Bordom

At lunchtime I make myself a meal and for company switch on PBS and watch English comedies for an hour with no irritating ads. One day as I was finishing my meal I turned to Discovery Channel and found myself watching something the like of which I have never seen before. I am still not sure of the title but it has disaster in it somewhere.
I was watching a fireman approaching an old ruin of a house. The cameraman is telling him he can smell gas so he should be careful. Fireman grunts
"Uhuh", AND PROCEEDS TO LIGHT A FLARE!! Camera man says
"Hey Vern..."as Vern TOSSES THE FLARE TOWARD THE HOUSE!! Seems this is a training exercise and they are starting a controlled fire.
Well... Kablooey!! Not only Vern, the idiot, but the cameraman and everyone else goes sky high.
"Holy...." can be heard right at the beginning, then silence for a bit, then a bunch of dishevelled firemen can be seen staggering around all black and sooty. Camera man is bitching like mad...
"I told you Vern...!"
I laughed till I cried
A week later I watched in the company of an offspring, another idiot try to race a homemade boat in a lake in Lower Bewtock, Alabama. The boat flew into a million bits and Bewtock man literally skipped like a stone over the water at 100 mph. We were thrilled to watch him bounce along on his head for at least 2 minutes. We were kinked!
Bewtock man of course survived and is looking to repeat his performance again as soon as he can find enough bits of his boat to put together. I 'll be there!

Potty Humour

The eldest grandson is currently entranced with rude words. Vile utterances such as pee pee and poo poo are used at every opportunity. His Dad asked him whether he wanted to eat and Daniel, who was deep in painting a masterpiece at the dining room table replied in a most off hand fashion,
"Bum bum,"
and went right on painting.
This one is for you Daniel.
Why did the lobster blush? Because the sea weed!
Love, Nana

What Goes Up Etc.

I have been busy the last two weeks apart from short forays for sustenance taking care of The Better Half who had the misfortune to fall off our roof. We have roofs of varying heights and this was one of the lower ones; a mere seven feet. If you are going to hit the deck and he did, better it be a low roof.
The recovery time has been slow. Vertical or perpendicular are the positions of choice. Sitting brings on agony. We are very grateful nothing was broken, merely bruised. Pride included. However we have found that when you are truly in need help comes.
First there was "Old Tom" who went shinnying up our ladders and got the gutters cleaned out. He has a job for life as far as we are concerned! Then there was the kind offer of help from an offspring and a near offspring to come and help shove furniture around to conform to feng shui requirements. Then there was another offspring who came up for two days after the mishap to fetch and carry up and down the stairs, bringing tea and toast to the invalid and sparing my gammy hip. Also the phone calls asking for updates and wishing well. Thank you one and all.
The invalid is no longer bed bound but was able to work four half days last week and is going to try for full days this week. His chiropractor has him all bound up with black herby smelling tape which combined with her pretzel twisting of his limbs has him complaining loudly but feeling better. This week we are trying for nightly swims in a warm salt water pool. Hopefully the walking stick will soon be a thing of the past. I think it carries his and hers just a bit too far.

34 and Counting

When I was a young thing, many moons ago, we went on a trip to Cape Cod. It was July and the Americans were all a twitter about the up coming presidential elections. The front runner was a senator called John Kennedy and his opponent was Richard Nixon. Tricky Dicky he was called. Nobody had a name for Kennedy as nobody knew who he was. Well off we trundled deep into the Boston States, our trailer hitched behind us. We had had a fabulous ride down the brand new 401, Anne and I in said trailer, watching in thrilled horror as all the cuboard doors flew open and dishes and food came crashing down. We expected death at any moment and waved frantically to the back of our parents heads in the car ahead. Finally we were seen and Dad pulled over. We wondered off to pick daisies while the parental units had fits over the mess. While the little trailer stood by the side of the road an OPP policeman pulled up and checked the thing over. When he found out Anne and I had been rattling about in it while it was being towed, he had a fit. That was the end of that for the rest of the trip.
It was books and crayons until the next pit stop. We ended up in Boston on a stinking hot July day, then slowly made our way to a campsite on the seashore. It was near a Howard Johnson's Hotel and that became my introduction to fried clams, lobster rolls and Ho Jo's 34 flavours of ice cream. Pops was nothing if not competitive so right then the push was on to have a go at each flavour, no favourites allowed. We ate stuff that looked vile and tasted worse but we were undeterred. I don't think we missed a HoJo on the Eastern Seaboard from Boston up to Maine to New Hampshire then through Vermont. We tried them all. I loved the fried clams and adored the lobster rolls but there was always that ice cream cone lurking. I don't know if I tried them all. I can't remember and the others of our little band are in no positon to remember either. I do remember ploughing through something called Rocky Road and encountering peanuts. I haven't touched it since.
And Kennedy won we were happy to see, as he was so much cuter than old Tricky Dicky who seemed to sweat a lot. This is important when you are thirteen. That's all, a bit of history with a personal touch.

Happy Hallowe'en

Here's a Hallowe'en joke for you. Two nuns are driving through Transylvania when a huge hairy vampire leaps in front of their car.
"Quick, "says the driver nun to the other. "Show him your cross!"
The passenger nun rolls down the window, leans out and yells:
"Sod off, you great hairy git!"

Have a hauntingly good evening.

