the day getting to know it. I can't believe the difference. Hence, all the posts.

Why is it that men, age nicely, while women end up sagging and losing their collagen? We get "arm lungs" (someone dubbed them this on Wanted Words on CBC) , hairs on our faces, and resort to creams and tinctures to banish the laugh lines or the brow furrows. (Yes, I did resort to watching the Shopping Channel last night, and still feel a tad scarred). I am wondering if I should buy some dented cans, and start rubbing bad beans on my face to get a cheap and effective form of botox. . Guys normally just wash and go. Well, maybe I shouldn't be making generalizations, because, my night cream has been hijacked by my husband on multiple occasions. Adam does have his "Grooming" moments (hours spent in the washroom fixing his toes and finger nails, shaping his brows and shaving his beard into different geometrical shapes). "Leave me alone, I am grooming". Is often heard in our household. But, when you look at an older guy, you don't say, "man, does he look old and prune like", but when you view an older woman, you think, "oh my god, someday, I am going to look like that, some day I am going to have boobies that look like pendulums?" Or do men do that as well? Men seem more comfortable in their skin. There is a huge difference between aging men and aging women and their marketability. I don't care what those Dove commercials say, sagging rumps and blotching skin are not attractive, and they are still marketing their products as beauty products for pete's sake. They are probably making even more cashola now. If Gene Simmons and Shannon Tweed can book dual facelifts, why not?

The Case of the Disappearing Hubby

Interesting night last night. My mouth was all swollen because of a crown that was put in , three hours of hell, instead of the one and a half hours that they had told me. Argg. I hate dentists. I was ready to tell them to stick a mini marshmallow in the abyss, instead of the temporary crown, but they declined. So I didn't get to sleep until 1:30 or so then: I got the dreaded call last night. It was I think around three in the morning, the phones were ringing with three different ring tones, and I was a bit disoriented. Finally I made it on the last ring and heard "Do you know where your husband is?" Well, I knew he was at work. I thought it was our neighbour down the street making a prank call and said "hey wassup ______? " The caller replied "No, this is not ______, I'm in a tow truck, trying to find your husband". Or something to that effect. Visions of deers flying through windshields, were running through my head, not sugar plums. Supposedly Adam was near Lambert, Ontario. I said are you sure it's not Bamberg? Lambert . . .Bamberg kinda sounds the same when you are half asleep. No, Lambert. I have never heard of Lambert. He listed off a few county roads, asking me if they sounded familiar. Now, I could kind of know the vicinity of where he may be, but because I don't have my COUNTY ROAD MAP anymore, I was unable to pinpoint the exact location. I tried phoning Adam but as soon as he was about to say where he was, his phone died. (I found out later that he had meant to get a new card, but time was an issue, and he ran out of minutes). He couldn't call the auto club because, the phone wouldn't allow him to phone out, so he flagged a driver down, who let him borrow her cell phone. How nice, but really, would you stop for a guy at the side of the road at 2:30 in the morning? This is a remote area of Perth County. (But it was very nice and trusting of her). I phoned the autoclub and explained that their driver was having some issues, they would call me back when they located him. I was desperately trying to google these county roads that weren't showing up on my regular map with no avail . There was no listing for Lambert in the L section of Ontario towns. At least he was okay. I was going to go out and look for him, but that would mean leaving the kids, and I didn't have a concrete idea of where he was, and if the tow truck was en route already, then knowing my luck I would either miss them, or end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. So I asked the auto club to give me updates throughout the night, which they did. Anyhow, finally he was located, turns out the van overheated. He finally got home around 5 am. The auto club let me know this after he got home. :) The "crux of the biscuit" was the fact that he was let out of work early 12:30, instead of 4 am, which is the first time in four years. The hydro went out, and he was expecting a really nice long sleep. So this morning, I called the service station explaining what I think happened, and that we need the van back ASAP. Then I realized, Adam would be driving the truck, and I needed to get the oil changed. (Dad, if you are reading this, I did stipulate 10W-30, High Mileage). So I phoned the other garage up the street. They were pretty booked and hesitant to take me, but , after, some persuasion, I was able to take it in. It is amazing what can happen when you start lisping. To add insult to injury, when I went to drive out of our quick sand mud driveway, I tried to take it out of 4WD Low. It wouldn't budge, (darn electronic 4WD), Antonio was being a turd. I even talked nicely, I tried to reverse out of it, no luck. So I had to drive the darn thing VERY SLOWLY down to the garage (50 feet) from my place. But cheese and rice. Edit: 2pm, found out you are to put it in to neutral before taking 4WD Low to 2WD. Antonio is okay! Wooohooo! :)))) Have I had anything remotely happy to say for the past few months? Well, my crocuses are popping, and they weather is nice, and I don't have impetigo or weird facial sores (not that I ever did). I have all of my appendages, and my kids and husband are well, and the snow is melting. My roof didn't collapse, although my house fell down off the jacks the other day. My lucky bamboo is dying, and my cactus kicked the bucket. But that is okay because I can still pop the leaves of my succulents. Life is good.

