Password Depths

How many passwords does it take to be secure? I have a book full of them and the list grows.  Every so often one of the people I deal with, gets very aggressive about my passwords. The bank I like, becomes not only aggressive but downright obnoxious about it at times. When I want into my account, a popup appears with infuriating frequency worse than the seven year itch, and unless I change my password, they won't allow me in. Hey, it's my money in there, and what I do to get in the door, is not their business. They may suggest,  but what I do with my passwords is my business. They aren't the only overly diligent business that brow beats one to change passwords. Furthermore,  they insist it must be done according to their specifications. It must be so many letters long with capitals and a number and a special character. At the latter request, I was tempted to put in my uncle's name. He's a character who tells endless corny jokes. As to numbers, how about pi? That'll keep someone busy for a while. I understand all the reasons for having to change passwords, but please let me do it on my terms. When one is forced to keep all of the passwords with their combinations of numbers and letters and special characters in a lengthy book for reference to do a task on line, it becomes a security hazard in itself. And a  book of them is, indeed, necessary. Who can remember 39 different combinations of email addresses and assorted passwords for the dozens of businesses and services even average people have to deal with every day. The book of magical "open sesames" is usually kept close by a computer for quick reference. If you dawdle, you could be"timed out" and that is something you don't want to happen especially when it involves money.  If  a thief wants to order cosmetics or curtains or clothing  or cauliflower from one of my favorite on-line stores, all he or she has to do is grab my password book and be off.  But then he or she would encounter the next hurdle. Passwords aren't the only key to access. There are numbers, too, to remember. Scores of them. Piles of them and hoards of them. There are numbers for any on-line entry: the SIN,  credit cards,  health cards, driver's license,  library pass code, the movie site memberships, the grocery  store, clubs, the tax department, game sites, job numbers and on and on and on. Thus page two of my Ali Baba pass book has a new page specifically for  numbers. And letters, and of course the upper or lower cases, and let's not forget those special characters. All this is very well, and one would expect that keeping a book of these characters would suffice. But, there are times, albeit rare, when you enter your e mail address and the correct accompanying password and the proverbial door does not open. A helpful set of little blank boxes guides you to tell them you are not a robot and because it doesn't really believe you, you have to pick out the pictures that show cars or crosswalks or busses. And sometimes the site will send you a special number to the very same e mail address it won't accept as yours. This means you have to change your password yet again. It makes me wonder if anyone has drowned in cyberspace amongst the myriads of letters and numbers and, of course those special characters.

Kitchen Coinage

If you are tired of looking at veggies stir fried, boiled, steamed or roasted, do raw. Apart from potatoes and their kin that do need heat to break down their hardened natures, there are scores of other add-ons and they can be had raw. Raw brings out all of the natural graces of their being and adds hugely to nutritional requirements. I like pretty food. It sets my appetite right into the alert mode and it isn't hard to do right in the privacy of your own kitchen. Here's my recipe. Nothing original,  but you can expand and create on it which makes it all the more appealing to single solitary eaters like me. We screen gazers, need food that is not only good for us but also tidy. We don't want to dig through the keyboard to rescue an elusive hunk of cheese or a stray grape tomato that got away unforked. In fact, we would rather not have to use forks at all. And who heard of knives at the keyboard? Uh uh. So here's my answer to all of those conundri or ums. I do my own whole grain bread dough and lately I have been forming buns that look like fat little hot dog buns. I make coins of them by slicing across to form thin coins. I can slice a whole platter of coins using only one bun that amounts to about a hundred calories. And I do not use butter on them. For example, to day I spread a bit of mayo on each, added a slice of cheese, a round of garlic ring and a sliced grape tomato. Using my favorite Nothin But The B seasoning, I put the glass platter into the microwave just long enough to melt the cheese and smush the tomatoes a bit. It smelled tantalizing and tasted the same. When the coins had cooled down a bit, off we went to my den with a small bottle of milk and some writing time along with nips and sips. Yum. For lunch, using the same coining method with another roll, on went a thin spread of mayo, a thick slice of cucumber and a dash of that great seasoning that has sesame and garlic, pepper and poppy seeds. With it, a small fresh squeezed orange juice. Although not this day. but perhaps another I might slap on cream cheese and fruit: orange section, grapes, apple slice, melon, whatever lurks in the fridge. If I can't drum up dinner, I might slice up a pork chop, roast beef or steak or some salmon, a prawn or six and even do up a tiny burger. Lay on baby spinach and a smear of feta or brie. If you're a vegan or related soul, you, too, will have fun finding a way to make your palate happy with coinage-ing. You cannot live by coins alone, however, but as long as you can, you'll love the ease of it, the convenience and truly, the taste.  If you want to impress your guests this is an easy and very welcomed way to entertain as well. There are endless tricks of coining using boiled eggs, seafood, sauces and meats, fruits and of course, veggies. Your guests will adore a big tray of these delights and making them before the company arrives is non-messy fun and a simple thing to do ahead of time. I guarantee they will disappear rapidly. Also, set out bowls of makings and let the kids get involved in making coins.

