The Home Files

Thoughts on Criticism

2010-08-17T11:39:00.000-07:00

I read an interesting article in "The Walrus" today by Andre Alexis where he despaired the lack of critical book reviews in Canada. Honestly, I can't tell you the last time I've read a book, film or art review that was honestly critical (not mean, just taking the ideas apart) and not filled with anecdotes about the artist and why they are loved or not loved in general, or about the reviewers general thoughts as they looked or listened to the art at hand. However, I kept reading because he seemed to think that such a review could exist. Hmmm. He talked about the pendulum swing between a cold academic review that parses a work of art so finely it misses the pleasure that an art work can bring, and a review that really just doles out opinion alone...As you know I am trying to figure out where I sit on the continuum of art, myself, so he had me, lock, stock and barrel. Here was a line that I found to be well worth the thought, perhaps you will too.

Regarding a review by Philip Marchand where he stated that "anyone who does not appreciate the greatness of Tolstoy is "deficient in taste, period."

..."Marchand's statement is about himself, his belief in War and Peace's greatness. He offers no defence of his opinion, believing that none is required. And so, we have come to the point where the mere fact of an opinion is more important than the basis for it. This is neither criticism nor reviewing but autobiography."

Interesting.
I would like to read more by this Andre Alexis fellow...

crap at my parents house

2010-08-10T18:05:00.000-07:00

Hey there all,

I just found a funny website that had me giggling away. I especially liked this one about absinthe...I'm pretty sure I have some really goofy stuff at my house too don't we all?... enjoy!

crap at my parents house

Ah yes, travel sized absinthe. So you can lose your mind like a 19th century french painter, on the go.

The Real First Day of Summer

2010-06-25T09:03:00.000-07:00

Many people believe that summer starts with a day on the calendar, hot sultry afternoons, and changing your wardrobe from black to white. I, for one, always need to be reminded that the calendar has turned. My sense of time has struggled to attach itself to a series of numbers and, while I get the whole clock thing from day to day, calendars seem to exist on a project to project basis, instead of year round like normal people. You'd think then that weather would be a good clue, but where we live strange weather can happen at any given moment, like snow in July or a heat wave in April, so that's no good. I have yet to change my wardrobe and acknowledge fashion in any sense of the word, so I have never really understood the whole white and black thing, or obeyed it, wearing whatever pants look comfortable and are relatively clean.

So I have developed another way to tell that the seasons have changed...the passage of children.

I think most parents and children know this: summer really begins when the last shoe has returned from school, when the first morning has arrived that you don't have to struggle to get everyone's lunch into their backpack, when your children beg to wear their pyjamas all day. That's summer.

I can remember how summer seemed to stretch into eternity. In a good way. My neighbourhood friends, my brother and I would play on our porch, make forts in the escarpment, and eat snacks at a different house every day. There was nothing like playing all day, living as far out of the adult world as possible...it was restful, relaxing and a great break from school. Quite frankly, I miss it, and I sometimes wonder if that is not the true experience we try to recreate on our vacations.

I hope to be able to find a way for my children to have that experience, but as most people know it's hard these days. We live in a time when children are hyper-supervised and highly programmed, set on various tracks for success in the hope that they will be the next world wonder...it is difficult to even find people to play with and there is always pressure to live up to the standard...and, I'm afraid of bears.

So lots of excuses, but I hope that starting today, as the last shoe has returned from school, we will be able to carve out a fun, relaxing summer. And I truly hope it will be fun and relaxing for me as well!

So it begins. Wish me luck, and happy first day of summer to you all!

See anything new?

2010-06-11T06:16:00.000-07:00

Ta DA! Oh, how I like to change things up once and a while. I just tried the new blog designer and it is not only easy, it's also fun. Now, back to work on a few things today...grant applications, and poetry writing. I have been neglecting my musical and for that I feel terribly guilty, but I did need some perspective. I just know that when I go back to it I will see it with a pair of fresh, honest eyes. I'm less likely to hate everything or love everything (which causes me to keep/trash at random.) So...less guilt right? More work done. Wish me luck.

Art vs. Money

2010-06-10T07:44:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, one of the eternal questions, what makes something art? Does selling it or being popular "cheapen" art or cause the art itself to be lost?

This is one of a number of questions that I have been trying to work out for a long time.

In University we were taught about "for profit" and "not-for-profit" models in theatre. Basically, these are two separate worlds, one, focused on pleasing share holders, has a tendency to look at work through the lens of profitability...will this show sell tickets...the other, strives to choose works based on how good they are, not looking at the bottom line. In theory there is a strong line drawn between these two groups one group is focused on money, the other on pure art. We often further divided these two groups by claiming that "for profit" was mostly entertainment (and by entertainment (imagine a sneer on the word) we meant poorly conceived slop designed to part people from their money with as little effort as possible), while "not-for-profit" was pure art. While exceptions were given there was always a connection between selling tickets and the absence of art. Not surprisingly, wanting to be part of the for-profit world in any form was looked down upon, and as a result a lot of the streams of theatre that were more "popular" were seen as second rate and "entertainment." So, comedy, musical theatre and even plain story telling were not encouraged. Also, many of us had serious guilt and problems when entering the work force. Did we sell out? Should we live more penitent, monk like lives? Why was our devotion to art not enough? And why, oh why, has our audience deserted us? As I see it, part of the problem is found in the practicality of art vs. money ("not-for-profit" vs. "for profit" models) and the resulting definition of art:

1) Making art, while you love it, is also a profession. You do this to live. You need to get paid in order to eat, sleep in a decent place and even keep the physical building that houses your art over your head. In either model this is a reality that must be dealt with. Art isn't penance. It's a profession. At some point you must consider making money on a show. If this is true than making money cannot in and of itself negate art, also not making money does not prove that you have made art.

2)We are assuming that we can define art by money.

3)You need an audience, so you need to sell tickets. Is theatre actually theatre without an audience? In my opinion I don't think so. The audience is, in a sense, the final collaborator. The show is not alive, it is still in rehearsal, until it is in front of those wonderful eyes. Guessing what they'll like is hard, you don't get to pick who your audience is, and frankly tastes change from day to day, but there isn't anything wrong with trying to please them. Maybe it's a bit like a marriage, you want to be there for them, laugh with them, cry with them, talk about important things, you want them to appreciate you, love you and, I think, you should want to love them. I don't think it would be good to pretend that you are only dating for the rest of your life (you know, spend big bucks on a fancy car, go out on the town, pretend that everything in the world is solved by having a good laugh and a little romance) it would feel fake after a while. When something important came along it wouldn't really matter. Just like something crafted only for entertainment. But a good marriage has a little of the "dating" moments in it, roses, date nights, vacations, romance, laughter. It's not wrong, it's necessary, sometimes the way you can deal with problems is to forget them for a while. That's ok. On the other side of the coin you want to talk about things that are important. Try to figure out how to solve difficult situations, sometimes calling them on a bad decision before they get hurt. After all, you love them, you want them around. But you wouldn't want to mope around all the time, only talking about terrible issues, yelling at your spouse every time they came into the room. A little fighting clears the air, sometimes shows that you care, but fighting all the time, ignoring their wishes, alienating them? That's how marriages end. That is, I think, what has happened with our modern theatre, we fight a lot, we push our audience around, we alienate them on purpose (don't believe me, check it out, there is an actual form of theatre called alienation) there's no fun, no romance and so our audience has left us, the only thing they are interested in doing is dating us because at least there they can find the possibility of caring.

4) Both sides must care about money and about the interests of their audience at some point. We need to live, so we need to get money, so we need to sell tickets, so we need an audience. All that is really left is deciding what priority each thing we need will get...and then deciding how we are going to make it happen. Clearly, these cold calculations aren't pure Art, in and of themselves. We cannot allow this process to define for us what art is.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that this Art vs Money thing has been going on for quite some time, since the early 1900's at least. My husband bought me a book for my birthday (told you I was crazy about art) that has essays on theatre from an old magazine called "Theatre Arts Magazine". I wanted it because it had articles by Konstantin Stanislavsky, Lee Strasberg and Michael Chekhov but I discovered that it contained some insight into the roots of the whole art/money argument and even some insight into film vs. theatre. (And, for anyone interested in design, it was the start of lighting so lots of interesting back and forth on that.) It was interesting to hear those arguments at their genesis, given how, a century later, we are living with the results.

I'll likely talk about this a lot going forward as it has been rumbling around in my head for years now. For anyone interested I have found this particular book on Amazon (I know I'm always looking for such things.) I'll eventually get round to talking about a few others that have helped formed these ideas...but here's the first one.

Although...I have the paperback version of this book so it's not nearly that expensive! I'm sure you may find it around the site if you look, or there's always the library! (one of my absolute favourite places, I know, I'm a nerd.) If you want to borrow it from me you may have to wait. I'm still busy working my way through to the end...
Til then!

Elephant Poops Children

2010-06-09T06:19:00.000-07:00

ACTION NEWS!

This just in.

Reports of a child eating menace have flooded our newsroom. A large elephant posing as a piece of playground equipment has been spotted around the city. It's appearance has co-incided with the modification of children at these playgrounds. Children, believing this creature to be an ordinary slide, have entered the elephant only to return to their parents completely altered.

Mrs.Rowena Herfblocken of Littlesnoz had this to say, "My little Tommy used to be such a quiet boy. He always came home from school and sat in the corner, humming quietly to himself. Never was any trouble. Now, since the elephant...He has changed. I never know where he is. He's always running around, jumping on the furniture, wanting to go back to the "park" and "his elephant" and...worst of all... all he talks about is poop."

Citizens are advised to contact the nearest SPCA, keep their children indoors, and remain calm if they happen to see this creature.

We will keep you updated with further stories on the hour.

I saw this just the other day on one of my favorite sites, Apartment Therapy (which they received from Dark Roasted Blend) and I just had to share. Check out the slide! Many of the other playgrounds were in serious disrepair but this one is just plain funny. I know a lot of kids who would love to be "pooped" out. (and a lot of parents who wish their kids were pooped before they were.) Anyway, here's the link.

Elephant Bum

New Directions

2010-06-07T06:42:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while I look back on my little blog and think about posting again. It's a short thought because, while I did love doing it, I keep feeling like I don't have a lot to say, at least not a lot to say about my daily life. Some of you may know but I've been hard at work this last year writing a musical...yup....an actual honest to goodness musical, from scratch. The tricky thing about writing something that huge is that, if you are me anyway, you spend much of your time not liking the stuff you are churning out and wishing you could say it much better, which in turn does not lead to me writing other things. However, my first draft is finally done and I am a little more objective so I finally feel like putting together an average post.

Also, I feel like I finally understand a few things...cottage cheese for instance. Salty, creamy, chunky and cold it just works on a hot day. Boy, am I glad I got that out of the way.

Anyhow, back to what I understand.

I have been poking away at some of my old writing and finally, after at least four drafts and much thought, I have figured out how to fix my old An Architect's Tower story. If you have read my old story you will notice that about half way through I went wildly off the tracks and veered straight into my old University mentality, namely, it isn't a story of importance unless it is about something "Important." A love story (which, like it or not was where I was going) was not good enough, I had to find somewhere else to go. You know.... abuse, horrific family life, race relations, war, sexuality or any other capital I "Ideas." If you got that far in my story you know exactly what I am talking about.

Part of the problem was I had mixed up my themes. I started my story thinking it was about one thing, how Antoni Gaudi came up with the idea for his snail shell stairs in the bell towers, and it ended up being more about Antoni and Beatriz and a final chance at forgiveness. Maybe that happens a lot to other authors. Maybe it just happens a lot to me. All that matters is that I was, frankly, annoyed with my characters for moving out of the role that I had originally given them. (I only put Beatriz in so that she could give him a snail shell from his childhood. I never really intended that they would hang out and fall in love. The nerve!)

Well, just few days ago the coin finally dropped. I understood how to fix it. How, you ask?

I'll try to explain:

1. I gave up trying to talk about something "Important" and focused instead on what was important to these characters. What did they want from the other people in the story? Why did Beatriz come to Barcelona that day? (It turns out, old dying women do not take their first day trip ever to the city just to deliver snail shells and make my life easy.)

2. Ahh, the value of rewriting. I used to think that stories, novels, poems and plays were born on the wind of pure inspiration. Either they began life as perfect specimens or were utter failures. I really don't think so any more. The first draft, which you have read here, really just served as a blueprint, lining out the characters, giving direction to the themes, perhaps even identifying some useful symbols. Case in point; I thought I was writing a story on the theme of artistic revelation. But what I was really writing about, was love and forgiveness. I didn't want to talk about that! But apparently, in order to write this story, I had to. To get there I had to rewrite the whole last half...several times. I was shocked. I had always thought rewriting (if you had to do it) consisted of fixing your punctuation and rearranging moments. Apparently not.

3. I decided to "preach to the converted." Perhaps you'll understand this, perhaps you won't but it helped me a lot. I read an interview from the playwright who wrote "Angels in America" and he said that as an artist you can't change anyone's mind about things, that's not your job, your job as a writer is to present new takes on old situations. You have to essentially talk as though everyone already agrees with you. You have to assume that readers or viewers will come along with you, not badger them to take the trip and clobber them with your ideas. (My words, he said it better.) Granted, you have to be clear in your descriptions and plot the ideas, just don't preach at people hoping to convert them to an opinion! (BTW, I wasn't actually trying to "convert" you, I just thought that this was how you write about "important ideas." Turns out I was wrong.)

Long and short of it is something I have known to be true for a while. For the record, I have never wanted to be a pastor. I have always seen what I do as being very different. Even so, many people have insisted that artists essentially do the same job. After all, we both have ritual and present things in front of a gathering of people which, presumably, are interested in what we have to say. I have never been really able to explain what the difference was but I think now I can put at least part of this concept into words.

We both, at our best, deal with truth. Not opinion (even though I am very opinionated) but truth. Who really cares about opinions and advice anyway? I know I disagree with more than half of the stuff I hear and eventually I reject 3/4 of my own opinions. For instance, I'm not a big fan of Paula Abdul now...but for about two weeks when I was fifteen she was the best song writer and singer in the world. Really. In the end there isn't anything worth talking about in a public way unless there is some honest to goodness truth to it. Truth in the absolute sense, not in a relative way like "it was true for me at the time." For instance, if a character lies in a story there are consequences to that lie. If you ignore that as a writer your story feels as though it has "holes" in it. You've ignored something (truth: lies have consequences) and it's obvious. I suppose it could work to your advantage if you meant to work against that rule but the rule still exists, it doesn't cease to be true. (In fact, you might be able to build tension that way.) Or, if a painter wants to paint a flower (and have it seen as a flower) they have to obey certain truths about line, form and the use of colour or it just won't work. We won't see the flower. (My old theatre professors used to urge us to find a "universality" to our stories...I guess truth isn't a cool word because what he was talking about is often the same thing.) However, a good pastor doesn't just chat about it, he dispenses Truth whole, tangibly, in word and sacrament. For instance, he doesn't just talk about forgiveness, he gives it. On the other hand, as an artist, I take truth apart, creating a vessel on paper, canvas or stage for some small piece of it and trying my best to represent truth (create it, craft it, imitating what I see and feel) so that others can see it. In a way I get to show the effect of truth, what it does. I can show forgiveness, and the effects giving or not giving forgiveness can have, but I can't give it. I can also show horrible things, consequences, but thankfully I can't give consequences either. So, I get to deal with all the truth in the world and it's effects....That is, if I manage to do it well.