Launched

I don't know why this popped into my head the other day but thinking about it made me laugh. It's a little story about my Dad that happened 47 years ago when he still had a sense of humour and he needed it, as you will see.
It was a hot summer afternoon and my parents had friends over. My Dad was sitting in his favourite rocking chair sharing his recent fun on a brand new Air Canada jet. It may have been TCA (Trans Canada Airways) still, for all I knew. Jets had just come into passenger service. My Dad had hoped to fly during the war but couldn't as he was colour blind. Instead he learned how to shoot them down but had never lost his keen interest in flight. Little did he know he would be making an unexpected one of his own. He was describing the jet take off as compared to a prop plane that sort of drags itself up. The jets took off much more dramatically and Dad was in full throttle, arms extended, taking off once more to share the thrill of it all with us, when he went a tad too far into that wild blue yonder and over he went backwards in the rocker with a mighty crash. All that could be seen were his little legs waving in the air with his little slippers flapping on the ends of them.
Pandemonium broke out as several men rushed to haul him upright. It took a Yorkshire friend to come up with the perfect bon mot.
"You're right Jim, it is quite the take off!" Everybody laughed, including my Dad, though my Mum was still fussing about broken bones. He was fine and continued to sit in his rocker but his stories weren't quite so dramatic and he didn't rock.

Dies Irae

Today has been a day worth forgetting as everything that could possibly go wrong did. To crown it all we now, in the late afternoon have snow which is staying!!! October 21st and there is snow on the ground! I know I am taking this personally and of course it has nothing really to do with me but everything and I mean everything that I have done today has gone awry. Not huge things to be sure but all those small things do start to add up, until you begin to wonder what the message is, or even is there a message and am I perhaps some sort of blithering idiot to assume that my life is generally calm and really it is just contained chaos and today I woke out of my coma and saw it for what it is. Frustrating!!!!(... and full of run on sentences.) I was hoping that by writing it down I would release the accumulated energy and feel better but no. Thich Nat Hanh is right . The more energy you feed anger the angrier you feel.
Right, I will switch gears. At this moment the computer is working fine... toi toi toi...We have heat in the house, and the grub in the oven is beginning to smell sentimental. The snow is quite pretty if it can be seen from a warm dry spot. The cat is sitting beside me and purring. I have time to write this uninterrupted and there is always the hope of a better day tomorrow. To those of you who feel the gag reflex coming on I apologize but old Thich is right. I do feel a little better and I don't care what anyone says. It is all about me so there!

Jam

I have been making jam all summer long. It started with a box of red currants I bought on impulse and had no idea of what to do with. Next was a few boxes of blueberries that called my name one Saturday at the farmer's market. Then we were dragging home peaches by the gross and oh yes those gooseberries that were keen to spend time in a jar and on it went. As we speak I have strawberries on the stove bubbling away. Late in the season for them but the local fruit was mouldy this year and I have fear of hives so strawberries fell by the way until I saw some beauts all the way from California and organic to boot. Yes, I tried the 100 mile thingy last year and the food got very dreary very quickly so we are back to our old wasteful but delicious habits. Ah yes, there are also two jars of fig and plum jam and of course plain old plum. Enough I hope to get us through the winter with a little bottled sunshine!
This all came about after I watched the French cooking show where she made a very old fashioned apricot jam. It looked wonderful and the ingredients were so simple, as was the method. I had to have a go. My pantry is looking very Mennonitey! There were all those green tomatoes this year as well and they are all sitting happily with their pepper and onion companions in the pantry too. The eating doesn't interest me half as much as the making but that's o.k. as there is The Better Half who puts his heart and soul into the eating. Something for everyone!

What's in a Name?

I was rereading a favourite author of mine last week and found a bit that I had passed over for other funny stuff. This has been a delight for days now. I may never get over the sheer insultibility of it and its delightful picturesqueness. It is one politician going on about another in the Australian Parliament. One MP calls the PM a "useless nong!" I was in kinks. What a word. Think of all the people in our lives over the years that fill that bill. Sheer heaven.
Another epithet rose closer to home in a Globe and Mail article where a reporter was giving out about our PM. The phrase he used was "... the relentless dorkiness of the man." That was another huge delight. The inventiveness of the English language is wonderful especially when applied to politicians. Of course it can also be applied to whomever you wish and with great joy. There are plenty of useless nongs out and about. And dorks. I too have had my moments of dorkiness and nongness but fortunately I am not in the public eye. There, but for the grace of God ... though some of you may have your own opinions on that.

In Mrs. Mallum's Store

Her eyes are dim she cannot see
She dropped her false teeth in her tea
She dropped her false teeth in her tea!
Sung to the tune of the Quartermaster's Store
We called it Mrs. Mallum's Store. Mrs Mallum was small and gnarly and wore an apron and a turbin. There was always a half finished cig hanging off the end of her lower lip. She had a nasty way of squinting at you. We hated her. She was the head cook at my school when I was a lowly adolescent and was responsible for some amazingly horrid recipes that resulted in some astoundingly horrible meals.
Every day of the week had it's specials . That is you knew it was Monday because come dinnertime you would be looking down at a plate of boiled fish, boiled potato and stewed tomato, completely bereft of anything but salt and very little of that! To follow would be semolina pud, a tasty concoction of wheat boiled in skim milk with a micro dot of red jam plopped in the middle.
Funny thing was we ate this stuff and some took seconds. Hunger will do that to you. The meal we waited for all week was pies, peas and chips, with sponge pud and custard for afters. We would sneak the little pies down the row of girls and hide them under our jerseys for later in the day. That hunger thing again! This meal was really good. The chips were wonderful and the sponge pud absolute stultifying heaven. We would line up for seconds! We would be so stuffed we could hardly walk. Mrs. Mallum in looking back, seems now to be an idiot savant. Four days of the week you ate to live and Tuesdays you lived to eat.
The nuns would sit at their own table eating the same muck but perhaps they were using it as a penance. The lay teachers sat at their own table too but they wouldn't eat it. They would slop it about on their plates then hare out to the staff room to light up. That would kill the hunger pangs I guess. They all reeked of cigs but then, in those far off days, most people did. That was Mrs. Mallum's secret ingredient. The ash off her ciggie. Well you know what they say. What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.

