Pork 'N Beans 'R Back

 We're all trying to cope with cloud breaker costs these days. I often, just for kicks,  use a can of P and B to make my fave chili, adding hamburger meat, onions etc to the mix.  Today I bought a case of my favorite pork, molasses and beans that were going for around three dollars each tin. Instead of using it on "kick" days, I decided to make it one of my standbys in view of affording what I glean from the shelves in this time. While many turn up their posh noses at pork and beans, it's a whole lot wiser nutritionally than those boxes of fake cheese and miniature noodles. You know the ones that kids love. Yuk. Try your kids on pork and beans with some pineapple chunks and weiners. There won't be much left on the plate. You will also pat yourself on the back that you haven't loaded them up on sheer carbs. Beans are one of the replacements in part for protein, being protein in themselves. When you make a casserole out of your new standby PNB, you can have fun adding some cooked lentils and shredded veggies that love to play hide and sneak with the yummy gravy of the beans. Your kids who hate broccoli won't notice much, the greenery. Nor will they shrink away from PNB with added fried onion and bacon playing tag. Putting in other beans such as kidney beans or corn kernels will eventually become partners. The secret is not to overload your additions and always keep the mix sweet. Who doesn't love sweet? My mom was known as a great cook. Her secret was a bit of sugar.  Use a small amount of honey if you have sugarphobia.Taking away sweet from everything isn't going to take away no-eat  frowns. If you are a no-sugar person, brush your teeth after eating. That will do a lot more for you than cutting out all sweets that you know you either worry about constantly or binge on when no one is looking. There are lots of ways to shrink down  your shopping list. Quit the prepped junk and take a bit of time to use fresh. Eat less but better food on the plate. Shuck bulk in the bowl and go for nutrition. Watch for quality over price. Learn where your buck hides best and go hunt. 

Living In Words

 Writing is something almost everyone does. When I had an English class of thirty-five Grade Eight boys and three girls who didn't want to be there, this little old middle aged English teacher had a big job ahead. In the day, we didn't have much assistance for "different" children and these kids came from all walks of life in an up Westcoast setting. Teachers don't sit behind a desk and give orders to kids from nine to three. They have to consider what their classes need to learn to "pass". The job of educators is to educate in a way that allows for ALL to learn.  Apart from the nine to three with young faces before them, teachers spend countless personal hours thinking about and planning what it will take for them to teach thirty-five different kids of different families with different backgrounds. It's not easy, and pay isn't the first thought. The work needs doing and pay isn't the primary goal. These are minds, not papers.  For the class I faced the first day, we looked each other in the eye and instinctively felt what would be happening in the room over the next ten months. This group had only three girls and the rest were all boys. The girls weren't happy to be in the class loaded with young chaps. That was the first challenge. Many of the boys didn't like schooling when they could be out fishing and berry picking and hiking in the beautiful woods or riding out on the sea. The government manual dictating what must be learned during the term, left the "how" to the teacher and I was the teacher. We did get through the year somehow and it was one I'll never forget. First, we made up our own in-class rules so that everyone could learn. What we all had to do, we put on the chart on the wall. Anyone could merely point to it if needed. You could be in the classroom if you abided by the standards we wrote there. The year wasn't all smooth but we made it. We did simple films,  built sets,  we wrote poetry and we found out what makes a fine writer and what is a hack. There are hundreds of examples, not long dull ones but short pieces from the masters: those writings of great beauty and lasting image. Many came from writers where we lived and that made it very palatable. The boys saw that writing was not for sissies. The girls were respected and respected back, as we worked together on our projects that included our own people of the woods around us. It remains a best memory. 

Math Score Myth

 There is some concern on behalf of those who believe in putting a number to everything and feeding it into a computer to come up with some statistics. The statistics in our country say that students in public schools don't have the scores they think they ought. The folks who do this for a living have blind folders on. Ask the majority of people, if you want to use stats, how useful trigonometry and calculus were in their lives and you will come up with the lowest score there is. When I taught little ones during a spate in Primary School, the new fad was Algebra. Hey, we are teaching kids algebra! How smart is that? After thirty years in Education, I came up with some thoughts and one of them is that the Math journey in schools is nonsense. The reason I say that, is most people can't deal with a budget, their mortgage or doing income tax let alone Geometry. Educators ought to take a look at the broad picture and dicount the Academic lane. Students need to learn about life as it is, not at a scale Educators want it to be.  Man is among the most stupid of creatures. Regard other fauna, ones that have four legs, wings, crawl and creep. They have no clothes, create their own homes, search food daily to survive and deal with whatever elements appear. Man can climb the political and religious and health and industrial and entertainment ladders to the very top, and still remain the weakest, most helpless and destructive creatures that abound. They struggle to survive what Nature puts before them. Animals have instinct and learn from each other and yes, fight for their territory but not with a science using the elements other than those that are basic and natural. Animals, feel and react; they spend no time dealing with emotion. They get on with what they need and do it now. One day, when we aren't ranting at kids for their Math marks or other lack of achievements according to what computers tell us is important, we might look at teaching them the most important aspects of surviving every day life without a pill.  We humans have learned nothing as close to what any animal out there or in there, knows naturally, We shall end and they will survive. 

Brat Rearing

 Not all kids are brats but some are reared as such. Nothing they want is denied no matter how the parents struggle with their own household costs. The other day, sitting amongst a group of very fine ladies, the topic was Christmas gifts to give grandchildren. Most of us remembered getting one major present under the tree, usually a doll. I received one doll that I loved until I could babysit and love the real kind.  Her name was Belinda and today Belinda, dressed in her red check gingham dress sits in my memory cupboard, still smiling her bisque sweet look. Her hard body wasn't plastic because during WWII, plastic wasn't allowed. She had jointed head, arms and legs. We held our dolls like  mothers. Bel's eyes opened and shut and I adored her and spoke to her. She knew all of my most precious secrets and wishes. She is silent now because I think she knows far too much about how it all turned out. During this group chat, we women were faced with the cost of what children not only want, but expect to find under the tree. The latest thing one of us said, was "polaroid cameras" and we were delighted because we remembered having them and all the fun that ensued.  Well, no, said the lady, they cost three hundred dollars and I don't think I can manage that what with me barely being able to pay my condo fees.  insurances and taxes. Oh dear, said she, I hate to disappoint my dear grandchildren. There was silence. None of us had money to throw away and none of us worked or had husbands. We were on our own, pushing or being over, eighty. Still, we had to keep up with the "times". One person told us that instead of giving her three teen grandkids, two hundred dollars each this year, she reduced it to one hundred, due to the large levy we had to pay for condo heating boilers that would last far longer than any of us. The talk turned to how demanding kids are now, and that there would be frowns and yelling and tears if the kids didn't get what they wanted. Oh my, is that called a brat? 

Scissor Cut

Scissors haven't changed much since they were invented by the Mesopotamians a few thousand years ago. They were cleverly crafted then, too. One long piece of metal with two ends sharpened in opposite ways, were bent in the middle so that each of the ends met sharply and closely:  snippety snip. The Chinese still produce them from the same company when they began their scissor-making some time later. One particularly cute pair of scissors done in ancient times was decorated in the Egyptian manner, with one blade, a dog and the other a cat. Appropriate. My most used tool in the kitchen, is a pair of scissors and I don't mean the ones that kitchen suppliers sell. Nope. Mine are sewing scissors. Why? When I want to cut something up, I want sharp, not bone cutters but scissors so sharp, not pointed, but dangerously sharp of blade so that when I want carrots thinly sliced the long way, a knife won't do it. Also knives are scary in the kitchen. Scissors are more accurate for some jobs while a knife might take part of you away if you slip up. But they are more safely sharp. I trim beans and peas with them. I trim my lettuce bits that are somewhat worn but only just before serving. I cut lemon and lime peel just the way I like it. I  zest peel using them.  So far I have not had to buy a new pair of scissors because I rinse them off and wait for them to dry thoroughly before putting them back in their drawer. Getting your green onion and herb bits sliced just the size you want, is  best done with scissors, and not the kind for herbs. Your own variety.  Sewing scissors are easy to use and easy on  old fingers as well. Snipping the dough of your bread products just the way you want the slits to work, pays off with scissors. The other day, I used them to get into the stew and cut up the cooked meat just the way I like it. Snip, and there was the perfect chunk. Trimming fat, snipping off fowl skin to even it and so many other ways of using scissors rather than knives, is worth a try if you haven't done it previously.  But don't tell anyone who thinks he or she is a chef. Shhh. Snip.  

The Gift Of You

 This year since my family is comprised of all adults, we are not giving material gifts. Instead we are planning a few events in which we, together, are all participating. One is a concert and the other, a dinner. And it feels sooo good. Trying to second guess someone's "would like" is a challenge or having to make a list of "what I would like" is over. Stress is relieved.  And yes, it is the name of my cultural holiday and it is called Christmas just as other folks call their special days by their names. I have no shame in being who I am, nor of my own culture and its history. None of us should hide our heritage because it is what we are in this great Canadian mosaic that I dearly love. This Christmas will be one without the piles of paper and ribbon but it will be  warmer and truer because we will be together and that counts for everything that Christmas means: love and giving of ourselves and being in a company that shows respect and recognition of family and friends. Children do look forward to the fun of Santa gifts. They needn't be costly but they should be thoughtful and meaningful. At the same time, since we are all very conscious of the need to keep our globe going in a lasting and "clean" way, we are also thinking of others not as fortunate as ourselves. Gifting should include taking care of each other in our varied world. Not giving gifts is a gift in itself and certainly takes away the stress of shopping and its down sides. The good side of "shopping",  even if it is window shopping, are the decorations, some so beautiful that they are a gift in themselves. As a child we were taken every year to peer through the glass of a large department store which put up a delightful display of a Santa toy train. It was free and such a wonderful treat to see it along with all the other store windows. We made it a point to drop some charity change as we went along. We didn't have lunch with Santa because we weren't rich enough, but just to be in town, was enough.  But the best part of my children's Christmas memories are of the people and of being together. 