Aunt T

My Aunt T was a beautiful artist, in many mediums, watercolours, pencil, seamstress, (she made dolls, clothing). She was a really neat person. I always laughed when I was around her, she had the Mc******. . . . laugh, and when she was with my Mom, it was hilarious. It was like a gaggle of geese. She was one of the best pie makers around, and she always had a stash of homemade fudge. Poor Aunt T. . ., when we did visit, we always expected pie and only once do I remember her not having one (my brother and I teased her about "you better have a pie"). Her pastry was so good, and her rhubarb filling was phenomenal. She had a wacky sense of humour, and had a great spirit. She put up with a hell of a lot in life and in her illness, she persevered through hell. I remember when I last saw her on March Break, when I kissed her cheek, it was so comforting, it was like my eldest daughter's cheek, soft and plush. Her eyes were speaking for her at that point, she was paralyzed and I will never forget her liquid lake blue cerulean eyes. I remember holding her hand, and how it felt. My daughters regarded her as a Grandmother figure, they really didn't know their Great Grandma Mc. . . and Aunt T. . .. was in my kid's opinion the perfect stand in Great Grandmother. She was much loved by everyone. _____________________________________________________________________________________ I am going to allow myself to be COMPLETELY judgemental and emotive, because I, like some others are angry. I realize I can grieve in my own way, and I will plant a special flower in her memory. But it still does not erase the anger that I feel right now: My Aunt T's funeral was by far the worst funeral I had ever been to. Not that I am eluding that funerals should be a jovial, bum wiggling, Saturday Night Fever type time with firecrackers and bonbons and monkeys hanging from chandeliers. (Well, mine might be like that, minus the primates, because I hate monkeys). What you expect, is that the person who is lying in the casket is honoured, that THEIR life is celebrated and respected, regardless of what religion is practiced. Upon arriving at the funeral, on Saturday, my family was blocked by a funeral attendant who told me that the "seats are for family only", I said, "we are family" and brushed by her, and plunked my bottom on a chair. My husband sat beside me, and our daughters, sat beside him. Behind us, were my Mom, a few cousins, Dad, etc. We weren't able to pay our respects. After the orator (a member of the F** G****** Church ~I am thinking, judging by my googling, that it was a type of F*** G*****, a derivative), named my Aunt in the casket, and told us "she was a good wife", finally paused to take a breath after about fifteen minutes, my Aunt D, was able to make a short speech, and quote. It was very brief, but lovely, thank God she had the guts to do it. What I was unaware of, is that she had to ask permission to be able to speak, and that the parishioners who were speaking (two men) did not want her to speak. It was only because the man stopped for a breath, that she was able to bounce out of her seat, and push her way to the front that she had the opportunity, because they were not going to give it to her since "they were on a strict time line". Most likely this was due in part to the fact that we were "outsiders" to the religion, she was a woman, and all the women who were attending outside the congregation were wearing "slacks" (gotta love that word). The orator was quick to intervene, and the two orators took at least an hour and a half to extol the virtues of being saved by their sect (or how my Uncle was saved), and as an ancillary note, T followed as a dutiful wife (ahem). For an hour and a half, all that was said, was that her husband was saved. A few people walked out, angry, and justifiably so. There was no reverence for her life, her name was mentioned possibly four times. It was not a personal funeral, rather something that could have been taken from one of the F*** G******'s propaganda brochures. I will add that the women of the congregation, on Sunday's are to sit at the back of the church and say nothing. They are all dressed the same in long dresses and hats. They do not cut their hair. At the lunch afterwards, we were called "Filthy People" by a member of the congregation. (No shit, we were waiting in the vestibule, and as he walked by he said "You are filthy people", my Dad said "pardon me?" and he repeated himself again. We were all respectfully dressed, proper funeral attire, so obviously the comment was directed at us as a way of saying " You are not part of the congregation, you are tainted heathens that will go to hell". Well, we all know that those who profess to being "saved" have their quirks and moments of filth, we are all sinners. I could not believe it. My father also mentioned to me that a few of the men could be heard upstairs bad mouthing Mennonites (terrrible). What I do know, is that at a few points during her illness she did voice to my Mom that it was her faith that got her through, and that is what counts. I am just scratching the surface, because in my family's opinion, her faith did not bring happiness during her life, but again, maybe it gave her enough to get her through. Maybe, it gave her a place to hang her hat on at night, and that is what counts in the scheme of things. Could it be that she wanted her funeral to be this way? I dunno. I will never know. But her life and achievments and her value, should not be merely placed on the funeral or her faith, because she, as everyone, transcends that. As an immature end note: Unfortunately, the congregation does do uninvited house calls to spread their "word", but they will not be welcome on my threshold, I will have my daughter's STINK BLASTER ready and loaded and throw sage leaves at them, while poking needles in poppets with my snorting nasal spitting hell hounds by my side. . . .teehee just joking (maybe).

