Number Nutsy

 The other day I was asked suddenly what my phone number was and I, like you, stumbled for a bit. The old hack excuse is "I hardly ever call myself". Most people would laugh it off, but when you're an elder, you get The Eye and the Nod. Nonetheless, it brought to mind the number of numbers and letters I have to remember from day to day. I am not a frequent cell phone user much to the tongue clucking of those around me, therefore, I do not grab a little plastic thing to answer every question there is, as do users. I have a very old fashioned rolling gizmo with little white cards on it that tells me numbers and addresses and names and it's even cross referenced. My cell phone, yes I do have one, goes with me only when I step outside the door. I am not a person who needs to confirm her existence by constantly looking at a phone screen. I don't even like the things in my house. Visitors who bring these itsy bitsy nuisances inside, seem to be tied to them like umbilical cords. They will leap up when their itsies ding at them and rush to see who it is. To me it's as laughable as they find me without a cell phone in hand. Cela. But numbers are not only getting longer,  they are also complicated with letters and symbols adding more complicated lengths. Beside my desk computer ( I like a big screen with touch) along with the Rolodex. is my cell phone dutifully plugged in ready to go out with me when I choose to take it. I don't have a dog. When I get a parcel delivered for online shopping, the order comes with a mile-long tracking number. Why do I need to track what I pay someone to deliver? I used to delete these incredibly long numbers, but occasionally I have to use them when one of those off-shore companies takes ones money but neglects to send the product. But usually I delegate these lengthy numbers to a file that grows exponentially. These numbers are a mile long and almost as silly long as the ones you get when you "register" cyberwise, such as your security code for a seven dollar online game. Once I asked why, and was told it was so that it would be hard for hackers. Huh? Hackers are always ten steps ahead of the rest of us anyway. Then there are item order numbers, to store. My groceries get a new number every time I add or subtract something from the list before it comes. Other numbers are "important" such as my health care number, driver's license, bank card pin and social security number. We are told never to divulge them and that we will never be asked them over the phone. And phone numbers being private, are also a joke because those idiot phone scammers have a computer number app that gets you from as far away as India or the Philippines or Dallas, Texas. Private phone number? Ha. And don't be fooled by the tone of voice on the other end, they are not the FBI nor are they your friendly credit card guys. Hang up. And those very secret passwords?  If I put my list of numbers that give all the passwords I have been forced to change for all the places that want them - or else they'll block me - end to end, they'd reach the moon. I wish we got one number when we are born and that was it. It would save the files and lists and places to hide the combinations and permutations and frustrations, so that I can get on with what I am wanting or looking for or needing that I can't get any other way but by a number I don't remember. Oops, there's The Look and The Eye. 

After The Bug

 Grieving is a complicated thing and now that many who have lost their elders and others during the height of the pandemic are doing so. The time has come to contemplate rather than panic. Scientists and governments are constantly criticized and hounded as to why this virus happened, who did it and who isn't doing enough and what is going to happen next and when and how it will pay out. One group, for example, is demanding apologies from hospitals for the infections that they say were responsible for family death. Viruses are devious and completely free of prejudice. Their only goal is to latch onto a place where they can multiply to stay alive. Humans are fighting back as well as they can but it appears to be a challenging job to keep up. Grief has stages and it has been determined that the stages don't come in neat order but jump around back and forth, up and down on the list of symptoms, before reaching the final stage that is acceptance. And even then, some in grief, don't get that far. Losing a loved one is the worst form of sadness not just because it is a shock to the human psyche, but also because, untimely, it pops up in the most unexpected times. There are no rules. We've all been through a lot in the last couple of years and no one has escaped the effect, not even me, an eternal optimist. Yes, there were times when I, too, could see what looked like it could descend into something sci fi movies relate as the end of all human life. But what an optimist does, is keep its head above water and struggles to make it stay that way even in the darkest of times. We are fighters against the negatives. Can't help it. But some well meaning, fine folks, just cannot seem to dig out of the pit of morbid moods and their feelings are to be understood and empathized with. Blaming others is not a good bandage to wrap oneself in, however. It doesn't really work. After the apologies, then what? Move on? Feel satisfied? Stop grieving? Unfortunately, no. An apology demanded of a hospital for example, a place where everyone in it, does their best under the most difficult circumstances, including personal danger, is a pretty fuzzy apology even if given. In my "book", an apology is more. It's a kind of payback, not in money, but in sincerity. For a hospital to apologize means that some stranger or a group of them, speaks their regrets but nothing, certainly not words, can bring back the dead or change what was. It's over and done with, and words aren't sticks and stones. They can hurt, but they can't cure what was, what happened in the past. What truly helps grief, is time and for time to work, it needs the griever's patience and perseverance. There is no prescription for curing grief. I lies buried in the griever. It is somewhere to be discovered and met and dealt with. Been there.

Little Old Ladies

 Read a report this morning about elders with dementia who are abandoned in hospital ERs by exhausted family care-givers. They can no longer tolerate the lack of help and funding to carry on even though they may love their person very much. The term is called "granny dumping". First of all, the action is horrendous and says much about the disrespect society has for its elders and second of all, it is rude to use "granny dumping" as a term for this action. It's highly offensive to females because as many, or perhaps more males, are affected even though ordinarily not as long living. The former matter has to do with under funding and the disgraceful economic discrimination that exists in the matter of commercial care homes. The second one has to do with the press who uses the term thus furthering it whether intended or not. Having once cared for an elder twenty four seven who was blind and physically incapable, but who needed constant care, I know how exhausting it can be. Tagging that kind of commitment with governmental supplemental "respite" help is a joke. Sending someone in to allow you to "get away" for an hour or two to shop doesn't in any way, make up for all the other hours including endless sleepless nights. And outside "home" care is too expensive costing usually, more than paying a luxury five star hotel fee plus the extras. And the complexities one has to suffer in finding and accessing funding and placement is a nightmare.  No average person can afford  a "good" home for what amounts to double the average wage to pay out monthly.  We fret constantly about what comes out of our mouths that may be offensive to someone, while at the same time, get away with how we treat our elders who are afflicted through no fault of their own with dementia. I know. When we wanted to attend a family reunion some hundreds of miles off, we took our elder who needed constant care, to a highly rated "home" for the week. But only a day or two later, we were called and told that we needed to bring immediately, some fresh pajamas. We told the manager that we had packed two pairs or could they launder them there, or purchase new ones because of our distant location. "It's against our policy and schedule" we were told, but only after some chat, finally resolved it. Extra charges were needed. But the experience left us shaken to learn about the complexities of even the best of elder care facilities. What of the other "homes" that were not rated so? What happens to our elders whose families cannot afford outside care and do it themselves? Why do not all homes offer the same elder care at the same charges? Why is it such a trial to find placement? And why do we use terms such as "granny dumping" in reference to those of old age, something that no one escapes. These questions are now. Everyone knows that the answer is spending money on it and lots of it because we all grow old. No one escapes old age. It doesn't discriminate.

Down The Hatch

 Groceries are a huge budget item what with further global warming effects on agriculture. There is no denying that expenses continue to rise and other than housing, food is a biggie. Any time there is a problem it needs to be examined just as the doc does when you hurt somewhere. We are hurting a lot at the check out counter and part of the solution is scrutiny. When was the last time you sat down and seriously looked at what you spend on food? It's time for that exercise. If you can find a spot in your busy life filled with miscellanea, perhaps the whole family could gather to examine  home food costs and how to cut back. Families eat every day and generally don't pay much attention to the outgo. Grocery stores provide us with check-out lists. Save them and take a post-shop look. I buy almost entirely online and have my groceries, in paper bags, delivered to my door. It costs me less than taking my car out. Now, I peruse each item on my computer before pressing the button to buy a selection. I can view each and every item by picture and if desired, find details about the product. In the end I can go over the list and contemplate what to remove if necessary. Also, later on second thought, can change my order list. Okay, it takes time but when the average family is spending, or shall, one thousand food dollars a month, why not? Most people like to see and maybe feel each item they buy. Why? The truth, they admit, is that it's a social occasion. Not one I like, and my online shoppers are as good or better than me. I know what I want and it comes or a substitute, if I checked that box. I don't have to spend time marching up and down aisles I've been on  every week for years. I have better things to do. Okay, you have the last grocery checkout list in front of you. Go down it and see where you can reduce. While the food fadies who indulge in local markets, the expensive ones, you wise folks might want to consider the old boring and cheaper forms of what are the exactly the same kinds of foods, from an element POV.  What's wrong with ground beef over steak? Same thing, different format. Hot dogs once in awhile are okay even if they use "every" part of a creature. Not yuk, truly practical I call it. As to veggies, they are green or yellow or red. Pick by colour and try the ones on sale. Green is green, a carrot is a carrot. Buy bulk. Try baking your own bread. Way cheaper and get the kids involved. Use a mixer to do the hard work. The rest is simple. Buy a small freezer and save. Organic costs more, but who's to know?  I won't tell. Cut back on the fancies and settle for stews, soups, cheaper cuts in meat. Popcorn works. Chop the costly junk items off the list: those lunchy munchies that come in little plastic packages but offer nothing in the way of nutrition and add to our pile of waste. In fact, kids should pack their own lunches and stuff them with a range of good choices you set out. You can whack down that grocery bill if only you look at it wisely before tapping your card.