Holding Cells

Cell phones are meant to be tools that help, not constant addictive fetishes that hang on hands like festering malignant societal tumors. They have become an offensive nuisance and sometimes, a weapon. Put the things away! Please! The object is a phone, not your entire life. You really can live without it. At least for designated periods of time. To ride on public transportation, eat in a restaurant, enter a public building or just walk down the street one is exposed to one-armed people babbling into a little piece of plastic. Going shopping, entering a library or school, being in place of natural beauty, there are those who, addicted to their bits of electronic silliness may be asked to put the thing down and behave like a human being and not a slave to a piece of  battery battering plastic. But if you dare to do so, it is as though you have kidnapped their child. What? It's none of your business, they say indignantly. Well, sorry, it is my business when you make it mine. I don't want to hear you doing business or "taking this call " or checking on the kids you should be with in person,  or gabbing about endless inane nothings with your friends. I certainly don't want to hear you smooming with your boy or girl friend or clicking away texting while I am in your company. I have had it with parents who allow their children, in my presence, rudely to permit those things at the mealtime table or allow them to enter classrooms in schools when kids ought to be concentrating on an education that  the public dollar pays for.  The cell phone has gone way beyond its original purpose and we have let it become a prosthesis instead of an aid. When gym tights have pockets for them or backpacks and handbags, holders, it has gone far too far. It's not the tool that is at fault, it's the use of it that offends. The other day, a gentleman who sat at table with his grandsons, hoped to speak with them about an important matter that offered him only one opportunity in a long while to discuss something with the young teens. The parents sitting also at the table took no notice of the youngster never leaving his phone for a second. They, too, had their phones in hand. The grandparent had the good manners to keep his phone in his shirt pocket while being with family, but the other members of the group under the pretense of  a family get together, were thoughtlessly holding individual intermittent conversations with whomever was doing the same bit of uncouth activity at the other end. Now, I love my cell phone and use it for all sorts of purposes that I am happy with, but there is a limit to it. Like frying chicken or driving a car or jumping on a trampoline, you put the phone away.  When you sit with people, in a social situation, you hide these gizmos and do not say when they send out their obnoxious "cute" noises,  "I have to take this". You don't need to "take it".  You need to ignore it, if you hadn't the good decorum to turn the thing off in the first place. If you cannot do this, you are addicted and need help. Back off thinking you have to be in touch constantly with another abuser of human social life and interaction.  You can, with spinal determination, actually exist without a phone attached to your brain. Do it before you turn into one.

