Tech or Nature: God?

 This is not a religious topic; it's more a philosphical discussion, please. Today I heard, on air,  someone say that the real God is Tech and that, as a form of religion, it tells us how, what, who, where, when, and why to live.  People have Tech with them, constantly and believe in it entirely without question what it purports to offer them and what pleasures they gain from it. They say they cannot live or survive without it. Therefore, said this chap in his theory, it is  the new God. I can't agree. I would argue that Earth Nature is the true God, if so, over Tech. To me, Nature is what made us, and. therefore, through us, Tech. Tech is man-made ironically. I maintain that Tech is a kind of "devil" not  God. Why? Nature is pure and we the creatures of Earth from whence we came somehow, some way, live within it and use it. therefore, it alone is absolutely necessary to our survival. Tech on the other hand, can very quickly be rendered useless if certain forces of nature are removed, or changed or redirected. Tech is vulnerable and could very quickly be stopped. Nature is also vulnerable, but its demise, even though some think it imminent and that possibly we creatures may become extinct, works slowly in eons, not seconds or minutes or hours.  Nature Earth will not for a long, long time end. Nature doesn't deliberately destroy humanity. Sure, there are natural disasters and during these times, Tech can be helpful to a degree. But in the end, the ultimate end, Earth will continue. Tech is a friend and an enemy. This fact is true and proven. What made and controls Tech,  is Man and Man is a creature that must have Earth's natural resources to use and to be able to live on and by.  Tech, alone, cannot do that. Someone has to be at the "switch: and that "someone" is Man, the living, a breathing product of Nature.  I have never heard of Tech being able to breathe oxygen for life. I maintain, Earth is, if any, the "God". 

Great Gramma's Gift

Great grandmothers are often left to sit and rock smiling in their chairs in the back room. These ladies are what you were genetically, that became part of you.  I knew only my grandmother, not my great grandmothers who came from other places. I was able to speak and live with, for a time, my grandmother, the Canadian one. I am ninety and lived in the latter grandmother's home during a young adult time that my sister, I and my grandmother were all engaged to be married. Believe it or not!  My other foreign grandmother who was also Canadian and came to this county at the beginning of the last century as a young woman as yet to be married, was from Hungary but of German descent. She was too embarrassed to speak her own languages. We simply called her Gramma and took her for granted. She was, in real life, a farm woman with a rather harsh husband, my grandfather, a prize winning horseman and a strict model of what true hard work means. Gramma had a garden in front of her house that was as big as an average building lot in the city. She had only her own time to work on it, outside gathering eggs, cooking for eight to ten or whomever stopped by the farm, helping grampa with everything he asked her to do, milking the cows, feeding the  pigs and canning, baking and cooking everything from scratch. She had no electricity, only cold running water and a humble house. Grampa had the leather rocking chair. We didn't notice if ever she sat down on anything. She was part of the scene only.  Her garden was perfect, not a weed. In it was every and any vegetable, fruit and vine. She seldom spoke. We learned nothing about her past, only that her father was a magistrate. That's all; and now she is gone. Speak to your grandparents and know where you came from. It made you. It is a gift. 

Zero Hour

Life is long and complex and uneven and superb. Along the way, as we or I, look back the ninety year path behind me, I see all the beauty of life, the wonder of love, the joy and warmth of family, the stack of tiny but pleasant accomplishments and I feel no regret. When one begins to add up the value of these, it comes to a huge number that is almost impossible to conceive of. On the other hand, the profit that one might bear or brag on it, sums to a large zero. Can't take one iota of it into death.  It is likely in some eyes negative behaviour to see it that way, but in this world that awards dollar signs as pleasures, it does add up to a simple zero. Everything one does, sees, feels, spends, labours over, gives, prays about, builds, and or destroys totals zero at the moment of our last breath. Pessimists snarl that is wasn't worth it, while optimists laud each and every step down the twisted road of life. Then again, if we didn't travel this road, we didn't live. If we look as we travel the road, we find something called memories. They are us, what we are and what we were and who we were. Every single life has meaning and value. We are all part of this world that turns and we don't feel the movement, that wears away and we don't like it, that provides for us and we forget it, that we  abuse and go on,  that offers everything a human creature could possibly want but we don't really see it until it's too late. The mountain high pile of memories both bad and good collapse when we die, but not before we sort through it and in our regret to leave it, find the treasures we most loved. Some dwell on the bad and hard parts, and that's sad because in every life, there has been  good and beautiful and true. The other day, an elder friend said after her life recollections, "it will be a relief to die". Was her life about carrying a burden she forgot to drop? Or?

The Big Move

 There is most often The Big Move and it means for many, into something called a "home". I add the quotation marks because they aren't homes as we knew them. They are useful and beneficial places where those who don't feel confident about their needs being met in their own homes, make this choice. I am on the doorstep of a "home" and it isn't an easy decision. At this point in my life, my ninetieth year, I continue to enjoy mental acuity and good health other than a knee joint that makes every day a take-the-pain-pill. I use a cane or walker. I am often told the age-old "you don't look your age" which is kind of flattering, but rather untrue. It isn't how one looks, it's  how one feels that matters.  Mobility issues don't affect everyone at this stage, but it is an aspect that causes one to avoid getting out and about because it has layers of difficulty.  Also, dizziness to a degree comes along, too. I am an optimist but also a realist, and I go about with caution because I have witnessed the results when some of my contemporaries have misjudged their movement abilities, and have fallen. Often times, that means a fracture: hip or ankle or some other bone. It can cause unwelcome restrictions in getting about. My cane is a nuisance, but it is also a saver. The much maligned walker, likewise, is a friend. Why some elders refuse to use these wonderful tools that really do help, is beyond  me. Being old, is perfectly okay because we all do it, eventually. As an old work mate used to say in difficult times: "Oh, well now". That little phrase was her go-to for any uncomfortable situation and for her, it worked. She merely moved on past whatever was happening, and chose to leave it be. Oh, well now. 

Condo Boss

 More and more, people  live in a condo rather than a house on property. Many elders decide to sell their former homes, the ones where they reared their children and saw their grandchildren play under that big tree in the back yard. It makes economic sense. They enter a new world of marble, granite, glass , stainless steel and live in a tall concrete tower. At first, it is a dream come true. Good thing the old dog died and the cat because you can't have pets. The two cars you owned are down to one. Gone are the family antiques because the kids don't want "your junk".  Anyway, the wire cage storage locker will barely hold the cruise luggage not that you can afford to cruise now. Never know when the condo might charge you a levy or up the fee for the just-in-case contingency fund. You do have your sun deck though. It's a peek a boo, a few inches of far away ocean and the windows of other condos looking at yours.  Your barbecue is Barbie size and basically an electric fry pan on a stand. You and your wife split one car for the one parking spot you get. It's behind a series of wire gates that thieves enter even though the codes are ones you often you can't remember. Instead of the tax man or town mayor, you have something call The Council. It rules the building and is made up of power folk who are often slightly sociopathic. If you don't follow the rules and bylaws, you'll be getting notices nicely typed up and stuffed under your door. You begin to feel like you're living in a hotel with all your stuff in it. Hopefully, you won't run into a council president like the one I heard of recently. It informed fellow owners that I will  "objectively enforce the bylaws and rules to maintain the integrity of the community, thank you for your understanding". Hey, come talk to me, neighbour! Suddenly, you yearn to be back in your old house with the lawn and smoky barbecue and wood fireplace, the lino and tile and  cosy old sagging recliner. But nevermind, soon there is going to be a holiday celebration with a white plastic tree, plastic napkins and cutlery, streamed music and BYOB. Can anyone complain?

O-L-D Doesn't Spell Stupid

 How many times must I, someone old having a younger human approach me as though I am a child? Maybe older persons use the infamous walker, a wheel chair or a cane but, hey, it's a tool, not a bandage. Hearty football or hockey players use the same gear with an injury so let's stop looking down on any tools that work for pain.  Please. Also, because old people forget at times, remember that everyone forgets, not just the elderly. And even if there are lots of memory glitches, don't forget that when you have spent a lifetime collecting memories, it takes a bit of time to search out the shelf of long info that lives way down in the stacks of time. Being bent is lovely in oak trees but it seems that when someone of an age is bent or brittle, it's an object of  pity. Not so, old spines do it. It's natural.  For we brittles, it's all in a day's work. We get used to the aches and pains and when a few of us can dwell on nothing but those nasty matters, it's because it's a pretty big load to carry in a world that moves fast and furiously and expects everyone in it to do the same. We use computers and cell phones when we need them. They aren't as important as they are to the students and workers, that's all. The older parts of the population have developed patience with fools who persist in cooing at them or reaching out with faces only a baby could love. If they need your help, they'll ask. But if you want to help, ask in a voice that isn't baby talk. We who are well educated and experienced, know the language and prefer to speak it and be spoken to as one adult to another rather than as though we are mentally incapacitated. We humans, understandably are brainwashed into thinking it's the way, but it's a silly sort of thing both to babies and with the elderly. Babies might love it, but we don't. Skip the coo and use the "who" with those who are much more aware of life and its offerings than those born a decade or more previously. Dont assume. Use your grown-up voice. We get it. Just saying. 