Long and short: You can see from my old story I was definitely trying to tell everyone my opinion, and even that got mixed up. I should just stick with truth and showing, not explaining.

So, anyway what I would like to do with my blog going forward is to show some of the "first draft wobbles" so that people can see a little of my process. I hope that it might help someone else who is learning to write and I also hope that you can watch me grow too...although I have a feeling I will likely forget everything I've learned with the next story. After reading interviews with other authors I'm pretty sure that's how it goes. If I do, I hope you will refer me back to this page before I ride off into the sunset on my high horse. Please.

On another note, I should have my finished story ready to go soon along with a book of poems. I hope to publish these as ebooks or through Lulu or some such thing...hopefully by the end of the month! We'll see. I'll keep you posted.

Hope, Time and Love

2009-11-02T18:59:00.000-08:00

Hi There,

Just something short and fun. Today I thought I would play with words. Three of them to be exact. Hope, Time and Love. Feel free to bend them to your will, it will be interesting to see what you come up with.

On another note: Yay post #2!

Hope is running amok. Time is making a break for hopeless wasters. Love is settling for the best that it can find and finding it is the best it can hope for. Time will wait for this Love the most.

New Lease on Life

2009-09-18T08:46:00.000-07:00

Hi All,

Well, I'm sure you've noticed but it has been quite some time since my last post.

If you haven't noticed then you are probably not actually reading this at this moment. In that case, the point is moot.

Assuming you're reading this let me explain a little about what has gone on.

Kids.

There, you have it.

I'm not sure how or why but the last year has been extremely busy with running and jumping, and no-ing and yes-ing, and breaking and buying, crying and whining and well... you get the picture, not a lot else. Period. That explains a lot.

Politics for example.

Now, as you might have guessed, the littlest of my family are off to school...all day...every day. What is a woman to do? I just realized I've spent eight years doing things for other people almost all day long (depending on the year) and now, I can do things for myself. Who was that again? Well, at least I kind of remember what I like to do. Sort of.

Now, if I could just stop feeling guilty for sending the little ones on their way I could start partying. Maybe drink my coffee in sips instead of glugs, look into daily hygiene, and sit down instead of hovering protectively by the counter. There are some things I would like to work on that would help make the transition to the "normal" world a little less difficult: My hands could use some practice only holding one object at a time, and my brain will need to work on unmultitasking, and I'll have to stop saying "no" at regular intervals. It sounds kind of crazy when you're alone. It also sounds crazy when you say it to strangers. These are all goals that I hope to work towards in the near future. For now though, baby steps.

There. I managed to do one post. Perhaps the future is a little brighter.

My Personality

2008-05-30T22:18:00.000-07:00

Hey all,
Well Pirates is now done and I'm finally back and running. Actually ... more like crashing into walls and wondering what to do with myself. Sadly, now that I have finished what I've spent a year of my life doing I'm not sure what to do!

I thought I would take a personality test though to fill in the time. No surprises here ... I am pleased to note that I am the same personality that I was in high school. I must just be a crankier more sleep deprived version that's all. And for those of you who are "up" on the the personality lingo I am a INFJ and yes, yes, I know have joined the 1% of the earth's population with my personality (that explains a lot. It at least explains why people tend to think I'm a little weird. That's my excuse from now on!) Also, if you take a look at the second part of the test ... the multiple intelligences section ... you will notice some very high scores. I could lie and tell you that I am simply intelligent and extremely well rounded... but the fact is they were asking my opinion of things and being a very optimistic person I answered almost every question in the most enthusiastic way possible. Yes sir! I love the outdoors 9 out of 10. Do I think logically, sure I do! But some may beg to differ so 8 out of 10. Do I like parties? Oh boy, good ones are 9 out of 10. Do you get tired after social events? Do I ever! 10 out of 10. Are you kidding? My whole day is a social event and I'm tired! And so it went. Yes, the score looks amazing ... see the glass is half full people, think and become, think and become ... now if I could just get potato chips out of my head I'd be on my way.

Once more into the breach my friends...

2008-02-18T12:55:00.000-08:00

Yes, the delinquent is back.

I've been working very hard at my Pirates of Penzance production of late so it has not left me a lot of free time. Although I am practicing a lot of piratey skills like swashbuckling, gun slinging and the singing of elaborately wordy songs, I have not been working on my blogging expertise. As you may have noticed. Ahem. Sorry about that.

Today I am sporting a new and improved cold virus. How do I know? I am a complete medical novice but frankly anything that has been kicking around since December deserves to be new and improved, up for a virus medal, winner of a virus prize etc. etc. How do I know it's a virus then? Because all the doctor's I've seen keep telling me it is one. I keep grossing them out with all the meuchousy, feverish, down right pathetic symptoms and they keep telling me the same thing. It's just a virus ma'am. Nothing to worry about.

Makes you want to invent symptoms, just to prove you sat three hours in the walk in clinic for a good reason. Gooey green scales on your elbow, flame throwing breath, or a weird hankering for fresh metal, for instance. I don't think it would help though. They'd probably just shrug their shoulders, pat me on the back and say. Nothing to worry about ma'am. All the colds this year are going that way.

Doctors are just too hard to impress.

Snow Makes Me Shovel (My Way Out of Snowbanks

2007-11-21T12:49:00.000-08:00

Hi there all.
I've decided to enter another contest. I know, I know, I'm just a tad obsessive. Hey, you never know, perhaps one day I could win a couch, or unlimited toothbrushes, I'm not picky. This one looks like fun. I've been challenged to rewrite the words to Carole King's "You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman." Here's my version:

Lookin’ out at the falling snow,
I should be so inspired.
Many places have no where to go,
to ski, or sled, or buy snow tires.
But lately I’m so droopy,
can’t open up my eyes,
I just wish I didn’t live where snow flies.

‘Cause snow makes me shovel,
Snow makes me shovel,
snow makes me shovel my way out of snowbanks.
Hmm...

Driving home just the other day,
Dreaming of sweet Tahiti.
Passed a bus going the other way,
Made me skid and lose my peepee.
And now I sit and wonder,
how life is so unkind,
I’ll have to shovel with pee frozen to my behind!

‘Cause snow makes me shovel,
Snow makes me shovel,
snow makes me shovel my way out of snowbanks.
Hmm...

And now you’d think I’d be content at home,
sittin’ by a roarin’ fire,
sipping coca, talking on the phone,
while the snow drifts down ever higher.
But I can hear a rumbling,
see a blinking blue light,
Guess what I’ll be doing up before first light?

‘Cause snow makes me shovel,
Snow makes me shovel,
snow makes me shovel my way out of snowbanks.
Hmm...

If you like it and want to vote for me or even if you just want to rate the other entries go to:

http://www.cbc.ca/canadawrites/

or just click on the title of this post above for a direct link.

Next click on Nov.21 Song and vote for me!

It makes me feel so much better about the snow.

Funniest Ad of the Year?

2007-11-16T07:15:00.000-08:00

Hey all,
Just a quick post while I adjust my bunny legs. I had them installed to keep up with the kiddies. Don't ask.

I was taking a brief search around the net and I found this:

http://www.veryfunnyads.com/

Now, in my humble opinion, none of them are very funny. Yet, they are all competing in the "funniest ad of the year" category. So go ahead, peruse and tell me what you think. The Hydro Energy Train is the most funny ... if you can stop being scared of the train long enough to laugh. But perhaps that's just the mood I'm in.

Why Bunny legs? Alright, alright. Suffice it to say that one of them, who shall remain nameless, but was born as a twin and has always been, oh, a little adventuresome, is climbing ... all over. Mt.Vesuvius here we come! Yesterday I found her climbing over the back of her chair, standing on top of the piano bench, and stuffed inside the storage compartment of a bench (she had help for that one!) Not only that, but she locked herself in a dark room yesterday for about five minutes while I searched frantically for something to pop the lock. When she was finally released ... she was laughing. Yes, that's right. Laughing. She's only two years old folks. I should call Richard Branson and book her apprenticeship.
Bunny legs. See what I mean?

And now, for something completely different!

2007-10-22T05:42:00.000-07:00

I'm directing "The Pirates of Penzance" by Gilbert and Sullivan for our local symphony this year. As I've been working my way through the various scenes and looking at what the history books say a few interesting things have occurred to me:

1. Gilbert is pretty funny. (Seeing as it is a comedy it should be an obvious conclusion, but have any of you seen an actual production?)
2.Late Victorians were modern day Hippies ... without the head bands.
3. Monty Python's "Brave Sir Robin" and "When the Foreman Bears His Steel (Tarantara, Tarantara)" are essentially the same song. Different words of course. But the same. I'm not sure even I can follow that.

Interesting. I never expected that I would reach those conclusions (especially the hippie part, given the corsets that was a real shocker), but now that I have they really fit. We like to think of the Victorians as terribly repressed and horribly backward but a lot of what we currently hold dear, our love of technology, our reverence for science, our championing of the underdog, equality for all, and even our concepts of love, rebellion and peace all come from that period. Talk about weird. Now I'll have to rethink everything I thought I knew about everything I thought I knew before.

Thanks a lot. "I say Nee! In your general direction", Gilbert. I know you'd appreciate it.

Attack of the Lucious Linens

2007-10-15T13:37:00.000-07:00

Where are those people who get all their moving boxes unpacked in a week? You know who I’m talking about. You’ve probably heard of them too. I want their number. I’m even willing to pay commission.

It has been six years since we moved in, and while we have unpacked most of our boxes I am still putting pictures up on the wall and moving clumps of linen, nicknacks and “things I can’t let go” around the house. Sad, I know, but true. It’s like a grand scavenger hunt every time someone comes to visit. Oh, I’ve read all those articles on home organization. I’ve heard about deep storage. I’ve even clipped a story about a family who moved into their new home bearing one box of personal items each. That’s right. One box, folks. Call it a personal goal, if you will. Or a far of dream if you are more of a realist.

How on earth did all the nick nacks and linen get out of control? Why am I having so much trouble? They likely spend far too much time unsupervised. You know what I mean.

I would give up but I am afraid the whole mess will take over. It is only a matter of time before the linen and nicknacks team up with the take home school papers and then they will rule the world! I just can’t let that happen. True, it’s a small sacrifice but I like to do my part for human kind.

So, if you happen to run into any expert unpackers, super organizers or just someone with a lot of free time, feel free to send them my way. You never know, the safety of the world could be at stake.

The Death of a Mime

2007-09-30T06:00:00.001-07:00

If a mime falls on his death bed does anyone hear? I know most people can't stand mimes. After all, they usually stand on a street corner,performing inane things and unable to give proper directions! Those people also never saw Marcel Marceau perform. The man was truly amazing. He was able, through simple motion, to express the infinite. I had the pleasure of watching him on video in one of my acting classes. There we all were, struggling to look like we were drinking out of a mimed cup, with most of us just looking like we were chewing our fists. So many observations were needed. What is the right weight of the "cup"? How big? What was in it? Meanwhile Marcel the master of the craft was able to show the range of humanity, from birth to death, in a matter of ten minutes, all clearly. I got the feeling that he could give excellent directions too, if necessary. We were lucky to have one of his students teaching our class. He was truly amazing. The sheer athletic prowess was something to behold and the very fact that Marcel Marceau, in his twilight years, could continue to do moves that a twenty year old would weep from, was enough to endow him with super status!
At any rate, the artistic world has lost a great leader and mentor. Farewell sweet prince.

Favorite Actors and Actresses: Angelina Jolie

2007-08-26T17:38:00.000-07:00

What? I can hear you say. Yes, it is true. I think she's great. sigh. I was so prepared to not like her. After all she looks as though she is just another young, pretty thing who does enough dangerous stuff that she manages to stay in the spot light. Admittedly with some pretty strange additions to that little formula. Clearly, she is not. Anyone who can take some of the vacuous scripts that she has been given and find nuance deserves to get an academy award. I'll admit she's been in a few decent movies too. Watch her closely, she never stops acting in the movies, she reacts to what the other actors are saying and finds detail and emotion in the smallest moments. Personally I would like to see her try something that would actually showcase her talents so that everyone could see it, but likely she will just keep doing more of the same. She's good, that's all I've got to say.

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001401/

Favorite Actors and Actresses: Helena Bonham Carter

2007-08-20T06:23:00.001-07:00

Ok, ok. I realise that this is another English actor, but I can't help it. She may be a little quirky but when she is on her game I really enjoy watching her. I first saw her during high school in the movie Lady Jane ... which for a very long time was my absolute favorite movie. Room with a View was next, a movie which I still do not understand but all the same is enjoyable (figure that one out), Howard's End was much better as the script gave her some interesting moments to play and finally Mel Gibson's Hamlet ... which she was brilliant in. She captured Ophelia in a way that I had never seen before and, I believe, her performance comes as close as it could to the truth of the matter. I have seen many of her later movies but, call it adolescent glow, these ones still reign in my heart.

Here's the link:
http://www.tiscali.co.uk/entertainment/film/biographies/helena_bonham_carter_biog.html

Favorite Actors and Actresses: Ben Kingsley

2007-08-19T07:11:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to put up a post for a while. Finally, I've come up with a compromise ... instead of revealing my already addled brain and creating something that makes no sense whatsoever ... bunions ... I will just let you know some of my favorite actors and actresses. First of all Ben Kingsley:
I first came to appreciate him in theatre school. He made a stellar performance in "Playing Shakespeare" from the BBC television program. A number of the other male actors huffed and puffed their lines, but when he spoke I felt as though everything was very clear. It was strange, I didn't feel as though he was speaking Elizabethan English, but simply communicating the lines, the emotion, the character. It was really something. Sadly, not many of his movies have demonstrated his full artistry, however I really enjoy watching him just the same.

Here's a link for his movies, TV appearances and bio:

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001426/

Under the Eaves

2007-07-17T12:50:00.000-07:00

Here is a short poem I wrote the other day. I hope you enjoy it:

Under the Eaves

If I sit long enough
I can hear
the rain dance on a thousand rooftops,
splish in fierce torrents under passing cars,
drip, a high ping from an eave to the ground.
And to this wild concert of sound
the tin pitched gush of the drainpipe,
the low murmer of the gutter,
I add my breath in soft circles
passing the sweet tang
of rain blessed air
into my world.

All is very quiet, All is still.
For who would be out here?
Watching the earth drink?
The heavens open?
You'd get soaked.

Ah, perhaps there is memory yet to be guided by
Little ears,
little toes,
little eyes
and I know
if we sit long enough
Shhhhh.
Magic still happens.

Cara Cleaner and the Forty Thieves

2007-06-30T10:40:00.000-07:00

It's a sad comment on the state of our house lately ... well, ok, maybe not just lately. Alright, since I was old enough to fold laundry and shut a drawer ... Except for a brief period in University, when, my room was not only clean, but sported different phases, including pink (I mean entirely pink), blue and white and the infamous twinkie light from the ceiling phase. It was relatively clean, and relatively tidy, but then, I only had one room.