Metaphysical Musings

I dragged this essay out of my big wicker box. After the funeral on Saturday (which I will write about tomorrow), I just kept thinking about this one written in 1998. Metaphysics "If there is nothing of substance in the world, if the ground we walk on is just a mirage, if reality itself really isn't. . .what are we left with? What are we to hang our hat on? Magic. . .The stuff not ruled by rational law. . . and that may not seem to comforting, but stay with me here. . .What is the height of the irrational? What is the zip code of the mysterious?. ..Exactly. (Chris, Northern Exposure, Episode 23, 1991). Reality is subjective. Reality or being is what one perceives it to be. Reality is individualistic in nature and is based on where we have come from and is open to interpretation. It is also what one wishes to experience. One etches their lives out, and maps it, according to what one believes to be real. Our conception of the world lies on what we learn and what we have been told exists. We can never experience another humans reality because, we, ourselves are shrouded in our own ontological veils that serve as filters upon what we see and what we do not see. These veils are our grounding points from where we pivot. There are many facets to our own interpretation of reality, some of our roots are grounded by religion, or lack of. Some of our roots are grounded by experience or observation. The study of metaphysics is a valuable source of investigation, because it derives its own existence from one of our own building blocks, human reality. When two people stare at the night sky, and scrutinize it, do they always see the same thing? Probably not. Although human beings are made roughly in the same design, one may have myopia, colour blindness or astigmatism. We may have altered perceptions of what could truly be there. How can we truly experience another person's reality? We see different constellations, different degrees of blurriness and different slants to what could be considered as the same reality. There are variations in what is actually there and these discrepancies are based in our conceptions of the truth of what exists and what does not. We can only speculate. All we have are commonalities at best. We deem certain people as abnormal, crazed or psychotic. They behave against the "norm" or the human ideal of what is to be or to exist. We shudder when we watch what we consider a "bum" murmur to his or her self in a coffee shop. Yet we are mesmerized, morbidly fascinated by the surreal behaviour of "one of our own". We are fascinated because it is a glimpse into a different reality. We allow ourselves the privilege of naming the "bums" behaviour or reality , by running to our pocket edition of Abnormal Psychology and begin the process of labelling the aberration. We find solace in designation. We like to point our fingers at the strange. Yet what if those who are supposedly insane or nutty are actually experiencing a height reality or state of being than that of we (I use the term loosely) the normal , are accustomed to? Maybe those who strike poses on street corners or talk to their cafe mocha's are really in possession of supreme realities or states of being? Maybe we the "normal" are the deprived. One can look around themselves and believe in the reality of material objects. We can touch thing and know that they are there by sensation. We know that other people exist. Through our sensations we know that the tangible is what exist is. Or at least we think we know. (Check out the Solipsists). Our thoughts are made real through the process of interaction with others. Yet when they are thoughts are they real? Yes. They are real because they live within the host and the host realizes their content. Yet our perceptions still confine us to our idea of reality because perceptions again, are limited by our roots and our physical bodies. If we viewed a wolf spider with its multiple eyes, what spectrum of reality would the arachnid perceive? Multiple facets of one of our simplistic still life pictures. This would be real, this would be normal to the spider. Sometimes our limited perceptions give way to epiphanies of heightened awareness. Sometimes instances jump out at us, lash out at us from nowhere. "You of all people, Corinne, understand how profound things can be at the level of perception . ..The individual is the only reality. Whatever is, is. For you it maybe be a feeling of uncommon sensitivity, even intense focus, but an important stimulus nonetheless, even profound recognition" (Dowling 379) These shifts of realities leave us with only glimpses of what could be construed as higher realities or truths. These shifts allow for speculation and we try to give meaning to the unknown. The Zen Buddhist would name it as Satori, the Yogis as Nirvana, the drug induced as the Ultimate High. Higher consciousness is forced into interpretation and the label which we give to it. Sometimes reality shocks us and shatters our conceptions of what literally exists. Holling: I need some help form a man who understands women. . . .A significant thing happened to me the other day. I saw Shelly's feet for the first time. Chris: What, you never saw her feet before? Holling: Of course I have. . .I've held them. I've caressed them. . . Chris: Ya. Hollling: I used to gave at Shelly's feet and I'd see flowers, swans and- Chris: And children playing? Holling: That too, the point is, yesterday when I looked at Shelly's feet, all I saw were feet. The truth is I found them unattractive. . . .unattractive and very big. . .and inordinately large. Our previous experience molds our conceptions of reality. What we encounter in our journeys on the pat of live, are what give us our ideas of what exists and what does not exist. To the rich man, power may be something within reach, so power is real, in the sense that it is attainable. To the poor man, squalor may be something that is real because it is so prevalent in his everyday life, powerlessness is the bleak reality. To someone who has experienced a certain state of being, that state exists, because it is real to them. Empathy, or feeling anothers reality may only be extrapolation. We may be able to find reality in observation without experiencing the stimuli first hand. If we watch someone in a trance -like condition, we may be able to use extrapolation to understand phenomena that we, ourselves, cannot attain, and try to place ourselves in that reality. We do this by empathy, drawing from past experiences we can try to place ourselves in the experiencors position, but we will never truly experience the entire sensation. For most instances in everyday life, I do agree to some extent with Husserl's view on the natural standpoint. "Whatever holds good for me personally, also holds good, as I know for all other men whom I find present in my world-about-me. Experiencing them as men, I understand and take them as Ego-subjects units like myself, and related to their natural surrounding. But this in such wise that I apprehend the world-about-them and the world-about-me objectively as one and the same world, which differs in each case only through affecting consciousness differently. Each has his place whence he sees the things that are present, and each enjoys accordingly different appearances of the things. For each, again, the fields of perception and memory actually present are different, quite apart from the fact that even that which is here inter subjectively know in the common is known in the different ways, is differently apprehended, shows different grades of clearness, and so forth. Despite all this, we come to understandings with our neighbours, and set up in common an objective spatio-temporal fact-world as the world about us that is there for us all, and to which we ourselves none the less belong" (Husserl 384). Another factor which mold our metaphysical beliefs are those of religion. Religions guide us to what should and should not exist. Sometimes these ideas have become value judgements that have encrusted some realities. Some fanatically possessed religious people are so rigid in the belief system that they turn away from influences that do not cohere with their own beliefs. This shields them from the reality of existence. If they do not see certain things then those things do not exist. This leads to naive realism. The absence of God or a deity to subscribe to also leads one to organize a lifestyle that is congruent with Atheism. one who does not believe in God would assume that there is no heaven or hell. Therefore, the Atheist would live according to the belief that anything they do would not be considered bad or good in relation to a deity. They would not necessarily live life in a hedonistic fashion, but grounded in the notion of doing good for the sake of good doing and behaving naughtily for the sake of naughtiness. There would be no room for the "creation" myth , nor would it include a reality that would be complementary to the ideals laid out by any type of religion. I am resorting to a view of duality- metaphysical idealism, the view that both the material and mental beings exist. Our limitations of knowledge and experience only show a small cross section of what truly exists, our blinders are our sensory organs, our own experiences (be it observational or by directly experiencing the phenomenon), or by belief systems. Yet even in this categorization, this is limited. To have a focus on what categories exist, we are ignoring possibilities. In the process of categorization, we are only subscribing to what can actually fit into those categories. We again, are limited to our conception, perceptions and our linguistic capabilities. Our perceptions and our conceptions of and instance can be misguided or misinterpreted. Our language can only name things as they have been named before (to varying degrees). This can be seen through our inability to express concrete descriptions of what we saw in certain high stress situations, experiences with the paranormal, even everyday life. We are sometimes at a loss for words, because we don't have them. "When we think of a magician, the image that comes to mind is Merlin. Long white beard, cone shaped hat. The archetypal sorcerer. Well in one version of this Arthurian legend, the sorcerer retires. Checks out of the conjuring business, his reason, the rationalists are taking over. The time for magic is coming to an end. Well, old Merlin should have stuck around because those same rationalists, trying to put a rope around reality, suddenly found themselves in the psychedelic land of physics. A land of quarks, gluon's, and neutrinos. A place that refuses to play by Newtonian rules. A place that refuses to play by any rules. A place much better suited to the Merlin's of this world". (Chris, Northern Exposure 1991) As soon as one believes they have the right answer to what is reality, someone, or something comes along and breaks it down. Newton came, then Einstein, and now there is Hawking. We are able to believe in a concrete reality for only the time that it exists in our perceptions and our restricted understandings of it. For now I will back away from this reality and only subscribe to the idea: "I believe in everything ; nothing is scared / I believe in nothing; everything is sacred. Ha ha ho ho and hee hee" (Robbins, 415). Works Cited Datlow, Ellen and Windling Terrry. (Editors). The Years Best Fantasy and Horror. Tenth Annual Edition. St.Martins's Griffin. New York 1997 pg 379 Deuttch, Elliot. "Introduction to World Philosophies". Prentice Hall. New Jersey. 1997. 384 Frovlov, Dianne and Schneider, Andrew. Northern Exposure Episode 23. 1991 (various quotes) Robbins, Tom "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues". Bantam Books. USA 1976. 415