Donald Again

For those of you who care here is wee Donald again.

Ah jus cum doon fra the Isle of Skye
Ah'm awfy wee an Ah'm kinda shy
The lassies shout as Ah gan by
Donald wheer's yer troosers?

Let the wind bla high
Let the wind bla low
Through the streets in ma kilt Ah'll go
All the lassies shout hullo!
Donald wheer's yer troosers?

There are more verses about wee Donald and posh girls with plummy accents but I don't remember them. Andy Stewart used to sing this when I was a kid. He was a wee Scot. If you want the tune you can call and I will sing. Poor you.

Waiting for Ike

Having a very peaceful day waiting for Hurricane Ike to pay a call. We are to get masses of rain and lots of wind. Right now it feels like the inside of a wet sock so I for one will be glad to see the back of Ike. It has brought back memories of the time we had a real hurricane.
In 1954 I think it was. We had just moved to our new home in Scarborough from London. We still had no phone. I remember my Dad driving us to the pay phone up the road. It was raining very hard. My Mum called my Gran who lived a few miles north of us to warn them I guess about the coming storm. I don't know for sure but my Dad was always keen on letting you know when trouble might be coming your way. We then went home and listened to the wind roar all night. The next day we went out to see what the world looked like after Hazel and there was Ma's telephone booth off it's moorings and yards down the road on it's side. My sister and I were electrified! Mummy might have blown away!!! We were little don't forget. Had we been ten years older we would have seen it as a lost opportunity. Teenagers....aaaargh. The sad part came later when I read in the papers how so many people drowned. Many in the Humber River and lots in the Holland Marsh. Those poor souls had resettled in Canada after the terrible floods in Holland in 1953. Little did they know the Marsh was even deadlier than home.
I think I will pack it in now. The thought of Ike is beginning to get me rattled. Time to get out the paper and pencils and settle down to something soothing.
"Let the wind blow high
Let the wind blow low
Through the streets in ma kilt ah'll go
All the lassies shout hullo
Donald! weer's yer troosers? "

Up Up and Away 2008

We are off again on our annual holiday for a thrilling two weeks by the lake. As long as it doesn't snow or flood I will be happy. It's the usual low key holiday (we are saving the whoop de doo for February). The place has a private beach that is huge and in September very quiet. The weather reports don't look too great but one can walk along the shore under an umbrella. The town is a short walk away and there is also a fine library and a cinema. What more do you need?
We have little Jakey's birthday bunfight tomorrow and thank goodness the sun will shine on that though I think it may be a bit nippy for water sports. We do have Ronny the Robot to terrorize the kiddiewinks and a rebounder for those that feel the need to slip the surly bonds but I am dubious about the pool. It certainly is chilly today. Perhaps it will warm up for tomorrow. After the birthday boy has departed we hop in our Rav and hit the road, third gear all the way!It's all go around here! See you in two weeks and lang may your lum reek!

Who's a Happy Bunny Then? II

That was really odd. I put up my title and hey presto bongo I was published, without writing a thing. I was so disturbed by the seeming aliveness of this wretched machine that what I was going to write about has shot right out of my head. Who was that bunny and why was she happy? We will never know now as I have developed short term memory disorder along with a gammy leg and a few other nasty things we won't dwell on. I can predict what will happen though and no crystal ball needed. Tonight around 2 a.m. when I usually waken I will remember said bunny and have it all written down in my head. Of course I won't write it down as that would mean a light and pen and paper and then I would be awake until the second coming. By dawn's early light I am lucky to remember who I am and what I am doing here, never mind poor bunny. All I know about her is that she was happy ....I'm thinking.... Sorry. Better luck next time.

Who's a Happy Bunny Then?

My Right Leg (what's left of it -no pun intended !)

This is to save a bunch of phone calls to all of you who have been watching me this past while hobbling around on my gammy leg. The verdict is in . The leg is past it's due date and has to be replaced. Now that I know what is wrong I can try to set about putting it right. I have a list of alternative things to do starting with Yoga, specific scio treatments, laser therapy etc. Even the doctor wasn't too happy about hip replacement nor am I so we will see what else is on offer. I am nothing if not resourceful. My leg and I thank all of you for your concern and we are now off on our adventures. If you are not bored to your back teeth yet, just wait for the updates!

Hair (and I don't mean the musical)

I have a wedding to attend this weekend that is causing me no amount of stress. I have finally found something to wear that is not drab or shapeless. I even went to the mall an act of desperation if ever there was one. But this epistle is not about my shopping woes or even about my lack of fashion sense. It is rather about my large head and even larger thatch of hair. I suppose I should be grateful that as I approach my dotage I approach it with a head of thick wiry hair and am not heading for a chrome dome. Said hair though has become an issue. The older I get the more uncontrollable it becomes.
"No problem " says the hairdresser and slaps dye on the tangle and thins it out. For a little while I am convinced that is the answer but I should know better. Six weeks later the stuff has turned me into an ambulatory haystack. Which makes me think of the Queen Mother. The press once referred to her as an "ambulatory Christmas tree!"(She liked all of her jewellery, also hats scarves... you get the picture. )
A hairdresser once told me that if I wore my hair too short I would look like a pea on a mountain. This was during one of my sojourns in the north of England. They tend to be a bit blunt. You may have noticed. Since then I have tried and tried to wear it long but all I look is a mess. Well enough is enough and the hair has had to go. Pea on a mountain or not at least I can see where I am going and can get a hat on my bonce when I need to. We are now back to what one offspring referred to as the George Clooney look. Ahh.. George! Now there is a head.