Wha Wha Wha

Wha wha wha whining makes for most of the "news" lately.  Where's the logic? You hear "the government isn't doing blah blah for me " , "my taxes are too high". Contradiction in operation. It appears that the general population while complaining constantly about paying taxes, persists in griping about what "the government" isn't doing for them personally. "They aren't giving me what I want even though I haven't done a whit about trying to do it for myself" seems to be more the truth.  The G is U! You ARE the government technically. Since you can't get out there to do whatever it is the G does, you elect a G to do it for you. You pay tax money so that it can be done. But there's only so much money to go around. Lately, the criticism encouraged by the tongue-hanging-out-press, is personal. My hotel room isn't what it should be when I have to isolate, the emergency food isn't good enough, I want someone to call me up personally to inform me about the latest requirements for travel, why can't I travel where I wanna, why isn't the G giving me what I need?  Wha wha wha. Ever heard about Do It Yourself? Or Tough It Out? Even our kids expect someone else to do everything for them. Can they wash and iron and clean? Can they make their own meals? Can they walk to school and events? They are driven  to games, school, shopping, social events by harried parents who appear to do nothing but run them around or long-suffering grandparents who have no other life. They are spoon fed and pampered and if ever they happen sadly to experience a disaster, they are not prepared to do anything for themselves. They are, for some odd reason, given by parents absolutely whatever, whenever and wherever they want. Who ever heard of saying a flat out NO to kids these days? Or yes you will do it because I said so, end of conversation. I have listened to mothers spending long periods of time over their screaming brats in a mall, explaining why junior cannot have all that he or she sees and wants. "No" and "home" would do and be far less publicly annoying.  Most kids are so accustomed to a world always bending their way that they don't have the tools for survival on their own. Sure, they are smart, but are they resourceful? Smart doesn't go far other than the gold star up in the corner. Winning stars or gold medals doesn't make for a real life. It all comes down to DIY. If you can't figure out a way to avoid the pitfalls, you can and likely will, fail. Those travelling have an onus to investigate the how-tos for themselves, not blame the government for telling them personally.  It is not the G's fault that there is a virus. It is YOUR, OUR responsibility to look after things no matter what is presented to us. Find out what is needed, search for a way, work toward what you require. Belly aching to a panting news reporter gets you nothing that lasts longer than a couple of air minutes or a line or two of text. Want success?  Do it yourself. Wha wha wha is a noise only.

Go Public

 Today after reading a previous article regarding proven abuse by a professional, another individual decided that it, too, would lodge a victim complaint. I'm not going to state much more about this person because, frankly, the tale is a no-tale. Such nonsense is called "hogwash" but it draws the occasional hungry reader to the swill just the same. It appears that now, many so-called reporters are "independents", and can write up just about anything someone jogs along and tells them. They are hungry for a "story", something juicy to feed the equally peckish reader looking for a tale of woe to cluck over.  It makes me wonder when I read some of these, fortunately rare, "reports" where on earth their scribers came from.  Behind a fast food counter perhaps or out of a large room full of computer folk clicking away all day in their little booths. Not that there is anything bad about holding down an honest job, any job.  While the independent reporter, one of the kind who have a degree of written English and a hard aspiration  toward being hired as a reporter by one of the paper biggies (dream on) does it to attempt to collect a steady salary and become a professional journalist. If that happens, the newby will quickly learn the code that truly fine journalists adhere to. It is not an easy calling.  Like ambulance chasers and the paparazzi, the amateurs scout about, still hanging on to their day jobs, just-in-case, while trying to sniff up some dirt to scribble and submit, if nothing else, their picture will end the texting on the thing and glean, for their future,  further attention. And apparently, as in this lame article that offers zilch as proof of the complainants case as being abused, the verbiage says nothing that holds an iota of authority. The whole rather well written, but completely air-filled with the hot stuff , piece, is nothing but the hearsay of the complainer. In the four or five paragraph article with photographs of the attractive victim, there is not a shred of any sort of documented fact,  other than the so-called victim's own statement.  It speaks of a setting that is believable enough, but the "pain" experienced is the victim's related experience alone. The supposed victim tells that a friend had the same routine medical procedure with no pain, while in itself did have extreme pain, and blames the perpetrator for it. There were others present, but apparently the amateur reporter deigned to gather supportive comment. Oops not very professional. Broad hints of monetary reparation were revealed as being sought by the victim, with no veracity to the tale whatsoever. I noted that the victim's photo as well, appeared somewhat digitally enhanced. It seems everyone likes to appear their very best even when exposing personally ill situations  to the media. Of course the media likes it, too, since everyone, especially news readers, are drawn to a comely face. I rarely see many, what I call "homely" people, these days. anyway. They all disappeared sometime around the wide spread use of  laser,  pimple cream and Botox. At any rate it seems that anyone can be a reporter. Just make sure to call yourself "an independent reporter".

Camera No

 When I was a world traveler flying with far less cost and hassle than now, the camera was always out there waiting to capture something rare. You wanted faces and people that were different than in your space. You were able to snap scenes with people in them freely and catch the smiles and waves to show everyone when you got back home. But now, when you go abroad, you don't take people pictures without asking, because it is considered an insult. And when you think of it, it is insulting for someone to photograph you and walk away with your image to do whatever they please with it including sending those images wherever and to whomever they choose. We have become what we might call more sophisticated about the matter of taking pictures of persons. I fully agree that we ought, indeed to be. Being no more, as I am now, someone who looks good in a snapshot from any angle, make-up or not, the camera on me, has become an offense. Cameras are not friendly machines. They "love" some people and do horrible things to others  who have certain shapes, shadows and bad reflective qualities. Saying "oh no, they tell the truth" is nonsense. They tell "a" truth, but not the true truth. If it were so, why would photographers spend time and money on special lenses, lighting and locations. And let's not forget the old fashion magazine habit of air brushing or digitally enhancing what they put on view. Everyone loves to look their best or film it, even if it means doing a little bit of magic using whatever tech methods are available. What I find the worst, is going to an event with friends and someone is cell-phoning everyone with this scary device. Cell phones, I admit do take great pics, and I am as guilty as anyone doing it, but with my efforts, a lot of editing time follows and I am being careful about where I am sending the pictures of people. If they don't look good, their picture goes to delete. When someone sends me their reams of photos after an event, I often see myself in them, at my worst. I recall that I tried to hide behind other people or put on my best face, but inevitably when I see myself  on film, I am horrified, and want to run behind the nearest tree and stay there. Who is this person, me of late, who looks like Jaba The Hut with an emphasis on hut because I am one. Others, who I assume are the same height and weight and width as I am, look far more appealing than this individual in the same scene, and the individual happens to be me. The truth is, I am not who or what I think I am. Apparently, according to psychologists, it's true. Most of us think we are pretty lovely but we have our flaws. And I get that. But I have to say, some people take great pictures when in real  life they aren't quite as perfect as their photographs. Do you know what I mean? 

Treasured Memories

To lose everything you ever loved or worked for and seeing it passing away before your very eyes as some  people did during the floods, is much like a deathwatch. Many of we elders have sat by a bed and held a hand, knowing that a life partner's end is near, very near,  and that when it happens, others will tell one to "let it go", "tomorrow is another day" and to "move on". None of these words meant in kindness, really help. They are usually spoken by those who have not been there, as you have. They're easy words to say, but impossible to follow. A friend of mine whose husband died, wore his sweaters and she was told at a counselling group for widows, that she should not wear the sweaters because they weren't allowing her to "move on". Moving on, is something different for everyone and there are people who do not want to "move on". They are happy to cling to memories because it gives them great pleasure to recall their past. And what is the harm in it? There are others, who cannot move beyond recounting their grief at loss to anyone who will listen. A very old man once opened every conversation with "I lost the wife, you know" and he found great solace in hearing back, the comforting words.  One person who lost family members decades ago, found his  comfort in relaying his losses to anyone who had also, and would join him in tears and hugs of grieving. Another individual "moved on" too quickly for his family's comfort, and they told him they would never forgive him. These examples are real and tragic and happen every day. They are about people, not things and "things" can be replaced we are told.  But to see your house filled with all your very personal treasures that took a lifetime to gather and are revered, but that are now sodden in muddy flood waters racing by, is worse. Much worse.  In the event of death, you  have memorials and funerals and gravestones and wakes, but when your home is ripped from you, there is no celebrating the terrible loss. Tomorrow comes and you are forced to wake up and start all over again. There are many tales told about the disasters but few that last beyond a few days. The media, now a  hungry monster in our midst, one that consumes us and feeds on us, and we it,  forgets and soon moves on for further events to report. The media monster seeks more prey and those who suffered the losses must depend on the more patient writers and documentarians to tell their stories of reclaiming lives once again, their trials and successes in rebuilding. Those with this sort of loss, are left to remember their past good experiences and treasured memories, to find the strength to build a new and hopefully, better life. 

