My hay fever has finally kicked in and I have a runny nose and itchy eyes. One of the benefits of old age is that I'm gradually outgrowing allergies. When I was younger the sneezing would start in early August but it now starts at the end of August and lasts till the end of September. I really think it could be because I'm not outside as much so I'm not exposed as badly.
My drug of choice is Claritin which works well for me because it doesn't make me dozy...at least not any dozier than normal. The sneezing is the worst part because it's so violent. Picture driving in heavy traffic and sneezing. No matter how hard you try, the stronger the sneeze the tighter your eyes close. And the constant tickle of a runny nose can cause road rage. It's better all around to take the occasional pill.
It doesn't help that allergy sufferers can't fully enjoy one of the most beautiful seasons of the year, either. I couldn't count the number of beautiful fall walks in the woods that were marred by my allergies.
I'm allergic to a few things...ragweed, cats, and penicillin. If I come in physical contact with a cat or it's dander the underside of my chin will start to itch, followed by itchy eyes and runny nose. If it wasn't for this I'd have a couple of cats in the house because I love them. It just isn't fair that I can't even pet them.
My grandmother used to tell me that allergies were inherited. She had them and my one daughter has them but, as far as I know, none of my grandchildren are afflicted so maybe the bad seed has died out. That would be a good thing.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Sex in Public Bathrooms
Another politician has disgraced himself by trying to solicit sex in a public bathroom. Gay men who do these things have their own little private code to alert others with the same interests. Apparently they sit on the john and tap their feet and then put their hands under the cubicle wall.
Interesting.
You never hear of gay women doing that. The only thing different that women do in public bathrooms (besides gossip, hair, and makeup) is occasionally to ask the lady in the next stall for toilet paper. Then she'll put her hand under the cubicle wall and....oh, oh! Do you suppose?
Interesting.
You never hear of gay women doing that. The only thing different that women do in public bathrooms (besides gossip, hair, and makeup) is occasionally to ask the lady in the next stall for toilet paper. Then she'll put her hand under the cubicle wall and....oh, oh! Do you suppose?
Money Spent on Books is Well Spent
My sister-in-law, Faye, and I went out for lunch today and then to Chapters (book store). She was on a hunt for three particular books, found none of them, but bought five books anyway. I wanted any book that explained carbohydrates to me in detail.
Chapters is a wonderful store. There are chairs to sit on and leisurely check through the books carefully before you spend money on them. There is a Starbuck's coffee section if you have a strong enough stomach to drink that awful stuff (they should have a Tim Horton's in there instead). I gathered up about a half dozen books on diabetes and carbohydrates and scanned them carefully before finding the ideal one for me.
I'd been confused about the number of carbohydrates I'm allowed to eat in a day (mistakenly thought 50 but it turns out I can have about 180...no wonder I've been worried). The book I ended up with..."Healing Gourmet, Eat to Beat Diabetes"...is full of information I need. It lists the carbs, fats, cholesterol, protein, and sodium allowed in 1200, 1600, and 2000 calorie diets with sample menus. It also has a glycemic index that clears up that mystery for me. I love this book.
Understand that I don't have diabetes yet but it's looming on the horizon whether I change my eating habits or not. I'm just trying to get a jump on learning how to eat healthier before I have no choice. From what I've learned so far, this is what every human being should do from birth.
I'm too cheap to buy brand new fiction books like Faye did but I didn't begrudge the $22.95 Cdn this book cost me. Well, maybe a little, but it really was money well spent.
Chapters is a wonderful store. There are chairs to sit on and leisurely check through the books carefully before you spend money on them. There is a Starbuck's coffee section if you have a strong enough stomach to drink that awful stuff (they should have a Tim Horton's in there instead). I gathered up about a half dozen books on diabetes and carbohydrates and scanned them carefully before finding the ideal one for me.
I'd been confused about the number of carbohydrates I'm allowed to eat in a day (mistakenly thought 50 but it turns out I can have about 180...no wonder I've been worried). The book I ended up with..."Healing Gourmet, Eat to Beat Diabetes"...is full of information I need. It lists the carbs, fats, cholesterol, protein, and sodium allowed in 1200, 1600, and 2000 calorie diets with sample menus. It also has a glycemic index that clears up that mystery for me. I love this book.
Understand that I don't have diabetes yet but it's looming on the horizon whether I change my eating habits or not. I'm just trying to get a jump on learning how to eat healthier before I have no choice. From what I've learned so far, this is what every human being should do from birth.
I'm too cheap to buy brand new fiction books like Faye did but I didn't begrudge the $22.95 Cdn this book cost me. Well, maybe a little, but it really was money well spent.
My World Has Narrowed
You know what happens when you stay home too much? Your world narrows and that's what has happened to me. I am becoming bored.
So far this week I've only ventured out to buy groceries and there's not much interesting in that. My inspirations come only from T.V. news (which is depressing) and reading the local newspaper on the internet (too brief). I can see where people who are housebound become terribly self absorbed.
Speaking of which...I've become obsessed with carbohydrates. Since my latest blood tests show a sugar count that's a bit too high I've tried to change my eating habits. I've bought books and scoured the internet in quest of information to aid me in eating healthier. So far I'm just confused.
I don't eat much meat, thank heavens, because the carbs in beef are atrocious. My personal choice of chicken is pretty good and salmon, which I can tolerate, is excellent. I appear to be eating like a saint but when I try to count the carbs it seems way too high. Talk about being obsessed with food! This is ridiculous.
Life was so much easier when I could just drop into a McDonalds for burger and fries but that's what got me where I am today...forced to count carbs.
I was keeping a diary of my daily food intake but soon got bored with that. My goal these days is to consume food with the lowest possible carbohydrates so I eat lots of fresh and cooked vegetables, fruit in moderation, and very little beef. Anything high in sugar or carbs is a no-no. I think I can manage this.
I also have very good friends who care enough about me to nag me unmercifully if I screw up. Life is still pretty darned good!
So far this week I've only ventured out to buy groceries and there's not much interesting in that. My inspirations come only from T.V. news (which is depressing) and reading the local newspaper on the internet (too brief). I can see where people who are housebound become terribly self absorbed.
Speaking of which...I've become obsessed with carbohydrates. Since my latest blood tests show a sugar count that's a bit too high I've tried to change my eating habits. I've bought books and scoured the internet in quest of information to aid me in eating healthier. So far I'm just confused.
I don't eat much meat, thank heavens, because the carbs in beef are atrocious. My personal choice of chicken is pretty good and salmon, which I can tolerate, is excellent. I appear to be eating like a saint but when I try to count the carbs it seems way too high. Talk about being obsessed with food! This is ridiculous.
Life was so much easier when I could just drop into a McDonalds for burger and fries but that's what got me where I am today...forced to count carbs.
I was keeping a diary of my daily food intake but soon got bored with that. My goal these days is to consume food with the lowest possible carbohydrates so I eat lots of fresh and cooked vegetables, fruit in moderation, and very little beef. Anything high in sugar or carbs is a no-no. I think I can manage this.
I also have very good friends who care enough about me to nag me unmercifully if I screw up. Life is still pretty darned good!
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Old Neighborhood Face Lift
My street is in chaos. My next door neighbor and the neighbor 2 doors on the other side are having their driveways repaved and I'm having 2 new windows put in. The construction vehicles on my little street make it look as though the whole neighborhood is being renovated.
These houses were all built around 1953 so they need the occasional face lift in order to remain livable. One of the nicest things about an older, well-kept neighborhood is that it looks so settled. The trees are full grown and the owners have finally figured out what grows best where.
My house is a storey and a half with a small, solid window on the landing going upstairs. That's one of the windows being replaced so, for the first time in 54 years it can be opened to allow the fresh air in. The other window being replaced is in the basement rec room. It will be a terrific improvement from the truly ugly window they put in when it was built.
There have been a lot of improvements made in my house this past year and I hope these windows are the last of it. It's costly and time consuming but I should recoup every penny spent when I sell the house in a few years.
Maintenance is of prime importance with older houses. It doesn't take long for a small repair job to become a major problem if not attended to quickly. I think the older houses are built better than new construction, too. This house is a double brick and that probably isn't done anymore.
I've always loved seeing work done on my house...it's like feathering your nest. My husband did all the renovations until he became sick but his heart was never really into it. He just did it to keep me happy. Now I have to hire someone to do the work and they only keep me happy as long as I pay them. One thing I've noticed, though...they whistle when they work.
These houses were all built around 1953 so they need the occasional face lift in order to remain livable. One of the nicest things about an older, well-kept neighborhood is that it looks so settled. The trees are full grown and the owners have finally figured out what grows best where.
My house is a storey and a half with a small, solid window on the landing going upstairs. That's one of the windows being replaced so, for the first time in 54 years it can be opened to allow the fresh air in. The other window being replaced is in the basement rec room. It will be a terrific improvement from the truly ugly window they put in when it was built.
There have been a lot of improvements made in my house this past year and I hope these windows are the last of it. It's costly and time consuming but I should recoup every penny spent when I sell the house in a few years.
Maintenance is of prime importance with older houses. It doesn't take long for a small repair job to become a major problem if not attended to quickly. I think the older houses are built better than new construction, too. This house is a double brick and that probably isn't done anymore.
I've always loved seeing work done on my house...it's like feathering your nest. My husband did all the renovations until he became sick but his heart was never really into it. He just did it to keep me happy. Now I have to hire someone to do the work and they only keep me happy as long as I pay them. One thing I've noticed, though...they whistle when they work.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Update on Car Crash
Last week I wrote a blog about how a speeding car being chased by police ended up with the car crashing and killing it's two occupants. It turns out that the driver of that speeding car was driving without a licence and reached 180 kph+ (approx. 100 miles per hour) before losing control of his car and crashing. The pursuing officers are being investigated.
Does any thinking person want their police officers to ignore someone speeding like that on city streets?
I, for one, want our streets kept as safe as possible and I'm forever thankful to the police officers who put their lives on the line every day to keep my world half-way civilized. They often have to deal with the worst elements of the population, taking verbal and physical abuse for only average wages.
Instead of blaming the police for giving chase to that car, someone should be shouting loud and clear to the dissenters...the young man had no driver's licence and was driving recklessly! If he crashed and died it was by his own hand and not the fault of the police. Put the blame where it's deserved.
Does any thinking person want their police officers to ignore someone speeding like that on city streets?
I, for one, want our streets kept as safe as possible and I'm forever thankful to the police officers who put their lives on the line every day to keep my world half-way civilized. They often have to deal with the worst elements of the population, taking verbal and physical abuse for only average wages.
Instead of blaming the police for giving chase to that car, someone should be shouting loud and clear to the dissenters...the young man had no driver's licence and was driving recklessly! If he crashed and died it was by his own hand and not the fault of the police. Put the blame where it's deserved.
Tar Baby
In a recent article in a community newspaper, a political candidate was referred to as a "tar baby". Is this 2007 or is it 1807? I like to think that we in Canada have far surpassed the time when people with dark skin could be insulted in this way, especially in a once respectable newspaper. The writer claimed he didn't know the meaning of the expression but that's impossible. It's an insult.
Back in the days when negroes had no voice and were treated shamefully as sub humans, there was a particular torture that was used on them if they "misbehaved". They were covered in hot tar and feathers. This is partly where the hated expression "tar baby" comes from.
I'm white skinned but I'll never identify myself with the monsters who committed crimes like this. They were crimes committed by bullies against defenseless people. My view is that slavery and prejudice was the result of ignorance and not something we can attribute to any race because it happened and is still happening in many cultures around the world.