Anyway, as I was saying, sad comment. Thursday was the last day of school for my oldest and so Friday I celebrated by cleaning the counters of any and all paper. I don't know about you but it feels like the school sends home half a boreal forest full of paper every year, each one inscribed with a little love note, precious drawing, or ominous "important message" so that I am either too cutified or terrified to throw most of it out. It would be fine if I had a whole other house to load the paper into or even some sort of paper station that would sort, toss and properly archive each treeling as it arrived, but the international brain bank has yet to come up with a solution for me. As it is, my counter space has been rapidly eaten up by paper. Report card replies and mortgage forms conveniently lay by the coffee maker, stacks of magazines in the bread box, lovely and generous offers to "cruise the Bahamas" and "win one of five $1,000,000,000 homes" as well as a few dozen bills that I need to pay sit stacked in the middle of the table with the centerpiece, candle and all, perched on top so they won't run away, and five or six books are strewn around just for good measure. I knew it was getting bad when I couldn't find a spot to put my spoon down and had to balance it in my teeth!

So, getting back to the story at hand, Friday I cleaned. Wow, it looked good. I felt like a pioneer, clearing the brush off the last twenty acres. The counter top was mine, all mine. I could lay out a recipe book, take out a bowl, or make a five course meal! Well ... at least, I could open a can of fruit without sticking a "return to the principle" form permanently to the counter. In my frenzy I even cleaned the kitchen floor. After supper we all went out for a drive. When we arrived home my son looked into the kitchen with big round eyes. Ah, I thought, he must be admiring mama's work.

There was a curious glint in his eyes. "Wow," he said, "did someone break into our house?"

"What?" I said, quickly scanning the room behind him to see if there was anything missing. There wasn't. "No."

He looked amazed,"Well, someone must have come in and cleaned it." his eyes locked mine seriously.

Now, this would have been a good moment to teach my son about the fine art of domestic engineering, and a prime time to lecture him on the principles of appreciation and observance. Instead, I just sent him into the kitchen.

"Take a look," I said, "if you find them, give me their number."

Englehart Derailment

2007-06-26T19:57:00.000-07:00

I recently started doing some editing and writing for a company newsletter up here. I thought you might be interested in this story about some pretty heroic people. Who knew that civilians could also work as a first response team? Here it is:
Derailment Heroes

It could have been a disaster. A few months ago, terrifying pictures flashed across our TV screen and appeared on our front pages. A spill of sulphuric acid had occurred when an Ontario Northland train had jumped its tracks. The nation gasped. Englehart’s townspeople had been warned not to drink the water, or even use it for their livestock.

Out of the focus of the camera lenses, a brave and determined team from our site worked a marathon schedule in difficult conditions in order to make things right. “When there is a spill of our product in Canada, the closest site sends a team out right away,” says Perry Harvey, head of our team members during the cleanup. “It’s part of Xstrata’s ‘Responsible Care’ program. When a spill occurs, we are the first ones on site.” Timmins was given the call and leapt into action. Two key members of the HSMAT team were sent right away to assess the damage and begin planning, while the remaining members prepared to send eight more to battle the spill. When the team arrived, they discovered that fifteen S.A. tank rail cars, and seven box cars of zinc and copper, all our products, as well as sixteen other cars had derailed. A daunting 1.78 million pounds of acid needed to be transferred or otherwise dealt with, but this was no easy task as the terrain and the weather conditions were dangerous. The train had jumped the tracks far into the bush. If any member of the team were to become injured, it would take at least twenty minutes to get to where the ambulance was stationed. Since the acid had flowed into the Blanche River there was no potable water on site to maintain the emergency showers which would have to be used in case someone became contaminated. There were no roads into the area so all tools and supplies would have to be carefully planned. The team and their tools would need to be shipped down the rail directly to the site, and since the weather had fluctuated that weekend, the slope down to the river was treacherous.

Our team took it all in stride. Working with the utmost concern for safety and in extreme caution, they began by hosing down the area to dilute the acid so that the team could work on it. They also built safe working platforms and made a ramp and ladder to improve the footing on the slope. They were soon supplemented by the Sudbury crew who worked with them in gruelling twelve hour shifts, twenty four hours a day. Using a special pump to take the acid out of the overturned cars and into new cars, they laboured to save the product, and clean the area, all the while avoiding contamination. A few times they needed to cut new holes in the overturned tanks to retrieve the fluid. They also covered the acid laced ground with soda ash in order to neutralize it. The ash turned the acid into harmless water, heat, and carbon dioxide. Meetings took place every morning and evening to assess the progress.

It took six full days of painstaking work before the site could be declared clean and ready for the next set of workers to come in. Grateful Englehart citizens opened their stores and restaurants early and kept them open late every day just so they could serve these tired workers.
In the end our team had done an amazing job. They had transferred eleven tank cars of acid in rough terrain and poor weather conditions with no injuries and no exposures. The news was right, it could have been a disaster, but thanks in part to the work of our very own HSMAT team it was simply a job well done.

Thanks in acknowledgements section to:
Perry Harvey and Tim Miller for interview

Let's Go High Tech

2007-06-25T18:51:00.000-07:00

Ah, the age of technology. Basking in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, eating a gourmet five course meal re hydrated moments before by my robot servant, sighing deeply as "work minute" arrives and I will have to push a button.

Ha! My robot appears to be late. My printer died last week. It was having communication problems with my hard drive and, instead of opting for therapy, it decided to crash and burn. Though not before printing off a ream of half of garble containing the mysterious message to wa---ch you-- bac---k.

The modern dream is hardly a reality. Hands up those of you who work longer than nine to five and spend half that time erasing email, printing copies of memos and rewriting important documents that disappeared in a "crash". You know what I'm talking about. So, now, I am attempting to get my new, oh so much faster printer to "talk" to my computer. Make friends, be buddy, buddy, at least exchange a curt "hello". No dice.

"I don't really need you," I threaten, "Shakespeare wrote lots of plays, really good ones, and all he had was parchment and a quill. If you won't cooperate I'm sure they still sell pencils at Staples."

Ominous silence.

The machines mock me. Ah, yes, there may be a day far, far off in the future where man and machine will live together in harmony, it working, me sipping a sweet soda, but not today. Today, they are in therapy.

Open Sesame!

2007-06-21T19:57:00.000-07:00

Yes, as promised I am jotting down another crazy adventure here in diaper land. They can completely undress, that's right, snaps, buttons, velcro, even clips are not a problem for these girls. We often find them first thing in the morning looking like they are auditioning for the role of Pat Benatar, one arm out of their shirt and hair flying in all directions. And yes, we have even found them minus their diapers.

The first such morning I awoke to hear my husband shouting, "Oh, no you don't" Which was quickly followed by a "Get in here!" and a "This is the grossest thing I have ever seen in my life!" Our beloved daughter had not only discovered the wonders of taking her diaper off, she was enchanted by what was in her diaper!

The day then proceeded as follows:
"Don't take your pants off!" "Oh, no. Where's your diaper young lady?" Get out of that ... Where are your pants?" "Just leave them on!" "How is it possible to be tied to a chair and still get your pants off?"

Finally, after chasing our daughter around the house like an escaped convict, and watching me nearly fall over from exhaustion, my husband did the only sane thing possible at that moment. He threatened her. "Keep those pants on or we're going to use duct tape!"

I really didn't believe him, but the next time I went by the change table there he was placing the the bedtime diaper on our little wriggler, duct tape in hand.

"There," he said with delight as the silver tape gleamed in the glow of the setting sun, "you'll never get out of that!"

She was suspiciously quiet.

Toddlers 'R Us

2007-06-19T14:32:00.000-07:00

They can chew through anything.
Yes, if you get low enough to the ground they may even eat you alive.
It's true. Don't let their cute little smiles lull you into false security.

Even so, I press on. This morning, serenaded by the tuneful calls of "Mommy, bottle!" I rose, traipsed out to the kitchen and filled two bottles for the hungry little nippers who were now so sweetly jumping up and down in their cribs. Now, as I gently explained to them the other day they are "so close to losing your bottles, so help me!" so keep that in mind for the following story...

An ordinary baby, when presented with a bottle after a long and hungry night would simply lie down and sip the sweet nectar, not these ladies. I reentered the room to find the first of the ladies merrily dumping said bottle on the wood floor. Not to be outdone by her sister the second of the ladies took a slurp of milk and promptly spit it on her bed sheets. "No,no, no!" I wailed, grabbing the bottles and attempting to stem the tide of flowing milk, which, had there been honey available, would have resembled Canaan, the land flowing with milk and well... you know. "This, ladies, is not what we do with our bottles."

Now. Clearly, these babies are smarter than they look. They may be all googly eyed and chubby cheeked, but fools they are not. "Bottle." said the first opening and shutting her pudgy little fist. "Bottle?" Said the second batting her cute little eyes.

"No way" I said,"I know what's going on. I know what you're going to do with it." A statement that was greeted with piteous wails all around.

"What's going on," My husband asked reaching toward the crib, "have you given them their bottles?"

"Not too close," I whispered, "they'll eat you alive."

It's true, they will.

Guilty, Guilty, Guilty

2007-06-17T17:28:00.000-07:00

Yes, it is me. I have finally succumbed to the mountain of guilt that has been building since January. Yes, I have been peeking in every once and a while, watching my blog slowly die from neglect ... much like my cactus in university ... a plant that "they" said no one could kill. Ha, I say, Ha! While I realise that no one will probably read this post, still it alleviates a little of the guilt, and at the same time makes me laugh. Did anyone else notice how weird those google ads were getting? Most of the time the ads are pure entertainment value. Who knew that a post on Parental Olympics would bring up an ad about Hair Replacement? Just how did the computer figure out that one? A little scary. However, the with the last post being about smelly toots it should have been no surprise to see ad after ad of "female" problems. I don't even want to know. So here I am forced into action! I could not see my blog go down in a blanket of shame! So I will post again ....

I wonder, this time will I have the chutzpa to continue posting? Will I wait until the google ads are so bizarre that I am yet again forced into evasive action? Was Superman Returns really that bad of a movie or am I just bitter? After all, his hair stays in place while flying for crying out loud!
Stay tuned for further forays into the posting universe, where these and I am sure far less relevant questions will be asked and probably answered, irreverently of course ....

Stupid Fairy

2007-01-09T11:55:00.000-08:00

Many years ago I was visited by a fairy. “The man you will marry,” she said, “will be kind and loving, handsome and smart. He will help with the children, send you flowers, and not watch football all day. He will support your work, return movies before late fees, and lie convincingly about your weight.”

“Wow,” I said, “this sounds really great. But you’re a fairy so I’m sure there has to be a catch.”

“Just a small one,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye, “every night, after you have crawled into bed, just as you are saying a prayer of thankfulness for the man that God has given to you, you will be surrounded by the most hideous stench known to man.”

“Oh,” I said, “Just a smell.”

“No, no, a stench dear, stench.”

I shrugged, “Just for a minute, right?”

The twinkle turned into a gleam of delight, “No, no, dear . . . all night.”

“Well,” I said cheerfully, for my glass was half full, “How bad could it be?”

Now I know.

Every night the routine is the same. And every night I am the unwitting dupe at the scene of the crime. Yes, it’s true, all nights begin as fresh and clean as the last, for, as I have said, my glass is half full. The lights go out, I cuddle into my warm covers, and just as I lean over to kiss the man of my dreams a foul stench fills the air.

“Ugh! That’s awful!” I exclaim.

“What?” He asks innocently as though he could not imagine what was causing me such distress.

“What do you mean, what?” My rising indignation is only exceeded by my anger. In my mind, he who dealt it should therefore have smelt it.

Now he’s laughing. I cannot imagine what about this scene is so funny. Some light must be going on in an uncharted region of his male brain . . . likely the same part that watches W.W.F. in its underwear.

“It is bad, isn’t it?” Tears of joy are streaming down his cheeks. I know this, even in the dark because I can hear him laughing and wiping his nose.

This I just don’t understand, I am not having fun. I am writhing, trying desperately to put some distance between myself and the unseen cloud descending on my head. He, on the other hand, has not laughed this hard since someone invented pretend snot. We are breathing the same air, lying in, basically the same spot and yet what for me is a runner up for the elephant dung pile appears to be the source of my husband’s pride and joy. I did ask him, once, how he could be so pleased with himself. “I made it.” He said, with a face so full of childlike glee it was hard to be angry. But I was.

“Puleeze!” I said, “make a dresser or an armoire or a spoon rest. Share that with me I will gush with delight. Why, oh why, can you not use the bathroom? You were just there. We have a fan, an exhaust fan! It’s state of the art! Just a short trip down the hall and we could all sleep peacefully and dream of scented flower meadows. But no, instead you wait until there is no escape. I’m under the covers, my slippers are off, the floor is cold and I’m almost asleep. That’s right, sleep, because this is the bedroom! Why do you do it? Why? Why? Why?”

“I’m comfortable.” He says and rolls over, a smile on his face as he drifts into dreamland.

Stupid fairy.

Sunday Intellectual Question: Good Intentions

2006-12-11T08:11:00.000-08:00

One of the biggest topics in theatre school concerned the nature of communication. Often our words say one thing, but our tone, body and situation would convey another. I'm not sure if this is a particular problem of the English language but I suspect that it is not. One of the more humorous situations that occurs on a regular basis is this:

While walking down a street you meet an acquaintance . Without stopping the person waves and says, "Hi! How are you?"
"Good." Is the general response. Now, just a sec. Did we answer in all truth and honesty? Likely not. Did they really want to know? ... well ... In our culture this the "how are you?" question is just a greeting ... most of the time. Imagine how startled the person would be if instead of "Good." you answered ....
"Actually, I have a splitting headache, the kids ripped my pants on the way out the door so now I have to wear my coat around my waist, I'm almost in hypothermic shock, I locked my purse inside the car, and I think I'm going to cry now. How are you?"

Should we ask the question if we do not want the answer? What do you think?

BTW thank you all for your concern. I am getting a little better. The pain is not quite so mind numbing and I have been receiving physiotherapy which seems to be working. Not quite up to scratch though and speaking of scratching ... I have an itch on my left leg ... or is that too much information?:)

All Drugged Up and No Where to Go

2006-11-28T20:18:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the long absence.

Where have I been? Lounging on some forgotten shore of a desert island? Sipping tea in an underground cave with the leaders of the free world during “fire drill”? A hostage to the finest minds of our time, being poked with a pin until I reveal my secrets?

No, oh no. Not this time.

My back, in a surge of creativity, has spawned, not one but two disk bulges. Why you ask? I have no idea. I saw three separate medical professionals and was told, and I quote ‘Wow, you don’t see that every day.” Now if I had a cream puff for ever time I’ve heard that from someone in the medical community I’d be very fat and would be on my way to a new career, but as it is I am left with the sad fact that my body has a complete mind of its own and no one can quite figure it out. That’s right. I have two brains. Which is odd because I can’t seem to access either one. Darn pin number.

I have been flat on my back for almost a week now drifting in and out of a drug induced haze; an oddly dreamless but persistent fog. Since I have a bulge in my neck my hands are mostly numb, and the bulge in my lower back leaves my feet tingly so between the two bulges and my meds I have the strange sensation that I am not actually touching anything but merely floating above the ground. All the thrills and chills of an out of body experience with out having to leave home.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my husband has been in charge of rounding up the herd every morning. I often come to the surface of my reverie in time to hear, “He’s touching me!”, “I don’t WANT to!” and “We do not feed chocolate to the babies!”. It isn’t odd that I hear this so clearly, we’ve received calls from the US asking us to “pipe down, or the soft wood lumber agreement will really go in the toilet. We mean it.” We are taking these calls very seriously. No matter what the Yanks may say, he is doing a great job. Each and every one of the children remain fed, clothed and as yet unmaimed ... well there’s no permanent damage, at least none we can see. Which is a feat for any soul. He has also managed to hold down his job. And I have yet to find him hiding in the closet mumbling to himself and chewing his hand. A good sign. We’ve also had a lot of help recently from the Church Ladies who have kindly brought us supper and even popped in to watch the kiddies from time to time. Brave souls.