Audio vs Read Books

 We have a book club member who listens to audio books and does his book talks on them. It bothers me. Maybe it shouldn't, but it does. It feels as though he hasn't put in the work of actually reading the book. But then, I have to recall a book club that I was in years ago, one that had a blind person in it. She "read" only audio books.  We held our gatherings of eight members, at a restaurant and this lady, while quite adept at feeding herself herself, often had to ask her neighbour what she was eating. We found her own giggles over it, fun. That's not saying much about the chef, but no one found it out of place, nor did they mind her presentations of audio books. The blind woman discussed books as keenly as anyone else in the group. But the man in my present book club who "reads" nothing but audio books, has perfectly adequate eyesight. A few of the other members of the book club are privately as disturbed at allowing audio books under the wire, as I am. We haven't debated the issue openly, but I suspect it will happen one day. At the moment, it seem an imbalanced argument to get into it, since we have only one audio book chap. To me, an audio book is much like a Hungry Man Dinner popped onto the table after a session in the micro. It looks good but the taste and or effort just aren't the same as a dinner constructed  of similar ingredients.  Also, from an author's point of view, when a writer goes to great efforts to fashion certain words in creating a scene or a mood or a question, it seems unjust to be taken up by a reader who then adds the colourful intonations to construct the same intent.The reader misses the experience of creating imaginative scenes using his own ability. Or does that matter?  Some of the audio book fans I know tell me I am wrong because they listen to readers that have such fine voice ability they actually enhance the enjoyment. Or so they tell me. Many of the professional readers come with an intriguing non- English accent and some read the books they have written. It is true that it adds a certain unique element. I suppose the debate will continue, cover unopened, really never to be resolved. 

Notable Books

Came across a list of "notable" books posted in one of the world's most famous newspapers. I won't say the name, but you know which paper all the fashionables in North America tend to quick read every morning. I like the paper's word games. The word "notable", however, bothers me. Who determines "notable"? Does it mean the most "talked about book" on the streets of that huge city? Which street, one wonders? When I look at must-read-books, I shudder. Most of them I  have no desire to read after seeing their blurbs. When I plunk down to read a book, I want it to entertain me or inform me or help me, but most of all it should inspire and delight me.  Few of the books I have thoroughly loved aren't on the Best Seller list. And I care not. Nor should I feel guilty over it. Like you, I read because I love to open a book and wait for that wonderful moment when I think "ahhh, you and I, my dear, are going to spend a lot of time together". I want the book to take me somewhere, to surprise me, to involve me and to make me smile or cry or groan or tremble, but never to let it completely leave me after the last page. I have no truck with audio books. They are not books, they are not reading, they are listening. I want my brain to see the use of  language done beautifully and deftly. Not only do I crave to learn new words, but of their use in sincere forms that are not scruffy Creative Writing instuctor cute tricks. I crave words that pique my desire to honor them and discover their new and unique way  of use.  It has nothing to do with how many people bought the book or what the current media hype demands. Nor do I like to talk about books at parties. Book clubs, yes. Parties, no.  Reading the dusty classics, I find words to add to my list of Arachaics, as I call them: words I have never heard used or written in my readership. To me, that's very exciting and is a chance to have an "aha" moment. I don't find these sorts of words in modern works unless they are coined very cleverly. I am not a snob reader but I know that Fiction is the star because it has arms and legs, it's human and realer than real. 

No Gen Gap

 To assume that there is a"generation gap" is not only incorrect, it is ridiculous. Whomever coined the term, wasn't thinking broadly but presenting a false picture of society. To have a gap, there must be a separation or abyss that prevents one from crossing over from their side to another. Generations today, all of them, live in the same basic enviornment: thus, where is the "gap"? Even if you speak of older versus younger persons as the "gap", the theory doesn't apply. Among any of the generations, usually described as twenty-five years, you will find huge differences in same age groups. It has nothing to do with what kind of clothing you wear or how you speak or dance or sing or go to school or have gone to school. All living human beings live on this planet in countries and environments together now, and the frippery described as a "gap" is simply,  not applicable. Those older within their section, have huge differences in how they behave or think or produce, and those in younger age groups also don't all think, act and live the same way either. And who would think they do? Nor do, within in either group, economic, cultural or physical differences all look alike or behave the same way. I think when some rant on about generalizational "gaps", they ought to define what part of generational "gap" they  are referring to. If they mean physical or emotional differences, even those facets, don't accurately, jibe. The variety of choices available to the young and the old make reliable facts impossible prove the "gap". For example, the other day, I had the pleasure of watching a hugely popular rock music group performing. They were visibly very elder but continued to make their special brand of music movingly accepted by a raving audience of all ages. Furthermore, it isn't about one's appearance, health or physical ability since most of the world's greatest influencers and performers and politicians and scientists are older while some are very young and innovative and all are valuable to our survival on theis planet. They work together because it's not about fad and fashion, it's about contribution. They do what they do in this time, this "gap" that we all live in - right now. Today, tomorrow and until we die, we are all one, in The Gap. 

Belonging Longing

 After hearing that most hotels in the city were booked a year ahead because a certain stage singer was coming to town, I began to wonder why.  It's easy to pooh pooh such things but the question that always arises is "why"? What is this need for hundreds, thousands to collect in one place just to hear a human being of passing popularity, sing songs and prance about on a stage? It's not much more special than listening to the song which can be purchased or nipped on-line for free. It's more than that. From what I have heard about mass human participation, it's more to be with a bunch of other people and sway and sing along and gaze on a spectacle together. It's an affirmation of being among our kind. Like a  flock of little fish or birds or junebugs all grouping together, we humans love to mingle and move in hoards and feel we belong. When you see videos of masses of humankind at concerts, all holding their cell phones in the air and swaying  and crooning in front of a large stage with a few little colourful bodies moving about like hopping ants , it is a strange sight. But there's  a reason why we creatures do it. We love to be part of a large, like, swaying and humming mass. It makes each individual feel less lonely. These folks aren't conscious of the reasons during the time they are there, they just want to be a part of it all. It makes them feel that they are the stage and the star, too, as they move and make sounds along with the "stars". Some political figures not only in the past but now also,  and likely to be, in the future,  can take advantage of this mass need to be part of a group and can direct that emotional behaviour in a number of directions.  Hopefully it is in the right and moral direction. This kind of crowd appeal is nothing new in society and harks back to the early days of man when being in a group meant security and assurance that one is protected. When our primitive ancestors sang or danced together, they felt that common bond. Nothing new.

Librarians To "Weed"

 A librarian trained in university whether for public work or educational, is a librarian. Today I read where "school librarians" are forced to weed books and other materials that their school districts deem non-inclusive. Tons of books were discarded. What we end up with if over-zealous "weeding" takes place is censorship and usually it is done with very little specific attention to the details such as re-reading the books to see if, indeed, they are offensive and not inclusive. What, if we are not careful, left with is a load of biassed pap to offer children from the time of starting school to leaving school as adults. Books that are non-inclusive need to be judged so by a broad panel of people who discuss and examine before tossing out what could be fodder for beneficial discussion and comparison. Like the world wars and other cruel historical events, they need to be remembered not tossed, as one person spoke on the radio news today. They said, "so we don't forget what happened as to never let it happen again". I imagine that most authors of a few decades ago, used certain words that today are wrong, while then, they were used because they weren't considered during those times, offensive. What better way for an English  Literature class to use such book as example of how society has improved and how the changes have benefitted us all. Simply "burning" all books that remotely refer to a person incorrectly or that appears offensive now but was not at the time, disallows the deep reason to understand the course of our world that is supposedly coming to grips with all sorts of injustices. We need to know what's wrong before we can fix it. I am a librarian, or was a few decades ago, and I can easily think of certain books, I would either want to see on the shelves of schools while there are others I think ought to be scanned and judged by today's standards and perhaps removed. At the same time, I would like to see those who might find the text offensive present before decisions are made to remove the material. Writing and or speaking are one of the ways of making changes to right wrongs and within that power, is a big responsibility before muzzling speech or throwing out books whose darkness needs some curative light, the light of change. 

The WHOLE Truth

 In court, as a witness, one places a hand on an ancient book of wisdoms and pledges to tell "the whole truth and nothing but the truth". What is the "whole" truth? The pledge isn't always done, even though marked, because the "whole truth" can be a dangerous thing. It's everything around, over and above the truth, and thus is seldom told. Most of us try very hard to tell truth while others may not and call it "a little white lie" or "I can't because the real truth might hurt" or a host of other excuses to never quite make the "whole" truth. Why can't we tell the whole truth? What's so hard about it? Aha. The whole truth is like, in front of us, a gargantuan mountain or a bottomless pit. We protect the whole truth because it feels too big to climb or to span. It's our secret, our very personal one, that isn't for public knowledge. We carry it. We hold it. We don't want to drop it. It's always there and we know it's needed to emerge, but we guard it and ignore it and often treasure it, because, like a precious gem, only our unique selves can see it. Thus, it's our specific need and special. Sometimes this "whole" truth haunts us so that we dream about it only in fear it might be seen. But it's safe within a room inside us, a place that no one else can enter. There are people who know that eventually, they must out this truth, but if they do, they fear the consequences. The consequences might hurt someone else, or worse, themselves. There are brave souls who do let the whole truth free and find it, while an enormous relief, also now a tremendous burden. Perhaps "tis better to bear the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" than let them go? Revealing whole truth isn't just a small matter: it involves all kinds of complicated little truths that snowball and grow into something we may not expect. We may very much regret having allowed it to escape. It feels good in some ways and painful in others, but all in all, the whole truth is no longer an unclimbable mountain or bottomless depth to fear. It has incredibly and simply disappeared. Surprisingly, it makes life clear, a better place to live, to breathe and to continue. 

