Convenient Pay Plans

Banks have their methods and that's fine but when I think that a pay plan in which I am automatically charged each month is convenient, it isn't always. The most annoying thing is that the charges appear on your credit card three weeks ahead of being due. That can be scary. For persons who are on a pay schedule of every two weeks, the charge appears as a debt so that when you see it, you are shocked. Since the bank is a business that works credit cards, it tells you to call the company that is billing you to change the arrangement. One of the companies I called, was very cooperative but they said that is the way they do this arrangement for their convenience. It was a very large company.  I told them to cancel that system for me and simply bill me the charge when it is due or at least inform me the date it is due. I will pay it on time. That way, I keep my money rather than they holding my money. Someone told me "oh, what are you concerned about, you wouldn't earn that  much interest anyway - just ignore it". My peace of mind can't ignore debt. While I might not lose interest if I pay them early, they must be making tons of it using our early paid money.  I decided to stop these sorts of plans and have the companies simply inform me when they are due. I need to run my affairs closer to my own business plan. While most of the companies were cooperative with the changes I made with them, one wasn't. When I tried to contact them, they made it impossible.  I entered my usual email and password and they said it was wrong. It wasn't - I keep track of this.  I tried again this time using the "forgot the password" thing. No go. This company was charging me ten dollars a month even though I had cancelled my membership long before. I hadn't noticed because it was a small amount. It made me wonder how many other people on these small thieved amounts and how that small amount would be a big amount to profit this scamming company. I called the credit card company and the agent said to take a screen shot of any correspondence with this company or their phone number. They wouldn't let me email them, and there was no phone number unless I took another email address they gave me to learn their number. I trusted that since it had my credit card number it was okay to repeat it. Oh no. First of all, when I got the number and called the Big F company had been sold to a new owner who touted all the great benefits there would be. Discontinuing with them wasn't one. Now I was charged by the company working for them and when I phone using that number I was fiven another sales pitch for a personal security monthly plan. What? Finally, the wonderful credit card company did help me at last and while it took a very long free call to them, they fixed it for me. How do these scamming companies get away with this nonsense? It was in the US.  I hope Canada does better. And banks need to take better care of us because these companies do it through banks who side step and tell customers it's their responsibility. We put out money into banks that could not exist without us, therefore it IS their responsibilty. 

Popcorn, Disguised

 The search for fibre producing nutrition is easy. AI haters step aside for this one. AI is information that's quick, easy to get to and of the most recent facts. Wanting to find out what foods offer the most fibre, I was surprised. If you dare to use your AI  mode on the computer or (yuk) cell phone, and simply ask questions on your mind, that is, if you can tear yourself away from emails, amazon or you tube, your curiosties will be enhanced megafully. Good old fashioned popcorn offers you more than a cob of corn. Why? Because the good stuff is in the whole kernel, not the glucose sweet piece that you rip off with your teeth from a cob of it. This is not the first surprise you will find about grams of fibre that keep your gut happy. You all know privately, how important those intestines are to your daily life and this includes every human that walks upon the planet and those who don't for their reasons. Kings, prime ministers, dictators, chiefs, managers,  lords and ladies, all depend on that tangle of tubular muscles "down there" to keep us happy and healthy and productive. You know what I am saying. It is so easy to keep that area satisfied and you happy. Don't go to the shelf in the drug store or the instant prepared foods section. Head for the fresh produce spot, the inexpensive for what you get, the market farm section if possible. Fibre? It isn't all bran and oatmeal folks, think about carrots raw, almonds, bananas, lentils, and cans of good old pork and beans. Those navy beans are loaded with good stuff. Today in my handly little ceramic hot pot that never leaves the stove except for washing the ceramic part, is loaded with a can of plain tomato soup that miraculously does NOT have MSG in it (check the labels for that stuff) with some water, onions, beets, carrots, onions, peppers, slip of garlic,  small sections of cob corn, tomatoes and floating on top a frozen piece of chicken thigh to add flavour. This pot will simmer away until dinner time when I sort through to remove any chicken bone or gristle, cut off the corn kernels sadly, and whiz the whole mess up with a hand blender. My dinner with some failed French Bread with the thick crust (because I was gaming on the computer and forgot the time) cut off, to be made into bread crumbs later on and the soupiest soup on earth. Or OUT of the earth. Want to cut your food budget, forget cans and packages and stick to the veg bins. Going to farms works best, and take the kids because some of those valley farms are better than zoos and the kids will learn where their food really comes from. And the air out there is fresh. 

Maison Fantastica Cafe

 You want a special dining experience like nothing you have done before. Cafe Fantastica is your destination. It is located in an ancient building and is accessible only by limosine with previous reservation plans of course, and with the bill paid in advance. A chauffeur picks up you and your date. You arrive and are escorted to a large, ancient metal door with a huge lock. The driver silently opens it and beckons you inside. The great door clangs shut. Inside you are in a garden entrance all fragrant with herb and floral scents of the greenery draping the high walls, gently lit.  A butler appears and leads you both, into a sophisticated spa-like reception space where you are escorted separately to quarters with uniformed attendants. They dress and make each of you up in the style you applied for when you reserved. Your hair is styled and you chose your prefumes or lotion. No one speaks but gentle music of your choice, surrounds you while you are slowly made more beautiful. Later, when you see your partner, you gasp. You are reflected in the surrounding mirrors that show people who seem of extreme wealth. Your butler appears and escorts you to your table that is in a small room decorated the way that you asked for. Your table is set how you like it, with the finest elegant cutlery, china and fragrant floral arrangement you have seen only in magazines showing celebrity.  Candles, of course. On the wall, is a frame that you both face while seated, lolling in the most comfortable upholstery you have ever known. The curtain across the frame parts and there appears your designated famous chef, speaking to you using your names and making remarks about you according to what you revealed about your love of the dining world, one you have seen only on television. AI brought you here to the screen. The table decor is real but not removeable because you are here to enjoy the sensations of the world's most rare recipes being made just for you by the world's most famous chefs all, a fantasy. The chef seems to know you as a friend. You smell the truffles and breathe in the scent of fresh seafoods and elaborate desserts all the while being addressed by the chef as she or he prepares your dishes. You don't need to taste the food as you sip your mineral waters in  glasses of the finest crystal. They are real and ones you will take home as souvenirs, after your sensational dinner. Eating would seem an offence as your eyes dine and you watch and banter with the chef who has become your personal friend. You, your partner and the chef laugh together. You barely recall that you told Fantastica  what you like and don't, your family notes, your loves, opinions and experiences and AI put it all together for this, just for you. You are enveloped in the experience personally and entirely, and as you and your partner smile and laugh and sip from your glass or mug, the drinking vessel you said was your favorite, in a style you love. You find this the most exquisite experience you have ever had at table. On the way back to where you began sans the lovely costumery, you and your partner have much to speak of when you exit the limo from your Fantastica Cafe adventure, its floral bouquet from the table scenting your arms. 

AI - Self High School

If AI has all the knowledge plus more, since I hear it combines facts to come up with original ideas: clots of creativity all on its own, wouldn't it be possible to achieve a high school graduation standing in say, Grades Ten to Twelve through AI in one's very own home? Of course you would have to ask AI, how to do it,  but it would know being AI and all. This method might even deter family teen confrontations thus allowing less stress and more energy to put into education rather than fighting it out with parents over such as not attending classes, not doing homework, spending too much time with chat.  And please don't tell me, everything goes quietly and peacefully in a family with teenagers. All, without exception have it  usually over a teen wanting and needing more freedom while the parent, wisely, is reluctant to dole it out.  Teens think they know it all, but parents know they don't. It's a river needing a strong bridge, one that is built with respect and time. In the home, it would take cooperation between the parents and their youth to become an AI high school student. Much like home school it works only that way.  Some kids wouldn't want this because  their aim is , shall we call it politely, social development in being with their peers doing their peerisms.  They sit in front of a screen at home anyway as much as they can get away with. An AI high school would be a pretty strict teacher because success would depend entirely on what the student is doing personally and there wouldn't be "notes from home" or secret texting because there they'd be on a screen with a no-kidding-me teacher and marks of some kind to tell the student if there is success or not. No whining and complaining "it's the teacher's fault". What it would do, is allow the young person a less strict time schedule with maybe what's left over, some fun things while still keeping track of their learning progress. You can't fool a computer. Might even be a lesson in personal responsibility? Making it, starts with "you" kind of thing. When university comes along later, youth should have the right mind set to go further into the field they are interested in, if one at all. Perhaps having an intensely educative experience doing their own AI grad program, they might in the process, have decided what field, tech or mech program they want to enter if not academics. Just a thought, one not AI generated. 