Within my lifetime black skinned people went from having to sit in the back of the bus to running for the presidency of the United States. They didn't achieve this all by themselves but with the assistance of honorable white skinned people, too. I hope everyone remembers that when the occasional racist rears his ugly head.
The community newspaper mentioned is dropped in mailboxes once a week as a "freebee" but it's financially supported by it's advertisers. I'd be very surprised if many of their advertisers don't drop them. The editor, by not better policing his/her writers, may have been responsible for the demise of his/her newspaper.
Racism can't be tolerated in a multi-cultural society such as we live in. Over the years we've gained too much understanding and acceptance between races, religions, and nationalities to allow anyone to drag it back to the dark ages. None of us want to live like that ever again.
Back in the days when negroes had no voice and were treated shamefully as sub humans, there was a particular torture that was used on them if they "misbehaved". They were covered in hot tar and feathers. This is partly where the hated expression "tar baby" comes from.
I'm white skinned but I'll never identify myself with the monsters who committed crimes like this. They were crimes committed by bullies against defenseless people. My view is that slavery and prejudice was the result of ignorance and not something we can attribute to any race because it happened and is still happening in many cultures around the world.
Within my lifetime black skinned people went from having to sit in the back of the bus to running for the presidency of the United States. They didn't achieve this all by themselves but with the assistance of honorable white skinned people, too. I hope everyone remembers that when the occasional racist rears his ugly head.
The community newspaper mentioned is dropped in mailboxes once a week as a "freebee" but it's financially supported by it's advertisers. I'd be very surprised if many of their advertisers don't drop them. The editor, by not better policing his/her writers, may have been responsible for the demise of his/her newspaper.
Racism can't be tolerated in a multi-cultural society such as we live in. Over the years we've gained too much understanding and acceptance between races, religions, and nationalities to allow anyone to drag it back to the dark ages. None of us want to live like that ever again.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Out of the Mouths of Babes
I had coffee at the mall with my sister again today and got to enjoy some interesting "people watching".
One little girl of about 4 years of age was left sitting alone at a table while her father stood in line for food and drink. Just a note...a predator could very easily have scooped that little girl up and carried her away before anyone noticed. I didn't see the father until much later so would have probably assumed the kidnapper was the father.
Anyway, once I noticed this little one sitting by herself I kept watch and thoroughly enjoyed the game she was playing with herself. She carried on a lengthy pretend conversation with an imaginary playmate, chattering away like children will do when in their own little world. All of a sudden her voice rose in indignation and she yelled at her imaginary friend, "I only had two beers!". Hilarious or what? I could just imagine her father cringing in whatever food line he was in. Some time later he joined her at the table and they consumed their yummies. Drama over but lots of musings in the crowd.
Then there was the lady sitting next to us that spoke loud enough for half the food court to hear. We learned that her "f...... ex and his f...... new wife" had custody of her children and she wanted her friends to find her a man. I think you'd have to really dislike a man to hook him up with this woman.
One little girl of maybe 2 had such a loud voice she could have been heard outside the mall. She wasn't crying or screaming, just trying to get her mother's attention. Her Mom was buying donuts and it was very important to the little girl that she get just the right one. It reminded me of one of my grandsons when he was that age. He was little and cute with a deep booming voice that could fill any room. He sounded like "Foghorn" if any of my readers are old enough to remember. Today he has a normal voice, thank heavens.
Well, another Sunday, another coffee or two, and many, many laughs. Life is good!
One little girl of about 4 years of age was left sitting alone at a table while her father stood in line for food and drink. Just a note...a predator could very easily have scooped that little girl up and carried her away before anyone noticed. I didn't see the father until much later so would have probably assumed the kidnapper was the father.
Anyway, once I noticed this little one sitting by herself I kept watch and thoroughly enjoyed the game she was playing with herself. She carried on a lengthy pretend conversation with an imaginary playmate, chattering away like children will do when in their own little world. All of a sudden her voice rose in indignation and she yelled at her imaginary friend, "I only had two beers!". Hilarious or what? I could just imagine her father cringing in whatever food line he was in. Some time later he joined her at the table and they consumed their yummies. Drama over but lots of musings in the crowd.
Then there was the lady sitting next to us that spoke loud enough for half the food court to hear. We learned that her "f...... ex and his f...... new wife" had custody of her children and she wanted her friends to find her a man. I think you'd have to really dislike a man to hook him up with this woman.
One little girl of maybe 2 had such a loud voice she could have been heard outside the mall. She wasn't crying or screaming, just trying to get her mother's attention. Her Mom was buying donuts and it was very important to the little girl that she get just the right one. It reminded me of one of my grandsons when he was that age. He was little and cute with a deep booming voice that could fill any room. He sounded like "Foghorn" if any of my readers are old enough to remember. Today he has a normal voice, thank heavens.
Well, another Sunday, another coffee or two, and many, many laughs. Life is good!
John Couey
John Couey has just been sentenced to death for the kidnapping, rape, and murder of a 9 year old little girl, Jessica Lundsford. I haven't followed the trial closely because the evidence against this monster was horrendous but I did watch the sentencing yesterday on T.V. One of the things Couey said in his defence was that "this sort of thing happens every day".
Is this a world where the rape and torture of a child is happening every day? If it is then we are all lost souls because we, the vast majority, haven't taken steps to stop it. Any person who would physically harm a defenceless child should never have the opportunity to do it again. They should be imprisoned for the rest of their lives and the cost in dollars should be worth the peace of mind to taxpayers.
So many of these child predators blame their own damaged childhood for their perversions but that is bull....! We are the masters of our own destiny and regardless of what happened in our past we can choose to do better. Child molesters choose to destroy a child.
John Couey is a lost soul with no chance of redemption and executing him will only make certain that he won't kill any more children. If he hadn't killed little Jessica he would have been back out on the streets within a few years and more children would have suffered.
Isn't it sad that our laws are so ineffective that it took the loss of Jessica's young life to stop John Couey from re-offending?
I admire the dignified way in which Jessica's father has conducted himself but, if it weren't for police protection, there would have been many people beating Couey to a bloody pulp for what he did to that poor child. Sometimes vigilante justice is warranted.
I haven't voted in a long time because I've lost faith in our politicians but I've decide to cast my vote for the first person who will see that child molesters are removed from society forever...no second chances. And I'll watch closely to see if they follow through with their promise.
To the bleeding heart liberals who believe child molesters can be rehabilitated...molesters don't deserve a second chance whether they decide to control themselves or not. The damage they do the first time (and remember that they've probably molested many children before they're ever caught!) has rendered them unfit for society.
Couey's mind must be a cesspool so he's living in his own personal hell right now. Unfortunately, there will be hundreds of thousands of taxpayer dollars spent trying to stop his execution. Lawyers on both sides will waste their limited time and resources on this man. If just a fraction of this energy and commitment was spent revising laws to keep molesters behind bars maybe our children would be able to safely play on the streets again.
Won't we ever learn?
Is this a world where the rape and torture of a child is happening every day? If it is then we are all lost souls because we, the vast majority, haven't taken steps to stop it. Any person who would physically harm a defenceless child should never have the opportunity to do it again. They should be imprisoned for the rest of their lives and the cost in dollars should be worth the peace of mind to taxpayers.
So many of these child predators blame their own damaged childhood for their perversions but that is bull....! We are the masters of our own destiny and regardless of what happened in our past we can choose to do better. Child molesters choose to destroy a child.
John Couey is a lost soul with no chance of redemption and executing him will only make certain that he won't kill any more children. If he hadn't killed little Jessica he would have been back out on the streets within a few years and more children would have suffered.
Isn't it sad that our laws are so ineffective that it took the loss of Jessica's young life to stop John Couey from re-offending?
I admire the dignified way in which Jessica's father has conducted himself but, if it weren't for police protection, there would have been many people beating Couey to a bloody pulp for what he did to that poor child. Sometimes vigilante justice is warranted.
I haven't voted in a long time because I've lost faith in our politicians but I've decide to cast my vote for the first person who will see that child molesters are removed from society forever...no second chances. And I'll watch closely to see if they follow through with their promise.
To the bleeding heart liberals who believe child molesters can be rehabilitated...molesters don't deserve a second chance whether they decide to control themselves or not. The damage they do the first time (and remember that they've probably molested many children before they're ever caught!) has rendered them unfit for society.
Couey's mind must be a cesspool so he's living in his own personal hell right now. Unfortunately, there will be hundreds of thousands of taxpayer dollars spent trying to stop his execution. Lawyers on both sides will waste their limited time and resources on this man. If just a fraction of this energy and commitment was spent revising laws to keep molesters behind bars maybe our children would be able to safely play on the streets again.
Won't we ever learn?
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Broke Down and Went Yard Saleing
I have been so good about not yard saleing because I have to get rid of the stuff I already have. This morning I couldn't fight it anymore and went out for about an hour. I made 2 purchases...an Elvis clock for 50 cents and 20 Disney ornaments all in the original boxes for $15. The clock will go into my sewing room and the ornaments (apparently worth $5+ each) will go on Ebay when I get to Florida. This is why I love yard saleing.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Speed Kills
Last week two young men lost their lives in a high speed chase. Officers saw their car racing at a high rate of speed and gave chase. At some point (I think it's when the escaping car is moving at a speed considered too dangerous for bystanders) the chase was called off. Moments later the young men's car went out of control and crashed, killing both men.
Now the grieving parents are searching for a scapegoat and, you guessed it, blame the police. I hope they'll reconsider once the initial shock of losing their children has worn off. It's sadly apparent that the culprits were the young men and not an officer of the law who was doing his job to protect the public at large.
We take our cars and our driving skill for granted but it only takes a momentary lapse of attention or ability and that car can easily become a speeding missile. The men who died probably thought they'd outrace a speeding ticket and ended up losing their lives instead.
A few years ago I was driving along a major highway at slightly over the speed limit when I heard a strange "ping" from one of the tires. Being the cautious person I am, I slowed down just a bit to listen more closely. Suddenly there was a tremendous bang and I amost lost control of my steering...the right front tire had blown out. I'll never forget how I had to manhandle the steering wheel just in order to get onto the shoulder of the road. If I'd been driving just 10 miles per hour faster I doubt I could have managed.
Another interesting story...last month I was again driving along a major highway and keeping up with traffic in the center lane. The inside and center lanes were pretty well bumper to bumper traffic but the outside lane was empty. A huge tractor trailer moved up behind me and the driver decided to tailgate me instead of passing in the outside lane. I can only guess that he was just bored and having a bit of dangerous fun or he simply didn't want to move into the outside lane.
I ignored him as best I could but the reality of a huge truck just inches away from my little car proved too much for me. I put my empty hand down on the seat next to me and then raised my closed fist up to my ear and pretended to be talking on a cell phone. Within moments the truck driver had backed way off and settled into the inside lane as far back from me as possible. He thought I was reporting him and that's what should be done to all tailgaters.
If I had to brake or even slow down while that truck was so close to me it would have mowed me down and caused a horrible accident which probably would have included many of the cars around us. Was his fun worth the loss of life...maybe even his own?
When we're speeding along the highway inside our cars it's like being in a cocoon and we tend to forget what a tangled mess of metal will do to our fragile bodies.
The families of the young men who died can't face how quickly their loved ones were taken away from them and they can't accept that their sons were responsible for their own fate. Blaming the police may be a diversion for their pain but it isn't fair.
What I'd like to see is one of those parents speak to high school students and explain to them how one reckless moment in a speeding car can end their lives...and leave their parents to grieve.
