Get The Last-Laugh Vehicle

Yes, there is such an electric vehicle. And with it, no insurance to pay out, charges in an hour, fits in your front hall and is a fresh air convertible. The downside? It carries one plus minimal baggage, runs only about 25 hours on a charge and it's just for sidewalks. Aha! You guessed it. Yes. It's a mobility cart. Now, before you turn away laughing and saying, "that's just for old folks and the handicapped", give me a listen. It isn't. When my elderly uncle died, I acquired his mode of transportation for a four figure amount, even though it was almost brand new, and found it to be the most useful vehicle I have ever owned. It didn't look bad either, being a silver 4 tired model hinting at motorcycle or Vespa, with its big tires, wide bumpers, headlights and ultra cool leather, arm chair seating. All that was missing was a sun or rain canopy that was available for a price. At the time, we lived on a hill and trips to the village for groceries, the library and the aqua centre were a little daunting for anyone who walked. But why walk when you could tool along in your sweet ride all the way down and steeply back up in the silver cart? It locked just like a car with a key and adding a saddle bag or a basket at your feet, it became the handiest thing we owned. The Lincoln was jealous! The cart fit into our entrance hall where there was an outlet handy and in putting there,  a grass carpet and a fake tree, our small primary town vehicle looked just right: parked, while it "gassed up" on its charge. When we moved and had to take it from our storage unit to its home, at home, it was driven miles on the sidewalk with no effort in the few kilometers it took, to get there. Now, who could laugh? Not us. The crux of my tale, is that for a modest amount, those whose destinations are nearby and their passenger need is "one", why let age prejudice stop you from doing the environmental and practical thing, and running out to buy one of these utterly sensible carts that will serve you cheaply and faithfully. Some carts even look like small cars with a chassis that appears not much much smaller than the "ugly car" but in its thriftiness, does not require a license, insurance, or a driver's test? To boot, you go along the sidewalk, courteously of course, in complete safety while enjoying the scenery along the way, stopping when you wish, parking it outside the store or business, turning the lock, dismounting and going on your way. All that stops you, is the fear of being called "old". And how bad is that?  Not handicapped, or infirm. Just smart!

Who Can You Trust In Re-tiring?

Trusting today in the commercial consumer world is like searching for a lost diamond in a gravel pit. If you do find a business you can trust, enter it as a contact on your cell phone or into your little black book, never to be lost. It is a rare and beautiful thing to be able to trust these days when money grabbing is the style.  In shopping for car tires, I began on line and the first and most reliable site, warned me against tire sellers who are shaky in the trust department. The first hint was to know what you are looking for in tires. That process entailed a few hours of study which many people don't have to spare. It recommended that you might buy your tires on line and then find a dealer who would receive and install them which includes getting rid of the old tires. If you have a service place that sells tires, there is still lots to learn. There is a tax on car owners for environment purposes which includes battery and old tire disposal. Good idea, and its cost is well worth it in terms of responsibility for the earth's survival. What is confusing is what kind of tires for a particular car and driver, is best. There is a large range that needs to be scoped out. Do you want all weather ones, ones that stick to the road in bad conditions, save fuel, ride nicely, corner smoothly, take punishment and so on? Fortunately, I have a service station, a small one, but one that has a guy behind the counter who will take huge amounts of time to educate his customers - and he doesn't own the place, plus he actually works at busy times, in the  bays himself, besides doing  the behind-the-counter business end of the mechanical department. In short, he cares about his people. I am one of the lucky ones, and I try to remember that when I am doing business there. To find such a service spot like it, is a treasure. But getting back to tires, the choices are enormous and even if you take time to study the very large market, you need to depend on someone to point you in the right direction. How do you use your car, what is your challenge in road conditions where you travel mostly, what kind of ride do you prefer, do you want your tire choice to be long lasting and fuel efficient, what does safety mean to you? The list goes on. Most people just go in and say they want tires and when will the job be done? They might know the general range of prices and go for the cheapest which is smart, but are they buying what they personally need? I thought I did know it all after doing my homework, but my service person directed me into learning more about my driving habits and preferences before slamming down a price. I didn't know just how much there is to know about tires, one of the most important aspects of your car, and your life, on the highways and byways. It is worth taking time to find out before you have to buy new tires so that you will be getting your true money's worth. It is not just about a bargain, it's about staying safe. And if you find a service station or dealer or outlet that can be fully trusted  hang on to it. They are a treasure.

Oh Man, Men!

There's a lot of talk about men doing immoral things  to women lately and it kind of makes me wonder about males and if they really know how to behave with women. I worked with men, and women, for thirty years in my career and I do not recall any inappropriate gestures or comments during that time. I was a teacher, and perhaps because we worked with a code of ethics it was more clear what one should do or not, with fellow workers as well as students. Yes, I did happen to be in schools where there were child abusers unbeknownst to me at the time, but all the normal men I worked with were helpful and courteous. It leaves me thinking that most men likely have no idea how to "treat a lady" and perhaps we parents and others ought to draw up a list of behaviours for men. Women are taught by their mothers and other family members about what is ladylike, but I don't recall any of my male cousins speaking of their training in proper dealings with women. They were good men and I suppose they had some kind of code to be so. I would think fathers might take this on if they specifically know what social behaviours are correct for their sons when with women.  Mothers can take that job on, too, along with fathers. Rather than merely rant about it, women usually try to find solutions to problems. I guess what a lady wants is respect for her personal space and the privacy of her body. Courtesy requests very little other than ordinary decent conversation and if a compliment is given, that it not have sexual connotations that will embarrass a woman.  As to touching or grabbing at another human being, that's not what you do with anyone, without permission of the verbal kind. Sneaky contact  is what sneaks do, and they are obnoxious, abusive  creatures, not men. Mothers and fathers need to teach their boys that locker room words and stories are not real and that they are something guys might for some reason, do in locker rooms but that it should stay in the locker rooms. As to males on the job, thinking that they can influence females and can speak to them or use them any way they wish, they are in for a big surprise. Not any more for those kind of fellas. And not they, nor their company, will appreciate"bad press". Females also have  responsibility in that, while they have the right to dress and go about freely without concerns over male comments or gestures, they, in addition, should make their boundaries clear and not be labelled for doing so. It is all simply a matter of an on-the-job respect, one employee to another. It will take time to change, but now that so many women have come forth with downright disgusting tales of male bullying, it will change and the quicker, the better for everyone.

Lone Wolf Solution

I doubt there is such a thing as a "lone wolf" since wolves generally live, hunt and survive in packs. People often like to call themselves "lone wolves". What they mean is that they avoid group mores in favour of doing what they believe is right for their unique needs. I find that thought, admirable. Something odd is happening in our society, or perhaps always did happen but go unnoticed, and it is, that most people blindly follow the lead of what they are told is politically correct, socially acceptable or is fashionable. That's okay and certainly safer, but it doesn't allow for the emergence of human individuality. Perhaps individuality is to be avoided in this rather "bullying" era we seem to be in. If one doesn't dress the same way as others, there are disapproving looks or gestures. If you don't do what others do in a social setting, it is considered unacceptable. If you don't believe it, next time you are at a party or other social event, take note. The person who doesn't drink, for example, is often shunned as a weirdo who is no fun. The one who chooses to voice his or her point of view, even though unpopular and sticks to it no matter what, might face sneers, however politely displayed. In neighbourhoods and work places, the one who doesn't follow certain unwritten codes, is often avoided. Most of us find  unusual or original kinds of thinking to be off-centre, and although true, I believe it is refreshing.  I prefer to converse at a party, with someone who goes ahead and expresses opinions, no matter that I disagree with them strongly, if he or she can back up their stand with facts they have carefully thought out. It takes time to absorb the ideas of others and parties work against taking time for the niceties of real talk. Small talk about what is obvious and trite doesn't interest me for long, not that my conversation may be very interesting to others either. Simply ranting or babbling on about what game or show someone saw or what the kids are doing, is socially dull, and makes me want to wish I had brought along a good book. In fact, I do have a good book, because my phone contains a library of e books, and if I am over-bored, it allows me to rescue myself  once a quiet corner is achieved. It sounds pompous, but I don't think I am the only one who feels this way. Parties seem to get to a point where the immediate high of a lot of people ends, and the what-do-we-do-next time arrives. I imagine most people feel as I, a lone wolf do, but perhaps even in this party season, there are others of my pack whom I will encounter leaning in a corner looking intently at a phone while secretly reading a book or playing an on-line game.

Resurrected?