Rankin Dam

My cousin was twelve, I was eleven and we usually spent the Summer's fishing. Or, I spent the Summer fishing, my cousin was too afraid to knit his worm onto his hook and he would scream when he actually had any type of nibble on his line. I always had to grab the wiggling fish in my hands and remove it, and slip it on the big paper clip type thing that held your flapping fish under water. The smell of earth, worms and pearly fish scales stuck on your fingers were a part of Summer. The scent of dew worms, left too long in a tackle box, and eventually forming a pudding, was also a smell of Summer. We would buy our worms, and ride our bikes out to The Farmer's Field, or the Rankin Dam. From what I remember, it was a long journey to the Dam, especially because I was always stuck carrying the tackle. We would take our lunch with us and usually be gone for the day. We never thought anything of taking off for hours, and probably, it was a relief to my parents. They could boogie to the sounds of their oldy mouldy's like Saturday Night Fever or eat Bugles, do the Hustle or do whatever people in their early 40's did mid 1980's. The noon day sun scorched us, as we rode up to the Falls, and then drove our bikes through the woods to get to the onyx water's of the dam itself. This time we had taken T-Bones, the big, but friendly dog, with us. (St. Bernard, Lab, Sheepdog mix, that we had picked up at theSauble Marina when the puppies were being given away). I remember seeing light glinting through the trees that we passed on the trail. The trees were a dense canopy of green and the trail itself was thick with pine needles and that black earth that smells like cottage life. We had put our lines in and were getting into the fishing mindset. That Zen, where you are so focused on the end of your fishing rod, that everything else seems to melt away. The rustling of footsteps broke our tranquility. I remember, that they were coming towards us from the other side of the dam. Out of the woods, emerged two men, probably early 30's, very scruffy in their acid wash jeans, and long dark stringy hair that fell limp at their shoulders. "Rocker's". I whispered to my cousin that we should take up our lines and pretend that we were just leaving. We reeled in, and started to pack up our stuff, but the guys, kept talking to us for a long time (too long), one showed us a fish he had caught. I remember that they were getting closer and closer. The feeling of unease was heavy. Suddenly, a Conservation Officer came out of the forest. I remember him taking the guys aside and as we took off, we never felt so relieved in our lives. I as usual had peed my shorts and my cousin was wailing as we rode, as if to beat the devil out of the woods. We never went back. The odd thing is, that was the first and only time I had ever seen a Conservation Officer (or whatever they are called), walking the woods. "Divine Intervention" as Jules from Pulp Fiction says.

Hermit's

I have been staring at this page, blank for at least five minutes. Nothing at all interesting has happened. The house is quiet, no kids, no hubby, the dogs are on the couch farting away. All I can think of is spring. I can't wait to get outside without having to put on a huge jacket and the uber boots. The long johns won't be shed until June. I have a pair for every day of the week. There was a man down in the Delaware area who was a hermit. He had a property filled with cars, and junk. He was rarely ever seen. He lived in an old farm house from what I can remember. Somehow, although he was (as I have said), never seen, someone found him dead. (It must have been quite a while before they found him). When the body was removed, and the coroner was examining the corpse, they found that the hermit's leg hair had grown up through his long johns. Like newly seeded grass, it just sprung up through the tiny perforations in his LJ's. Isn't that amazing? He never removed them. It reminds me of the story, of the man living in the Goodwill Box on Oxford Street in London. He would pop his head out from time to time. I had a friend in highschool, who was homeless. No family would take him in, so he lived in the sewers. One time he came over to my house, and he smelled so bad that I used a can of Lysol on him before he could enter. Poor old James. He had a really good mohawk that he pasted up with epoxy or contact cement. Looking through year books, most of the people that we knew are either dead, or living the "high life" in British Columbia. (Last we heard anyhow). Memories.

