The Big Apple

The apple did not come into being with Johnny AS - he may have introduced it to some of North America but the "apple" is a wild plant that has been domesticated and developed into all kinds of varieties. It is a friendly natural tree that proves its versatility in lots of ways. Botanists could do tomes on its characteristics. I love apples and most people do. We start our babies on apple sauce, we drink the juice of the apple and create all kinds of toothsome treats with it. Growers of roses appreciate the apple in a different way. The stalks of the delicate rose are grafted onto apple stock and it hosts the lovely flowers on a strong system. The apple is the subject of lore and fairy tales: the apple that sent Snow White into her sleep, the golden apples of the princess who gathered them, the biblical apple of Eden that Eve was said to present to Adam. The apple can be pressed into juice and turned into beverages that are enjoyed both fermented and not. Pies and butters and other sweet treats are loved by all. There is a recent tale of a woman who, having mental issues, hid out in an abandoned farm house with an apple tree nearby. She survived solely on apples until her supply ran out. She wrote in her journal, how she picked the apples from a tree and stored them in the house for months, portioning them out to take her through the winter. It was the only food she ate thus the apple must be a near perfect food. It was dehydration that took her at last and starvation because she had no more apples to eat. On my grandparents' farm, there were many varieties of apple spread about the orchards. As a child I savored the apples that tasted all the flavours possible in apples. Some were sweet, others tart and still others tangy, but my favorite tree was the Transparent Apple. If you know the variety, its period of perfection is very short. You can read this apple by its colour and those who know it, have their most favorite time. Pie bakers like it when it is not quite ripe, still slightly greenish, those who like them right off the branch, prefer it when they are just turning from tart green to a white tinged with gold. Sweet tooth people pick them when they have softened and are sweet. We young cousins on the farm, ate them any old way and were scolded when we picked them green. We just couldn't wait for them to turn ripe. The Transparent apple tree was my private haven. My tree wasn't far from the fence that kept the bull from entering my grandmother's vegetable plot. The tree trunk was bent and due to its age, gnarly, but its foliage was thick and its fruit incomparably delightful. When all my other cousins who stayed at the farm during school vacations, played in the barn, I read my books in my apple tree. It is my good-place-to-go even today. I suspect it is no longer there in Haney, but in my mind, it is ever lush and inviting. It's the apple of my eye!

Liars Are Us

Liars are among us. Before you go off feeling insulted, ask yourself whether you have ever called-in sick when you knew you could have gone to work or school or service.  Ask yourself when you told someone how good they looked when you knew very well, they didn't. Or remember the time you wanted to get out of a promise and lied because you didn't want to hurt someone's feelings with the truth. Along with lying, goes the art of excuse making. "Sorry I can't go, I have a family event I cannot miss." Who is going to argue with family? "Please don't kiss me, I am just getting over a cold." An old maid aunt of mine used this with great success. "I'd love to do it, but I have to ----." Apologizing? It can work but that's another subject for another time. There are many varieties of liar. Some are professional liars. They sell something and lie to make their profit. There are the sneaky liars who try to blame someone else for their lying, saying that it isn't their fault when they know it actually is. There are the social liars who do it so that "friendships" run more smoothly. There are the pious liars who spout what others should be doing while doing what they know they as bigots, shouldn't. There are the innocent liars, perhaps small children, who don't know what a true lie is but give it a go in their naive desperation. This kind of liar soon learns what kinds of lies work and which do not, and thus, either hone their success or if caught, largely give up  their liar ambitions. The worst liar in my opinion, is someone who betrays  a friend or a lover or who has been assigned to be a caring individual. It is someone you may unwittingly built a trust with. They are worst because they plan to lie. They don't lie casually. They work out a design to best make you believe in them before striking: somewhat like a charming poisonous reptile.They can spend years on the art of making their lies work. They are the true thieves in the liar world. They remove small amounts of their goals over a long period of time so that their lies are hidden. Of course they are found out, but not until they have filched enough value from their lying investment, to make the punishment seem relatively minor.  There is no point in going on and on about what a terrible sin lying is, because it will never stop. It's been done since "Eden" if we're looking for origins.The beauty of human instinct, is that no one is really fooled by liars. Like termites, we humans have the natural ability to know what is going on inside other human beings whether we want to admit it or not. We are never very far from our basic animal genes. There are creatures who are much better at recognizing this ability that we also have, if we give it enough thought and effort. But we love to play the game and accept lies mostly because we all do it in some form or other at some time or other. It's part of what we are. Liars.