So, to sum up, this is what we’re looking at:

Another couple weeks of back pain, during which time I will be fully drugged up and walking like a Neanderthal

A few rounds of Rehab after which I will emerge from the ring like Rocky, beaten, but still able to punch the air, weakly, with one fist.

Our house will complete its transformation into a Jurassic Jungle, this time, babies will rule the universe

Then ... we’ll have Christmas! (Or Easter, whichever comes first.)

Wish us Luck.

Sunday Intellectual Question: Art Soothes the Savage Beast?

2006-11-12T08:03:00.000-08:00

In light of my new injury I thought I would ask some questions about pain relief ... the art kind.

Could the enjoyment of art or the act of creating art give a kind of pain relief? I would argue that it could, to some extent. Being able to express a little of our experience gives us the chance to validate what we are going through. Reading, watching, listening to, or otherwise experiencing someone else's expression gives us the knowledge that we are not alone. Knowledge like that can be a powerful healer and motivator. In Steven King's book on writing he says that after his tragic accident, writing, his art form, helped him to get through the pain. It gave him motivation and an outlet. The bible even records how King Saul was soothed in his terrible temper by David's playing on the harp. Now, I don't know if hanging a Matisse at the dentist office would help take away the pain of a filling ... or if art therapy would help with cancer treatments but it would be interesting to throw some ideas out there!

What do you think? Can art soothe the savage beast?

Sorry about the delay but...

2006-11-10T18:20:00.000-08:00

hey all, just another note of appology about the delay. It seems my back has become worse, I can only sit for 20min at a time so writing is slow, slow, slow and painful. However ... it is now up and the good news is it should go away soon ... my back pain that is. Hope you enjoy!
Cara

Wednesday Story: Eileen and the Wings of Glory part 6

2006-11-10T18:14:00.000-08:00

Eileen’s throat tightened, “this is the man who has my daughter?”

Bruce turned his head and looked her firmly in the eye, “Yes. And if he has me our world will fall.”

“But how ... how did you end up with me?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “The council was divided which way to go, some believed that they could control Nestor by his bond to me, others that I should be ... destroyed, Petula alone saw another way. There are few, even of the fairy kind who travel to other worlds. Petula remembered you from all those years ago, a little girl, kind and brave. She believed there was no magic in your world, and few know the gates, ... she was certain I would be safe there.”

Eileen was certain she would fall, her brain was spinning. “But he followed you Bruce! Nestor followed you!”

“I know and that I regret but we must ...”

“Regret! Regret! It’s my daughter, Bruce! She’s only five and a man like that ... Nestor ... he could do anything. How could you and Petula put us in danger like that? I have nothing to do with your world, nothing! Sure, I rescued the fairy when I was five, but that doesn’t mean that I wanted to sign up for danger, danger and more danger! Oh, and just because I asked for a flying horse, when I was five, doesn’t mean that I want to go fight a bad guy. A bad guy no one in your world seems willing to fight! You and your ... Petula, really! You assumed too much! How nice of you to bring me into this, and now my daughter too. You are the only reason she is gone! You regret it, how very nice!”

Bruce shook his mane fiercely, “Surely you can see my situation. Besides, Petula spoke highly of your bravery, your kindness, you can think of a way to save us.”

“I can’t Bruce.” Eileen trembled, “Look at me. I’ve got dish pan hands, I’m no hero. You’ll just have to deliver yourself to Nestor, so that I can take my daughter home.”

“I won’t do it.”

“You will. It’s an order. You have to do as I say, right?”

“Absolutely your worship.” Bruce looked firmly straight ahead and Eileen could feel his muscles go stiff under hands.

Eileen patted Bruce’s shoulder, “Someone will rescue you. Petula maybe. I’m just not the one.”
The rest of the ride to the gate was steely quiet. That was just fine with Eileen, she didn’t feel like talking. The last time she had been set up was in Grade 10 when Clare put cheat notes in her desk during an exam. Up until that day Clare had been her best friend. Eileen had sworn she would never be so naive again ... and yet, through no fault of her own here she was again, and this time her daughter was in danger.

The gate rose up before them so quickly that Eileen gasped. It was breathtaking. Surrounded on all sides by white billows of cloud the gate itself seemed formed out of bits of bright sunlight. Not beams of sunlight, but tightly woven ribbons so fine it appeared to be wrought not only on the surface but in layer after layer until the eye could only guess at its depth. The gate was clearly closed as the whole centre appeared to be a solid mass of weaving all pulsating in different directions. And it was radiating incredible heat. Eileen put her arm up to shield herself.

"There’s no need for that your highness. It won’t leap out and bite you.” As if to prove his point Bruce swung dangerously close to its gleaming sides so that Eileen could feel the heat radiating like a coil on her stove against her leg.

“Would you please stop that? You almost burnt my leg.”

“Did I? So sorry my lady, I did not imagine it would.”

Eileen gritted her teeth, “And stop that too!”

“Stop what, Sahib?”

Eileen growled under her breath. Bruce was difficult before, now he was becoming unbearable. Just as well he was going to Nestor, it would teach him a lesson. Bruce touched down without warning just in front the gate. Eileen gave a little squeal as Bruce’s hooves touched the cloud, sank an inch or two into the depths and then remained level. “You’ve got to be kidding.” she murmured.

Bruce shook himself so hard it almost dislodged her, “Time to get off oh Queen of the kitchen. That is if those dish pan hands can let go of my mane.”

“What! You’ve got to be kidding! This is a cloud, and as my grade three teacher kindly pointed out you can not stand on clouds....”

“I’m standing on one. We can’t fly through the gate you know, and you won’t be able to duck through on my back.”

Eileen glanced nervously at the cloud. It was true, it did appear somewhat solid, for a cloud. Bruce’s hooves rested firmly on something that looked as much like a rock as a cloud could, but there was no telling how far that bit of solidness went. She gulped hard. “I’ll just hold your mane, ok?” She slid down his back and onto the ground, touching it carefully with one toe. It appeared to be solid. Just to make sure she stood as close to his hooves as possible. That position, as well as holding tightly to Bruce’s mane, made her feel like she was in the middle of a game of Twister.

Bruce snickered, “You really do like to make things as awkward as possible, don’t you?”

“Look, I’m down, this is as good as its going to get. Just keep moving.”

Bruce walked a steady pace with Eileen shuffling awkwardly beside him until his nose practically touched the gate. The heat was searing but Bruce didn’t seem to mind, instead he sniffed the gate delicately.

“How are we going to get in?”

“Could I have some quiet please? I am concentrating. The gate’s many layers are portals to other worlds, you simply press on the round finger guide and the door flies open sucking you in.”

Eileen squinted and could just make out a small round disk placed in a different spot on each
layer. “Oh, I see. Pressing on the wrong one could be a bit of a problem.”

“Ha.” Bruce chuckled wryly, “A bit. No one travels these anymore because people either disappeared or were turned so entirely inside out they were pretty much dead.”

“Pretty much?” The thought of being inside out and not quite dying just about turned out the last of her lunch.

“Professor Colsnop of the Fairy Institute was one of the last through the gates. He still does a lot of work translating old texts. It’s quiet and no one has to smell him. The stench is pretty bad... That’s odd.”

“You’re telling me.”

Bruce gave the door another large sniff, top to bottom this time, “No, not him. It’s just that I can usually smell the other side of the gate. Each one smells different. Some gates smell like bees wax or brine, there was one that smelled like sulfur. Yours smelled like apples, which is odd considering there doesn’t appear to be any. Mine should smell like the dregs of Claptrap, probably because the fairies are always making so much of it. With all of their parties it’s a wonder they get anything done. Anyhow, the smell is gone.”

“Maybe it smells different from this side of the door?”

“No, that’s not it. There’s no smell at all. It is as though someone has taken all the scents right off the gate itself. There isn’t one left.”

Sunday Intellectual Question: Music, Self Expression?

2006-11-05T19:10:00.000-08:00

Does a look at your music collection express to the world who you are? Wow, I'm not sure what mine would say ... lately I've been leaning towards cheesy dance music ... but it is an interesting thought. I assume that if someone buys a musician's work it must resonate with them emotionally, mentally or otherwise, and yet, can another person's art be a true reflection of who we are? Do we love music for the memories it brings to us, for the understanding it gives or just because it makes us happy? Interesting.

What's your favorite song, album or group? Does music and art have the ability to express who you are or where you've been?

Waaaay Too Carried Away

2006-11-02T17:47:00.000-08:00

Hello All!

Well, you might have noticed a few changes around here.

Unless of course you are reading this in braille. If you are, just so you know, there have been a few changes, starting with my name ... I will now go by Cleopatra Mimosa the Second. No, really, you can call me Cleo. No, really, I'm just kidding.

If you will now open your eyes I will direct your attention to our lovely new template, notice how green, how lush! The perfect pick me up for the winter blahs ... and believe me it is winter already where I am. We even have snow.

I am so, so, so loving the ease of use factor with the new blogger. Did I mention that I'm loving it? Well, I am, loving it. What took me hours of trying to figure out code before just took me twenty minutes of clicking on boxes and saying, "Yes, please." Not that I'm bitter about the loss of time before, oh no, not really (Grrr.) but this is much, much better. It should save me lots of time, and now that I can't stay in one place for longer than a few minutes it will greatly improve my mood ... or if not that, at least save me a couple minutes.

What's that you say? Why can I not sit still? Am I busy? Am I testing a mobile office? Do I actually have ants in my pants? No, gentle reader, so kind of you to ask, but this time I do not have ants in my pants. I have actually hurt my back. Ouch. The pain has been building up over the last few weeks so now I am using my free time trying to coax my back, back into submission. I will need to go stretch it out in a minute. I am getting professional help, thanks for asking. What? No, just for my back ... even though my fingernails could use a good manicure.

So, to recap, I've just changed the look of my blog, my back has given out entirely and my children have chewed through the coffee table. What's that? I didn't mention the table? Well, now you know. That's right, the twins have molars and will use them ... so don't try anything funny.

I guess what I'm trying to say is be sure to give me lots of leeway, ok, Wednesday Story is on Thursday, I completely changed my blog, and now, I'm grumpy, that's right grumpy like a troll, what can I say. I have no sense of where is too far and how long it should take me to get there. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Wednesday Story: Eileen and the Wings of Glory Part 5

2006-11-02T17:07:00.000-08:00

By the time they sent out the call it was too late.

Bruce let out a mighty neigh, “Those who died from the dragon’s fire were lucky, there was a huge famine, coupled with a bad winter. To their credit the second kingdom rallied aid. Queen Mestlin herself rode Netal over the passes to protect the supply train. Netal later told me she could see bursts of flame over the villages but there was nothing they could do. The dragon appeared to be baiting them, he would light the fires in the village and then, just as Netal rose to the first cloud she would see him diving on the train from high in the mountains. The train lost three wagons before everyone caught on. It broke her heart but the Queen could not risk leaving the train even for a moment. Even so, with the dragon circling they had to double back again and again. Winter had begun in earnest by the time the train reached the first of the villages and for many, it was too late. Then word reached the Queen that her cousin, who for many years had plotted against her, was now taking advantage of her absence and advancing her army towards the capital. The Queen had no choice but to leave at once, and the people despaired.

And with perfect timing, now that the people were desperate and alone, Nestor arrived, like a god entering his temple, his armour shining like the sun, his sword cruel and long. Some even say the steed he rode had Pegasi blood in his veins ... but that is preposterous!” Bruce shook his head hard and gave a loud neigh. “He rode into the capital, killed the dragon in a short but spectacular battle, and set up shop. The people insisted, ... insisted he take the throne. And that’s when the real trouble started.”

“Oh.” Eileen grimaced, “How much worse could it be?”

“Much worse. Nestor implemented, for the people’s safety, a curfew, and his own men, who appeared like magic from the hills, patrolled the streets of the capital, to ‘search the sky for dragons’. At first they were all hailed as heros, although those cowards had faced far less than the people had in a week. Then disappearances began. Whole families, in the night. They were said to be eaten by dragons, though no sign of one has been seen since. People all through the kingdom, whomever were left, were catalogued and numbered, many were sent to live in different, safer, regions. Beautiful women and boys were sent to the capital for safe keeping but were never seen by their families again.

In the midst of all this the time came for the Pegasi bonding. Although Nestor was king the council of fairies greatly feared his ambition. Coupled with the power of the pegasi he would be a terrible force. He could rule the world.”

Eileen’s throat tightened, “this is the man who has my daughter?”

Bruce turned his head and looked her firmly in the eye, “Yes. And if he has me our world will fall.”

Snazzy New Features

2006-10-30T07:22:00.000-08:00

I just moved over to Blogger in Beta and I am so tickled with this new feature (tee hee). Check out the bottom of my posts, you will find a "label" identifying the kind of post I've made, Wednesday Story, Sunday Intellectual Question, Funny Story, Playing with People ... and on and on ad nauseum. Simply click on the label and you will find yourself viewing all posts belonging to that category. Read them all, or just collect the Capital Letters to trade with your friends, the choice is yours.Why do I LOVE this? I no longer have to feel guilty about not updating my lists in the the column to your left. I now have room to feel guilty about something else, like the fact that I'm sure there's other new features but I have no idea what they are or how they work. And I used a plural in my title. Now I'm responsible. Thanks Blogger.

Sunday Intellectual Question: Spooky Stories

2006-10-29T18:53:00.000-08:00

I am a big chicken. I scream at jumpy things, I can't go to sleep until I am sure all the doors and windows are locked, and I have been known to lay eggs. Well, I don't actually lay them, I buy them in a carton and put them carefully in my fridge, but it's pretty close! If I watch a horror movie, or even a "thriller" I have nightmares for weeks and can often recall the details clearly years later ... Evidence: the silly "horror" movie my friend's big brother rented when I was seven. I can still see clearly a little kid in the woods jumping in his sleeping bag away from a plastercine monster. Even though I know it's fake, and plastercine monsters who are slightly out of focus around the edges do not haunt the forests of Canada (but possibly Borneo, lots of strange things happen there) I still don't want to sleep without a tent in the middle of the woods. Given the number of bears, wild cats and feirce porcupines up here that is probably a good thing.

This leads me, finally, to a question: Why do some people, like myself, translate even the silliest horror movie into jumpiness and long term fears, while other people are able to watch the movies "just for fun"?

Is there a horror movie moment or campfire story that just won't leave you alone?

Wednesday Story: Eileen and the Wings of Glory Part 4

2006-10-26T11:54:00.000-07:00

Eileen staggered out the screen door, her hair still steaming from the explosion and gave a little wave with the Scum Remover can. She wasn’t sure she could let it go. All the muscles in her body were so tense they wouldn’t release on their own. “Hey Bruce. This stuff actually does take out scum.”

Bruce dropped the branch of the African Fig that he was chewing, “what happened to you?”

“Cleaning.” Eileen’s muscles suddenly released and she melted down onto the sidewalk.

“Really? Petula had said there was no magic in this world. Hmm. Do you always clean this way?”

Eileen just stared. “Always.”

“If I had known rinsing would be this big of a deal I would have told you to forget it.” He nudged her several times with his nose. “No time for sitting, we’ve got to go right away. Your daughter is in terrible danger. We’ll start flying and figure something out on the way.”