Credit Card Bill

 Credit Card Bill rode into town and I don't like his horse. No, really. I am speaking of credit card billing that has changed drastically. One day I look at my online credit card balance and pay it. Off. The next day, I see, mysteriously, maybe five hundred dollars as a balance. I panic. I look at all the entries and they don't add up to five hundred dollars. I call the credit card company thinking I have been scammed. They assure me, I have not, but...   And the "but" is always something that works for their company but not the one under my roof. They tell me that those are pre-authorized amounts that I agreed to with other companies I use. But, I say to the real voice at the other end of the line, these bills are not due yet. They aren't due for one or two weeks. Ah, says the voice, we are doing it as a convenience so that you can anticipate what you WILL owe when the bill becomes due. I wonder, does this mean for their convenience or mine? It turns out, for theirs. If I pay early, they get the money and collect the interest. Ah ha! The large amount that shows as balance isn't real. It is listed in another column a click away that tells me what I have arranged with some of my service companies and it is called "pre-authorized payments". Of course, say I, that's because I want to make sure they are paid on the date their bills are due. The voice answers, yes, and I answer back, but you list them as  my balance due when the bill is not due for another two weeks. What is that? I don't want it to show as owing until it is owed. The voice and I are getting nowhere so I say thanks ( I think) and hang up. It seems to me that a credit card company is there to offer me credit when  bill is owed and then I see the amount and I pay it. That's what used to be "credit". You saw what you needed to pay and you paid it. Credit Card Bill waves and calls out waving his Stetson,  the way we do it now, And he rides out of town into the sunset on his pinto roan. 

Politic Games

 The many new television "games" series are no longer about spelling and guessing words. They're about lives and lifestyles, but principly about money that most of us don't have enough of.  Our political figures seem to be using we, the public, as their game pieces, for winning a seat.  In my area, many of us in the vast middle of society, the ones who quietly pay taxes and help  families and live peaceably and with hopes for a better future and do not attend big professional rallies or protests, find it harder and harder to vote. It seems that like bathwater, politics sploshes up and down and clings to one side or the other of life's tub when it's all done. There appears to be no calm middle water on which to sail one's life. And a regular citzen's vote once meant something. There are awash, politicians who want only to win and in doing so try to seek out the side that will get them there. Period. Politicians who do get IN, make good money and benefits and perhaps appear to work "hard" at orations, dictating letters and rubbing luncheon shoulders with the right people who will do things. Political life is by terminology, people handling. They are those who get into power that we ordinary humans have no time or talent for, and hopefully they do it for us. We hope they do it for us. Of late, I have no one to vote for because the two rather extreme opposites are having too much fun jousting  or joining up with the other side. Who is in the middle? The middle man is pretty much what most of we, the public are. We like things to run smoothly and efficiently and give us the truth and information that we need. It's all that we elected them to do for us. We trust whom we vote for. Plain and simple. This time around, I have no one to vote for to express my citizen responsibility in the franchise. What happened to the middle?

Kids And Old Goats

I use this image of goats only for the cuteness of a title but in reality, there are similarities that apply. Our self-owned, no rental, no pets, no smoking condo building is close to forty years old, and  has always been a quiet, adult place with seniors living in it. We are told that is no longer. For some odd reason, related to making more housing available, political leadership has decided to mix "kids" and "old goats". Where we live does not have facilities for children. All of the units have two bedrooms and two bathrooms in spaces that range from one thousand square feet to a couple of hundred more. The floors are hardwood types, soundproofing is not present. There is an elevator in the three storey wood frame structure.  It is a rain proofed sound building with underground parking and storage units. Most of the outdoor garden is not safe for activities due to, on two sides, a steep slope and the others only a narrow strip of lawn. The sun decks are not large and all 23 units are said to have had views of the ocean but only a few now, have a peep of it that lies a block or two down the hillside of this tiny city. It has always been a very fine place to enjoy the peace and pleasurable companionship of elders.  Now, we are forced to have young children and rentals because the provincial government has made suddenly, the decision to change our life styles to suit their housing crisis solutions. I see it as a coming social disaster. Those of who live here are aghast. We love children since we have grandchildren we adore and who visit us. We do not want to live in a place with children for obvious reasons - we reared our families and now we deserve a quiet life. But we are given no choice. Because young families cannot afford a house and will turn to condos at a fraction of the price, there is going to be a mix that I doubt will be as successful as it sounds.  It's a question of domicile choice on both sides. It's not a battle between young and old.  It's a right to live in a place that fits individual wants and needs, not one for elected politicians to force on others. There will be conflict in places where people live. Plain and simple and natural conflict that is unwanted.

What Have We Become

We have become The Media:  small, big, social and the personal kind. There are no  holds barred and there is little, if any, outside actual control over it. It has caused, in some cases, lethal harm and continues to do so.  Anything goes, it seems, in the user world. Our marvellous technical wonders have come along and are now biting us. We feel innundated and that we have little control in stopping its mayhem. Everyone with a cell phone can become a newscaster, apparently. Professional media folk, welcome amateur "reporters"  and often invite their participation and pay them. The  amateur reporter can brag about their exploits. Privacy go figure. Our faces can be used as "keys" to enter our homes and places of business but can now be generated by an AI program.  We have no break from the worst the world has to offer and it's beginning to affect our psyches. It's just too immediate. There may be good intent with our new inventions but there are humans with evil intent, and they will find a way to use the media advantage, also. We are  out of control and are realizing that we have built a technical monster. It isn't all hopeless, however. We can still unplug if we chose. We are flesh and blood and a technical piece of hardware can't replicate that. We have brains and choices and know just how much is too much and that a piece of hardware isn't life itself. It takes courage to use the hardware your way only  not because of the influence of others and what they say and want. You choose. It's your life.  I have all the technical "stuff" that I want and need, and  I do enjoy it enormously, but I know exactly what works for me and what doesn't. I know that I have the power because I can turn it on -  or off.

Friend Divorce

Friends are one of the most important parts of our lives. We gain them from early life until the day we leave life. Along the way some friendships come and some go. Others last a lifetime. A friend is someone we bond with, one we have and never forget, good or bad, long or short. In my time on earth I have had many friends and all of them occurred naturally. If you asked me how they began, I wouldn't be able to tell you. Friendship happens overnight and at other times, it grows slowly. My early family moved constantly, never very far away, but to a new house, another neighbourhood. My younger sister and I, went to a new school every one or two years until our mid teens when we  protested to our father so long and loudly that my parents, my mother in particular, stopped her habit of moving to a "better" place. The only cure from the "moving" sadness was finding new friends. Along the way, I learned to be more selective about friendships. I wanted them to last no matter where we went. I found out, as well, that it's okay to turn off friendships that are not healthy for your personal life path. Today I "divorce" a friend. I didn't want to hurt my  friend but I had to be honest and ask for cooperation and understanding. I had to enlist my friend in this breakup because our relationship had to end. My once friend did nothing wrong. It was simply that I was heading down a path that wasn't mine. It was that of my friend's. It nagged at and bothered me for some time. Friendship unlike romance should be honest and helpful under any circumstance, because there are never, nor should be material assets at stake. Friendship is a cloud: delicate and impermanent. The parting journey of friends is sad, but in its way, as beautiful as a memorable sunset. 

Fat Pill Pusher

Somebody is getting fat on the fat pill that belongs only with those who have diabetes and even then with professionally considered thought. There is a kind of sickness lurking in current day folk, well-off people mainly, that tells them they must "lose weight". Their warped thinking is influenced principally by fashionistas and social media buffs who say "you can't be too rich or too thin". Thin is no joke to those who don't have enough food. And it's no joke to your body. What have we become? Just take a pill and all will be well and happy? A pill taken into a human body should be prescribed by professionals. The other kind are called "pushers". But it's a little confusing these days. What I see, as I did in a film star photo of a male, the other day, was "gaunt" and he was not attractive. His scales probably loved it. Skinny, let's face it, is not pretty. It's sad. Very sad, especially when it is achieved by taking pills or being on a fad diet that never works. We are, as we age, naturally going to change shape and  add a layer of fat. The natural body knows what it's doing. If you are forcing your body to be skinny, just for fashion, poor you. Your body knows what it needs to be healthy and stress free. If your main focus in life is to lose weight via some popular pill meant for sick people, your body will eventually message you: "watch out". The lengths that some go to are deranged. Chopping, burning, cutting off and medicating a healthy body is abnormal.  Your  life body is all you have. Think. Research. Ask your body, not some fashion reporter, before you stick pills into it or artifically starve it. The future will teach us. It always does.

Senior Discounts: Who Cares

 Read in the media that some of the "younger" folks want senior discounts to stop. First of all, have they looked at the senior menus offered by restaurants? I am not toothless, tasteless and brainless. To eat that junk, you are better off getting the kid's menu. At least there's a toy to give to the great grandkids. Second of all, even though you are obviously a senior, you must ask for the senior discount and that feels like begging sometimes. Merchants should ask if you would like the discount and go from there. It is not an insult to ask someone if they are a senior, incidentally. Only silly elders think they look far younger than they really are. Go for it seniors and take whatever is offered. Young people do, why not you? Senior's day at the super market is packed with seniors and I don't see many that look like they don't need it. What the complainers who say that senior discounts should be stopped, must fancy they are all rich. Ridiculous. Working folks can depend upon raises and perks on the job. When you are on a fixed income, th-th-that's all folks - to quote a Disney pig. You don't have any more than what the government determines. And that's not enough if you pay rent or land taxes. Lots of younger people in their situations are getting free money for various reasons determined by the same government while seniors, being older and in some opinions, therefore dispensable before their "time", can eat cat food for all they care. Most seniors quietly have been paying their taxes over the decades to support education, medical services and infrastructure that they don't use but do share and appreciate. They often don't drive cars to muck up the air, they are law abiding and complain very little. To take away the tiny discounts that are mostly not used and matter very little, is in a word "cruel and selfish" of the younger set. Go and speak to the seniors who live in basements and old folks homes, not the rarer rich retirees who are on cruises and going off to their summer homes. To remove elder discounts doesn't mean a whole lot, but for some, it is essential and needed.