I read in a scientific magazine article that our bodies which hotel billions of different cells, in seven years, have rid themselves of every cell and replaced them with brand new ones. And while they may look somewhat the same, there they are: all new over the seven year period. Does this mean we all become young again? Sort of. And not. Unfortunately, we don't renew all at once because the whole process of our bodily clients, moving out and moving in, is pretty slow, and what was new, gets old again over time. Also, the way our bodily machine works, certain cogs and wheels and gears are wearing, and aren't taking the stairs any more, but have to wait for the elevator. Often it is quite slow, if not broken down. Repairs work, but it isn't the same old elevator it used to be. Ah aging! I am in a time, that when the phone rings, I think, oh oh. And sadly I often have to say good-bye to yet another old memory associated with a dear one who has just died. The older you are, the more that phone rings with news that is supposed to be tragic, but, though sad in farewell, is expected. We mortals  cope with death, in saying things like "I'm not afraid to be dead. It's the dying part that I don't like  thinking about." I am not a Pollyanna, but I am a positive thinker, and I find aging, interesting and often, fascinating. We, if we bother to notice, are watching Life going by in our aging stages. The changes are quicker in old age, and  surprising. I remember looking at my farm grandmother's work worn hands that were soft and plump, but also, spotted and veined and wrinkled. I held them and gazed wonderingly at them, comparing them to my smooth ten year old ones. I traced the mystery of the blue lines on hers with my fingers, while my grandmother smiled down. We didn't need to speak of it. She knew life, that woman. She was a Canadian pioneer who saw a harsh, pitiless existence on an early Saskatchewan grain farm, one without electricity. There, she birthed eight children and only one didn't survive. Pity was a luxury. There was day to day work to be done with no vacations in between and everyone in the family, was needed to participate. The cooperative farmers went down when a protracted drought forced many to sell out and move to places like milder British Columbia. By then, on a large, beautiful tract of land, my grandparents spent their last years, indulging in their grandchildren. We all had summers on the huge farm land with horses and barns and cows and chickens. We  learned about hunting and butchering, gardening, gathering eggs and fishing in the salmon streams. We knew at an early age, that life was beginnings and endings. No one taught us, we looked, and saw and learned. It's a gentler time, now, and my cells have been renewed many times from that era to this. Because there aren't likely to be many more "resurrections", the reflection and acceptance of even aging,  have become familiar and comforting thoughts. The cells continue to change, and come and go.

Nothin' Fancy

My mother who could have been known as a human dynamo even though she was a five-by-five, was not only fiercely independent, she was also never depressed or flustered. I don't think anything bad could catch up with her. When she heard that she was having company in the next few hours or days, she didn't panic. She flew to the fridge and grabbed every vegetable and scrap of meat she could find. It didn't matter if the tomatoes looked a tiny bit wrinkled or the potatoes were starting to reach out their little white seekers, she took them out, gave them a scrub and put them into the pot, skins and all. Well, not the little seekers. Usually there was some roast beef or perhaps a bit of chicken left over and since she "went through" The Great Depression, there was always a goodly supply of emergency stewing beef in the freezer. These she chucked into a large pot and tossed in some water and maybe a can of corn or pork and beans and let it boil up to a simmer. In went a generous chopping of carrots, turnip, onions and a garlic clove or two, salt and ground pepper. The whole house began to smell like Ireland.  If you get the call I just did, that visitors are coming around tomorrow for lunch, I think about that woman, the one I once called Mummy. Off I go to the fridge where I will find everything mentioned afore. Don't worry about your company or the dust bunnies. Your visitors won't, or shouldn't be there to check out your decor, but to sit down and have a chat with you because they care. And if they're the latter kind, they'll love to be asked into the kitchen for a "bite". Speaking of "biting", nothing with soup goes off better than good old hot buttered toast. Soup and thick toasted bread with a slide of garlic butter on it, is the perfect accompaniment to home-made soup especially when beforehand you've put the slices on a cookie sheet and sprinkled the toast with Parmesan cheese. You can serve just about anything to drink with your homey dinner, but I like warm apple juice to which some cinnamon and a drift of cloves have been added in the pan. It beats tea or coffee and goes with the soup and all, like a charm which is what your guests will feel when they take a second cup of it to sit down in the living room with you for that visit and chat. Needless to say, no one is going to see the dishes washed for a long time.

The Matter Of Toys

I heard a radio (yes, there is still such media) report on the lastest and "best" toy of the season. Sounded interesting. Apparently, this toy makes a fine companion for a child because it can read the kid's mood, and like a good psychologist, reflect it by making various sounds that studies show children like and respond to. Huh? But being, a curious sort, I went on line and there it was. The toy. The "toy" was something the size of an iron and looked about as appealing. It had a couple of glassy things at the front that were supposed to simulate eyes, but are actually the readers of the child's "mood", be it a haha or a boohoo. The cost was staggering, in my opinion, but these days toy costs are important to upscale parents who want their kids to flaunt what all the "best" kids have. Even like little Baron. Over three hundred dollars for a toy, makes me shudder, but  then I don't have a child to go into bankruptcy for. If one has a bunch of kids, it must push the mortgage and car payments well into next year. This toy looked to me, to be something a real kid, and all kids are pretty real, would play with to please its parents, and then put the thing on the shelf and get on with the wifi. But that's another tale. Toys used to be fun. They weren't there to educate or stimulate or do anything with children. They were to love, be it dolls or stuffed animals. They were to play with in a group, Monopoly, Scrabble, Chess, Snakes and Ladders. Kids want to have fun. Cost and psychology and education have nothing to do with fun. But children also want to please parents and will do just about anything they're told, to keep their environments cheerful. Not that parents are around much anyway, with work, socializing and meeting their kids' game and lesson schedules. It's mostly about making a date to play these days. There is little freedom to just be a kid out of parental or nanny supervision. It made me think of the days when a toy was something you brought to life and anything it did, was because you made it that way. That was kid power. Vehicles didn't have batteries, you pushed them and made their noises. Dolls didn't usually talk, and if they did, kids weren't fooled. Dolls don't talk. Games were fake-it baseball down on the spare lot with a ragged soft ball and one bat that used to be Dad's. Paper dolls were movie stars who we saw dance and sing down at the Odeon theatre on Saturday matinees. Our parents were good at "go out and play" and we did. We created our own worlds and games and none of them required plugging into a socket or using up batteries. Christmas was a tacky real tree with worn old baubles and maybe lights. It was all about fun and laughing and loving. Kids didn't have "moods", and life was ours to form in our own kid ways. No one yapped at us constantly. They usually wanted us out of the way so they could do adult things, and we loved it.

Love Times Two

How many times have marriages broken because one of the partners was "unfaithful"? While it sounds immoral or insane or insensitive to say that people can love more than one  at a time, and mean it sincerely, it is a hard-to-take reality. Why can't we love more than one? There are many forms of love and Morality didn't invent them. There's proof. When it is said that most marriages are not entirely perfect, especially after the children are grown, and too often before, there must be a truth there somewhere. We don't like to look at it, and most people cannot, objectively, but it happens so often that it's impossible to deny or ignore. Most marriages are sacrosanct and each partner is entirely faithful, but many are not able to boast that advantage. Monogamy is the plan for a lot of logical reasons, if logic can be applied to human behavior. The need for children to have two parents is one reason used for why that logic, even though there are many excellent one-parent families. Ideally, we love only one other person in a lifetime, but we are real people, not ideals. We are curious and adventuresome creatures that love to speculate and dream, and all too often, scheme. There comes a time in a union when one or the other, or both partners, begin to wonder what they have missed.  While they are content and happy in their present state, they consider it, since life is very long and not often, perfectly satisfying. It's then that things go off center and "mistakes" are made, or perhaps deliberate unfaithfulness, ensues. Marriages or other similar love unions, are perfectly marvelous at the start, but as the worldly realities enter the picture, the scenario can change and become challenging. A good union can withstand the pressures and demands of day-to-day life, but not all of them are strong enough. To make a life-long promise is the goal, but as time goes on, the routines of even a good partnership have trouble withstanding  the bonds that should wrap them in solid security. Fortunately, that good partnership has the ability, if found, to get through the bad times when one or the other side, has ventured off, and made the mistakes. Its bonds are strong enough to hold, no matter what. That's a good marriage or union, and one that is all the stronger for its forgiving qualities. The trust may never be the same, but love is bigger, and with it, these unions are able to step over  big hurdles and decide to push on and preserve what means more.  In the event that it can't, at least all has been done to make it work : supreme efforts, communications of real feelings and understanding while, in the end, the union had to be abandoned.  I hear so many people say that they wish they had made a bigger effort to keep what they once had and miss terribly. Sadly, it seems, distance perspective, while clarifying, can be a cruel insight. 

Meal In An Egg

If you're a single someone who doesn't like cooking or taking time to go to the trouble of fussing over a meal every day, try hard boiling up a half dozen eggs. That's the first step in this "recipe". When they are cool, peel them carefully and cut them in half, saving the yolks. Put all the yolks in a small bowl and mash them. Sprinkle with your favorite herbs. I love green onion, but finely diced sweet onion will do, too. I use a mayo as a base and make my own version of sandwich spread. I like my spread with a kick. In goes, Tabasco or my favorite, a sweet hot chili sauce. Toss in a good dollop of ketchup and your favorite kind of relish. Taste. Some tasters might like to add pepper or horse radish but hold the salt. Too much of it, doesn't help the body, and your other ingredients may have salt in them. You can always add some later if it's too bland for you. When you have a nice thick goop of egg yolk mixed with your sandwich spread, spoon a heaping glob of it into each egg white half. You can buy an inexpensive plastic holder for egg halves. I have fancy ones, but I prefer the quick-to -clean kind in cheap plastic. For every day, they're easy to handle and they clean up quickly under the tap with some soap. The dish of eggy delights will be housed in the fridge right where you can see them and enjoy the colour every time the door opens. When you finish your circle of "stuffed eggs", go hunting for what to pop into them. Today I had broccoli, carrots, snow peas and grape tomatoes on hand, but you can use bits of any veges you like - or fruit: a grape halved, pineapple, apple, pear, peach. They can be canned or fresh. Also, you can poke in some cheese or shrimp or meat. Have fun creating your very own every-day hors d'oeuvres. When you have finished playing and creating your beautiful food delicacies, put them in the fridge and don't bother to cover them up. They will dry out a little without covering, and be all the more delicious for snacking. Each little goody is loaded with healthfulness: egg, bits of fruit, vegetable or cheese or meat or seafood or all of the above. Who cares if the egg plate adds an exotic aroma in the fridge. If you are a single, you don't really have to worry  about what anyone else thinks. It's your fridge. When you are peckish, all you have to do it open your fridge, select an egg delight and pop it into your mouth. Or if you want to make a sandwich, mush it between two slices of bread, and voila. You have a tiny complete meal that tastes as good as it looks - and is wonderfully healthful.