Yodele He Hoo

Well the Marias are over. The girl who won was a big shock to everyone including me. I had my eye on two girls right from the start and it was down to the wire when the dark horse won. There have been a lot of rumblings about the whole thing being rigged. Then front page news when one of the judges who didn't show for the last two sing offs was charged with assault and forcible confinement. Well! What would Maria think of that!
I am the only one I know dopey enough to watch this stuff. The Dearly Beloved not only left the room when it was on he even on a number of times left the building. I can't help myself. I am a sucker for anything even palely Austrian even sentimental tripe like the Sound of Music or Sound of Mucus as Christopher Plummer called it. All those would be Marias galloping around in their upmarket dirndls yodeling their little hearts out had me entranced while the real Austrian in the family was elsewhere quietly throwing up.
So it's all over now. I won't be going to see the play as my favourite didn't win and I can be as sour a grape as anyone else. I wonder if the naughty judge's confinee was named Maria? :( :( :(

Scrambled Eggs

That's what I have for brains at times- scrambled eggs. I woke up at two this morning and realized that I had got the quote wrong for the previous blog. Here is how it really goes, not that anyone cares, but I do.
"For the want of a nail the shoe was lost, for the want of a shoe the horse was lost, for the want of a horse the rider was lost, for the want of a rider the battle was lost, for the want of a battle the kingdom was lost, all for the want of a horseshoe nail!"
There! Got it right at last. Maybe I will sleep tonight.

All for the Want of a Horseshoe Nail

I just finished watching one of my favourite programs on television. It is called Mayday and is for me the fascination of horror. It is the reenaction of air, sea and rail disasters and the subsequent research as to how it happened and how it could be prevented from happening again. Riveting!
This episode was about a B.A. flight from Birmingham to Spain. They were but a few minutes into the flight when the window blew out taking the pilot with it. He was held by the legs by cabin crew while the poor co-pilot { it was his first time on that aircraft} got the plane down in one piece. Facinating as that was, the real interest began when the hunt was on for why it happened. I won't say anymore as you may be watching the Discovery Channel one day and find yourself watching this and I don't want to spoil the surprise ending for you.
I will give you a clue. There is an old nursery rhyme about the downfall of Richard the Third of England in the Battle of Boswell.
" For the want of a nail the shoe was lost; for the want of a shoe the horse was lost; for the want of a horse the King was lost; for the want of the King the battle was lost; all for the want of a horseshoe nail!"
Not to belabour the point but almost always, unless someone was asleep at the switch { which has happened! } these accidents are tiny mistakes people make unwittingly that balloon into catastrophes. You know what they say: live in the now.

Bedlam

Bedlam for those of you who are unaware is the corruption of the name Bethlehem which was an infamous insane asylum in Georgian England. Of course now it means any form of loud chaos as in: "It sounds like Bedlam in here. Put a sock in it!"
On Thursday I went to the nursing home to visit Mum who went out to lunch a few years ago and failed to return. She seems happy enough and likes to wallop the chap who hands out communion as I wheel her down to the Chapel for Mass. When she is not giving people a clip she mutters to herself what sound a lot like curses and makes throttling gestures. She's not too different from when she was completely with us. She is still pretty angry. However back to Bedlam.
I took my camera with me last week as I said I would send pictures of her to our Uncle Ted who is in England. He hasn't seen her since she became ill and phones often to check up on her. I was clicking away in the Chapel when one of the inmates from the psych ward rose up and began to point and scream. She was afraid of the camera and very angry about having her picture taken. It was sort of a domino effect. All it took was for one to start then they were all at it with whatever display of distress that they have. The noise was incredible! I backed off with the offending camera to find that the gal who had started the ruckus was now to my rear and shouting to anyone who cared that I was here to murder my Mother!
Off to the races again! The poor minders, of whom there are few, had a very tumultuous hour. We got on with the service and to my relief my stalker was led away still shouting the odds. There was lingering agitation but the noise level had dropped. I think there is a special place in Heaven for people who care for these lost souls. I wouldn't last five minutes!

Once Upon a Mattress

Two weeks ago I went to a pajama party. It has been years since I was at a pyjama party and as pyjama parties go this one was very quiet and rather costly. It was a promotion from the local mattress store. Show up in your jammies and get 10% off sale prices. I had been longing for a Tempur mattress for a long time and this seemed to be the time and the place. However my night attire is for comfort only and is never seen abroad. If I was bold enough to head out in public in my slippersloppers and nightie would my Significant Other take the plunge and go to the do in night attire too? No he would not. I was alone in my quest for a discount apparently.
Well, nine o'clock on a Sat night off we go, me in my finery and S.O. in street attire.
We were the only ones there. The staff were in very swish night garments and were so pleased to see customers that we were treated to lavish attention and lots of yummy savouries from the gourmet market next door. It was starting to feel like a party after all!
After bouncing around on a bewildering number of sample mattresses I settled on the bed of my dreams then found to my dismay that it was not on sale. However as I had shown up in my Granny jammies they felt they would honour the discount after all. I also got two free Swedish pillows! I saved hundreds of dollars and got the mattress of my dreams! I haven't slept on it yet as it is still gassing out. You are supposed to walk on them to release the fumes but as there is barely head room standing on the floor, the mattress has had to off gas the old fashioned way via an open window. I can be patient. Next to sleeping on it, it is almost as good to admire it from a safe distance. I will report on its comfort level in another blog i.e. if I ever get to sleep on it.