One Sentence

 Read today, "use one sentence only for email". Who made up that one?  Oh wait; it must have been the kid in the third row rear who peers at his cell hand during class instead of listening to the teacher. He's called on by the teacher and his response is usually, "Huh?" True; that is one sentence. I guess it could be called "email"-able. Not a true story, but it could be somewhere. I can see that texting someone requires not only the brainless codes that are used mostly by those who do that kind of thing.  To me texting is one matter, but emailing is like mail and if you think  you can communicate on a one sentence basis, you are unique. I don't use a cell phone even though I have one. None of the people I know, call me on it because most of them have the luxury of time to make a land call or an email as a piece of good English rather than poking off a lot of capitals done in haste to hasty folk. The age old saying that haste is waste, here, does not apply. Seems these days everyone is in a terrible hurry. Going where they do mach speed, and doing what they're supposed to be doing, remains a mystery because no more is accomplished than those who slow down and focus. Getting back to having to use only one sentence, encourages one to the run-on varity of sentence or at least one with more than normal, commas, because, as an example, today I wanted to hire a handyman or woman to please come and put together a received via FedEx an on-line item, an electric fireplace that when I opened the box, appeared to be a lego project of some length -and width - due to the Amazon shopping list illustration that makes it look wonderful for its black oak surround, its dark marble margins and the interesting flame that when turned to the designation, "heat", produces a healthy, looking flame that blows warmth out of the vents in its, the unit's thirty-two inch front that faces the user.  (How is that for a LONG sentence; it's one only!) Next time, a cyber genius makes a rule such as this one-sentence thing, it should be more specific as to how.  But OMG TMI IMHO BTW J/K then again DILLIGAS?

No Heat

 When your condo management says, 'because we are installing a new system, there will be no heat for three days", your "blood runs cold". Well, not really. What did make my blood "run cold" was the levy we had to pay to replace the gas heating boilers. Levies are never welcome even though they do buy needs in an old building that you own jointly and severely which I can say is sometimes "severely". But that's what it takes. So what to do when the heat is off? It's autumn and even on the West Coast, it does become coldish and damp because we are oceanside and grow big trees. No heat is a learning experience. I found that the portable ACs I bought for the very hot summer, are also heating units. But, and it's a big one, they blow out cold air at the back just as they blew out hot air previously when used as ACs. Fortunately, I could train the blowing duct into a guest bathroom and using some cushions, prevent the cold from reentering the rest of the place. Also I have a tiny electric fireplace on my TV stand cabinet. I use it mostly for the  fire effect but this time, for the electric heat. Using the ceiling fan above and turning the little fireplace to its first notch I soon felt a lovely warmth pouring out. Ahhh! Then again, after baking bread, I left the oven door open instead of letting the unused heat go up the vent. More useable warmth. Nightime was no problem at all. With the windows shut and snuggling inside my down quilt I was comfy all night. What I am learning, is just how much heat we waste. Some people keep their window open "for the fresh air" but the heat goes out when the "fresh" air comes in. And we pay for it. Our system here is gas-fired but using electricity offers more options. Those little electric fireplaces are very cheap and they look warm as well as casting out heat.  Why not take advantage of such small gifts as residual oven heat after cooking or baking? Our TV sets these days, pour out heat. Put your hand above your operating TV and find out. All screens, including your cell phone, are hot in more ways than one. Don't let your money escape out open windows. You pay for heat, keep it where it belongs. Best of all, wear what keeps in your natural body heat. You are  a small furnace! 

Trees The First "Humans"

 Trees were the first "humans" and much better at it than we humans. When they first arrived on earth in its early days, they had trunks and limbs that protected creatures. Human beings are supposedly here to do the same to act as guardians of the earth and all of its beings. Sadly, we aren't doing much of a job at it. Trees are neutral. They take no sides. When they appeared on the young earth, their limbs provided leafy or frondy shade from the sun and shelter from the rains. They became home to  smaller life forms as well as larger ones that lived beneath and inside them. They made strong, reaching roots that sucked up water to become sap and sap fed many of its adopted "children". They also had their own "children" and made seeds that fed animals and insects, with and without spines, and their sap was savoured by those who happened to discover its qualities.  When their trunks were thick, they could be used to make houses, their branches and leaves became rain proof roofs. Their fruits made food of many kinds, and their seeds were eaten and were spread by wing and fin over the whole earth to feed all the creatures on it. Trees that were big and tall, were killed and cut up to be used in many ways: houses, furniture, equipment. Firewood was of prime importance. It remains so.  There are no beings that have not benefitted by trees in some way. Naturally, something so precious as trees, when money of various kinds was invented and trade came upon the earth that pointed out the value of trees even to make paper money and stock forms themselves. And trees were easy to capture and enslave. They don't walk or run away, they stay and submit. They are never angry or vengeful, they don't war or become depressed  even when pitted with disease and the abuse of overuse. Trees do one thing, they grow and grow and grow.  They don't give up. After a forest fire they come back in rather mysterious ways. Some trees actually benefit from forest fires to cleanse in their way. Trees are good "humans" who know no prejudice or fury or political sides. They do exactly as they are told and "smile".  If we lose trees, it will be time for the return to how earth stood eons ago before we two legged creatures came along on the trail that could destroy us. We should be trees. 

My Son

 My son was born today. It was sixty-two years ago when my husband, now also dead, built a house we could afford in a town now shunned as Lower Middle Class, but which stands strong even today. Our baby came along four years into our modest marriage in a nearby little city, once to be BC's capital but changed for one you can get to by ship or plane only. Our baby son held all the promises of life when he came along: love and security. He was a healthy, cheerful child. Our tiny mortgage was paid off before we were thirty even during an unpleasant stint in the North on relocation by an oil company. We went back to BC to a small coastal town with small coastal ideas. I went back to teaching and my husband found a good job in a government institution. Life seemed good. Besides inlaw problems and the minor discomforts of living in a small coastal town mostly run by locals with different life styles than we once knew in the city. My son started school but never liked it. He was polite though a free soul.  His bright wit got him into trouble sometimes with teachers thus he turned to music: the keyboard and classical piano taught by his uncle, a grad of London Music.  The best thing school did for him was his highschool band teacher who encouraged him to take the jazz world, one,  we, too, loved. I am ever grateful to this man. It made his life fine. My son met a great girl at a technical school and they married before they walked across the stage to receive their diplomas. Life seemed good and the two children of his marriage were and are adorable. He hoped to return to music and complete his love of it seriously when the marriage broke. Later, jobs and music on the side never paid enough but he didn't feel sorry for himself. One day, he learned about his brain tumor, benign, but after surgery, time to learn to walk again and work again. Life was not easy and there never was enough pay. He drove a bus latterly, and  loved it: the routes, the customers, the company boss and the benefits. He had good friends, some music pals and true. Then Pancreatic Cancer came along and it all ended at sixty-one years old. He accepted, as always what life threw at him, without blaming or complaining. He's back now, resting in the coastal town in a cemetery that is achingly small but surrounded by good people who built it through their efforts and hard work. Not every mother has the opportunity to see her son's entire life spread out for her to think about every day and what could have been and why. I have much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving for my son and his courage and love. 

Behind The Glass

We tread in an eggshell society. There is fear in what we say, the words we use, the colours we wear, the foods we eat, the places we live. The rules of behaviour and speech, even the way we live daily, is now subject to social speculation and scrutiny. If a once used word is innocently spoken in error, you are shunned even if you apologise immediately. You are looked down upon if you don't live in a home that is almost bare of any reminiscent objects that you want around you for comfort and if  you retain too many of them, you could be accused of hoarding. Labels are rampant. Your rent or mortgage is maxing out. Should you want to be someone who doesn't favour hoards of people around you constantly, you are said to be reclusive. The car you drive, if not a newer model that doesn't spout certain substances, no matter how useful it is, is frowned upon. What you put on your feet is stared at with chagrin if it isn't a certain brand or colour or shape. The food you eat or not eat, is regarded as the latest what-to-do or not of the most fashionably "healthful" sort, according to whatever freaky weight-loss game is in vogue.  If you dare to weigh over a certain scheduled amount, you are told by your thin doctor, "you need to lose weight" and you agonize in shame. Gyms show in windows with row upon row of bodies sweating and beating their knees up and down going nowhere notwithstanding future knee replacement. Elders are having bodies plumped up or down, hair added or removed, fat sucked out as well as  lips and eyebrows tatooed and still don't live to one hundred twenty. In the opposite direction, the young are doing the same but at younger and younger ages. Money is scarce and credit thrives, padding up the banks and their profits. Fashion reigns and some little singer makes millions doing what nature put there as he or she trots it out on a zany lit stage as thousands pay to watch. Games are places of gambling and worship. Politicians are chosen by their looks and hollow promises they sometimes die for. But this is our world. Too bad we can't sit in outer space and watch ourselves as one would stare at an ant farm. We might learn to be wiser. 