Pitching Sales

What's a "sale"? I am told constantly by merchants what my "savings" are. They are printed in red  which turns out to be a good colour. The truth is, that the savings printed on the cash-out slip, are not savings at all. What the receipts really tell me is what I spent, not what I saved. Money you save is in your pocket or your bank account. And it stays there. It's not what's called "savings" in red, on the receipt. The truth about "sales" and "savings" is that once again, you've been drawn into the shopping game. It's one that, like gambling, makes you spend more that you planned to, but you leave thinking you have made money and you're happy as a result. The sellers make money, not you. When you go into a store that has a sale on, certainly, you might get a product at a cheaper price than usual, but when you leave the establishment, you probably spent more on the other "savings" that you saw in the store than you would have in paying the original planned budget price. You were lured into that outlet just as planned by the great demi-god, Sale.  The commercial ploys to get you to spend, are basically, a well studied cheat. While that word sounds too harsh, it is what it is. Many of the outlets for brand names will admit that they run cheaper lines that are copies of their top ones. They know that some shoppers don't care that the handbag they flaunt, isn't the real thing or the watch on their wrist has a logo that most people won't look too closely at. They're the targeted consumers who just love the game of pretending that they're as rich as Mr. T. or Paris Hilton or KK. And there's no sin in it. Speaking of which, when there is a giant sale such as Black Friday, the merchants don't lose money with the supposedly low price for the true quality item; they do it on huge volume. And advertising. Think about Black Friday nonsense happening this very day. Shoppers line up at ridiculously early hours, some even tenting out overnight on a sidewalk, to  scramble over each other, grabbing and buying items while the seller who ordered  a rail car load of this stuff, in the background, rubs two hands together in glee. No. There are no sales and no Black Fridays, wherever that idiocy came from. There is only you and your money and the wise, or not, spending of it.

Where Are The Dads?

This morning on the news report, I listened to heart-breaking reports about single mothers and their poverty issues. With hundreds of thousands of children in poverty in this province, a thriving one in spite of complaints, we should do better. But how? Why do we have so many single mothers? Where are the fathers? Why aren't they part of the scenario of parental responsibility? Is it perhaps too easy for fathers to simply walk away saying " it's not my fault". Ahem, it is fifty percent "your fault", dads. Because you don't have baby bumps, you do share equally in every way, of the full burden in rearing the child you fathered. Or have you forgotten? It is your child, your genetic future and your human contribution to society. Parenting, whether it's with two parents living under the same roof or not, is still parenting. For men, leaving a union with children, however it has evolved, remains a vital need that they assist in supporting their offspring, not only financially but also, emotionally. While a woman cannot walk away from the children she bears, usually, it's a lot easier for a male to just opt out of a union and take up a new life for himself, conveniently forgetting that his own genetic little person exists and needs him. I realize that, all too often, fathers are the single parents and have the same feelings of frustration and loss. And while this may be true, it's not common. Men make more money doing jobs that are not designed for women and their biological forms. Women who have to work at lower paying jobs that do not meet the family need for food, rent, child care and all the other issues in having children, stay home and live on inadequate government assistance. It's not enough, and this Christmas, while "normal" families are running around planning holidays and gifts, other families in poverty are wondering how they can explain to their kids why they can't. There are food banks and public housing, but it's never enough, and why not when we have billionaires floating about cavorting their indulgences on You Tube? There are enough dollars on earth so that no children have to go to bed without sugar plums dancing in their heads. And you fathers who forgot your children, think about it. 

Place Name Changes

I also have a tradition in my country and respect it as I do that of others who have been here much longer. All I know are the place names my pioneer grandparents knew as well as those of my parents. I remember those names more than I remember most of the places, and I want them to stay the same. But, I wholly recognise that there are aborigines who desire to keep their names of places also. I hope that we can respect each other in these matters. What I am looking forward to, is that we can both keep the names that are precious to us. I fully support the placing of additional names to places so that we can maintain the histories of what we both remember and our children will be able to, also. I look at the photographs in old albums that have names written under them, names that were written by my people who will one day, be my ancestors. When they arrived one hundred years ago, they came to Canada and tilled the soil to make it their new country. They were not bad people who did bad things, but just people who should be recognised and respected as much as anyone who lived or lives here in this country no matter how long ago. Lands don't belong to people, they are there for human use and pleasure. What we name land, doesn't really matter. It is personal, not political. I would not recognise strange names to places that I love if they were changed, and I hope that the wishes of both old and newer comers, will be satisfied. The natives and the new natives of Canada should be able to cooperate to show that we can work together and appreciate our histories that are not separate, but ones that grew from each other. I want to know the original names and what they stood for, good and bad. It's part of what we are. We want to remember the bad times, too,  so that we can understand them, and not repeat them. I call the mountains I see in Vancouver, BC, The Sisters but some call them The Lions. What does it matter? Both names are deserving of placement. The legends should live and I would like to see everywhere, the aboriginal names placed with the newer ones, because they make me want to hear the stories from which they originated. I also want to see in the dual names, how we have grown together by having both on the signs and carved memorials and tributes. It shows how we worked and work together to make Canada a unique place where all who live here, belong.

Apple Sandwiches

I used to love eating a crunchy apple but these days, it's hard to find them. Most apples have been sitting around in a market for some time. They're still tasty and useful and full of good nutritional value, especially if we don't cook all the vitamins out of them. We use apples in many ways: apple sauce, pie, muffins and baked. This morning I looked at the apple bowl and although I wanted to eat one raw, somehow at eight o'clock AM it didn't feel right. I was having a home-made bread cheese sandwich and suddenly thought, why not put apple slices in, too. I always leave the peel on, not only for the crunch, but also because I hate waste and peel is edible. Often it's where the keenest flavours lie.  I sliced the apple from the top down. You get a nice profile that way and a big slice. If there's some core in the middle, it's easy enough to cut out. I like my oranges cross sliced, too. It simply looks better and food ought to be a treat for the eyes as well as the taste buds. I don't butter my home-made bread because it has butter in it already. I can tell you, the apple/cheese sandwich was delicious and talk about crunch? Oh my! Then, I looked at the broccoli and romaine and thought, why don't I put those into a cheese or meat sandwich, also. With a dollop of my mayo/relish/chili sauce mix, it would be yum. It made me think how much flavour we lose when we cook fruit and vegetables and how easy it is to have sandwiches full of raw, real fruit and vegetables. Easy to do, very tasty and fun to concoct a sandwich salad. Kids lunches could be fun and exciting if kids decide what combinations they like. Natural peanut butter or other nut butters combined with fruits and nuts would make something very nice. Why not cream cheese, grapes and walnuts together? Or perhaps peanut butter, bananas and celery? I find salads boring but put the same things between a couple of thin slices of good home-made bread, and suddenly, it's not boring any more. In fact a well constructed sandwich can make a whole meal if you build it with good sense. Using carbs and proteins along with vegetables can be a creative lunch project for both young and old. Easy to make and true food for your body.

Do Gooders

Doing good isn't about money. Attending these gala dos and dropping a few hundred bucks you won't miss, while glugging champagne and wearing a tux and designer garb is not all that it takes. First, the latter kinds of folk have a keen eye on the income tax deductions available for such "generosity". Second they get their jollies often via the Press. I guess what galls me is that while they are busily out-donating each other, it's mostly done for publicity and getting one's gym-toned body into the visual social sections of the papers. Apologies to those who do donate, however, even if in this way, but let's not forget about the most important donors. They are the people who really do sacrifice, in giving. They do without, to give. They don't receive tax breaks for their gifts, true generosity, but their generosity goes beyond that of a cheque book. They find in their cupboards what they can do without to give to others who need it more. The people I speak of, are those who serve at charity dinners, who lean over food bank counters or bring jackets and blankets to those who live on the streets. They don't receive anything more than a grateful grin from those who reach out and say "thank you". These are the men and women and yes, children, who give of their time and meager funds and caring smiles, without any idea of recognition or the need for it. Included in this kind of anonymous generosity, also, are the very rich who don't use their huge donations to satisfy their places in the golden society or to impress their images. They give what they have taken from their successes and do it because they know that there are terrible inequalities in our beautiful world. But everyone can be a do-gooder. It doesn't take a lot. Dropping a tin of nutritious food or a carton of pasta or grains into a food donation box is one way. Adding a couple of bucks to your grocery haul when you go to the super market, helps a lot. And what's the harm in adding a coin or two to the grimy hat you might see in front of another human being sitting or lying out on the sidewalk. As someone said to me, sure it may seem to go to drugs or drink, but eventually that person needs to eat, too. We are all one kind, and for whatever reason we see ourselves in some kind of sad condition, we the ones whose lives are not the same, can give or use a smile or a word or two of outreach toward our fellow creatures. Christmas, yes Christmas, just like Hanukkah or Ramadan or any other special day dedicated to ones spiritual beliefs,  is coming up and however you plan to celebrate it, don't forget that it's all about giving and loving each other. Everyone. 'Tis the season.