Weather Watchout

 The earth is not ever completely stable however we wish it so. Since its first times, our world has been evolving and humans are part of this globe. Like all the other animals on our planet, we do our best to survive whatever our lives are presented with, in whatever ways we choose to deal with them. Unlike the other animals, we humans have brains that are highly creative and contemplative. We learn. We can learn to adjust our lives to meet challenges as do other animals, but we can do more. We are not content with simply surviving, we strive to do better in whatever way that we can invent. Most of what we do is positive, but negativity exists also. In the last few decades, our human selves paid attention to destructive human ways and a vast effort to be better people, arose more than ever. Now, during the past years, weather changes have caused upheavals that upset the balance of natural forces and some of them have been caused by Man's greed. What makes ambitious human beings good, makes them bad as well and there are those who care nothing about their fellow beings other than how much gold, a simple mineral, they can collect. It is a hopeless collection because in spite of the amount of gold, Man is mortal. He has an age limit. Speaking in terms of local issues, our lovely province, set on the shores of an ocean that is usually predictable, gentle and offering mild temperature influences. Of late, our temperate climate has been hit with floods, heat "domes", winds and rains, while at the same time, the ice caps and glaciers to our North, decline and there appears to be unheard of and unimagined surprising, and unpredictable to us, weather events. Today, I listened to my favorite government funded radio station and reports of November highway closures due to mud slides and floods. The announcer, an award winner, is someone who tends to ask challenging questions with a note of confrontation when a politician is interviewed. His questions posed to a Minister of our Province, were sharp and somewhat expressing a tone of "blame: for not being responsive enough to the recent  mudslide and floods of heavy proportion. Many people were stranded in their cars for more than one night as they were caught between slides and road washouts. Others' homes were destroyed by river overflows. The tone was that there was not adequate action or enough response by provincial government. The Minister's answers, however, were correct and informative and showed that all that could be done during such a surprising event, was being done. What I came away with, other than finding both interviewer and interviewee giving excellent presentations, was that we all need to be sharper at paying attention to weather conditions. When we are warned, we need to be actively responsive. We need to be sure to prepare for weather events at home and when and where we travel. No more, the report stressed, can we be complacent. Our creative and security sensitive natures as humans who want to survive, must be, when we are facing the natural changes of our earth, taken seriously and with serious effort. No more can we shrug off weather warnings.

Secret Gardens

 Where I live no pets are allowed. And that's fine with me even though I loved my once dogs and cats, birds and fish. What I do have to fulfill my pet need is a secret garden. It hides behind my couch right next to the west facing panel of floor to ceiling windows. No one can see my garden that lurks softly back there where no one can see, on a table shelf that holds a couple of  required artsy bits they can see. There is a fake fig tree rising above to distract and some peace lilies reaching up, but surreptitiously, at the floor level, grow oregano, thyme, garlic chives and a little tree of rosemary. No one knows they are there but me and I can keep secrets, other than telling you, of course. These verdant "pets" used to live outside on the deck, and likely dream longingly of their past homes through the glass in winter. Even though it is November, and while there is no frost in this temperate bit of Canada for now, they prefer to "winter out" in my living room. Everyone has a window, and everyone can have a green pet. It's not hard to garden even if you haven't reams of sunshine to bask in, during the winter. In fact, window gardeners will tell you that plants, or few of them, actually enjoy hot sunshine on their greenery. The greener your plant, the more it adores light, but not the heated kind. Most of the herbs you might grow, are green and if not watered too much and occasionally are given a touch of fertilizer, will thrive and produce enough herb for your enjoyment. Just seeing these greens thriving, or simply surviving, inside in places not drafty or icy, will thrill you with new tiny leaves to watch grow. I am not averse to sticking a garlic clove into some soil with its feet down of course, and the little pots of herbs you buy in the store, love to join the bigger guys in pots nearby. Naturally, you need to gather up your old saucers that hide in the back of the cupboards to put them under the herb pots. You don't want to harm those hardwood floors. Again, don't drown your green chappies, let them dry out, and then offer a lovely drink of water gently, and they will thank you. Of course, the old standby green onions, that you, I hope, have standing in water, changed daily, by your kitchen tap, to snip the tops off and colour your plated food, or to be put in a dish to dry for later, are a permanent joy. Very little of what I eat, whether it is a sandwich or fish or steak or soup doesn't have little green onion circles flitting about on top. The freshness in taste of green onion is Spring! And everyone can grow these that last from one shopping trip to another. "What is that smell" say my visitors. "Green onions of course" is my answer. You can take your sweet room scents, but leave me with the garden glory smell of cut green onion that tells me a story of something delicious in the offing. If you need a winter project, how about a secret garden? The rewards are much kinder than the daily news.

A Begging Society

 We have all gone through a trying time that isn't over yet. Everyone has endured a great deal of time and effort trying to get past the various problems associated during the Covid pandemic. Our government which is basically "us" in terms of elections and tax paying, deemed to provide relief in the form of funding to alleviate individuals, businesses and services during the worst of the pandemic shut down. As we emerge from this terrible disease, thanks to those who have done the right thing and taken the vaccines and whatever other practices were necessary, we hope to struggle out of the situation without too much loss. But unfortunately, there are some individuals who enjoyed the free ride and deign to give up looking for re-employment, who are willing to live on the lower standards that their funded lives were offered. At the same time, some kinds of businesses who need this worker are suffering. Now that it has been announced that much of this free money is going to end, there is the usual rant and complaining. It appears that the move isn't all hard hearted, however. What will happen is a filtering out of those who can and should go back to work, and those who are in desperate need for the money to continue. And that's a good thing. A friend of mine said that he found work, no matter what the pay, made his life worth living. It gave him a purpose for getting up each morning and doing something useful, however humble. I liked the sound of that. We are a work effort people.  Our society should watch that it doesn't turn into one that holds out a begging hand first, in hopes of money not earned but handed out. It can become dangerous to become that sort because it dulls one's sense of the basic human need to "work". Most people like their holidays and times off, but when these become an everyday pattern, it kills ambition and the human need and right to expend effort to receive reward. There is something very satisfying about getting that paycheck, and while we all complain it isn't enough because it never can be, we love to look at that figure in the bank account, one that we worked for. If that is taken away, we "flat line". We lose something of our psyche. While it may sound academic, it really isn't. Since the time we are very young, we always feel very pleased when we accomplish a task, do something for ourselves or build something for someone else and are praised for it. During some poorer or primitive societies that saw aides going to places who asked for help, it was found that providing the tools and expertise to equip those with the need was the best solution. People can then build personal and cultural pride in helping themselves and are thus inspired to create their own solutions done their own ways. That seems to be the most successful kind of society to live in. It's a slippery slope but one worth climbing. It's just too  easy begging and whining and blaming and being monetarily rewarded for it. It kills pride and teaches merely a continuance of the very problem itself.  

Book Expletivity

 When searching the net for a new book to read, I come across expletives such as "hilarious" or "fascinating" or "terrifying" or "intriguing". Far too often, I am taken in by the book blurb. Rather than reading a sample of the first couple of pages that gives me a relatively reliable overview of what is to come, I fall into the "buy blind" trap.  Everyone has a readership style. In my book club experience, for example, well, one of them, group members show how many varied tastes there are. Some are mystery fans, others like the suffering experience tales and still others enjoy a goofy romance. There are as many genres as there are readers. When you're my advanced age, however, you develop a jaded outlook when you look for a good read. You become very "fussy" about language and originality and honesty among other book needs. For example, the other day I saw an ad for a "hilarious" tale written by a librarian and since that was once my work forte, I bought it. It wasn't expensive, and when I turned on my Kindle, yes, I like that kind of reading as well as turn-the-page kind, it didn't take long to chuck the book.  It wasn't anything close to hilarious. The one example the author clung to, a rude occurrence amongst the stacks, simply wasn't funny. What intrigued me about the blurb before I bought the thing, was the word "hilarious" in reference to librarians. Now that's funny!  For some odd reason, even though the author explained why he did it, he also included articles taken from various sources into his pages. First of all, I dislike interruptive bits tossed in, when I am reading, and while this author can do as he jolly well pleases, being an author and all, it turned me off. The plugged-in articles were in a print that was so tiny, I needed a magnifying glass to read some of them. It wasn't my Kindle at fault, because on that, I can enlarge the print, it was mostly that after going along with this silly idea, the choice of articles was unconnected to the theme. What on earth is this writer doing? I asked myself. I am all for writers doing what they choose, but to a point. What I don't get, is why? If you have a good story to tell, tell it. Don't muck it up with little literary rocks and branches in the pathway to finis. The crux of the issue is that obviously no editor was involved or perhaps one that was too kind. Writers who scribble out their "books", and they are legion these instant cyber-publishing days, often do not have an editor. That's dangerous. We readers want what we pay for, and that is simply and clearly, a good yarn be it fiction or non. We want to come to the last page and think, wow, that was good. A great tale feels like a superb dinner .Satisfying the hungry reader means, it will return to you, search for you and take an interest in you. It means you are an author, not some jolly hack who pops in a manuscript that is full of errors and bad writing because of its warped ego. Anyone can be a writer, but not everyone can be an author. No wonder people depend upon the Kings and Atwoods and Grishams. 

Trekker's Short Trek

 William Shatner, a Star Trek chief, had his turn to go into space, however, brief and costly. He's ninety. Frankly, like you, I wondered if he'd come back alive. Not only did he do that, he made more sense than any of the others, much younger, when he stepped back onto this planet. When I learned that he was going to make this rather silly adventure, the ultimate circus ride, I thought "here we go again, having to abide another rich man's nonsense". But, not so, his comments were quite profound. While the other uniformed passengers, as they called them, rather than super circus fair riders, The Captain's remarks were almost ignored by the host, the provender of these delights, but Shatner kept his cool and said what he saw reminded him of  the frailty of life, its brief nature and its value being so.  He remarked on the seeming instantaneous passing from our life-giving atmosphere into that of a dead black emptiness in outer space. His impressions were profound, making a great deal of sense when one thinks of how important the relatively thin bit of oxygenated air we enjoy is taken for granted.  He stated that he saw from far above perhaps only fifty miles above our thin blue band, and what a beautiful home earth is and that he finally saw the difference between life and death. He wondered if the blackness of space could be compared to death, while the blue of the earth may represent life. He asked, "Is the blackness of space, what death is like?" I am not a Star Trek fan particularly, but I did very much enjoy the show's episodes and the imaginations of those who created them. Nothing is more entertaining than seeing presented,  a different place and different events on which to stretch our imaginations to and beyond their limits. Star Trek did this. On watching the ten or so minutes of this real voyage into space, a fully commercial flippant toy for the rich, while at the same time, a possibly lethal choice, I couldn't entirely dismiss it as shallow.  Even though it is the apogee of silly. The incredibly rich do silly things and we love to watch them because, hey, they are putting themselves into it. Not us. It's much safer and way cheaper to be ordinary and we must be kind of grateful for those who go on these flights and help stimulate our incredible and impossible ambitions. What I felt when I saw William Shatner tear up as he commented on his rapid upsy downsy flight into space, was a closeness for the man. He isn't a lot older than I am, and I congratulate him for the physical toll that it must have taken for making this adventure. The others with him, were much younger and when they touched down and got out of the tiny close cabin that brought them safely back, they jumped out and clutched their groupies with yells and whoops and champagne flying about. None of them seemed deeply affected with serious thoughts. At least not yet. That will come to them later but Mr. Shatner didn't fall into the celebrity whoohah trap. He had something serious to say about it and even his host at one point, said the camera, was distracted and turned  to the other foolishness going on while Shatner was broken off mid-sentence, still evidently more deeply affected at what had just happened while the others were jumping about in excitement.  I was most impressed by this man, not his celebrity, but his thoughtful comments that make him the truly great person he must be. Good on yuh Mr. Shatner. Welcome home!