Now the grieving parents are searching for a scapegoat and, you guessed it, blame the police. I hope they'll reconsider once the initial shock of losing their children has worn off. It's sadly apparent that the culprits were the young men and not an officer of the law who was doing his job to protect the public at large.
We take our cars and our driving skill for granted but it only takes a momentary lapse of attention or ability and that car can easily become a speeding missile. The men who died probably thought they'd outrace a speeding ticket and ended up losing their lives instead.
A few years ago I was driving along a major highway at slightly over the speed limit when I heard a strange "ping" from one of the tires. Being the cautious person I am, I slowed down just a bit to listen more closely. Suddenly there was a tremendous bang and I amost lost control of my steering...the right front tire had blown out. I'll never forget how I had to manhandle the steering wheel just in order to get onto the shoulder of the road. If I'd been driving just 10 miles per hour faster I doubt I could have managed.
Another interesting story...last month I was again driving along a major highway and keeping up with traffic in the center lane. The inside and center lanes were pretty well bumper to bumper traffic but the outside lane was empty. A huge tractor trailer moved up behind me and the driver decided to tailgate me instead of passing in the outside lane. I can only guess that he was just bored and having a bit of dangerous fun or he simply didn't want to move into the outside lane.
I ignored him as best I could but the reality of a huge truck just inches away from my little car proved too much for me. I put my empty hand down on the seat next to me and then raised my closed fist up to my ear and pretended to be talking on a cell phone. Within moments the truck driver had backed way off and settled into the inside lane as far back from me as possible. He thought I was reporting him and that's what should be done to all tailgaters.
If I had to brake or even slow down while that truck was so close to me it would have mowed me down and caused a horrible accident which probably would have included many of the cars around us. Was his fun worth the loss of life...maybe even his own?
When we're speeding along the highway inside our cars it's like being in a cocoon and we tend to forget what a tangled mess of metal will do to our fragile bodies.
The families of the young men who died can't face how quickly their loved ones were taken away from them and they can't accept that their sons were responsible for their own fate. Blaming the police may be a diversion for their pain but it isn't fair.
What I'd like to see is one of those parents speak to high school students and explain to them how one reckless moment in a speeding car can end their lives...and leave their parents to grieve.
Damsel in Distress
We have a friend we refer to as "high maintenance". I don't mean she has expensive tastes but that she's someone who needs too much taking care of.
On a trip to a hotel she wasn't able to enter elevators or parking garages because she's claustrophobic. She took the stairs and waited in the room while the rest of us were left to deal with her luggage. She can't be left alone anywhere because she'll panic and huddle like a lost soul. This elderly woman has a helpless little girl quality that men love but that wears on the nerves of adult women.
This is a talented lady of my own age but heaven forbid she should ever find herself temporarily lost or she'd move in with anyone who rescued her. She is a true, modern day damsel in distress. "A" expects friends to wait on her and cater to her wishes. She praises us to others about how well we take care of her. What crap!
How does someone live for near 70 years and not learn how to take care of herself? There is no evidence from her background that this is the life she's been accustomed to but maybe that's the problem. The sad part is that she alienates her friends. We have enough to take care of just with ourselves and we're not about to adopt an old baby.
Many people struggle with handicaps but it doesn't prevent them from being strong and independant. Their self pride urges them to strive for independance.
I believe that "A" is representative of many females before the women's liberation movement of the 1960's. In those days we expected our husbands to work while we stayed home. We sat primly in the car while our male companion rushed around to open the door for us. We fainted when upset. Total crap!
The women's liberation movement was like a breath of fresh air in a stagnant society. For the first time legions of women began to realize that they were capable human beings. There had been many strong women throughout history but it took the likes of Germaine Greer and Gloria Steinem, to name only two, to drill the truth into our dulled brains. Males and females were equals...neither of higher status than the other.
"A" is stuck in the 50's. Too bad her pals are tough old broads who expect her to stand on her own two feet.
On a trip to a hotel she wasn't able to enter elevators or parking garages because she's claustrophobic. She took the stairs and waited in the room while the rest of us were left to deal with her luggage. She can't be left alone anywhere because she'll panic and huddle like a lost soul. This elderly woman has a helpless little girl quality that men love but that wears on the nerves of adult women.
This is a talented lady of my own age but heaven forbid she should ever find herself temporarily lost or she'd move in with anyone who rescued her. She is a true, modern day damsel in distress. "A" expects friends to wait on her and cater to her wishes. She praises us to others about how well we take care of her. What crap!
How does someone live for near 70 years and not learn how to take care of herself? There is no evidence from her background that this is the life she's been accustomed to but maybe that's the problem. The sad part is that she alienates her friends. We have enough to take care of just with ourselves and we're not about to adopt an old baby.
Many people struggle with handicaps but it doesn't prevent them from being strong and independant. Their self pride urges them to strive for independance.
I believe that "A" is representative of many females before the women's liberation movement of the 1960's. In those days we expected our husbands to work while we stayed home. We sat primly in the car while our male companion rushed around to open the door for us. We fainted when upset. Total crap!
The women's liberation movement was like a breath of fresh air in a stagnant society. For the first time legions of women began to realize that they were capable human beings. There had been many strong women throughout history but it took the likes of Germaine Greer and Gloria Steinem, to name only two, to drill the truth into our dulled brains. Males and females were equals...neither of higher status than the other.
"A" is stuck in the 50's. Too bad her pals are tough old broads who expect her to stand on her own two feet.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Back to School
In just a few short weeks it will be back to school for children aged 4 and up. No matter the age, the important thing is that they'll be going back to school.
I have 3 daughters I love more than life itself but when they were children I counted the moments each August until the day after Labor Day when my little darlings would spend most of the day from Monday to Friday in school. I'd close the door on their little backs at 8:45 A.M. and have blessed freedom until noon when they'd all come home for lunch. An hour of bedlam and then they'd head back to school and not return until 4:15 P.M. Those hours and minutes will forever be deeply imbedded into my brain.
In those days, teachers didn't take refresher courses during the school year. It was felt that anything new they needed to learn could be done over the 2 months summer hiatus they enjoyed. There was no such thing as a "snow day". If you could wade through the snow you were expected to get to school...just like getting to work for most of the world.
I remember the hush that fell over the house as the door closed behind my treasures on that long awaited day after Labor Day. It was palpable. When I ventured outdoors later in the morning even the neighborhood was serene. How strange to be outside in the warm sunshine and not hear the screeches of little children coming from almost every house on the block. It was really nice.
By 4:15 P.M. I'd had enough of the peace and quiet and couldn't wait to see my children. They'd storm into the house bringing me evidence of what they'd learned that day, pictures they'd painted, stories of their hours away from home. The house would come alive once more.
Still, I remember how much I enjoyed 8:46 A.M. the day after Labor Day back in the 1970's. Sigh!!
I have 3 daughters I love more than life itself but when they were children I counted the moments each August until the day after Labor Day when my little darlings would spend most of the day from Monday to Friday in school. I'd close the door on their little backs at 8:45 A.M. and have blessed freedom until noon when they'd all come home for lunch. An hour of bedlam and then they'd head back to school and not return until 4:15 P.M. Those hours and minutes will forever be deeply imbedded into my brain.
In those days, teachers didn't take refresher courses during the school year. It was felt that anything new they needed to learn could be done over the 2 months summer hiatus they enjoyed. There was no such thing as a "snow day". If you could wade through the snow you were expected to get to school...just like getting to work for most of the world.
I remember the hush that fell over the house as the door closed behind my treasures on that long awaited day after Labor Day. It was palpable. When I ventured outdoors later in the morning even the neighborhood was serene. How strange to be outside in the warm sunshine and not hear the screeches of little children coming from almost every house on the block. It was really nice.
By 4:15 P.M. I'd had enough of the peace and quiet and couldn't wait to see my children. They'd storm into the house bringing me evidence of what they'd learned that day, pictures they'd painted, stories of their hours away from home. The house would come alive once more.
Still, I remember how much I enjoyed 8:46 A.M. the day after Labor Day back in the 1970's. Sigh!!
Recycled Plant Containers
I've gone on a few garden tours and some of the prettiest gardens are those where the gardener has used broken pottery or unusual items for planters. One gardener had actually used an old cowboy boot to hold a beautiful display of Impatiens (one of my favorite annuals).
I love to see damaged crockery made use of again in a garden. How sweet to see an old teapot, spout chipped, but made useful as a container for petunias or lobelia. Years ago I bought an old wooden shoe at a yard sale and planted impatiens in it for quite a few years before it rotted away.
When I brought home a new tree about 10 years ago, it came in a heavy duty black pot that seemed such a shame to throw away so I filled it with soil and continue to use it till this day as a planter in the yard.
A couple of years ago I was at my local Walmart store in Florida and discovered a large stack of black, plastic containers in the nursery with a "free" sign on them. Apparently they were used to deliver fresh flowers to the store and normally put in the trash but a smart employee had thought it wiser to give them to customers instead.
Many of the winter residents in my park rent their trailers so they either have to purchase flower containers or do without...it doesn't make much sense to purchase when you don't know if you'll be renting the same trailer from year to year. I took all of the free containers from Walmart and distributed them to renters who had only to punch a drainage hole in the bottom and, voila, excellent planters!
I've bought some very nice pottery containers at yard sales...some people are only happy with flawless gardens. Personally, I think the chipped and faded pots give your garden character. I have one large ceramic pot in my back garden that has such large holes in it that its really held together by the chrysanthemum plant it surrounds. By the way, replant those Mother's Day chrysanthemums because most will reflower for many years to come.
I also save the heavier plastic pots that come with my annuals. They're stackable so don't take up much room and are perfect to use for giving away some of your perennials when you split them.
My own garden is eclectic...a little bit of this and a little bit of that. It's fun, and economic, to split a healthy perennial and transplant it somewhere else in your garden...or share it with a neighbor.
I went in search of a spectacular hosta for one spot in my back garden and found prices too high to justify so I'll wait till Spring and hit the yard sale trail. Enterprising gardeners often split their perennials then and put unneeded pieces in their yard sales. In fact, I have a large, beautiful hosta in my front garden that just may need to be split next year.
Recycling can save you money and make your gardens unique. All you need is imagination.
I love to see damaged crockery made use of again in a garden. How sweet to see an old teapot, spout chipped, but made useful as a container for petunias or lobelia. Years ago I bought an old wooden shoe at a yard sale and planted impatiens in it for quite a few years before it rotted away.
When I brought home a new tree about 10 years ago, it came in a heavy duty black pot that seemed such a shame to throw away so I filled it with soil and continue to use it till this day as a planter in the yard.
A couple of years ago I was at my local Walmart store in Florida and discovered a large stack of black, plastic containers in the nursery with a "free" sign on them. Apparently they were used to deliver fresh flowers to the store and normally put in the trash but a smart employee had thought it wiser to give them to customers instead.
Many of the winter residents in my park rent their trailers so they either have to purchase flower containers or do without...it doesn't make much sense to purchase when you don't know if you'll be renting the same trailer from year to year. I took all of the free containers from Walmart and distributed them to renters who had only to punch a drainage hole in the bottom and, voila, excellent planters!
I've bought some very nice pottery containers at yard sales...some people are only happy with flawless gardens. Personally, I think the chipped and faded pots give your garden character. I have one large ceramic pot in my back garden that has such large holes in it that its really held together by the chrysanthemum plant it surrounds. By the way, replant those Mother's Day chrysanthemums because most will reflower for many years to come.
I also save the heavier plastic pots that come with my annuals. They're stackable so don't take up much room and are perfect to use for giving away some of your perennials when you split them.