A Lot Of Crepe

 Who doesn't love summer fruits as they come along. And what better place to put them other than your tummy, is on a crepe. Crepes are actually skinny rich, and who doesn't love skinny and rich. You can be it and do it. At this moment I just finished off a breakfast plate of crepes with maple syrup and butter on the crepe with a topping of peaches and a dollop of whipped cream. Sorry dieters that you have to miss this delight. If you want to start  your day feeling rich do these easy crepes. I use my  small blender that is my second because I wore out the old one. Toss in two eggs, 2/3 cup milk, 1 tablespoon of soft butter, a dash of sea salt, a tablespoon of vanilla ( love it) , 2 tablespoons of sugar and 1/2 cup flour. Whiz it up to the consistency of a very light runny batter and heat up the griddle. Make sure you have a wide big turner ready and maybe a swish of something to keep the pan top silky. This makes about four to six, depending on the size you choose, crepes. When your pan is waterdrop-sizzle, pour out the size you like and wait for the bubbles on top. You might want to slide the turner under first to see if the crepe is done just the colour you love. When it's there, slide that wide turner gently under the crepe and flip it over. ( At first you may have a learning experience but don't give up.) Allow the other side to sit for a bit, again, checking to see if the colour is right. You are looking for a light golden brown, not dark. I like doing large sizes for when you want to "stuff" your crepes with sauce and seafood or fruit and cream etc.  Crepes work any time and any way. Not all crepes end up as Cherries Jubilee but hey, why not CJs? Cherries are almost in season. Experiment. With fruit season coming up think of raspberries, strawberries, blueberries and the ever miraculous sweet blackberries. Mild meats do well in crepes, too. Have a crepey summer!

Un-prepared Foods

 Far too many people of my age group go directly to the super store's aisles: the huge glass doors full of prepared foods. They know that these items displayed so prettily in their plastic cases, are about as healthful as the plastic itself. They don't care. They are placed there for commerce. Truthfully, people who buy them are just plain lazy and they will admit it. "I don't want to bother cooking," they say. What's the difference between putting a few veggies into a steamer than sticking them into a microwave oven? Time it one day. One woman I know, prides herself in having "fresh vegetables and with dip" she says proudly. She states she is getting her good vegetable portions in. Really? Foods in plastic trays are not the same as fresh. Prepared foods are full of additives, ones that  keep them looking nice and tasting delicious. Read the labels, ones you cannot and do not understand.  They make you think they are tasty, they make the product last very long. You pay for the processing and the packaging. I have tried these "time savers". The fruit in the little plastic bowls does not taste the same as fresh. There is an odd flavour that isn't natural. The vegetables have that weird "store born" aura  that fresh vegetables do not. Read the labels on your prepared foods and see what you are really ingesting into  your body. Ho, ho, I am told, food additives are just chemicals and everything we eat is chemicals. Aha. That is true, but the chemical additives on the labels of prepared foods are not for your health, they're for your temptation to buy what's in the plastic. It's not a time saver to pick up these food foolers that you are told are okay. They aren't. When you go to the fresh aisle and buy a few stalks of broccoli, a handful of green beans, a few carrots, and a potato or two and put them into a pan with a bit of water and steam them you are getting what nature intended as food. Real food and it tastes good. If you want more flavour, add some herbs and seasonings. When you do the preparation yourself, it takes no longer than using the microwave oven or toaster. You know what you are putting into you mouth. You know that there is, on your plate, nothing but good food and that you serve your bodily needs with every bite. Eat smart. Start.

Save Your Energy

Why not find ways to save energy in your senior home and lifestyle. The biggies are, do you really need a car? I know lots of people who consider that "giving up" their car shows that they are elderly. Yikes.  No one will escape inevitable "elderly", so stop the shaming of it. Cars are expensive to own.  I sold mine and have never missed it. I take a taxi company that doesn't mind walkers, and I use deliveries. Online shopping is a boon. Delivery is usually free. Grocery stores charge for it but that's not the same expense and trouble as running a car and loading/ unloading groceries. My delivery guy is a prince. Get a freezer.  I recommend a cheap, small upright. Easier on the back and a bit of defrosting once a year, doesn't  hurt. When there is a sale on meats and other items, I'm there. I know someone who gets bulk buying of meats and it's amazingly less expensive. They bring it all to your door and you organize what you order your way. Check it out. Lights? Do you need to have your whole place ablaze all day. Half light is much easier on the eyes and nerves. It feels cool in summer and cosy in winter. Use bright light only when you need it to read etc. Cooking or anything that requires heat costs more to run. Try what the Danes have been doing for ages. Bring your veggies to a boil and turn off the heat. It'll continue cooking. For safely cooking meats, use a thermometer.  An airfryer is a tiny convection oven. I do anything and everything in mine. This very useful appliance does not fry, it broils. It will toast your bread and fry your eggs and do the meats as in a broiler. Delicious, easy and fun.  I also have a little egg cooker that does perfect jobs on eggs. What I wish we could return to, as those do, and have done for centuries, in other parts of world, are outdoor clothes lines. Global warming and sunshine beg for their use. Showers use less than tubbing. Dishwashers used wisely, take much less water than that dishpan some think is better. Not so. I think you already have many more ideas of your own for saving precious energy. Good on you!

Old Gold- Solid

There is a huge controversy lately about age being a bad thing. Old humans are regarded by younger humans waiting to get to the same ages if lucky, as worthless and useless. The whole mess of this kind of thinking is backward. Aging presents issues but they don't usually eliminate what is called "wisdom". And wisdom is lacking in every facet of our present daily life. Take a look and listen to what's around us. Technical "advancements" aren't all beneficial to regular living. A recent political speech during which an elder chap, only three years older than his debate mate, gave a bad impression according to media, because he didn't behave like a thirty year old. From my observation, what I saw was the older member  answering the questions and the other one doing something mysterious that had nothing to do with the debate topics.  Both men, their tone, their speed in mouthing as they did, apparently was more important to some critics than content. Of course older people will look and sound like older people. That's what they are. That's what they do. It is natural. If you want youth, get youth. But where are they?  They are usually behind a screen either large or so tiny you have to squint to see the tiny texts. And most of them are in initials that are the latest form of a crude short hand. Why? To save time of course. If you don't rip around at breakneck speed you aren't moving. Never mind the errors that occur. Youth is the future for sure but youth is dwindling. Fewer younger humans are having families mainly because they must work longer and faster and more frenetically and even then, can't pay their rent. The young I see look marvellous in their costly garb and nice cars but don't look any further. Don't look at the medicine cabinets with pills and the calendars that book appointments for counsellors, gym and spa. Where are the calendar spaces for leisure, and I don't mean going the a concert or a gym. What happened to camping in a forest? Ot going fishing? Is there a space to go see grampa or auntie and maybe pick up a bit of your private history or  a touch of family wisdom? Old is the gold. 

Harvesting Animals?

 What? A recent article that tells about a rare, new bear cross between the Grizzly and Polar Bear, speaks of not being able to "harvest" one of this kind of bear seen in the north. I had a hard time believing this "scientific report" I was reading. The glib word used: "harvest", seems a pretty term for "killing". Since these are very  rare bears and their DNA is needed, the science reporter writes that they are killed and taken or "harvested" for study. There are sadly very few of them to "study". The photo shows samples of the same bears  proudly mounted and stuffed on display somewhere.  A couple of similarly stuffed elks look on in the background. Sometimes, I wonder about being a human being with our peculiar need to kill things to study them. But, then again, I am often glad that I have not, like the animals, been shot and put on display for all to gawk at in some museum. As you can gather, I am not in favour of Science, whatever that is, that kills to study, and therefore prefer to look at films of our beautiful live creatures rather than see them stiffened in a plastic viewing window somewhere. I am also against, while I rant, at those who latch collars on creatures in the name of study. How natural is it for a poor old wolf to run around with a big collar hanging off its neck? I would much prefer that wildlife be left alone. It is struggle enough for them with burgeoning hoards of developers out there,  thrashing about trying to find yet another place to slap some money-maker up to call it a "haven for nature lovers". Nature lovers don't approve of, in any way,  scientists, so called, who chase in helicopters, terrified animals running to get away from the mechanical loud enemy in the sky, one with iron feathers. Of course, we want to learn how to protect and further animal life on this delicate planet that is in it decline, but is this the way to do it? Kill and pursue and heavily collar and set up cameras on the animals in constant surveilance where it has absolutely no privacy whatsoever? This kind of thing embarrasses me as a sensible human being who cares about our Earth.   

Wilt Not Flowers Do?

 Everyone loves receiving flowers other than funeral ones. The latter are sometimes depressing rather than chocolates or box of cookies that would be much more appreciated.  But I adore being given flowers. It isn't all about the flowers, but more that they become  beautiful little friends with whom I may share my attention with daily in my home. The first thing I do in the morning is to tend to my new florals. They lie patiently at my sink as I clean their vases and clip off what they do not need: dead stems, wilted leaves, spent blooms. When I replace them in the aerated cold water, they seem to breath again. Which blossoms are the showy stars and which are the important companions that enhance them with their shy petals in the background? The gentleman greens stand on guard at the back or loll drooping dangerously as grassy fronds adding shape and space to the bouquet. The joy of re-vasing the flowers becomes pleasant work before morning coffee.  Daily I place them somewhere  to complement and compliment the space for their time with me. My bouquet stems are clipped daily, at first generously and later with caution. I want them to last as long as possible but remain fresh looking. It makes me sad to say farewell to the ones that are over but I have learned something new. When it comes to the point of there being no more stem space to deal with, I decide to float my flowers in a bowl. If their petals are drooping, they don't mind spreading once again in  water. Today, I have so few, they are in one of my favorite black mugs and  lie in water as though in a warm bath but a cold one! Another trick I use often is to add some false blossoms or dried additions that are so well done, they look fresh and real and perk up the older ones. Fake ivy brightens up any corner in a room and few bother to question their imitation abilities. Sending someone flowers, sends light and love to a person whose day will then be ashine. 