Jesus Hanky's

Last night after my weekly dose of Nip Tuck, I found my self dozing off to religious television (it normally puts me out). Before my eyes were these green anointed Jesus face cloths, that when wished upon would give the wisher a wish. Now, not being of any set faith, although growing up in the United Church, I was utterly gobsmacked. People in fervour were ranting about how these Jesus Hanky's had changed their lives (by money) in an Jerry Springer meets Evangelical delirium. There was a toll free number, where one, could procure one of these green hankies, and not only that, they were for FREE! The testimonials were better than those for the new lines of lip plumpers. Here were people screaming that Jesus Fabric gave them their wishes. . .one lady was $18,000 dollars richer, others, were lining their pockets with even more of the greenbacks. To me, it just seems wrong. Here is a guy (Jesus), who lived the simple life as a carpenter, and now people are anointing green pieces of felt, and hoping that it will bring monetary riches, sleek cars, and Minolo's. The preacher's are sweaty and red faced. It is annoying and it borderlines on disgust. Not only that, it seems that the green clothes were brought out of the vaults for around St. Patrick's Day. . .seems a bit strange. Jesus has become prostituted. I remember talking with one of my guidance counsellors, and he had been brought up Catholic, married a Buddhist. He had backed away from the faith. He said that if Jesus was looking down from above and seeing what has happened to his basic foundations, he would be gagging himself. Still, I wish I had written down the number, just to see what those amazing micro fibre cleansing cloths could do.

At the cottage :)

Happy St. Patricks Day. . .up at the cottage. The beach is gorgeous, sculpted snow and sand. Left my camera at home. Bummer, have to come home tommorow. I think the snow blobs are on par with Blyth.

Eighteen eyes, nine noses, and a hell of a lot of whiskers.

I promised myself I would get to bed at 9pm tonight. It's not happening. Dogs are barking, television hums, cats are jumping, there is no rest for the wicked. Eighteen eyes, nine noses, and a hell of a lot of whiskers. So I figured, I will fart around on the computer, just because. The painting is going well, although, I am so glad that we did not go with an oil based paint on the panelling. (I am the messiest painter in the world). I hate panelling, again, what were you decorators in the 1970's thinking? Ugly. Painted, it looks fine. I know,you are supposed to use oil based, but, I have painted panelling before with latex, and it turned out just fine, and three years later, it is still doing fine. I didn't even prime it. I just wanted to seal up the old smells from the past thirty years, and it did it's job. It also seems like a nicer place, no bad vibes now. Prior, I got a veryoppressive feeling in there. Not evil, just like a smothering sensation. Ooooh maybe I should do a Smudge Ceremony or do some pendulum dousing. Yesterday while painting, I caught the tail feathered end of a blurp on CBC, regarding the use of Canada Geese for ingestion for the needy. (It has been brought up before), it's not a new issue, just a recycled one. I don't know why it bothered me so much. I am probably imprinting my own goose issues on the issue at hand, and to be fair, I didn't hear the whole spiel. There is an over abundance of Canada Geese in many areas. At one time, if I am not mistaken, they were endangered and a protected species, that have become so prevalent, and their population has soared to huge numbers. Their poop is a big bone of contention. Donations of the Goose meat happens in certain Food Banks in the States. Now,I am not saying that those in need, need to dine on caviar and fine cheeses. It's about needs and not wants. I am also not a person that champions any and /or all animal rights causes. I love baby seals. I don't agree with animal abuse (who does?). I suppose the problem is stemming from the tuna incident years ago when Tamagouchi (or whoever it was) said that you could buy tuna for 70 cents a can if you were broke and needed protein. This was not the case, and a grocery store did lower their prices of tuna in response to that issue. I just don't understand, (and maybe it's my own ontological bubble), why, if Canada Goose is not found in the mainstream grocery stores, why it should be dumped on the needy. (But then again, emu meat, venison, etc. is not found everywhere, and is delicious). It seems though, it almost a further stratification and marginalization of the needy. Yes, it would serve the greater good, so the "utility" aspect is there. I am sure, they would be healthy geese,pre-plucked and gutted. I would hate to see needy people carrying home a huge carcass under their arm and having to prepare it. What is the difference between a Canada Goose and a chicken really? Well, the fatty aspect is an issue. When I cooked my goose, the thing shrank to a third of the size, looked like a raisin with a neck, and the fat was unbelievable. But I was a novice goose cooker. And now I am sitting on the fence. It could raise (here I am going off onto one of my tangents) the question of the "slippery slope" argument of dontating the meat of shelter animals to the needy as well. Or, there are a lot of protein enriched grubs populating my lawn, how about freeze drying those suckers and donating them? I certainly don't want them, they are taking over, and in many cultures, they are eaten, and enjoyed. I digress. Oh no, the spacing issue has raised it's head again.