After several truly embarrassing attempts to get on Bruce’s back, all of which ended with Eileen either falling on the ground or sitting backwards, she was finally holding on for dear life watching the ground lift away below her feet.

Bruce pulled his head forward and shook, “Not so tight Eileen! You’re going to rip my mane right off!”

Eileen didn’t feel so good. She had never been air sick, but then, every plane she had been on had sported a floor ... and a chair. “I don’t think I can. I am going to be sick, or fall off, or both. Oh dear!”

“Oh no you’re not!” Bruce yelled , his hide forming goose bumps under her hand.

Eileen grimaced as the whole world as she knew it became so small she could put it in her pocket.“This is not going to work. There must be another way. Surely there’s a door in a closet or hole in a lake or something else. Anything else. You could fly. I’d meet you there.”

“Absolutely not, I go where you go. I am lotted to you alone. I can’t change what the fairy council has done. For a little girl who wanted a flying horse, you would think you’d like flying ... or at least riding.”

Eileen clenched her teeth together, “I was five.”

The next twenty minutes passed in more or less silence. Eileen tried desperately to loosen her grip on Bruce’s mane and took long soothing breaths in the hopes that it would calm down her tummy. When a small flock of birds came bursting out of a cloud in front of them Eileen waved her free arm frantically hoping they wouldn’t hit her in the nose. It was at that moment she realised she was still holding the scum remover. How embarrassing. If anyone saw her waving around a cleaning bottle they would think she had gone mad. Actually, if anyone saw her flying on the back of a Pegasus that would be the least of her problems. She quickly tucked the cleanser into one of the pockets on her apron.

They had levelled off now and Bruce turned his head ever so slightly, “Well, you must be doing a little better, you’re not riding like a sack of potatoes anymore.”

“Thanks.” she said.

“A few more days should have you in shape. We have about twenty more minutes until the gate so now might be a good time to come up with plan. I don’t think we should fly right in ... too dangerous. He might just kill you and take me and the girl ... we’ll land a days walk to the south. He doesn’t watch the borders much, not enough men yet that he can fully trust. Now, how are we going to defeat Nestor.”

Eileen took a deep breath, “Look. I just want my daughter. No offence but, I really can’t get involved with your politics. He wants you, you go with him.” she patted him reassuringly, “I’m sure he’ll have nice grass.”

Eileen nearly fell as Bruce reared in the air, “Nice grass! Nice grass! Nestor is evil! He’ll do anything to gain power. That is why the fairy council sent ...” he cleared his throat anxiously, “I can’t and I won’t”

“Oh, yes you will. He can’t be all bad.” she bit her lip hard, “Besides, you could run away.” Something tickled the back of Eileen’s brain, “Hey, what ‘fairy council’? I did not rescue a council of fairies I know that much for certain. What is going on here?”

Bruce sighed, “I wasn’t supposed to tell you. Alright, it seems only fair now that your daughter has been taken. You did rescue Petula when you were five, but she had no intention of rewarding you with me.”

“See! Ha, ha! I knew it.” Eileen tossed her head, accidentally letting go of Bruce’s mane. For a moment she seemed suspended in air and then finally, she grasped the thick strands of mane once more.

Bruce didn’t appear to notice, “Ah hem. No, instead she gave you the figurine you found at the end of your lane.”

“Oh, I loved that one. It was a lovely horse with wings, all crystal. It made the best rainbows when I set it on my window sill. I wonder where it has gone?”

Bruce snorted, “Yes, on reflection quite a suitable replacement. Anyhow, the pegasi of our land are rare, only four are bred every fifty years, we are highly trained, tightly guarded and when we are mature we are only lotted to one of the four rulers of our world. We are lotted for life and must do what they command.”

“Oh. How did you escape?”

“Escape! I didn’t escape! Never in all my life have I ...” what sounded like a growl rumbled in his throat. “You have no idea. It came time for the pegasi to be lotted but there had been trouble in the third kingdom. The king and his pegasus, D’Argon, died while performing a simple manoeuvre for the crowd on Ascension Day. They were doing a lay up into the clouds when D’Argon suddenly lost air and plunged into a tree. They both fell to their deaths. D’Argon was a great Pegasi, strongest of his fold, those sent to the third kingdom always are, they have to be. He had years left to his pasturing it seems incredible that something so simple could bring him down. Then the Queen died of a broken heart, and soon after their little boy disappeared during a walk with his nurse in the woods. The nurse disappeared too. All very suspicious. Everything had an explanation, mind, but taken all together it was suspicious. Then a dragon started troubling the kingdom.

“Dragon?” terrible nightmares fled through her head. While other children had brought flashlights into their bedrooms to ward off monsters, Eileen had made a nest under her bed to protect herself from dragons. “As in real Dragons? I thought it was just, make believe.” but then everything make believe was suddenly real. Why not that?

Bruce sighed, “Even here many do not imagine they exist. They are rarely seen. Dragons usually hate populated areas, and are incredibly lazy.” Bruce laughed, “There is a dragon who lives at the tine, Nimbleflame, the fairy council had brought him to protect the breeding grounds ... but you would be lucky to wake him with an army. Fairy Tusca dotes on him and feeds him too many cows. However, the dragon in the third kingdom acted like none before him. He had an unquenchable thirst for carnage. He raided for days on end. He openly attacked many of the noble keeps and carried off anything of value, including the young boys who never returned. Now, a fully trained king or queen with their pegasus and quarter of knights, could have ended the dragon, or at least bound him to a place far away, but the kingdom was defenceless. Many of the knights who could have stood a chance against the beast were attacked and killed before they could band together. It was almost as though the dragon knew everything, who to attack and when. The winter winds were almost at our door by the time a single knight arrived at the tine. He was barely alive. The dragon had hunted him over the mountains. He had been burned and left for dead by the beast but still managed to crawl to the council chamber in the hope that the fairies could band the kingdoms together to save his. He died in the end and the fairies, with their politics at their feet, argued away the remaining weeks before winter. By the time they sent out the call it was too late."

Sunday Intellectual Question: School Curriculum

2006-10-22T11:39:00.000-07:00

The education of our children is a touchy topic, and why not, it involves our most precious treasures. We all feel strongly about what we want them to learn and the things we want them to avoid. There are those who trust the school system to do this for them, there are those who teach children at home, and a whole spectrum of parental involvement in between. Personally, I feel that most schools, depending on the teacher of course, do not encourage classical reasoning and thought. It was often my experience that in order to receive good marks I needed to parrot what the teacher said as opposed to formulating an argument and proving it reasonably. So, I would definitely add classical logic to the curriculum. That, and I would still like to take a course on grammar ....

What courses would you add to the curriculum and why?

Wednesday Story: Part 3 - Eileen and the Wings of Glory

2006-10-19T07:09:00.001-07:00

The morning had to get better.

It didn’t. Eileen arrived in the bathroom just in time to see what looked like a scrawny, dirty little man, disappear down her bathtub drain. There, scrawled into the grime on the tub wall read,

“The Pegasus for the girl. Or you will miss her baby brown curls. Nestor.”

Stuck to the bottom of the message with a wad of chewing gum was a pink ribbon still holding a few strands of brown curly hair. It was the same ribbon Bonnie had worn to school.

The room spun, “Bonnie! My Bonnie!” Someone had her, some one who wanted ... Propping herself against the sink she pulled herself over to the window and pushed it open, “Bruce!” Bruce stood by the fence, the long stem of a prize astilbe hanging out of his mouth. He was ignoring her, “Bruce!”

“I need proper nourishment, many a pegasus has died from ...”

Eileen gripped her hair, “Bruce, someone has my daughter!”

Bruce turned, eyes wide, ears back, and galloped to the window, “What?”

“Someone,” she glanced back at the grimy words, “I can’t quite make it out ... Nestor? He has my daughter. I don’t even know who he is.”

Bruce blew hard through his nostrils, “Nestor. He found me.”

Eileen’s eyes fixed on Bruce, “What do you mean, he found you?”

“You had better come outside so we can talk, quietly, his Pipe Haggers are quiet efficient.” he glanced through the window at the writing on the tub. “And I’d rinse that off right away, it’s very corrosive.”

Eileen gently took down the ribbon and hair and laid it on a towel by the tub. It seemed that the slightest gust of her breath would blow the strands of Bonnie’s hair away and leave her with nothing. Her own parents had seemed so strong when she was little, so invincible. Every danger melted away with the sight of their pant leg. She wasn’t invincible, come on, she could hardly get the soap scum off the tub. Now, here she was with a flying horse and a Pipe Hagger, whatever that was. She was a housewife, for goodness sake, with rough hands and a round bum to boot, what could she do? She glanced down at the ribbon again. Bonnie was so small, even though she was five Eileen still rocked her to sleep at night. “Momma’s coming little one. Momma’s coming.” she murmured.

Gripping the Super Scum Remover in both hands she aimed at the letters and squeezed the trigger hard. A blast of white foam coated the tub in swaths that slowly dripped together, gathering speed on the way to the drain. For a moment she could see the letters turning into a blotchy mess and then ... BOOM! Eileen staggered back as the air was filled with rancid smoke and bright streaks of light. When she finally opened her eyes, there was her tub, clean and bright, just like the day they had bought it. It was stunning.

Eileen staggered out the screen door, her hair still steaming from the explosion and gave a little wave with the Scum Remover can. She wasn’t sure she could let it go. All the muscles in her body were so tense they wouldn’t release on their own. “Hey Bruce. This stuff actually does take out scum.”

Bruce dropped the branch of the African Fig that he was chewing, “what happened to you?”

“Cleaning.” Eileen’s muscles suddenly released and she melted down onto the sidewalk.

“Really? Petula had said there was no magic in this world. Hmm. Do you always clean this way?”

Eileen just stared. “Always.”

Sunday Intellectual Question: Food Choices

2006-10-15T18:42:00.000-07:00

It has been brought to my attention that Mahi Mahi is just fancy island talk for dolphin. Now, I'm pretty sure that a platter of Flipper meat served with a tossed salad wouldn't be a big seller, but is it really the same thing? For that matter, what about hot dogs? I have heard many stories about exactly what is inside that little bag of mystery, and yet, shamelessly, I still eat them.

Does knowing what is in your food make it impossible to eat?

Wednesday Story: Eileen and the Wings of Glory Part 2

2006-10-11T19:18:00.000-07:00

Brandishing the bear high above her head Eileen ran screaming out the back door, down the steps, and came to a complete stop. This wasn’t just any horse standing in her yard. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. His hide was so white it glowed in the sunshine, and as the wind ruffled the leaves on her neighbour’s maple, the hide rippled, changing texture and colour like facets of a diamond. Perhaps most astonishing of all were the soft white wings folded along his body. Eileen wasn’t sure she could breathe.

“That’s a most unusual way to greet someone. Is the bear a gift?”

Her jaw dropped open and refused to close. The horse loudly sniffed at the sunburnt grass, took a big bite of the nicest green patch, ruffled his feathers and continued, “Well then, might as well get on with it. Eileen McGovern? It is you isn’t it?”

Eileen blinked twice.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Special Delivery.”

“Um ... pardon?” the words barely squeaked out of her mouth.

“I believe you wished for a flying horse.” Bruce spit the wad of grass on to a paving stone, “Well, here I am. My name is Bruce, a pegasus, I come from a long line of distinguished stallions ...”

“I’m sorry ... I wished?”

Bruce shook his mane and blew out his lips, “Yes, yes ... let’s see, 12th of May 1974, you rescued fairy Petula Mendelsa Ripplebottom Crocus from a jar of fireflies. She said, “How may I repay you?” You said ...”

Eileen’s eyes opened wide,“... A flying horse.”

“Exactly, a flying horse. So, here I am.” Bruce pulled another carefully selected wad of grass from the lawn and chewed it delicately with his front teeth.

“But, I was five.”

Bruce looked Eileen up and down and shrugged, “So?” With a twist of his mouth he spit again, this time hitting Bonnie’s little pink tricycle.

“I was five and now I’m thirty seven! And ... that’s disgusting.” The green gob of half eaten grass began its slow decent to the ground. “I don’t need any more messes to clean up, you know.”

“Pegasi aren’t exactly pots of gold. You can’t just smelt one in your basement. So, here I am and here you are ... wish complete, debt repaid, so on and so forth. . . aren’t you going to say something?”

“Um.”

“Good. Darien gets the Prince of Belise, Shofla has the Queen of Mestlin and I get Eileen of ...”

“467 Rowan Crescent.”

“Hmm. Yes, exactly. Lucky me.”

“Oh.”

Bruce glanced over the fence and into the Hendrew’s yard and into the most spectacular garden in all of Burnstock. Bruce just shook his mane, “Do you at least have some oats? I’m starving.”
Eileen paused. This couldn’t be happening. She barely remembered the fairy, and to be honest, in the memory she looked suspiciously like Tinkerbell.“Well, you see, there must be some mistake. I wasn’t expecting a horse ...”

Bruce’s upper lip peeled back, “A pegasus, if you please.”

“Right, well, I didn’t even think the fairy was real. I was five, I thought I made it up. And now as you can see I really can’t have a horse ...”

“Pegasus.”

“In my yard. I just can’t. There’s no room and, I’m really busy, and ...” As Eileen paused, a serene calm washed over her face, she started to laugh, “just a second, I get it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she placed one plump hand over her heart and began to chant, “I don’t believe in Pegasus, I don’t believe in Pegasus, I don’t believe in Pegasus.” She opened one eyelid just the slightest. Bruce, the pegasus, was still there. “Dam! Ok, I don’t believe in fairies, I don’t believe in fairies, I...”

“Are you alright?”

Eileen’s eyes flew open,“How can you still be here?”

Bruce rubbed his hocks casually with his nose for a bit, then swung around so he was looking firmly down his nose at her. “Just because you believe something is real or not doesn’t matter a straw. A thing is real because it is. Honestly!” he turned around and gently preened his feathers with his teeth, “I was serious about the oats. Your grass is, well, below standards. And then I’d like a nap. Travelling between worlds isn’t easy.”

Eileen’s could feel her headache returning with a vengance, “Look, my day hasn’t exactly gone very well, and really, you caught me a little off guard, it has been thirty four years.”

“Thirty two.”

“Whatever. And to be honest, if she had asked me today I would have asked for something else. Like something to clean the house.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, “That was harsh.”

“Can’t you just go back to the fairy who sent you here?”

For the first time Bruce looked truly offended. He stretched out his long neck high in the air and pawed at the grass, tossing loose clods of dirt into the air and onto Eileen’s clean windows.

“Certainly not! A pegasus has never been sent back to the breeding tine. Ever. It would be a disgrace. I am lotted to you, I may only go where you go.”

“Oh.” The air outside was feeling a little too thin and Eileen had a sudden urge to scrub something, really hard. Even the scum in the bathtub looked good right now. “Try some grass, I have things to do.” she flicked her flowered apron with annoyance and marched up the stairs, throwing the screen door back with vigour. The morning just had to get better.

Sunday Intellectual Discussion: Thanksgiving

2006-10-08T20:18:00.000-07:00

This weekend in Canada we are celebrating Thanksgiving. It is a time to reflect on the year and all the people, and things we are thankful for. We also eat a lot of turkey.

Today’s question is a simple one:

What are you most thankful for?

Wednesday Story: Eileen and the Wings of Glory

2006-10-04T19:41:00.000-07:00

I have been working away on a "short" story that I hope you will all enjoy. Now if you will endulge me as I give you one of my most favorite genres ...