Old vs New Actors

 Watched this morning at 5 AM a TV movie, which might have something to do with my thoughts. It was a tarnished police department mystery in which catching the bad guy, was overshadowed by the back story of those catching him. The best part of this movie was seeing some of the old favorite cop actors again. Their acting talent superceded the roles and their wrinkled and their slightly rumpled appearances along with the biffy bellies and hair implants and just plain baldness, took nothing away from their obvious experience with this kind of role. After the movie, I wondered why I had enjoyed it so much and decided it was because it felt real. Too many of these things, now, are duded up with classy new cars, designer outfits on perfect bodies and  slick scenes. There is always a car chase, nasty language and perfect scantily dressed ladies and pumped up tattooed guys. All are in their twenties or early thirties. They toss in an old chap or well done up lady occasionally to give the tape "balance". Doesn't work. Young actors now are like puppets all done up with stark white implanted teeth, clipped in hair coiffed perfectly, the boned in jaws, pumped up lips, wrinkles and lines don't show. The fat is sucked out with an undertakers machine at great cost and the costumes are sprayed onto  perfectly gymed trimmed bodies that are spray tanned and sculpted by the best doctors on the face of the earth. And young fans crave to look just like them. And that's okay, but when you see an old, but perfect film of the same kind done long before AI or collagen injections and implants of various kinds but are those made by stage actors who have experience under their size large belts in getting up on the boards and having to do it over and above their looks, then you get what acting is all about. And I know nothing about acting but it has little to do with, as we viewers know, plastic surgery or make-up or clothes. It has to do with the story and how well it is told. That doesn't require "pretty", it requires hard core acting grit so that we can try and believe what we see. 

Seeing Ourselves

George Bernard Shaw once spoke about the advantages of seeing ourselves as "ithers see us". What he was really referring to was the advantage of a louse he saw crawling upon the back of lady's dress, both of whom were in front of him as he sat in an audience. What he meant was that during the speaking, only the louse could remain completely objective in its judgement, while the people seated in the general gathering, had pre-determined or conceived notions about the subject and would, therefore, make their judgements based on them. The tale made me think that no one really sees oneself, no matter how hard we try. It's sort of the same as seeing a picture of ourselves and not quite believing we actually look like what we see in the photograph. I was once told by a photographer during a session, when one looks in a mirror, it is not their true and normal expression. He went on to describe most on looking into a mirror,  will raise their eyebrows slightly, make the mouth in a tiny shape that improves the face, stiffens their neck a bit, perhaps tilts the head appealingly or turns to the "best" side a little. He said he would prove it. He then directed me to close my eyes and let my whole face relax as though I were sound asleep. He said, keep it that way, be still and open just your eyes to see into the mirror. Aha! How right he was, my face was different and then I changed it automatically as I continued to gaze. You might like to try it yourself. When you do, and see yourself as "others see you" all relaxed,  your face will change as  mine did as you stay looking into the mirror. You will raise your eyebrows, pull your eye sides back a bit, lift your chin somewhat, bring the sides of your mouth  up and set back your ears. You will feel the changes. When we are going about life every day, we look not exactly how we look in our mirrors. Unless we are filmed, we simply do not and cannot know exactly how we appear to others. It follows that when we are sad or angry or tired or proud, our faces are something we can't see normally and when these emotions arise we aren't thinking about how we look. We are our normal selves. Actors and speakers must practice various expressions in a mirror to learn their best looks and rehearse them to make sure that they are showing the best of themselves in their roles but they are not necessarily their natural normal ones. To them, they must because their faces are their "fortunes". To us, we are what we are and that's all that matters.

Best Free Ad Blocker

 There's nothing more disgusting online than seeing  digusting ads for foot problems or raw meat. When you're trying to navigate a jigsaw, crossword or wordle challenge, you don't need to see ugly ads from your periferal vision space. Once in a snit to stop such ads, I tried paying to hire an online adblocker, but it blocked everything. That didn't work. I like some ads, especially the ones that I use for shopping, but I can't think of anyone who likes the disgusting ones. But after having to tap the x constantly because telling the site why their ads are ugly and why I don't want them, doesn't work for long. I discovered a simple ad blocker that was not only free, but acted as a recycler. I used an old paper envelope that was just the right size, width and length and that also had a self-stick flap. I cut it to size and now, when I see one of the disgusting ads at the side of the page, I pat the old envelope piece up onto my monitor frame and hide the ugly ads and return happily to proceed without interruption, my games of Bridge, crossword, Bubble Popper and so forth. Why are these ads there? Apparently, some wiseacre ad agent, thought that it should capture peoples' attentions in any way possible. The individual who came up with this less than intelligent solution, decided that it could be done easily by installing disgusting pictures of foot fungus or dead rabbit heads and offal. It behooves me as to why and how, any person could possibly consider, remotely,  a relation status between sheer nausea and duly, an interest in a product.  Is anyone really going to get excited by skinned rabbit heads and run down to the nearest butcher shop to buy some? If I were shopping for a company to do my advertising, I would try hard  to find one that didn't need to stoop to such desperate measures. I know there are folks who do partake of such fare as rabbits, but it would be no one that I know, or ever have known. I think most  are vegetarians, so show me a headless carrot, a footless bean or a pretty cut of lobster and I might take a meat-eater peek at it - even during a hot bid of five hearts.   

The Education Quiz Show

 True education is giving knowledge until it is learned no matter how long it takes an individual to learn it. We learn every day in non-academic situations. When we, as infants learn to walk, to feed ourselves, to manipulate toys, we aren't tested with a mark. We are inspired to learn because it makes us feel better, it makes us grow in knowledge. We are naturally motivated. Then a child goes to school, up comes an academic quiz show where children are told to memorize or create or manipulate the way an adult tells them to. If they do it well, they are rewarded. They go on the honor roll or receive a diploma or a star. The others are cast off as failures. This makes education a quiz show with a quiz master teacher.  It is not a learning place. The whole quiz show mess should be tossed out because it fails. It is not true education. True education is presenting knowledge to inspire and is without penalty. It is about on-going learning until each and every student reaches their learning goal no matter how long it takes to go over and over the knowledge.  Some will go on and on and others will take their time but both will feel successful especially without any kind of reward  or failure system such as the present quiz show format. Out go marks. In come  teachers as knowledge givers including AI the biggest teacher of all to date. Think how student education stress will disappear. Knowledge is free and should be imparted as such. A teacher who one assumes is a master learner should be happy to impart knowledge continuously to each and every one of their students until they have learned the true value of what the teacher offers freely with no marks to deter. Testing is oral and an exchange of knowledge between the student and the teacher is the assessment of its success. Writing skills are cooperative with the teacher giving, not criticising but encouraging the skills needed to improve continuously. A student needs inspiration and examples of success to follow. The beauty of the arts comes first, not the testing to see who will win and who will lose.  No giving of marks for achievement but merely simple praise and further step  to gain on one's personal knowledge seeking ladder. To test the depth of knowledge, the teacher and fellow students and other teachers will meet and learn from the student what has been gathered. Education becomes a mutual goal to benefit all.  It sounds rebellious, but the gains could be unfathomably superior to what we do today.  There is only one side of a desk in true education.

One Parent Stay Home

 This drug crisis in which so many of our finest youth die far too soon, might be helped if there were at least one parent staying home and keeping an eye on what junior is up to. I don't mean spying on them but being fully and completely involved in making their lives meaningful. I know many parents who wish to be at home rather than having to work to pay the mortgage or rent but cannot afford to. It is time we spent good money for one parent to be at home with the kids. A parent who doesn't take them to day care as infants or pick them up at night when they are exhausted from work. Everyone says it works when both parents work and can pay for the house, the cars and Disneyland annually.  I don't believe it. And to me, there is evidence. Listen to the media.  Also the madness of book up every minute of a kid's life with organised sport, arts or studies is not giving them a sense of freedom without regulation. The regulation should come from the family mandate designed by the family and the family means someone at home. If there is no one at home and some gorgeous ones are empty all day until the "family" arrives home to scramble through a quick meal before the schedules demand they go off in the cars again. It is not old fashioned to want to be a family with someone around be it the father or mother when the child leaves for school and comes home from it. But who can afford that luxury and still provide the child what it needs socially, mentally, physically and economically? We need to fund stay-at-home parents below a certain income so that our society gets back to a normal playing field again. Does any child these days come home to a house with the parent around to ask how the day went, prepare a sit down meal uninterrupted by scheduled events or cell phones or parental must-do calls from work? Sure, you love your work parents but what is happening at home? Parents on the poverty line could well use a steady, reliable income to provide the necessary parental presence in developing a child who has a close person, one of his and her blood, to listen and comfort and love on a constant reliable basis. Argue if you will, but a paid parental presence needs testing even if you argue against it. You are responsible for that child and children, their lives, their futures and ours. All of us. 