Farmer Giles

On my way home from a working visit with the family my Dear One said that a younger family member had asked him what a Farmer Giles accent was. Dear One was a bit confounded and might have been able to come up with a Bauer Hansl accent but Farmer Giles was beyond him. So for the enquiring mind here is Farmer Giles:
"Oim Faamer Goiles an oi com fraam the West Country, you know, Devon, Caarnwall, Zomerzet an such loike.
Oi has cows. Oi loves cows. Lovely beasts they be. Oi has Bessie an Daisy an Buttercup an lil Fruitcake an oi loves em all! Grand milkers the lot o they. Cept lil fruitcake an he's off to the knackers in a bit. Too bad, he's a dear lil toad. Moi cows is loverly milkers ceptin lil Fruitcake a' course. They let down soomat lovely ceptin when they has grab bag, poor toads. Oi hates it when moi gals get grab bag. Roight nasty they gets an who can blame em? A case o grab bag would lower anyone oi recken, if they had a bag o course. Well enough o they natterin, oi has to see to moi liddle maids, they 's bellerin summat fierce. Loverly talkin at you. Boi now."
There you have it. Farmer Giles.

Mrs. Jackson

I have been reading "The Batchelor Brothers Bed and Breakfast" and the bit where he started piano lessons brought back in all it's misery my years with Mrs. Jackson.
I was eight years old and we had been given an old upright piano. It was full of moths so that when you made a loud noise beside it all the moths would fly out in a panic. This provided my sister and I with many happy hours. The moths were finally dealt with and it was on to culture. I was sent off to a house across the fields for my after school hour with Mrs. Jackson the piano teacher. She looked like Fran Drescher on a bad hair day if Franny was 50 pounds over her prime. She wore a long flowery dressing gown, always the same one and her house smelled of cabbage. She had a little rat dog called Peppy who got poisoned one day ( no surprise there) who added to the drama by biting anyone he met.
At first I went with my pal Nenagh but she bailed after a year and left me to it. Mrs. Jackson spared no punches. If your hands were not placed right you got a whack with a ruler. Then coins were put on the back of your hands. God help you if they fell off. You stood out side the room gazing at the kitchen where the cabbage smells came out in a yellow cloud and had to shout to Mrs. Jackson which note she was playing. She wanted us to have pefect pitch she said. I to this day don't know why. I was in terror all the time that rat dog Peppy might come out and savage my ankle socks.
Once a year we had a recital. My first year I played the Eaton Auditorium in a duet with Nenagh who froze when she saw the audience. It is hard to play a duet by yourself. The next year it was in a living room some where, where I decided to riff on my little piece of Chopin much to Mrs. Jackson's chagrin. I thought it was nice.
I plodded on in misery for a while longer when it occured to me that I really did not have to do this. I think it was the first time I had ever said no to my parents. The mothy piano vanished shortly after and my sister got a keyboard to learn on and a hunky young man who taught group lessons in the school across the road. Some people have all the luck.

Oh Woe is Me !

My computer has had a few bad days. I also have had a few bad days. Having a sick computer is sort of like having a sick baby. All they can do is cry or deliver rude pop ups and you don't know where they hurt because they can't tell you. I tried to explain to a very clever family member who worked hard to make the poor pc feel better again but no... PC Dr. had to be called and over his little expensive self came. There were several hours of ministering to the invalid then all seemed to be well... until...I tried to get to my blog two days later. Apparently I had no blog. A year's worth of anecdotes and stories up the spout! PC Dr. was called and gave over the phone a lot of rather contradictory information. The situation worsened as my favourites selection disappeared. Clever family member was called at an after work drinky get together and she too was at a loss. The horror! What was one to do? Thank goodness another clever family member hove into sight expecting his dinner and got instead moi in tears over the lost blog and making bashing gestures at the computer. Another computer was called into action and lo and behold there my blog was, only not on the cured one! More manouvering by clever family member and here I am telling you this tale of very minor woe. Tears were dried, a very nice dinner brought to the table and peace restored. I really need to get a grip on making mountains out of molehills or perhaps I am in need of a holiday in order to ponder my lack of perspective.

Signs [with apologies to you know who]

Aries:
I have an idea! Let me at it!.... Gone.
Taurus:
Oh I have an idea. Hmmmm...let me think about that for a bit. Hmmm....
Gemini:
I have an idea! I have an idea! Shut up will you I'm depressed. I have an idea! Shut up!
Cancer:
I have an idea. Let me fluff up those pillows before I leave. I do love a pretty home.
Leo:
I have an idea!!!!!! I have an idea !!!!!!! Me ! I have an idea! me!me!me!me!me........
Virgo:
I have an idea. Let me stay with this a while. Hmm....Let me sleep on it. Don't call me I'll call you.
Libra:
I have an idea. It seems a good idea. Maybe not. No, it is a good idea. Or is it?
Scorpio:
I have an idea. I'm not telling. I like the puzzled look on your face. Say what? Just a sec while I whip out my tail!
Sagittarius:
I have an idea. It's a great one. I'll get right on it. Whoops, I just walked into the wall!
Capricorn:
I have an idea. I am going to think it through. Thoroughly. And then I will do it all by myself so it will be perfect. Ehew!
Aquarius:
I have a brilliant idea! I have another brilliant idea! Wow I have a brilliant idea! Gosh what a fabulous idea!.....
Pices: I have an idea? I do? Really? Me? Are you sure about that?