Ear Reading

 You can't read with your ears no matter how much you love sticking a couple of buds in your ears and saying "I read that book". You didn't read it; you listened to someone else who did read it. They did it with their eyes. The simple truth is that reading isn't listening, it's having your eyes and your brain decode a bunch of letters and turn them into thoughts. Listening is hearing something from something or someone and then thinking it. The twain will never meet. I'm not being judgemental, it is a simple fact. Reading is not an easy job for many people who either have, or think they have, dyslexia. Most of the time if not diagnosed to be so, it's just plain not wanting to bother reading because it is too hard for them. And no one likes doing hard things. Reading is work.  Maybe you have never been taught to read with your eyes. It is a skill you can develop. Give yourself a little test to see if you need to up your eye reading skills.  Read a page or two while resting your hand lightly on the front of your throat. Do you feel your your throat moving slightly in a sort of silent "speaking" the words. If you are doing this, you are not reading with your eyes only. Speed reading is stopping yourself from "saying" each word as you read it. If your throat is moving while pronouncing each word silently, you are slowing down the process and there is no actual  reason for it. It just slows you down. Your brain is perfectly capable while reading words without "saying" them silently. It takes practise. If you teach yourself to read with your eyes only and not prounounce each word in your throat, you will find that it's much easier and quicker to get through a book. Lazy people don't read books, they watch the movie or listen to a recorded book. It's easier and easier is what most people like. They say they are too busy or they like doing other things while "reading" an audio book.  And that's okay, because your kind of reading is your business. If you are a student laden with having to do a great deal of reading and quickly, this method of stopping  throat reading will help you get through those long assignments that require a large number of pages. I learned to stop throat reading when doing the literature part of my university courses.  You don't need to throat read, it's a habit and one that can be unlearned. Test yourself and then try eye reading only.  Trust your eyes and your brain to do the job for you. They can. I knew one person who went to the library and searched up and down the aisles to find the thinnest books possible. He had to make a book report on a book, any book. He admitted he did this tricks and said he took the thin books, had a brief look inside to see if he was at all interested and it became his report. I wanted to tell him about eye reading, but the fact that he went to libraries and made an attempt to find a book, I was sure that eventually just by reading a lot of thin books, he would become a true reader and at last take out the fat books and become a reader, not just a listener. 

Canadianism

Immigration is often unfairly considered when it shouldn't be. We, on this planet are really citizens of the world in spite of the lines we human devise on maps. Our country, Canada, as every other country came to places that had aborigines and were welcomed at one time but since then, the world has grown hugely and we need to immigrate to find work and make a new life and that is what our world is made of. It belongs to everyone. Everyone who breathes the common air that lightly surrounds us, has the responsibilty of keeping the globe a safe and welcoming place, one that provides the essentials and personal safety for its creatures, all of them. Along with that universal responsibility, is dealing with evil. It doesn't matter where we go or what we do or how we view, there is good and bad. When those who need or want to go from one area of the political divisions we humans have drawn globally, there are restrictions that have reasons behind them to maintain the mandates of how the earth should protect its creatures and by doing it behind those lines that denote citizens of the countries marked.  The bad members of the world's population aren't stupid and they are clever enough in an evil way, of "lock picking" to pass the boundaries  meant to keep them out so that law and order is maintained and  that evil cannot pursue its harm and through its insatiable greed.  Most of their "keys"  threaten the innocent who, being without gile, have no recourse but to do as they are told and thus help criminals and their motives. They feel they must cooperate and keep secret what they should be revealing to protect not only themselves but the rest of the country they came to. They tried to escape, but it goes where they do.  The criminals run their own little worlds and all those who bend to their threats. No one is able to look into a gun and say no. Those weapons are not directed specifically, but are general so that whole families are affected. People keep their heads down, their mouths shut and pay whatever is demanded of them to keep themeselves and their people safe. Criminals are just as studious at their work as are the police forces. It is a fact; logically so, because if it were not, there would be no crime. Adding drugs to the mix, creates another huge population of victims who cannot fight against what their own personal bodies demand, thus they become weapons working for evil. It is a complicated world, and one that frustrates everyone, the good and the bad. What will win?  Who will win? Who can win?  

Home?

 When is a home, not a home? Answer: when it is a place. Why are care homes called homes? I suppose because for some, it's the only place where people care for you in a kindly way and see that all of your immediate personal and medical needs are met. It's not a place that is a true home but it is the closest to one, and thus, you grasp the move and see it positively. It is the only place other than with your own family, where you can receive "home", a place to live comfortably. You tolerate. It is acceptable and most elders don't complain no matter how they feel privately. None of we elders want to end up in a place that is ones step down from a hospital, but it's much better than trying to cope with being in our own homes or places that can't provide our needs. It is a close destiny for me now, and perhaps you,  and while we might complain, we ought to be grateful that there are such places. And hopefully we can afford the better ones. They're not all great, to be honest. What does make a true home more true. For me, it's one that has no strict schedules such as when to get up, go to meals, have a bath or shower, attend social events, etc. For me, those are choices I want to make, not someone who runs a place called "home". I would love to live in a "home"  but with a looser kind of plan. I wonder why I can't rise in the morning or go to bed at night of my time choice. One of the reasons for the scheduling in a "home", is that it's cheaper. Still, I think with some creativity, loose scheduling is possible. Why not have a cafeteria setting to which one would go and choose a meal be it breakfast, lunch or dinner at any time of  the day. Like a restaurant buffet with a broad offering. To me, meals aren't on a strict menu plan or a schedule.  I prefer choice, and what would be so difficult in making the dining room like a self-serve restaurant? Pick up a tray and choose. Of course special dining events would be lovely but most days, a choice of ordinary pleasant home meals would work. When it comes to entertainment please not children's choirs or child-like arts and crafts that fool no one into thinking it is art. If you give an art class, let art happen. Please not some kindergarthen slickery trickery paint by numbers sort of nonsense to put up with. Cynicism? No; fact. Check it out. We don't give up being adults when we grew old no matter how slowly we move or think. Movie time for me, is of my choice not a TV up front with  old movies to suffer through. We can find our own old movies on our own screens in our own rooms, perhaps with invited guests. It's not long for me until my very lovely past ninety years as a wife, mother, professional, community participant and voter.  Soon, I  will have to head to a "home". Let it be, please, one that treats me like a thinking human being no matter what my condition or mind. I require that respect for my past.  Most other elders do, too. 

Writer widow: Permanent Kids

Writer widow: Permanent Kids: When I was a kid, my  mother from the start, taught us skills for our lives: truthfulness and respect, duty, safety, cooking, cleaning, with...

Boy/Man Talk

 There is a great deal of concern, the media tells me, about men and how difficult it is for them in the world of romance.  And it is confirmed that it has nothing to do with the rising of women to roles formerly dominated  unfairly by males. It's not the fault of women. It's a men's matter So it's not a gender war. What it appears to be is about, Number One, appearance. That needs defining. Some male groups suggest body building which is good health because it isn't just about lifting weights, it's all about good health. Number One is also cleanliness. Wear torn jeans or a tee shirt, but be tidy and clean and smell soapy nice, not soaked in shaving lotion. I will  tell you this secret, women don't care if you are  balding or have big muscles or are a bit fat. I like to call it "substantial". Confidence and a sense of humour and being nicely communicative count. What do women want in a man? One word. No: lots of words, the good kind: no swearing, no cave man hoo haw, no crude suggestions, no false flattery. Women appreciate just pleasant, friendly chat. It's called communication and without it, they lose interest rapidly. Men apparently fear approaching women because they may be rejected. That shows, so stop it. No one minds a smiling, friendly hello. As to what to say, it'll come to you naturally. Relax. If you get  a smile back consider it an opening to more conversation. What women do not like is a macho, swaggering guy trying to play some kind of boss role. Be you, because  your you is all you need and don't forget a real smile like you truly do want to talk to the person. Just talk in that moment. If it doesn't work, no loss. There have to be lots of losses before a win. At schooling in my day, no one knows how  much I wanted the nerds or the brainy guys who were too shy in the class to dare to come over and say hello to me. I would have loved to tap their minds in conversation and find out all about them. They were a mystery to me that needed solving perhaps but if they didn't come over, I would never know.  It wasn't a romantic wish, it was merely a human want that could possibly have turned out to be a friendship or maybe more. It takes that first step, not the latest hair cut or shirt or big bicep or height or weight. You guys just have to get over there and smile and say hi. 