Cloud Watch

 Most of us don't pay much attention to clouds, but to me, they are my daily breakfast. Yes, I am retired and I take full advantage of it. Being a single, offers many benefits: do what you wish when you wish how you wish the way you wish. One of my "wishes" is to do what I did as a child: to play, to listen and read and snack and watch. I am done with protesting and serving and working and worrying, obligations and friendships and relationships or any other kinds of ship. I like being alone and in that, not thinking about what loneliness means. Loneliness is very much of one's own doing. There are alone benefits such as cloud watching, that cost nothing but give a lot. Even working people can do it if they try. Every morning, I am an early riser, I take the cup of coffee with honey and cream and sit on my little deck in my swinging basket chair and look up. I am not in a marble glass concrete structure but in an old, bit tacky one I love, and I do look mostly at the back of another building, but from my deck, I have a lovely wide and long patch of sky with ten gorgeous tall cedars and firs poking above. I call them my sentinels because where I live on a hill top above the sea, they are some of the few left to protect us from Pacific winds. Today, for example, there is storm brooding. It isn't in full roar but the great trees are bending and bowing to it, the firs are dancing. And above in the sky I see flying past, gigantic dinosaurs of unknown kind, dragons and monsters and strange fish made of cloud. They come from the sea and their changing shapes and forms sail past while a few braver gulls and small flocks of crows are brave enough to try out the wind's invisible demands. Yesterday, a perfect vee of geese or swans or some other sizeable bird flew in a determined shape northward and thrilled me to know it was fall here and now. When I was a kid, right before becoming an adolescent, I used to lie on a small mountain of moss covered granite on my grampa's farm in Haney, and look up at the sky wondering what my life would be. Now four decades later, I remember that moment and those clouds, as if it were yesterday. What did that child know what was to come: the births, the places, the people, the work, the deaths and divorces and dark times and most of all the joyous, beautiful ones? And here I am now, watching clouds and wondering how many people think of looking at them for longer than "looks like rain today" or "oh boy, it's a day for golf". Taking time to watch a cloud go from your horizon, left to right and then pick up another batch heading in the same direction, giving the shapes names and fantasy destinies  is a form of meditation that fades out problems and pain. It gives you a holiday from what stress you created for yourself, and takes you to places you didn't think you owned. In our very heads we have endless entertainments ready to be picked up and explored and clouds help us do just that. If we let it. Cloud watching is a little like trying out walking in snow or standing in the rain naked, or lying on your back in a grassy field and breathing everything around you and listening to the quiet. There's far more to life when you take twenty minutes of your life and try just being. Outside the tower you work in, or at your desk or in the classroom or factory or shop or restaurant, there is another life for you. It's up there in the sky. Your clouds await. 

Being Remembered

Few of us are remembered after we die and it doesn't really matter much in the long run. The famous are remembered in statues and books and names. Even these remembrances are often at risk in this day of a great anger amongst the humans of our current era. But even as insignificant as most of us think we are, we are not. We all matter in a way that we might not know. Recently, some footprints evidently made by children over thousands of dozens of years ago were found and preserved. These little children's prints were made apparently as they pranced about perhaps in play, due to their pattern, the scientists tell us. The children are remembered as we imagine, what their little lives were like in the days far, far back. Were they boys or girls or both? What games were they playing? What did they look like? What were their homes and lives  then? All of these questions come to mind when we look at the footprints. We remember those children and their prints remind us that no matter how humble or important we are in our societies, what we do and are, could  possibly be remembered even centuries from now. Of course, we're not going to run out and make footprints in the mud, but as we carry on in our day to day lives, we need to know that it is not just great deeds that will be remembered. When we look around in antique stores or visit museums and ponder on artifacts, most of them are not crown jewels or great art, but simple items such as stone weapons, fishing gear, hunting spears, baskets and pottery shards. What you and I handle or use or invent in our daily lives matters because long from now, we could be remembered for them. Our DNA might be part of what we touch or create or build or plant or stitch. We don't know this now, but what we should know, is that what we do matters. Even the smallest and most simple things matter. I saw a film not long ago about a famous maker of a unique vehicle and how his dream was too early for the society he lived in. But his dream lives and what he created will never die, but always be remembered even though it seemed a failure during his time. Time is fickle.  Also, I recall a man in a small village I lived in, someone who had a dream of a community of residences, one that was beautiful and self-sustaining and right architecturally. He put everything he owned into beginning a very eternally and appropriately styled group of homes that were unique and practical and attractive. The buildings were only nine, as he could manage, but they were wonderful to live in. They were made with local materials and employed local persons. There were cedar roofs and siding, cedar ceilings and more than ample skylights to let in the views near the sea. I know because on a bank sale, I lived in one. The venue proved not only to be aesthetic but also marvellous to live in because the quality of construction was supervised by he and his wife who cared about what they were doing. His name isn't remembered in pleasant terms because even today some think he was precocious for his time. What he lost is what locals remember, but I will never forget living in that multistoried home with ample levels and inside spaciousness and angles and fine finishes and views of the ocean and sky. What came later as "add-ons", were cheap and lacked quality and durability, as proved, but they sold. I remember, as do those who lived there, this developer and their plans even though they "failed". Like footprints, they matter. Remembered beyond our grave stones and statues or paint and words could be, simply what we are.  

Win And Lose

You can win games and lose them. Elections aren't games. They are people voting for something that matters to them; at least those who care to vote. After an election such as the one that just ended, there is a lot of chest bashing and teeth gnashing. "What went wrong" is the usual question and along with it, "what mistakes did our party make and how can we fix it for the next election". I propose that these questions are merely rhetorical since the result of an election is just that, and nothing more. You win or you lose by votes. It turns out the way it did. Period. In the voting system, no matter the style, it's the way it works for whatever  reasons. In today's world when no one seems to be able to live with the "what is, is" philosophy, there is always the searching around for reasons "why". The "why" can't be solved because people change, societies change and rules change. Agonizing over "why" doesn't apply to the result present and, in fact, it draws energy away from simply getting on with the realities and growing, rather than looking back and whinging over the past. For some odd reason, the world today is one that does nothing but look back in seeking something or someone to blame. Blame is a way out of accepting the "what is, is - and let's just get on with it" issue. Blaming someone or something else makes people feel they can step out of their own guilt and point to others as those who made it all happen. "They had nothing to do with it". Sadly, they want someone's words to hear apologizing to make themselves feel better. Words do nothing to solve what happened in the past, and furthermore someone or something that is apologising may know nothing about or have had nothing to do with, the matter at hand. To me it seems a completely silly situation. To atone, you have to actually do something concrete and it should be done by the creatures who perpetrated the event, not by words. I know it isn't "politically correct"  (how tired I am of hearing this nonsensical term) in current day conversation, to say this, but it's true. What is "politically correct"? Sometimes, it isn't "correct" at all, but serves only the popular opinions of the times and places in which it is used. At this stage, after The Election, there is griping and worrying away at the results while it was simply, an election. The way it turned out is the way it is. It is what the populace wants, not some devious kind of plan or another party forcing it to be the way it turned out.  It appears that the parties, all of them, are busily examining every aspect of the result that they aren't happy with, and analyzing ways to make appropriate changes. Hey guys, next time who knows what is -right to do to win. The world turns and no one can accurately predict "next time". The answer is to, at the time of campaigning which is a relatively useless endeavor with "debating" that is ridiculous and not at all  debate, because those so-called debaters have no idea how to debate. Or perhaps they ignore the way debates ought to be conducted. What did that candidate wear, how did they speak the second language, was their hair  right, did they sweat, what was their body language, did they blush or frown or look angry or embarrassed - the list goes on. Those of us, we the common citizen voters, regard it as "here we go again" but we continue to go out and vote and we even tolerate all the fuss and fury and fashioning occurring among the winners and losers afterward. We aren't the political stars, but our one little vote can make or break them. Ta dah. 

What's Left?