Pax Romana

I have started watching a program called Rome that came out a while ago. I saw the ads for it and thought ugh! It will be all blood and guts and poking out of eyes and other delights that the Romans liked to do for a relaxing evening out. I was right! It is a totally disgusting program full of really good British actors doing, in their guise as Romans, truly horrible things to each other.
I have avoided anything to do with the Romans all my life. I was born in a land conquered by them and walked along Hadrian's Wall for picnics when I was a kid. My Dad drove along Roman roads. The one we used a lot is called the A 12 now but still arrow straight to the destination. We all knew Newcastle's name was Corstopitum which made us laugh. I can't think why. So growing up I felt that I had had a basin full of the Romans and to top it all off there was a lot of merry making when relatives got together on how we were descended from these nasty people. When they weren't guffawing about marauding Danes. Take your pick!
We were studying our invaders at school and as the list of their wicked ways grew I became more and more convinced that I was merely an ancient Briton. There I was cooking my woad and tending the kiddiwinks and had not a drop of Roman DNA in me never mind that shower across the North Sea.
I am not sure when the Romans became the flavour of the age but "I Claudius" drew an admiring crowd and now we have "Rome" in all its vulgarity and brutality. It makes "The Sopranos" look like little lambs frolicking, tra la. Pax Romana indeed! Can't wait for next week. Must be the fascination of horror.

Mushrooms

I am inspired by a kindly comment left on my last blog regarding my comparison between hatching thoughts and mushrooms. Being left alone in the dark etc. and then along comes something delicious with a little butter, salt and pepper, of course. I never thought of writing that way. That it might be a tasty bite for someone besides me. The only reason I bother with this activity is that the thoughts awhirl and atwirl in my poor head are out and I can pretend I am normal for awhile until something else starts to bedevil me. Then I am sat back in front of this thing or else looking in despair at a blank page wondering should I write about this or that or should I just poke the pencil through my eye and have done with it !
This is not a new phenomenon but rather an unfortunate state of affairs that has plagued me most of my life. It seems when I was two I drew a recognisible picture of a sailboat. I have seen said picture. It was put in a scrapbook and looked to my critical eye like a scribble. But no the cat was out of the bag and if I wasn't drawing I was writing. An epic poem I wrote about a skunk ended up on the notice board in the school hallway. I was seven and that was it. Fame and fortune would surely find their shining way to my door. Sadly no. To have recieved an education and to chuck it away for a dicey life in the creative arts was in my neck of the woods akin to slapping on the warpaint, hauling up your skirts and hitting the streetcorner! Apart from what will the neighbours think there was a genuine concern for a precarious future with hit and miss income. These people had been through a depression and a war and you would not believe the bags of sugar that could be found at any one time in our kitchen cupboards. Unfortunately I let their fear become mine and it led me on a long detour. Never mind, all roads lead to Rome and here I am plodding along the Via Appia. Someone is reading this, so fame is sort of mine. It just took a little longer.

Speaking in Tongues

It's been a while I know but what can one do when the Muse does not speak? I am writing this with the morning sun in my eyes which is a bit trying but anything is better than winter darkness.
Now on to the matter at hand. I was puzzling over speech forms one morning and started to think on various phrases that mean so much to me and so little to anyone else or perhaps a very few. I was remembering my Mother when she was a much younger woman and how she used to bend English to suit herself. Suiting herself was a large part of her personality come to think of it. One of the classics came forth as my sister and I were pulling each other's hair.
"Stop that you two, hawling like a pair of brooligans!" It did. We weren't at all sure what she had said but the meaning was very clear. Her other beaut was the infamous "truggling rag" with which she struggled one day to lay flat in the back seat of the car. Then her piece de resistance[ imagine the` accent]" piddle pashers" which she felt were not at all flattering to my teenage figure. She was right . I had unfortunately inherited her Queen Anne legs, a topic never to be mentioned as when I did she informed me that I had lovely legs. No wonder I have such a light grip on the way the world works. There might be more of these things lurking in the recesses but it's awfully early and that is all that come to mind. They are like mushrooms these things. You have to leave them alone in the dark and let them grow.

Comments

Well I got what I asked for. There were two comments on the last posting, both quite loving really with the snarkiness kept to a minimum. The point raised of a new portrait of the artist as a pear hit a very responsive chord and that will be my next project. I was going to abandon the oils as I don't like the medium but I hate to be a quitter so the artist as a pear it will be. I start Tues. evening. As usual you will be kept informed of my progress but I have a lot happening in March so with luck I will have it done for my birthday in April. When all the flowers are up. We hope. This is a very brief blog. The snow in the path lies waiting to be shoveled. It refuses to go away by itself. It is going to snow again tomorrow so something must be done. Perhaps we are clearing karma with this winter. I hope so.

Face on the Bar Room Floor IV

Is anyone out there reading this rubbish? I haven't had a comment for weeks and am beginning to feel discouraged. Gentle readers, I know there are few of you, but I do this to share the clutter in my mind and the odd things that happen in my life. If no one cares then I will leave it at the source and focus on spiritual Tarot where I have no expectations at all. C'mon you lot! Write something!
The subject of today's lecture is my self portrait which is now finished and will never be hung. Or perhaps should be hung as that will learn it! It truly is awful. I should never have started such an ambitious project in a medium I hadn't used in 46 years. It took weeks of layering over to even get the colours where they should be. The proportions are wrong. The thing looks like a face on it's way to being an apple doll. I am ashamed of myself. Those of you who have spoken of an interest in this thing can have a look if you wish but keep your pity to yourselves. I am going back to painting pears. You know where you are with a pear.