Chill The Pill

We all take pills of some kind be they "natural" or otherwise. They're all pills to "fix" something. Pills are things prescribed by those who know about them. In ancient times, the local herbalist advisor who was usually a person very knowledgeable about the effects of herbs and other forms of medication told one what substance could help. They might give out such items but often they merely advised which is about what family physicians do today. What we have to remember as takers of medications no matter where they are sold or from whom, by whomever, we are the final decision makers about what goes into our bodies. And if we make the decision to begin a drug therapy program (all medications herbal or not are a form of drug - look it up) it should be monitored closely. Putting a chemical, and all substances are composed of chemicals, into our very complex and delicately balanced systems is no joking matter. You don't pour some kind of random thing into your car engine without careful thought, so why do a similar trick to your body? I was shocked today to see an ad for a pill you can stick into your precious child's mouth that will take care of its ADHD. Yikes. It is an over-the-counter stuff that can be bought on line to keep your kid settled down so you can take a break and watch your favorite TV series without interruption or maybe sleep in until noon on Sunday. What kinds of parents are there who would do such an irresponsible thing? Wouldn't it be better to take that child who needs an extra amount of energy to deal with, out for a run or ball game or hike? Would you then, have found a better and more humane way of helping your offspring and  bonding you to what you have produced into society, other than a pill? Kids need your time, not a pill. It's something to think about when you are thinking about when you enter the parenting realm. People say things such as "all my doctor does is write me a prescription". Well, yes, you complain to your doctor and want a quick fix. What else do you expect the doctor to do in the fifteen allotted minutes for your appointment? Sure, you're going to walk out flapping your miracle prescription in your hand and smile. All your troubles will be over now.  The doctor can't sit there for hours and listen to your whining as it was for mental relief in the old days. The doctor has a hoard of other people sitting in the biggest space in the place, all waiting for their turn. But before you take the pill, think carefully. Do the research on line with reliable sources, not the nutty kind that tell you to take their pill and pay their way cheaper price. Ask other people who take the medication, how it went for them and if you decide to take the pills, do report any small nasty effect, to your doctor. Sometimes it is necessary for us to replace what nature took away and that's fine, but it upsets your body chemistry, therefore, be aware and perhaps a little wary, and sometimes, chill the pill if things aren't all that bad.

Lashing Out

What is it about eyelashes that is so intriguing to us? Their purpose is to protect our eyes. Or is it? For some reason, batting eyelashes is supposed to be sexy. Have you ever wondered why? Psychologists would have an answer, likely, but I suspect that there is no particular reason other than fashion or history or whim aping. We human creatures are selective about hair. Some of it is welcome while others of it (?) are not. It depends on where it is: heads, legs or other places. But eyelashes, like wigs and toupees and tattooed eyebrows, have become the latest thing to fake onto our bodies. When I go almost anywhere: a store, a reception desk, a restaurant, a service counter, I am bound to be gazing into fake lashes. They are things that look best from a distance because, unlike stage lashes, they appear obviously not what nature put there. Far back in my memory, I recall a particularly pretty aunt who, before going out on a date, would apply mascara, which in those days, was put on with a brush shaped like a small ax. The user, spat upon the little brush and then scrubbed it back and forth on a block of dark substance before artfully smearing it onto one's actual natural lashes.  Then after that application, the matter of removing the excess blobs of it involved a painful process of avoiding stabbing ones eyes to get rid of the mass of unwanted black material. The idea was to end up with longer lashes, ones that darkly stood out from their usual boring brown. My little girlfriend, Joycie, and I watched with fascination, and not a little envy, as her big sister, Pat, applied her mascara before going out with her beau, Fergie. Ah, we sighed, how lovely to be a big girl and put on mascara. And then we grew up and used it and found it to be a great big nuisance. But everyone else did it, and we followed. These times of adding to our bodies or taking away anything natural to look more like our idols has become normal. For two hundred dollars, you too, with a fifty dollar a month budget for replacements, can throw out the ten buck tubes of wondrous promise black stuff and get the glued on kind, so long and curly, they could kill mosquitoes. In the summer, they might even cool down your face if batting them fast enough could be accomplished. As you can tell, I am not a fan, NPI,  of the fake lashes. Still, they do catch my attention. I have been known to tap my card and be so mesmerized by the clerk's eye fringes, that until I am home and onto my computer budget, find that I spent way more than I intended. Perhaps, with more caution, I could have saved enough to buy a set of the fascination fringe flappers for myself.