DIY Old Folks Home

 I am gradually making my own Old Folks Home. I have no intention, since I am not "sick" of going into one of those places called "homes". They are not homes, they are very nice prisons but ones of one's own choosing. Their cost is enormous and the life style while great for those who truly need it, is devastating for those who don't. None of today's elders listen to their kids or others who persist in recommending the life in "homes". They haven't lived there. To be told that life will be a lot easier and that you don't have to worry about all of the things that bother you if you live on your own? Nonsense. Elders are not inhuman helpless people who need to be babied and cooed at. We are still human; and forget the age number if you are one of those who use it as an excuse to put an elder somewhere where YOU don't have to worry about them. Your worry is yours, not theirs. In a "home", every day and every hour is not one that you plan. regardless of what you are told. You eat on the hour, recreate on the hour and have your care all scheduled. It is not done out of cruelty, it's done because "homes" are a business and business costs money to run. As part of it, the receiving end, you have to fit into the schedule so that the business runs smoothly. If it fits for you, fine. I want to be in my own home and I am prepping it. I keep canes, a walker, a wheelchair, grabbers and light meds for pain, comfortable elders' furniture around. It is all my own choice of style, use, colour and placement. I cook from scratch, I buy online almost everything I need because I chose not to have the expense of a car. I use a taxi for transportation when an appointment comes up or I want to visit someone not in my area. I am not amubulatory friendly and I will not be talked into exercise classes when I can do that on my own. I have friends and social life when I choose it. I am about as happy as I have ever been in my life. I am still human though facing my nineties, and enjoy conversation that treats me respectfully so. My family does,  and I love them for it. 

How To Live Longer

 Living longer seems to be the mantra for those who ply the paths and jog the trails and pedal the tarmack not to speak of those who spend countless hours lifting metals and plying machinery in a gym. I admire these folks enormously especially since I have no interest at this age in doing any of it. I looked into the whole matter of exercising in an artificial manner, today, and found out that if I did daily exercise of a rather intense kind every day I might live a couple of years longer. First of all, who can prove that, and second of all, do these statisticians know when I am going to die in order to make their numbers jibe? I had relatives that never thought about exercise because they were too busy going to work and looking after a number of children they had in the family. Going to the gym meant cheering  their kids on as they used balls of some sort in a large, expensive school hall. They all lived well beyond  eighty for the most part, especially the mothers who reared and fed and cleaned up after their hoards of family members. It is clear that their exercise wasn't looking at  little plastic cyber watches, then jumping up in the middle of a social event and bouncing up and down on the spot. I kid you not, I saw it this week. Today's parents spend much of their time driving the children to games and school and to play dates where they will be playing together at screens with more little plastic items held in their hands while putting the other small ones they held previously in their hands, down unless they buzz and need attention. No, I am not being cynical unless reality is just that. It follows that humans who dress up in skin tight elastic garments and go places to ride bikes to nowhere fast or lie on mats and pull their muscles to painful limits or dress loosely and run on cement sidewalks for miles with wires in their ears, need to do these endeavors to live an extra two years. So I am told. When I get to my final two years, I doubt I will be recalling when I played tennis every morning before work or sweated in a dance class. Maybe I should check my little watch that tells me if my heart is beating or not? 

Third Dimension People

 So what makes someone dimensional? Two dimensional folks are those whose lives are the what-you-see- is-ALL-you get persons. Like paper dolls, they speak what they hear on the sports or political news, they appear fashionable and attractive, their lives are mostly keeping up appearances and have little to do with depth of thought or creativity or knowledge beyond the average. Well, you know the sorts I speak of. Kind of you and I people.  Everyone likes this kind of individual because their speech is two dimensional and offending no one because like paper, only little "cuts" might happen, ones that soon heal and don't leave scars. The three dimensional types are in social trouble a lot because, they "upset carts" and dig into matters with their deep shovels. They don't float on the surface of issues, they dive down and learn about them and what is happening and spend their waking hours planning and making attempts to change what they think is not right. It's much easier being two dimensional, but like paper pictures, you look at them for a short time and then move on, either to other two dimensionals or simply hang around the three dimensionals hoping some of their wisdom rubs off on you. I'm not sure I have the courage to be three dimensional all the time, but I hope that I can attempt it once in a blue.  Most of us in the vast majority are the same. We aren't comfortable with doing anything specific about what  is not right but we try to support it in some minor way and hope that it will help. The brave souls who are in the front lines risk a lot for we two dimensionals. They often give their entire lives to that service and are bashed about for it cruelly. But they, at least, unlike us, try to make changes. I may not always agree with the three dimesionals, but I admire their grit.

Cell Cultureism

 When I see someone sitting across from me, suddenly turning pale and gasping "Oh no, I forgot my cell phone!", I see an addict. A phone is a phone is a phone, it's not your best friend. It's a machine that has a purpose of communicating when necessary. No one needs to know every thought in your head, people. Texting has a place but not constantly. The addictive idiocy of having to "keep in touch" over nothing important all day and night, is an indication of sick compulsive behaviour. If your social circle demands that you carry around a piece of plastic to enter into the thing any and every thought that goes through your empty mind, think. If you can. Most of us who take time for serious thought are not addicted to the mountainous pile of nothing important that most cell phones are used for. Cell phones are a very useful tool. But they are tools, not best friends. Laws and rules are having to be passed to ban cell phones from classrooms. Now, who, in their right mind, wants to have phones in classrooms?  How stupid can we humans be? Does reality not enter our environments? When you are learning something, distraction is what you don't want and it isn't moot. Cell phones for social or business purposes are fine, under the right circumstances. But learning and working are not places for chit chatting about nothings. Some cell phone addicts can't quit their habit even though it interferes with their jobs and all sorts of other unrelated things that really matter. They will admit they are addicted.  Of course, there should be no cell phones, particularly, on the job or in classrooms. One of the excuses for such, I heard a teacher likely addicted itself, say, is to "teach" the use of cell phones.  I don't think so. That's like taking on measles to learn about measles. If you teach about cell phones, supply cell phones in the classroom.  Come on, people! The ever present cell phone madness of this sort is fortunately  dying due to rot and what a welcome disappearance it will be.  

Don't Give Up

 When my mother lay in a hospital bed near death, I told her "don't give up" and she repeated it over and over. She didn't "give up" and in her last hours, she smiled and seemed to see something or someone far off a vision that was not bad or sad. She didn't give up. I thought about that when I read an article today which had a time line for how bad the future will be (according to the writers) and the graph showed that in about eight years all aspects of human life could end. It told that the world would be run by billionaires and that the skies above and the earth below and the people within it would end. Not in my book. These articles or pieces of someone's dark research should have come out at the beginning of the Dark Ages when the Kings and Lords and Power Brokers stopped supporting their serfs and slaves who fed and cared for them in a pittance, went off clutching their gold off to their lairs in far corners where they could count the coins and eat their feasts and drink their quaffs alone in luxury and end there.  In those black times, the ordinary folks didn't give up in sadness and depression, they made the adjustments that were necessary and being humans who are resourceful and creative, they worked hard and survived. They formed governmental structures that were benevolent, they developed agriculture and commerce in ways that worked and life went on. And very well, on. The kings and princes and lords faded away and democractic forms of society began. It grew and prospered and if it appears not to work today, there are still strong hopes among ordinary human beings who don't have billions of pieces of paper called money, but continue to be imaginative and creative, kind and generous and considerate of each other and do and will survive. Human beings since they became inhabitants of the earth, have done exactly what they are best designed for, and that is to stay aware, alive and replenish and survive. Giving up is not an option. Nor are articles that serve only to drag us down with viewpoints that are negative. We humans, have always  survived and always will. We shall not give up. 

My Own Fiction

 At my age when there is no husband, no son, no one so near, I can write my own fiction. Those of us near ninety, do write our lives. It's our turn to be Best Sellers with our names far bigger than our titles. Old. We are finally able to be what we actually are even if our bones are ancient and soon to become ash. When we sit and stare, we can fly away into our personal books. If we want to dream in sleep and in daytime, we can. Our dreams are in colour. Some of us live in beautiful unreality and others of us, in our time, spending our last years in the books we read, the music we listen to, beiing with the people who mean the most. They are not the cooers who pat and moan at us, but those close, we might not even know. But they  see us and hear and sense us.  What is closest is mostest now.  The reality world sees us as ugly and wrinkled (whatever that means). to be pitied and cherished truly, but not as now people. We are the used to bes. We are called the wise elders but in truth, in private we are called "old lady" or the "old man". Or worse. We know it, but we are kind and smile and nod rather than rant. If we rant, they tie us into what is called a "home" or the back room because "it's all we need at this age". None of the unkind kindnesses hurt us because we live in our own fiction. No one is able to reach into our mind rooms where we are princesses, princes, pirates or heroes who can fly and conquer anything and are richly loved and adored. There we are free in the lands behind our eyes. There in our fiction, we never were the school kid the other ones shunned or left out of their games. We won the prizes at the fair or got the top marks in high school and were elected president of the Student Council.  Where we worked, we were the bosses, the admired invators, the ones who went far. Right now, we see smiling, all the ones we loved who went away and didn't come back. Here they are  now in our fiction,  and we smile. We are living non-fiction of our fiction. We are the old. 