Old Guys/Old Girls

There are lots of old people out there who are lonely and want a companion who could be a lover or at least a very good friend of the loving kind. But how do you access this likely-to-be pool of quietly desperate people of upper age who, other than the fashion restrictions of measuring tapes or weigh-in scales, have great mental and physical possibilities but feel too young for Senior Centres. They are intelligent, well-educated and informed men and women who can't see themselves doing jolly floor exercises for their joints or permitting themselves to be hunched over low cost, low tasting lunchtime soups and sandwiches at those kinds of places that bore them to ... well enough of the negatives. What most old chaps are looking for is a swinging young woman who will cling to them as Sugar Dad and put up with their snoring and bad hearing and other bodily functions that aren't palatable. Those fellows are dreaming, and when they come to realize that young women want young men or old men who are filthy rich, they settle into looking around at what's available close to their own  age. What they will find is not your shapely lithe old chick who is pretty, but mostly rather plain ladies who are kind and decent and affectionate and who fully understand who and what you are, men. Women have their ideal man in mind, too, but most of them are too practical to dream of a grey Prince Charming. The women who are old don't dream the same way as old fellas. They just want a nice man around, one who keeps himself groomed and isn't an old crank. They don't mind if he limps a bit and if he snores, does it in another room. All she wants is a nice companion who has good manners and treats her sweetly, who appreciates her cooking and doesn't mind her few extra pounds and wrinkles to match. Both of these old people have put their dreams of Mr or Miss Ideal out of their minds and are ready to simply enjoy the company of someone around to banish their lonely days. Meeting each other is the big problem. On-line dating might seem as easy as it costs, but it isn't. There is the awkward part such as meeting each other for coffee somewhere cheap. That, in itself, is embarrassing when, in your lifetime, you shunned such places as gauche. But you promise to try.  After duding up to meet the member of the potential old partner-to-be game, there is the nervousness and fear of rejection and the seeming silliness of it all. Most of these "dates" just don't happen for these reasons. We sit and hope and wait. In the meantime, there's always Netflix. 

Shoo Shoe

There is something about having to remove one's shoes on entering a home, that is ugly. Most people have door mats inside and out and unless their shoe soles are of the clumpy sneaker kind with cavernous abysses that collect mud on their revered plastic undersides, there is no need to take them off. Why then must one feel obligated. In some countries, it is traditional and expected, but in North America, removal is likely a tribute to the host's floor coverings rather than a deity. Therein lies the problem. Why put on floors, things like white carpets, mirror polished wood or scratch-able tiles? A floor is a floor and floors are meant to be walked upon unless one has wings. As a visitor who seldom complies with the current demand for shoe removal, I use the excuse while smiling broadly and pointing south, that these are my indoor shoes. After all, I wiped my shoe bottoms well on the little carpet item outside and inside, and there should be no undue offending substances remaining. Furthermore, why should I, after donning my best outfit to honour my host's invitation, go about in stocking feet to ruin the whole aesthetic effect. Nothing is more pathetic than a guest, desperately trying to hide mended socks under the couch ruffle or tablecloth edge. I have known during my travelling days, certain persons emphatically refusing to remove their shoes thus missing the most beautiful spiritual centers in the world. It indicates the limits of how embarrassing it is for some of us to go about padding around in our bare feet or lumpy socks when we paid for worthy and expensive foot coverings. I realize that there are the most elegant cabinets for one to plant in their foyers for the sole (couldn't help the pun) purpose of storing their shoes. There are styles for antique, contemporary and quirky shoe port shelves upon which you may sit while struggling to undo laces, un-velcro, unzip and unstrap. Tall boots are yet another situation. This kind of  foot attire needs a device of the kind that horse back riders without mates, have on hand to do the task for them. They are not pretty, but with the advent of tall boot fashion, floor worshipers should address this at some point. I don't know about you, but I  boycott the removal of shoes or boots when I visit. I have been invited into someone's home, not to strip down but to come on in and enjoy. And I am not lugging along a sack full of slippers either, thank you very much. Love me, love my shoes.

It's All That We Have

In an infinite place, there is among countless billions, a relatively small orbital ball of matter that continues to spin about its mother orb, a ball of fire, fearsome but benevolent to its flung off pieces remaining as its "children". The one blue, if that's what colour it is, planet, once it cooled, made itself home to life. The life became as we know it in many different ways that please us to believe. The life is varied in millions and billions of ways but all the life on this small piece of the sun, depends on this only unique place to survive. All of the creatures, wise and wonderful, breathe and creep and walk and swim and slither and fly and eat and drink and shelter on this small round, rotating, revolving bit of matter that is the only thing we truly know. There is nothing else for us, but here on what we call earth. There is only one earth and one creature of higher intelligence that allows itself the maintenance of the planet's  continuation. That creature has taken on the responsibility in its marvelous powers, to think and plan and feel in ways that other living creatures on earth it thinks, apparently, do not. It sees itself as superior. It is human and comes in all shapes and colours and thoughts. It calls itself beautiful. And it is, because of its abilities, developed over time, to survive in using what the "blue" planet offers. It gathers others to garner from the very elements of the place from which it rose, to nurture itself. It learned many things of earth, over time, eons of it, and named the lands among the waters and put imaginary lines here and there to separate into groupings. It found ways to use this earthly home of matter and devised structures and mechanics and the use of the invisible-to-it elements of the planet to make its life seem easier and wiser and better. None of the elements used could, under the thin blanket of air, be destroyed but they could be and were, changed and some became dangerous to other like creatures. But this wondrous, smart creature also learned how to mend its mistakes. It continues on and on, in its great intelligence to do so. And while the one two legged, intelligent creature of the earth, no matter its degree of intelligence, its shape or shade of colour, its thoughts, it often makes decisions that harm itself. And others. But no matter what the creature does, or how it goes about on this small planet in the vast universe that it will never know the end of, it does know that the earth is all it has, or ever shall.

Water, water everywhere

Water used to taste good enough to eat, is what I once said about the water in a place I lived that got its supply straight from a stream high on a mountain. That water is no more and neither is the mountain. The latter was levelled for gravel to pave roads south of the border and the water settled itself downward as water will do, as the hill disappeared onto barges heading south. It still supplied the village, but as the population grew so did the village infrastructure. The populace no longer trusted the water as pure as it was since it had, heaven forbid, "minerals" and "sediment" in it. You might even see tiny bits floating about. When you take minerals all by themselves, yes, some, including trace arsenic, a natural ingredient like gold, in many systems, can be dangerous in large quantities. Little critters that live in water and can be our bodily friends are also quite safe if they are allowed to participate in Nature's wise balance scheme. But no. In this squeaky clean society in which we exist, so far, we have to have what is called "pure" water. That's a misnomer. That means to remove everything from our water that remotely might live in in, remotely might do harm in large amounts or might make it not absolutely clear. Not only do we attempt to remove these things, we add other substances that really are harmful in large quantities. We are told that now with the addition of these substances, the water will be clear and in spite of the dreadful taste, the added chemicals will make it healthier. I suppose it's all fine and dandy, but I miss the water that used to taste good to drink and came straight from the stream to the tap in my kitchen. Now I don't drink the new "healthy" water as it stands, because, frankly, it not only stinks, but it tastes dreadful. To drink it, I am not into a lot of filtration as some of my neighbours have become addicted to and pay richly for at the hardware store, I let it sit in a cool place and add lemon slices. I don't know whether that makes it healthier but it surely does taste better. I visited someone recently who photographed what his filters looked like. I said, which one of these black and brown things is the good one? I learned that all three of these conical filters had been attached to his tap and this was the result. He also told me that they changed these expensive filters regularly in order to have pure water. He showed me his "system" under the sink and it took up a lot of very impressive space under there. Three big cylinders stood in a row and were attached by a plumber to the tiny water tap they used daily. I was also shown a big steel thing on the counter that forced carbon bubbles into the water  so that these folks could design their own form of flavoured bubbly waters to drink. After this costly display of water treatment, I had to rush home and drink some of my tap lemon water just to quench my very mundane thirst.