Cream And Butter

Every kitchen that cares about beautiful food needs rich cream and butter. Sadly, the silly skinny dieters who think bones are pretty, lose that you can't beat the richness of fat for flavour. Fat is sexy. It is exotic. One of the constants that I wish every kitchenwho cares, would have on hand, is both cream and butter and I don't mean the lite kinds. A quart of high percent cream will last a lot longer than milk and you can water it down to be milk if  you wish and use it that way, too. Long ago on the farm of old, my grandparents who had a wonderful Holstein cow that gave a ton of milk over the years, saw her hand milked product put into the separator in the milk house, and when Grandma cranked  the handle or we little ones did, out of  the spout came butter milk for butter churning on one side and thick cream on the other. From then on, at the long oil clothed table, we had rich sauces of every flavour generated from Gramma's spice rack and cream.  Not to mention, rich creamed coffee from the pot always on the great black iron wood-stove. Today, I buy my quart of cream and it becomes sauces usually made of only a few common  ingredients. Butter, cream, flour, and seasoning. The sauce is used fresh or saved and frozen for for later. A common sauce makes all. The recipe is simply melted butter in a skillet, poured in thick cream and when stirred to hot, but never boiled, adding in a little flour and whatever herbs or spices and you have the beginnings of ethereal sauces to come. This sauce when thickened gently might own lemon grass or juice to taste, salted along with fresh cracked pepper to make with prociutto on a bun, Eggs Benedict. Or if you love curried anything, add your favorite one for pouring on rice or pasta or a crepe or chicken or beef, adding as much red or green pepper heat of any kind you enjoy. I adore crepes that I keep in the freezer to become a "plate" on which I can pile anything just the right presentable size,  then add the cream sauce flavoured in whatever savory ways I am in a mood for. Giving it a zap for heat or into the oven as you wish. And of course, the snippings from the scallions standing always in their vase beside the black swan kitchen tap, add a heady freshness that crowns your dish however humble made luxurious because it is all of  your own hand. The French are saucy folks who know that it is exactly where the golden mother lode exists. It's all in the sauce. Why? Because even in Napoli where they fry their pasta left over or freshly boiled and drained, comes a heavenly sauce with added cream and mashed garlic  and oregano with its friends and finally, that marvellous Mozarella or Parmesan cheese melting over all.  Don't forget a basket of French bagguette torn from the slender loaf in which to dip  your Balsamic vinegar and EV olive oil while you savour the pasta rolling on the fork just before your anticipation mouth. Mmmm!

AI?Get A Grip

What's so dreadful about a faked picture? It's common knowledge that they are done all the time under the name of enhancement. There are all sorts of online programs to effect this habit that's been around since computers hit the desks and pockets. The media space AI is taking up and the apologies spated about it widely, make me smile a bit. Fakes? Yes, but it's been done for ages in time. Think of the elaborate court wigs, the great pouffed skirts, the masks in Venice even Santa himself. It's all fakery perhaps not as badly used as now, but done previously without hype or panic. Today's fashion magazine, the one with the slender ladies, now, of course, pilled up (or down) with waistlines the size of their bejewelled necks make no apologies about fakery. We love fakes as we did from the first days of humankind when ashy facial marks out of cave fire sticks were made to scare off the enemy. Fakery nowadays , however, has become political and is used as weapons. It's also used by vicious persons who think that the printed word as a weapon is less hurtful or litigous than those spoken. That's bad because today's human image depends on purity and anyone who thinks no one will dig out the dirt, is misled. And we want our leaders (or most of us in sane countries) to be only a tad less than gods. Where it all goes wrong to fake it, is when you tell everyone you are clean and you aren't. It's call lying. These lies are also confusing because as everyone knows, most advertising is lying and we see nothing wrong about it. We play the consumer game. Then again, we love the ads because, truth legally, we allow them. To an extent. The world at large, we know,  has fault but it's a game of trying to dodge around the "little white lies" to keep the peace. Ah, such a peace we keep. But, as my BFF used to say "we're interesting". 

A Realist Kitchen

 My mini condo kitchen is my favorite place in my place other than my lady lair computer station. Yes, I have the whitish  marble counter tops and back splash, black cabinets and lots of stainless steel, a glass topped stove (pooey on messy gas) and a black stone farm sink. My floor is fake wood with a door mat cut in half, to catch garbage drips before flying into the garbage bin underneath. My counter tops are laden happily, with condiments in antique cut crystaljars and bowls (what else to do with Aunt Elsie's crystal collection) and a coffee  machine, two airfryers, a tiny vacuum, mini deep fryer, blessed stand mixer, and glass covered butter dish ( never keep in the fridge), bread under glass and a small microwave oven. Above  my smart stove is a shelf laden with dried herbs and a chef's thermometer stuck on the stove hood. Any cook who stows everything inside and has a pristine empty counter top is under suspicion of using prepared food cheats. The best cook I ever knew was someone who ran down to the specialty store and bought everything for her guest her table. I always wondered if she'd flown to a desert island just before dinner. Realists don't mess around, but they are messy. I keep such as Romaine on hand always ( I do not favour eating salad leaves like a cow) for soups or to fry up. The nutrition in Romaine is stunning. I have on hand constantly tins of milk, pork and beans, tomato soup, salmon and crab. When the grocery order is delivered, I prep all the veggies so they are ready to go to war when I need them. I am a mood cook. About an hour before I have to (food is not my first love), I decide then what I want to eat. Yesterday out came the crepe maker and while it heated up, I put some cream, butter and flour into a little lovely skillet and made a sauce with herbs of the mood. Adding left over chicken and frozen stand by, peas. I adore crepes.  Always, I add clips of green onion that reside  beside my waiting black tap like a swan neck and the antique black iron lacy holder for my real sponge. Inside the sink in the corner, resides a small steel bowl with water a detergent filled brush ready to go. I have learned to keep in the fridge, done up bacon (a whole package be-micro-ed on paper), a tin of P and Beans to scoop out and a glistening jar of chopped sweet onion. They are ready for action. I mix my own herbs using the dried kind to my taste. A salt shaker filler with baking powder sits on the marble cruet ready for oil herbed chicken going into the airfryer. Makes it crispy and doesn't tell. I am never without cream, the heavy stuff I can water down to call milk if I have to. Honey and maple syrup are standbys.  I can't stand anything called Lite, MSG, substitute anything, sweeteners and the like. To  me, they are poison. Sorry, gotta go, eggs are ready; my little boiler machine I use for steaming as well,  is beeping.

Dead Right

Of course, the dead can't speak but most of us who lose someone  and we are left, do a lot of talking with the dead. It's natural because most of the time during the dying phase, there isn't a lot to say because of conditions. "Conditions" might mean physical or perhaps emotional. Some who are dying like to talk a lot and others, not at all. Both parties could think they don't think it appropriate to talk about such matters. And I am not about to advise such as "getting it all out there before it's too late". No, it isn't that easy and it isn't that correct. Like everything else you play it by ear. You are with a dying person letting them call the topics to talk about and you are there to listen. The words you hear may not make sense, thus the after-talk does.  I am a widow whose dear mate went a long time ago but who hasn't entirely left. His last days were somewhat verbal but not all of it made sense due to the medications that thankfully, eased any pain. Speaking of  dying pain, I am a firm believer that no one needs to die in pain. We have the drugs that are out there used by hospice doctors who care, and they will use them if that's what the person ending, wishes. The dying have the choice.  And these days, there are also plans that permit some to decide on a specific time and date to leave this earthy bond. It doesn't all end at the memorial, because questions arise after, perhaps much later, by those who try and understand the life that went and why and how - it always feels like "too soon". There are after-conversations that can take place any time of the day or night, sometimes long ones and others, short.  Some of these after-talks are deep and serious because in life, they weren't possible to have for one reason or another. In life, we don't always have the ability to "open up" and say everything that needs saying. But it's easier to have  that conversation afterward. I don't know what conversation you didn't have with your loved one, but I know mine. It's taken many years for me to deal with it all. And I didn't have a bad time. I happen to be one of the lucky ones, who lived for fifty-four years with one of the dearest souls. But, in life, we don't always get right into the bottom of things. I didn't. You likely, didn't. It's human. We rather put aside those chats for one reason or another but after death, wow, you can say what you should have and all of it. Most of the time, it's the nice things you should have said but didn't even though you wanted to. And sometimes, it's the not-so-nice things. They just didn't come out. Or up. But after a death is over, you can say everything, all of it, and as much as you like. Listening is kind of important, too. Yes, it's possible. You just have to listen carefully. What would the person have answered? Would it be what you wanted to hear or not? It can't hurt anyone now, so go for it. Say it all but be sure to think on what the effects would have been if you said it, then. Would it have been well received? Would there be a debate? You can  take sides, both of them, and see how that would work. Talking to the dead, is okay because, whether admitted of not, it happens all the time. And it's truly therapeutic and often successful for the mind.  Try it, no shame, no blame. There is no ticking clock.