My own garden is eclectic...a little bit of this and a little bit of that. It's fun, and economic, to split a healthy perennial and transplant it somewhere else in your garden...or share it with a neighbor.
I went in search of a spectacular hosta for one spot in my back garden and found prices too high to justify so I'll wait till Spring and hit the yard sale trail. Enterprising gardeners often split their perennials then and put unneeded pieces in their yard sales. In fact, I have a large, beautiful hosta in my front garden that just may need to be split next year.
Recycling can save you money and make your gardens unique. All you need is imagination.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Writing
I love to write. If I analyze why it's probably because you get to put out your thoughts uninterrupted by anyone else who might have a comment to make or a story to tell. Writing is completely narcissistic. It's all about me, babe!
My friend, Carole, and I were discussing my stories (LOL!) over a glass of wine and I tried explaining how terrifying it was for me to bare my pitiful abilities on a blog where anyone could read and critique them. When I finally got the nerve to click on that "publish" button I nearly had a stroke! I was "outed".
But then an interesting thing happened. I was also liberated. It stopped mattering to me whether what I wrote was good or not...it just mattered that I had an outlet. In my own little way I was having fun and it wasn't hurting anyone.
I've said that blogging is the equivalent of baring your boobs but maybe I exaggerated a bit. Maybe it's only the equivalent of showing some cleavage. Readers really only get to see the top of one's imagination.
When I was in high school I always got top marks for stories I wrote. It was, and still is, my belief that you can make a story out of absolutely anthing. To prove it, I once wrote a story about a comb and got an "A". Through my adult years I wrote constantly but kept every story hidden from view. My granddaughter, Lisette, has no such compunctions and she's already developing a terrific talent for writing. If I'd had her confidence when I was her age I think I would be a better writer now.
Wishes for what could have been won't get us anywhere so I'm going to take today and make the best of it. Blogging isn't my life but it sure has become one of the most fun parts of my day. And that's the way it is.
My friend, Carole, and I were discussing my stories (LOL!) over a glass of wine and I tried explaining how terrifying it was for me to bare my pitiful abilities on a blog where anyone could read and critique them. When I finally got the nerve to click on that "publish" button I nearly had a stroke! I was "outed".
But then an interesting thing happened. I was also liberated. It stopped mattering to me whether what I wrote was good or not...it just mattered that I had an outlet. In my own little way I was having fun and it wasn't hurting anyone.
I've said that blogging is the equivalent of baring your boobs but maybe I exaggerated a bit. Maybe it's only the equivalent of showing some cleavage. Readers really only get to see the top of one's imagination.
When I was in high school I always got top marks for stories I wrote. It was, and still is, my belief that you can make a story out of absolutely anthing. To prove it, I once wrote a story about a comb and got an "A". Through my adult years I wrote constantly but kept every story hidden from view. My granddaughter, Lisette, has no such compunctions and she's already developing a terrific talent for writing. If I'd had her confidence when I was her age I think I would be a better writer now.
Wishes for what could have been won't get us anywhere so I'm going to take today and make the best of it. Blogging isn't my life but it sure has become one of the most fun parts of my day. And that's the way it is.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Doing What You Have To Do
I just wrote an e-mail to my sister-in-law telling her about removing my husband's arbor in the backyard and saying how guilty I felt in doing it. It feels as though I'm removing a part of his memory. She wrote back and told me not to feel guilty because we do what we have to do and life does go on.
I thought about that expression...doing what we have to do...and realized we spend most of our lives doing just that. We don't really want to get up in the early morning to go to school or to work but we do it because we have to in order to live a decent life.
I didn't want to get married at 17 but I did it because I had to in order to build a family for my baby. I didn't want to stop having the fun of a teenager but I did it because I had to show more responsibility to my husband and child.
Over the years you do many things because you have to...attend boring functions, tolerate nasty people, change poopy diapers, put up with uncompromising spouses, etc., etc., etc. Somehow, when you've become old enough to retire, you've earned the right to stop doing a lot of those things.
I pretty well do what I want to now. I prefer to stay home and play on the computer than go to a boring function! I hang out with the people I'm comfortable with and who always make me laugh. Rude and nasty people have no place in my life. I still do housework because I have to, though. That chore can't be ignored. The grandchildren are long out of diapers but there's a greatgrandchild in the future. Life does go on.
Yes, you do what you have to and then you rest.
I thought about that expression...doing what we have to do...and realized we spend most of our lives doing just that. We don't really want to get up in the early morning to go to school or to work but we do it because we have to in order to live a decent life.
I didn't want to get married at 17 but I did it because I had to in order to build a family for my baby. I didn't want to stop having the fun of a teenager but I did it because I had to show more responsibility to my husband and child.
Over the years you do many things because you have to...attend boring functions, tolerate nasty people, change poopy diapers, put up with uncompromising spouses, etc., etc., etc. Somehow, when you've become old enough to retire, you've earned the right to stop doing a lot of those things.
I pretty well do what I want to now. I prefer to stay home and play on the computer than go to a boring function! I hang out with the people I'm comfortable with and who always make me laugh. Rude and nasty people have no place in my life. I still do housework because I have to, though. That chore can't be ignored. The grandchildren are long out of diapers but there's a greatgrandchild in the future. Life does go on.
Yes, you do what you have to and then you rest.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Blessed Saturday
Saturdays are special. It is the day of the week that we, employed and retired alike, get those odd jobs done...the ones we've put off until we had just a little extra time.
About 4-5 years ago my husband built an arbor at the back of the yard to grow what my Chinese neighbor called "long squash". It was a joy to behold as the vines of the long squash (also provided by our neighbor) grew up and along the arbor and the fruit began to grow, and grow, and grow. We had squash almost 5' long.
Dennis built the arbor out of untreated wood for some reason and this year it began to list. I haven't grown the long squash since he passed away so I really have no use for the arbor anymore and decided to tear it down.
It pulled out of the ground easily because the wood underground was rotted away. Then I used a hammer to knock the side and top supports off. The heavier frame was screwed together and I can't believe I found the right screwdriver for the job on my first trip to the workroom. I think my husband used an electric screwdriver because the screws were deeply imbedded in the wood and I had to use some muscle (LOL!) to get them out. All the pieces were tossed behind the tool shed but I plan to hire someone to cart all the junk behind there away some day.
Then I got a pail full of good soil, added half a bag of grass seed, and reseeded the bare spots left behind. As the water sprinkler arched back and forth, I sat on a lawn chair with my feet up and a can of Diet Pepsi in my hand and hoped the seed would grow into lucious green grass before the birds ate it all.
Saturday job done.
About 4-5 years ago my husband built an arbor at the back of the yard to grow what my Chinese neighbor called "long squash". It was a joy to behold as the vines of the long squash (also provided by our neighbor) grew up and along the arbor and the fruit began to grow, and grow, and grow. We had squash almost 5' long.
Dennis built the arbor out of untreated wood for some reason and this year it began to list. I haven't grown the long squash since he passed away so I really have no use for the arbor anymore and decided to tear it down.
It pulled out of the ground easily because the wood underground was rotted away. Then I used a hammer to knock the side and top supports off. The heavier frame was screwed together and I can't believe I found the right screwdriver for the job on my first trip to the workroom. I think my husband used an electric screwdriver because the screws were deeply imbedded in the wood and I had to use some muscle (LOL!) to get them out. All the pieces were tossed behind the tool shed but I plan to hire someone to cart all the junk behind there away some day.
Then I got a pail full of good soil, added half a bag of grass seed, and reseeded the bare spots left behind. As the water sprinkler arched back and forth, I sat on a lawn chair with my feet up and a can of Diet Pepsi in my hand and hoped the seed would grow into lucious green grass before the birds ate it all.
Saturday job done.
Casinoing Again
Yesterday I had a choice of cleaning windows or going to the casino. I thought long and hard for about 2 seconds and locked up the house with the dirty windows and headed for the casino.
I love the atmosphere of the casino. Lights are bright, people are too busy at their chosen machine to notice your presence (somewhat like a government office), and there is hope in the air.
I talk to people who sit beside me but only if they speak first. Yesterday was really interesting. At my age I can carry on long, silly conversations with younger men because there's no worry that by talking to them I'm giving them the impression I'm looking for a date. I'm more careful with men my own age, although they probably don't know they're my age and think they're just being nice to an older woman.
I sat between 2 younger men yesterday and we joked for about an hour. One man finally left his machine in disgust after putting $500 into it. I felt sorry for him but couldn't get over how crazy we gamblers can be. Think of what $500 can buy you in the real world!
I had a good paying machine at one time that kept me in my seat for about an hour and a half but I had to leave it because I had to go to the bathroom. I hate waste so I told the elderly lady next to me that my machine was paying well and she took it over when I left. I love to see other people win, too. I hope it continued to do well for her.
I overheard one lady with a strong American accent saying to someone applauding her big win. "But it's in Canadian dollars!", she said. I would have been happy with a win that paid in food stamps.
There were a lot of seniors at the casino which is a testament to our lucrative pension plans. I don't think many of us go to the casino expecting to win big bucks but just to enjoy the excitement generated every time we gamble a coin.
I lost all my money and came back home. The windows are still dirty.
I love the atmosphere of the casino. Lights are bright, people are too busy at their chosen machine to notice your presence (somewhat like a government office), and there is hope in the air.
I talk to people who sit beside me but only if they speak first. Yesterday was really interesting. At my age I can carry on long, silly conversations with younger men because there's no worry that by talking to them I'm giving them the impression I'm looking for a date. I'm more careful with men my own age, although they probably don't know they're my age and think they're just being nice to an older woman.
I sat between 2 younger men yesterday and we joked for about an hour. One man finally left his machine in disgust after putting $500 into it. I felt sorry for him but couldn't get over how crazy we gamblers can be. Think of what $500 can buy you in the real world!
I had a good paying machine at one time that kept me in my seat for about an hour and a half but I had to leave it because I had to go to the bathroom. I hate waste so I told the elderly lady next to me that my machine was paying well and she took it over when I left. I love to see other people win, too. I hope it continued to do well for her.
I overheard one lady with a strong American accent saying to someone applauding her big win. "But it's in Canadian dollars!", she said. I would have been happy with a win that paid in food stamps.
There were a lot of seniors at the casino which is a testament to our lucrative pension plans. I don't think many of us go to the casino expecting to win big bucks but just to enjoy the excitement generated every time we gamble a coin.
I lost all my money and came back home. The windows are still dirty.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Home Decorating Shows
I have a weakness for watching home decorating shows although I rarely follow their advice. When I had the basement redone I did get a little wild and had the top half of the walls painted red. It looks good, actually, but I couldn't live with it in the upstairs rooms. I like light and that's all there is to it.
I've noticed that decorators like to paint rooms the opposite to what they are presently. If they're light, they go dark and vice versa. Another thing decorators like to do is to take away ceiling fans. I can't figure this out because the fans are there for a purpose. I also like ceiling fans.
On some of the shows I'm aghast because the decorating techniques are obvious dust catchers. Once they glued straw (hay) all over a bedroom wall. Another time they glued small silk flowers all over a bathroom wall. You can't do that!!
One thing I've learned from these shows is that the minimalist look will sell a house faster than one cluttered with the usual stuff of everyday life. I'm so far away from the minimalist look it's pathetic.
My sister-in-law, Joyce, has one of the best decorated homes in the family and she follows only her own code of ethics. Her home is almost minimalist, spotless clean, and homey at the same time. Maybe she should have been a decorator.