Outthinking Your Computer

No. Computers do not think and I doubt, no matter what scientists say, they truly ever shall. Why? Nothing is so devious, creative, unreliable or unpredictable as the human mind. We also make mistakes. Part of our magnificence is that we have emotions and to our thinking, we unwittingly or not, add these wonders. The computer is not human. It is emotionless. Man feeds the computer's memory and its memory is far better than ours. What goes into the machine can be sorted, blended, juxtaposed and transformed but the machine, does and uses, only combinations of what it is fed. Humans without all of the electronics and the uses of power sources other than their built-in own, can create. They can  instantly come up with an idea that is unique to a situation.  And it can make mistakes and correct them or make those mistakes turn into successes. Computers shouldn't make mistakes. They just plug along with what we put into them in one way or another and re-arrange those data according to how their makers have planned. All that being said, taking this to ridiculous conclusions, I know that we can out-think computers. Sometimes. We can learn their patterns as they do ours. We can predict their actions just as they do. But we operate outside the box. Literally. The reason I know this, is that I am an avid Hearts player and I play it against a computer. Same with Bridge, and a whole lot of other games I enjoy when I am not writing or reading on the Box thing. And "thing" it is. Sure. I talk to it, just as you do and often cuss at it but it remains utterly expressionless. During my games of Hearts, a simple game requiring little in the way of mental activity but much in not wanting to throttle the computer when I seems unfairly to present me too often with that dreaded Queen of Spades. But, I can "trick" the machine quite often. Knowing that the computer who is the other three players,  I  have come to ken its patterns because being a simple game, they are limited, to a degree. By discarding certain cards in a game or playing the cards in a certain sequence based on previous patterns noted, it is possible to kind of "foil" the computer so that winning can be accomplished. It doesn't work every time, but when it does, and you back the computer into a corner, it's a sweet feeling. I am not sure, but game makers, I believe, try not to lose customers by beating them every time. They could. If you have control of three hands in a four-handed game such as Bridge, they have a big advantage. And they don't baby you, but they can allow, just as the Vegas and Reno machines do, winning to occur just enough to keep you playing. No one, and I know a couple of keen Bridge players with "card memory", can be sure where every card probably is and where many are, for certain. But the computer can and does. In the meantime, the computers are great opponents because they don't gibe. Or do they? Sometimes, I feel my computer when I have been beaten repeatedly, just might be silently laughing at me in neat steely winner's smugnificence.

Boldly Oldie

The radio, a media that requires delightfully more imagination than screen, voiced this morning that it is "older people who don't believe in global warming". It would have been easy to ignore this witless statement, but it was made by a well-known science guy who should know better. First of all, he's an oldie himself and second of all, I doubt that his charge is accurate. This individual lumping one large group of people into a single dark, unproven statement such as this, is  not only ignorant but defamatory, if not prejudicial. If this man, he's no gentleman, is truly a scientist and not merely riding on the backs of scientists for his show biz money, he ought to present facts in an authoritative manner. Since the famous earth-caring, Dr. Suzuki, an older man, would be included in this media science guy's implosive blurt about age being part of the world's problem, he could at least provide us with some proof. It reminds me of how the older set are regarded by many younger people in our youth-yearning society. There is a great misunderstanding of aging. It is not entering the stupid stage of life, it is merely the natural process of everything living on earth to age, and as such, needs to be understood as much as growth. As our lovely blue planet ages, we, the ones who have been watching it all our lives, we elders, likely have a better picture of where we stand biologically than those who are newer on earth. We have seen the stages and grieve for the losses on the planet, but at the same time, we as citizens, pay our taxes and our daily living expenses the same as those who are still earning money. Our hard-earned money over the many decades, is no longer worth what it was, and thus we live, most of us, in a very practical style. We don't waste, we recycle, we don't overuse. We don't need the fashion labels or foreign cars or restaurant foods at the same rate as Millenials. We also don't have the same credit burdens. But we feel the ills of the world as much as anyone. We've done our jobs. It's our time to rest but that's not always possible, lovely as it sounds.  Many  elders who are daily accused of taking up medical services and time,  have also had to support  grown children and grandchildren, donated and volunteered to make society a better place for all and statements like the one by this science guy, are untrue and unwelcome. I know a couple of retired people who have taken in five grandchildren with parents who are drug addicts. They are old but they are full of love not only for their grandchildren, but also for the world those children will be entering as adults. To hear elders being told they aren't aware of global problems is ridiculous. They have more time to learn about our environment and to make every effort to erase their "footprints". It would be nice to hear the good news about elders and not always words of blame.

Condo Crowned

The advent of growing numbers of condo dwellers calls for closer amateur management skills training of elected council members for these developments. Council members are well-meaning but often unqualified folk who take on the role. It is a big responsibility to manage the investment property of so many other people without specific training in condominium knowledge. Most of the council members doing their job, deem to have been an executive of sorts in business etc and therefore are considered to be "qualified". It's not the same thing. To be sure, there is the Strata Act in place and the Condo Bylaws and Rules. It doesn't seem a complicated domain. One assumes that with the laws in place, everything should go swimmingly. Unfortunately, in the great ocean of local amateur kinds of power, there are the usual sharks lurking amongst the swarms of ordinary fish in the pond. Most of the latter simply want to swim around in their little corners of the world and enjoy life while expecting the elected bodies to carry out the business so that peace of mind may reign.  How ideal that would be. Most condos hire a management company that does have the education in matters of condominium business: collecting fees, listening to gripes and generally, being courteous and cooperative. The council has hired the management company and ought to listen to their advice. Council's job is to see that their "subjects" are able to go about feeling secure and content in their complex. But it is sad to see when councils begin to see themselves as landlords who can dominate other owners without due consideration of their like fellows. Dictatorial attitudes and just plain rudeness do not fit the role of Council Member.  Often it isn't the council member's fault entirely. It seems to indicate a lack of understanding what the role is. Council members should not be permitted to take office until they have learned in a condo course, how to do their jobs effectively and under some sort of ethical code. They are not kings and queens to rule. They are actually servants of the people who elect them, and as such need to use tact and put away their egos. It is also true that they are not slaves. They  try to do their best, but it's not an easy job, nor does it pay well, in fact, not at all.  Councils need to know their parameters. They need educating. There is no requirement by government at present for one to be on a council and yet many of these untrained bodies control a very large amount of other people's monies.  Knowledge is king. A council member I heard about recently, didn't like what happened at a meeting,and is going to instruct the secretary to remove what he doesn't like, thus change the motion. That is a legal no-no but this man, doesn't have the knowledge to realize that.  Councils must operate by the rules and maintain order and peace so that all owners may enjoy their property - but who is watchdogging this?

Shelfless In The House

An ad I just read by a publisher said I will need bigger shelves due to the large number of very fine recent books out. Nope. I don't have shelves any more. While there are pros and cons about "real" books compared to on-line ones, I prefer reading on my computer or device. Oh, I know, I know. You like the smell of books or holding them close to your heart or being able to take them along (to hide behind?) but that doesn't work for me any more. Why? It's cheaper for one thing. I "buy" most of my books for free and if I don't like them, one hit and they're gone and another one can be popped up instantaneously. I weaned off hard books when I wanted to sit outside and have my library and phone and an information source all in my hands. Yup. I am lazy. I don't want to move if I don't want to. If I am sitting in my reed wing back chair with something cool beside me in a glass and my feet up, no, I don't want to get up. Everything I need for a good read is right where I am. I read on. Another "why" I have switched to screen reading, is that my "book" is lighter to hold and I can make the print larger or smaller when I choose. I can carry my book shelf in my handbag. When I have to wait or stand in line for times, my book is readily (pun) available. The final "why", is that I live in an urban style condo where a book shelf library is not practical. For sure, I have six shelves of my dear old friend books and references, but over the years, I have had to pare down many of them and save only the books that I shall not part with. Some of them are original publications stuffed with pressed wild flowers, old photos or little bits such as feathers, locks of hair or swatches of cloth. The books' contents have meaning as well as their own contents. Some of my friends and relatives know what pages hold the treasures and on what pages they lurk for the surreptitious viewing. Moving to online reading is something I can effect during my solitary eating/lunching/munching sessions at the computer where the set up in my den, is the comp screen sitting on a generous amount of board jutting out from the top of my desk. Tut tut, I hear. Yes, indeed, it is one of my favorite places and indulgences. When you're a widow, you don't have to explain what you do. You do as you please, and what I please of late, is my reading habits, doing so on-line. My on-line library is huge and my reading base, unapologetically, much expanded since I switched. Now, let's see where was I?

Lashing Out

Style over the years seems to dictate to some women, how to look. Hems go up and down, shapes go twig or trunk, and make-up goes natural or neon. At the moment, and it might be only a moment, eye lashes and brows are the big fashion push. People are rushing to salons to get their eyebrows tattooed on and their lashes stuck to lids. Hair chic is no longer subtle; it screams, "look what I did". And that's all very well, but some of the latest trends go far too far. The other day in a drug store, I was lashed by the pharmacist who was offering advice. Her fake glued-on eyelid hair was so long that I worried she might get it entangled in her clipped-on hair piece that coursed redly, down one shoulder. There is nothing wrong with enhanced big eyebrows or even eye lashes, but when the length begs lawn mower please, that goes too far. Men also have their fashion dictates. Some of the hair styles that defy description are worn with mannish miens that say, if you don't like it, don't look. Sorry, but that is impossible, and you know it. When a young man's forehead cowers beneath a bang that rises six inches skyward and the rest of the hair spikes to the stars, too, it's a challenge to divert one's attention to his collar buttons. To add to the "do" are the rainbow hues. But, to each his own and personal expression reigns. That is the rule. Apparently. But don't tell me off-the-wall-style, isn't done to attract attention and comment about the individual's uniqueness. But then, if everyone was on the fashion "stage" who would be the audience? It is, therefore, not only amusing but essential that we have persons who go to fashion extremes for the sake of alleviating our day to day boredoms. The greats of the global designer world, when they hold their iconic shows, always add attention-getting segments that are more for trend signals than as wearable garments. The shoes are lethal ankle breakers, the fabrics are so complex and difficult to create more than once, the models so cracker snap thin that we all know it's pure fantasy, and we love it. Few women on our health conscious continent are unlikely, anyway,  to squeeze into  designs that hired immature fourteen year old bodies sashay down the aisles anyway. They won't fit the average form, no matter how many hours a week the hopeful women sweat themselves to "fitness" on a treadmill in the local gym. Be it eyelashes, brows, bony bods or Vitamin B, it's fashion and not going to last. But, it is fun to gaze at, and wonder why.