Expensive Mistake

 We all make mistakes but they aren't always expensive. My latest one, was. My washer is relatively new and not one of those cute window types. What I wanted is not to watch my laundry go round and round but for it merely to be clean. No high fashion in my utility room. The other day, wishing to add a damp tea towel to the washing machine, I was denied access due by the automatic door lock mechanism. It annoyed me because when someone doing laundry comes across a small item missed and wishes to add it to the working machine, one can't. It is touted as a safety feature and that's fine but why not when the lid opens, the machine merely stops and begins again when the lid is closed. What is this lid lock nonsense? Some designers of appliances are people who don't evidently use them before they manufacture them. Sure the engineers design efficient products, but are they built to convenience the customer? Too many are not. The person purchasing has to put up with a machine that forces them to comply to the machine rather than the other way around. Aha, thought I. I can fix that. I'll just snap off the little gizmo that locks the lid. I did. The machine's red light flashed at me saying "ha ha, you'll be sorry". I was. The machine stopped working. Very politely it did empty most of the water first. That feature, I loved. I hauled out my sopping wet laundry, a full load, and set up the drying rack in my walk in shower. Drip, drip, drip. After hours of drip, it all went into the dryer for two rounds. The service tech came next to the tune of a large fee just to enter my place. These days you pay first to have a look at the service person. The rest of the actual work, is added. My tech was great and very helpful. But unless I replaced what I ruined, I'd have to buy a new washer. It was a cruel and costly lesson. From now on before I do anything as rash as snapping off even a tiny bit of plastic which is all I did previously, I will research to find out the effect. Lesson learned. Ouch. Bill paid. 

HIgh Rise Trailer Parks

 We are looking for places to accommodate those who can't afford a home or need something inexpensive. There are so many living in RVs and tents and they can't find suitable places to camp while at the same time being mistreated by others. My thought is why not have high rise parking buildings with divided sites that have outlets for power and sewage, that could accommodate persons on low incomes, and at the same time have space for people living in cars and vans. There would be a fee but a low one because the site or parking spot fee would include supervised shower and bathroom areas on each floor as well as garbage service, and other utilities. Fee arrangements would fit the needs of the user. Of course there would be security patrols and rules and anyone not abiding by them or failing to pay their fee would be asked to leave according to the signed agreement when they moved in. There could be floors for tents, others for small RVs, larger ones, students only, travellers and so on. The top floor could house a grocery outlet, food court and bar for tenants as well as play areas for kids, ones  that are supervised and safe along with child care facilities. Many of the residents might train for jobs in the building itself. It would have on the lowest floor, stores for supplies and goods needed by those in the higher parking spaces. Each person would have to keep their site clean and be a good citizen. The floors could be designated. Some floors would be for those with substance problems and have helpers on site to assist them. Travellers from outside, would have the lower floors as they come and go. The entrance to the building would be gated and with security. The benefit of this kind of structure, for those in it, would be that services were available for their special needs. Some floors could be strictly for homeless accommodation in tiny units, with medical treatment available. It may sound like a ridiculous idea but rather than take up street space, persons in this situation would be located in areas that they enjoy and also would take them off green parks etc because this sort of solution building could be situated almost anywhere. The government would be better off to do this than try to find land outside cities. The city is where this is needed because of employment factors and student accommodation and just plain poverty. No one who  had higher incomes would be able to use it since it would be for those only, on most floors, who can't afford to go anywhere else. It would be cheaper to construct this kind of accommodation due to less finishing compared to other high rises that rent for impossible prices. The facility would also provide employment and services that are centered where they need to be: in one place near all services. I feel it would flourish because it is money well spent and people of need there,  would be safe and secure rather than prey out on the street.  

Short Handed

 We've dealt ourselves a short hand these days. Our senses of logic and reason seemed to have disappeared and are replaced with jumping on the social band wagon as fast as we can. Someone the other day, tried to convince me that cell phone texting was conversation and that because I favour using  email and my computer to make written conversation, I was told that this is just not done and that my emails with punctuation and no texting is passe. My argument back, is that you are not having a conversation with another human being when you text because, largely, you aren't saying anything at all. The acronyms go on, line after line adding up to nothing at all being said. I asked my companion "Why would this be called keeping-in-touch?" The answer was eyeballs-to-the-roof . Could be my friend didn't know how to have conversation. Out came his cell phone. The new therapy. It didn't really come out from anywhere because it never leaves his hand. It's a wonder he hasn't drowned it in the shower or taken a bite out of it accidentally. I jest. Cell phones can be handy things, and I have one and take it out when I go out, but I could not bear to carry it around everywhere I go. My hands were not made for holding a cell phone and I have better things to do than yapping  for no reason whatsoever. There are apparently people who sit at the same dining table and instead of looking at each other, they cell phone across the table. No more holding hands in the candlelight I suppose. Something else that worries me about the human race recently, is the need to attend something called "concerts" along with thousands of others in a huge football arena with big screens and goofy lights flashing all over, and humanity pressed together at huge expense. The cost as one starlet advertised, rather her "assistant" did, that she gave up her appointment to have her eggs frozen so that she could attend this concert. Now there's a sacrifice!  She had to fly half way around the world to attend and the cost was about the same as the egg thing, thus she felt her "sacrifice" was worth it. Media reports like that make me want to say "Stop the world, I want to get off", a line from long ago, and one that could happen due to my age. These "concerts" add up to commercial money making in the millions nay billions, while at the same time people are complain bitterly of not being able to own a house with dirt around it or pay the rising costs of groceries. Where is the logic? A concert used to be a place you attended to listen to and watch people who had spent most of their lives learning a skill so that they could perform their talent to inspire others. They don't make big money. These gigantic shows with lights and stage mavens jumping up and down with huge amps pounding their ear drums are a mystery to me.Usually there is skinny young person, dressed in expensive gear, belting out a song or two for a a few hours of shouting and screaming others all around one. From where most of them sit or stand if they become emotionally deranged over the show, can't see anything of it but a tiny bunch of people on a distant stage jumping up and down in costumes. There are big screens here and there not like the nice ones in their own homes where it would be a lot cheaper and more comfortable to enjoy. My closing comment is  "Huh?" or STWIWTGO. 

DIY Ketchup Saves

No harm in saving pennies these days by taking up DIY. I am doing so and besides putting my laundry outside, am making my own yogurt and today, my own ketchup. I am a ketchup lover and this recipe is the best tasting ketchup I have ever tasted. It is so easy with no cooking, let the kids stir it up and enjoy it on the next hot dog or hamburger from the barbecue.  To 12 ounces of tomato paste, add one third cup of white wine or apple cider vinegar, one tablespoon of sugar, one half teaspoon of salt, one quarter teaspoon each of black pepper, ground mustard, and celery salt, next, add one half teaspoon of oregano, cayenne, onion powder and a pinch of allspice. Stir well. That's it. And it keeps in the fridge for a month. If it lasts that long. I have a blob of ketchup on the side of my plate and dip into it without guilt at most meals.This recipe tastes fresh and more like tomatoes than I have had ever before from the store bought kind. The more we can save in any way we can, by finding ways to select, prepare and cook our foods ourselves, saves not only our own pocket books,  but also the earth by using primary ingredients without additives and the need for industrial production. It also teaches kids especially, the value of creating our own foods and adding personal flavours in what we prepare. Added to that learning, it allows kids to appreciate what goes into food production of items we eat every day. Using dough to make breads, making our own cakes and pies and things like our own ketchups as today, gives everyone a sense of being in control of the food supply. Better still, is growing small herbs on window ledges and in flower beds alongside the pretties, having green onions always sitting in water beside the sink for clipping,  is using the earth's gifts the right way. Wild foraging is becoming another "sport" that families are taking to. There is far more to living than competing in ball games and taking dancing lessons and dreaming of becoming the "best". We are already "the best" just living in this complex but still beautiful world. 

Unfair Farewells

 We've all done it. We saw an ad that promised a free spate of a membership with cancellation if not wanting to continue. What we found out later, is cancellation is really a complication. If we tried the membership and found it entertaining at the beginning, but that it became something we decided not to continue for one reason or another, cancelled. Or rather, tried to cancel. Previously, one could depend on a reliable, experienced company to comply with a request to cancel; but no more. I can't recall how many times in the last year or so, I have discovered that cancelling is like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack. Sometimes, after much plowing through endless redirects the key words to make the cancellation happen simply do not appear to exist. You resort to going on line to find out from others perhaps in a forum, just how they managed to cancel. The other day, for example, I checked my bank statement and discovered that a company I had joined, charged me, not a monthly fee as usual, but an annual one in which I had to pay a large amount all at once rather than the regular monthly fee. My bank listed the amount as "pending" thus I could take no action to stop payment because they could not effect it until the charge actually  happened. I had to wait until the charge went through and then start action. So how come it is listed as "pending"? And further, how do I dispute a "pending" that is a non-existent amount? The next step logically, would be to contact the company and cancel the item.  I went to "account" and scrolled down to "manage". To "manage", I could renew my subscription or extend it (with lovely bonuses) or change my account info,  but nowhere did I find "cancel". After another search, I was told that I needed to cancel, not on the company's name but from the provider source. Huh? Each time I used the product, I went directly to the company, not the provider. Finally, I found a cancellation spot and discovered that not me, but they, made suggestions listed for me to choose from.  None of the long list of items included my need. Usually at the bottom of the page, one can find "Help" and perhaps a phone number or an email address for a "zen" desk which is apparently where you just might find some real help. The zen desk was an email address only and I entered my subject - cancel the subscription. Whoopee, I reeceived a "we have successfully cancelled your subscription".  But reading on, they said I would continue as a member until next year when your "pending" fee on your bank account, will end the subscription. Next year? Now, please. I wrote to the zen desk  "cancel immediately or I will be reporting you to my bank and credit card company". I am still waiting for a response. 