I've noticed that decorators like to paint rooms the opposite to what they are presently. If they're light, they go dark and vice versa. Another thing decorators like to do is to take away ceiling fans. I can't figure this out because the fans are there for a purpose. I also like ceiling fans.
On some of the shows I'm aghast because the decorating techniques are obvious dust catchers. Once they glued straw (hay) all over a bedroom wall. Another time they glued small silk flowers all over a bathroom wall. You can't do that!!
One thing I've learned from these shows is that the minimalist look will sell a house faster than one cluttered with the usual stuff of everyday life. I'm so far away from the minimalist look it's pathetic.
My sister-in-law, Joyce, has one of the best decorated homes in the family and she follows only her own code of ethics. Her home is almost minimalist, spotless clean, and homey at the same time. Maybe she should have been a decorator.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Blood Test Results
I don't like seeing doctors so I don't have regular check-ups. I had to visit my excellent family doctor a couple of weeks ago and he began nagging me that I haven't had blood work done in 3 years so I gave in and had it done.
There must be many people who feel as I do...what you don't know won't hurt you, right? Well, the test results came back and last week my doctor's nurse phoned me. I knew I was in trouble when I heard her voice saying the doctor wanted to see me again. I asked if the blood test results weren't up to par and she said they were a little higher than he liked.
I saw him today and you'd have to know my sweet doctor to picture his worried face as he read me the results. My years of poor eating habits were slowly turning me into a diabetic. Apparently, my love of pasta is going to have to be replaced with a tolerance for salads. My weight was also going to have to decrease in order to stave off the inevitable diabetes for a few more years.
He's also sending me for more blood tests...I just know they'll give him more reason to worry and he'll make me come in to see him once again. I hate taking medication so I'm going to have to listen to his advice whether I want to or not.
Goodbye pasta. Goodbye baklava. Goodbye to a lot of the good stuff. I hope being healthy doesn't make me crabby.
There must be many people who feel as I do...what you don't know won't hurt you, right? Well, the test results came back and last week my doctor's nurse phoned me. I knew I was in trouble when I heard her voice saying the doctor wanted to see me again. I asked if the blood test results weren't up to par and she said they were a little higher than he liked.
I saw him today and you'd have to know my sweet doctor to picture his worried face as he read me the results. My years of poor eating habits were slowly turning me into a diabetic. Apparently, my love of pasta is going to have to be replaced with a tolerance for salads. My weight was also going to have to decrease in order to stave off the inevitable diabetes for a few more years.
He's also sending me for more blood tests...I just know they'll give him more reason to worry and he'll make me come in to see him once again. I hate taking medication so I'm going to have to listen to his advice whether I want to or not.
Goodbye pasta. Goodbye baklava. Goodbye to a lot of the good stuff. I hope being healthy doesn't make me crabby.
Giving Birth in 1958
In 1958 I was 17, married to the love of my life, and 9 months pregnant.
The first tummy twinges appeared at around 8 A.M. and gradually strengthened over the day, but not too disturbingly. I knew that some day this humungous lump in my stomach would want to come out and I was uncomfortable enough to be happy the day had arrived.
At 10 P.M. the twinges had become strong enough and close enough together for me to ask my husband to take me to the hospital. We, me 17 1/2 and him only 1 day past his 21st birthday, walked into the hospital and thus began my first experience with birthing practices of the day.
As we entered, a nurse whisked me away to an examination room and left my nervous husband to fill out forms. I was to stay and he was to go home. In those days husbands weren't allowed to stay with their wives through the birthing process...either because it was felt they weren't strong enough to handle it or the nurses just didn't want them in the way. I can't tell you how terrifying it is to be left with strangers when you are about to give birth. And the sad part is that we accepted this treatment without complaint.
My examination took seconds, it seemed, and then I was taken to a ward room. For the first few hours I had a roommate who spoke kindly to me and tried to allay my fears. From other rooms on the ward I could hear women moaning and screaming. Many were cursing their husbands! I thought their screams meant they were at the end of their labor and that's where I was headed.
I was soon left alone when my roommate was taken away to the delivery room. Picture a 17 year old child, in pain, and having little knowledge of what was to come. Even then there wasn't enough nursing staff on the floor to allow one to stay with me all the time. Occasionally a nurse would come in, check my progress, and then leave. I remember one nurse in particular who seemed to understand what I was going through and she spent extra time smoothing my brow and talking to me. I desperately needed my husband or mother with me but hospital regulations wouldn't allow it. What a cruel policy.
The birthing moment arrived and I was rushed to the delivery room, enveloped in pain (no epiderals in those days) and still among strangers. After 24 hours of labor I gave birth to my first daughter.
Kim weighed 9 lbs. 8 oz. Pretty big baby considering that I weighed 105 lbs. when I became pregnant. I gained 32 lbs. with the pregnancy and lost 25 of them before I left the hospital. Oh yes, in those days you stayed in the hospital 5 days after giving birth.
When I gave birth I had a boil (first and only time in my life) on my leg so, after Kim was born, I was put in a private room and not allowed to even see my baby for the 5 days I was there. I asked repeatedly to just have them bring her to the door but even that wasn't done. I was too young and naive to complain forcefully and don't know to this day why I was isolated. Maybe this is one reason why I'm now such a strong advocate of demanding your rights and not just accepting the rulings of "authorities".
When we finally brought Kim home, I wasn't well. I'd been given penicillin in the hospital and discovered I was allergic to it. My body was covered in hives and my breasts were rock hard from milk engorgement.
One day I laid in bed crying in misery while poor newborn Kim lay crying in her crib. My 16 year old neighbor, who later married my husband's cousin, heard the noise and came over to the house and up to our 3rd floor apartment. She picked Kim up and soothed her cries. I will never forget Donna's kindness that day.
Well, Kim managed to grow up into an exceptionally wonderful woman. I love her dearly and would go through it all again just to have her in my life.
The first tummy twinges appeared at around 8 A.M. and gradually strengthened over the day, but not too disturbingly. I knew that some day this humungous lump in my stomach would want to come out and I was uncomfortable enough to be happy the day had arrived.
At 10 P.M. the twinges had become strong enough and close enough together for me to ask my husband to take me to the hospital. We, me 17 1/2 and him only 1 day past his 21st birthday, walked into the hospital and thus began my first experience with birthing practices of the day.
As we entered, a nurse whisked me away to an examination room and left my nervous husband to fill out forms. I was to stay and he was to go home. In those days husbands weren't allowed to stay with their wives through the birthing process...either because it was felt they weren't strong enough to handle it or the nurses just didn't want them in the way. I can't tell you how terrifying it is to be left with strangers when you are about to give birth. And the sad part is that we accepted this treatment without complaint.
My examination took seconds, it seemed, and then I was taken to a ward room. For the first few hours I had a roommate who spoke kindly to me and tried to allay my fears. From other rooms on the ward I could hear women moaning and screaming. Many were cursing their husbands! I thought their screams meant they were at the end of their labor and that's where I was headed.
I was soon left alone when my roommate was taken away to the delivery room. Picture a 17 year old child, in pain, and having little knowledge of what was to come. Even then there wasn't enough nursing staff on the floor to allow one to stay with me all the time. Occasionally a nurse would come in, check my progress, and then leave. I remember one nurse in particular who seemed to understand what I was going through and she spent extra time smoothing my brow and talking to me. I desperately needed my husband or mother with me but hospital regulations wouldn't allow it. What a cruel policy.
The birthing moment arrived and I was rushed to the delivery room, enveloped in pain (no epiderals in those days) and still among strangers. After 24 hours of labor I gave birth to my first daughter.
Kim weighed 9 lbs. 8 oz. Pretty big baby considering that I weighed 105 lbs. when I became pregnant. I gained 32 lbs. with the pregnancy and lost 25 of them before I left the hospital. Oh yes, in those days you stayed in the hospital 5 days after giving birth.
When I gave birth I had a boil (first and only time in my life) on my leg so, after Kim was born, I was put in a private room and not allowed to even see my baby for the 5 days I was there. I asked repeatedly to just have them bring her to the door but even that wasn't done. I was too young and naive to complain forcefully and don't know to this day why I was isolated. Maybe this is one reason why I'm now such a strong advocate of demanding your rights and not just accepting the rulings of "authorities".
When we finally brought Kim home, I wasn't well. I'd been given penicillin in the hospital and discovered I was allergic to it. My body was covered in hives and my breasts were rock hard from milk engorgement.
One day I laid in bed crying in misery while poor newborn Kim lay crying in her crib. My 16 year old neighbor, who later married my husband's cousin, heard the noise and came over to the house and up to our 3rd floor apartment. She picked Kim up and soothed her cries. I will never forget Donna's kindness that day.
Well, Kim managed to grow up into an exceptionally wonderful woman. I love her dearly and would go through it all again just to have her in my life.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Light Bulb Burns 100 Years
My brother-in-law told me about a light bulb that had been burning for 80 years somewhere in the States. I was curious because I've always felt that many of the things we buy have a built-in expiry date.
I typed in "light bulb 80 years" and began my search. Lo and behold, there is not only a light bulb that's been burning for 80 years in a fire station in Oklahoma, but one that's been burning for 100 years in a Fort Worth museum.
Built-in obsolescence means we must repurchase over and over again. This is easily apparent with "fashion" but not so easily detected in the necessities of life like the light bulb. With fashion, we have the opportunity to choose whether we want to be with the times or an old fuddy duddy. With light bulbs, we just accept that they can only last so long and then they burn out. Most of us don't question why.
The new light bulbs on the market have a longer life span...and a much larger price tag. I will bet my Old Age Pension that it doesn't cost one cent more to manufacture them.
I typed in "light bulb 80 years" and began my search. Lo and behold, there is not only a light bulb that's been burning for 80 years in a fire station in Oklahoma, but one that's been burning for 100 years in a Fort Worth museum.
Built-in obsolescence means we must repurchase over and over again. This is easily apparent with "fashion" but not so easily detected in the necessities of life like the light bulb. With fashion, we have the opportunity to choose whether we want to be with the times or an old fuddy duddy. With light bulbs, we just accept that they can only last so long and then they burn out. Most of us don't question why.
The new light bulbs on the market have a longer life span...and a much larger price tag. I will bet my Old Age Pension that it doesn't cost one cent more to manufacture them.
Recalled Toys
Mattel has recalled thousands of toys manufactured in China because they contain lead paint. I'm wondering who discovered this and why it wasn't discovered before the toys went on the market.
Huge companies like Mattel enhance their profits by having their merchandise manufactured in foreign countries. It's an acceptable cost saving measure but only if the quality of the goods is equal to that manufactured in Canada and the States. If Mattel's inspection team is unable to ensure that goods manufactured offshore are meeting our guidlines then this is going to hurt their sales.
We seem to be hearing about an awful lot of recalls these days...well after the product has been widely distributed to the buying public. I'd be interested in knowing how much of this is attributed to offshore manufacturing.
Huge companies like Mattel enhance their profits by having their merchandise manufactured in foreign countries. It's an acceptable cost saving measure but only if the quality of the goods is equal to that manufactured in Canada and the States. If Mattel's inspection team is unable to ensure that goods manufactured offshore are meeting our guidlines then this is going to hurt their sales.
We seem to be hearing about an awful lot of recalls these days...well after the product has been widely distributed to the buying public. I'd be interested in knowing how much of this is attributed to offshore manufacturing.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Panhandling/Begging
No matter what you call it, begging is one person asking another to work just a little bit harder so they don't have to.