Broadcasting

 Any threat to a Canadian-wide broadcasting system worries me. We are a broad country that stretches, as few others mostly East and West. The sort of circular mode as in the US is not ours. Things that go to and fro are not in a dizzy circular fashion. And while I complain about the media, I would be devastated if I could not to listen to my morning news from one end of the country to the other, while abluting daily. Radio doesn't need headsets of any kind and you are doing tasks that require full body attention without dangling wires or things stuck in your ears. Radio, like open air, is the freest kind of listening device. Also a country-wide system, paid for by the government: us, so that we don't have to tolerate advertising rattling in our ears or interrupting our thoughts as we listen, makes it perfect national communication. If one must doddle the texting thumb or tap out an email in response to what we hear, that, too, can be done. Of most concern is that we, in this country,  depend on the reliability of our broadcasting system to protect us as well as join us in its  unifying force. We need an objective source of information and while we often complain about "the media", we love our CBC. Unlike other countries, our nation wide system  is widely respected and always considered, reliable. Without our national broadcasting system, what would we do for a stable, uninterrupted twenty-four hour source of information, or warnings of possible weather or other dangers or polling of Canadian thought  sweeping right across our country from East to West to North. Other countries I can think of, are dial confusing as your scour through, trying to find reliable access to a radio station that tells it like it is without silly ads blasting at you and annoying you. Knowing the weather in all parts of the country, events from shore to shore to shore and the thinking that sweeps from all our coasts making us Canadians sharing each others problems and achievements  and being able to comment on them knowing that our input won't be interfered with as in a commercial venue we must not allow it to leave.  Never let our cross country radio disappear because if it does, part of our Canadian unity will also.  

Life In The Slow Lane

Listening to youth and somewhat beyond, you find that speech has speeded up. It isn't my elder years that can't keep up with the norm, it's simply that generally speaking, speaking is in the fast lane. In fact, walking down a city street or driving on the roads doing it as quickly as you can is the rule. About the only place you can wander in a leisurely fashion is on a pathway in the forest unless there are joggers in the area or bikers tearing up the dirt. Fast is the rule. If you can do it faster, the theory appears to be,  you do it better. "Slow and steady wins the race" is a fallacy. Today, Mr. Rabbit wins and Mr. Turtle is dust. There are times when I am shopping a nice young lady explains the benefits of a garment or a pair of shoes  so rapidly that I think she is speaking another language. I yearn to be in the far south of this continent where slow speech is considered an art. My favorite radio host, used to be understandable at six in the morning but after he came back from a Covid stint, he somehow reverted to fast talk so that even he couldn't be understood. I thought, have I turned up the rpms or something? His keepers must have warned him to slow down a bit because gradually he returned to a normal verbal pace, and I was able to pick up every little word. I think some of the younger set who fast talk, have transferred their rapid thumb picker texting style to their own repartee which makes them decodable only to their peers. The entire world beyond mere speech has become faster. Vehicles have become a prime example of it. On the freeways, no one does the speed limit and if it is ahered to, other drivers honk or zip around impatiently to pass. In a thirty mile an hour zone, honestly, do you hold to that speed? We elders who recall the days when fifty miles an hour was an accident waiting to happen, might yearn for the times when a slower world knew about "getting there is half the fun". We could see the birds in the trees as we passed, be amazed by the eagles on branches or  hawks swooping past  or deer grazing in a field. Now, we are going so fast that all we see is the back end of the car in front. 

Place Privacy Hmm

 There is a new program for devices that is much like the prison ankle strap that keeps track of offenders outside the "joint".  This one  gives parents and other guardians complete access via cyber to track anywhere their subject  happens to go with a cell phone. If you participate as a child or adult and carry your C phone, your whereabouts can be observed. Theoretically, everywhere you go, however humble, you are blipped. Now, a lot of parents will see this as a boon so so that they can track constantly  where their little he/she is. Handy? I am reserving my opinion on it because that kind of surveilance concerns me. Do I want not as a baby or tot, but as a child, teen, adult or elder to be constantly observed in this way? Does it offend my trust or even personal privacy? These are questions that need to be thoroughly pondered in a time when there is very little space for one to find complete security when the need for privacy is felt. As a child, I revelled in being able, with my friends to find "forts" in the woods near my house or "clubs"in someone's garage or other place where we kids could feel it was somewhere that we, alone, found to be just  kids and do our perfectly innocent activities without the pressure of adults about. It developed, I think, in us, a certain amount of confidence that our parents trusted us and that we trusted that they did. It made us mature as children should, to see themselves as being responsible not only to their parents and their guidelines but also to their ability to take care of themselves to become future independent adults. Of course, in this day, there are many hazards for children, but we don't want them to regard every stranger or place as danger. We teach kids how to protect themselves and eventually they are going to have to walk to their school, not ride, be with their friends and make choices without parental supervision. Kids or anyone, must  feel free at any place to make choices and decisons.  It appears that worried parents and caregivers sometimes go too far overboard. Or do they? We have cameras that follow us, device tracking and now blippable location programs. What next?

Ask First

I've seen my peers, elders, rudely pushing away young arms that grabbed to help them. I find it sad. The elder who was once as young as the individual taking their their arm or warning them about what to step over, has privacy boundaries as does everyone. Age is not an illness; it's a common human condition in which the body may be breaking down but the mind and psyche of the individual living in that body, remains a fully operational human. Their bodies are theirs, not property for others to latch on to without permission no matter what the motive may be.  Nurses know about these things, and in their work, they always ask first and if necessary, give reasons in assisting elders in their charge.  They have learned that elders require the same kind of respect that everyone else on the planet is entitled to. Elders are equals in life. They are not babies or small children; they are humans whose bodies have reached a point in time that often, but not always, can use a helping hand. It is demeaning to speak down to elders or use "baby talk" at them.  In fact, it can be regarded as an insult. It is simple to just ask politely: "May I be of help to you?". There is no need to rush over and put hands on the elder who, in most cases, enjoys any semblance of independence they can eke out. They may move slowly because that's the way it is when you live inside an elder body. A human person who has been around for decades is naturally going to have complaints to do with pain and lack of mobility or flexibility. It's a simple human fact. The elder often says such as "You'll find out one day!" and that is true. I recall saying such things in my young days when I  waited impatiently for someone old at the checkout counter trying to locate something in her purse or for a slow gentleman who walked at a snail's pace through a doorway with many people delayed behind him. I smile when I think of being the elder myself and not the looker on. Please ask first and a cheery word with a smile doesn't hurt either.

No. Your Fault

 There is some kind of odd fiction happening these days. It's about people with sad lifestyles that point, not to their own actions or choices, but to those of everyone else they  encounter or in whose environment they happened to be. The bad part, is that the general population is forced to pay for these mistakes. The excuses by the afflicted are as follows: it was my bad background, I was dared to do it, everyone else was doing it, my sick body made me do it. The age-old excuses are rampant but they don't fix problems no matter what or who is imagined to be blamed. Life is about overcoming adversity, not about pointing fingers at others. We make our own choices and some end up as tragic mistakes. It's a sort of banana peel fall as being the fault of the one who dropped the banana skin or the banana itself that is to blame, and not about the one who stepped on it and fell. I have every sympathy for persons who are  in uncomfortable or tragic situations. At the same time, I don't like to pay for mistakes that I haven't made. Our society is one that requiries we  pay for victims and that makes sense to a point. But where does it end?  To avoid having to pay huge amounts for the bad choices some people make, we form bodies that try to educate them on how to avoid bad choices. These are well-known lessons, well presented to everyone, therefore, no one can say, they haven't been warned. Everyone has been duly warned, but they have chosen to set aside the advice. They are free to make their own choices, but we are not freed to stop paying for the mistakes. The tax burden for working people who make the good choices, is becoming overwhelming.  Life is not equal even though we all try hard, very hard, to make it equal.  But we are not all the same, and sometimes some folks have to fight harder to become equal. It's an up-hill, but well-worth-it battle. And if we can, we need to find a reasonable way to help others because in the long run, it helps us all.

Ad Too Much

 What is happening with the inundation of advertising into what we once thought should be a nice clear viewing of online television movies or series? On some of the sites I visit daily, including the "national" news stations online, ads cover the entire top of the photograph for a few maddening seconds.  I make sure, yes, that I learn the name of the advertiser because that is one site I won't be signing onto. Some of the ads stay at the side but are disgusting. Some ad hiree human thinks that it doesn't matter how disgusting, as long as it captures your attention. Well, sorry advert "expert", I'm not one of those sorts and I can't think of anyone else who would continue to suffer through them. My defense, other than never buying online from an advertiser who does such idiotic tactics, is to cover the side ads with a piece of yellow pad paper folded neatly to reach from top to bottom of my computer screen. The ads in my news reports, I dodge by not watching that channel and search for one that doesn't do it. As a consumer, I refuse to go lightly into that good night. I love fighting this sort of advertising including the ones that interrupt my movie watching. Most sites disallow fast forwarding an ad,  but I silence the ads and refuse to look at them. I use the ad time to pick up a snack or read a page or two of my favorite mystery. The old tactics to use are to avoid ad bullies by ignoring them completely. Other ads that come to my mail box these days are for hearing aids. What? Why? How did they get my name? You can be sure that any hearing test will push you into spending thousands of dollars for something that will simply annoy you. Apparently, it's like plugging a loudspeaker into your ear, one that yells every sound here and a block away at the same huge volume. The best advertisers of any product, need only  provide information that tells what it's about and gives the actual cost. I don't need a little family scene with appropriate inclusive actors in it to find out about a product. I want information and a price tag and then perhaps I might consider the item. And Ad Folks, I expect delivery to be free and to my door with more than one try,  thank you very much. 