Eileen McGovern knelt on her chubby knees, her round bottom high in the air, scrubbing the bathroom tub with all the strength she could muster. True, there was not as much elbow grease left in her scrubbing, but she hated housework, and under the circumstances this was as good as she could do. After a whirlwind summer of soccer practice and art camp, Jamie, Clarke, and Bonnie had finally headed off to school leaving Eileen to scrape clean the summer grime. Flicking her drippy brown hair out of her equally brown eyes she squeezed more Super Scum Remover on the drain area. The yellow band around the tub reappeared no matter how much she rinsed. The scum was out to get her.

She could feel her hair creeping slowly down into her eyes again and a ribbon of sweat dripped steadily onto her nose. Eileen tossed the sponge at the tub, “What a joke. All this work and I’m still not done.” After a full week and a day of straight cleaning, speaking to herself was as exciting as it got. She made a fist and pressed it into her back, catching a glimpse of the ceiling out of the corner of her eye. “What a mess!” she screamed. There was mould up there too.
Things had been going badly all day. She had forgotten to pack the lunches the night before, Clarke refused to wear anything but a grubby jersey, and Bonnie had clung to her leg during the entire walk to school. To top it off she had locked herself out of the house and had subsequently been stuck for half an hour in the basement window, wondering if she could wiggle her way into the house before the neighbours called the police. It was not a good day.

“Argh!” Her head felt like a balloon. The Super Scum Remover was supposed to leave everything sparkling. “But notice,” , she said rubbing her nose furiously, “there’s no ‘stinky’ symbol next to the explosive symbol on the side of the can!” It was time for some fresh air.

Hard as it was to ignore the layer of dust on the window sill, she steeled herself and threw her shoulder into the bottom of the frame. The window slid up with a grunt, and she breathed in. There was no fresh air at all. Outside something pressed up against the screen, blocking all the air. Something big, and white.“Just one more fantastic surprise! Great!” Eileen flicked the screen to push the thing away. The thing moved. On its own. Trembling she watched as the white thing turned around and a pair of brown eyes came swaying into view. It was a horse. She blinked twice. Yes, a horse. Actually, that was a bit of a surprise.

She took a big breath in and squeaked,“I’ve been in the bathroom too long.” Racing to the door she quickly turned on the fan. “All those chemicals! It’s no wonder.” She cautiously looked over her shoulder; the horse was still there.

The horse tilted his head, “Eileen McGovern?”

Eileen blinked frantically. She rubbed her eyes. She looked around. “Clarke? Darren?”

“Actually, the name’ s Bruce I...”

Eileen slammed the window down so hard it shook. Then, quickly shutting the door for good measure, she ran into the hall and leaned panting for breath against the wall. “I must have mixed the cleaners.”

She glanced into Jamie’s room. The shades of paint splashed on the walls were very trippy indeed but that was just the way Jamie liked it. All the clothes were still strewn across the floor, her stereo sat cockeyed and open above her bed, and her stuffed bear, the large one that her boyfriend had won at the carnival, was sitting very still on the middle of her bed. It didn’t appear to be talking. Just to be sure Eileen walked across the room and poked it. The bear didn’t move. She breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m not hallucinating that much.”

Actually, the bear felt rather soft and more than a little comforting, so, feeling rather silly, Eileen clutched the bear in front of her, and tiptoed to the bathroom. She took in a few more deep breathes just to clear her head and slowly opened the door. Through the frosting on the glass she could just make out a large white shape, moving gently side to side. It still looked remarkably like a horse. Like the rear end of a horse. If it was a real horse, which she doubted, it was wedged into the yard pretty tightly. Eileen and Darren could only afford a semi, and even then the yard was barely more than a glorified path to the garage. Who ever thought this prank up had some serious time on his hands! Still, if it was a real horse, which, again, was highly unlikely, it would come with some real poop, which, in turn would mean more cleaning. Her hands clenched tightly around the bear’s throat, “not today buster!”she yelled.

Brandishing the bear high above her head Eileen ran screaming out the back door, down the steps, and came to a complete stop. This wasn’t just any horse standing in her yard. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. His hide was so white it glowed in the sunshine, and as the wind ruffled the leaves on her neighbour’s maple, the hide rippled, changing texture and colour like facets of a diamond. Perhaps most astonishing of all was the soft white wings folded along his body. Eileen wasn’t sure she could breathe.

“That’s a most unusual way to greet someone. Is the bear a gift?”

Sunday Intellectual Discussion: Worst Childcare Item

2006-10-01T17:06:00.000-07:00

This question is inspired by the terrible clutter I have found myself in. How, after all the research, did we end up with toys that my children do not play with ... and products that are not only bulky but also refuse be operated by the sleep deprived? By far the worst baby item we have ever bought was the diaper genie. Sure it may have worked wonders for some other PHD holding smarties but we just couldn't get the thing open, or once it was open, we couldn't get it closed. It ended up a glorified waste basket hanging half way open all day until we could stand the stench no longer. It has since been sold in a yard sale and been replaced by grocery bags that are quickly tied up and wisked outside before people pass out.

What is the worst baby or childcare item that you have ever purchased for yourself or someone else? (This could include annoying toys bought for unsuspecting friends...naughty :)

The Queen of the Socks

2006-09-27T18:19:00.000-07:00

Ah, yes! If socks were dollars, I would be wading in cash. Instead, I am knee deep in multi-coloured tootsie tubes. I’m afraid to emerge ... I know there is more, hiding, upstairs.

Little pixie socks for the toddler set,
action socks for the crime fighter,
princess socks, serious socks,
and glamourous socks for me.
You know the ones I’m talking about.
Cotton, with a delicate band of colour at the ankle?
Yes, glamour is my middle name.

I admit it. The laundry has slowly snuck up on me. Last week, while I was putting away the ‘last’ of the folded laundry I glanced at the basket in my kids room and considered putting a load on.

“No,” I thought, “not today. Today I’m taking a break from laundry.” and ‘poof’ the laundry pile multiplied, like happy bunnies on a beautiful spring day.

Now, my pile of laundry is so high that I predict I will be at the washing machine for the next twenty years. If you happen to be available for any one of my children’s graduations please let me know, if I have time I’ll send you my seat. Or perhaps I could send a clean sock to sit in my chair ... by then it should be technologically advanced enough to take pictures.

I have a dream. It’s a simple dream. Each member of the family would own two sets of stylish yet inexpensive clothes. At the end of each day they would fold the clothes lovingly and place them on a modern display shelf, next to one of those space age egg chairs. And a star burst clock. Oh, and a painting by Miro. On Wednesdays the whole family would line up with clothing set number one. They would place it in the laundry. There would be no need for baskets or separating, I would just turn the machine on and watch it go. Ah, bliss.

Now there are some of you out there who are saying, “This is crazy! Her scheme would never work.”

Ah, my gentle readers, how short sighted. A pipe dream? I think not. I having been testing my theory for a few weeks now. The girls have worn the same outfit for several days, just so I can tell them apart. All that remains is to weed out everyone else’s wardrobe. Now, if I can only figure out how to get my son to part with his Batman lounge suit.

For now, though, I think I will crouch down in the pile and get started. Perhaps I’ll place some underwear on my head as a tiara, wave my bottle of Tide and announce in my most regal voice, “the washer is free! Send in the socks!”

Sunday Intellectual Discussion: Just War

2006-09-25T11:37:00.000-07:00

For Canadians the last few weeks have shown an escalation in the number of our soldiers who have been killed or injured in Iraq. It seems that a "safe" operation that few considered to truely be ours is now thrusting itself into our corporate consciousness. Questions about war and peace and how go about both are all around us, so it seems only right to ask a few questions of my own.

Is there ever a good, honorable reason to go to war? Where do you begin to draw the line? In defense of human rights? To curtail a possible threat? To gain more land etc? In final defense of your country? Or never?

Martin Luther wrote a few interesting words on wether or not there could ever be a just war ... and on the responsibilities soldiers carry in a war ... let's chat, what do you think?

Talk Like A Pirate Day - September 19

2006-09-21T06:19:00.000-07:00

Talk Like A Pirate Day - September 19
Alright, this has to be my final Pirate instalment:
Here's their web site, it even has some stuff for kids! Have fun!

YouTube - Talk LIke a Pirate Day: "Slappy's Random Phrases"

2006-09-21T06:10:00.000-07:00

YouTube - Talk LIke a Pirate Day: "Slappy's Random Phrases"

Here's some random Pirate Phrases to get you started. Just think how well this would work at the grocery store!

YouTube - Talk Like a Pirate Day: Phone Etiquette

2006-09-21T06:02:00.000-07:00

YouTube - Talk Like a Pirate Day: Phone Etiquette

Ok, found another one. Kim you'd appreciate this a lot ... you may even consider answering all your messages this way!

YouTube - Talk Like a Pirate Day: "I'm a Pirate" song

2006-09-21T05:59:00.000-07:00

YouTube - Talk Like a Pirate Day: "I'm a Pirate" song

I found these guys while wandering around the net, it's very silly and worth a moment ... especially if your kids are really into pirates, like mine. This video is a pirate "kiddie song" and even features a pint sized cabin boy.

Pocket hairdressing

2006-09-20T16:22:00.000-07:00

As you have heard in my previous story: Perfect Hair Dreams I dream of different hair. Not wavy, not brown, not constantly sticking up at the side while it falls flat as a rodent road kill at the back, but long, curly, flowing, glistening tresses in a ravishing shade of red. Or blonde, I’m not picky.

However, a funny thing happened as I was drifting off to sleep last night, I realized that different hair may not be the answer I’m looking for. Sure, if I woke up the next morning with the glorious hair of my dreams, I would, for a few moments be deliriously happy tossing my head back and forth in front of the mirror and yelling “Would you look at my hair!” so that even astronauts on their lunch break at the Space Station would marvel, but after that brief moment I would probably gaze in disbelief at the tangled mess I had just made and realise that I had made a terrible mistake. I may be blonder, curlier and flowing out the door but I would still have no idea what to do with it. Sadly, the brush is but a mallet in my hands.

So, I’ve revised my previous wish (take note fairy Godmother) I wish to have a permanent hairdresser. One who will be with me each morning to attend my terrible tresses and who would preferably fit in a drawer. This pocket sized magician of the hair would pop out each morning,

“Now let’s see Darling, um hum, um hum, yes we can do something with it. I think a little brushed at the front and up at the back. Very n-ice. Maybe some curls. What you think?”
“Thanks so much,” I’d say, “I never would have pinned it up that way.”
“It’s nothing honey, to me you’re like Cher at a ball. Now go have fun.”

And I’d put him right back in the drawer for later until the next time I...

“Hey! I can hear you out there! Are you putting that cream on your hair like I told you.”

“Um ... yes?”
“You know your hair will be flat tomorrow and completely unworkable. It won’t be my fault if you are a ‘poofed’ souffle.”
“Ok, ok I’m putting it on.”
“And you’ll wait twenty minutes before rinsing?”
“Sure.”
“Twenty actual minutes.”
“Come on, I’ve got to go to bed.”
“Twenty, twenty, twentytwentytwenty...”
“Ugh! Yes, yes.”
“Promise?”
“I swear.”
“Good. See you tomorrow, honey!”

On second thought: A silent, pocket hairdresser.

Sunday Intellectual Discussion: Best Food Memory

2006-09-17T10:29:00.000-07:00

Well, another week has gone by … sometimes it is so difficult to get to a computer! Thanks to all of you who have weighed in recently on the various topics I have so enjoyed your comments! Now, to the task at hand. My brain feels like it has been eaten by some very small, and tenacious, rodents. There are some serious holes happening! So, in honor of this situation I’m not going to ask anything intellectual this week … it would be too taxing … instead I’m going to ask something emotional … last I checked all my feelings were still intact.

I love ice cream, especially milkshakes. To me they are the ultimate comfort food and, with real cream, a true indulgence. Slowly licking a spoon full of ice cream and letting it melt in my mouth makes time drag to a halt. For a moment I am as pampered as a princess.

My Grandpa on my mom’s side used to love ice cream too. In fact, I can remember riding in the back of the car with him.

“Stop!” he shouted as we passed a Baskin Robins sign, “The kids want ice cream!”

I was about to explain that I hadn’t said anything, (what can I say, not too quick on the pick up) but he quickly leaned over and whispered, “Shh, play along and we’ll all get some!”

My parents stopped the car and we were given a couple minutes to run to the store. There were so many flavors, but we quickly chose, “2 large cones and a dish please!” I think our eyes popped out of our heads … my brother and I had never had a cone that big before … it was like someone had handed us a whole container! We started to lick furiously.
“Hurry up!” Grandpa said, “we can’t take it back to the car. And here…”
He pulled out his wallet from his pants pocket and handed us each five dollars. “Don’t tell Grandma I got one too.”

The funny thing is … I pretty sure she knew.

What is your favorite food memory?

Playing With People: Office Space ... The Final Frontier

2006-09-12T05:00:00.000-07:00

If you were to walk into any room, how would you know who the leader is? The gleam in their eyes? The fact that they are standing? Their snappy outfit? Not if my university professors had anything to do with it. No, the secret of discovering a leader’s identity is this: we always give leaders their space.

Want to toy with your leader a little? Play with that space. In fact, completely ignore it.

During a meeting sit as close as possible to the leader, move a chair if you have to. You will probably be looking directly up the leader’s nose, it’s a small price to pay. Don’t look down at your papers but enjoy a few minutes of closeness with the one in power. Watch their face intently and only look away to make a few important notes … they will think you are so attentive … a little strange … but eager to climb that corporate ladder!

Sunday Intellectual Discussion: Sans Electricity

2006-09-10T17:52:00.000-07:00

Today we were without electricity until the middle of the afternoon ... hard not to go into the shakes! A situation like that makes you sit back and concider what would I do if electrical power was suddenly gone ... forever? Would I survive? I might have to wash everything by hand ... including the dishes! I've watched lots of Survivor so I would probably be great at making a fire though.

What one thing would you be best at if you had no electricity to aid your day?

USELESS ADVICE FROM USELESS MEN

2006-09-08T10:47:00.000-07:00

USELESS ADVICE FROM USELESS MEN

I have enjoyed this site from time to time. They are a very funny bunch of guys (and one girl) and the best fun is sending in a question or two for them to answer.Check out answer 365.

Spelling Poem

2006-09-07T06:38:00.000-07:00

I found this poem while surfing the web. Whoever came up with this is very clever! If you're out there let me know so I can properly credit you ... and pick your brain.

I halve a spelling checker
It came with my pea see
It illustrates four my bee half
Mist aches eye can naught sea.
Iran this poem threw it
So ewe can plane lee no
Its error free in every weigh
My checker tolled me sew.

Total Body and Skin Care Regimen

2006-09-05T19:10:00.000-07:00

We all know that baby’s skin is soft and line free beyond compare. Who wouldn’t want to be young, beautiful and firm again? I have a new foolproof integrated program that combines beauty, health and exercise for a new total you. This regimen, based on the careful observance of babies, is sure to give new vitality and spark to your skin using techniques that are simple to master.