Not The Boss Of Me

When we were small children and others who were not our parents, told us what to do, we'd say "you're not the boss of me". They may have been, in truth, because they were given the role of temporary protector or surrogate parent. Unfortunately, often adult children take on the role of parent when their elders reach an age they solely consider to be not responsible. Taking over the life of a parent, if not volunteered freely, must be determined by experts in the geriatrics field. But when the determiner is considered merely an age number, it can be completely inappropriate and wrong. I know a woman, aged 100, who lives on her own, makes her own meals and manages her home and affairs herself. She goes to social events, is gently mobile and highly intelligent. If she needs help, she asks for it. She gave up her car and depends on other means of transportation. There is help, when she needs it, from family and friends or those she hires. She maintains herself just as any other citizen does. Most people of very old age, eighty or beyond, are quite capable of doing the same. Because an age number is an elusive determiner, those entering into "taking over" an elder person, ought to do so with caution. You are not "the boss" of someone based just on a number even if there is loss of some abilities, and if you think so, tread lightly. Most people who take care of their own lives, know when the time comes to seek assistance. If for some reason, they don't, there is a process to sort out what needs "taking over" and what doesn't. Few people escape losing abilities of some kind after the age of eighty but it is different aspects for different people. For immediate family to take over, is really not their choice.  Would they welcome, after a lifetime of independence, want,  even close family uninvited, to push them aside and run their lives?  A recent case in the news, related the court battle of a family suing to obtain their father's affairs because he married someone half his age. While he has physical difficulties, he and his wife have worked matters to their satisfaction. The couple seems content. The father's relatives present a different picture and want to have their father declared incompetent so that they can take over his affairs. These are presently managed by his wife, with the father's direction. And while the outcome of the case has not been determined as yet, the stress has taken its toll.  Elders have their own pace and skills in knowing what is best in their lives. It may take a good deal of conversation and patience for those who love them, to understand. Feelings on both sides, need to  be heeded and respected. No one is "the boss" of anyone else and elders can be a treasure greater than gold in a family that cares about perspective. They are the historians: the reminders of who and what we are now from what they were then. Just ask.

Right To Left

Being the inhabitant of an elder body, I find constantly, that there are surprises. Not all of them are nice ones to be sure, but with the right approach, most with help, work out somewhat agreeably. Unfortunately, one of my latest surprises, doesn't work with the "right" approach, therefore, I am left to try out the "left". My right shoulder and parts are in a bit of a snit and don't want to do what I need them to do. At least, not without a deal of ouching going on. I have a super doctor, but he is a doctor, and I suspect that if I see him about this shoulder matter, the word "surgery" might arise. Surgery is a marvellous thing and scores of my acquaintances leap at the chance to get their knees or hips or whatever "done". I am not of that thinking, however,  even though I do agree that it works wonderfully well for most people. Unfortunately, my elderly mother wasn't one of the lucky ones and when she had a second hip replacement surgery, she suffered a stroke on the operating table. She made it off the table, but with only a fifteen minute memory. The doctors did everything right but no one can dabble with nature entirely, and aging bodies sometimes break down the way nature decides, not man. Having surgery is a serious matter from the smallest to the largest kind, and for me to run off cheerfully to do it, isn't my first choice. In the matter of my complaining right shoulder, I have decided for the present, to abandon what is right and turn to the left. I have a body as most people do, that has two sides: a right side and a left side. When my right hand took on the challenge of arthritis, a very common activity amongst my  joints these days, I learned to do many things with my left hand. I intend to do the same with my right shoulder. I will continue to respect it as always, but from now on, I need to pick up things, push things and pull things, with my left side instead of my right. Today while making a pot of vegetable soup, I attempted to teach my left hand and arm to chop carrots, cabbage and a lot of other green things eschewing my fingers, to add to the cooker. It felt as though I were five years old and learning how to cook all over again. I had to go very slowly using the knife. I could almost hear my mother shrieking in the background, "watch that you don't cut yourself!". The soup was begun today with a full load of greens and reds and yellows and in the end I retained all of my fingers. It took a lot longer to do, and felt very awkward, but my right shoulder would have applauded grandly if it could. As it was, it sulked a bit, I thought. I think I heard it grumble, "well, if that's the way you feel - humph". Many right side tasks are now the job of my left side, and it makes me appreciate those who lose abilities or mobilities, and have to face switching uses of their bodies from one side to another. It is a learning process that takes a lot of patience but, how very lucky we are, to have "another side".

