Then Deliver!

 On line shopping is great and very convenient most of the time. Then there is the delivery aspect. Occasionally, certain delivery folk don't deliver. When you pay for delivery, you want delivery. And it is about the delivery person, not the system. One of these delivery persons, habitually calls me on the entry system and I let them in but when I go down to locate the parcel since it did not come to my door, I find it left either just inside the entry door in the lobby or on the shelf in the open mail room or as last time, tossed onto the middle of the floor in the mail room. Sweet! I am not ordinarily a crank but really, when I pay for delivery, I see no reason why I should translate the sticky note, go online and locate the little drug store or corner store post office to pick up my parcel. It is supposed to be delivered. I am therefore, from this day on,  rebelling because I have decided that when I ask for delivery and pay for it and am home, I expect the parcel to be delivered. I am no longer going to act as my own delivery system. I can understand the sticky note if I am not home or did not answer the entry phone. But otherwise, that's it. Annoyed? Yes, it's very annoying but not as annoying to try and call the delivery business and get that stray parcel. First of all, there are a league of delivery companies and they direct you to go on line and quote the number that has more numbers and letters than the entire alphabet and numeral system combined. When you do, there is no human to speak with unless you phone head office in another country or across yours. There is waiting time involved when you do find an actual human. To complain is useless because you would be blaming someone who is unknown to whom you are speaking if you are lucky enough to find a human in the mix. Second of all, you don't know which parcel it is, because apparently that is a secret known only to you and if you order a lot online, even the invoice doesn't say what it is. There are numbers involving a necessary search, but that is cumbersome.  I used to have a perfect delivery guy who called me by my first name and we got  a great delivery repartee going each time he arrived. The only bad part was that if it were in a cardboard box, there would be a one inch hole in the parcel. I never did, even when asking, find out what that hole was for. I suspect it was made by some sort of tool they used to retrieve the parcel from a shelf or stack or pile or whatever in the van, but always there was the mysterious hole in the package. One time, the packet of screws to put the item together must have fallen out of it because I had to improvise, and another time, the tool they used scratched the inside item somewhat. I did not complain. I am generally a nice person. I did ask, however, about the reason for the hole,  but was always met with a blank expression and no answer. I supposed there are certain mysteries about the parcel delivery system that are highly undercover. Another non-green mystery is to have, come to your door, an over large box containing something small, such as, in a box that would hold a bread box,  a tiny bottle of nail polish hidden somewhere amongst yards of air filled plastic or paper stuffings. The really horrendous parcels that bother me, contain styrofoam packing which is outlawed. How come it's used then? And just try to find a trash company who will take that off your hands! Even for cash. Ah, online shopping. I love it, but it's not all good. 

Bebe Crow

 Some people who don't know any better, hate crows but I love them. And I know and have known a few. They are one of the most intelligent of the bird family but they are also comedians and great friends of those who respect them. When I lived in a city that was large but one with agricultural roots, I inherited the resident crow from the former owners of the condo unit I bought. The crow that I never did name, came to sit on the railing patiently waiting for me to catch on to the hint that he or she, I never can tell which is which, wanted to begin our relationship. Finally, I left an inch cube of bread out while I sat on the deck swing. The crow would land on the rail and walk toward the cube, taking it and flying away. When I wasn't there, it went about the deck hopping on the glass topped table and on the cabinet with plants to poke about looking. The way crows walk is comical in itself and they have a way of almost entertaining anyone who is watching. Crows are groupies and soon my black friend and perhaps members of his family came to know me. Evidently, crows are clever at face recognition. When I went to my back deck, the shady one, the crow I began to call Mr. Crow but it could have been a Mrs. , would look for me. It did not demand food because crows have pride and dignity although some would dispute that fact. Mr. C never did take the bread treat from my hand as had a former seagull friend, Alf that I had a few years before. Crows are much too proud for that. The crow saw me going often to my red car and he would hop about nearby as I boarded and drove off. When Mr. Crow and family saw me coming back through the complex gate, now that they knew my car, too, they would do a fly-over as I entered the gateway.  When I moved, I regretted breaking our five year long friendship. Mr. Crow never demanded his treats and often he would come and sit on the rail just in companionship. When I moved to a newly built condo in a seaside community far off,  there were crows accustomed during  lunch break, to being fed by the workers who constructed the building. My now finished condo unit was on the ground floor overlooking a small patch of lawn behind a rock wall. I sat on my patio and found that the crows came to see if someone might offer them some repast as had been done in the past.  At first, since it is against condo rules to feed birds of course, I did not respond to their visits. But they came silently, knowing that we were cohorts in an illegal conspiracy, the feeding of bird life, he landed silently on the lawn some ten or more feet away and walked in his comical gait, to my very private space on the patio. There was no cawing. Soon we became good friends with my once a day only,  little bread cube treat. I do not believe in feeding animals in nature but a tiny once-a-day bit of bread, in my mind, did not constitute "feeding". The other people on my side of the building were also clients of this new Mr. Crow. Mr. Crow became so friendly that he or she, would often fly to the back of my wing back wicker chair where I read, to sit and make good company just being there. I moved again to my present domain and once again, I have a new crow friend. He or she is young, having been brought here by its parent who used to take the treat I left, and feed it to Bebe as I call this young crow. I will write more next time to tell you about the friendship Bebe and I developed. 