When Someone Posts As You

What a surprise to see that someone has been posting on this site under my name. I tried to find out how to fight it since It caused me to be  locked out of my own blogging. Previously. It's almost impossible to find someone or something or some way to inform the right people of the right things when you are unfairly or illegally blocked out. To whom do you turn? As always, oneself. I love doing this blog because I enjoy expressing an opinion while trying to be fair,  honest and ethical. When I saw that someone else was writing under my blog name, I was disgusted not only by the bad writing, but also by the bad taste in their subject.  I hate no one while I may shun their actions. I saw instantly that It, and It shall be called "It" from now on,  used terms I would  avoid. If It is listening or reading, I would advise It to take courses in usage and proper expression, those that state what is worth to an audience what it wants to read. Belly-aching and whining are seldom popular.  I decided, even though challenged by this It,  to NOT stop doing my own form of blogging: having to do with aging and its qualities rather than, as my cheating It,  berating Its personal employment siuations and other individual nags that aren't in my mind.  Obviously It is scarred and tarnished by time and needs to rant using  a blog. Mine. Don't; it's my blog. I think my usual secret readers can tell which is the me and which, It. I didn't find it at all difficult to see clearly the differences. Just compare. It, with Its unique problems should really see a therapist as quickly as possible. Fraud is illegal in case It doesn't realize the dangers. It doesn't seem to understand, in Its failings or I ought to say in Its many failings, that it's not difficult, when reported by victims, to find out exactly who frauding Its, like you,  are. Beware It, you are reported. My readers know who I am and who It is by seeing Its nasty verbals. Watch out It!  How about being honest and getting your own blog to mess with, and using your own name. No true writer writes under the name of someone else. You can't kid yourself. Be a writer if that's your deal. Get out there and be brave with  your own issues under your own name.  That makes for the best kind of writing and it gets you a lot further than secret robbery under the name of someone else who knows or cares  nothing about your personal problems. That's for you to do, It. It's your life and  your task.  Blogging can be theraputic.  You need it, try it, It. 

Unwelcome

Doing Nothing Is Something

 Too often I hear people say, "You old people sit around and do nothing all day so why can't you..." Besides it being something they wouldn't dare mouth to someone  younger and/or  that it is just plain rude, it isn't true. "Old People" are really geriatric geniuses. Why? We, once professionals and workers, have to put up with such idiotic, unproven charges such as this. I will use myself, an "old people" as an example of why no old people I know sit around all day doing nothing. Sick people maybe do, no matter what age, because they are forced to, or they simply want to, which is no one else's business open for comment. The utter conceit of younger humans berating older humans doesn't make sense since it is really a comment on themselves to come. Not to waste time here, which I assume is the issue, I will tell you what we "old people" do all day while we are sitting around doing nothing. I arise daily around seven in the morning. I usually have pre-planned my day. I live alone in my own dwelling place that I bought, furnished, maintain and live in daily. It doesn't take care of itself. There are utility bills to pay, financial features that every home owner has, things to be fixed and maintained so that everything runs properly and well. I have neighbours who respect my space and I, theirs, but we attempt to continue as good neighbours. I have relatives that I don't bother constantly nor they me. We respect each other and are grateful for the family ties and events. There are events socially and while some individuals need constant and continuous socializing activities, I am one of the likely over fifty percent who don't suffer from loneliness (as charged) and are fully enjoying our solitary choice. I like to attend some social events and not others.  To these, I may go, stay until I want to leave, and usually find my own way there and back unless someone offers. I ask for help rarely, but when I need help I have no shame in asking. I don't appreciate pity or cooing at me as though I am an ancient artifact, a mindless creature beyond fixing. Age intelligence, all intelligence, is normal unless a person is ill. And if they are ill, perhaps with Alzheimers, I hope that the world doesn't forget them with its superior memory. Alzheimers persons have rights to be how they are because they ARE. My "doing nothing all day" has, even though I seldom go out because I do not especially like going out, never have, I have meal making, house cleaning, laundry, computer work and games: all the same things that every home owner has in the day. My entertainment is streaming movies, keeping up with news stories and series, writing, journaling, emailing, ordering needs online and making phone calls and doing business. At the end of the day, I like to sit down and read and watch my large screen and simply kick back  just like everyone else doing "nothing". Age is not a factor. I am not an "old people", I am just another one of you.

Arm Chair Cruising

Business folk who sit behind their computers know how to travel artistically and efficiently in rolling desk chairs. They know how to maneuver with speed and grace between desk and the water cooler. A certain office sitcom I watched taught me how useful they must be. With my trick knee or maybe hip, who knows, because they all hurt despite the daily exercise grind that is supposed to do joint wonders. It doesn't, and up until a short time ago, I tried a walker in the house, which is a very awkward creature with its seat sticking out in front and the wheels, three, of their habit of scraping at my nice antiques. I gave that plan up, and decided to settle for a cane of which I have accumulated quite a collection. My favorite cane is a leopard patterned umbrella wrapped smoothly in a fabric that matches an outfit. I have many brollies in all colours according to my mood. Not any umbrella will do as a cane, if you want to avoid accidents. You can, at a rather steep cost, find strong ones online, meant to do the true cane job or if you are a Fleet Street person, they are right but come only in basic black with no Homberg included. I found that umbrellas tap on the floor or sidewalk and need to be quieted. I bought a bag of pink pencil eraser ends that will jam onto umbrella tips perfectly.  Currently no one has noticed they are erasers.  Anyway, accordingly, if they do and  think I am bonkers, I have learned at my age, to simply shrug my shoulders and grin: "old age!" And pink erasers et al, I am still free of being shipped off to a funny farm. Thinking about my office pals, and their dexterity at rolling office chairs, I purchased a rolling stool that gets around beautifully and quietly and is also comfortable. It adjusts up and down. The latter is a boon if I am stuffing olives in the kitchen at counter height, and then suddenly have to scoot  down the hallway to check the dryer load. That requires a lower sitting level. A lift at the side of my cart goes upsy downsy. My stool has a leather likfe padded seat and a little back rest, but no arms. They'd get in the way. A word of caution. There is  a learning curve so, go easy at first, because these things aren't perfect even though you are.  You need to find your balance. It's a long way down to the floor and that's not a good trip. So far, my rolling chair and I get along perfectly but those bright little rugs I used to have here and there on my fake hardwood floor,  are now all sulking at the back of the closet. You can't roll freely with rugs about. My housekeeper isn't sulking though, because now she doesn't have to yank rug corners out of the vacuum cleaner constantly. Beep, look out, here I come!

Passing It On - To Us

Today I was going to write a blog about buying, rather than cheaper appearing meats, whole portions at bigger costs but having better flavour and actually getting more for your money. Instead, after reading the daily "national", actually east Canada, news, I find that grocers are going to pass on their increased costs to us, the consumers. Yet again. Pass It On used to be a great game when we were kids. The funny part was that what someone whispered in your ear turned out to be, at the end of the line of little ears being whispered into, something completely different. This matter of the grocery businesses simply passing on their increases, whatever they are, to the consumer without taking part of the hit themselves, isn't funny at all. Increases to business should be part of their operations and they should be prepared not to hand it on, outright, to their customers, but absorb some of it themselves. It's the cost of business because business takes all of the profit from consumers therefore, it seems only right they ought to take on some of the down side, such as added costs. It's their business choice while we, the consumers, have no choice. The only way it can be avoided by the consumer, is to cut back on purchases or look for the business that operates in a more balanced way. And that, these days, is exactly what we have to do. Recently, I became so frustrated with my present online grocery delivery store that is a major Canadian corporation, over their online access being impossible to carry out, due to their problem of putting in such dire security, that even we, honest, long term customers can't get online to purchase our groceries. I gave up, and changed to a different store known for its low prices. Wow! I got a huge surprise at the lower prices, similar,  if not better access with photos and info on the product I was buying. And the plus is, not only the convenience of to-my-door-delivery, but also, the wonderful addition of being able to add to my grocery list right up until the day of delivery. Now that's service! Also, I can order from them, groceries that will be delivered the next day. The only set back, is that my order must be forty dollars worth. No problem these days! Back again to costs. I also learned lately about actual shopping itself. A favorite cooking show was very helpful with this advice. He advised fervently, that it's wiser to, for example, buy a whole chicken and cut it up  yourself. He's right. Go figure. It is a money saver. I tried buying a whole pot roast the other day. I am single, therefore, it seemed expensive but I cut it carefully into four parts and put them in the freezer. Now, I can enjoy my little roasts surrounded by roasted veggies with gravy. Yum. There are ways to save. It just takes imagination and careful budgeting. We consumers have a  choice.  

AI Teachers Thinkable

 We need to open our minds to the true meaning of education. I worked in it for over thirty years full-time and I know, and see that it needs to be changed.  Majorly. Much of it is a system based not on inspiring curiosity using a background of past knowledge in a more immediate way via AI, but on having students read and listen to and watch and then parrot it for marks in school years on end. We miss hearing the experiences of the truly creative geniuses who have improved life on this planet. Do some research and you will learn that those who changed our lives, were not the best students with the highest marks in the old system, but the ones who departed from it to pursue their true hunger for the knowledge they yearned to gain and use. Some of my former students when put in front of a computer did much better because there, sitting with a computer in a carrel, was no interference such as the peer jazz that goes on in a classroom, let's face it, or teacher personality clashes or life background "noise". One boy in particular who was antisocial, depressed and emotionally ill to the point of weeping constantly, when his father put him in a school largely using computer screens,  excelled. His learning life was saved. Sure, that may have been in the past but sorry, we humans might change the dialect but we can't change much else about ourselves. We mustn't think that human teachers can do it all no matter their own knowledge or training and work at child at psychology. Now that students can find out via AI what they are curious about  in seconds, not months of reading out-of-date text books, listening to long lectures or doing tests and quizzes to earn marks, we must change. We need to feed the curiosities of  young people with an immediacy rather than what we know are long, planned out"courses" that could, in fact, be "learned" in a couple of days or weeks. Technical help is here.  Strange as it sounds. Think about it. If  you ask senior high students, and get the truth, they might tell you that they, too, want faster results rather than high schools that dabble in such as the nonsense of "school spirit" for example. Let's treat our kids as we do ourselves and get down to it. Kids want to and need to learn. The teachers who know this, need our help, too.