Ask and You Shall Receive

I have had a number of conversations lately with different people who are in situations they seem to have little control over. This leads to the topic of manifesting and my own encounter with it, so in the interests of posterity here is my manifesting story which you, my faithful readers have all heard before. Well now you get to see it in print.
In 2002 I was in dire financial straits. For health reasons I was only able to work part time. I was living on my own with the two youngest and paying for all expenses except the mortgage. My nose was barely above water and to top it all the payments would come to an end in 2007. By then the youngest would most likely be out the nest. This I found hard as I would be forced to sell my little house that I loved. There was a thumping great mortgage of $150.000 on it and it seemed I would likely end my days in a basement apt.
While mulling this over I began to tot up my financial assets. I found to my amazement that including my aged car, a few sticks of furniture and the equity I had already in the house I was worth in dollars what was to me the collossal sum of $70.000.
As I trotted down the street mulling this over I made a wish from the bottom of my heart. I asked the Universe to please help me pay off my mortgage by 2007 so I could keep my little house as a pension for my old age. And that was that. I thought no more about it but I started next day on a six week chakra meditation on abundance in my life. God helps those who help themselves, right? Bit by bit it all fell into place and the mortgage was paid off in 2006. I still have the sticks of furniture and a new car. If you had told me then that my better half and I would be together again I would not have believed it. Or that the house he bought and was never going to sell sold for a good profit was something else that had never ocurred to either one of us. That day I went walking and asking we were not even talking to each other. So there we have it. Ask for whatever you need with a heartfelt desire and be open to how it appears. Be patient. After all it took four years for my request to show up. Above all be positive and leave any negative language out of your request. Good luck, and let me know when your ship comes in.

All That's Left

I went down to Queen Street to look at the remains of that awful fire that made a number of people homeless last week. I did go down to gawk I admit but also to remember, as my very first studio was in that block though the entrance was off Richmond St. It was an absolute tip of a place though the rent was good. I seem to remember the walls not going all the way up. I wasn't there for more than a few months as I found dealing with the livestock both six legged and four legged a drag and it was a long way from my home in the beaches and we were poor and dump though it was we really couldn't afford it. The remains that I saw on Sunday were very distressing and I was sorry that I had gone to see it. To look at the wreck of people's lives is a dreadful thing. I do hope that what goes up to replace it is built with the consideration that the people who lived there and lost everything but their lives were on the whole poor people and it would be a good thing if new housing was built with this in mind. We have enough Trump Towers in the world. Just because people are poor doesn't mean they enjoy living in a pit. I have no say in this matter as I pay taxes in one of the richest towns in Canada though I am not rich. It's funny where our lives take us when we open up to life. I would speak to Toronto council if I had a right to, regarding what will be placed on Queen St. I 'll just have to wait and see.

Lifting The Spirits with Bad Dancing

I was having a very hard day early on this week. It could have been the residue of the healing circle on Sun. or it could have been a difficult situation that has been going on for far too long or it could have been sunspots or who knows what. Thing is I was sunk in gloom and in order to enhance my gloom I went looking for the appropriate musical accompaniment. Something along the lines of Gorecki's "Symphony of Sorrowful Songs". I told you it was bad. Instead I picked up Israel Kamakawiwo`ole and "The Far Future". Plopped him in the machine and started to hula while I got on with cleaning the kitchen. I cannot say how much better I felt though my hip wasn't enjoying it too much. Once Izzy was done I tossed in "It Don't Mean A Thing if It Ain`t Got That Swing" and had a rare old time arthritis and all, swing dancing around the living room. That got me right through to the supper hour where I was not alone and had to respect the sensebilities of the other who shares this house [who if truth be told could use a blast of this himself but that has to be his choice]. You don't need to go jogging through the ice and snow giving yourself frostbite and shot knees. No siree. All you need to do is come over to my place and we'll pop in a cd and bop till we drop, and a good time had by all. There is a saying and I can only remember the last part. It's "dance as if no one is watching." Just make sure if you are creaky like me to have a castor oil poultice ready at bedtime for the achy bits or your achy bits will be screaming on the morrow.

The Healing Circle

I blew down to Richmond Hill yesterday to attend a healing circle. There is always someone or something as well as myself that needs to be healed so this seemed an opportunity not to be missed. It was well worth the whiteouts and dreadful winds. We sat in a guided meditation for the first part then we built the circle. Next we put in the healing light whoever or whatever we wanted. I had a specific situation in mind and did some intense visuals and just left the whole thing there for the Universe to deal with. I felt a lightness of spirit I haven't felt in a long time. I also learned that Virgo is enduring a Saturn something or other that is causing Virgos a fair bit of anguish. Virgos can be very harsh with themselves and others. When you are critical of self you are unaccepting of others ! That seemed an insight worth passing on. There was much more worthwhile stuff but I can't open the file. We are in the middle of a Mercury retrograde after all! When I can get hold of someone more technical than I am I will pass on what is languishing in the unopened file. I have to sally forth soon into the shattering cold. Oh why didn't my parents emigrate to Australia ? Then I guess I would be complaining about the shattering heat !