Finding You

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine lost a life partner and is alone. She is on a journey now, of finding herself after decades of being half a loving relationship. When a death happens, as in this situation, it's not a choice of "finding" yourself. You must. None of us want to imagine that, one day, we will be gone. We take for granted that we can think, move and socialize one day, and the next, we are no more. It's impossible to imagine. But we are gone and it is those who remain who have the work to do. Filling the space left by someone who died is a process. The truth is, that you can't "fill" it. You have to go on all by yourself, even if you have support. One of the best ways to move on, is to entertain the thought that, on the way, you are going to find a new you. And the best thing about it, is that you have control and can begin, or stop, or delay the finding of your new life, exactly the way you wish. No longer, is there someone to help you work it out, or give you wise or otherwise welcome or not,  advice. You're the boss now. And it doesn't matter how many people around you who think they are going to do this for you, try. They can't. It's your life. All the decisions are yours whether others realize it or not. While the road ahead might be rocky or smooth is something unpredictable, because even the best highways have their cracks. Inside you, are all the tools you need to proceed, and while you will listen and nod and smile or perhaps frown at what happens in your environment, you are only you, and you're in control. The long term bond that you were cast out of very recently, is no long there, and here you are at the entrance of a new you in the making. This is your chance at a second chance, whatever that might be. If your former life was in a certain pattern because there were two of you, this is the time to go onward in your own way, with no consultation necessary. Sure. You might make mistakes but they're your mistakes and only you can fix them and that's okay. You will know how to do it on your own. Human beings have a wonderful capacity for invention, innovative action, creative planning and the execution of plans. If you face a huge life change when your former union ended, you are given actually, whole new start. It may be a harder road ahead but it's possible.  When what I call "my first life" ended with a death, I had a chance without regretting any of the "first life", to begin the next one. Not everyone around me agreed with my direction, but I didn't want to waste any time getting on with my journey. I carried with me, the heart of my first life as comfort, but not to dictate my new decisions. The learning period began and there was legion to learn. I had to depend on the me that was me, entirely. Life was not going to be about grieving and regret, but about an adventure that lay ahead. Being older, I didn't have time to waste. And a decade later, now, I am someone different and the same, but of my choosing. I trust my friend will find her "You".

Zip It

Prior to 1851, a lot of time was wasted doing up. Zippers or their kin had not been invented. Even Elias Howe didn't know we would shorten the name for his invention: the Automatic Continuous Clothing Closure. If you think his were like today's zippers, alas, they were sadly lacking. Yes, there were teeth that meshed. Sort of. Before Elias entered your life, when you went off to a call of nature behind closed doors, in those days, it took a long time before you emerged again. Think of your great grandmother's wedding dress with all those buttons down the back. People had patience. They had to. Then again, they had button hooks. But zippers hadn't reached their heydays until BF Goodrich decided to make zipping a lot easier, way along into the next century. Unfortunately, not for use to zip tires off and on. Wouldn't that be nice? When they released their latest version of the zipper, all sorts of related models entered the market. Garment makers put them in the back for a smooth effect on women's wear, men's attire became quicker, handbags and tents alike were zipping merrily along until today you wouldn't know what to do without a zipper. Eschewing velcro. But no zipper is infallible. We are thankful for zippers in the dead of winter when little junior comes in, all snow-covered needing to use the facilities and fast. On the other hand, we don't miss them when going out to catch the school bus and a little zipper gets stuck. Or when your jacket suddenly sports a zip that gives up. The other day when I decided to zip up my favorite old sweater, as I closed from the bottom, it opened at the same rate. That's one zipper that is finished. And who else is going to sew a  zipper into an ancient, failing cardigan? That's too complicated for me, someone who failed Grade Eight sewing class. And we didn't take zippers, anyway, until Grade Nine. I opted for Biology at that point besides Cooking came next, and I already knew how to do pork chops. Zippers were here to stay but how?  Zippers at the side, for a long time, looked as though skirts caused a growth on left hips. Left handed people who had to manage that kind of closure were relieved when someone put lady zippers at the back. Eureka. Gone was the lumpy left look! However, with the zippers in the back, even a contortionist could possibly crack a vertebrae trying to pull them up when they stuck. To avoid injury, I used to swing my skirt around to the front, fix the zip and then and then swing it back. Those were the days when hips and waists equalled each other. Someone came along with the new coloured zippers that would supposedly disappeared in the sewing if you were lucky enough to find the perfect hue. And next, were the hidden zippers that looked a wee bit like the seam they lived in. Not all stitchers could hide them very well, however. And finally to all feminists' joy, zippers went front and forward. Men knew all about that convenience and finally women had caught on. Jeans were here to stay - and stay and stay.  But all zippers  I have ever heard of are not perfect. Nothing is more frustrating than a broken zipper. We continue to wait for the super zipper.