Secret Life of a Widow

A widow is envisioned as someone who sits in a corner wearing black from head to toe, weeping and groaning about how she misses her past life. She is seen to be quite helpless and mostly dependent. Often times, some think she must be visited and sympathized with frequently. She's the one poor soul, pitied when it comes to finances or home handy work. All of that nonsense can be tossed. A widow, or as I like to be called, a single, is simply a female without a man but with marriage experience. That's about it. Grieving is an option, but in my book, it's a waste, a waste of time and very good memories that should be valued and trotted out when you need a positive boost. Being a widow, and I have to say, I don't like the term any more than I did "married", "hitched" or "partnered", has no more dark moments than the life of anyone else. There are things to be done that some widows have to re-learn since half of their relationship who may have done them, is no longer present. There are many things to re-learn since you started out, perhaps decades before, as a bride, but you did them before you were wed, and you can do them again. Sure, the world has changed, but only from a technical point and that's not impossible to learn. Don't make the mistake of falling into the arms of your kids. They have their own lives to get on with. The first thing about getting into the technical world is to know that while all the terminology seems foreign, it isn't. And there is nothing hard about it. Believe me it is a state of mind that you have to conquer first, and if you could rear children, you can certainly enter the tech world easily. Open your mind and you're in. It's a lot easier to do your business on line that scrabbling around with a pencil on the dining room table. Your kids or grandkids will teach you in a jiff. The shift from having a partner who did half of the family activity takes a bit of time and a lot of patience, but it can be done. I didn't know how to fill the gas tank of my car because my Prince hopped out and did all that for me. Now, I can pop the hood and talk to my car service man with a tone of an owner, and he or she had better not try and talk me into what I do not need. But I speak with politeness and patience. It gains respect. When I am patronized, I side-step it and stick to the business at hand without sighs of helplessness and giggles of the mindless. I am not a toughie and never want to be, but I have learned that I own the same piece of sidewalk that everyone else has and that if I want to survive as a whole human being, I have to get out there and trot. Being an older widow alone, means protecting yourself by learning all of the safety features and knowledge about being alone and female. It's not hard and when you have done it for awhile, you can look at your successful self in the mirror and smile. You've come a long way lady!

Three Day Survival

Finally did it. My friends in this building, not a tower, tell me I ought to have a survival kit. Where I live is a rainy place that is often regarded even though I love it, as being too rainy and wet. I live only a few blocks from the centre of this small city within a city that is emergency equipped, but still, I am told I need to have one of these emergency earthquake kits. We live on a Pacific fault. I used to smirk and nod my head with no intention of getting a kit, but pictures of a recent earthquake that killed many people far south of us, made me change my mind. One photograph of a woman sitting in the middle of a major capital city in Central America, she, distraught and weeping, made me do it. She was in her night wear and had nothing, not even her handbag with her. There was no emergency truck near by and hoards of other people crowded the area looking frightened. She was obviously a well-kept woman ordinarily, but disasters care nothing about money or power or position. It was time for me to become wiser about natural disasters and their effects. I learned. I now have a small cardboard box with a three day supply of water, food substitute and among a few other things, a shiny blanket that promises to retain 80 percent of my body heat. This cardboard box is going to be in the compartment under my ground level patio barbecue even though they recommend you put it near your bed. Who thinks of grabbing a cardboard box in an emergency, especially if you are at one end of your place and the other end where the box is, collapses. I hope this emergency box can withstand freezing temperatures. In the winter time, we do have some very cold days even in the moderate temperate zone in which I live. I may have to make an adjustment and put my emergency box inside when it's below zero. I see in the kit, there are packages of water and food cakes that are supposed to keep me going for three days. They look pretty small. I am going to add to this kit and put some first aid supplies in, an extra blanket and sox, maybe a flashlight plus my meds. When there is a disaster and I can, I will naturally go for my purse. It's got my life in it: access to my financials, all of my personal health and ID records as well as a copy of my passport: things that make me a person in the eyes of the law. I do this regardless of advice that I should never carry such in my bag. Okay, you can travel around with a twenty and your driver's license only, but I am going to carry around what I need, not what you say I should, in view of  crime situations that might occur in less than one percent of the population. Advice! We get too much of that. So here I am, purse near, emergency kit under the patio barbecue, and I, realistically or not, prepared for the worst. Hoping it doesn't happen!

Muffining

Here it is a Sunday morning and the visiting offspring or that of it, yawns into your kitchen for a day of mayhem. Nothing cures mayhem more than something-to-do. Put the youngsters to work. Make muffins. Don't take the "bought" ones out of the freezer no matter how much you paid for them. They can never taste as good as what you will make today. Into a big bowl, and put the kids to work  on this, the lumpy ingredients: chopped nuts, apples, raisins or whatever they can invent, into the muffin-making bowl. If you have a big crowd or one that has a huge appetite, get two bowls going. if your young cooks want chocolate chips, so be it; skip some of the sugar. Into the bowl have them toss, I cup of flour, I tablespoon of baking powder, the magic addition of salt to make the former ingredient work. Tell the kids that baking is chemistry in action. From a half cup of sugar to almost none or use syrup if you wish for half, add the sweetness. A quarter cup of butter, the real thing, not the other one full of additives that never tastes as good. Toss in an egg. Stir it all up and slowly add, while mixing, the wet ingredient. I use powdered milk which is already in the bowl but use whatever kind of milk works for you, and there are many.  Stir and stir and stir. The kids love this part.  Lastly, pop in the lumpy bits: apples, nuts, raisins, strawberries, blueberries lemon zest whatever you have chopped up and on hand. Could even be bacon and cheese.  Oil the muffin tins, fill them not quite to the top and put the pan into the oven for about 15 minutes, give or take. The children will be watching the home-made treats, slowly rise and brown. They can make a contest with the timer as to when they will be done. It might prove that the oven door can be just as exciting as the device screen they spend too much time on, and which hopefully, all good grandparents have insisted is in the basket by the door where they will reside until departures take place. If you do the latter, you are being a good grandparent, never mind the grumbles. It's your house! Experts say that young ones spend far too much time on screens. Back to the muffins. When the time is up, give the tops a bit of a push on top to make sure they are at the springy stage before taking them out of the oven. When you do, give the pan a tap upside down over the counter and the muffins should fall out.  By this time, you have had the children set the table and filled the glasses with milk or juice or water and it's hot muffin eat up the yummy stuff time. No need to put the butter out. Your young cooks are reminded that it's already in the muffins. Of course, only our  best junior cooks can taste the butter in the muffins! You'll find that nothing brings a family closer together than sitting down at table eating what it cooked together. And all that fun, isn't on a screen.

Legal Murder

Having just finished Engel's book, Lord High Executioner, I can honestly say that my former opinion about legal execution, holds true. It behooves me to think that there is justice in juries, judges and the general public believing that killing another human being is, in any way, morally right and just. There is no form of execution that is not painful. If you think so, do some close research. Not even lethal injection is necessarily painless because, as all inflicted medications, sometimes the method experiences unique errors. There is something deeply disgusting about one human life killing the life of another, even with legal reason. In fact, to me, that makes it all the more horrific considering that those doing it, have the excuse of the law behind them, to set up a cold,
 planned death with witnesses and locations and methods that include the participation in some way, of  the individual who is to die under the jurisdiction they deem to carry out. History as told in Engel's book, gives ample background of the interest, salacious or not, in executions as a method of punishment for crime. Ancient ways of putting criminals to death were grim spectacles with attendant picnic baskets, revelries and general celebration. Some of the so-called crimes were the theft of something as insignificant as theft by a poor, starving child of a piece of bread! Even today, legislation, cold-bloodedly insists upon witnesses, medical participation and media coverage of executions. Galleries of press, relatives and invited persons are and or were, set up in institutions to add proof in visual satisfaction, that the event is or was duly carried out. To believe that, as in some opinions, misled as they are, incarceration is more expensive is incorrect. Execution can cost upward of over a million and a half dollars, considering all of the formal documentation and legal requirements. It costs much less to keep an offender in jail for the rest of its life. Fortunately, in enlightened countries, executions have ended and to me, that indicates their level of intelligent human decency and compassion over that of vengeance in the name of the law. In the first place, obviously and evidently, most legal punishments other than fining, are not deterrents. To think so, is simply and logically, ridiculous and wrong. Incarceration is the worst kind of punishment. The latter removes the one element that makes us truly human. That element is freedom. It is the freedom to chose how, where, when and with whom we associate and operate. If that freedom is taken away, all that is open to us as people on earth, has disappeared and we are lost. In prison, from what I read of those residing there, choice is eliminated almost fully, from the prisoner's life. That must be the ultimate punishment and thus, naturally, the best deterrent.

Writer widow: Brats

Writer widow: Brats: There are children who are "brats". I am not speaking of  all children, but only certain rare ones. Well, you know what I mean whe...