To begin your morning thrash your legs swiftly yet firmly down onto the bed several times. To complete this exercise correctly raise your legs in the air until they touch your ears, arch your back and throw your legs down onto the mattress. Finish with a squeal.
Prepare your morning cereal, cream of wheat or oatmeal is highly recommended. Smear half the contents of the bowl on your face and leave to sit until crusty. Eat remaining contents with your fingers. Remove with a soft damp cloth. This is a fast way to combine beauty and weight loss programs for those busy mornings. Your skin will be radiant and smooth and your will instantly loose weight.
Go to bed.
After a refreshing nap, crawl around on the floor. Eat whatever you find there, especially lint and small stickers, these aid in digestion and give your skin that special glow.
Stand on top of the tallest object you can find, gently stretch your arms to your side as far as you can until you are standing on your tip toes. Repeat as often as possible. This exercise will not only tone those flabby thighs but will also cause your loved ones to love you more … or at least put you under twenty four hour surveillance.
When your dinner is late, cry inconsolably. Throw both hands into the air and scrub your eyes vigorously with both hands. If the meal takes longer than five minutes to arrive escalate into a full bodied scream, clutch and release your fists, scrunch up your face. Think of this as a workout the whole family can enjoy. They will be on their toes, running back and forth and loosing weight. You will keep all the muscles in your face happy and healthy. Win/Win.
Drink four large glasses of milk making sure to dribble a small amount down your chin and onto the front of your shirt. This moisturizes the tender skin under your mouth and gives a “youthful look” to your everyday wear.

Follow this routine daily for best results. You will enjoy all the pleasures of youth with my new program. Be sure to send in for the follow up “Life Skills Makeover and Recovery” for the low, low price of only $500 (which can be broken down into bi-monthly payments of $11.95, amortized over the next 25 years.) It also includes a nice designer hand bag and wheelchair seat cover. You’ll need it.

(This study was tested on four children and is deemed to be right at least two out of four times. Unless the moon was full and they were cranky.)

Safety First

2006-09-04T21:17:00.000-07:00

I don’t know what is wrong with my body but it appears to be magnetically attracted to furniture. Those of you who are adept at science are right now saying, “Come on, lady, most furniture is made out of wood” Well, my body is made out of flesh but it doesn’t seem to make any difference. Magnetic, I tell you. My husband will attest, he has seen the bruises. He, in fact, was the one who suggested we should put fluffy slippers on all our furniture legs … especially on those crazy rollers under the bed. I think it would look silly. After all, most of the furniture we own would look great in penny loafers.

However, I am considering taking a cue off my children in order to keep my body from disintegrating before I’m 40. With a few simple safety precautions my house will be much more livable. For instance:

Wrapping the pointy ends of all furniture in layers of foam and duck tape. Make sure to mark said duct tape with florescent stickers so that I will not walk into them in the dark.

Wearing a helmet at all times, including, and especially, in the shower. After all, one can never be too safe around that much water.

Slide into my kitchen chair from the top and strap myself in. If I can manage it, buy a snap on table tray to sit in front of me. This way I won’t be able to wack my knees against the table or the chair beside me. It may cause some problems when my kids need more milk, but hey, they have to grow up sometime.

Wear shin guards over my pants. Look into making them more “fashionable” with some crazy fabrics.

Wrap myself in toilet paper so I can simply bounce off any offending object.

Crawl.

These and many other possibilities are being carefully considered to aid me in my daily life. Please, if you have any more suggestions, pass them on, but don’t be surprised if I can’t get back right away. My elbow is magnetically sealed to the coffee table.

Sunday Intellectual Discussion: Best Job

2006-09-03T05:55:00.000-07:00

What, in your opinion, would be the best job ever? Why?

Kitchen Time with Cara: Mac n' Cheese

2006-08-31T12:02:00.000-07:00

Mmm. Nothing is better for a cozy dinner than cheesy macaroni … unless it is Chinese take out … or ice cream straight out of the container. Everyone seems to love this recipe, except for those people who hate creamy things, and really what is wrong with them? I like the fact that it is super easy. You can also dress it up by baking it in the oven for a few minutes and throwing some bread crumbs on top. Who wouldn’t like tossing bread crumbs around? And it is even better reheated on the 2nd day. Here it is, enjoy.

Microwave Mac n’ Cheese

2 Cups uncooked macaroni
2 Cups hot water
1/3 Cup butter or Margarine
¾ Tsp. Salt
¼ Tsp. Pepper
¼ Tsp. Ground Mustard
1/3 Cup Flour
1 ¼ Cups Milk
8 ounces cheese cubed

In a 2 qt Microwave safe dish, combine the first six ingredients. Cover and microwave on high for 3 ½ minutes, stir. Cover and cook at 50% power for 4 minutes until mixture comes to a boil, rotating a half turn once. Combine flour and milk until smooth; stir into macaroni mixture. Add cheese. Cover and cook on high for 6-8 minutes or until the macaroni is tender and sauce is bubbly, rotating a half turn once and stirring every 3 minutes.

Yield: 4 servings. For a change you can ad ¾ cup of bread crumbs mixed with 2 tsp. of melted butter and parsley to taste. Bake for 15 minutes at 400.

The Gift that keeps on giving

2006-08-30T18:05:00.000-07:00

I don’t mean to shock you … in fact you had better sit down … but I have made another great discovery.

Email.

Yes, yes, I am so untechnological it’s hard to live with myself but … I have just found the on/off switch in my Blogger menu that allows me, to allow you, which then allows your dearest friends, and so on and so forth, to pass around little bits of me electronically.

“Just what I always wanted,” you say.

I do what I can.

So, let me draw your attention to the little tiny envelope perched ever so smugly at the bottom of each post. Email. So much better than snail mail. See, the email envelope even looks faster, with its little arrow pointing off the page as though it had somewhere else it needed to be, yesterday, and you are holding it up by reading slow. Yes, very smug, I’m sure you will agree. Simply clicking on the baby envelope will allow you, gentle reader, to forward the link to this post or indeed any post the envelope is attached to, to any number of your friends … or enemies … you pick, who am I to judge? Your ‘cough’ persons of interest can be as entertained as you are … or thoughtlessly tortured beyond their wildest dreams. Depends.

Though how anyone could fit a couple words let alone a whole post inside such a small envelope is beyond me. Ah, the magic of the internet. Its sweet mystery amazes me.

I wonder if it knows how to change lead into gold?

Fantastic Fun

2006-08-29T18:22:00.000-07:00

The most wonderful thing happened today. There was a coke fountain right in the middle of my kitchen. Yes. It’s true. An actual, spurting fountain of coke.

I was so excited. The last time I saw something of this magnitude I was six years old and enjoying my sandwich in the gym. A little boy across the room started screaming and all the other kids shuffled their bums as fast as they could in another direction. There, right where the boy had been was a giant, glorious stream of pop, flying straight into the air. It almost touched the ceiling.

“He shook it a lot.” Whispered a little boy.
“Yuck! I’m all sticky! My dress is ruined!” the girl next to me moaned.
“Who was that boy?” I asked, “I want to marry him.”

It’s true. Since that day I have been trying, with no success, to figure out how to get a can of pop to shoot straight into the air. Call it a hobby. Perhaps it is one of the sad side effects of being too curious. Good thing I’m not a cat.

Well, today my husband decided to carry up three cans of pop from the basement … which he then promptly dropped on the kitchen floor. The pop in two of the cans started to spurt out everywhere … all over the table, walls, me …
“Open your mouth!” I yelled “It’s a coke shower!”
“Are you crazy? Look at the mess!”
“Wee!” I said, skidding through a bubbly puddle and into the cabinets.
“Well, make fun if you want. Everything’s all sticky, and now we’re going to have to clean up.”

You’d think he’d be excited. I married the cool kid with the coke.

Sunday Intellectual Discussion: Money, Money, Money

2006-08-27T09:58:00.000-07:00

If you had $1, 000, 000 at your disposal what you do with it?

Neither Shall She Eat

2006-08-25T18:33:00.000-07:00

When my husband arrived home and announced that he was going out to visit a buddy… tonight … a deathly foreboding filled the air. I wasn’t sure what it was, or even exactly when … but it was going to happen. Sure enough, moments after he exited the premises a chain of events leapt into action that threatened my very being. Well, at least my stomach. And, as my kids know, my temper is attached to my stomach.

With no one to cook steaks on the BBQ (One person operating an open flame with 4 small children in attendance is not recommended) I would have to figure out how to cook the defrosted meat fast or come up with another meal. “Oh well”, I said, “forget the steak, I can still use the barley from the side dish and make a different main.”

The barley burns. Yes, burns so badly that I will be scraping carbon off the bottom of the pot for the next ten days. “Oh well,” I said, cringing at the advancing time, “I’ll be 15 minutes late but we’ll have pasta instead.” I stand by the pot so it won’t burn and feed the girls bits of muffin. The pasta cooks unscathed. I lovingly garnish said dish. Call the children.

The older two come up stairs screaming. She pushed him; he tried to turn off the button on the TV… that’s exactly how the Gulf war started. I get her calmed down and turn to talk to my son. My daughter takes that moment to “respice” the pasta. The pasta now tastes like the salt lick on Uncle Bills farm. I load everyone in the van. “That’s ok,” I said, “we still have half an hour before the babies go to bed, we can get things at McDonalds.”

After more screaming and pushing from all the children we are on our way. The children are happy with their meal and start to tuck in. I get a couple fries and the pop from my son’s nugget meal. I decide to go get a bagel instead. Toasted with Strawberry Cream Cheese.

I eat said bagel. It is burnt on the inside and, somehow, the cream cheese is almost entirely residing in the middle hole. “That’s ok,” I said, “My pop is still pretty good.” The babies start screaming. I take everyone home, making several trips to the car to retrieve all the children and food baggies.

I arrive back inside to find that my daughter has now drained my pop. Great … she’ll be extra hyper.

So, if you’ll excuse me now I’m going to find something to eat that does not involve heating elements. It will most likely be bologna straight out of the fridge. Wish me well.

My Landlord

2006-08-24T08:36:00.000-07:00

I recently decided to try renting someone else's blog. There are so many weird things you can do on the "net" so I guess living in two or three places at once is not so strange ... not really. Question though, Kat, there's a couple burnt bulbs and an old furnace at my place ... can you let me know when you can get to it?

Check out Kats blog in return. She's a great writer and very funny so it's worth the visit.
Kats Knoll

Life at the Big Top

2006-08-23T07:06:00.000-07:00

I think I'm going to give the van a paint job.

That way when I'm racing to get all the kids in the car, and I'm frustrated because child number one won't stop pushing the over head light, child number two has decided his life will not be complete unless we either stop at McDonalds RIGHT NOW or give him his sister's sunglasses, and children number three and four are both crying because I lost their soothers in the rain puddle outside ... my life may feel like a circus ... but my van looks like one. It would be perfect.

My children would tumble out of the van ...

"Why look!" Someone would gasp. "That boy is rolling around on the pavement. What a cute acrobat!"

"And that little girl," another would say, "she's dressed in a ball gown and a pirate outfit, what a clever clown."

"I don't know if they're as good as that tight rope walker there," a man would bellow pointing to one of the twins pulling herself to standing on the tire rim, "or the complusive eater," pointing to the other twin eating someone's discarded cracker and a small sticker right off the ground, "they're great, and they look alike. It's like watching one of them do two things!"

Then I would pass around the hat and take home enough spare change to pay for University.

Yes, I think a paint job would be a good idea.

Playing with People: Smiles

2006-08-22T07:11:00.000-07:00

When I was little I had one friend who could get me to do almost anything. Honestly, she just had to open her mouth and my brain would immediately shut off. Of course, she would play tricks on me all the time. Her best one, and one that I laughed at a lot later, was getting me to read the menu at McDonalds.
     “Hey Cara, what does it say on the bottom of the menu there?”
     “Can’t you read? It says Smiles, free.”

She knew she was about to reel me in. I never could resist a good deal.

     “Why don’t you go ask for one?”
     “What, a smile? It’s just a joke.”
     “Oh, no. This is different. It’s special.”

Boy was I excited now. Something other than the Treat of the Week was free and I was about to get one of my very own. I skipped up to the counter. Peering down at me was a very tall teenager. I wouldn’t let that intimidate me, no siree bob.

     “Welcome to McDonalds, make I take your order?”
     “Yes, I’d like a smile please.”

She looked at me and smiled.

     “Ok, could I please have one?”

She glared but her mouth smiled even larger.

     “Please? Could I have one?”

She wasn’t even trying now.  “Look kid. Very funny, ha, ha. Stop asking.”
I couldn’t understand, I wasn’t laughing. “But it’s right up there on the menu … Smiles Free.”
“I get it kid. Go away.”
“But can I have it? It’s like a treat of the week, only better.”
She would have walked away if she had not noticed my friend and her brother giggling away at me just off to the side.
     “Sorry kid,” she said, “smiles are just smiles. Have a treat of the week … and go kick your friend in the shins for me.”

Kitchen Time with Cara

2006-08-21T05:51:00.000-07:00

I thought I would post a couple of favorite recipes.

My family receives a small rotation home cooked meals and the rest is supplemented by pizza, a fine dish for any occasion. Sometimes, they are subjected to strange concoctions that I think should “go together”. My Irish blood believes that things thrown randomly into a pot will come out favorable, robust and standing straight up on the plate. Unfortunately, most of the items the Irish considered “random” were potatoes … which instantly decompose the moment they are brought to our house. So my concoctions do not always quite work. However, I can read, thanks to my grade one teacher Mrs. Skelton, and I am reasonably good at measuring, after much encouragement from my mother, so I stick to the culinary geniuses behind any book or recipe card.

Here for your enjoyment is the first of several good, reliable recipes. Trust me, I know.

Pancake Deluxe
By Susan Scace from Take Me With You Please: A “How-To-Cope” Book for the Newly Independent

My mother gave me this book for my first year of university. It is full of invaluable tips on etiquette, cleaning, laundry and cooking. I love this pancake recipe as it is fast to put together. You do not have to stand there flipping pancakes, the sweat pouring down your face while your family eats all but the smallest pancake. No, you can actually join them for dinner, or breakfast, whichever, because it’s all done in the pan. I generally use a deep cake pan which I place on top of a cookie sheet so I don’t have to clean any spills in the oven (yes, I did spill some in the oven the first time I made it.) To save time I put the butter in the pan and place it in the oven while it heats to 425. By the time the oven is heated the rest of the mix is usually ready to go into the pan and the butter has melted and turned lightly brown. Enjoy!

4 eggs beaten
¼ Cup Butter
1 Cup Flour
1 Cup Milk
1 Tbsp. white sugar

Preheat oven to 425 F (220 C) and melt the butter in a 9” pie plate in oven. Beat Eggs. Stir flour, milk, and sugar into beaten eggs. Pour into melted butter in pie plate. Bake 15-20 minutes at 425 F (220 C). It is ready when the sides have risen and browned. Remove and fill the centre with fruit. Sprinkle with icing sugar if desired.

Sunday Intellectual Discussion: Love and Lost

2006-08-20T10:19:00.000-07:00

For my first question in a long time I thought I would take my cue from the poets:

Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?

I think we may be of varying opinions depending on our stage in life but that would make it all the more interesting. Let me know what you think.

A for Affort

2006-08-18T18:10:00.000-07:00

Spell Check was invented for me. It’s true. On the day I was born the doctor took one look at my bulging blue eyes and called in a squad of computer geeks, a squad so secret that their location was only known to their mothers.

He said, “Boys, this little girl is going to need all the help she can get.  Spelling, Grammar, word count, you name it. It’s an impossible job but do what you can.”