Coded Out

 I , perhaps as you, am fed up with constant so-called security measures when on-line shopping. Yes, there are criminals who commit thieveing crimes on-line, but those of us who have been dealing with the same companies for many years faithfully and honesty are now being treated like potential criminals, and I object. I trust these companies but evidently they don't trust me because when I try to enter my account and access the shopping site, I have to go through a time-consuming and annoying back and forth in the business of receiving and sending codes to my email or phone, and then I have to retrieve it very quickly to enter it before they cut me off and make me go through the whole process again. Grrr. A very well known on-line site did this to me today while, this afternoon, using the same site I used in the morning. I  got on with no trouble. A few hours later all this. In trying to get the code it takes time because my email also asked to send me a code to access my email! WHAT? Of course, I couldn't get back to enter the first code and therefore, the site blocked me from my account. I have to say, that my temper is sorely tested at this point. I am not dishonest and have done multi amounts of business with this site;  why am I being treated so poorly. The end result was that I had to contact the consumer relations department thus leaving the order in limbo. The agent  who answered had to listen to my complaint against his company. I tried to hold my ire in check but he could hear the emotion, and he had such wonderful patience that it settle me down. I explained how dreadful it is to order from their company now when, once, I used to enjoy shopping with them. Strangely, this gentleman was able to fix the problem immediately, so that I am able to access easily and quickly. He gave me specific instructions on how to accomplish my business with them and the problem was solved. I hope.  Now I can return to the enjoyment of on-line shopping. Site after site is doing this ridiculous manoeuvering and one grocery site that I use and have done so for many years, has completely blocked me so that I have to call their main office for help every time I shop there. The criminals don't stop doing what they do regardless of all this, but now we all have to suffer for their crimes. On-line shopping is no longer "convenient" and is certainly not enjoyable any more. 

Living Fantasy

 I am a dreamer realist and I make my ninety year old, well travelled and reasonably well educated former professional life, fun. Being this old, is quite lovely and I quite adore it. Why? Mostly, because I am forgiven almost everything, except when, as we all do, I feel a bit cranky. What keeps  me from being cranky all the time, is that I live alone. There is nothing more satisfying than being so, although all the nice do-gooders who think they know what old people need, worry about it. They say lose weight, excercise to a sweat, go out and socialize because you're lonely ( I never am) and, bottom line, go to something called loosely, a "home" and finally, get a thing to put around your neck, dog-like, that beeps if you fall down. All these lovely hints by those in their forties perhaps, I try, desperately, to avoid. No one knows the elderly, like the bona fide elderly. No kind of degree in elder matters or social worker courses or medical counsel should give advice to the persons actually in the situation. Well, they can and do, but all we elders want is to say, "buzz off". Back to fantasy. I am not bragging when I say I have been all over the world, at least as far as I could, and some of it I loved so much I wanted to stay there. In my condo place, it's like a small geographical museum. Africa, of which I have seen not enough of, is  my bedroom where a stuffed giraffe, Raffy, and I share the space along with our tiger striped pillows and jungle fake greenery. I use a lot of fake greenery and quite adore it. My living room is in leather and steel, modern black and white but has corners of  aborigine art, cedar tree tables, carved wood and obsidian figures and cracked family antiques that are revered. The inuit collection is there, too,  but now high on shelves since the hand carved arctic bird persisted in losing its balance falling over knocking down the two soap stone hunters lugging their dead seals home with a bone ivory husky leading the way. The spot where I sit solo, in my nice black pod chair and footstool amongst the leather and black iron legged tables and marble counters rests in a forest of greenery dripping off the ends of what and wherever with forest ferns peeking out from under the white grand that is seldom played but oft, I hear. My fantasy of living in the forest of memories lives on. It doesn't breath as I do living on in my perfect dream. 

Loyalty/Love - Not Equal

When one is in love, there is always loyalty. But watching a nouveau kind of show about "mansphere", I learned that the two aren't synonymous. They are alike but not the same and they don't have to be. In the show, a couple of cybericon  males (or as they see themselves, alpha be-maned lions)  compared notes, during the interview by an older, clearly traditional man,  on marriage and love/loyalty. In their eyes, the two don't meld. But then, what would they know since their entire lives are based on someone telling them how wonderful or terrible they are, while they rake in the proceeds of their ad sponsors and live like billionaires. (Part of what our future young streaming citizens appear to enjoy.) As silly as it was, "silly" since those folks don't last a long time on the box, big or small, it did bring some thoughts to mind. Does love require loyalty or vice verse, and is loyalty needed to love? There are huge numbers of married folks that I have encountered in life and reading/viewing, who live in loyalty while the love part has receded far into the background. It's natural. To be "in love" forever and a day, is rare and almost impossible. Love is not a static matter. Love is like a ballroom sparkle ball of mirrors that reflects all that it sees and love can change in what it "sees". And that is normal and okay, as long as loyalty is present. What causes problems is not the love, but the loyalty aspect. Love, once the true kind comes along, doesn't die. It just doesn't. It can't be killed because even if it's knocked down, it rises again.  Loyalty, however, is a different and delicate matter. At work, you can love it or hate it, but work needs a certain loyalty to do. I know a doctor who hates his life in the profession but he is in love with it. He stays with it not out of loyalty but of love. Love is more than skin deep, it can take over and become one's very breath. An object of love can betray or die or disappear, but love is without the power of reasoning; it stays stubbornly on and on like a scar that never disappears completely. Loyalty on the other hand, can change and never again be seen. It's merely a moon, and not, as love, a sun.                             

Bedtime Et Al

 We spend more time in bed than we do walking around on two legs. This is not to say, sleeping in bed. I love the moment I slip between cool sheets and put my head down on the two feather pillows and pull up the goose down. That first moment feels like I have, at last, arrived in a perfect, peaceful place. From then on it can be a pillow boxing match, a sheet war, a body spin exercise not on a bike or perhaps even the odd steady deep sleep. I don't think I am alone on this score. What happens is that thoughts of the day, come flooding in because during the day, there are too many real things going on to be able to put it all together and in bed, there is nothing else but opportunity for it. Well, unless  the upper floor folk aren't clomping about getting their pjs on, too. Bed is one thing, sleep is another. The helpful hints by psychologists, both professional and amateur, don't always work. First, I have to say, I am not tired, it's just that it is sleep time and here I am wanting to do it out of obedience. I try reading my Kindle, silently singing those idiot songs, reciting  poetry, counting breaths in and out and even after consuming milk with its melatonin sleep avoids  me. Sometimes, I just give up and get up. I don't work a job. Maybe that's the problem but not worth the solution to sleep. I am retired from that. Part of the situation is about the linens. I am not a fan of flannel (ick) or satin sheets but use cotton ones. I don't have a load of shaped pillows that are supposed to do miracles for my neck or back and I don't have to sleep with someone else and that hassle.  All I want to do it sleep. Please. Sometimes during the night, I wake up surprised: "hey, I slept!" but other times, it's a problem getting back to sleep. My usual nights are full of pounding or flipping pillows to the cool side, puffing up the quilt to settle in just the right places, accommodating feet that don't want to be inside or finding the perfect position for the limbs and all the rest to find their perfect angles for sleep. To those who sleepllikealog, this might sound silly, but for those of us who are grateful when morning finally comes and we can give up the bed battles, it's a daily grind. 

Drink Your Veg

 I am, like you, just an ordinary person and I don't want to pay fifteen dollars to eat restaurant or bagged lettuce leaves even if nuts and pretty flowers are tossed in. First of all, I am never sure about the dressing even if it's called "house dressing". Too many additives. All that means is  it could be bought by the "house". Also, at home, I am kind of tired of stir fry and cooked vegetables since the former uses fat, and the latter, kills fresh. Raw is best, but I am not a rabbit. Veg sticks don't hack it with me. What to do? Spend around fifty to one hundred, depending how rich you are, if at all, and not, as in my case. I bought a juicer for fifty bucks that is the size and shape of two cups of medium coffee and I love the thing. Its initials are EG if you shop Amazon, and I guarantee that you will come to adore it. Today I had some hairy carrots rescued from inside the deck barbecue where I keep them in winter, an old beet in the fridge, spinach that I bought far too much of, some almost over celery, some nice colourful peppers that I buy too many of. After a wash and cutting up into spikes (the best way to load them into the tube of the little juicer), I juiced them and now have one quart of veg juice that is not only delicious but with a straw in it, handy to sip any time I want a burst of energy. And you will get that: energy immediately! Carrot juice is my fave. The little juicer is wuick and ingenious. I have used it for more than two years and no breakage. Unless you are accident prone. The unit has a top tube with a pusher, inside is the hard plastic grinder and the chute has a wee rubber door that opens aside for cleaning. Everything washes off instantly under hot water. It works by putting your fibre bowl under one spout and the juide receiver under the other. Switch on the little thing at the bottom, feed it veges and away we go. I use what comes out as "waste" to add to meat loaves or make carrot cake or muffins. Best of all, it can go as compost into your plant pots or the garden beds. Drink your vegetables to feel fresh and eco guilt free. Your body will respect you even more.