Cordless Dryer

 This long weekend sends thousands of cars onto the mactac highways pumping tons of carbon into the atmosphere while complaining about the heat and buying ACs and global warming and also travelling on ships and trains and airplanes doing their bit to kill the planet in a slow death. Who wants to stay home in the summer? No one, because there's the boat and the trailer and the bush noise maker grinding up the woods and they, too, pump out carbons. Lots. Summer fun, it's called. I am staying home, goody two shoes that I am,  for these reasons: done it all, too old, no desire, got rid of my car and I love my sun deck and home and I have a conscience that tells me I have grandchildren and they need the planet.  Today I am laundering. Okay, I am using warm water, soap and electricity. But the difference is that because we have more than ample sun, I can turn on my "cordless dryer". My deck is not allowed by The Condo Act, to have laundry hanging out, thus I have encircled the deck space with fake ivy branches because I do not have a view and even if I did, I would still do the same. Why? I like the look of greenery that I don't have to water and that stays out winter and summer and doesn't change. Love it. I have a folding rack that will take lots of hanging objects, sneakers and flat things and I use it every week when the laundry days are sunny. My deck is covered by the deck above, my sun umbrella is up unless it rains and I face west with no view at all. What better reasons are there to hang out laundry that no one else can see? When I had a house, a rarity these days, I had a clothes line. Remember then,  when the sheets blew freely in the wind and towels smelled heavenly when reaped?  Even though I worked full-time, I always hung out my laundry and loved doing it. I felt that it was the right place for it. When I had a set of those cute laundry machines with the little round windows (why windows?), it just wasn't the same. What came out dry smelled like perfume, but yes, it could be folded immediately and safely since it never saw the light of day unless it was on me. But I missed gathering in sweet smelling linens of the old days before layering them into the closet. Younger  urbies don't have that pleasure now. But then who CAN hang out laundry? To me, it makes sense to use the sun instead of turning on an electric dryer. I have to admit that often I put some items in for about ten minutes just to warm out the wrinkles if any, but most pieces off the little rack are smooth and the sheets that I drape between too deck chairs are back to smelling like fresh air. Wonderful! In Europe, hanging out laundry is okay because they are crowded and know the value of not using electrical power, no matter how much source they have to do so. They are planet conscious. Are you? 

The Soup That Grew

One of the chief benefits of living alone, is that you almost never make a mistake. I speak of cooking mistakes. Who sees your errors when there is no one to see? Much like the tree that doesn't fall on the mountainside. When something you cook turns out badly, it's called "destiny" and when you forget to add something you should have remembered, there is no one to say " tut tut". If your dish becomes a disaster, no one frowns. It suddenly morphs to compost and composting is never a mistake. I aimed today, to make French Onion Soup, but as it turned out: well, we shall see. A good many onions went into the crock along with water, a dab of butter and S and P. While the hours went by as it bubbled slowly out on the deck due to its highly fragrant offerings, I wondered also what to do with the left overs from a date at the Greek restaurant: namely potatoes, carrots and broccoli that I left after eating the prawn souvlaki and salad. With the leftovers, I concocted with water, a clear broth adding fresh celery and herbs. Later in the day, I suddenly remembered that you ought to fry the onion not boil it. Too late, the crock was gently bubbling the onion in its own juices. Not to mind. There must be all kinds of Onion Soup. The vegetable broth needed draining now, and  the dregs would go into the compost but the clear stock was saved. The onions were transparent in their broth  and then emptied into the frying pan to be sizzled with butter along with the addition of flour for thickening. A bit later, in goes  a smash of wine for flavour and more herbs. The onion didn't fry up well, but was presentable. I poured the onion liquids into the large wok that was holding the almost fried onions and then poured in the vegetable stock. It all looked rather loose, therefore, I decided to help by dropping in a few opportune handfuls of  macaroni. I love any kind of pasta.  And what onion soup can ever go without parmesan cheese shredded into it? There wasn't a lot of colour, therefore, to me, it called for small green peas to brighten it up. The soup still was somewhat watery, therefore, I remembered about having perogies for breakfasts. I added eight of them to the liquid for good measure and they looked adorable floating about while waiting to be flipped. The perogies were of the potato sort. When they had cooked having been flipped, I extricated them from the broth and kept them for the morning breakfast to fry up and savour with sour cream. The rest of the pot looked appealing now, since the macaroni had not only grown up, but also helped thicken the dish. It looked seriously like something  deliberate. I am having a bowl of it with ketchup, my weakness, while I write.  No one but I would know how my French Onion Soup grew into such a delicious pasta dish with deep mysterious flavours, no mystery to me.  

Comment On Comment

 I have opinions just as you have about a news item, and when I read an article in the media, I want to participate and add my thoughts to be shared with all the other readers in the comment section. I am not unprofessional in writing comments, or rude, or disrespectful of anyone or anything. But I do make comments that don't always agree with the writer of the piece. To me, comments make for debate and debate is the way we get closer to the truth. Not just my truth, but that of others, so that somehow we can shed light on the subject we have at hand. I have on occasion, been temporarily disallowed to comment because someone did not like that I didn't agree with their hype. I quite realize, being just as well educated as they are, that sharp comments can be viewed as offensive but mine are never offensive or against any social kind of issue or breaking any laws. I do speak my truths but I also welcome those who make comments that are opposed to mine for the reasons I have already set out. Nevertheless, now when I attempt to make a comment in article comment spaces on the national media sites, mine are greeted with an exclamation mark and not posted. Why? Why is all I ask. Most of the comments are in agreement with the writer of the article but I suppose my name is black-listed but I would like a specific reason. I feel that if the media, in a publicly paid for site is banning people from the most innocent comments, there is something wrong with "freedom of speech" access. Even worse, is that like being kicked out of a school for a minor demeanor and never being allowed back, I am block out each time I try to comment. For example, the other day I wanted to express along with the comments of many others, my similar grief at the death of a favorite character. It was wholly sincere and inoffensive but it was not allowed for me to comment. What happened was that in ire, I discontinue taking my news source from such fools, and tuned in to other sources that have a more adult business. If a news media group bans people without a reason to  on each and every comment, it tells me that they don't read them. They simply have a black list and zap you out and disallow any further comments. This smacks of pomposity. It sounds to me as though this kind of action is removing one's right to participate in news reporting through comment. I pay for, with my taxes, small as that might be,  just as you do, but it should not take away my right to make intelligent comments that do follow all the rules. Maybe I overstepped a bit once or twice in the past,  but who hasn't and who has minded when they are slapped on the wrist. This kind of banning by media, should not be allowed without giving evidence at why. The media are hopefully the very proponents of free speech. My final take on this kind of idiocy, is GRRRR. 

Click, Snap, Tap

 No, those noises are not made by a rice cereal. They're the sound of someone "taking a picture". And that has changed over time. "Click" was once the sound, "snap" was what we called the picture taken with a click, but now, it's "tap". A cell phone tap. Among the many taps of the cyberspace era, some are for taking pictures of other things or oneself with others or alone. Selfies. Like, who really cares? Very few of them are keepers. I am harbouring boxes and boxes of something called "slides" and very old photographs that are posed by those who could stand perfectly still for minutes at a time. What am I going to do with these pictures that someone thought were times important enough to preserve? I dare to think they will be tossed into a flame somewhere. Why that should bother me, is mysterious because these people lived in a time when women had to wear floor length skirts and hats as big as a floor. Everyone in them, looks dour. I imagine, it's hard to hold a smile that long and anyway, most of them likely had bad teeth because there were no dental plans or implants or water picks. Also, women wore corsets and men, stiff collars. Ouch. Not much to smile about. More recently in the middle of the last century when I was once youngish, we travelled the world. It was cheaper then and no line-ups to see what is now covered with plastic shields, security guards and fences. It costs a fortune to tour, and is no longer comfortable, cheap or charming to do so. It was Then, this is crazy, Now.  In that day, the sound of picture taking was indicative of a time when you'd go home later and show your travels to family and tolerant friends. When the little movie cameras came along, it expanded into snaps of every child's important life moments such as learning to walk, smear birthday cake and graduate high school, not to speak of doing weddings. Every family had a wall of portraits, of smiling happy families with Dad, Mom and the offspring. Those were the days when a family meant one family in a lifetime. Very different today. One of the walls of family fame that I visited lately, had Mom's side and Dad's side and former Mom's and Dad's sides with their kids. Times two or three. I gave up trying to say such as, "I see the family resemblance" because frankly, I didn't. They were all mixed up like a macaroni salad, these people. In the fifties and sixties day, we were invited over to sit and watch someone's trip to a hot island somewhere and the beach, the palm trees, the sunsets and the turquoise pool with wet people in it. I always dreaded those invitations because picture watching makes me sleepy, especially hours of it.  I don't like my picture taken or taking them. The reason is, I worry about what will happen to the pictures. Most of us look at a picture a couple of times and then put it somewhere until there is a family reunion or a funeral. Let's be frank here. I don't take pictures any more. What I can't remember can't be worth remembering.