Just heard a couple of saddening reports. Children below the age of puberty engaging in sex and that a number of first year women students at university are drugged and raped. Realizing that you oughtn't to believe everything you read and hear via the media, one knows that there must be a fraction of truth and vital questions should be asked. Media, especially broad social media and the entertainment world, is partly to blame. It's not unusual to hear smart-mouthed cartoons and films made for kids whose roles show children swearing, experiencing adult events and even being part of them. I don't see the humour in that.  Some parents would argue that they are merely preparing children for a world that is far different than my "old fashioned" one where there were virgins and politeness and modesty and decorum and good manners all 'round. Of course, in my day, there were the opposites, but rather rarely, and to find children being just children is becoming an experience you find only at younger and younger ages. So what is going on? Are we preparing children for a world that is increasingly dangerous with the advent of social media and its horrendous negative possibilities along with the benefits? Are we not preparing young women who think that random sex and a lot of it, isn't normal? What it is that we are not doing as opposed to what we should be doing? Or both? First of all, putting a cell phone with anything in the world possible into a child's hands is taking a chance. Sure you can block out certain aspects, but other kids find ways to pass that by. When children younger and older, enter the outside world at school and college, they are in the real world with both feet on the ground. And no matter what you did or do at home or say or think, might not be what is really happening for them, and, furthermore,  you cannot follow your kids around all day long. I know that many parents don't let their little ones out of their sights, but that is just not possible wholly. As to women entering university, they are in a place where anything goes. It is loosely called "freedom" and parents haven't much influence when their adult offspring go out that door. Peers are the rulers  after puberty and we all know it even though we may have forgotten. But in these times,  it seems that youngsters below puberty are now targeted and not by outsiders, but by their peers. Virginity, for example, is a one-time thing and its value is not antiquated. Like any other "rite of passage" in one's life, it calls for some consideration, not just a passing blink. It's a part of life that is the end of something as is giving up toy dolls and toy trucks. It has significance. It is a personal time and a personal choice. Reports of campus rapes as a result of partying ( these are not parties but one of the ways  to find oneself socially) make me wonder about the value of parent child communication. Communication is often blocked between parent and child for some reason and both suffer. They say not, but that's not true. I don't know the answer to solving these ugly problems that can destroy a young person's identity for life. The old love and communication, just-being-there-no-matter-what for our kids, goes a long way. 

True or False

 Yesterday, I got a call from someone who said "they" would be around that afternoon to clean my fireplace. My response was that this was the first I had heard of it and my fireplace, that I use seldom, did not need cleaning because it had been done last fall. His answer was "but we recommend it be cleaned annually". I thanked him and said that, yes, as he suggested if I "changed my mind" I would call him back. Instead, I went online and learned that unless you use your fireplace a good deal, as perhaps your principle form of heating, it is unlikely to accumulate dust and so on to need cleaning every year. The article suggested perhaps up to three years would do. Mine, in the old building I inhabit, had likely never been cleaned because it is largely decorative since there is heating in the floors. What I found interesting about this experience, is how one is to find the facts about dealing with even minor situations such as this one. When I went on line, there were fifteen ads for fireplace cleaners before I got to one that gave me the facts without the commercial hype, about the job. And furthermore, I wondered how many elders without computer knowledge, would have gone on the seller's word without checking to see if she wanted to spend a hundred or more dollars to have a clean fireplace "cleaned".  But one incident like this sets me to realize that "out there" unscrupulous individuals make their living taking advantage of elderly folks or those not of sharp mind, who would be doling out their sparse cash unnecessarily. My generation, if we must divide living persons into categories, is a rather kindly one, given to trust. Trust is a valuable commodity that seems to be couched in colourful but often fictional verbiage rather than truth, in commerce, these days. One must be cynical and check carefully before shelling out money because a business says you "need " their services. Fortunately, there are organizations such as government senior centers where that kind of advice and information is reliable and can be trusted. Advice from private individuals you trust is something earned out of personal experience with another. Even then, at times, the trust is betrayed. The long story, is to trust your own instincts and resources that you know are reliable. If you don't have access to a computer with its wide based authority, makes seeking information tricky. If I had my way, I would want every elder to buck up and get a computer of some sort and learn how to use it. Excuses such as, oh it's not for me, it's for young people. Nonsense! If you lived all your years doing what you did, you have already proved that you can learn and that it's your own stubborn mind-set that prevents you from learning. Open up your mind and your life and get going folks, you are the only one standing in your way. Sit down with a pal who isn't fixated on using impressive, unnecessary, cyber blab, but who speaks plain English or whatever your tongue is, and get going on it. Using a computer will banish loneliness and isolation because the world will be at your feet. It may also protect you from such people as the fireplace cleaner who gladly takes your money, money you can spend on a nice little computer and the time to catch up to the real world.

Radio Personalities

 Radio is back and big time. At my ablutions in the mornings, my little red "transistor" radio is my yakking companion. It gives me the news and views, a bit of what is today called music and a taste of my local happenings. I left radio over a cell phone lying on my counter top or some other form of cyber clutter, for this small backward looking device. I  have far too many cyber devices everywhere. Somehow the little radio is easier to use and looks cute in its old fashioned fifties format complete with a aerial sticking up. When I used my cell phone previously, it buzzed and went off for some odd reason and needed charging because I forgot, or some other annoying thing. This little red guy needs an overnight charge bi-monthly and looks way cuter. So back to the program on morning radio. My favorite is an early morning blab by a chap who apparently has taken on a new role. He used to be a nice guy with kids and talked about family matters and joshed with the ladies also on the show, you know, the weather and traffic women and the token female newscasters all gorgeous.  Of course the sports and financial reports are still by male RPs. Were it ever so. In the last few months, however, my morning radio "personality" has taken up political sides. When he interviews now, his tone is not as friendly, although it continues to be couched in the same words. The edge in his voice is different. With it, he incites defense in his interviewees and persists in asking some of his favorite questions. He pushes the person a tad too hard and hey, Mr. RP, we hear you, and know what you're up to. We don't want you to be doing this. We want Mr. Nice back, the fellow who liked the people he interviewed, and who reported but didn't force further matters that needed to be defended. Sure, I know you will argue against this and deny that you are doing it, but doggone it, fella, we know your voice and it says way more than your words. Not that my RP can hear me, or would care. He should be aware and pay attention. I am one of those boring sorts who are the majority of his listeners and we love him. He means a lot more to us than he knows. But hey RP,  you are turning into one of those media reporters who don't fit the old tried and true of impartiality. Frankly, furthermore, I don't like your slant because it doesn't fit with mine and that is the crux of being a radio personality, not an editorial columnist. Now I am not so sure if I like you and I have to admit that, disloyally for awhile, I turned you off. Not that you noticed because there you are with your mike on and the ladies around you very supportive. If they want to hold onto their jobs, they'd better follow the unwritten rules, whatever they may be. Too many folks in the media lately have unfortunately, deliberately or not, said a so-called bad word and been kicked out. When I left you for awhile dear RP, the next RP I met at another station was a loud, outspoken woman who didn't have a slant in her voice and she outwardly made her personal views in plain English. Of course, she worked for a "privately" owned company which might belong to one of her relatives and the reason she got away with it. What do we nothing listeners know? Another RP, on my best beloved station, does the weekend show and she manages with her sweetness to make everyone feel right at home. She has a back like a duck and everything not nice, just slides right off like water. But I missed you and  I am back to you, Mr. RP. You have private obvious opinions about politics, but it's okay because I can read your tone like one of those gizmos whose lines jump up and down on a screen. You sound right on my little red radio. We're back RP.

Old Sees New

 When you, like me, have seen world war where soldiers actually bled and widows were made, a time when a radio was your entertainment and when you went to a Disney movie, it changed your life and the years you went to school where you had to sit down, shut up and listen with no smart-mouth back talk. Then when you graduated, no one gave you a job. You took the first one that came along and didn't ask too many questions. A time when you had to board with people and deny yourself just about everything until you had a few dollars together and could actually save money in the bank. The lovely day you met the man you married until one of you died and the days after when the world changed because a president in another country was shot and the threat of world annihilation was not a virus but a nasty big bomb that could affect everyone in an instant if it got in the wrong hands. That was my time and today I see governments that do care, that shell out money at astoundingly rates, where kids don't have pimples or big noses, get spanked even when they need it and everyone can go to the doctor and be fixed for free. What a world! And in it, there are scores of beautiful, smoothed-skinned and perfect bodied young men and women who don't HAVE to get married and whose weddings and houses after and children are also perfect and they all go on fantastic holidays and drive gorgeous cars and eat ideal food and go to parties and look like movie stars all the time. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I am not in a streaming film just out with digital everything including photoshopped bodies and perfect hair. If so, I am that frumpy old lady in a blur in the background. C'est moi. But what truly amazes me is how smart young people are. At least they appear to be. There is nothing they won't dive into with great confidence and courage even if they aren't sure they are ready for it. And they are nice about everything they do. They don't fight and argue and yell and they're good at avoiding the truth if there is a disagreement. They know how to cope with a crazy world, and when it gets too crazy, they launch out and take up protests and speak against it with obvious confidence and skill. No one is shy or backward about being forward. They all have very white, straight teeth and climb mountains and hike for miles and tone up in gyms for hours doing nothing that I can see, and dance their heads off to music that surely doesn't sound like music to me but they aren't listening anyway. Where nudity and sex and genders are whatever and wherever and no one is left out and everyone counts. The world has opened up, the lid is off and Pandora is no where in sight. Anything goes except ME, and ME is what matters most. There are softly spoken words in the heat of anger, gun shots whizzing overhead at fast food places and drug taking common and everything is shiny and new and nice and pretty and I am astounded but old and largely ignored, and that's okay with me because the daily news is way more interesting than fiction. 