Beautiful Dreamers

 Long ago when I visited my mother who lived in a home, I met The Dreamers. I didn't know, at the time what I know now about Dreamers. They were, in this lovely "home", lined up in  wheelchairs in the hall that had a doorway to a ward reserved for those who needed help eating meals. They were served in spaces that other home residents couldn't see or have access to. These dear, quiet Dreamers, had no interest in doing anything for themselves, but did need to eat and didn't mind that the food was pureed or fed to them. They were "away".  Even though they were not  present, they were aware of the need for nutrition. All the other bodily necessities were of no interest to them. They had dreams and that attracted all of their attention. To others looking on, those called "normal", they were too sick and not truly present.  Now that I am old, even though I am not yet, a dreame, I understand who and what and where they are. When you live a long, long time, you have an encyclopedia of memories. I know that one day, I may join them and it doesn't fill me with fear. It is a comfort to me because I do want to have a time and place to remember all that went before. I will, as a Dreamer, be reviewing my entire time on earth: all of its parts and of he fascination of having lived a life. My care givers will do all the rest for me and my "work" will be merely to dream on and on. My eyes will seem blank, but behind them, I will re-live all the beauties of my former times: the people, the travels, the  the homes, and the natural experiences I was so fortunate to have. They are ones that no one else had.  At last,then as a Dreamer, I will have time and opportunity to go back and live those years over again. No one else can come with me. It's my journey and mind alone. Nothing else will matter but my dreams. Once, my mother joined the other Dreamers. We went to see her and hold her hand and sit next to her and surround her with ourselves. She smiled being far away and did not speak or nod. We thought she had forgotten us. But she hadn't. She was a Dreamer and was remembering us in her mine. We talked to her and laughed and said good-bye and she did not look sad. She waved as the aide directed, and then went back to her beautiful dreams smiling. 

Something From Nothing

 When I check out the news every morning on my computer, more and more I am seeing one individual's photo and below it, their complaint. Naturally, I am impacted emotionally by the person's or animal's plight, but on consideration, I wonder if the issue is universal or in the least, "general" enough to be published as of interest to a wide audience. Most of the time, it is not or not really.  It is a bit like pictures of disaster whether natural or manmade. Over and over an article shows one particular photo or video in area or at an event without the viewer being able to see the environment of the occasion.  What we see is the worst spot in the worst area and are, we suspect, to assume that what we see happens over the entire place. Most of the time, it's the photo that sells the event. And photography is key because it is the one thing that grabs our attention initially. The key to famous journalism is a method of grabbing the public attention and creating a fuss about a specific concern or issue in the best possible way, so to elicit fame or infamy. Crisis sells. It's all about money of course. One must eat, as they say. We readers and viewers who respond to an article or photo or report, hope that a caring human being journalist is at the bottom of it all. The truly great journalists are, indeed,  caring human beings as well as being persons of exceptional media talent. All the dire pictures and presentations that are slanted toward capturing out attention must have a general concern for humanity otherwise, what is the point of exposing the situation at all? Surely, we hope, that is the end goal. Or do we think at all about what we are exposed to daily, to our children, to our attitudes, to our futures? What comes from a small screen goes directly into our minds and lives and about it, healthy anaylsis is at best, one hopes, a duty. 

Shame On Fashion

 Oh, come on high fashion! There is no sense whatsoever in what I see in "that" fashion magazine that was once a leader in what people put on their backs. Today it is so bizarre and has been for so long, that we no longer expect it to make recommendations for what actually, we wear.  "High" fashion is so high that it doesn't make sense. It is science fiction. Gone are the designers that strove to tell us what makes our bodies appear great in the way the seam lines stream, or the patterns compliment, or the lengths enhance, or the fabrics entertain. Now we have a nudity of sad, skinny girls, yes girls, trodding the ramps in creations that only the richest individuals in the world can afford. If they wanted to. Models' feet are encased in dangerously high platform soles and heels that could be used as gardening tools. Never to meet a floor for longer than fifteen minutes at most. Why? The reason is that no one attends a fashion show to find something for wearing. Fashion shows are circus performances with music, are on sets and have literally, actors and gawking audiences fighting for the favor of a front row, so to be photographed rather than for having anything to do with clothing to don. It is all viewing silliness prancing past with the audience selfy-ing as it happens. I am not being cynical. This as it is.  The reality of pomp and fakery. Chanel, the godess of fashion once, spent her life making women look appropriate and comfortable. She was passionate about fabrics to fit on actual people. She used a stairway in her own business location to carry out her shows in a sane fashion world. But, today, I viewed on line in The Magazine and saw photos of an important fashion event that looked like a science fiction spread. One of the models wore a neck to floor plunge of feathery layers spreading out like a huge, pink Christmas tree. Another model had a screening front, back and side, of metallic gold bar patterning with extensions of ornate grids of gold bent bars, reaching out beyond her body. Her pathetically thin legs below miraculously carried this creation, from one end of the carpet to the other without becoming impaled. Still others wafted huge amounts of flounces and bounces and trains and flaps, all never dared to be worn on a busy sidewalk or party or show. Like, who is kidding who? Why call it a fashion show? It is a circus. Oh, come on high fashion!

Missing Churches

Churches are gradually disappearing, sadly. In ancient times, churches were the places where the community went, not just for spiritual comfort but also for protection. When the area was threatened the natural place to head, was off to the local cathedral. Usually made of stone, with huge, hard closing doors and high walls, a bell tower to broadcast alarm and with plenty of open space inside, the organ pealing out gigantic tones was paced for song. There are places in Europe where the evidence inside and outside saw the church on seige, scorched, those inside, victims of fire and canon volleys. During more modern wartimes, churches were places where bullets were dodged and people protected and lodged to some degree of safety. When bombing and rockets came along that ended stone walls being any help at all. Those who manage churches: the clergy, the boards and councils and other forms of church governing, often make their structures into shelters for those in need as they are given  empathetic attention and care. Now, because  churches are emptying more and more, they can become concert halls and some that are no longer in use, are made into different forms of lay entertainment. Their  large floor size and  layouts that work for audiences are ideal. One, once filled regularly, I sat in and saw  the organ loft above the altar, no longer used, was laid out like a clever art installment, its elegant pipes lining the entire space. The building's ceiling, was being under a vast wood boat hull upturned, and it seemed to lay over us all, we who were listening a string quartet. Protectively, it was like a huge beamed and cedar lined sky. Church acoustics are well-planned for concerts. As I sat listening to the string quartet playing poignant modern melodies, I felt sad that perhaps no longer do hosts of youngsters troop off on Sundays, dressed in their finest, to listen with fascination, to ancient stories depicted on easels clad with felt figures and told by ladies and men committed sincerely, to their simple passions and faith. It made me ponder: do young people marvel over the broad issues of humanity then and the old morality? Do they  marvel at the incense wafting or see real candle flames or look into the uplifted faces of carved statues and wonder what it all means?  

Mentally Ill Homes?

 Used to be a huge, rambling park-like series of large, tall, secure, fully staffed red brick buildings on a hillside in the Coquitlam area. Everyone knew that those with mental illnesses that required treatment, care, safety and recreation by professionals would go there, be there, and that a full variety of medical treatment was  available in a private place, government funded.  We called it Essondale, but the original name for the men's facility in 1913 was titled, Hospital For The Mind. Later, it was Essondale, and still later, Riverview. The institution was not well regarded then, or is now historically, due to its former, accommodations and treatments. The treatment for the mentally ill, those days, seemed cruel but it continues to be in some ways, for some patients today, still a form of "shock" therapy. Methods have changed and it is carried out in kinder but still effective methods. No longer do residents of such places house people in dormitory style rooms with "bars" on the windows. While many feel that we need to reinstate such services to "get the mentally ill off the streets" in protecting them from becoming prey to criminals, others know that some form of better care is needed to prevent incidents that can be dangerous to patients and others plying city streets. What sort of care that might be, remains, only discussion. Prison is no place for the mentally ill to receive help. What needs attention vitally, is how to remedy the increasing occurrence of stabbings and assaults by unstable persons. It is a conundrum between what is freedom of choice and what is truly needed to help. It is heavily evident however that too many persons with mental illness, suffer prison stays and often when released, commit attacks on the public who should be able to go about feeling safe. The problem can no longer be tolerated or ignored. When people have to go about in fear of being waylaid sadly by mentally ill persons who are sent back to the public sphere, by those thinking they will be able to manage their medications, it's time to fix what was thought to be fixed in 1913 at the Hospital For The Mind. 

Picture Perfect?

 All this hype about the royals fixing bits of pictures is ridiculous. And it is mainly yapped by photographers who ALL fiddle around with their photography as part of their normal activity. I have seen photos of a certain woman in the beauty business who is idolized by viewers in THE fashion magazine, famous for its photos, and all of them are air brushed or enhanced, shall we say, to make the individual's waistline only slighty bigger than her neck measurement. The efforts are clearly and visibly done, and no one really cares. There aren't many pretty people who daily post their selfies to the world at large, and then proceed to count how many times someone looks at the fakery. They agonize over how many check marks they get. How silly and silly be? What is the big fuss? While the world "burns" Neroists fiddle over such tripe. When a portrait of a famous person is painted it's all, or was, all fakery. It's called artistic freedom. What is the difference in taking pictures with a camera, rather than painting in oils a portrait, when cameras are specifically made for artistic manipulation freedoms. From all of the articles I have seen about the royal edits of photos they take, and send off to the gnashing press, there is nothing that should upset anyone. A line in a couch? A patch of dark behind an ear? A bit of tartan not matched? A zipper closure not done  up? How petty can the press, they who do this all the time themselves, never mind the one or two purists in the group who don't (if there truly are such)? Just another gossip hungry "wall" of clickers slavering for something to write about, thinking there is nothing more important than picking apart a world that is pretty much ripped apart as it is. It is a well known fact that the media engages in "artistic freedom" incessantly, without caring whom it destroys because they deem it their professional right. They speak of not being able to trust the royalty any longer since a couple of tiny edits were done to a picture of the royals' photo backgrounds, not to their faces or bodies as is blatently common all the time by everyone else, but to the backgrounds or insignificant bits of their pictures. The royals are not doing the wrong, but who is?  Puuhleese!