Friends? AYK?

When I made an infrequent visit to my cyber site yesterday, I found that I have the potential of an endless number of new "friends". Most of them, I've never seen before, nor do I recognize their names even though some seem vaguely familiar. They appear to be nice people, well most of them. Some are dogs and cats and scenery while others are mere shapes. (The latter mystify me, since putting your name up for one of these cyber sites is about as un-anonymous as neon lights.) My actual list of friends is pathetically short since I make sure, they are or could be friends of the real kind. One of my friends has friends galore, in fact the numbers are so vast that I never could or wanted to, get to the end. But my friend, I thought, must have a lot more talent or charisma or whatever it takes, than I do, to reach out to that many people. When I clicked on one of her friends, suddenly I was onto her friends' friends and when I clicked on her friend's friend's list, I found enough friends to fill a small country. If I were advertising something, there would be no need to hire an advertising agency. The whole world almost, was  right under my index finger. And privacy, if there is such a thing these days, was out the window: mine and a lot of others'. You can learn a lot about someone by perusing their site. Their life style, their interests, their likes and dislikes, their beliefs, their family resemblances, their location, their travels and on and on are easily available.  Putting someone's "stuff" all together, you begin to feel that, yes, indeed, you could be called a kind of "friend" for all that you know about this stranger: where he or she grew up, went to school, their work and their kids and grandkids. Their faces are their proof. But, wait a minute. Some of the faces you see, are not the same ones with the names under them. Masks can be slapped on easily by removing another face and placing it where you want it to go. Good-bye Botox, fillers and face lifts! If you aren't the perfect face and figure, not to worry. You can be all you want to be in a few seconds if you know how to do it on your computer/tablet/phone. Even if you are gorgeous or handsome, you can hype yourself up a bit more, with a little computer photo genius. Kim K is just not all that perfect without her helpers to snick off a little here and add a little there, to matte out some of this and add a glow to that. And she doesn't have to go under the knife. Not yet anyway. The world is no longer un-beautiful, it's becoming perfectly flawless. Or is it? AYK?

Paper Doll Politics

Before three dimensional Barby and Ken, we had either or both, baby dolls and paper dolls. The paper kind were a sort of transition from the bisque baby dolls to a more fashionable venue in our child  play. Our paper dolls or "cut-out dolls" had to be snipped carefully from books with their attire and accessories. Kids sat on the floor or carpet with the cardboard dolls and an array of their gorgeous clothes and in their young imaginations, went places and did things that only the rich and famous could do. Hours were spent taking Scarlett O'Hara  and Brett, Lana Turner, Betty Grable and other notables to balls and dangers and on tours to exotic places and gala parties. We did the scripts and the dancing and all the things we heard on the radio and read in movie magazines about their escapades and achievements and made them ours. These joyous times made us, as children, what we could never hope to be. Today, the "paper dolls" are the royalty and the top politicos and the actors and the comic book heroes. But they aren't made of paper; they are real, and their lives are vicariously lived in the everyday lives of modern adults. The paper medium that was for the dolls is now the media and for hours we peruse the news, the e magazines, the screens of various kinds and drool over the Kardashians and Meghans, and Batmans  and The Trumps and the Justins of the planet. They are ours. We live  in their mansions, exercise and eat their diets and savour their wardrobes and jewels. We excite over their heroic mis or adventures and weep over their filmed roles. They are us secretly, and for some who sadly forget their actual world and become overwhelmed into a kind of worshipful fantasy that the icons love us the same way we love them, their stalkers. The latter is dangerous and to blame in part, are the purveyors of the media who try to bring to us every tiny detail of the current paper dolls' lives. For the average person who denies they care a whiff, inadvertently, they become a model. These idols who are filmed and interviewed and pursued  brow beatingly, in an attempt to eke out every tiny private iota of their personal trivia to feed the hungry public that surely must have no life of its own. Every small aspect of each of these nouveau paper doll creatures' existences become news. Hungrily, what Meghan wears if at all affordable is grabbed up for purchase. The Kardashian fashion, if it can be called fashion, is copied and emulated.  Melania's latest dress or killer heels become news flashes. The fans of the royalty defend fiercely any negative report of their idols. People will spend hundreds of dollars to sit, stand or wave their cell phones in a gigantic space to watch a hologram of a completely unreal singing sixteen year old created dummy. Ohh! I wonder where that shoe box is, with my old Diana paper doll. She was real once, and I miss her.

