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.

What's In A Name?

 "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name, would smell as sweet". The Bard is never all wrong. That's my favorite quotation when it comes to name changing and I am no stranger to it. When my first name was not used and I was called always my pet name, I decided to make it legal while retaining my given first name. Name changing is a complex process and the certificate for doing so, even if you have never been called by any other name in your life, needs to be retained just as importantly as a death certificate. There is a sect that does, in fact, believe that one's name has great meaning and part of the process in their belief system is for their members to change their names in order to "balance" their lives.  In law, women who marry now, may choose to take their husband's surname or keep their birth name. One of the more controversial movements these days is the changing of names as a form of retaliation to negate what happened in history.  Others want to replace present names with traditional names. Some names should be changed.  Hogtown is not a pleasant name for a city, admittedly but I am one who doesn't agree with the removal of names and replacing them. I do agree with adding a second name, however, to locations. The unfortunate part of the motivation for this disturbing modern development  is that changing a name, does not wipe out its history.  If we changed the name of Earth, would the earth then become something new and different and exciting and we, therefore, would be able to wipe out all past natural disasters?  Something to think about. I am in favour of adding traditional names to streets and places and so on, but not to destroying the historical names thinking that it will change things and make them better. That's like applying a kind of  history band aid. The indelible "scar" remains. History cannot be changed by changing a name. History happened, both  the good and the bad.  Remembering our history is a necessity in that its existence is our teacher. Human beings learn from their history in all nations and cultures of the world. We learn from our history about what worked and didn't and how we can add our part to that knowledge. We can learn from our history, what not to do so  never to do it again. Neither aspect of history should be wiped out because if we don't pay attention to the bad stuff, how do we know how to keep it fixed? It seems that some want to be selective about history and toss out certain parts, while retaining others. Book burning was once thought to be an effective way of destroying  thought and expression. That move didn't work. Even the ancients knew that they should  preserve history. They marked even the worst and scariest of it, by making it  their illustrations, folk tales legends, music and dance and tellings.  Their wisdom taught them how important it was, and is, to keep histories alive on down through the generations.  They knew that if they did not retain their history their children wouldn't know about their people and their journey to be where their people are. They knew how to use the gift of history and to add their part and make a new "history". No. We must not think that destroying symbols and words and legends and names is a good thing to do. We need to keep what was, and change by actions and developments, what needs changing. History deserves our maintenance and respect, not its destruction. History earned its permanence and is, whether we like it or not, a part of us all. History is all we have and made, and all that we are.