Too Many Cooks

We all know what happens to the "broth" when there are too many cooks. Social media is Pandora's Box when we in the tech era, opened that one. Among all of the metaphors that aptly doppelganger what's happening in the world today, is  one truth. We humans and our boastable large brains have made a mess of it. We all put our two cents worth of opinion into the mix and bought a ticket straight to hell. But wait; it isn't hopeless. While we have the crisp ticket to the underworld, so to speak, we don't have to use it. That's the other beauty of human being. We can change and become decent and kind and caring of all other living things on this precious planet. Within us lies both good and bad and no one escapes that fact. There is more good than bad in some people, but no one is entirely bad. The job is to determine in our fellow man, what is admirable and what to be cautious about. We have to seek out ways of inviting their good to emerge. And that's not easy sometimes. I have a saying. Inside every person including our very selves, yes, there is a tiny mean bone. It's the little hidden thing that laughs when someone does something not at all funny, but we just can't seem to stop it. It's the one that causes jealousy and all of the other seven deadly so-called sins, to pop out and surprise ourselves sometimes. It's the one we have to keep hidden and hold back and work at daily. The cell phone is the most useful but, potentially terrifying, object worse than the A and H bombs or the red phone of yore, and while most of the population uses it with respect and control, there are those who can't resist letting their fingers do the walking right into the blackest of spaces. Every temptation to let that little mean bone free has to be quelled if we don't want this lovely planet, so delicate and dear, to end in tragedy. Biggest inside all of us, is everything good and beautiful and true, and those weapons can beat the evils. Like you, using the media to see the "news" daily, I can't resist clicking on the little blue icon and commenting. It's not a private action. and we know it, but there is an opportunity to  save ourselves by making what we "say" positive and thoughtful, not spitting out bile to get even with something that made us angry. I am often disgusted at how cruel some of the comments I read, can be. Who are these people, I think? And why are their spiteful jabs, not stopped by the editors? But they present us with a challenge. They are asking to be ignored and categorized as "nutcases" much like the shells of walnuts all homely and ridged and scored. They, like empty shells, are only a useless mass, bound to disintegrate eventually. But we, on the other hand, the good guys, can shed a light that makes sense, is an intelligent observation and in the end, makes us feel good. If there are too many of us media "cooks"adding our own spices to the mix, let's make it our part to sweeten the "broth".

Spin Off

I won't repeat McCluhan's oft quoted assessment of the media but what he wrote has become blatantly true, without a doubt. Tacking a journalism degree at the end of a name doesn't give some reporters the authority to report what is mostly fiction and fully meant to get attention but not to clearly enlighten. Too many young news hyper wannabees don't get it. They seem ignorant of what the general public wants. Sure, there are those in the audience who hunger for dirt but most people want facts from reports: facts applied with taste and talent. Some of our newbie journalism grads seek fame by shoving  their names under "breaking news" that hasn't yet happened. But that's nothing new. Just look at the top newspaper archives of headlines down through the years, they've had to pull due to that kind of enthusiasm. Those "buying" the news these days, and not all is printed on paper any more, is reporting that tells us what really happened with no errors and no imminent post apologies. We want facts. We will do the piecing them together when we have heard from  good reporters and primary sources. Give us truth, and give it plain and simple. We'll be the "judge and jury". We don't need to be insulted by your spin, thank you very much. Give us photos for sure but ones that enhance the facts, all of them, not just the amateur cell phone mavens' tiny slice of  reality. These pics are useful, but only if the publisher scrutinizes them for ethical standards. Those that are picked up by respectable journals shouldn't ignore ethics that have good reasons for being there. A picture of other human individuals is a highly personal and private matter, not something to be done for Press to make money, spite or fame. Professional journalism is not social media junk. Lately, that has gone way beyond good taste. Another thing I regret is that media folk have taken up "investigative" reporting. The two are not synonymous. Reporting is telling the truths. Investigating is a process for finding the truth, but is not truth itself. I find these kinds of journalistic speculative ventures,wieldy. The first step is examining whether the reporter is trustworthy him/herself. I am seldom impressed with the biog under the piece that tells me the writer "has a keen interest" in the subject. I want the ones that state what the reporter has actually done in the field he/she reports on. Since most investigative reporters are merely empathically nosy and bold, doesn't make what they print and photograph necessarily unbiased and factual. Firstly, what they say is meant to shock and gain your attention as a reader or viewer or listener, and secondly, it presents only one side of any story. It has thick spin without the necessary fully proven factual needed exploration. Every single act of the best reporting must show both sides objectively and leave the decision as to its veracity up to a critically thinking audience. Or should.