City Dog

First, I have to say, I am a city dog. I am a slave, but a beloved one. I get no pay but I do get food and water. The food isn't my choice but that of a professional who is well versed in what dogs need. Not what they want. I live in a space that I am told by dogs who know, is far too small for comfort. We dogs apparently, love to run for miles in and out of forests and fields but I have no idea what that's like. Where I live, there is a fun stretch of a few dozen feet of floor among the furniture legs and a carpet which I have to avoid when wet or dirty. I seldom have a chance to be the latter since I am not allowed to roll in places that smell like they would be heavenly for it. I don't get very wet other than my paws which are usually on cement or, if I am lucky, into the occasional puddle. Because I live such a protected life, I don't have access to wild herbs for medicines I somehow know would work. I need to have other attentions by strangers because I am not a wild dog whose nails and coat and teeth are "done" through natural means. Mostly I live a boring life inside a few rooms and some I am not allowed in. I try desperately not to bark even when I really want to when hearing a noise that intrigues me or at other dogs outside or things that need to be barked at. I do go outside, but only on a short rope thing that I have learned must be obeyed or my owner jerks on it.  When nature calls I have to indicate somehow that it is an urgent situation because in a people place where the people have facilities, I don't. My owner isn't always happy about this but she doesn't want what she calls "accidents". Sometimes, I am tempted and like my old friend down the hall whom I have not seen lately, to just do it right where I can find a patch of floor that looks okay, but I'd be hit with a newspaper and yelled at. It's something I learned not to do when I was a puppy. Now, I am not complaining. because my owner, yes, I was bought, makes noises that indicate I am loved. I have learned what to do to amuse her. She's all alone with no other dogs er people around and moans and cries and makes noises and hugs me a lot which assures me. I know that I must be doing something right and if so, the meals will keep coming. On schedule, of course. Sometimes, I have to go to jail and not see my owner at all. It's awful but there are other dogs there that smell wonderful and wow, do I get a lot of news! When my owner comes again, I am truly happy and make a big show of it. I get a leather thing around my neck everyday a couple of times and we go out for nature's call and exercise. But not much and on schedule which is hard sometimes. What I really want to do, is run after some of those loud engine things running on the tarmac, but my rope is jerked if I try. I hear from other dogs  that there are wonderful places where you can run without a rope as long as and where you like and be with lots of other dogs. It is my fondest wish and true nature to be with other dogs, sadly not just the nice lady who owns me and keeps me in her hardwood floor place. She's not a dog. She's nice to me and I do have a big mat where I am allowed to sleep which is what I do most of the time. What else is there?