Short Text? Not Me

 I was warned by one of my latent friends the other day, that my texts are too long and that it causes stress for him. I reminded him that I write and that writers aren't into shorthand language. I try to keep my emails as compact as I can, but I refuse to use caps for phrases as do some who think it's all very cute and "now".  That's their fun. Punctuation? Yes, I use that, too. In fact, I don't use a cell phone for other than phoning. I do not want to be fiddling with a piece of equipment for no particular reason all day, nor do I need to "keep in touch" with everyone, every second of my life no matter how much I like them. I use a computer, too.  Not that silly tiny thing that most people can't seem to put down that grows out of the palms of their hands. Why do I do this? Because that's what I do. There is a choice. The person who had stress when reading longer texts, forgot that he is the one who controls how much stress he will tolerate and if my longer e mails are bothersome, he can go fly a kite. But that requires two hands and one of his is inoperative since it holds continuously, a cell phone. Evidently, studies show that children are less literate than they once were. "Why" has an easy answer.  Most kids have cell phones, we are told for safety, and are trained from an early age in how to use them by those who are as illiterate as they will become. Reading? No. No. As one of my illiterate friends reminded me, there ARE audio books, you know. I must admit that if I am away, I do use my cell phone for everything but it's only in desperation. They are very handy objects when it's necessary to have them. But using those things anywhere other focus is happening such as visiting, eating and studying, they should be turned off and basketed. I do not enjoy sitting opposite other members of my immediate society who are gazing and giggling at their cell phones that I can't see or hear. It's as rude as whispering into someone else's ear or speaking a language others don't speak within the company you are in. Cell phones don't come with good manners manuals, but they ought to. Calling me old fashioned, outdated, cynical, jaded and all that, isn't going to change my mind. There are many of us out there, who aren't going to be middle-school thinkers any more. Also, speak clearly and not rapidly. I am not at all deaf and I'm not into running the fast talkers race with you. Use sentences and please leave out the F word and "like" for everything you describe. Okay maybe I am an old crank, but I am literate even though I do sink to using a reader app often. My favorite authors' tales go by without page turning, but their words are pure and sweet to the eyes. 

Dangerous People

 We've all encountered "dangerous people" in our lives. They've never been caught and likely never will be. They haven't committed a crime in being dangerous; they've gone on emitting their poisonous manners but what they don't know, is that they can be quite useful. I use, as an example, a boss I once worked for. When he came on the work scene, we were used to a boss that accepted us as we were, appreciated our efforts and was there to help out if we need that kind of support. Our old dear boss had been lifted by the company to higher heights and when we saw the new boss enter the meeting room for the first time, we had high hopes. The company whom we trusted, let us down. They were the danger. Our section was comprised of persons with a great deal of experience. We were appreciated by the people we served and considered part of our system because of being close to them. We understood each other  more and our products were enhanced within that kind of security. But the company suffered concerns thinking that we were just too strong and secure for their liking. They considered it dangerous because although the company over all, was served by us, they felt we had become just a bit too scary and maybe too powerful. We had developed along with our former boss a set of routines and strategies that worked for us all. When the new leader came in, he wanted the power that we would have handed over had he shown some respect. He didn't. We were called into his office one at a time and told what our plan would be and it was his only and had nothing to do with our input or cooperation. Ten people asked for transfers and got them within the first three days of our new boss' "reign". I was retiring in two years so I stuck it out in spite of my "new" schedule and assignment. There were my private tears and anger but after that emotional tide passed through, I decided to get back in control and use my experience to show the new boss what I was made of. We, the boss and I after a civil chat, made a deal and he could see the benefit of it, for some reason. If I had only one more full year to go and a bit, I felt I had some power, too, and I could use it. That bad boss, taught me far more than any other lesson in my working life. Dangerous people might not realize how much they help unknowingly,  their victims. Without the use of anger in dealing with these bullying bosses, they are taken by surprise. They are used to confrontation not cooperation. Using one's brain and knowledge to overcome such threatening people is not physical rantings and complaints, it's knowing your enemy and working out a plan that it cannot step over or on. Dangerous people think bullying and loud noise and threats will get them what they want but aha, it doesn't work that way. A quiet, firm response, is unexpected. Just as someone in the martial arts uses the strength and power of their opponents to win, you, too, can do just that. It's a matter of studying your enemy and seeing how you can accomplish that task. Work beside them and learn how they do it so that you can find a way to do it better without using offensive tactics. You might even, as I learned, teach the bad boss, some lessons. Mine, before he was finally ousted, thanked me!  Pay attention, listen and learn to help yourself. Dangerous people make us stronger and more self-reliant. We draw on their negatives and turn them into our positives. Even if you quit them, you learn from them. It's a lesson one never forgets.  

Skirts

 Skirts I see aren't just for women. Saw a movie the other day and a young man, wore a skirt - how enticing is that? I loved it. But ladies, our best secret is skirts. First of all they are traditionally female and what could be better to love your  female or whatever gender group does that image. Skirts move, they swing, their very motion as we move, is romantic and musical. For those who worry about their shapes, they fit anyone no matter their measurements. They hide in the best way, what needs to be hidden. Trousers or pants aren't an option when you need not to show some of the naturally occurring lumps and bumps in our bodies that are what they are.  Skirts can be any style or colour, for evening or day wear, long or lady short, they rock. If you sew, a skirt is one of the most simple forms of stitchery. One or two side seams will do it, with a tie or elastic at the top, a hem, and voila, you've got yourself a skirt. A simple trick is cutting off the top of an old dress and making the bottom into a skirt. I keep a roll of thinner elastic always on hand. Your wardrobe of skirts is a matter of easy storage, even rolling them into a drawer or for travel, into your carry-on. With a blazer and appropriate shoes, you are ready to go with your collection of skirts. For summer, something light and airy with an under slip, again, one  you can fashion yourself out of a silky cloth, turns your day to cool and feminine. Add a tee shirt and sandals and it's beach or board walk wear. To dinner or even a formal cruise ball, the skirt reigns. Your day blazer that styles you over your skirt, can be replaced with a fancy jacket or top, some interesting jewelry and you're GO. For work, out comes your blazer collection and from your skirt bevy, whatever works that day. Add some fashionable white summer sneakers and work becomes a lot more relaxing and fun in summer. In winter, get out those knee high boots to pair with  your skirts. Being fashionable is being versatile and piecing rather than putting on a dress, is a lot more fun in planning what to wear. Skirts and interesting sweaters, for plus sizes work; add an XL or even a man size sweater with shoulder padding and neat bling, and your look can be yummy. Never, large ladies, squeeze into anything. That can make you look like a decor sausage. Always go bigger than you are so that the garment flows on you rather than looking like you're something stuffed into it. Not pretty. And go long, never mini. Rarely does a mini skirt look good on anyone, no matter their age or legs. It takes the ideal figure to carry that one off without seeing winces. Find your best colour and never go neon unless you are ready to climb up a signpost and glow. Let someone else do that. Keep it simple, a kind colour and  loose rather than tight. Please no doo dads that scream "here I am" because you might hear "okay, here I go".  Lots of bling and ruffles and neons are for the very, very young and even then, not in good taste. Your personality will shine, your clothing doesn't need to. 

Grief Riders

 Grief riders are not the professional ones with their radio and podcast "shows" who go on and on about the troubles of other people and are paid to do it. No. I speak of those around me, who seem to have nothing else to do in a positive vein but ride on the troubles of others. They belong to what I call the Eyore Camp or the Grief Riders. The other day, an old friend of mine, ranted on and on about a friend of his whom I met just once, and his friend's problems. I listened but honestly, if I had a cell phone, something I am beginning to abhor, I would have said, "Oh, I have to take this". By the time he finished the long and sad tale, and it was, in fact sad, I thought I, too, had suffered the same horrific event. His unfortunate associate, had a death in the family of an elder who had been ill for some time and  died. The aftermath was that the deceased elder's mate who then became ill seriously and was in a facility suffering the wiles of his illness and the place he had to be housed in out of mental and physical necessity. While the tale drizzled on, I, perhaps unkindly but out of exhaustion wanted it to please end. I thought to myself "Well, why don't you, the friend, do something about it or shut up if you can't because you are dragging me down and I don't like it." I know it would too unkind to do so, but the reality was that spreading this kind of problem to everyone you meet doesn't help anyone including the teller or as I call them, the Grief Riders. They love to cling to these events because it makes them the bearer of bad news and in what they think is, a way to be popular because we all love bed news?   Someone else's problems are theirs, not ours. Once you listen to the bad news of others, you feel you must let it go because riding on that kind of chat only drags everyone down. So how do you fix it?  Changing the subject carefully away from the dark side toward a lighter one might help. Changing the venue such as moving into another space to listen, or a different place could also divert the subject. Doing something different such as making a cup of coffee or tea or offering some kind of distraction could help. Cake is good or like an old friend of mine, now gone, who used to keep a little package of fruit lozenges and would slip them out of her pocket and point it your way is another idea. If you pop a sweet candy into your mouth, everything goes sweet. And for those who don't sugar up, there are sweet tasting ones with no sugar. The media appears to do only the negatives but they are for the people I speak of, the Grief Riders who feast on them. When they stop you to chat, out comes their collection of the Did You Hear About. There is so much bad news every day in the media no matter in what way you take it, so there should be no end of topics you have to suffer through when you are delayed by a Grief Rider.  Those who charge people like me with being Pollyanna's can go trot. I like being a Pollyanna, a lot. Reason is, I refuse to wade through my life in muck. I am going to find the high road; I am going to see the blue of the sky, not rain. I want to be happy. For sure I will donate, I will listen, I will feel,  but I won't stay down if a downer you are. Fixes for most of them are "no thanks", "bye bye" and "Sorry, I have to take this call."  