No Shame Aging

Our society makes stupid judgements at times and sometimes we even put them upon ourselves. How many old, yes "old"people, make apologies for their appearance in having wrinkles or being stooped or walking slowly or using aids such as walkers, wheel chairs or canes. Stop feeling shame for what is natural. And if someone faults your aging, they are rudely wrong. When someone becomes angry or impatient with you as an aging person, please turn to them and in a pleasant voice, say,  "You are looking at yourself". And it will be true.  Not one living thing can escape aging. It's perfectly natural, and there is no shame attached to it. The worst sickness in every human being, is stress. Why we aging persons, stress ourselves worrying about how we look or feel or think, causes an illness that is not necessary. Aging is lauded when some unusual person of an advanced age, does some unusual thing and wins an award. Everyone applauds. This woman is one hundred and she runs a marathon. This man in his nineties downhill skis. That person is eighty nine and climbed a risky mountain.  They are, indeed, grand events but they are not The Norm. And let's hope they don't bring regret to all elders, but only their admiration. Most bodies that have been working for a very long time without stopping, are naturally going to have breakdowns. There is no fault attached. What holds great honour is when some unfortunate soul, inflicted with a cruel situation, continues to be positive. They set a remarkable example. Whatever tiny matter that we can cling to with joy and hope and a sense of simply being present, is prime. Life, and to be alive, in whatever form, is a great honor and privilege. Finding a way to celebrate it no matter the down times, is the key to eliminating stress that you don't need. Stress can eat you up.  Even those who rely on care givers for the most intimate attention, should not feel ashamed  because yes, in old age we do need treatment that is helpful. We cared for our babies and now, when some of us have worn bodies that need the same tender care, we can show our respect for life by accepting what is before us and do so with grace. Our stress can be put aside and a smile replace it. We live, we reside in joy if only we allow it. 

Women's Day Men

 I am pleased on Women's Day because of how quickly they, when the battle for equality among humans was won, stepped up. Also, I congratulate the men who worked together with women, to see it happen. Marriage of man and woman, or in other forms, is an example, an arrangement, where true partnership is called for. It's something created by two people who decide to work out how their unique family will be born. How and what they make, is of their own design. It could be a relatively smooth road so that everyone in a family has a contributing place with systems that make it a cooperative venture. Everyone from the smallest to the biggest member in a family, should have in its position, equal rights and feelings of belonging and sharing and safety. The family should also accept other families without prejudice since all good families are in some way different than others. Happiness and love are the goals and rules. Working with other groups counts.  Men have been relieved of having to make all the family decisions as once they seemed to, before women were legally successful at freeing themselves from the oppressions of former marriage traditions. Women vote now, as they should. Men can be partners in a family home rather than being the "boss", as society once saw them. Marriages are not always long. Divorce does happen in marriage but if so, it can be made a natural but difficult event that will find its level, so that all the members are able continue to adjust and contribute. Women have the babies and that's important work. It's the hardest work there is and it goes on for both parents for the rest of their lives. You can't divorce being a parent. My late son did everything a mother does in its family arrangement of work, marriage and caring. My son proved that fatherhood is not only a great joy and privilege but that family is an on-going job equally involving both parents. There are many kinds of marriage and family today, and most all of them are an opportunity to find the true meaning of a deeply joyful, fulfilling life. If the goal is happiness and not what is often called "success" should that definition be only power and wealth, it can be called gold. Marriage, partnership, peace and harmony work best in a world that needs peace desperately.  Today, a Women's Day,  I thank the men who don't have a day like this but who in working along side their equals, women, may earn it in the future.

No Soy? Not Possible

I can't eat soy anything without a nasty sensitivity reaction. Many children and about four percent of adults cannot eat soy as an ingredient or anything at all made with soybeans. The reaction is akin to a peanut butter allergy on a lighter scale. It  can throw some people quickly into shock. I am not an allergy expert but I know how I feel and have done for many years after eating  soy and/or MSG.  When this first began I was in middle age when the reaction became undeniable. I love what we in North America call Chinese food but the, when I came out of a lovely dinner at a restaurant, I became almost immediately ill with ugly symptoms including the threat of losing consciousness and feeling that I was dying. All the signs of shock. I tried to convince my doctor of the situation merely to find out if I were right about the reaction and he sluffed it off saying that MSG which since the nineteen thirties is extracted from soy beans, was natural. The allergist he sent me to refused to test me because he feared the reaction I would have. Even a little bit causes it. I thought it was MSG that was the problem but since then having a reaction from tins and boxes that promise "no added MSG" there is certainly what is called a "natural" MSG in them. None has been added, but it's there in a natural state. Often it is called "spices" or "flavoured" because the commercial folk want it to stay that way. People come back to eat more with MSG.  It may be a natural product but just like peanuts, natural or not, it can cause some people violent reactions. As we age in life, often these sensitivities, maybe not allergies, can develop and when we find that we feel ill or have abdominal cramping and its effects we should investigate to see what it is we have consumed. Many people find that they can't eat cheese or wheat products or perhaps shrimp,  and so on. I recall the days when we all used something called Accent and poured it on our meats and put it into other dishes not realizing it is pure MSG. It certainly does give your body a message. It's that what you ate is so delicious that you crave more almost immediately. Fried chicken outlets are famous for slathering it on their meats or putting it into those delicious crispy fried batters. If you aren't sure why you head for the bathroom half an hour after eating it, you might check the labels to see what you are eating.  Is it monosodium glutamate? MSG.  It is in virtually most soups, gravies, prepared foods, meats and snacks. Check it out for yourself.  

Carless Roads

 The way to stop accidents and worn out vehicles being loaded onto scrap heaps or the purchasing of new ones that are electric is to have carless roads. Instead of electric cars and scrapping huge numbers of perfectly good gas vehicels, we could make the roads electric. We have electricity in all major towns and cities. We need electrify the roads, not the cars. Cars of a different nature would be the new public conveyors. These  would be saftey and security conscious as well as personally comfortable. Would it take much to install the electricity and the cars on all major highways ? It's alread there.  If we put cars that can be destination ordered through online sites, set for that purpose to go anywhere or somewhere in a location, it would take hundreds of gas cars off the roads. You could book a destination and when the unit arrived at your door, you would  enter the car along with other strangers whose online places to go were the same or perhaps they would be dropped off or others picked up along the way. You would have your divider privacy with cell charge options and some storage in your compartment.  One could use a special registration number to pay for the ride or with the onboard screen,  make changes enroute if necessary. Payment would be determined online using your special registration ID.  What a lot of stress and  time wasting would be avoided. If we stopped spending  money and time on personal ego vehicles and more on publicly viable transportation, we could move people to where they wanted to go without huge expense. It would curb the use of oil based fuels and if necessary might be converted to nuclear power instead. Now, it may sound silly but silly science fiction can be inovative. There must be a way to make transportation simpler and easier and cheaper. As to recreation, the system could provide larger cars to accommodate weddings, funerals, graduations, parties, sports fans, and so on. These could be reserved on line also. Could the carless road be worse than traffic jams and fender benders, car theft and car repairs and ego buying of vehicles? Why aren't we working on systems that are truly environmentally effective than seeing the widespread purchase of personal vehicles costing horrendous amounts when we could use a system based on  shared ones. Let's think about the globe.

Brain Game Cards

 Bridge is a superb card game that unfortunately has its experts attempting to turn all players into winners. How they do it, is by instructing them in how to perform certain machinations so that their opponents cannot fail but to lose. I don't understand how that's making the game enjoyable. Maybe it's first because I am not a machine, and second that I am not fixed on getting a big end score. My feeling of triumph is when I don't necessarily play by the book or make long drawnout delays planning every play before I lay down a card. No. My feelings of game victory, is in the play. Very often I lose by a point or two but feel most satisfied that I exacted a certain move because I read it well. Bridge players who regard the game as an ego builder in plying the entire convention roster or agonizing over every hand to hopefully beat their opponents, make me sad. It's not what I love about Bridge. I love that it is a game much like poker, only far more subtly so. At the poker table, if brain waves could be seen and emotions fly in colour, what a gorgeous display it would be. The ability to read every nuance of the other player's faces seems to be what poker players work at. If they do this, they are often awarded much respect if not money. Or matchsticks or pennies, whatever their pots are. My favorite sort of play in Bridge is online. I am told that it is legitimate in that the players are actual people, but something tells me that's not quite true. If so, why is it that the Ace or the King is always placed with an opponent to my disadvantage and is usually on my right. When you are sitting fourth player in a round, it's a dream if you are holding what you hope is a strong hand and being in that position, can triumphantly slap down the winning card at the end. But in all card games unless there is a very good cheat on hand, it is the cards that win almost every time. A bad hand is impossible. Not always, but usually. When you are dealt a low hand for rounds at a time, one look and you know it's over before it has begun. But with half-a-chance-hand and really good instincts, one has a chanceto win it. But you'd better pay attention. My game is hand by hand. I am not keen on worrying about the end score but rather, the pleasure of seeing a well played hand. Mine or theirs. 