In Toronto, a young man was approached by four young men and asked for money. When he refused he was stabbed to death. His sin was in refusing to hand over his hard earned money to young men who wouldn't work for their own. A city who allows beggars to rule the streets is a city who will soon find their downtown streets empty of decent citizens and tourists alike.
The shabby, down at the heels beggars you see are probably soliciting for booze money but then there are the young, healthy beggars who simply prefer to beg than to work. Occasionally you come across very young beggars who are doing it for fun.
I was approached by two such individuals a few years ago. Two boys about 14 or 15 years old, well dressed, faces clear and clean came up to me as I was entering a store and asked if I could give them some change for busfare. Shocked by these preppy boys lowering themselves to beg, I lit into them about how could they shame their parents in this way, etc., etc., etc. They couldn't get away from me fast enough and I certainly hope they learned a good lesson. Begging is demeaning.
There was also a story printed in the newspaper about a lady who lives in an affluent area of my city who would hop in her very expensive car and drive to her apparently well paid job in Toronto every morning. She would set up her station on a busy street corner in the downtown area and beg. She dressed shabbily and told sad stories of her poverty in order to reach the hearts of people who gave her money. No shame.
The drunken derelict who begs on the streets is to be pitied. The healthy beggars are to be scorned. They are users in the worst sense of the word.
In Toronto, a young man was approached by four young men and asked for money. When he refused he was stabbed to death. His sin was in refusing to hand over his hard earned money to young men who wouldn't work for their own. A city who allows beggars to rule the streets is a city who will soon find their downtown streets empty of decent citizens and tourists alike.
The shabby, down at the heels beggars you see are probably soliciting for booze money but then there are the young, healthy beggars who simply prefer to beg than to work. Occasionally you come across very young beggars who are doing it for fun.
I was approached by two such individuals a few years ago. Two boys about 14 or 15 years old, well dressed, faces clear and clean came up to me as I was entering a store and asked if I could give them some change for busfare. Shocked by these preppy boys lowering themselves to beg, I lit into them about how could they shame their parents in this way, etc., etc., etc. They couldn't get away from me fast enough and I certainly hope they learned a good lesson. Begging is demeaning.
There was also a story printed in the newspaper about a lady who lives in an affluent area of my city who would hop in her very expensive car and drive to her apparently well paid job in Toronto every morning. She would set up her station on a busy street corner in the downtown area and beg. She dressed shabbily and told sad stories of her poverty in order to reach the hearts of people who gave her money. No shame.
The drunken derelict who begs on the streets is to be pitied. The healthy beggars are to be scorned. They are users in the worst sense of the word.
Tattoos
Tattooing has become popular among some women lately and I think the culprit is the T.V. show "Miami Ink". Why would a woman want to ink a permanent design on her beautiful young skin? And do these women look to the future when that design will be enfolded in old, saggy skin?
My daughter mentioned a few months ago that she'd like to have a small tattoo of a sailboat on her ankle in memory of her father. My question to her was, "What do you think your father would have thought of his daughter getting a tattoo?". I know what he would have thought...he would have been furious.
My granddaughter is considering a small, "cute" tattoo and I've told her that I would be severely disappointed if she did that. We can't control our adult children or grandchildren but maybe we should be more vocal in letting them know how their actions affect us.
Tattooing is a fad that will pass and one day there will be leagues of women searching frantically for someone who can remove the tattoos...possibly before their wedding day, their child's first day at school, or their pursuit of a new career.
My sister had various small tattoos applied when she was young and foolish. In her adulthood she spent many years wearing long sleeved tops to cover them, even in the hot days of summer. When she finally was able to have them removed, they left keloid (raised) scars which she carries today. If you were to ask her, she'd tell you that getting tattooed was one of the worst mistakes of her life.
Be very careful of following fads. They might end up being a permanent reminder of your dumber days.
My daughter mentioned a few months ago that she'd like to have a small tattoo of a sailboat on her ankle in memory of her father. My question to her was, "What do you think your father would have thought of his daughter getting a tattoo?". I know what he would have thought...he would have been furious.
My granddaughter is considering a small, "cute" tattoo and I've told her that I would be severely disappointed if she did that. We can't control our adult children or grandchildren but maybe we should be more vocal in letting them know how their actions affect us.
Tattooing is a fad that will pass and one day there will be leagues of women searching frantically for someone who can remove the tattoos...possibly before their wedding day, their child's first day at school, or their pursuit of a new career.
My sister had various small tattoos applied when she was young and foolish. In her adulthood she spent many years wearing long sleeved tops to cover them, even in the hot days of summer. When she finally was able to have them removed, they left keloid (raised) scars which she carries today. If you were to ask her, she'd tell you that getting tattooed was one of the worst mistakes of her life.
Be very careful of following fads. They might end up being a permanent reminder of your dumber days.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Driveway Sealing
I had my asphalt driveway sealed today...first time in 4 years. It had to have been that long because my husband did it when he was well and that's how long ago it was.
Late last week a nice lady came to the door asking if I needed the driveway sealed. She and her husband had formed a small company to perform the service. I have to tell you how refreshing it was to not see a man looking like he'd just gotten out of prison offering to seal my driveway. Granted, these rough looking men are working men but they still scare the hell out of me.
The lady and her husband arrived early this morning and had my driveway finished within an hour. It looks better than new, there's no sealer on the house, and they're even coming back to put my heavy flower planters in their places. Another job well done and I'm a satisfied customer.
Late last week a nice lady came to the door asking if I needed the driveway sealed. She and her husband had formed a small company to perform the service. I have to tell you how refreshing it was to not see a man looking like he'd just gotten out of prison offering to seal my driveway. Granted, these rough looking men are working men but they still scare the hell out of me.
The lady and her husband arrived early this morning and had my driveway finished within an hour. It looks better than new, there's no sealer on the house, and they're even coming back to put my heavy flower planters in their places. Another job well done and I'm a satisfied customer.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Elvis Church Service
I have a tee shirt with the message "Before Elvis There Was Nothing". A little over the top but, really and truly, Elvis Presley was a phenomenon who came into the music industry when the world was ready for a change. And change it he did. He was so darned exciting after we'd been bored by the likes of Pat Boone.
My sister, Sharon, attends a non-denominational church where some of our city's black population are a large portion of the congregation. The church is a little different, a little more interesting...not as boring for me as other churches. I'm an agnostic who has trouble believing the church's teachings and, considering the bad reputation some church leaders have acquired, I have good reason to doubt.
Sharon's church had a special service today honoring the memory of Elvis Presley who passed away almost 30 years ago. I was mighty impressed when she told me about this service and thought how "with the times" her church was. I immediately invited myself to the service.
I was actually the first person to arrive and slid into a pew hoping I wasn't taking up someone's favorite seat. Gradually the church began to fill up with it's regular congregation and I was one of the very few white faces in the group. I'd been to the church before and knew I had no reason to feel uneasy or unwanted...the people have always welcomed me warmly. Today was no exception and many came forward to wish me, a stranger, good morning.
Other churches I've attended in the last few years have presented choir renditions of hymns or songs completely unknown to me but in this church they sing the old standbys...Rock of Ages, Amazing Grace, Peace in the Valley, etc. The four person choir (like many churches the congregation here is falling) led us in song. I'm such a novice about church etiquette that I didn't know where to find the hymnal or the hymns but the kind people around me saw my confusion and quickly came to my aid.
I actually had not planned to sing along because my faith is so questionable but after these nice people had seen fit to help a stranger to their church I felt I had to return the respect. As I said, the hymns were old and familiar and it felt good to join in.
The minister spoke about Elvis, his life, his music, and his strong belief in God. I thought how huge an honor it was to Elvis that he was being praised in a little church here in Canada 30 years after his death. He was a special man who dropped into our lives and changed our world. Not many can make that claim.
Come to think of it, that's what Jesus did.
My sister, Sharon, attends a non-denominational church where some of our city's black population are a large portion of the congregation. The church is a little different, a little more interesting...not as boring for me as other churches. I'm an agnostic who has trouble believing the church's teachings and, considering the bad reputation some church leaders have acquired, I have good reason to doubt.
Sharon's church had a special service today honoring the memory of Elvis Presley who passed away almost 30 years ago. I was mighty impressed when she told me about this service and thought how "with the times" her church was. I immediately invited myself to the service.
I was actually the first person to arrive and slid into a pew hoping I wasn't taking up someone's favorite seat. Gradually the church began to fill up with it's regular congregation and I was one of the very few white faces in the group. I'd been to the church before and knew I had no reason to feel uneasy or unwanted...the people have always welcomed me warmly. Today was no exception and many came forward to wish me, a stranger, good morning.
Other churches I've attended in the last few years have presented choir renditions of hymns or songs completely unknown to me but in this church they sing the old standbys...Rock of Ages, Amazing Grace, Peace in the Valley, etc. The four person choir (like many churches the congregation here is falling) led us in song. I'm such a novice about church etiquette that I didn't know where to find the hymnal or the hymns but the kind people around me saw my confusion and quickly came to my aid.
I actually had not planned to sing along because my faith is so questionable but after these nice people had seen fit to help a stranger to their church I felt I had to return the respect. As I said, the hymns were old and familiar and it felt good to join in.
The minister spoke about Elvis, his life, his music, and his strong belief in God. I thought how huge an honor it was to Elvis that he was being praised in a little church here in Canada 30 years after his death. He was a special man who dropped into our lives and changed our world. Not many can make that claim.
Come to think of it, that's what Jesus did.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Canada's Health Care Plan
Too often we hear of doctors and their lobbyists proposing the demolition of Canada's present health care system and allowing doctors to bill their patients privately if they so wish. I cringe whenever I remember what it was like before Canada's universal health care was instituted.
No, it's not perfect. Like all government business, there is waste and inefficiency, but it works better than no plan at all.
Before OHIP (Ontario Health Insurance Plan), the poor could not afford to see a doctor when they were sick so they suffered or died unnecessarily. This is what is happening in the States today and we can't allow Canada to revert to that cruel system.
Two of my children were born before OHIP so I know from experience what it means to be poor and unable to pay for basic health care. My first child was born in 1958 and we barely had enough money to live on and definitely not enough to pay for me to have prenatal care. I was young and healthy and only saw a physician when I was 6 months pregnant because a friend insisted.
The attending physician at my daughter's birth was a kindly old man who agreed to take monthly payments for his fee but I became pregnant with my second daughter before daughter #1 was paid for. Ashamed at still owing the doctor money, I again had no prenatal care.
My grandmother suffered for years with serious stomach ailments but she refused medical treatment. After she passed away from the results of these ailments I often wondered why she hadn't sought medical help. It's very possible it was because of the cost.
My husband was ill with cancer for a year before he passed away. His treatments and care would have bankrupted us if we'd had to pay directly for them. There was never a day when I wasn't humbly grateful for the excellent medical care provided by my country.
In a decent society, everyone deserves food, a place to live, schooling, and medical aid. In Canada we do a fairly good job of providing these services and we can't allow ourselves to lose what we have gained. Is it fair for some physicians to destroy the present system in order to earn a few dollars more over the backs of the poor? I hope the majority of our leaders are honest and honorable enough to stop this from happening.
No, it's not perfect. Like all government business, there is waste and inefficiency, but it works better than no plan at all.
Before OHIP (Ontario Health Insurance Plan), the poor could not afford to see a doctor when they were sick so they suffered or died unnecessarily. This is what is happening in the States today and we can't allow Canada to revert to that cruel system.