My Bulge

A big hmmm. I don't know if my logic or my account will make any sense. (Edit, no it didn't so I will re-tell) The rental (with the new roof), had a bulge in the ceiling prior to the new roof installed in October during one of the worst rainstorms and at the time (and as I speak, there are no occupants). When we were putting the roof on, last October, I poked holes in the ceiling, to let the water out (where I saw actual drips, with my pointing tool). I didn't do where the bulge in question was, I figured it was old (and an old leak had bulged the ceiling, and remembered the bowed tile), and I just did where the drips came in, because at this point we didn't even have the ice and water shield on at that point, just the bubble insulation, and the strapping, which when the storm hit, of course the roof leaked. So, after, putting the ice and water shield on, over top of the strapping, bubble insulation, and then finally installing the roof steel, I assumed we were home free. A few days ago, when the snow started melting like crazy, I decided to remove the ceiling and to my horror, there was an accumulation of water between the vapor barrier and the insulation. Now, when I touched the bulge, the water was not cold (which, if it was new, it probably would have been cold, because the ten test was on the bottom. But then again heat rises, but we didn't have the heat up over 13 celcius. I popped it, some water came out). So, my theory (the optomistic one) is that, this was water that had sit, since October, not evaporated (since it had no where to evaporate to). It could have been an ice dam. Or the fricking roof is still leaking (not likely), as it is raining now, and after pulling the insulation, there are no drips. All ceilings need replacement anyhow. I just wonder how long water "could" possibly sit in a vapor barrier. It bothered me so much all I have been dreaming about is insulation and evaporating bulges. Then, the person who "partially" did the floors, covered over the access hole to the plumbing shut off's, and a hot air vent. Nice. So, between painting, reflooring, pulling insulation, it's been a nice March Break. I can't wait to get to the cottage.

Dancing to The "Beet" of a Different Drum

A question came up on the powerwalk tonight. . .as we walked we could see a line in the snow, where some kid had dragged a stick, and another kid had walked on top of a snowbank. If it had been an adult dragging a stick for no apparent reason or running atop snowbanks with glee, most people would say "is that person nuts?", . Kids can get away with it. Kids talk to themselves, do wacky things, have imaginary friends, stick things up their noses, but they have an appreciation for the smallest things and are able to live in a completely different wonderous world then we, as adults. At least they experience it differently, then something happens and it is like we wake up from those dew drop dreams and are reborn into the "birth school work death" realm. Minus the birth & school part. When do some dispose of that zest for life, when do some lose the sense of awe? Why do some people still have remnants or sparks? Is it just the fact that we become too self aware? Is it when puberty kicks in, the hormones replace the sublime? Is it the Erikson Stage "Industry versus Inferiority"? I wish I could live in "Autonomy versus Shame & Doubt", and still play with my Gee Gee shoved up my nostril with ladybugs in my pockets. If only we could be born old (with wisdom), and grow younger, we would appreciate things so much more. Although giving birth to an eighty year old wrinkly, sagging man would not be an incentive to procreate. Yet, I appreciate, and I am awe inspired with the vast quantity of beets I have to dispose of. Weeeeeeeeee! :) See my post about the dreaded beets down below.

Algo perdió en traducción

When Patrick droppped by a few years ago, he had been in Mexico doing some type of work there escorting political people who had death threats against them. It was all for a good cause. As we sat on my front porch musing about being all anarchistic and punky in high school and what not, I asked him to translate some things for me in Spanish. One was "piece of s--t" he told me the tranlation was pieca pouto (I know that this is not spelled correctly). So I felt very proud walking around talking in Spanish. Well, when I was working (outside the home), a friend, who also spoke Spanish asked me if I knew any. I told him that I knew a swear word and proudly repeated my saying. Ross said it meant "Piece of Cake" . . .after 3 years of proudly spewing what I thought were profanities, I was wrong. Now, I went on babblefish tonight and tried to verify the translation, it is coming up something completely different, "pedazo de mierda" and piece of cake is coming up "pedazo de pastel" now I am very confused. The love of learning different profanities spoken in different languages is one of my things. In Welsh, a supposedly "pure" language, there are some swearwords, like twiltin (from what I can remember). Noma gust ipso hualo in my own Spanish writing means from what my friend said "you smell like cheese", that is what I ask anyone who speaks a different language to translate for me. But maybe Patrick was still stringing me along, and maybe it possibly means, "pass the beans please". When I was about fifteen years old, I worked at a Japanese restaurant in London, and I was the brunt of many swear words (Yen Doi , Duma kai, again, the spelling is wrong). I loved the verbal abuse, because I could secretly use it at the dinner table without my parents knowing what I said. A bad thing happened today, the ex tenants left a freezer full of what I think are beets. I know they are coming back to collect some stuff in the locked shed, but they didn't mention anything about removing the contents of the trailer. They said they were finished with the trailer, and now I am stuck with a freezer full of fricking beets. Things could be worse, but there is a lot of stuff left that I may have to freecycle in Huron. I don't think they will let me freecycle frozen beets. I didn't busta move today, but I sure did busta tooth. I was eating a very light tortilla chip and I thought, there was some gravel impregnated in the chip. I swallowed it anyway, and then realized, I swallowed half of one of my back teeth. Adam won't let me post the pictures of him wearing his snow pants, that encase his buttocks like Nacho Libre. I am so dissappointed. But he didn't say that I couldn't describe them. . . but I will save that for later.

Tully

Here is an upset Tully, he does not want to go outside. The cold bothers him. I have him up on Kijiji.ca right now. He does not get along with my youngest daughter, especially if she sits where he likes to sit or is anywhere near a bone, we get growls. He would do best with a single person or a couple without young children.

Come Again?