Writer widow: Ode To Pillows

Writer widow: Ode To Pillows: Well, maybe not an ode, but a "tribute" to pillows. These workers, pillows, are like good servants: they say little and do a lot. ...

Writer widow: Tearing Down

Writer widow: Tearing Down: With all the nonsense about tearing down statues in rants and tantrums that are apparently dreamed up by people who would do better using th...

Writer widow: Nothing Day

Writer widow: Nothing Day: There are days when there is nothing, absolutely nothing to do. This is one for me. I have no ideas for writing, at least none that are wort...

Writer widow: Boundless Nature

Writer widow: Boundless Nature: When we rise above, and ignore, what Nature shows and tells us and we refuse to listen, we should realize that it can lead to disaster. We k...

Writer widow: Hands Off History

Writer widow: Hands Off History: You can't wipe out the past. It happened just like the mountains and the wars and the dinosaurs.  Are we to break the pyramids, grind th...

Writer widow: The Fly 'N I

Writer widow: The Fly 'N I: Most people loathe house flies. I do, too. Usually. I did until I got into a kind of relationship with one. I thought I had fly-proofed my p...

Writer widow: Choir Practice

Writer widow: Choir Practice: Technology brought togetherness and not all of that so-called benefit seems to fit. From the "farthest" ends of the earth, humans ...

Writer widow: The Old Halo Effect

Writer widow: The Old Halo Effect: We all know it's coming but it doesn't stop our hoping that it won't. This quality is part of what keeps us going as human being...

Writer widow: "Catting" People

Writer widow: "Catting" People: Categorizing people is a ridiculous effort. It's done by The Press constantly and by others foolishly. Every human is different from ano...

Writer widow: Too Much Whine

Writer widow: Too Much Whine: We all have access to The News globally, if we care to indulge. What we have to remember is that reporters and their editors are not all wit...

Writer widow: Writer widow: Give It A Rest!

Writer widow: Writer widow: Give It A Rest!: Writer widow: Give It A Rest! : The minute a politician is elected by the people in a fair vote, the rats come out. They are those who delve...

Writer widow: Give It A Rest!

Writer widow: Give It A Rest!: The minute a politician is elected by the people in a fair vote, the rats come out. They are those who delve into any corner for a morsel of...

Give It A Rest!

The minute a politician is elected by the people in a fair vote, the rats come out. They are those who delve into any corner for a morsel of edible dirt to run to press. Rather than supporting the newly elected in banding together to help make the changes that the platform proposed, these disgusting so-called reporters, love to chew them away before they are enacted. While it provides solace for the party or person who was defeated, it does nothing to help anyone else who just wants matters to be taken care of peaceably and rapidly. The whole organisation of political bi-partisan politics is based on this principal. You run, you win or lose. That's it. And if you win, the whole mess of people in the area covered,  should leave the dirty tactics behind and get on with supporting the person and party that won. This is fair politics. If this doesn't happen, to sensible people,  it makes the losing bunch seem like a pack of teeth gnashing soreheads. Whole front page newspapers are often fraught with unproven or undocumented charges based on classically bad reporting. To take a small matter and headline it as though there is an iota of proof, and blow it into two or three words taken out of context, sells, no doubt but it isn't just or credible journalism. Sure, if there is an actual situation that has been backed up on what a political body has done or not, can  and should be exposed. If the facts are there and the reporting group can substantiate their viewpoints, fine. If they can't, editors should quell, and that doesn't mean over-using the term "alleged". As an apolitical party citizen who simply wants to see the government elected get busy and do its work, I am disgusted at the railing and posing, the nasty photographs displayed for emotional kick to an article and the dirt digging that has nothing to do with reality but only rank sensationalism. Give those of us who are tired of the mud slinging and want to hear and read and see, facts something to believe in.  Print news about our country, run by our elected officials, and credit for doing things right. As to the constant, unremitting complainers who are interested in nothing but dredging up gossip and innuendo, give it a rest!

Writer widow: Doth Protest Too Much

Writer widow: Doth Protest Too Much: It seems that almost every government funded or sponsored event sees a group of protesters protesting against their pet issue. I hasten to s...

Doth Protest Too Much

It seems that almost every government funded or sponsored event sees a group of protesters protesting against their pet issue. I hasten to say that while protesting is a right and in its way has impact, I am finding it less and less impressive since it is no longer a group of every day folks gathering to express their problems. Protest is now prepped by hired professionals. They make their money doing it.  They organize the use of doo dads that must cost something: caps, tee shirts, signs and so on. The police departments have to use up more tax payer's funds than what the event requires, to see that protesters  don't get out of hand and cause serious damage. How would you like your policeperson husband, mother, father, daughter or son facing a yelling, fierce-looking, sign and stick crowd? Protest Pros of course hold meetings to indoctrinate their clients on the correct how-tos, thus making protest all the more ridiculously artificial. I am weary of protests frankly. Surely there must be some other way to get  complaints across without raining on everyone else's parade? Most of us just want to enjoy a time to see and celebrate an event planned, one not meant to offend, but to enjoy. Surely, there are other ways to get a protest point put forward. Why not spend the money on hiring a hall with speakers and forums, or putting on your own planned party to tell us about your cause. Don't come around and make your business, destroying what a lot of other people's efforts, those who have spent time and energy to create a worthwhile event.  Our country recently  had what was supposed to be a once-in-a-lifetime party to celebrate its age and accomplishments. Some, who had other issues to present, did it informing organizers of their intent. That kind of  ideal "protest" was recognized for its honour because it was done with careful thought and dignity and welcomed as such. But not all others have that kind of insight. Fortunately at this event that sort of thing didn't happen but the post complaints now roll in. Naturally, whole hoards of citizens wanted to be present at the country's huge bash. Naturally, there are overwhelming numbers of those wanting to join in but, of course, there are limits. Naturally, there are only so many folks that can be accommodated. It's a big country. The post celebration belly-achings begin and the media is right there to pick up on the negatives. It sells, as always, and unfortunately, far more widely than positives. This is a large and growing country, one of the finest, and still we hear such silliness as: "we had to wait in line", "I came all this way" and "there wasn't enough ... for me". Me? How about looking at the larger picture.

Writer widow: Word Power

Writer widow: Word Power: We've all said and written words we regret. We may not have meant them as they were decoded by others, but the truth is, that communicat...

Word Power

We've all said and written words we regret. We may not have meant them as they were decoded by others, but the truth is, that communication is a two-way street. When you get into the wrong "lane" watch out. Reactions can be lethal and misleading in one way or another. People in high places have to be very careful about what words they use. The media is "the message" these days and a headline, while the business of selling media to its customers is their game, it may only be understood fully on digesting the whole piece. Media's job, being a commercial enterprise, is to get your attention. It sells.  The minute you latch onto your personal interpretation without some filtering genre of your own, you're hooked. A housekeeper of mine some time ago, who persisted in reading headlines only, when we met each day, would have some world shattering news event such as earth ending, the government collapsing or the roof falling in, which she outlined to me as she took off her coat. All was accomplished in headlines, according to dear Irene. The woman was in a constant state of consternation and semi-hysterics, but she was certainly someone with whom to open your morning if not broadly, your eyes. I didn't have the heart to ruin her day. It included excitable speaker phone conversations with her friends, like-headline-readers. I chanced, on occasion, to buy one of the sensationalist papers that she had for their outre stories, and read a few whole articles. Out of context, in the way she understood them, and how the editors permitted them, the headlines were true, in their way. When it said "Ninety Year Old Has A Baby", the true meaning was that the ninety year old, had a baby, but the baby was an animal. Irene, my housekeeper now long gone, didn't care to read the whole story and perhaps for her daily entertainment value, didn't want to. The headline alone was fodder for much chat among her friends who discussed all of the implications around their interpretations. It was entertainment, and relatively harmless. Today's readers are far more discriminating out of necessity, and do delve into what's in a headline. Furthermore they go on-line for greater detail. Of course, what we read as "information" on-line doesn't have to be accurate or reliable or even completely factual. Finding sites that one can trust is much like the "old days" of picking newsprint for its authority. Schools do have programs in teaching students how to assess what media pounds out. That, hopefully, provides a readers' system to give order and good sense to the usefulness of what we consume. Good night! Irene.

Writer widow: Gender OK

Writer widow: Gender OK: What is wrong with us that we can't take people on face value? What harm can it do?  What one chooses for their life be it harmless, or ...

Gender OK

What is wrong with us that we can't take people on face value? What harm can it do?  What one chooses for their life be it harmless, or has been given as their life, shouldn't matter to anyone else. We are, or should be, of our own design in our society. That's okay. No other influence should over ride that structure. And what does it matter if someone is different than another: male, female, big, small, colour, race, religion, sexual preference, rich, poor, powerful, weak, "normal" , etc?  Bullying starts at home, someone's home or place of origin, the place where patterning the young mind all begins. What happens there spreads. Other than "survival of the fittest" in the animal world rather than fighting others for dominance or whatever negative goal is sought, how much easier it would be to cooperate, keep the peace and allow harmless choice. We are a global family and as such, own ourselves in whatever way we see ourselves and choose to be. We need to understand that, and take everyone at "face value" and value their choices. To read in the news that a young person over a gender issue, heartbroken enough to commit suicide early in life, is a terrible lesson that no other human being can ignore. It is a lesson to heed, but it's too late for the child and family, who chose to feel and end pain in that way. I guess the first rule, is to listen to what that kind of frustration tells. Listen to the person who suffers it. That's the first step. If questions don't work, just understanding helps. Being there to listen is part of it. Acceptance is all of it. I don't think we have to "walk in someone else's moccasins" either. We can walk in our own, with good sense. We simply must just-not-judge.