Two of my children were born before OHIP so I know from experience what it means to be poor and unable to pay for basic health care. My first child was born in 1958 and we barely had enough money to live on and definitely not enough to pay for me to have prenatal care. I was young and healthy and only saw a physician when I was 6 months pregnant because a friend insisted.
The attending physician at my daughter's birth was a kindly old man who agreed to take monthly payments for his fee but I became pregnant with my second daughter before daughter #1 was paid for. Ashamed at still owing the doctor money, I again had no prenatal care.
My grandmother suffered for years with serious stomach ailments but she refused medical treatment. After she passed away from the results of these ailments I often wondered why she hadn't sought medical help. It's very possible it was because of the cost.
My husband was ill with cancer for a year before he passed away. His treatments and care would have bankrupted us if we'd had to pay directly for them. There was never a day when I wasn't humbly grateful for the excellent medical care provided by my country.
In a decent society, everyone deserves food, a place to live, schooling, and medical aid. In Canada we do a fairly good job of providing these services and we can't allow ourselves to lose what we have gained. Is it fair for some physicians to destroy the present system in order to earn a few dollars more over the backs of the poor? I hope the majority of our leaders are honest and honorable enough to stop this from happening.
Friday, August 10, 2007
David's Funeral
Today was David's funeral. We went over to the funeral home about 10:30 A.M. and it wasn't long before the room was filled to overflowing with family and friends. My daughter was held together with gossamer threads and she put on a brave face that belied the sorrow underneath.
There were photo boards at various locations around the room and it hurt terribly to see David's big smile in happier days. When we are healthy and happy we can't even imagine that one day we'll be gone. David was a muscular young man with laughter and energy to spare so how could he have known how short his lifetime would be?
Friends and relatives spoke highly of him and we all laughed at some of the more humorous memories. David not only had a large, loving family but he'd made many friends over the years. The common thread in their eulogies was that he made them laugh.
When all is said and done, leaving this world behind with scores of people who remember how much fun you were to be around is quite a compliment.
There were photo boards at various locations around the room and it hurt terribly to see David's big smile in happier days. When we are healthy and happy we can't even imagine that one day we'll be gone. David was a muscular young man with laughter and energy to spare so how could he have known how short his lifetime would be?
Friends and relatives spoke highly of him and we all laughed at some of the more humorous memories. David not only had a large, loving family but he'd made many friends over the years. The common thread in their eulogies was that he made them laugh.
When all is said and done, leaving this world behind with scores of people who remember how much fun you were to be around is quite a compliment.
Sleeping Like an Angel
My grandson, Jake, has been staying at my house this week so I've had plenty of opportunity to watch him sleep. He's 8 years old and, when he's sleeping, looks 2 years old.
Why is it that children look so much younger when they're tired or sleeping and us older folk put on 10 years under the same conditions? If you're over 50, look in the mirror some time when you're tired out and you'll see a haggard mess.
The same thing holds true for cellulite. Cute as hell on a baby but the bane of all mature women.
Chubby cheeks? Pinch them on a baby and get a smile...pinch them on a chubby adult and get a smack!
Just a few more reasons why life isn't fair.
Why is it that children look so much younger when they're tired or sleeping and us older folk put on 10 years under the same conditions? If you're over 50, look in the mirror some time when you're tired out and you'll see a haggard mess.
The same thing holds true for cellulite. Cute as hell on a baby but the bane of all mature women.
Chubby cheeks? Pinch them on a baby and get a smile...pinch them on a chubby adult and get a smack!
Just a few more reasons why life isn't fair.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Planning a Funeral
After a loved one passes away there's no time to hide yourself under a blanket and just absorb the pain. There are many things that have to be attended to right away. Maybe that's a good thing because it doesn't allow you to wallow in your grief.
Funeral arrangements must be made and the funeral homes are expert in leading you through these arrangements with a minimum of hassle. They know how to make it all run smoothly and their staff is well trained in showing the proper respect and kindness.
There are flowers to be purchased and, in my daughter's case, she chose to shop for the perfect urn for her husband's ashes. She and her husband's family have also been putting together a photo display of her husband's life. These are difficult days for the whole family but by working together and grieving as a family we'll at least make it through the funeral in one piece.
There is also food to order and prepare because our custom is to feed the mourners after the funeral. Not until later in the evening, when all of the mourners have said their last goodbyes, will my daughter finally begin the healing process. There is no hurrying it...it will take as long as it takes. It's something that no-one else can share in or relieve the pain of. It will be done alone and in due time.
Funeral arrangements must be made and the funeral homes are expert in leading you through these arrangements with a minimum of hassle. They know how to make it all run smoothly and their staff is well trained in showing the proper respect and kindness.
There are flowers to be purchased and, in my daughter's case, she chose to shop for the perfect urn for her husband's ashes. She and her husband's family have also been putting together a photo display of her husband's life. These are difficult days for the whole family but by working together and grieving as a family we'll at least make it through the funeral in one piece.
There is also food to order and prepare because our custom is to feed the mourners after the funeral. Not until later in the evening, when all of the mourners have said their last goodbyes, will my daughter finally begin the healing process. There is no hurrying it...it will take as long as it takes. It's something that no-one else can share in or relieve the pain of. It will be done alone and in due time.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Grammas
My oldest grandson and his wife got me a great card for my birthday. It was obviously written by someone who was a Gramma or who understood what being a Gramma means.
The Top Ten Reasons Kids Need a Grandmother
10. Who else would even think of boasting about you to strangers?
9. Moms don't always respond positively to "Can I have that? Can I?"
8. "Over the river and through the woods to COUSIN SUE'S house
we go" just doesn't have the same ring to it.
7. No one else's place is more fun to visit.
6. Neat stories about the old days without that pesky "reading a
history book" thing.
5. Who hugs better?
4. A grandmother always knows when to put down what she's
doing and just listen.
3. Who else always makes sure to have your favorite treat on hand?
2. Moms and Dads tend not to tell embarrassing stories about
themselves.
#1. How else would we understand what unconditional love is?
To all the Grammas out there...every word is true, isn't it???
The Top Ten Reasons Kids Need a Grandmother
10. Who else would even think of boasting about you to strangers?
9. Moms don't always respond positively to "Can I have that? Can I?"
8. "Over the river and through the woods to COUSIN SUE'S house
we go" just doesn't have the same ring to it.
7. No one else's place is more fun to visit.
6. Neat stories about the old days without that pesky "reading a
history book" thing.
5. Who hugs better?
4. A grandmother always knows when to put down what she's
doing and just listen.
3. Who else always makes sure to have your favorite treat on hand?
2. Moms and Dads tend not to tell embarrassing stories about
themselves.
#1. How else would we understand what unconditional love is?
To all the Grammas out there...every word is true, isn't it???
Monday, August 06, 2007
Dog Days of Summer
These are the dog days of summer. It's 7 A.M. and the air is perfectly still, muggy and too warm already.
It's a holiday today so it's very quiet outside with little traffic noise from the main street a block away. An occasional tweet pierces the silence as a lone bird announces it's presence.
I've got to get some housework done this morning because company is coming this afternoon. Isn't it funny how we can tolerate a little mess in our homes as long as no-one else sees it but, knowing the eyes of others will spot any imperfection, we suddenly see all the dust and carelessly placed items? I have 2 major areas of accumulated paraphernalia...one is my computer desk and the other is the diningroom table where I tend to drop mail and other things that don't have an immediate destination. Things have been piling up in these 2 areas for some time now and it hasn't bothered me till today. Other eyes would look at this mess quite differently than mine have.
This got me thinking about how we practice our everyday lives. Sometimes we don't behave as well as we should until we stop to think about how others might perceive us. Is that conscience or social conditioning?
A young man wrote a letter to the editor of my local newspaper recently telling the public at large that he had every right to blast his car stereo and we should all just get used to it. He cited that we live in a large, noisy city and if someone wants peace and quiet they should move out to the country. That man has no concept of regarding the rights of others and obviously never adapted to the social conditioning of his youth.
Does this mean he's just immature or does it mean he's incapable of following any of the rules of society? Criminals are terribly self centered, becoming indignant when someone violates their rights but feeling no shame when they violate others. Most of us can't understand this but, when you really think about it, we all sort of pick and choose the societal rules we wish to follow. I guess the difference between being a rebel and a criminal is how badly your actions affect everyone else.
Today my rebellion against the performance of housework has to come to an end. My social conditioning has kicked in and I can't believe how I've been working all week at a desk cluttered with so much crap!
It's a holiday today so it's very quiet outside with little traffic noise from the main street a block away. An occasional tweet pierces the silence as a lone bird announces it's presence.
I've got to get some housework done this morning because company is coming this afternoon. Isn't it funny how we can tolerate a little mess in our homes as long as no-one else sees it but, knowing the eyes of others will spot any imperfection, we suddenly see all the dust and carelessly placed items? I have 2 major areas of accumulated paraphernalia...one is my computer desk and the other is the diningroom table where I tend to drop mail and other things that don't have an immediate destination. Things have been piling up in these 2 areas for some time now and it hasn't bothered me till today. Other eyes would look at this mess quite differently than mine have.
This got me thinking about how we practice our everyday lives. Sometimes we don't behave as well as we should until we stop to think about how others might perceive us. Is that conscience or social conditioning?
A young man wrote a letter to the editor of my local newspaper recently telling the public at large that he had every right to blast his car stereo and we should all just get used to it. He cited that we live in a large, noisy city and if someone wants peace and quiet they should move out to the country. That man has no concept of regarding the rights of others and obviously never adapted to the social conditioning of his youth.
Does this mean he's just immature or does it mean he's incapable of following any of the rules of society? Criminals are terribly self centered, becoming indignant when someone violates their rights but feeling no shame when they violate others. Most of us can't understand this but, when you really think about it, we all sort of pick and choose the societal rules we wish to follow. I guess the difference between being a rebel and a criminal is how badly your actions affect everyone else.
Today my rebellion against the performance of housework has to come to an end. My social conditioning has kicked in and I can't believe how I've been working all week at a desk cluttered with so much crap!
Sunday, August 05, 2007
And We Laughed
Amid all the sorrow when a loved one passes away there are still the precious moments when we allow ourselves to laugh in remembrance of the good times.
Today was no exception. It was quieter in the house with only a few friends calling or stopping by but there were bouts of laughter so loud and happy that a passerby might think we were being callous.
We reminded each other of the way Shelley referred to David as Dr. Doolittle because of his love for animals. It wouldn't be bad if he just loved them but he tended to adopt them and bring them home.
Kim told a funny story about how a small mouse got into the house one time and she, being crazed with fear, yelled for David to get rid of it. David complied but first he wanted to give it a saucer of milk before he set it loose outside.
David kept buying dogs and at one time they had 3 Jack Russells. He'd just get it into his head that they needed one more dog and show up at the house with it. After many complaints from Kim, he'd give the extra dog to a friend. The Jack Russells they kept often slept in bed with them...on David's side.
I remember when David brought home 2 lovebirds, their cage and all the rest of their needs. Kim put up with the mess for quite a while but David only relented in getting rid of the birds because they bit him unmercifully when he handled them. I believe they only love their own kind and hate people.
There are 2 aquariums in the livingroom. David needed fish. In fact, Kim had to save the life of one of them this morning when it got wedged in one of the doodads on the bottom of the aquarium.
Dr. Doolittle...we miss your spirit.
Today was no exception. It was quieter in the house with only a few friends calling or stopping by but there were bouts of laughter so loud and happy that a passerby might think we were being callous.
We reminded each other of the way Shelley referred to David as Dr. Doolittle because of his love for animals. It wouldn't be bad if he just loved them but he tended to adopt them and bring them home.