Who Owns Time

 Time change to a permanent one rather than an hour here or there, is the topic of the day other than dronesville. Both are odd in my view. As to warring drones, I think those of us who enjoy a bit of scifi have always known the world's last gasp will be at the mercy of machines fighting it out in space somewhere while we watch from our planet hoping the effects will be a "the end", but not ours. As to Time, that's another thing; but it's rather close to scifi. Time, as we know it, from our mantel and wall clocks, our wrist timepieces strapped on, or dangling from a chain around our necks, is a human invention. Time cannot be changed unless only by humans according to their timepieces.  We humans love order. It calms our need for self-confidence if we can point to an inanimate object to blame or laud, so to keep ourselves away from possible consequences. Time ticks on no matter how we change our watches, and to me, when a scientist warns of the dangers of not changing our watches but letting them tick on,  I have to wonder. We are creatures of the planet just like the fauna that roams its surface or swims in its waters or flies in its skies. None of them wear watches unless some scientist has chained equipment on them for "scientific reasons".  These creature of earth are fine if it gets darker at certain periods and lighter at others. They live in the real world every day of their lives. They are perfectly normal and have been so in their genetic heritage for millions of years. They don't fuss about, but accept Daylight Time and Standard Time as okay. It's just those humans again. Neither do we need to fuss about it in order to be "healthy". Another day of spin for media.  I recommend you read a rather massive but fun book from cover to cover by Bill Bryson: A Short History of Nearly Everything. From it, you will learn that Scientific Man, doesn't always get it right. And mistakes are known to be fact not  by invention but as natural time progresses. Those who present that it is dangerous if we don't switch our watches back and forth, must actually mean that it's  inconvenient, truly not "dangerous"?  One hour is sixty minutes in Man time. The colour of the sky doesn't matter.  Why mind if it is dark or light. We can go about what we must and want to do, be it sunny or rainy, dark or light, and if it's too much, we make the changes. Our watches have nothing to do with it. 

Everything About The Kitchen Sink

If you're like me, you've had to, at one time, call in a plumber because the drain is blocked. The plumber who came (at great expense, but worth it) not only snaked away my problem, but also gave me advice. Most of it,  you know, but do you abide by it? Lesson One, is never put any kind of grease or oil down the drain. Never. I keep cut up newspapers under the sink and when the fry pan calls for it out comes the paper to soak up the fat. Or better still, if the grease is in liquid form, it pours into the grease container also under the sink. Nice place to hide things that really matter? Lesson Two, keep your sink happy, and replace the stopper with a leave-in  fine  mesh cup. Nothing but water should go down into the dark place. Mine is used constantly. I am tapping that little screened stopper device constantly against the trash bin edge. No more plumbers thank you. I like my black stone farmer sink clean. I don't know who thought of the divided sink, but it wasn't a person who spends a lot of time there. What works for all purposes is a deep, wide, unencumbered farm sink.  In it, I can put onto the stone, a stock pot, a tray, a blazing fry pan and not fret  about burns or scratches. I love that sink; we spend a lot of time together. The sink is where a kitchen cook spends most of its time; not at the stove. I keep in the corner of the big sink, a small open stainless steel bowl with a short brush containing detergent. One sqeeze and it's ready to go. Instead of a disgusting dish rag, that always looks dirty or a flat sponge that loves germs,  I use a true natural type sponge. Okay, it's fake but it looks real. A sponge is easy to rinse out, does not damage, isn't sloppy and it's kind to surfaces.  Did you know that a real sponge is a living thing? My dish sponge goes into an ornate Italian black lace metal dish beside the black swan tap. To clean, I dip the sponge into the little steel soapy water pan and away we go. When done, I squeeze out the soapy water and pop it back in to the pretty dish. Oh, and Lesson Three, don't forget to fill your sink every week with a couple of inches of water to release and flush out that drain below the sink level. Now you know all the sink secrets.

Sneaky MSG

 MSG is my enemy. I'm one of those who do not like "umami" or  flavour enhancer that makes one want to go back for more. Many exotic restaurant dishes contain it openly as one of their main ingredients. I dare not eat there. If I do, I stick to the wonderful green tea or a salad with no dressing or sauce. I'm one of the low percentage of humans who have a "violent reaction" to MSG or similar. MSG is, indeed, a natural product just like peanuts, milk, gluten and so on, that some others cannot consume safely. Having to read labels and question restaurants, is difficult. When I eat out, I tell the server about my reaction and almost all of them  inform the kitchen. Thank you. MSG, that used to be called commonly, Accent, is in most Soy Sauces, that make you normally, want more of it. I feel no shame in asking, and good restaurants, no matter how small, will check for you. There have been suings. Most meat dishes and pre-prepared food products contain it. Just look. MSG, hydrolysed or autolysed vegetable protein and now, I just learned, whey yeast extract are guilty. It begins with a feeling of overall weakness. My shoulders feel droopy. Then come the abdominal cramps, nausea and overall and oddly, a fear of dying. Next, the urgent others ensue. I learned the hard way, to stop eating out or in other places without questioning the food ingredients. Some  were offended but the best ones, weren't. I make sure I read all food labels. It can happen at home, too. Today I made a recipe using a bottled Alfredo sauce. There was no warning about MSG on the label. I felt safe.  Right after I had the delicious recipe for dinner, oops, the symptoms came on. I took an antihistimine immediately. It worked in part. I had read the label.  Later I went on line to ask about the specific item and learned that protein yeast extract in it, is  a form of MSG as is any byproduct with hydrolysed vegetable protein plus others. They all cause the reaction. Once, I felt ill after eating out, until later when I finally found out what was causing the problems. Some scoff, but it's because they don't have the reaction as badly. Pure MSG is even listed as an ingredient in some cook books. Perhaps you have this situation happening and wonder why you feel so unpleasant eating out. Please check, because you can still enjoy food out. Just ask without worry.  It's for  your own health.

Forgotten Singles

 When we think of singles, we imagine small quirky apartments with new age furnishings, bits of bright art, small angular rugs, open shelves filled with the latest novels, hand blown glass, chunky ceramics and with nothing much in the kitchenette to do with actual cooking. Usually, there is a coat rack near the door filled with the latest Northernish sports wear and down on the floor that seldom sees leather shoes,  is an assortment of expensive jog sneakers tossed in a casual heap. We don't see a familiar old recliner, maybe a couple of doilies, lots of family photos, a wee kitchen with an ever present jar of cookies, cute salt and pepper shakers and everything shiny, gleaming and clean. There is no pile of shoes or anything but slipppers that are worn due to the kindness their wearer to neighbours below. Who are the latter apartment dwellers? They are the elder widows who once nursed, taught, clerked and secretaried, house and garden owned women who mothered and babysat for her own kids and then became widow or divorcee. She didn't go back to marriage but dreams softly  of her wedding that happened once. She was young. Once. We don't see the little book with lines denoting her every dollar sign, even though she has "that" program on her computer. She likes, rather, her own slow pencil that she can trust and that doesn't need an outlet or a battery. She has learned to trust only herself first, no matter her loved ones, because she knows that "they have a life of their own". Society forgets her because she lives alone, not lonely, quietly and carefully, dutifully and morally. Where are the old guys her age, she'd love to date or be a companion with? Ha! They are married to their new young wives who coo over them and wear their Mrs credit cards. Would be nice, the elder bachelorette thinks, if I had two pensions going on in my life but no one wants old ladies. Their wrinkles aren't "interesting" like those of the other sex who have converted into those jazzy old guys and their gals in sports cars. But never mind, she thinks, I can do what I want, when I want, with whom I want, and how I want. But still, it would be nice to have a warm, cosy time sitting on my couch with a nice, old chap to laugh over a black and whiter on TV this evening. 