Face on the Bar Room Floor III

I am now once more at work on my self portrait and a job of work it is too. I took a hiatus from the wretched thing for a month but it won't finish itself. It was damned with faint praise by my instructor as she said it resembled me. It is clearly a human head so yes it does look like me in that sense but it's not what is looking back from the mirror at me that's for sure! They say a poor workman blames his tools but in my own defence it's been 46 years since I worked in oils and that was pretty forgettable too. I don't care for oilpaint. It's smelly, messy, and takes forever to dry so you have to be patient. A weak point if ever there was one. I show up at the studio dark and early Friday mornings and there I am glowering at me as I dry off in a dim corner. Each time I see it afresh I think of the Iron Duke, you know, the Duke of Wellington, the one that sent Napoleon packing at Waterloo. A very nice fellow student has taken to calling it Jeanne d'Arc. She seems to be serious. The cursed thing has taken on a life of it's own and I still have three more weeks of work on it! I am looking forward to bringing it home and putting it in the closet with it's beaky face to the wall. That'll learn it!

Beauty Is in The Eye Etc.

I was having a conversation with a family member one snowy afternoon when we got talking about how anyone, regardless of who they were could find a mate especially a woman if her standards weren't too high. In other words if she didn't mind that he had a face that would stop a clock or a belly that went with him for walks or other lowering body traits she could be sure of a companion on the road of life. The same can be said for a very ugly woman. There is someone out there for everyone as long as one is not too picky or have a too finely developed sense of smell. To illustrate this fascinating subject the family member told a very heartwarming tale of a young pair she worked with one summer. She met the husband first while he was on a break and thought to herself wow!! Physically he had no redeeming features what so ever but a very nice personality. Later in the week the wife showed up. Who knew? She was even uglier than he was [ you're getting pictures here right? ]. The mind boggled. However she was a lovely person and they adored each other and didn't care who knew it. There was some idle speculation on how their offspring may turn out should they have any but people were happy to be around them because they were so happy with themselves and each other. Being a superficial person myself and much attracted to good looks in others [ one of my many flaws ] I found this an incredible story because I thought of these people as people of high character who looked past the obvious and saw through to the loving heart of the matter. Would that I were so evolved but to be kind to myself I am a work in progress. So is the family member but we love each other anyway, moral warts and all.

Contracts

Caroline Myss calls them Sacred Contracts and they are the notion that we here on the planet have a mission to fulfill. Our mission may be a very ordinary one or so it may appear to others. We may go about our small quiet lives never realizing how important we are in the scheme of things. The reason I am musing on this is in regard to the random shooting of a Chinese greengrocer on Broadview Ave. last week. He got in the way of a supper time shoot out while he was stacking his oranges, of all things. In this case he truly was a victim as that neighbourhood is no more dangerous than any other in the city. I am there several times a month and have never felt in any danger. To get back to the" contracts", Myss proposes that we contract in spirit to fulfill these tasks through our everyday lives and they are always for the greater good of the community. So.. suppose Mr.Greengrocer is going to be, by his what appears to be senseless death, a springboard for action in politics that will ban handguns in Canada. He offered himself through his death to make his new home a safer place for all of us. Small comfort I realize to his sad children but to think that nothing is random and that all our actions have a purpose shows that we are all in this together and have a very important part to play during our stay upon the earth. Many people of all ages offer their lives this way in order to serve humanity and to carry out their contracts. Nothing is wasted, nothing is for nothing though to our temporal minds it may seem so.

The Queen and I

No not H.R.H. Queen Elizabeth but himself, Freddy Mercury. I was just waiting for a program to start when I came upon Fred and the boys. The music was great but honestly Freddy in his little tidy whities or whatever it was he was prancing around in, was a sight to behold. Much as I was enjoying the music I just couldn't manage Fred. Poor Fred, with that dreadful overbite. It probably was the teeth that did it for me, however it took me back to a time in my early middle age when I lived in Prince Edward County. I had been invited to a tea party at the Anglican Vicarage. I had become pals with the incumbent priest who was a woman. She enjoyed meeting new people and through her I met all sorts of interesting types; one of them being Janet Lunn. I digress. So I got all trigged out in a skirt and heels, dressed to impress and all the way to the bunfight I had the sunroof of my little red Golf open and Queen blasting from the tapedeck. No one to hear me singing along but the cows and sheep as I barreled down to Milford. Well ,the party was very nice. A lot of much older trouts there and all very sedate as only vicarage tea parties can be. As I was saying my goodbyes the trouts came out to wave me off. I put in the clutch and turned the ignition and completely forgot that the tape was still on and cranked to high heaven. The trouts jumped and I must say so did I but nothing doing but to shove it in first and bolt trailing Fred and the boys out the sun roof. Ah memories of the County and Freddy. Just can't stand to watch him.

Well Done You!

-This is another little ramble about television only this time it's about a property show I watch while I'm eating my lunch. How sad is that ! Anyroad the show is called"Location Location Location" and takes place in the U.K. and sometimes the Continent. The scenery is just gorgeous and you get to look in people's houses and their gardens and as they are all mad keen to sell they have made huge efforts. It's just fabulous! What is also fabulous is the amount of money these young people have to throw around. Most of them are in their thirties or less and often have offspring and they are looking at 600.000 quid's worth of real estate! They seem to have fairly ordinary jobs but are living in or buying extraordinary homes. This is a mystery to me though I must admit most of life is. If any one of my gentle readers can clue me in as to how so many ordinary people can be so wealthy I would be most appreciative. Just a short blog today as I am doing a liver detox and feel like a poisoned parrot. Stay well! Happy New Year! May all your dreams come true!