Racketeers

 The racketeers are at it this morning outside my window as I keyboard.  Today there are two leaf blowers on opposite lawns in this condo condensed area. The garden business is rampant and the sight of flat deck trucks with their loads of clanking miscellaneous gear is a common sight here. Little of it is actually used, but it goes along for the ride anyway. I have yet to see the folding ladder removed, or the seven rakes of various sorts applied. Most of the work involves machinery and if it can be ridden, it's the first choice. Volume is also a favorite. The more noise made, the happier the spending client is. Work sounds.  And the leaf blower is king in that department. There is almost no lawn to speak of at either of our sites, and hopefully they will disappear one day into some lovely lavender plots. But first, the single lady downstairs must get over her little hobby rows of florals that cost us a bundle in bedding plants proffered by her friends who own the garden shop, not to speak of the handsome gardener we have employed. But I digress. Seems we are supporting this lady's hobby but the condo life is a cooperative venture, thus nothing is said, let alone breathed, that might injure delicate resident egos. Back to the noise makers on their toy lawns. For over an hour these men have been walking about with their leaf blowers apparently blowing tiny strands of what is left over from the lawn cutting, another noise maker. What they are blowing, I have watched, and am mystified by. And where the very few fine little blades of grass go, is also a mystery because there is no catching apparatus. The grass thus flies about and everyone feels quite satisfied. The more noise the better reason to spend our maintenance money. Who asks questions? No condo owner wants to be labelled a "trouble maker". The two blowers seem to have a jazz contest much like the guitar players and piano buffs  during a riff. "My racket it bigger than your racket and lasts longer". One jazzes it up and the other joins in randomly. Then they have a duet. The blower guys have ear protectors on, but the rest of us have only our thin ear lobes. Seems unfair if not unhealthy. This activity goes on for hours and hours with the blower chaps circling our little lawn space repeatedly as though the first go round doesn't quite make for the hourly rate that they have contracted. Furthermore, they seem to enjoy what they do. Perhaps they are frustrated musicians, for all I know. There are noise bylaws in my small city by the sea, and the bylaw officer who evidently isn't activated until there is a complaint, is largely invisible. The noise bylaw doesn't apply to leaf blowers I take it. Cars whizzing by with their mega speakers treating us all to some brainless thumping, can be prosecuted for their offensive din, but the louder beings, the leaf blowers don't count. The offending cars are by in a moment, but the leaf blowers will be here for at least half a day at a time, and then reappear in a week or two, to do it all over again. Their noise is far worse than a passing motorcycle, a barking dog or a car speaker. The two blowers are revving down now so it must be coffee break in the offing. I might even attempt to take my coffee out on the deck while blessed peace for the moment, is happening. 

The Bridge Rebel

 I have to admit that while I am an old lady with decades of  a profession behind her, thank goodness, I am a bit of a rebel these days. This is about my last whack at life, therefore, I do almost everything my way. It doesn't mean I am one of those old ladies who snarls at people and sniffs at their habits. No, I am one of those secret rebels who practices her rebellions in surreptitious ways. Bridge Games, for example, are one of my quiet rebellions. For years I was escorted to foursomes and sat around the table wondering what was going on. I had been taught how to play but my mind didn't grasp it. My mind told me that there was more to life at that point, than Bridge. I played, but since everyone seemed deadly serious, I felt they were too experienced at the game to have me around but they were generous enough to let me play dummy a lot. I was good at it. Many years later, when the the excellent players all died off, literally, I began to take the game more seriously. I could no longer fake it. I had cut my teeth so to speak at the Bridge table by deciding I simply wanted to have fun, thus I paid more attention to what was going on. During the Covid stay-at-home time, I discovered online Bridge and that became my epiphany. There was no one to scowl at me or tighten their neck muscles when I bid. There was no one yammering away at what I "should" have done or "could" have done. I just played and forgot about having to remember every card played and every convention and simply got the cards, read them a bit, and did the speed Bridge thing. I still do and I am, for some reason, getting pretty good scores. Online Bridge is meeting real people from anywhere but who may hide merrily behind their code names. If you dally too long online, the computer bids for you. But still, you meet players who, when they receive their hand, feel compelled to keep everyone else waiting while they duke out exactly how they will play. I can almost hear the wheels turning. Bridge isn't like chess exactly but there are some tactics that are a bit over the wall. I like to use them. I bid anytime regardless of how many points I have ,when I guess that I just might be able to make it. If I don't, of course, respecting my partner, I am not going to hang up my folding chair in shame. Winning the game isn't my objective as much as playing my best and playing well and having fun at it. All Bridge players are well aware that it's a good game when this happens and not necessarily the final score.  A good part game can be very satisfying. One of the groups I played with for a time, were learners. I am an eternal learner so I get it. But these ladies who all knew each other and their instructor woman, agonized over every bid and spent time adding up their scores and sweating out the plays  and just about everything else but the colour of the cards. Some even teared up when they made a stupid mistake. I was glad I didn't golf with them. At the end of the playing, no one had tea. They all went home either with higher blood pressure or apoplexy or triumphant good-byes. I have never yearned how to keep score or play the conventions that some Bridge players boast about. I just want to play those cards to their limit and perhaps make some great moves. Playing a lot, as I do now, one naturally remembers what cards have played and who played what when. It comes with time and relaxation. You gain a few tricky moves of your own and you use your instinct a great deal. One chap I liked, when he sat down at the Bridge table announced to everyone, I play by the seat of my pants. Now that fella enjoys Bridge.

Election Picks

 If I had my pick during these election period antics, it would be for each candidate in each and every area to post their platform publicly on line and perhaps in the other media, along with specific details on how it would be carried out. With that, I would love to see a time line and budget numbers telling where the money is coming from, and most of all, how that will affect me as an average tax payer. I am not interested in hearing about huge billions of dollars in developments and constructions and world enterprises because that does not directly affect me. Of course it does indirectly, but most of us are more concerned with such trivia in our faces, such as rent, mortgages and groceries. We are the today, here and now people.  Health care is a major, as well as dealing with huge social issues such as addiction, racism and crime. Employment and immigration seem to go hand in hand, also. Locally, I don't need signs and pictures, door knocking and phone solicitations, poll results or brochures. These are a terrible waste of money and time. Just give me the facts and then back off and let me do the thinking. And voting. I just have the one vote and haranguing isn't helping me focus on my decision of what to do with that one vote. To have the major political leaders showing up to answer questions without some idiot at the back of the room cat calling so that he can get a nice fat cheque from the opposition, is on on the wish list. I don't care to see supportive Mom or Dad and the kids in the background trying hard to smile as directed, nor do I want to hear about the tragic upbringing of the candidate and how he or she overcame their difficulties. I want the facts concerning my riding. Just that. What are you going to do if you are elected and how are you going to do it? Mostly, what is my part in it? When you, the candidate promise me billions for this or that, it has no meaning to me because it's pie in the sky. Doesn't happen for me. Doesn't seem to, right now. What I need is someone who is honest and hard working, not there to sit on a three piece suit and look pretty and handsome with a nice  outfit and a great pension to look forward to. I want someone there. We all know that there is "the office" and the people who actually do the work, not just the office top dog who signs on the dotted line. What we want to know is the person and periodical checks on what that elected being is doing, and has done, for us. In writing. We're not interested in how well that individual debates and who came out on top of that ridiculous show. Don't tell me it's a good test for parliamentarianism. We are smart enough to know an honest speech when we hear it, not lawyer blab. We want the one who stands up in parliament and sticks his/her neck out for us, the people who voted for him or perhaps, did not. We want the elected person who knows our community and its needs,  and how that's going. We want that elected man or woman to come to our area on a regular basis and be there to see what that is and without verbal dodging, we want straight answers and if they aren't available, to admit it. That is what I want and perhaps you, too?  

No, I Can't

Having spent the last hour struggling with a sun deck outlet connection for a portable air conditioner, I can tell you that the little phrase The Little Engine That Could: "I think I can, I think I can" and his final, "I thought I could", doesn't work for me. Trying to fit one end of the AC hose to the outlet provided, was not possible. The instructions read that I must  merely "pop" the end into the opening. Popping sounds easy but you would have to be a Mr. Atlas to "pop" successfully. Never the twain ends would meet and certainly didn't "pop". I called my handyman , a very talented worker and a creative genius. He is building for me a foolproof panel so that the hose of my air conditioner will slide in. No "popping" involved. It made me think of how many older widows are out there managing household tasks like this every day with no man around. Manufacturers seem to think that everyone in the market can "pop" and they build  items that are not tested for the realities of eldership. Our population is aging and it seems that younger people aren't as DIY conscious as those of us who came from a time where, if you didn't do it yourself, it stayed undone. The aging body is not as capable as once it was, and factors such as becoming dizzy more quickly or having less strength or being less agile or that one's seeing or hearing fades are all natural and eventually affect everyone. There are companies that do put out various products for those less able, but most of them look like it. They are embarrassing, therefore, to use and many elders choose not to buy them because of it. For some odd reason, we worship youth and agility and view them as the ideal. But many people, not just the elderly, lack the strength for certain tasks. Aging is nothing to feel embarrassed about since it eventually happens to every single human being and no one who lives a long life, escapes it. Becoming old can be quite interesting even though at times, frustrating, but, hey, it's all perfectly natural. The benefit of being elderly, is that you know more than the younger do because you've been there. They haven't been your way and don't know what you are feeling and doing. And it really doesn't matter.  Elders do things at a slower rate for good reason. My mother learned the hard way when she climbed up on a patio table to straighten the umbrella and all fell over. Hip surgery ensued. My ninety-one year old grandmother didn't want to take her cane when she went shopping, and fell. A "home" ensued. A friend who was too embarrassed to take his hearing aid on a cruise, was disappointed to miss out on many of the entertainments and social events and depression ensued. There are times when our youngers push us to do physical things that can cause more harm than good, advising: "no pain, no gain". In older people who live with pain every day, the expression needs to be changed to "gain makes pain". At some point those who build vehicles, appliances, structures and equipment, will realize that many if not most of their consumers, are largely older people who have the money to buy their products. They love shopping. Taking this clue should ensure that what manufacturers produce should work for ALL ages.