Growing Inside Salad

Salad greens in a grocery store sack is pretty common these days but if you're like me, a person who doesn't get much kick out of chewing on a leaf, home grown sprouts are a delight. I can plop them under a tomato slice with a dollop of mayo and a basil leaf - okay some leaves I like - on home made grain bread and nothing tastes better. There is something utterly fresh about sprouts and there is great truth in that, because they are still growing as you eat them. What could be fresher? Plants grow and grow and grow. It's their raison d'etre. Parents should take a break from carting their kids and the expensive dream equipment off to some canned game involving a round object, and be sensible, stay home, have fun with your kids and show them something useful. Like survival knowledge. Take growing sprouts, for example. Growing what we eat is a pleasurable therapy we need in this complex world. A pocket full of seeds is sustenance that  in small amounts, will make, in a few days, a crunchy salad go-with or a sandwich additive or just a spicy munch. I grow them in a corner of my kitchen sink. I have to admit that I bought some 4 inch trays with tiny holes for drainage and use two of these small items: one holds the seeds and drains into the bottom one that drains down the drain. No fuss. I give the top layer a shot of water in the mornings, and voila in four days, out the sprouts come. I rinse off the little husks that actually, you can simply leave on because they are edible, too. I use radish and alfalfa seed but there are others available that will add to the mix and allow you to design your own tasty salads. While one batch is growing, I am using the other. My small container makes a medium bowlful of sprouts that I use only enough of to cover the bottom of the grower. Children should learn that gardening is important not only for our general good  health, but to satisfy our mental health needs as well. Watching something grow that we have "planted" ourselves is satisfying a basic, primitive human memory. Everyone, even if there is no "house",  has access to a window sill, a patio or deck. There, your kids can grow many things, not just sprouts: tall beans or herbs, chives or green onions, little tomatoes. You don't need a plot of land to add good health to what you consume. A small bag of sprout seeds will last for years and keep all that time, too. My 16 ounce bag supply that cost under 15 dollars, is over 2 years old and still going strong. Sprouts can be added to anything: into fruit, on top of cooked dishes, tucked into bread, dropped onto and inside pancakes, or just eaten by the pinch. Give it a try and see if your kids and grandkids do not delight in growing their own snacks. You, too! DIY your green garden in a few days.

Unpolitics

Politics means "the art and science of government" to be sure, but what most of the people who are under the rule of the politics of a place, want is merely to enjoy their daily lives in relative comfort and security.  Most of us don't care to a huge degree which political party, either of a social leaning or in the other direction, our governing body happens to be, as long as we gain from its policies. The average citizen doesn't belong to any particular party but may lean toward liking what the history of a certain party has demonstrated.  It's a chance we take when we vote. No political party adheres, or can adhere to exactly what their platform dictates during a campaign. First of all every voter "out there" is principally interested  in their own personal home situation, and second of all, they are too busy with their daily lives to be hammering up signs, yammering speeches and batting balloons at political hoop lah pre-election celebrations, before they hit the polling booths.  They are  scrambling to make a living so that their families and their futures will have some kind of agreeable stability, and they hope that the next election will help them do so. When they make their vote, they want relief from all the political media flotsam and jetsam that  is largely platforming  hot air, and see it come down to realities that matter. I speak of the vast majority of folk who are more concerned with what happens at home than with the colour of the party that gets in. While there are politically passionate sorts with their hats and balloons and signage,  the "silent" majority just want food on the table, comfort in their old age and their kids to have a promising future. Unfortunately, when a party is elected, the battles in parliament begin. It seems according to what we voters hear and see,  that one side of The House does nothing but rail against the other side to a degree that often times the promises made during an election, are bandied about like a tennis game that does nothing but rally back and forth with no end score. Here's a news item: most of us don't care who did what - we just want it done. I am basically apolitical and while I don't swing one way or another particularly, I want to see a political party in power that has the same concerns as I do about caring about people. We citizens ultimately pay for everything that happens in the country and we expect some kind of bang for our buck. While all we have is one vote, the same as every citizen including the passionate political pundits, we want it to go to work for us. Sometimes there is so much in-fighting going on in parliament that the real  reason for it being there is forgotten. It is for the benefit of the people. All of the people.

It Wasn't Me

"he/she made me do it", "it's  not my fault", "my past is the reason", "the gang forced me"  seem to be rampant excuses for just about any crime, flaw and error that are committed.  Finding fault some other place, for doing these things, when it's a choice that a person makes and that person alone makes, even alongside others, is no excuse or reason. Constantly in the news, I read or hear someone blaming someone else or some other person, or some historical event for what they did. One woman, a mother, in a news article recently, spent the entire interview, blaming the laws, a long past event in her family, and her son's own criminal record as an excuse for the serious crime he committed. She even blamed the police with whom he had had grievous previous criminal charges. No. Her son committed a murder. He admitted that he did it, but he said that it wasn't his fault. She said it wasn't his fault. Yes, it was. He had the choice of committing a crime or not. Everyone has a past, but when we grow up, what we do is what we do. Our job as adults is to mature, to change what past troubles and grievances influenced us as children, no matter how hard they were, and to better ourselves, thus bettering our society, whatever positive group that may be. I am so tired of hearing someone moaning and groaning about some kind of past event that "made " them do what crime they did. No. You do it, you pay for it. Simple. Life is simple when you get right down to the elements. You are born, you grow, you change. You choose the direction you go into and make the necessary adjustments along the way to being someone who contributes to the rest of society. If you make the wrong choices, that's your problem and you must deal with the consequences. Laws are made to protect society from those who make choices that harm others. Laws and changes to them begin in court rooms and parliaments. They are made with a great deal of thought and many examples of why they should become law. Law makers are not those who are hired to carry them out. The policing bodies are there to do the job of protecting us according to law, and it's not an easy commitment. All authority figures are there to help others and to help bring the law-breakers to justice. And like any institution, there are those unfortunately and rarely, who stray or err in that responsibility, but not all of them should be scorned for the difficult job keeping order. They are people who do the hardest and most dangerous work there is, but they go home at the end of the day, and eat dinner with their families, just like everyone else. They must adhere to the law, also. We all have choices. Choices are like a door, a one-way door, that shuts behind us. Choice is crucial.

Daddy

Daddy. That's what we always called him. Only adolescent embarrassment caused me to change it to Dad. But in my heart, he's still Daddy. He's the Daddy that I heard while lying in bed in the morning and listening to him in the kitchen, whistling while he made "flapjacks" and home-made syrup out of burnt sugar. In those days, we didn't have mortgages and credit cards and bank borrowing. You either had money or didn't, and if you didn't, you made do with what you had. My Daddy worked and he worked hard. He did the sweating kind of work with lunch hour, period. There were no coffee breaks. Unions and Workers Compensation and Unemployment Insurance were still in their babyhood. If your boss didn't see you labouring at your best or he or she didn't like you, you were gone. No argument. On the other hand, if you were loyal, you were rewarded. There was a turkey at Christmas and an annual picnic with races for the kids. And best of all, the weekly paycheck, so you could pay off the grocer. In those days, your Daddy couldn't afford university education. He wanted to, but he didn't have that kind of money. You worked your way through then. Today, no youth can afford university unless parents can or you take on a gigantic loan you have to pay for in the first squandering days of employment, if you can find any. There was no credit coddling. But Daddy didn't care. He had his nice, hard old kitchen chair beside the basement sawdust furnace and his daily newspaper that actually had full articles with full information and facts, not ads galore and brief glitzy photos in colour and unreal headlines. Daddy loved his hobby. It was tracking down The Mother Lode. He and his buddy went on guy adventures with their old maps and horses, maybe a scout to plod through the wilds in the north in search of mines. When Daddy returned and showered off his trip that smelled of camp smoke and horse flesh, he would sit down on the couch and show us his pill bottle full of tiny gold nuggets. He told us how he panned for them in mountain streams and how they used tin cans to cook their food and about the bears and deer. When they camped, apparently, they slept under the stars and he showed us the constellations and how we could tell where North was, and what greens and berries were safe to eat and told us never to drink water without boiling it and how to stay put, if you got lost. We were fascinated, and even though we never had the courage to do it, dreamed about "real" camping and hunting for gold. Daddy was kind beyond words and let Mom do the disciplining which was threats but no punishment, He was the one who had many friends and with whom he met and told stories, some of them ghost tales. He read endlessly when he wasn't working. He taught me how to read using the headlines of the daily newspaper. He took my hand, his big one I still remember, and with his pick, told me the names of rocks and minerals and how to treat wildlife and plants with respect and how to walk softly in the woods he called by one name: "the bush". He like plain food, never took an interest in gardening or house maintenance unless it was an emergency, but he was the dearest, most loving Daddy. He left us suddenly in five months at age sixty-four before I had a chance to talk to him, adult to adult. But I remember and not just on Father's Day, his morning whistles and mouthorgan playing and the flapjacks and the sound of his voice telling stories.