Top Notch Art

Over time, painters who did ceilings have set the bar for our 3D painters of today. We all know the half truths about Michelangelo who actually did not spend all that time that the movie showed, painting on his back. He stood. He did have a crick in his neck, however, from doing it up straight in order to accomplish the gorgeous Sistine Chapel ceiling. In the days of yore, wanting to impress their rich dinner party guests, the like-rich had their already high ceilings look even more lofty and domed in hiring the brushes of artists who would create an impression. We have  sidewalk trickster artists today, who make us step aside the chasms  right in the middle of the cement. Doing high ceilings is called di sotto in su to be exact, and it is still being accomplished today but sadly, rarely. Rubens of old, was a bit smarter and had his ceiling art done in the studio and then applied it later to ceilings. He saved his neck. When we chance to visit, not just the Sistine Chapel, which we can stay to admire  for only a short period, we must  remember that almost all great castles and villas and palaces needed in their cold venues something memorable. They made their visitors feel spiritual seeing angels and dragons and horses that fly and the ever present little bewinged babies that gave them sense of being heaven bound. To see these works feels you enter a fantasy come true. It's a pity that beds weren't installed then because you can hold your head up for only a short time.  Anything more, is painful and dizzying. These days, we slap on bumpy or smooth plaster, paint it white and call it a day. No one is much interested in looking at ceilings. Why? They're all too busy admiring the weird padded stuff down below. There isn't much to admire  and you will never see anything out of place such as a tossed sweater, half downed cookie or sneakers peeking out from under the couch. But kudos to Chagall who did the Paris Opera House and Tiepo who did the largest number of them, not forgetting  Pozzo who was the first to make ceilings look domed when they really weren't.  Ah, before sleep, to have a ceiling as lovely above one's bed!  

Broke Pros

How many times do we have to hear young professionals talk about their debt? Everyone thinks that medical and technical and education folk are making big money. Maybe that's how it appears, but when you owe as much as half a house worth of dollars due to your education, you are more burdened than other workers in simple jobs that don't require long term education at high cost. It's part of the societal ego mask we don't want to think about.  When are we going to stop such nonsense as some courses in high school that  are meant to inspire some students to get into some professions but offer none to others just as important to them. The key word here, is "some". Courses such as Trig (sorry mathematicians) have absolutely no value for many and could be replaced by, for example, pre- medical subjects for future nurses and doctors and practitioners. The whole high school system from Grade Eleven on, could be changed so that when our students graduate all of  them have some of what society requires and that they want to contribute to.  Instead, we force them to borrow hugely to do what we need from them in the future. Former students who have through their huge amounts of money borrowed in their education and training and have achieved their goals, could return to high school to help educated those coming up. Not book-learning published professors but by those active in the  trades and professions who can spare some time to return to high school to advise and mentor.  Perhaps it seems impossible but all hard achieved possibilities begin with the impossible. In my high school days, I often asked myself why am I strugging in math class when I prefer to know more in the field I intend to take on. You can't please everyone but there were far too many kids in my Trig class who were stressed by a discipline that had absolutely no use in their future plans. Others, for example, loved the class because they were on to an engineering or science future. You can't please everyone, but what can be done is to find out from the students themselves where they are likely to head and allow them those kinds of courses.  Is that impossible or is it merely a hard possible?

East Is Not West

 Today, as always, I listen to CBC. I hope it never disappears as was hinted some time ago. It is our one media that flows across the country like a gentle glue that unites Canada more than any other country that calls itself united when it is usually a collection of individual states priding themselves on being  unique units. And if that "uniqueness" is too strong, it's more putting up fences than uniting anything. Texas for example appears to stand alone in our minds as a kind of "country".  Or Rio, is another example. World wide, we ordinaries don't rush over to a globe to check these things out. It just is. Here in Canada, no city stands alone entirely. Yes, they are unique, but everyone feels the provinces on which they lie and the overall sense is that they remain, though special, truly Canadian. The far North, that sometimes I feel might want to be a different country because of its vast, shiningly icy differences, is and always will still be Canadian. But when, in the morning our delightful Steven Quinn on the West Coast puts a true Pacific spin into the air waves, he is followed not long after by Tom, a terrific radio personality and a brilliant one, but in my opinion solidy a Torontonian. I am able not to feel it cross-the-country radio Canada. And I do try. I adore Tom's interviews, his talk of visits to other places but who remains in the concrete boots, Toronto, Montreal and the Maritimes. Sorry, to say that because I am an avid listener and very much enjoy his program. For the rest of the day CBC continues, mostly Eastern Canada with issues there and the arts and sciences and politics there. Many of my young friends in BC, had to move there, to connect with the great monster talent guru, New York, USA in order to make it big. That is truth, my dears. Many of my childhood mates, such as Alexander Ross from little old New Westminster, BC went there specifically to make a name for himself. And he did. Come on, CBC, you  need to get over yourself and make a bit of a tilt toward the great peaceful, and beautiful oceanside, called The Pacific.  

Guided Tour Snobs

There are such creatures as those who downplay and insult the fans of the guided tour. They tell us they much prefer to live "amongst the natives" because it's the way to learn about the people of another country. That doesn't quite fit into logic. Most of us haven't the funds to go live somewhere for a couple of years to "learn" it. We have two weeks on what we have saved up merely to see the wonders of the world even if it's only a half hour lecture in front of them or a stroll around their timelessness. Ordinary people like us who have travelled most of the world in small blips here there and everywhere, feel priviledged anyway, to have gone in a time when there weren't armed military about or fences and padded ropes keeping us from touchingm standing in awe or being breathing close to or walking amongst such as the rocks of Stonehenge just before the stars came out.  To hear the sound of chanting as we entered the home of the golden or jade Buddah, to touch the side of a pyramid in Egypt or in the Mexican jungles, to shudder on viewing Goya or marvel at the colour of Van Gogh or sweat in the moist heat of Bali or drink true Turkish coffee is only a moment perhaps, but something that lasts forever in one's memory. The guides who lead their bunch of behatted or flag bearing customers are varied. Some are dreadful such as the woman who sat at the front of a tour bus reading the tour from a book but who looked stupendous with three foot long blond hair, skinny skirts and sun glasses that earmed her huge tips by elderly gawking males. My favorite guide was a little Mexican professor whose ancient Chevrolet drove us to the interior mountains of that country like a pro, and who would go anywhere our maps revealed. Even to the tiny hotels in those jungles' ads that had open holes in the walls as AC and a hose in the corner as showers, were tolerable because of this small, poorly beshirted man's love of his country.  A friend who went to Italy and slept for a year on beaches and barns, and bragged about her more "personal experiences" in travel as opposed to ours. She she never did get to see the treasures of the Vatican because they all were booked up by horrible people like us. We got only, from the world, briefly but perfectly, sensory pictures that remain for savouring today. No apologies. 

Don't Tell Me

 Having a stranger beside me yapping into the air with piece of plastic in its ears is nothing new to me any more. Used to be they were speaking to you. Not so now. These individuals who have things stuck into their ear canals are actually half listeners. Whatever they are listening to, whether it be voices,  music, something called a "podcast", it's evidently something they are only half interested in. They go for a hike or a run or pedal a bike going nowhere with a plastic gizmo stuck into their heads or zoning an audio book and they call it reading. That's the one that most offends me. Why? If it is a book, then it can't be much of a piece of art if it takes only half of one's attention to sense. I am of the old-fashioned opinion that what we read or listen to, should take in all of our attention. Art is "feeling" and that means it needs to appeal to every aspect of sense. If you're sweating it out lifting weights or driving or shopping for a bargain, your senses are busy elsewhere, not on what's stuck in your ear.  And news podcasts bother me the most. I do not have the will nor the patience, to listen to someone, no matter how British their lovely accent be, ranting  a novel or a news casts for  me. Let. Me. Read. The reading eye is much faster than the ear. No matter how wonderful a journalist is, thank you very much, I want to read the words  mainly because I can skip over the doo doo and get on with the facts and then, decide what my  opinions are. I don't need someone intercedeing and calling it helpful. Back off tellers, I can read and think for myself. I want to savour words sometimes, and maybe reread a lovely passage in a book or on kindle.  Often I just like looking at the word or maybe googling it, or appreciating the artist's creation of words, ones that no one will find in a dictionary. Many journalists, also, have voices that should never, never be doing podcasts. Ugh. They are great at what they set out to do: collecting information to pass it on without colouring it. That's called journalism. And I am also tired of journalists who think they are expert detectives and judges. They are not trained for it. Sorry but my ears have told me all this, and I am listening. 

Life Is Fiction

Fiction is one of my favorite reading choices. Contrary to some opinions, it is fodder for the intelligent as well. Fiction writers that I enjoy are avid researchers about what they write. They know the history, the science and the social stats before they put pen to paper. At least those that I most enjoy have earned my respect. Lately, though, reading the news which I prefer to listening to, rather than the droning "radio announcer" voices, I wonder if what I read, isn't fiction. The bizarre encounters that are happening in our Western World are becoming akin to tapping into a nightly fictional series on TV streaming.  People shooting randomly at targets of various kinds with bullets flying around and often hitting innocent people are not uncommon reports.  Robberies, muggings and stabbings happen daily not only on city streets, but in remote and  rural areas, too. People die frozen where they lie, in homeless shelters because the buildings that are offered to care for them, are told they don't have overhead sprinklers. Regulation has become a monster that works beyond humane efforts. Certain elected officials dictate where pipelines will go, where mines can be located, where housing will take place and who will do it while we, the tax payer population peers, read in in the news where our money is going. Huh?  Our votes are worn like pretty pendants that we put on some,  but ones can't remove or shine up. How often do you and I ask ourselves, "what in the world is going on - am I dreaming?" I feel as though I am walking in fiction in my everyday life. Perhaps, you too, before going out on the street to shop or visit, wonder if you will be safe after reading about the stabbing of a fellow sidewalker, or a dog that dies due to a substance someone dropped on the dogpark grass or that an innocent person is mistaken as a criminal and man-handled and handcuffed, or that criminals out for a nice day leave commit further crimes. It's becoming normal and normal seems like fiction to me at times.  No wonder parents don't want their kids out beyond their eyesight. Or am I seeing it all wrongly? 