Can anyone remind me why we moved here?. . . I say, CAN ANYONE REMIND ME WHY WE MOVED HERE?. . . It must be just bad karma. Pictured above is the door view from the basement which gives me the willy's, and the coblers foot, that has been put back near it's original spot. That door just irks me. As you go up the basement steps (right now I don't have any and have to jump four feet to get on a ladder), that is what you are faced with. Just creepy. It reads TO THE ENEMY KEEP THIS DOOR SHUT. Or does it say "TO THE ENEMY KEEP THIS DOOR SLUT?" Maybe a previous occupant wanted their ex-wife to take the door with her? Maybe it says TO THE ENEMY KEEP THIS DOOR SHOUT? Maybe the door was not loud enough. It could even read (because of the space) TO THE ENEMY KEEP THIS DOOR SNOUT. I like the word snout. My daughter uses it quite a bit. Made a hair appointment. . . trying to decide if I should do a big change of colour. I can't do red because it looks like I have just been on a voyage over the Pacific, stuffed in a sea chest. The follicles will not be severed any shorter, there is not a "man cut" in my future. Kids are out of school (again), roads are still closed, (don't even bother looking on the MTO, because it ignores us). I had to go to Wingham today, but, Highway 4 is closed still. So I had to say nay to that. But on a great note March Break looks fantastic! What will happen when my twenty feet of snow melts? My parents want me to come up and see them, I hope I can, but the rental work is looming before me. Paint, trim, ceilings, cleaning. Fun. Fun. Later on. . .6:00 I am trying to thaw fish "just for the halibut". Uhggg really bad pun. It is taking forever. Last night, I made ribs. I hate making ribs. But I figured if I threw in a bottle of beer and some BBQ sauce, nothing would go very wrong. They turned out A-Okay. I was impressed with myself. So impressed in fact, that I started singing, tunes from the "Gather Me" album from Melanie. I honestly, love that album, but I hate the background music. It should be purely acoustical, in my opinion, why the heck do they have a full orchestra in the background? It wrecks it to a point. She has an amazing voice, but the voice and tuba's and flutes and french horns make me gag. It's like the Kenny G saxaphone feeling. The album was slung on the record player today. I did sing, but it wasn't pretty, and ended up getting the dogs all excited and I felt like I was back in the "Challenged Choir" singing Land of the Silver Birch. I guess a person needs one flaw. Bad, but hillarious memories. If I could choose between being blind and having an absolutely tinkling voice or being mute and having incredible hearing, I definitely would go for the amazing voice. It's like the question, would you rather go through life stuck on a bicycle (where you can not get off for any reason) or would you rather walk around with a church pew stuck on your back? Which one would you choose? Both would be debilitating. I think the bicycle would be best, because, although with different weather conditions, it would still be possible to dress, go to the loo, and wash. You could just ride your way into a river. With a church pew, you would have issues with fitting into places, although, it may be possible to lie down. With a bicycle, you could always tilt yourself against a tree, or for hygenic purposes even resort to riding through car washes. So I started re-reading my first book of Philosophy, "The Art of Wondering" ( this is where I got my itch back in '96). For the life of me I can't remember Kant (categorical imperitive? veil of innocence?) from Mr. Rogers. Seriously. I ended up falling asleep. Not that the content was boring, I just fell asleep and can't remember what the heck I read. I did that with Oryx and Crake a lot as well, and ended up having to back track constantly. I know I should take some time during the day to read, but, my dogs start pitching fits if I go upstairs. Reading downstairs, just doesn't work for me. There are too many distractions and always something to do. Like domesticity,which I think in some ways I am neglecting because I am being passive aggressive. I had to tunnel into the wood holder today, as I did, I noticed Drive By Fry Guy Cruising By (4:35 pm). Pretending to talk on his Fisher Price cell phone. Keep on posing buddy. Pretend that you have something important to do or someone who actually wants to talk to you. Pretend that you have friends around here. I have been told that I should report it, or ask the people who have been complaining to me about it to report it. It's just very odd. . .

Just Another Snow Day

As my partner in property esthetics and I walked tonight, the drifting was just unbelievable. Here is a list of road closures in our area: Taken from the CKNX website, the best one around here for figuring out if you are actually going to make it to a destination in Midwestern Ontario: http://www.am920.ca/news. Honestly, since my favourite website went down, that included County Road 4, this is the only one that reports not only on municipal roads, but the county ones. On the MTO site, we don't exist north of Clinton normally. This had to be the craziest weather ever! Great if you didn't have to drive anywhere. So Midwestern Ontario is shut down. We saw a few tractor trailors parked in parking lots downtown, stranded. People are still snowblowing their entire properties. Why on earth would someone do that, honestly, the whole property, which is grass, is snowblown. Odd. My eldest daughter and I made lipgloss last night. Absolutely natural, without additives that are nasty. Beeswax 1tbs Shea Butter 2tsp Coconut Oil 3 tsp Pigment (mica, titanium dioxide, and iron oxides) (about 1/4 tsp, depending how much pigment you want). I retail mineral cosmetics, so, at least I have a source. These are without the dreaded Bismuth, Bare Minerals have the Bismuth, which can be an irritant. It's a touch and go process, you can add essential oils, after melting (about two minutes, checking at 30 second intervals and stirring. We used cinnamon essential oil and clove essential oil. Those plump your lips. My whole house smells like I have been slaving away making some wacky cookies, or something, but we were making cosmetics. News Local Roads Update - 9:00 p.m. Here is the list of provincial highways that are closed tonight: Highway 4 from Teeswater, south to Arva Highway 8 from Goderich to Stratford Highway 4 from Walkerton to Durham Highway 9 from Kincardine to Harriston Highway 21 from Amberley to Southampton Highway 21 from Union Sideroad to Goderich Highway 23 from Elginfield to Palmerston Highway 7 from Stratford to Elginfield Highway 7/8 from Stratford to New Hamburg Highway 6 from Durham to Guelph Highway 89 from Mount Forest to Rosemont Highway 10 from Markdale to Orangeville Highway 26 from Owen Sound to Meaford Grey County Road Closures: Grey County Road 9 from County Road 124 to Dundalk Grey County Road 8 from 89 to County Road 9 Grey Road 14 from 89 to Grey County Road 4 near Flesherton County Road 124 from Highway 89 to Singhampton. *All plows have been pulled off the roads in Huron County, and all Huron County roads are considered closed until morning. * Perth County plows have been pulled from the roads, and Perth County roads are closed until morning. * All plows have been pulled off the roads in North Wellington county. All main roadways and secondary roads in North and Center Wellington are closed until morning. * All of the roads in Bruce County are closed because of white out conditions and poor visibility. * All roads in Dufferin County are closed. MOST RECENT: 3/05/2007 Roads Update - 9:00 p.m. 3/05/2007 6pm Road Closures 3/05/2007 Bruce Power Employees asked to report to work Tonight 3/05/2007 Roads Update - 5:00 p.m. 3/05/2007 Roads Update - 4:00 p.m. 3/05/2007 Roads Update - 3:00 p.m. 3/05/2007 Roads Update - 2:06 p.m. 3/05/2007 Roads Update - 1:25 p.m. 3/05/2007 Roads Update - 11:55 a.m. 3/05/2007 Roads Update - 11:45 a.m.