Big Words

 I was charged by someone the other day as using "big words" that she had never heard of. The word that I use seldom but now, because it was appropriate for what I was imparting, was "vociferous". I described someone who was "loud", too loud for my liking and the term seemed the most appropriate. What surprised me was that the woman had never heard it and that's what made me begin to think about language in general. One of the university courses I had not taken but wanted to, was Linguistics. Language and words have always been of keen interest to me. Lately, I am fascinated by Aborigine words posted on  lands now bearing their original names. I need help in learning how to speak them because their pronunciations are complex in my language experience. Language is very important to culture. What we say is borne of our life experience. If you grow up with a certain way to speak and words used, it becomes your language. Within that language, there are levels of complexity. To explain that isn't easy but one way, is to think of being a writer of children's books. Children are learners. They start from zero. All of their senses and memories have to do with their growing and changing surroundings and experiences. What they hear and see and feel, becomes their speaking language. At first, their reading and understanding is limited and simple because they are learning day to day as new events occur in their lives. It all begins at birth and some think, even before that in utero. Sounds are tried out by little ones who learn that language offers opportunities. Without some kind of  language, it's hard to survive. Reading and writing and their uses rise and can thus be described as levels of language.  When someone says "you're using big words that are too big" means that they are not comfortable with that so-called level of vocabulary. It shouldn't be considered low or high but merely a level of learning. We continue to learn language and achieve "words" all of our lives. Some people are called pedantic which means they are deliberately "showing off" in using complicated words that others don't understand. Then again, it could be their natural language level or one that they have assumed out of their own personal experience. They are also innocent as charged.  New words come to us every day and some are more fascinated by them than others. There should be no class system in the matter but it happens anyway. Churchill, I am told, used simple, elegant English language when he wrote his famous series of books about warring. He also spoke in parliament, the same politically powerful way. We are all impressed by those who have learned many languages and can speak them fluently. I find words fascinating and always have, from the second I learned that the sqiggles I saw as a young child in a book or what my father was looking at behind a newspaper, and that these symbols had some kind of mysterious strength. Reading expands vocabulary. It's all part of daily learning. 

Bridge Online

 Bridge is one, if not the only one, card game that offers the most challenging enjoyment and brain food. Early in my marriage to an avid Bridge player, we went to play Bridge at the homes of friends, but I  understood barely what was going on.  I should have been wearing a dunce cap. My next venture with Bridge was at condo social club events during which we set up a few tables to enjoy the game. By that time, I was a little more experienced in Bridge, but didn't have enough experience to play with confidence. My poor partners suffered along with me but in the next few years, I still continued to be a "beginner". As to keeping score or flying into conventions that was simply not possible nor did I have any desire to be a crackerjack Bridge buff. I certainly did not want to become part of the Bridge addicts groups who played almost every day of the week and were seriously competitive. I didn't want to play any game with that kind of mix. Then I discovered online Bridge where no one knows anyone, thus there is no embarrassment on making a stupid mistake or being unable to win constantly. I began to thoroughly enjoy the game when all the stress was so removed. Also, my game improved by leaps and bounds. I am still just an average player but online Bridge has become one of my fondest pleasures. I continue to be too lazy to keep score or worry a lot about stunning my fellow players with foxy moves or using conventions that, to me, are an unnecessary part of loving the game. For some people, it's their delight and that's fine; not for me. There are some issues with online secret partner games however. The site I use, has rules and it tries to hurry the slowpokes up but it offers at no charge, hours of stimulating play. While the names you play with are no one you know and they could be from any corner of the world being online, they often become familiar. the names of those that have chose a unique one at some. I have notice many traits with secret players, some of them  enjoyable and others, maddening. The ones I find annoying  that after beginning a game and the bidding is over and the game proceeding, the minute you and your partner are down in the score, that person leaves the game and you are given a bot to play with. Someone told me that when he plays, if he sees he doesn't have a chance at winning the game, he's not going to waste his time continuing to play. I find that hard to understand since it is a game and naturally, you can't expect to win all the games you play. Part of play is the anticipation of winning, and if that doesn't happen, there is another chance right around the corner, to win. Sure. It is frustrating when hand after hand, you don't get good cards and the theory is, that if you don't have a counting hand, what's the point? The point is good sportsmanship as a team member. You start a game, you finish a game. You don't walk off the field in a huff. My take. Another annoying habit is when some players show temper, they will bid outlandishly and leave their own partner in a situation where it must play out a game that is not possible to win because of the ridiculous bid. Some in a snit, often before they leave, bid slam with no cards to show for it. It leaves all the other players stuck because they have to play on with the bad move. Still other players often bid up in anger to show their ire. They bid beyond the cards they are holding just to be a nuisance trying to force the bid up to an impossible place on their opponents. You Bridge players know what I mean. The games I love most are defensive ones that require a good memory and maneuvering style to try and increase the score even though a win may not be possible. Even with a low chance of acquiring as many tricks as you need, you play a clever game manipulating your moves just so. It isn't all about winning but about playing a keen game and online Bridge has it all.

Bad Sports

 Going to a sports event should be a completely joyful experience. Booing and jeering at the players, while maybe part of the game, one is told, is not. If you're in the stands, you don't have to boo or cat call. It's ignorant anywhere, anytime. The whole idea behind a public sport is to go and have a good time watching a couple of teams, in most cases, vie against each other knowing all the important protocol and rules about what ought to and must be done. The players aren't sitting behind a desk in a nice corner office, fashionably mouthing off to make their money; no, they have to  put their whole bodies into their work. They are, in short, sacrificing themselves and possibly their future health, as well as the present one, into actual danger. The dangers are obvious and present: concussions, muscle and bone problems and perhaps when they are older, arthritis. Some even become paralysed or rarely and sadly, lose their lives doing what is supposed to be fun. What those watching games ought to appreciate is, that while the audience is maybe sitting in a seat with a drink, those they are  ranting rudely at, are putting out for them in a major sense. The players are entertainers. But not people on a stage with spotlights and no risk other than ego.  Sure athletes do it for money,  even if rarely, a lot of it, they aren't at play. They are serious about their jobs. First of all, they are very talented people who have been chosen to get out on a field or ice or sand or a mat or a gym floor for pay to give you a good time. They expose their bodies, their very lives for you, the fans. Personally, they want to win because that's what they grew up with when they were competing at school and university, on the courts, ice, floor and fields. They were god-given talent. Someone saw their superior ability and offered an opportunity to become stars if they worked hard enough and were lucky enough  to be with a team that has like values. Their coaches push them to the maximum, their team expects everything of them to make the whole team work as one, not just for the scoring stars. The audience or fans often have unreasonable expectations even though these athletes may not do as expected, but still put out their very best. Their friends, families, wives, husbands, partners and children do their bit, too, and it's not a light one, in having to see their parents and spouses and dear ones being away from homes that miss them very much. The men and women have to get out there pushing themselves to the limit while sometimes hearing terrible comments shouted at them while they are physically sweating it out, not for glory but to achieve their own personal goals. It can't be easy. When you hear how some coaches degrade their charges, because yes, they are under that blanket term, and say nasty and  hurtful criticism, it adds yet another layer of concern. How athletes in the professional realm can do it, I have no idea. The players say they love the game when I am sure there are many times,  they really don't, is a mystery. Long standing athletes are admirable not only for their stamina physically in the moment but also, over the long time, what has to do with their egos and their steadfastness in the face of all the stresses of what's expected of them by everyone around them: their owners, their teams, their private goals and those of the fans. No other kind of ordinary work demands that kind of strength. Yay, teams.

Reviewing Reviews

I wanted a juicer that wasn't something that took ten minutes to make juice and an hour and half to clean up. I began reading reviews by makers and also takers.  I saw lots of small juicers that looked ideal in the photos and ad videos. Some reviews were raves and others, rages.  Here, I have to admit that I am an online shopper because of the variety of products and prices that allow a broad venue. But that's another issue for another blog. What I wanted, was a small juicer that I could leave on my counter with my other little helpers and especially one that didn't take a huge effort to clean up after making juice. The machine had to be strong and reliable as well as reasonably attractive amongst the other black and steel collection of useables in my tiny kitchen. Online, I found a large selection of machines, but went with caution after having been duped once before when I bought a large one, and found that it took too much effort to set it up and clean it.  I didn't want to spend a whole afternoon making veg juice. I sold it. I began to buy  juices but they never  tasted  what freshly-made does. If you've ever tried doing your own carrot juice, you know what I mean. Incredible taste and energy hit.  In the search, I also discovered, thanks to You Tube what juicers are and should be and do, I was better educated. There are cold and other press juicers. I won't go into the whole picture but the cold press looked to be what I wanted. With the cold press, the left over pulp, is not as fine. But you peel the veg, pop it in and voila, juice! Thus, a cold press, having a more bulky by-product, makes for easier clean up. The particles are larger, thus  rinseable. I have to admit that for me, running machine parts under a hot water tap briefly is what I love. Make, drink and go. Also, I wanted to use the pulp to add to other cooking or baking projects such as banana/carrot/fruit loaf or into soups, stews or dips. The one small juicer I chose after much searching is perfect and does everything I want. It is very small, simple to use and produces instant juice and is simple to clean up. What bothered me was the search in reading reviews. I learned much from that experience. It seems there are three levels of reviewers. They are, one: the Pollyannas, two: the Cranks, three: the Serious Saras. Can any of them be trusted? Maybe. You have to read a vast number of reviews and discount those that are silly, those that hate everything and everyone, and you end up with the people you really want to heed. They are folks who tell in detail why they like the product or not. Reading lots of reviews in various places on a certain product you gain experience in it. Certain issues add up and from that you have a clearer picture of what you might choose. The bottom line is find out what the seller does about missing parts or faulty items. Can you send it back and get a refund? See what the reviews say about all the details.  It's all part of the fun of cybermall global shopper's learning.