Designer Chat

The techies think they have the world in control when they show you a list of  what to say. Humans no longer entirely control the air waves since the "convenience" of online everything arose. I am, or was, a firm believer in online shopping because one needn't drive a car somewhere, try to find a parking space and then search for the right size or shape for hours on end in various locations. I still favour online shopping for convenience, but it, too, has problems. Today my phone rang at four thirty in the morning and a delivery person wanted me to open the door to accept a package. What? Four thirty AM? I went on line and called Customer Service to remind them that I am human and need my sleep.  The disembodied phone voice for the service, apologised and told me that the number was changed and for me to go online for the service I requested. I did so. My computer showed me a page that asked me to select what number of stars I would award for the service and to make a comment. I clicked on "comment". A list of comments appeared, none fitting my situation or one that was anywhere near my issue.  I have learned always to say "agent" or dial "O" to the inhuman voice, and if that works, I get someone from a faraway land speaking in an accent that requires I listen very carefully to try and understand. I'm not racist; it's a simple fact that I speak my native language when I shop just as they do. But we have business to do. In one incident, the Customer Service agent asked me to go back on line where once again I found a list of designer responses to click on. None fit. Oh well, there is another help. It's a cute little icon in the bottom right hand corner called "Chat". I have tried Ms or Mr Chat and when their list of choices don't fit, Chat asks me to frame my words in some other way. I try. No luck. I am asked to check my spelling. Finally, even though I have a degree in English speech, I can't make sense with Chat. Chat thanks me and refers me to its page on line. Here we go again.  Should I be re-wired or charged or plugged in? I am flesh and blood, something "old fashioned", but I need a real human being. Are any left?

Menu Deluxe

 Not long ago, I made myself what I thought was a wonderful stir fry complete with no MSG. It's an enemy of mine. And if you're like me, do not trust "no MSG added" on the bottle - it means there is MSG in it - but "natural". Natural or not, I can't eat it because it sends me into immediate shock and down I fall. In fact I am suddenly allergic to soy in any form. Four percent of adults have this. These days apparently more children are seeing food allergies. Why, is a mystery but they are dreadful experiences if you've ever suffered them. My new eating plan is two fold. It's not for everyone. First I do not eat until two in the afternoon which I am told is fasting. I don't eat because I am not hungry even though I do love my morning flavoured coffee with whipped cream and a teaspoon of honey. Second, eating is a different style now. While enjoying my morning coffee, I prepare my food "trough" for the day. My new food plan is mostly raw vegetables, home made mayo dip with a dash of sweet hot sauce, and an array of every vegetable I can find in the fridge. Today my long narrow tray holds, seaweed crackers, small cheese cubes, the dip forementioned, and all raw: strips of carrot, tiny tomatoes, cauliflower, broccoli, sweet onion, red pepper, celery, turnip, and grapes plus my own cooked meat that, today, is pork chop diced into cubes with the fat cut off - mostly. I call the long black plastic tray, my trough. It looks like a party tray and that feels luxurious. My trough sits out all day as I graze! The dessert is something odd. I have a tiny baker called a cake pop maker. Into it I put cake mix: small portions of any mix that looks interesting. One cake mix makes dozens and dozens of them. I keep mine in a pretty large glass container on the counter and take out some, top them with frosting or melted chocolate and dust them with chopped nuts or flaked coconut. My desserts are tiny but nice. No more do I shun cooking a "whole meal" or feeling too "full" to eat much and then, toss out some. Bon appetite!  

Kids Or No Kids

 An article that came out recently examined the fact that more men stated they wanted children than women. What is surprising about that? Men do not birth children; they want to be fathers. Isn't that a difference? Being a mother is not only birthing the child, but almost always taking most of the responsibility for the infant's personal care. Even with maternity leaves which are never long enough to rear  youngsters with so many early childhood needs, daily child care is exhausting. I had one child after working at a profession for six years and was able to take another six years to spend with my child in our marriage. How times have changed! I loved being a mother because I had the advantage of time.We had a house when mortgages were low enough to afford and could quickly be paid off.  Working for the six years allowed us to carefully consider  rearing a child in all of its aspects. It sounds like a fairy tale because it happens so seldom now. Most mothers with small children (and many mother/fathers) have to leave their little ones with others and go off to work. Frankly, I don't know how they manage being mothers and workers. Some parents are single and have more than one child. When I was at home with my child, I found most of it concerned with housework, child care and a social life along with my husband. It wasn't rushed or stressful because there was time for planning and finding ways of making family life good. And we weren't rich. I can see in lots of ways why women today don't favour having children in their partnerships. If they have a career it's complicated because most careers are not eight hour days but much more. That men "want" children should first show that they will be full participants in the child care, not merely what has to do with putting in money. Kids are  hands-on love by both parents. That is what makes family.

Schools: The World

 School is where the minds of tomorrow reside. Not enough attention is paid to them, their workers and their impact. Most parents gratefully send their kids off every morning for someone else to mind. There are a few who place political worth on what is presented there but the majority take for granted something hugely more important. Here in Canada, with our open doors to all other nations in welcoming them and their offspring to partake in our tax based instutions, along with those who are also immigrants of long standing to this country founded by ancient peoples, we become a country of the world. Our children, all of them, absorb what happens in  schools. Good parents make sure that they stay invoved with what is being shown and spoken of and allowed with that knowledge given, however minute, and participate in the place where their children spend most of their waking day. They want something personal for their kids but they also want their kids to be open to the world. Others see it only as a babysitting service so that they can go to work for the whole family to survive. The latter kind of parent is not a bad parent, it is a tired one but their presence is needed, too. The crux of all education begins at home no matter what the outside influences are. Love is where it begins, not laws or rules or "we do it this way- period". Love extends to all humans because we are all one creature and we must fit together to survive. Schools are precious places, as precious as churches and court houses and hospitals. For here is our future. It isn't a philosophical idea, it's a fact. One finds in school, a social placement that helps form a life. Our leaders in all fields were molded in part in some way, in schools: home schools, boarding schools or other naturally formed schools. Family influences are not the only child's future mantra. Most schools try to offer a broad outlook that includes all peoples and their ways. It should be the most open and democratic venue there is to avoid confusion in the child. Young minds will find their way and make their choices no matter what outside forces think they are applying. Schools try to keep the fields broad enough and hopefully unbiased enough to allow minds to think freely. For their futures.

Car Go

Being someone who doesn't like driving,  and also that I have little need to go out driving since I am a happy online shopper for just about everything I need, one day I decided to sell my car.  It was a darling car: dashing red convertible sports car. And truly, I do miss it. But it sat most of the time in its underground space all alone and feeling abandoned, or so it told me, when I went down to wash it.  A couple of times, I had to call service to come and charge up my battery because it had died just sitting there. The third time, was the last time. Bye bye Mustang. Not having a car pleases me enormously although it may not delight my dear relatives and friends who either have to visit me or take me out in their cars. I am a good passenger, however, and pay my way. The only sad sacks are the people who think that I "lost" my license. I have to assure them that I still have it, but have no intention of meeting up with the car insurance folk and car repair persons again. They cost too much. I love cabbing everywhere. The cost is almost zilch. I live close to a big mall where most of the services I use and need, exist. I also feel that I am doing my part in not burning up the atmosphere using fossil fuels only to keep a car battery charged. It is surprising how many other seniors I speak with, agree. They also have cars they hardly ever use. When I ask them why they keep their cars, the answers are usually "yes, I really ought to get rid of my car". It makes me wonder just how many people my age, keep a car - just because. A few say that they like to run around every day in their cars to pick up groceries and while in the stores,  have a little visit with everyone. That to me, doesn't make sense. Perhaps it is because I am not a gad about as it used to be called in The Day. My grocery delivery right to my door, is marvellous and so easy when I can order online and even then, read the labels should I choose to. For clothing, I can go online to any outlet and find the right size and colour and design. Since I know the manufacturers, the fit is also good. Each outlet does supply a scale of measurments of course.  As for other personal appointments, these can be reached by taxi. Best of all, I no longer have to wash a car!

  

Follow Up Missing

 It's all very well to toss money at a problem and call it fixed. But where is the follow-up to see that the money worked or is working? We read and watch and hear, every day, how government funding and donations are given and how thrilled everyone is about the large amounts. Where is the follow up? Reporters who, these days are usually amateurs called "contributors" to the media and have little actual training in the field of journalism, aren't able or don't bother with a follow up reports on what occurred after the donations were distributed. Especially heart-rending is a story about a mentally ill person who had a history of violence and was treated but who sadly killed his family. There are too many stories like this. The mentally ill need more than a few appointments paid for by a health plan with a mental health worker and prescriptions to take and who go off with promises that all will be well. The mentally ill may not be equipped to continue taking the medications faithfully since when things feel better, they could consider it no longer necessary.That's when relapses occur and the results are disturbing and dangerous. Where was the follow-up? "We can't keep an eye on them every minute; they are free to live their lives" is the answer. The "free" life style of someone with mental illness depends on stability and monitoring.  Follow up needs to be on-going, not at the will of the patient. Nor do we  need to put people into institutions as follow-up. We need people who care. The medical world is telling us they are exhausted. Who isn't? Putting more money into hospitals and institution buildings doesn't make more people who can help. We need to put back inexpensive training for those who cannot afford to attend universities at their horrendous costs and time. There are countless individuals who would love to become nurses and other professions that require people who care. Yapping about it at meetings does not put our youth into places to receive the training they need to do the work they want to do. What about more money toward learning institutions like the old nursing residences for students, ones that are located at hospitals and ones that are free, as once they were. Student nurses were paid to train and they trained on site. Let's follow up on that idea and revive it?