MSG

 MSG used to be called "Accent" and decades ago, I used it frequently in  meat recipes. Today I heard a well-known chef laud the benefits of the flavouring, MSG which was called Accent. She made the charge that it's unpopularity is "racist". The modern day term "racist" in my opinion, is much over used and often there is no evidence of it and the charge is frequently inappropriate. MSG has nothing to do with race. It is or was used by all restaurants. While there are bad vibes about its use by food processors as a "dangerous" food additive, apparently it is not "dangerous". But since many people do have actual reactions to it, its reputation has become tarnished and fear of it broadened. And while all this is true, and some chefs such as the one who wants MSG to return as a flavouring in restaurants and used by food producers, I have to disagree with her. Too many people I know and trust, do have very unpleasant symptoms when eating foods that contain the substance. Over time, I happen to have developed what is called a "violent reaction" to that substance. Much like those who are "allergic" to peanuts and certain other food products, I cannot have any degree of MSG or I will have a very uncomfortable session. It's fine for many people, but it's not for me! I used to eat out a lot and each time I wondered why I had an increasing bad reaction  half an hour after leaving many of our favorite restaurants. That delicious drive in chicken outlet uses it still.  I had cramps and digestive symptoms and feelings of weakness and nausea that became worse and worse over time, after eating anything with MSG in it. A couple of instances, I ended up in hospital emergency wards. Like many other people, I learned by testing in isolating the ingredients of what I had eaten to determine just what  was causing the reactions. I know now that I cannot consume MSG without suffering what my allergist calls a "violent" reaction. He advised me, from then on, to carefully examine all food product labels to ensure that there is not this substance in it. I practice this  always as well as asking in restaurants if they use MSG,  because there are times when I have forgotten to do so and have suffered immediate embarrassing consequences. Most people can eat MSG without a reaction but some of us cannot, and we have real reasons why not. I have been charged with "it's your imagination" but they have not been with me to witness the effects of it. First of all, MSG is not an essential ingredient. It was invented to heighten the flavour of foods to entice people to "ask for more". When I cooked steak earlier in my life, I always used Accent or powdered MSG. I used it in all foods such as stews and other meat kinds of dishes. I no longer do, because I learned that if you cook well, you don't need it. Good flavours can be hiked up using herbs and spices rather than things like MSG. Sure, the latter could be said it's easier because it is simply sprinkled in small amounts on the food product to give the flavour effect. And it does work.  If you check the labels of your favorite canned soups and other prepared foods, you will likely see MSG or its other name Hydrolyzed Vegetable Protein in the ingredients list. MSG has many aliases. It harms few but those of us who it does harm greatly, do not ignore it. For me and many, it's going to be a no no whether it becomes popular again or not. 