Race?

 Race has many meanings. From what I read the word is about biology but also about how  people define race but let's look just at the biological one. I was born into a race or a certain division of how humans categorize themselves. When I was born, I knew nothing other than the basic needs of newborns. But as I grew in all of the years it takes to do it, I absorbed from my surroundings, what I am today. I didn't accept all of the many influences of what I grew up in but selected those I felt were important to my way of thinking. Fortunately, my parents weren't the kinds of people who forced me to take on what they thought politically or religiously or socially,  but they did pass on certain attitudes and unintentional patterns of what "people" should be. I more or less absorbed that part of my nurturing without knowing what it was.  When I became an adult, I looked around and saw what I felt were injustices or fair justice and with a fairly broad education, nothing too directed or random, I collected and stored my own attitudes and mores and conditions about what life was and what would be for me. I credit a lot of what I came to be me, to reading and learning about other cultures and places their histories and literature and art. It is called education but education doesn't do it all and it has certain hidden prejudices within it that you must argue or defend. The best education is that which allows this freedom and accepts it. The journey of my life went here and there with travels to much of the world to get a glimpse of differences between places and people however brief, and it very much helped me along the way with experiences, that formed my opinions of what is good and what isn't, what works and what doesn't. I didn't think much about my genetic "race", because it just was. To me, it wasn't superior or inferior, it was what I was born into and I happened to love it. Some might not, but it's mine and I do love it alongside those of everyone else who loves theirs.  When I look back, I feel very happy that there was no judging in my social circle that included all kinds of races and colours of skin and religions and politics and histories, or rants about which one was better than another. I did meet some individuals who had opinions that while I didn't agree with, I felt was their personal opinion and belonged to them, not me. If I found their judgements offensive, I moved away from that sphere. Even today when "race" seems to hit every newspaper page in some way or another, I am happy that we all, are basically of the human race. Politically, I am Canadian and open to seeing human beings as one race but with different kinds of thinking. My personal thinking is that I will deal with someone else according to that individual and eschew all but that they are with me and we are one to one. What shade of skin they have, their language, their shape, their politics, their gender doesn't matter as much as simply, we being who we are in the moment. Do they enjoy life, do they care about other human beings and our earth with all of its generosities, are they kind and understanding and without meanness toward others and do we communicate those feelings to each other in our fellowship. My affection for other humans is based on nothing to do with politics or customs or origins or anything else but just being with that person and feeling a human bond. 

But What Can I Do?

To save the planet, you don't have to run out and chain yourself to a tree. In fact, that's pretty risky these days. What you can do are some little things right in your own sphere. The other day I wondered why my bathroom was so hot when I had turned the heat which is in the floor, off for the summer. I put my hand to the ceiling thinking it was those neighbours, the little elephants up there who left their heat on. But not so, dear neighbours, it was my row of bathroom light bulbs blazing away while I put on the eye liner and the rest of the morning paint. Wow, those bulbs that are incandescent, the old fashioned type, were pouring out ergs majorly. I flipped off the heat producers and on, the other one bulb in the shower that is dimmer and takes in and gives out much less energy. Anything requiring heat: dryers, old light bulbs, irons and so on, use energy and energy costs the planet, and you by the way. That is one small thing you can do. If everyone one of the billions of us on earth, did the same, think what a good thing that would be. Another matter is changing out attitudes about laundry for example. What is wrong with hanging out laundry and letting nature do the drying? This silly example of making it illegal to hang out on our decks, a wet towel or blouse or shirt or drying any kind of laundry. In today's world, it doesn't make sense. Europeans are much wiser and less "Hollywood" than we are, and instead of looking like THAT decor magazine, they revel in draping their apartments, alleys and balconies with laundry blowing in the wind. And why not? Think again, of the energy we expend in dryers grinding away with tiny loads of undies and table cloths and towels that could quite easily hang outside on decks. Who needs a pile of cute furniture seldom used? While you can't break the condo rules, you can present a case to your councils. Then there's ironing. And as you can tell, most of what I have to blog about is what happens in our immediate space: our home be it in a tower or on soil.  We don't need to drag out that miserable iron to make everything wrinkle free only to be wrinkled again.  Lots of our garments can hang in the shower, drip and come out pretty. It's depending on our spending. Cottons love to be sloshed in soapy water, rinsed and hung up wet. There are shower space racks to accommodate them nicely and really who doesn't like a bit of a wrinkle. It's human. Just ask the linen fans who love to display "real linen" wrinkles. Next comes the TV. If you are like me, you adore movies on a big screen, the biggest you can pay for. But most of the time, you listen to music on it. The amount of heat those things produce is astounding. In the winter you love that extra heat, but in our hot summers, it's a drag on the cooling bill. If you don't believe me, hold your hand above that small screen and find out. If you're just listening to music via your TV app, try searching for the button on the remote that says "audio only" and off goes the hot screen and on stays your music. Go on line to find out how to do it with your TV. Turn off the lights and find the peace it brings to you. In the morning, open the windows and in the afternoon close them and put on the fans with your ice water bowls next to them. Heat comes in windows your hand test will tell you. I have a tiny personal AC that is a boon. It has both a USB and a power cord and is directed right at my jaw and it does the job of cooling me very well. Also it can go bedside or computer side or watching TV side. Last, while you are turning down the lights and loving the relaxing effect, listening to some pleasant music on the "audio only", think about installing bars in the shower for you next laundry date. More to come on this but that's enough for now. Have to go sort my recycles. You as well? Good on you, Planet Hero. 

Cookies

 Cookies used to be what Mom made. Eschewing cookie dough because even in those days, my Grampa Jon warned it was dangerous. He was a hobby farmer and knew all about over-confidence in what we put into our mouths just because it looks or tastes good. My mother loved baking when she took the time to be at home instead of off in her big old Ford, sewing pretty things for her friends. Her baking, when done, was amazing even though rare. Because almost everything she did was competitive, her cakes were actually measured for height. The decorations were photographed and the frosting wasn't slapped on from a tin; she cooked that, too.  It was another whole stove pot experience and you were lucky to snatch a bit of that fluffy frosting on a spoon before the cake was carted off to a tea or a baby shower. The flavour was heavenly and the toppings as light as a cloud. Cookies were something Mom didn't take pride in. They were made because the big jar was empty and needed to be replenished. All the base cookie ingredients were dumped into a bowl and stirred with the flour that she insisted must be sifted. The last part was the most fun. She'd ask, did we want chocolate chips or walnuts or raisins or all of them?  Guess what the kid answer was? The aroma from the oven brought neighbours a'calling. "Hi Betty, just passing by." Out came the teapot and the chatting began. Did I inherit this cookie talent? No. Who could compete with a competer? Cookies are no longer today, only what you nibble at, they have become something other. Cookies are now part of the cyberdomain pandemic, and daily as I visit sites on my computer that used to be like an open field of fresh smelling grassy fun, it is now a mine field of little rectangular, often flashing messages, asking if I will accept "cookies". The messages don't get it. If I say yes, they stop pestering me but what is being done to my world when entering their cookies realm? And no, I don't really want to read their voluminous verbiage about privacy rules that mean nothing to me and would take up much of my leisure time. And they know it. Of course, I realize that they could care less about my actual privacy as they do possible lawsuits. It seems that we have to climb over all kinds of barriers when we enter a cybersite, mainly to protect them over partaking of their "free" services. In a world of sue-happy creatures, this has become one of the huge ball and chains of cyberspace. I assume that "cookies" means that the centipede-like sponsors of whomever owns the site, are bound to pass access to me on to its fellows. Not that I care. I have learned to ignore ads even when they are poked at me all during a game or while reading a news story. It is annoying until you understand that annoying you is part of the ad game. You look, you read. Unless you have developed masterful ability to disallow your eye to wander or be enticed by these ads, you may become frustrated and look. I am past that. It takes focus, but when I play Bridge or another game, I see only the cards and the strategy and am not distracted by the riff and raff of ads designed to grab me. They don't. Not any more, cookies and all. They're not like Mom's cookies that were undeniable and unforgettable.