Kim told a funny story about how a small mouse got into the house one time and she, being crazed with fear, yelled for David to get rid of it. David complied but first he wanted to give it a saucer of milk before he set it loose outside.
David kept buying dogs and at one time they had 3 Jack Russells. He'd just get it into his head that they needed one more dog and show up at the house with it. After many complaints from Kim, he'd give the extra dog to a friend. The Jack Russells they kept often slept in bed with them...on David's side.
I remember when David brought home 2 lovebirds, their cage and all the rest of their needs. Kim put up with the mess for quite a while but David only relented in getting rid of the birds because they bit him unmercifully when he handled them. I believe they only love their own kind and hate people.
There are 2 aquariums in the livingroom. David needed fish. In fact, Kim had to save the life of one of them this morning when it got wedged in one of the doodads on the bottom of the aquarium.
Dr. Doolittle...we miss your spirit.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
David
I didn't know quite what title to use for this blog so I settled on "David" because he's the man whom this is all about.
Each day I travel over to my daughter's house, about 10 minutes drive away, and carry in my necessities for the day...tote bag with Swedish weaving, purse, Tim Hortons coffee for me and my 2 daughters. The yappy Jack Russell terriers meet me at the door...yapping, of course. I shed my shoes and carry the rest of the stuff into the livingroom, pausing only to check on David who lies inert in his hospital bed in the diningroom. Nothing too much changes from day to day except he falls a little further away from us.
Yesterday was terrible because David was in constant pain and/or discomfort but today his medications have been refined enough to keep him deeply sedated and relatively comfortable. I'm so grateful for his comfort. His labored breathing is all that signals he is still with us but no-one gives up hope that he might wake up any moment and give us a hint of the old David...I miss his ready laugh and even his dirty jokes.
Family and friends arrive and leave all day long. Tears flow but, for the most part, hearts have hardened to the inevitable and now want only to show respect for someone they care about. My daughters doggedly tend to his present needs as best they can.
When the home care nurse arrives, she has suggestions and solutions for David's care. The voices are hushed in deference to the sleeping figure in front of them. I just want to mention that the home care nurses must be angels in disguise because they show more compassion than seems possible. You would almost think that David is the prime concern in their lives...there is no hurried visit because they won't leave until they're positive they've done all they can. And when they do leave, it's to dispense their kindness and expertise on some other ailing individual who is dependent on them.
I go home around dinnertime and think long and hard on my way. I see the streets as I pass and think how David will never pass that way again. I come into the house and think how David will never enter there again. As I water my flowers on the back deck I remember the great times we've had sitting outside and enjoying warm summer evenings. David can't be there ever again. "Never again"...those words are just too painful.
Each day I travel over to my daughter's house, about 10 minutes drive away, and carry in my necessities for the day...tote bag with Swedish weaving, purse, Tim Hortons coffee for me and my 2 daughters. The yappy Jack Russell terriers meet me at the door...yapping, of course. I shed my shoes and carry the rest of the stuff into the livingroom, pausing only to check on David who lies inert in his hospital bed in the diningroom. Nothing too much changes from day to day except he falls a little further away from us.
Yesterday was terrible because David was in constant pain and/or discomfort but today his medications have been refined enough to keep him deeply sedated and relatively comfortable. I'm so grateful for his comfort. His labored breathing is all that signals he is still with us but no-one gives up hope that he might wake up any moment and give us a hint of the old David...I miss his ready laugh and even his dirty jokes.
Family and friends arrive and leave all day long. Tears flow but, for the most part, hearts have hardened to the inevitable and now want only to show respect for someone they care about. My daughters doggedly tend to his present needs as best they can.
When the home care nurse arrives, she has suggestions and solutions for David's care. The voices are hushed in deference to the sleeping figure in front of them. I just want to mention that the home care nurses must be angels in disguise because they show more compassion than seems possible. You would almost think that David is the prime concern in their lives...there is no hurried visit because they won't leave until they're positive they've done all they can. And when they do leave, it's to dispense their kindness and expertise on some other ailing individual who is dependent on them.
I go home around dinnertime and think long and hard on my way. I see the streets as I pass and think how David will never pass that way again. I come into the house and think how David will never enter there again. As I water my flowers on the back deck I remember the great times we've had sitting outside and enjoying warm summer evenings. David can't be there ever again. "Never again"...those words are just too painful.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Dog, the Bounty Hunter
Being a psychology nut, I analyze all my feelings whether they be likes, dislikes, fears, etc. and lately I've been trying to understand what I see in Dog, the bounty hunter.
I'm unable to shrug off my fascination with him, his wife, and his one son. The others I can take or leave but not those three. Dog can look pretty silly with his long, dyed blonde hair and his warrior clothing but there's something so darned sweet about him.
Beth is the kind of woman I'd love to have for a friend. Her blousy dyed blonde hair and way, way too tight hooker clothing can't seem to hide that heart of gold. I do worry all the time that her gigantic boobs will make her fall on her face, though.
Leland, Dog's son, has a smile that would melt anyone's heart. The fact that he has a shaved head with a pony tail and also dresses in silly warrior clothing is beside the point.
Every time I watch one of their T.V. shows I pick it apart unmercifully and make note of every ridiculous, overdramatic phrase out of Dog's mouth and the unbelievably silly sight of these weirdly clothed men chasing after boring criminals. I watch Beth with her chubby little body stuffed into the tightest and shortest clothing possible and wonder if those huge breasts hurt when she breaths.
I'm unable to shrug off my fascination with him, his wife, and his one son. The others I can take or leave but not those three. Dog can look pretty silly with his long, dyed blonde hair and his warrior clothing but there's something so darned sweet about him.
Beth is the kind of woman I'd love to have for a friend. Her blousy dyed blonde hair and way, way too tight hooker clothing can't seem to hide that heart of gold. I do worry all the time that her gigantic boobs will make her fall on her face, though.
Leland, Dog's son, has a smile that would melt anyone's heart. The fact that he has a shaved head with a pony tail and also dresses in silly warrior clothing is beside the point.
Every time I watch one of their T.V. shows I pick it apart unmercifully and make note of every ridiculous, overdramatic phrase out of Dog's mouth and the unbelievably silly sight of these weirdly clothed men chasing after boring criminals. I watch Beth with her chubby little body stuffed into the tightest and shortest clothing possible and wonder if those huge breasts hurt when she breaths.
But I like these people. They exude an innocence and honesty that I can't help but find appealing. They are all "characters" who don't care to change themselves to blend in with the so-called average people in society. I'd love to have all of them for buddies because they're darned interesting people.
I worry about Dog because he smokes too much and has a terrible cough. I worry about Beth's boobs causing her back problems. I'd like to see Leland married to a nice Hawaiian girl.
When T.V. characters can make you actually care about their welfare, they must be something special. I have no idea what it is but Dog and his crew have it.
Life is Tenacious
We've had 90 degree temperatures for almost a week now and they will be with us for another 2 weeks. This is so unusual for a Canadian summer.
Because I'm away from the house most of the day my garden becomes very dry and wilted so I try to water early in the morning and then again in the evening. It tickles me to see the wilted plants soak up the water and come back to life but I always worry they might have suffered too much heat to make the trip back.
The front of my house bears the brunt of afternoon full sun so I've planted a lot of Portulaca out there. That is an amazing plant, can take drought and hot sun for ages and still flower with no sign of wilting. It's sure facing a challenge this summer but so far is succeeding easily.
My neighbors seem to have given up wasting water on their lawns so I've got the greenest lawn on the block. I started letting it grow longer and keeping the lawn mower blades high this year so that could also have helped to keep it green. Whatever the reason I'm doing something right and, although there are some burnt patches, the lawn looks pretty good.
Unfortunately, the weeds love this kind of weather and I don't get out as often to pull them up so they're gaining too strong a foothold. I just think that one day soon I'll have more time to play in the garden and I'll get them then. But it will have to be when the heat wave is over.
Because I'm away from the house most of the day my garden becomes very dry and wilted so I try to water early in the morning and then again in the evening. It tickles me to see the wilted plants soak up the water and come back to life but I always worry they might have suffered too much heat to make the trip back.
The front of my house bears the brunt of afternoon full sun so I've planted a lot of Portulaca out there. That is an amazing plant, can take drought and hot sun for ages and still flower with no sign of wilting. It's sure facing a challenge this summer but so far is succeeding easily.
My neighbors seem to have given up wasting water on their lawns so I've got the greenest lawn on the block. I started letting it grow longer and keeping the lawn mower blades high this year so that could also have helped to keep it green. Whatever the reason I'm doing something right and, although there are some burnt patches, the lawn looks pretty good.
Unfortunately, the weeds love this kind of weather and I don't get out as often to pull them up so they're gaining too strong a foothold. I just think that one day soon I'll have more time to play in the garden and I'll get them then. But it will have to be when the heat wave is over.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Nursing
My son-in-law is home and being cared for mainly by my two daughters. My purpose, it seems, is to keep watch over him when they leave the room for any reason. Since he's so well taken care of I guess my purpose is acceptable.
You know how sometimes you view a situation and that picture will be with you forever? Well, today my son-in-law's parents and aunt came into the house. I greeted them with hugs and then returned to my "watch spot" so I'd be out of the way and let them have good access to the patient. David's father went directly to his son and spoke a few words before retreating to a chair on the other side of the room. David's mother, aunt, and my two daughters hovered over him, straightening the sheets, smoothing his brow, and talking to him. He was unresponsive but they skittered around him wanting to do something to help...trying to do anything.
It was the picture of the four women doing whatever they could think of to make David more comfortable that struck me as such a poignant scene. They don't love David any more than his father but his Dad stepped away to let the women do what women have to do, and that is to physically care for one of their own. They can't stop the cancer but they can straighten the sheets.
I don't mean to say that the ability to be a good nurse is found only in women. I just mean that the job of caring for the sick usually falls on the able and willing hands of women. The male nurses I've come across, however capable, lack the feminine touch. My opinion only!
David's family come every day to see him and always bearing great amounts of food for family and visitors alike. I can't imagine what thoughts go through his parents' minds because I've never had the misfortune to lose a child. I do know that your child remains your "child" forever regardless of age. David's parents arrive with love and sorrow for their son but they also arrive with love and support for the rest of us.
Thank heavens for family.
You know how sometimes you view a situation and that picture will be with you forever? Well, today my son-in-law's parents and aunt came into the house. I greeted them with hugs and then returned to my "watch spot" so I'd be out of the way and let them have good access to the patient. David's father went directly to his son and spoke a few words before retreating to a chair on the other side of the room. David's mother, aunt, and my two daughters hovered over him, straightening the sheets, smoothing his brow, and talking to him. He was unresponsive but they skittered around him wanting to do something to help...trying to do anything.
It was the picture of the four women doing whatever they could think of to make David more comfortable that struck me as such a poignant scene. They don't love David any more than his father but his Dad stepped away to let the women do what women have to do, and that is to physically care for one of their own. They can't stop the cancer but they can straighten the sheets.
I don't mean to say that the ability to be a good nurse is found only in women. I just mean that the job of caring for the sick usually falls on the able and willing hands of women. The male nurses I've come across, however capable, lack the feminine touch. My opinion only!
David's family come every day to see him and always bearing great amounts of food for family and visitors alike. I can't imagine what thoughts go through his parents' minds because I've never had the misfortune to lose a child. I do know that your child remains your "child" forever regardless of age. David's parents arrive with love and sorrow for their son but they also arrive with love and support for the rest of us.
Thank heavens for family.
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