Woman's Way

I saw an ad for a series today that has a group of women, all armed and with expressions of aggression, standing "strong". They looked dangerous. I can guess that the show will present histories of these females, all young and hard bodied incidentally, in which they were abused or misused and are going to "get even" in some way. It's just a guess but lately, The Strong Woman movies are becoming common to the small screen and the big ones, too. While I agree that women don't need to be pushed around any more, I also think they are smarter than to use the same tactics that their aggressors employ. I have heard it said that if women ran the world, there would be no wars. About that, I am not sure because I have met some women who I know wouldn't hesitate to use whatever means they could to reach their goals. I say this with respect, because they are actually very focused people and that's admirable. Then again, I feel that women perhaps prefer to speak first before going straight into some kind of combat. And for women to arm themselves with weapons doesn't appear to fit somehow. We have this way of seeing the child in the enemy there somewhere. Women in the military, police and other careers that demand the use of weaponry, naturally must carry these tools but using them whether male or female or other, is always a last resort. Perhaps I am naïve but then again, I am just an average individual, a female one who likes kids, homemaking, career, happiness and trying to keep the peace. Lately, movies are showing gender roles for females that go beyond the traditional ones of yore but that allow both men and women and all, a freedom of expression much broader than previously known. Some of the heroines are brutal and dangerous and use any harsh tactics to achieve their ends.  Hopefully, we of these times are growing away from using violence to express ourselves to gain or hold power.  To me a woman person is one who prefers to avoid hard means and is willing to talk things out and work things out rather than first bashing at something or someone. It seems the better human way. Angry moves rob a person of good judgement and the only way to create a lasting solution to any problem is to negotiate. Or at least try to. The movie trend seems to be going the other way and making super women who don't do that. They act first and ask no questions. It is also interesting that they are not middle aged or older woman usually, but very beautiful creatures who don't appear to show or feel their aggressive battles in any way. They look lovely: no clenched jaws or gritting teeth, no bruises or cuts or scratches or sore spots and their suits don't tear or wrinkle.  After a whole long period of kicking and punching and shooting 'em up, these women come out unscathed, lipstick in place.  Even their clothes and hairdos stay intact!  I don't know about you, but  a mere day of shopping, cooking and housework plays havoc with me. Ah Hollywood! 

Clutterphobia

 Who started the no "clutter" phase? It seems to have arrived when the glass and steel condo towers began. All white inside and tight spaces. The more nothing, the less stress was the by-word. Not true. While I agree that harboring random junk might be a nuisance, keeping the bits and pieces of your life cannot correctly be labelled hoarding. Hoarding is when you don't take out the garbage.  The degrees of hanging on to memories are varied but essentially, what one does with ones "stuff" is ones own business. When I walk into a room and it is magazine sheer, all white and in nursery tones, I am supposed to  feel that it is airy and spacious. Not so. I feel as though I am in a holograph of  the cover of that well-known glossy magazine some people use as a decorating bible. The room says nothing to me. Buckingham palace with its old junk, very old actually, its furniture showing a history, its over-plumped cushions and walls heavily beleaguered by framed portraits of those no one knows or cares to, its genuine clutter, if so, can be felt overwhelmingly as a space not beautiful, but historic. It has depth. There is something suspicious about the all white movement in decor. White is without meaning deliberately. White insists on disallowing the eye to linger. It's glare, however, does not bring relief from stress or an aura of cleanliness and peace as is suggested. To me, it's like landing in a surgery and fearing what's next. There is no "next". Its Nursery bits of turquoise, pink and sea green are designed to keep the eye from sliding right into eternity. They rescue you presumably. The stretches of solid marble and steel pieces are there, fortunately, to ground you from sailing off.  One magazine room is much like every other when you are on the condo shopping circuit. Decor-wise,  we have The Painting usually something indescribable other than the usual flat sea scene with or without sunset.  And it is essential to have in the for sale space, some sort of weird three dimensional ob-jay to talk about over the champagne, stem in hand, before signing that mortgage on the dotted line.  Realtors hire folk who come in with truck loads of light pieces and do up every condo they peddle. The sleek fake furnishings are there to help you imagine what a perfect magazine life you will have within the arms of your impossibly tiny white  space that likely you will never have paid for in your entire life.  And when you do move in, for awhile it stays all white and uncluttered. But very few people can live with white on white for long. It's unnatural for one thing to live day by day in open space, and not pull things around you for comfort and security.  Another reality is that unless you are in your early twenties and have nothing but work in your life anyway, most buyers of rooms eventually acquire memories. They come in the form of things: trip mementos, photographs, beloved books , cushions to hold, wraps and throws for cosy times, odd tables and small found items: nature bits,  ceramics, games. The list goes on as do the years of your life. Entering a room with nothing but white and steel, denotes a life of nothing. Like a transit station, the place is something to pass through as quickly as possible. When I go into a room belonging to someone else, I want to see someone in their galaxy with their planets revolving about, their clutter, their character shining and their human warmth on display. Clutter me.