Hate It; Paint It

 I had a newly married friend in the days before love relationships with credit cards. She found an old divan that she and her mate placed in their student apartment. She hated the colour, but students don't have a lot of cash. What to do? She painted it green, cover and all, and it looked new.  She told me that those who came to visit went away, sadly, with "greenseat-itis". She was in the medical field. Now, budget stretched people use credit cards to solve these tricky problems. But the end of the month rolls around and it's either pay up  or fend  off  doing the interest percentage. Right? We all have a piece of furniture or other decor item that we hate. We don't mind the shape or the way it fits in, but the colour? Yuk. Some decades ago, I inherited a lot of antiques ( I use the term loosely) and whatever colour happened to be in vogue that season, the piece mysteriously changed like a chameleon and after, sat proudly in the newest shade. The antique piano was now turquoise with gold trim, the bedroom set of drawers, a sophisticated green with new brass pulls and the two hundred year old "lady chair" with no arms due to the size of ball gowns in those days, remained in its original wood but the brocade that was worn, was now a soft black. The matching step stool in the same newly painted fabric stood guard. All thanks to acrylic paint that did not rub off as my friend's had. As time went on, a set of decorative vases that I used, not for flowers, but as accents, were painted numerous times, due to the latest magazine hues that were "in". Decor  style lasts about three years and that's when the mavens sell their major pieces such as tables and couches. But with paint, you need not. Get some paint. Lamp bases are easy as slapping on a new colour as with any other piece.  But true antiques that you really love, should be kept respectfully in their original wood. Still, you can paint the fabrics on them, or add a small pile of books you have painted in the latest colours.  Corners  are easy to do without painting whole walls.  In a new condo your paint is all fresh and perfect but over a year or two, with vacuum nicks and furniture bashes and move in and out scrapes, you need to touch up those paint nicks. The easiest way is to look for the identical shade on the nail polish rack. Nail polish is paint, the best of paint, and you don't need to spend a whole lot for a big tin when all you need is a dab or two. With my white walls, cupboard, window and door frames, I use white matte nail polish. A little dab here and there, off and on, and the place remains pristine. Even that chip in the old sink can be daubed with your nail polish. Okay, it wears off but a bottle of nail polish goes a long way, too.  Hmm. My old red car has a few nicks, I wonder ....  You know those earrings or pin that you adore that aren't quite the right shade? Off to the nail polish rack at your favorite drug store. And if you have a garment that you want to match your earrings to, ahem ahem. I found an old "pearl" ring that my mother had, the kind she bought for cheap in Hawaii, its gold genuine, but the pearl found by the "diver" who didn't dive other than into her wallet wore off? The pearl, its nacre re-done with none other than pearl nail polish looks new again. Excuse me, I see that my computer monitor has a chip. Now where did I put that black nail polish? 

FAQ By Whom?

 
FAQ or Frequently Asked Questions don't ask the questions that are mine. You too? Fortunately, the "good" companies, if you're patient, allow you to scroll down and find a way to ask your question. But another frustration is that often you have to "speak" to someone with a cute name who is not a human being but an android that reads your question and then has its computer brain try to scan its collection of FAQs, hopefully to find one that  answers your question. Often, this doesn't work because it is not foolproof, and I know it is not a human answering because it tells me it doesn't understand what I am asking and suggests that I rephrase or that I check my spelling. Huh? Companies who use this FAQ joke, seldom have a list of questions that are negative to what service they think they provide. They do answer questions that are relatively simple, such as information about the product or service and thus you go away happy. They hope. If the question and answer is that easy, it's likely something you can find all by yourself if you read the material sent with the product, the one that reads Instruction Manual. Oh that. Who reads that first? Few of us, is the correct answer. The questions I speak of, are ones that don't reflect well on the product and these are seldom included in the FAQ. Banks are the worst at this. When you find that your credit card balance is weird, you want answers right away because most of us don't use the jingly stuff in our wallets. We use plastic. And when our plastic balance as seen on line, doesn't appear to match, we get a bit upset. Often when I buy something it records immediately on the balance on line, but when I go on line, the balance doesn't jibe. When I call the company running the credit card, they assure me that I have to wait a few days for this and that to happen. Well, hey, if I can use my credit card to pay, I want to know right away, not in three business days. Like most of us, we use online to do our business. My accountant husband who was borne in the old fashioned adding machine era but later moved to computer,  was meticulous about balances. They had to be to the penny and immediate. Not in "three business days". If you can take my money immediately, I want to get the balance immediately because I depend on cyberspace to be my accountant. If you try to complain to a bank, you get standard answers that are obviously cooked up verbiage by a computer and seldom do you check the little box that says "did this help - yes". I gave up because trying to phone banks which you can't because you are handed off to the far east of the country to someone who doesn't know you from a computer key, it's so cumbersome you hang up. Banks are supported by us, the users, and should do better. The companies I frequent, have actual human beings with phones. One of them, my most frequently shopped at, has great people who listen to you, tell you truths and actually try to solve your problem. And most of the time they do. Okay, you might have to take a picture of the situation if it's about something tangible, but that is so easy, it's laughable and immediately you both know what's going on. Most good companies will accept returns and pay you back the postage and one company, my fave, gives me a big discount as well. Give me people-to-people in business, and I will do business. No FAQs please. It's a fact. 

Fare Well or Farewell

 While we are all thinking about where the next penny is coming from, there is a huge "elephant under the carpet" that is far more worthy of deeper thought. Watching a David Attenborough program citing reasons why we must take immediate steps to preserve life on earth over finding ways to buy that better house, car or fashion; or perhaps, as most people, merely ways  to survive another fifty earth years. The program, a film showing what's happening to our planet in natural terms, made me understand vividly how precious this big blue marble we live on, is not a permanent arrangement. Our human existence, regardless of hubris, is temporary. Survival depends upon how we use our brains and disappearing resources to continue in spite of the natural and unnatural advances of our precious planet toward it's end. Time doesn't stop and while we ignore it, things happen all over the world that take up our global energy and resources to feed our human  instinct to do better and be better and find better. We want to be smart and rich and beautiful and live forever. There is a strange deliberate ignorance going on in which all the truths of the ticking clock of earth's time, are pushed aside. But. It's not all hopeless and while we are battling pandemics, political greed and warrings here and there, the real battle is being aware that that our great, great, great grandchildren may not be able to live to enjoy what we have lived to enjoy. Picking up the newspapers whether on line or on paper (dead trees), almost all of it is social whining and crime and tragedy and political in-fighting but there is very little about the fish and corals of the sea dying off, the glacial ice melting away, the rainforests disappearing at alarming rates and the global warming caused by our greed and economic selfishness. Of course, we can't go about hanging our heads in grief constantly and the vast majority haven't the time for that anyway, but there are small things that we can do to help. First we have to listen, to pay serious attention to the realities. Second we have to find some way of doing our part, however small. None of us, not one single person is going to live much beyond the maximum of approximately one hundred years, if we get that far, but we want them to be happy years and see that our families and everyone else's  will continue to be. The way we are going, that's not going to happen and it's not that far off.  When I  read the pettiness of present societies and their obsession with things that are gone and past and that money and media attention is not going to bring it back and perhaps shouldn't, I think why aren't we putting our joint human efforts behind the things that really matter? What really matters is human continuance. Nature is our god. Happiness rules. It is the one element that everyone needs and it costs nothing because most of it comes from nature. Good old pure Mother Nature as we call it, nothing else. The waters, plant life, our fellow earth inhabitants, the animals; they should not be reduced to money. These natural things are our riches. If we don't want to say farewell to them as rapidly as is actually happening this very day, we have to do something and each one of us can find a way. Do it.

Bye Bye Bebe

 When you think that you are making a "pet" of a natural creature, you aren't. Sadly the wild hare that hopped about the garden for a few years even surviving our milder winters, was run over by a car this week and lies in the gutter gradually becoming recycled. The little crow young, I named Bebe who came every day for its tiny cube of bread comes no more either. Bebe's mother is busy laying more eggs or she's on the beach below enjoying the tourist offerings. The crows at the beach work the walk ways and sandy spots near the tide line. There's always a scrap of something left over from a snack or a picnic and the crow and gull cleaners, are sure to find it. But like racoons who are also "garbage mavens", they aren't always appreciated. Oh well, they have their revenges if you've ever been serenaded in the early morning by baby crows cawing for their feedings or the ravages of your spilled garbage. Bebe learned from his wise mother, a regular silent caller at my bird bath, that you won't find a treat, if you make loud caws. Their attempts to train me, don't work.  Bebe was one of the most charming little black birds to come around. He was wisely suspicious of flying down to a deck railing and  hopping into the bird bath to retrieve a treat. He had his own method. First he'd do a flyby just to make sure there was something there. Next, he'd go to the roof top opposite to sit and wait, hoping I would disappear inside. I didn't because my basket swing and cup of morning coffee was just too attractive. But Bebe who was likely one of his mother's last brood of the summer, used his waiting time to put on a little act. Bebe, smaller than most crows, had patches of white here and there. He wasn't a pretty bird, one of the larger, glossier blue black kinds, but he was cuter. And he knew it. When his mother gave up coming with him, since she'd done her job of teaching where to find  breakfast, she left him on his own. Time for him to fend. Bebe came and would begin his act by dipping into the stale water of the eave trough on the next building and pretending to go on a search through the plastic shingles on the roof looking for treats. He'd take a little run and then cock his head in an enquiring way looking first my way and then diligently pecking at the shingle. There was nothing there to dip for, so he'd be off on another comical run, across the roof.  Nope. Nothing there either. This little dance was interrupted frequently by glances my way, to see if hopefully, I had gone inside. When he tired of this game, he'd go to the metal venting and continue pecking there. The sound of the ding ding as he made his music startled him a bit, or so I thought, and he'd jump back with a flutter. After a bit, I was onto his act. When none of that worked to send me inside, he flew to the tree to sit on a branch that  almost touched my deck rail. It's where I used to put the bread bit  and he never forgot the exact spot. He'd  fly down and peck at the very place the bread once was placed, and then quickly fly back to his branch. This little performance went  on a few times and then, feeling braver, he'd fly to the rail above the bird bath and sit there for a bit. Walking up and down, back and forth. Bebe was trying to teach me what he wanted. But I persevered and kept my chair. Bebe would hop into the bird bath and then immediately fly back to the rail or off to his branch. "When is she going to get it", I could almost hear him say. Unlike other crows I have befriended, Bebe did not take risks. Much too clever. He had more patience than me, however, and when at last, I really had to go inside, he'd fly  down, into the bird bath and snatch the treat. But, alas, Bebe comes no more. He is charmed away by other crows or the attraction of tossed bits of food on the beach only a flit away. I miss him; there'll be others,  but I am very happy to see him gone. Long live you, Bebe.