Chat Line: A Joke

 No, this isn't an old fogey joke. (They always make me wonder, constantly, why we elders make fun of ourselves and then expect to be respected. Stop the old folk jokes. Old age is not funny, it's simply natural,) Anyway, The Chat Line thing down in the corner that most of you have met, is actually useless because we are led to think we are speaking to a human who can solve our problem. What?  Of late, I had trouble with a famous delivery company because I did not give them my cell phone number for their, not my, security. I can't see why I have to do it their way. I don't use my cell phone unless I am going out and that is for my security only. Otherwise, I pay a lot for the thing and it sits around charged and costing me money. Why do I want to carry around a cell phone all day long? I don't need to be in constant touch with friends or relatives. I have a life. They have a life. I have a land line that serves me perfectly. I decided I don't really need to have an account with this famous delivery company but investigated beforehand, to see what would happen if I cancelled. Plenty! This company has big muscles. Quitting it, quits a lot more than you might think. I am forced to continue with it.  I got over the angry feeling that I am now a slave to a company and a machine, and learned also, that I can't "fight city hall". The fight is a losing battle because I am not dealing with a human. I tried fighting  a powerful machine company and the two of us don't speak the same language. To win the battle with this company, I was forced to impart my cell phone number to them. Like it or not. They have the power in this world. I feel enslaved more and more by the demands of a technological world, even though it interferes with my personal life. If I try to live outside of that realm, I am lost. I need delivery because I am not  mobile but I am trusting and trustworthy. I am, however, losing that independence gradually, in this world,  and handing it to forces that are electronic machines. I can't "fight city hall", namely it. Science fiction is now reality.

Do You, Not Hero

 Heard on the airwaves this morning, another superage superhero lauding his advice on living to one hundred plus. Run, ski, skate, gym, blah blah. For him, okay, for most of us, likely not. He said to stop babying oneself and doing such as hanging onto rails and cupboard edges etc for support. Don't take that advice and also don't think you have to do heavy exercises that make you ache. Pain is not gain for elders. It could be a warning to stop doing what you're doing. Your body is wearing out, let's face it. Treat it kindly and be patient, not a patient. What works for some, doesn't for others. My advice is "listen to your body". What mean symptoms it tells you, mean something to ponder. You don't have to run off to the doctor's office, start with what you have been up to lately. It could be eating too much of something that isn't working for you including dosing yourself up with a bunch of bottled vitamins that promise what could be a problem instead of a cure. Pushing an elder body too hard might end  up in a place you don't want to be. And running off to take a pain pill or hang out whinging at the doctor's office isn't the best place to start. Think first, and act next. Aging can begin a lot earlier than you think. Stressing your body and mind are never good. I believe that it all starts with the mind. Take time to find a quiet place to have a nice warm chat with your body, to relax and be honest and pay attention to the good sense of knowing that you aren't someone else whom you admire and who can achieve what might not be your answer. I do believe in eating foods as close to fresh as possible and as truly nourishing. You can count on relaxing in meditative periods, however short; in getting as much sleep at any time of the day that works; in moving muscles and stretching and some lifting to tone up. Couple of soup tins work as well as gym weights and some dance music in the middle of your big room is wise fun. Socialize if you like it, be alone if that's for you. Get that mind going with games or reading or creative efforts. Aging isn't an illness and you aren't ill due to your age. Take it easy and make it fun your way to go on and on. And on.

What's In A Life?

 When are we humans going to stop trying to be the smartest, best looking,  fastest, the tallest, the... anything we dream up as goals? We weren't made for that. We try too hard and find unhappiness. Most of my acquaintances who ran for miles a day, went to the gym five  times a week, took on diets, studied for marks all night, grabbed the most money and so on: all, without a one, suffered for it in some way. Today at ninety, I see them with surgery scars, still bent over or limping or too fat or mindless but who spent half their lives trying to avoid just that. I guess I am the bad example. Sure, I tried all those things but it didn't take long before I became bored, or hungry or achy or headachy or not Type A enough to make it to the "best" category. I am average and I am healthy at this age, with a good brain, ears, eyes, stomach and don't take a load of pills for my heart, muscles, bones, head or  nerves. That makes me pretty boring, but wowie I am happy and secure, not rich enough to worry about money and best of all happy even though most of my people are gone including my only child and husband, the love of my life. How did I do it? Just lived day by day and kept away from stress and nastiness around me that I stepped over and forgot. I loved as much as I could, once in a blue moon hated for a bit but forgave, adored and respect nature for all that it gives. I don't protest or agonize or worry or fret or yell or bawl or whine or talk about anything that isn't good. I live day to day and love as much as I can just about everything. My time is almost up. I achieved all I needed and am left with genetics that will go on loved very much. My genetics are given with great appreciation and I don't and never did need accolades or rewards or medals. Life simply happened and that's all okay. It's called a good life. All we need. 

Broke ? Really

 Far too often lately, I hear complaints of being financially drained by those folks, when I am looking at their fake eyebrows, gel  nails, mani/pedi addictions and coffee bar drinks. It's hard to feel empathetic seeing those used to these luxuries, telling me about how difficult their times are. Others, the wise ones, say they are avoiding implulse purchases or damping down their usual high cost grocery items for ones, just as nutritious that are not as the top grades. Cutting back is hard to do but also an interesting project that whole families can practice. Why not get the kids involved in the effort? They partake of family funds and should, therefore, learn this skill. Maybe instead of the packaged treats they find in their easy pack lunches, an apple will appear, not those cute cheese sticks with pretty little crackers. Cheese and crackers are easy enough for them to make up themselves. Put out the workings and make a bunch for the whole week. Great weekend job.  Dessert doesn't have to be a chocolatey nutty wrapped bar but a cookie instead. And why aren't kids involved in making their own lunches. They with guidance can chop up veggies maybe with a peanut butter/honey  dip. Mom's need to stop being miracle women and get down to showing kids how to become responsible adults. Clothing purchase doesn't need to start with popular labels. If your child thinks that big labels mean big popularity, a discussion is called for. Parents need to get together and decide to make that change so that no kid suffers embarrassment. Some of my near and dears, are now going to second hand stores to enjoy the fun of searching out perfectly good clothing.  It's in fashion to do so. Let that be known. Having a family bread baking session or meal grids where there might be a competition amongst family members of making a nourishing meal that is cheaper to put together but that is just as nutritious. At the cost of fuel, driving kids two blocks to school is outrageous. Walk with them if you must and the business of driving the family here there and everywhere all week should be pared down. That wastes. These moves will also prepare your offspring about caring for themselves when their school days are over and they have to face the world at large. 

Soft Sculpture

 Soft sculpture appreciation is generally regarded as only something the very young and the very old, know. I am in the old category with no shame about it and I am renewing my love of soft sculptures. The young who once owned hoards of them and now replaced them with living pets, know all about these former soft friends. Like the jobless and workless elders, we know the value and joy of play and playfulness that the "other side", the serious workers, have forgotten or abandoned. Unfortunately, the world at large and at crisis, looks down on such as Teddy Bears and other stuffed "toys" as childish and sad. Too bad; their bad. Recently, I have come to enjoy the soft sculpture  world, not as a crutch in avoiding, as they say, "old age loneliness", but as true appreciation of its beauty. These things are intricately and finely made. If the King of England whose life is regulated, has a Teddy bear and he does, there must be something compelling about it all. When my husband was in hospice, the gift shop  had a large stuffed Black Labrador holding open their door. Daily I passed by seeing it standing solemnly there and one day bought it to take home with me to hug on bad days. That was sixteen years ago, and I have him still sitting under my kitchen bar chair.  He stares at me with his button eyes expressing something that changes and often startles both me and my visitors for a second.  Since then, I have bought one or two other  soft sculptures just for the fun of having them peek out from tiny places. My three foot tall spotted giraffe that stands beside the pile of bedroom tiger pillows has become quite a pal. The little cat that hangs bright eyed off the edge of a  book shelf is a quick smile, too. These "toys" are as valid as the ceramic china sculptures sitting on friends' tables. I am surprised at how well the softies are made and at the cheer they bring. Next time you see an old person with them, don't let your youngish uneducated mind on the truths of geriatrics, fool you. It's our secret to share. You might like to try one. Return and relax for a bit, back to your delightful childhood. It's okay. The world needs you and this.