Cats Over Dogs

I like dogs and have had them, but the cats in my life, were the more interesting pets. And at last count, even though one at a time, my cats over the years, add up to more than a dozen. Only two ended their lives at the hands of a vet. The rest challenged cars on roadways and lost. A cat isn't exactly a pet because they do not allow themselves as dogs do, to be fully tamed. They will do their best to try being pettish or petty (?) but they never entirely slough off their wild nature. In fact, I have met and even had a cat or two that attacked me. A feral one in particular, did it during a camping outing and was cause for me to see a medical clinic for a rabies shot. The stray had lured me into patting it and then, thinking itself quite hilarious, showed me its true tiger-like nature by deciding my leg would make a good dinner.  Most cats in an effort to maintain an acceptable dignity in honor of their keepers, will deny themselves the natural expression of displaying their bad temperaments when stressed. They will growl, yes, cats can growl, and display their claws and spit, but usually they back off and run away with their ire. Once in a while, however, their wild natures, get the best of them and they bite and scratch before dashing off to hide their embarrassment at revealing their true volatile sides. Old cats are more peacefully inclined. They have come to realize that the best course of behavior around humans is to be pleasant and purr, so that they will be allowed upon a warm lap and be stroked. In their dotage, they forgo their real selves for the sake of practicality. Cats must be stroked the way they like stroking. One ought never to do it the wrong way or the feline will be forced to give you instruction in the matter. And it could result in a slightly bloody education. Cats like warmth and will seek it out in any possible manner. If there is a sunny ledge, they have the engineering ability to align their bodies to exactly conform to the patch of sunshine available. If there is a furnace or fireside or human body conveniently near, they will seek it out. They sleep a great deal but never completely. Their true selves are nocturnal. You can't sneak one over on a sleeping cat, and if you do, it's only with their private permission. If you try to discipline a cat, they will get even with you when you least expect it. Their laughter on these occasions is wisely withheld from your hearing range while other cats within miles, I suspect, will prick up their ears and privately enjoy the moment. Or so, I believe seeing the smugly victorious demeanor of a cat whose revenge had been thoroughly sated. I could swear on that occasion, she actually smiled, though subtly. I can give an example. The visiting Reverend lady who was in our parlour, holding our delicate bone china tea cup, told us upon seeing the Siamese cat Dara, enter the room, "Oh my, I am allergic to cats. Tee hee."  The Siamese who had been tossed outside earlier in the afternoon haven taken a stroll on newly painted door Husband had worked on, decided at that moment, in a need to avenge herself,  to leap upon the cocktail table and examine the little tea cakes laid out for the Reverend's call. Before anyone could stop her, the cat, the table, the cakes, and the Reverend's navy blue suit all met in an explosive situation when Husband entered the room and loudly cursed the animal. The visit was cut short, apologies notwithstanding. The Reverend  lady suggested, that from now on "May we take tea at the manse?" Ah yes, a cat is a cat is a cat.   

Is It Going To Kill You?

It is going to kill you to have one glass of wine? Is it going to kill you to put a sugar cube in your coffee or maybe real cream? Is it going to kill you to quit the calorie counting or dieting yak in front of others? The answer is, it won't! There is a thing today where Google or your favorite other, tells you what to eat and do and you do it. For no particular reason at all. Here's a tiny piece of advice; just because the topic gets a million hits, doesn't necessarily make it real or true. Get over that stupidity. If you think that popularity stats will get you anywhere, recall your high school graduation and how far the recipients of the honored state of elected valedictorian went. They are or were the kids thought to have it all. They got the honours, the looks, the awards, the marks and the notice, but the day after the big grad event, life came along. While at school, the vallies likely turned down a lot, thinking it might "kill them" during their pleasant school days when they were the icons of the wannabes.  When they hung up the tux and gown to hit the real world, none of that high school jazz meant anything.  And it still doesn't. But reverberating still, are echoes of "oh, I can't eat that" or "oh no, I can't order this" or "I'm on a diet" or "that's a no no" or "I mustn't indulge" or "it's not on my list" or "does it have carbs in it?" We're not in the school cafeteria, but in a lovely restaurant with a fine reputation. Let's eat!  The other day, I lunched with someone very nice and when the seafood order was given, I asked for a Chardonnay and got the fish eye from my companion. "What?" I asked. She simpered."You drink wine for lunch?" "Yep, it's quite civilized to have white wine with seafood." I felt defensive. Six ounces of wine, does not an alcoholic make. But I felt as though my friend thought it did. Now, I was oozing guilt. Yikes, one tiny glass of white makes me a sinner? When coffee time rolled around after the light chocolate mousse disappeared, I plunked into my coffee, two cubes of brown sugar.  Oogly oogled at me again. I started, "What? You don't eat sugar either?" She smiled. "Oh no, I am counting calories on my cell and my carb limit will hit the sky if I have it in my decaff. Hand over the packet of the white stuff. " I didn't groan until now. I liked my lunch friend. But really. It wouldn't kill her to drop in a lump of natural sugar even if it is into decaf that is, incidentally,  processed to pieces in its process. Look it up. We got through lunch but one of us, me, suffered post-lunch-guilt. Next time I shall choose a partner who enjoys lunch out. I want to concentrate on the sheer enjoyment of what I select and not be forced to sit in front of a lovely plate of fresh, well-prepared food to see my companion pushing all the good stuff to the side of her plate. This slender, suffering lunch companion will not have to witness my "over indulgences" again.  It wouldn't kill her, or me, to simply eat. It's only lunch out.