Word Up. . .Ponderings

I was blessed with four hands and four arms, one for taking these fine photographs and three hands for posing. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I am not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant". ~Anon. "All words are only so many fingers ponting at Niagara Falls. Some may, like the family's pet dog, look at the finger rather than the rushing waters to which it points. Others on a yet more infantile level may, as Alan Watts puts it, "look at the finger pointing the way and then . . .suck it for comfort." ~ Ronald Huntington "He who knows does not speak; He who speaks does not know. " ~ Tao Teh Ching This is the song that I woke up with embedded in my noodle today, such a good song . . .you have to listen to it to appreciate though both are from Ween's Chocolate and Cheese Album. What Deaner Was Talkin' About lyrics by WEEN The wash is out It's hanging up And all I have Is nothing Nothing to do Nothing to say I think I must be dreaming The sun comes up and I'm all washed out Is this what Deaner was talkin' about? I don't think I will ever return, again my friend If I was king I'd wear a ring And never hurt my people I'd stay alert And dress to kill I might even slip you something The sun comes up and I'm all washed out Is this what Deaner was talkin' about? I don't think I will ever return, again my friend The sun comes up and I'm all washed out Is this what Deaner was talkin' about? I don't think I will ever return, again my friend" Okay so when I have that song I immediately start crooning "Buenas tardes amigo" by Ween in my best accent this is a hillarious song: Buenas tardes amigo Hola, my good friend Cinco de mayos on tuesday And I hoped wed see each other again You killed my brother last winter You shot him three times in the back In the night I still hear mama weeping Oh mama, still dresses in black I looked at every fiesta For you I wanted to greet Maybe Id sell you a chicken With poison interlaced with the meat You... you look like my brother Mama loved him the best He was head honcho with the ladies Mama always said he was blessed The village all gathered around him They couldnt believe what they saw I said it was you that had killed him And that Id find you and upstand the law The people of the village believed me Mama... she wanted revenge I told her Id see that she was honored Id find you and put you to death So now... now that Ive found you On this such a joyous day I tell you it was me who killed him But the truth Ill never have to say Buenas tardes amigo Hola, my good friend Cinco de mayos on tuesday And I hoped wed see each other again Yes, I hoped wed see each other again I hoped wed see each other again I have made an oath to myself. I am going to go back and re-read every book that is near and dear to me over the next few months. An hour at least per night, and it has to be non-fiction. Then I am going to post a question of the day, and attempt to answer it. The "morning pages" are not working for me. I honestly feel like my brain has been zapped. It's a surfacing feeling, like treading water, and just doing enough to get by, but not enough to grow. Stagnant, stunted, and just static. My theory is that the environment that you are in influences who you are. You become your environment. It is not only a reflection but a snapshot of your soul.

Grrrrrr

My god, my leather couch looks plastic, it really isn't. Just look at this pile of sweetness. . . my daughter, half asleep on the couch, the pug, the boston terrier, and the lump we know as Wookie. Since I haven't had anything remotely intelligent to talk about for the last few months, I have been resorting to my dogs. That's what happens when I have cabin fever. . . Fluff. My nose ring has not been in place for a month, I wrestled with three different types. Now I have this ugly massive dot (it's a big silver one) on my nose. Serves me right, I kept procrastinating, and now my NUNU is sore and swollen. So my one set of tenants have moved. I will miss them. I really wish them the best. It is so hard here to eek out decent living and they were able to get jobs in the K-W area. I hope that everything works out. Adam and I went over last night to check on the place and turn down the heat. I have it left at around 8 degrees celcius. It shouldn't freeze.

Ice Storm

The power was off last night, as soon as I unglued myself from the road and weather reports (I report them to Adam via phone), I wandered upstairs to wash my face, ended up getting soap in my eyes, and tripping over another screaming monkey. Everything went black, hydro was out for a most of the night. Then the carbon monoxide detector went off, and I realized the power was back on. 80,000 people are without power still, my FIL said. In Blyth, we are lucky. I took the girls out this morning and I saw the neatest thing, a whole tree shedding it's ice all at once. It reminded me of a dog shaking water off it's back, or a snake shedding a translucent skin. It was good that we weren't under it, we probably would have lost an eye or two, but it was pretty neat. The ice that is coming off my maple tree keeps hitting the windows. At least March has come in like a lion.

Freezing rain has welded my doors shut. Lights are flickering. If Adam was safely tucked into bed, it would be a much more enjoyable storm. I wonder what tree will fall down tonight? Please do not let it be a maple. It would not be pleasant to have a 200 year old maple end up in our basement. Can't sleep tonight, since not using my weights, I am feeling like crap. I need some bigger ones, the 10 and 15 pounders. My other weights are sitting at the now defunct areobics and weight training building and I have to go get them. Maybe I will start the La Chica Dance moves (oh my god, that would be so funny). I had a hard enough time learning the darn "Grapevine". I miss that class.