In those days taxes were low, interest rates high and government funding for odd problems at an all time boom. So, they applied for the appropriate grants and five years later they got right on it. It was difficult manipulating the cumbersome supercomputers of those days, who admittedly, were testy and none too bright (come on, anyone can add on their “processors”) but the geek squad persevered. They created the Super Computer, then the larger COMPUTER and finally became so frustrated with sleeping in a dusty corner while the computer took up all the better floor space, they created the smaller “portable” Icon computer. They worked hard. Though briefly distracted by their creation of the game “Q-burt” (rightly so, anyone would be distracted by the combination of such skill and beauty) they finally invented the Spell Checker.  Word Processing was merely a derivative. The whole program as well as the operating system that housed it was then sold by the Canadian government to Bill Gates for five dollars.

It was kind of them to help me out. Anyone who has read a fraction of my replies will find them riddled with odd spellings. When in doubt I feel it is always best to add a few extra letters. I could take letters away but it looks more ambishious to add.  I firmly believe in A for effort.

There should be a rule about adding letters.  Like s after s makes word success.  As in assesssment or supersseed.

Or words hard to say should be spelled that way. Like Catapullted,  Pedelumn, Anemmony, plus any words used by banks, lawyers or scholars with unusually large brains.

Unfortunately no one has seen fit to write these rules down on any official documents … no matter how many letters I have written to Canada Revenue. Come to think of it they were all hand written. Hmm. Never mind. Thank you Geek Squad for making writing possible… you can come out of hiding now.

Salute to Summer

2006-08-15T13:40:00.000-07:00

My parents always told me that time flies fast when you get older … like time flies fast when you’re having fun. You just can’t pick the kind of fun you’re having! I can’t believe the months have literally passed me by with hardly a pause for breath!  How can it be that summer has already crawled off into fall and I have hardly sat still long enough to write a simple post? Sigh!

Summer: with its sunny days, steamy pavement and drippy cream cones. Summer: of the early mornings, short nights and freckled faces. Summer: when everyone sucks their tummies in to put on those dreaded bathing suits. Hands up those who would vote to bring back the bathing dresses of the 1900’s!
Sweet, sweet summer we salute you.

We salute:
     The Air Conditioning Unit: Thank you for taking all our hot air with grace.
     The Flip Flop: Humble, yet stylish and convenient foot attire. You cushion our soles from the grit of life.
     The Hammock and Lounge Chair: Oh graceful swans of the patio, you turn our days into sweet, sweet slumber and tattoo our limbs with rope burns and basket weaves. So trendy and yet so comfy. Thank you.
     The Giant Bottle of Aloe: When we have soaked in too much of the searing sun and transgressed against our bodies, you heal our wounds. Never do we hear you complain about your shameful duties, you always steadfast, always sure. Live on in our medicine cabinet forever.
     Ice Cream Bicycle Guy: You make us run so fast to gain the prize always carefully balancing exercise, and economy, with calorie loaded treats. They tempt our tummies while you tone our tush.

We salute all the heroes of summer: the noble beach ball, honored Bucket Hat, victorious Patio Umbrella. You fill our days with such light (and shade).

Goodbye. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Sunday Intellectual Discussion: Hate and Revenge

2006-06-18T18:04:00.000-07:00

Now that I’ve done the “love” topic (and by the way you can still respond to that one) I’ll have to look into hate. I don’t know about you but when I was little I was told that “hate is a strong word” so I was taught to curb my usage of it even for little things like, “I hate school,” and “I hate this dinner.” Even so, in adulthood I find true hate unavoidable. There are so many things that happen in this world that seem to justify hate and to justify revenge. People are gravely hurt, injustices abound, cruel individuals ruin lives or even kill to gain petty things for themselves. Many belief systems declare that taking revenge is justifiable, that the hurt self must be appeased in order for healing to begin. This revenge is often bound by regulations and rewards. Others preach forgiveness as the only path to healing.

Now, it’s true no matter what you believe, revenge happens and so does hate. So, for this week, you can either comment on your beliefs regarding revenge and hate or you can give us your most clever story of revenge. Is it a “dish best served cold” or is revenge best immediately? Should it be quelled or allowed to run free? I’ll see if I can post some stories of my own.

Brat

2006-06-15T18:07:00.000-07:00

I found the first part of this poem tucked away in one of my poetry books. It was obviously written before I had any children of my own. I am pretty certain at least one child of mine has graced the floor of the local supermarket. Oh well.

I read in this week’s Macleans that “British psychiatrists have calculated the annual cost at about $12,200 extra for kids with anti-social behaviour.” Most of that is money is just for cleaning up after them, “only $20 per person is spent on mental health treatments for minors”. Never mind the cash you would need to spend at the spa just to unwind!

The poem was fun to clean up and the sentiment still stands … I really don’t want a brat… and I guess I can’t afford to have one either!

Brat

I do not want one
(Who does?)
A child who rolls on the floor
Kicking and screaming, man overboard
I do not want one
No thanks.

How cruel,
How cruel!
No luscious sweets
Just cans of yucky sugar beets
No candy bars or gummy feets
His parents are
So cruel

Give him more,
“He’s just misunderstood”
Give him cream and candy puffs
Licorice cups and fluffy fluff
Sweet and Sour Mountain cuffs
But do it till he’s way past stuffed
Roll him out the sliding doors
(After all he’s on the floor)
Roll him past the cars of green
Squeeze him in your flash machine
Belt him in and roll away
So he can scream some other day.

Brat
I do not want one
(Who does?)
No thanks.

My Video Daily - Crazy Frog - Jingle Bells - video

2006-06-14T04:49:00.000-07:00

My Video Daily - Crazy Frog - Jingle Bells - video I'm hoping this works properly. This is the Crazy Frog Jingle Bells clip. Watch out though because it goes directly into other music videos after and often plays ads before. Enjoy

Crazy Frog - Google Video

2006-06-14T04:37:00.000-07:00

Crazy Frog - Google Video

Here we are with another crazy frog video. This is his early audition tape!

Popcorn Crazy Frog - Google Video

2006-06-13T08:12:00.000-07:00

Popcorn Crazy Frog - Google Video
Here's the frog DJing a dance.

Crazy Frog Popcorn Video Clip - Google Video

2006-06-13T08:00:00.000-07:00

Crazy Frog Popcorn Video Clip - Google Video
Ha, here's another, he's underwater in this one!

Crazy Frog CHAMPIONS www.philgym.com Mondial 2006 - Google Video

2006-06-13T07:50:00.000-07:00

Crazy Frog CHAMPIONS www.philgym.com Mondial 2006 - Google Video

Hey there,
I found yet another Crazy Frog video, "We are the Champions". To tell the truth too much of this stuff could drive you crazy. Oh well.

Sunday Intellectual Discussion: What about love?

2006-06-11T10:29:00.000-07:00

What does the word love mean? In Ancient Greek there were several words to describe the various states of being, today we have one word and we use it for many meanings, Affection, Lust, Faithfulness, Parental kindness, even nice feelings for inanimate objects or experiences all fall under the same term. Most often the word love expresses a vague emotion that, naturally, varies in meaning with the speaker. Talk about confusing.

So let’s chat:

What is love? What does that word mean to you? Should there be more than one word used to express love clearly? Let me know what you think.

Crazy Frog - Axel F - Video

2006-06-10T11:09:00.000-07:00

Crazy Frog - Axel F - Video
We saw this Crazy Frog video while visiting Tom and Kathy down south ...its hilarious! Check it out!

More Crazy Frog? Try:
Crazy Frogs Jingle Bells
Crazy Frog Audition
Crazy Frog Popcorn DJ
Crazy Frog Underwater
Crazy Frog We are the champions soccer

I am Back!

2006-06-07T19:38:00.000-07:00

Here I am back from the far off land of No-Internet, having crossed the burning deserts of Too-Little-Sleep, and braved the death defying cliffs of Van-With-Children I am happy to announce to you all that I am still alive. Yes, while it is true that I have been mostly absent of late I hope to rectify that quickly with a vigorous outpouring of mental gymnastics. Not too vigorous though, I wouldn’t want to pull a hamstring. So, strike the mental gymnastics. Instead, what I will now offer is an enthusiastic sorry and some pathetic cat mewing noises, none of which you can hear, I know, but after all what is imagination for?

Well, what has kept me? To sum up, flood, pestilence, long desert wanderings, punctuated by short bursts of familial bonding. Yes, that’s right, my home has turned into a symbolic rendering of the Children of Israel. If I had done my education in Performance Art, Jewish Studies or was a teen in the 70’s I might be really super happy, however, I only learned how to put on stage plays. That said it may prove useful some day. Now that I have summed up, let’s break down:

February to April is a very busy time for our family. My husband is at work a lot and there is usually a few extra crises’ that need to be dealt with. So we were surprised to find ourselves, the week before Easter, with ne’er a crisis in sight. In fact everything was so well in hand we indulged ourselves by speaking the following sentence:

“Actually, things are going pretty well.”

WARNING!! Speaking the previous sentence out loud brings great destruction upon the speaker and those in close proximity. So don’t even try it. Really, don’t. It is wildly rumored amongst scholars that speaking this simple phrase was the direct cause of the Fall of Rome, Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo, and the extinction of the dinosaurs. Some unfortunate soul merely mouthed these words at the launching of the Titanic and sent countless hundreds to their deaths. This has been a carefully guarded secret in the hopes that one day the world itself will fall and scholars (being the only ones who knew not to say anything) will rule the world. They are probably coming to lynch me now. Book and movie to follow.

As you are probably aware the moment we spoke these fatal words time shifted and we were thrown headlong into a series of events that will eventually undo mankind. Or at least give a couple of us a hard time. At that moment the phone rang offering my husband a job far away. While, admittedly, the offer was very nice, it now gave us a lot to think about during the chaos of my husband’s busiest week. Due to time constraints most of that thinking was moved to replace sleeping. Ah, we sighed, that was ok, for next week we could rest … why wait for next week …

Just a few days later our basement flooded. In approximately two hours we had enough water for a small splash pool in my office. Admittedly, a nice, interesting addition to a place that already had plenty of distractions, but I’m not that into foot baths. Insurance company, construction guys and friends waded through our house for a few hours, helped us move stuff upstairs and then left, leaving us with a promise that we would never be parted, at least not until the end of the summer while drywall dust flies merrily about our heads.

We packed the kids in the van for the 8 hour (read 10) drive to visit relatives for Easter. After all, I’m not sure I could find my roast pan. We arrived back home after a whirl wind visit were we attempted to break our Olympic visiting record of 5 individual visits per day.

Our construction guys are fast, our construction guys are clean but do they know that chicken pox is also on the scene? My oldest goes to school for one day and arrives home with many, many spots. We frantically try to contact all the relatives we have just visited to let them know she was contagious. I call the school, friends, and the Canada Tax Bureau. We fly the plague flag at our door.

No sleep. Miserable child. Parents climbing the walls.

2 weeks later … two year old, and nine month twins get chicken pox. They really get it. No couple of marks here or there, they are covered. No sleep, miserable children, Spy Kids Episode 3, 24-7

My husband has to go to a conference … for 4 days.

I get strep throat. Funny though, I just thought I was sleep deprived.

My husband comes home. He has strep throat.

Everyone is healthy in just enough time for my son to have his birthday party. One I almost entirely forgot about. Surprise! The presents we bought for him have been carefully packed by the construction crew in any one of a number of nameless boxes in the basement. I try to make a cake while the twins, no longer crying from the pox but now teething, try to chew their brother, the birthday boy. It takes me, I’m not kidding, three days.

Pack the car we’re visiting the folks.

I believe this must be the end of it all, mostly because we had a good time on our little trip down south. So, in conclusion it is very important to NEVER utter the aforesaid phrase. And, if you must think it, think softly.

Enjoyed this post? Try:

Stop my Life I want to get off

Sunday Intellectual Question: Shoes

2006-05-29T18:46:00.000-07:00

Ok. I am offically veering off the intellectual freeway, past the muddy cow path and into the bush, however, I like the question. After all I'm supposed to be in charge here. (I'm supposed to be in charge of a lot of things ... all of which remain to be seen!)

I've heard several times that you can tell a person's personality by their shoes. I'm not sure I buy into it. It could be because I wear runners. Do you agree with this philosophy? If so could you explain how it works? (So I can wear nicer footwear when we meet!)

Do you have a story about your favorite shoes and what you loved about them? I'd love to hear it!

Wednesday Poem

2006-05-24T19:01:00.000-07:00

In lieu of a story this week I present a few of the poems I wrote while we lived in England. Hope you enjoy!

To Take the Nightmares

Good night,
Sweet dreams.
The sweetest of all imagined.
Rosy-cheeked baby smiles,
Floating feathers on water,
Clouds,
Bilious clouds, imagination crammed

Dream,
New and full of hope,
Of kind words and love unmet
Of kisses, arms wrapped gently around
Open and unafraid
Of Peace held by sweet forgiveness.

Close your eyes
Dream beautiful gardens, butterflies, sun setting waters
The smell of lilies
The petals of a rose

Goodnight my loved one
Goodnight

Relentless March

Feel the tingle of history
It walks up your spine
A legion
Tapping your shoulder
Laughing at your bewilderment
Hear the tales of things undone
And at your horror
Condemn those
Like others who will condemn you
Later
Dream it pure
Dream it evil
But captured in a mirror
Look in
And see your own shadow

English Weather

The Clouds dance by
Swiftly in a race to beat the wind
Sky so blue
The land grows dark and fierce
Sun touches my face
Playful
For he has been at hide and seek all week
See!
He pokes behind a cloud
Hitches a ride to the next corner
He believes I cannot see him.
Foolish Sun.
I could believe for an instant
But not forever.

Liked these poems? Try:

Snow

Doll Making with eLouai

2006-05-21T18:15:00.000-07:00

How much fun is this?

Through Kelly I found this great Doll making site:
eLouai's Candybar Dollmaker 3. (I have no idea what happened to Doll Makers 1 and 2. I can only hope that they are unharmed and living on small farms in South Dakota far from the reach of people who wish to "update" them.)

However, Dollmaker 3 is fairly simple to use. Ta-da! In a matter of moments I have made my own doll. Consider, if I had attempted to make my own doll at home. The aforesaid doll would still be laying in my basement with half a leg sewn together. Or in light of recent flooding, soaking up the brown residue with its face. Doll making on the computer is so much more feasible. And I will no longer be plagued by bothersome Doll Rights Activitists. That's a plus.

I present to you now the exact representation of myself.

That is, if you take into account that she's too young, too stylish and way too short to actually look like me, its a reasonable facimille.

At least, the eyes are the right colour.

Notice the three little pigs jumping through the flowers at my feet? They were the only things I could find that moved fast enough to stand in for my children. And there are only three pigs. I know that children do not actually qualify as accessories and should not, for instance, stand in for the antique jewelry set you wanted to wear with your evening gown, but since they are continually around my feet they do hide my non-designer shoes, and that should count for something. While you're looking at the picture you should also replace the hand bag with a diaper bag. A big one. I have yet to figure out how to fold 2 diapers, 1 pull up, wipes, juice and snacks into a tiny Hello Kitty purse. If I manage to do it I'll let you know. All that aside, of course, she looks exactly like me...exactly.

I am sure you are itching to make one of your own so here's the site: http://elouai.com/doll-makers/new-dollmaker

Sunday Intellectual Question: The Da Vinci Code Questions

2006-05-21T17:46:00.000-07:00

The Da Vinci Code seems to be a hot topic these days. A number of the people who love the book and it’s ideas have said that “the questions opened their minds”, “made them think”. Thinking is good. One shouldn’t just stumble around hoping the person talking the loudest also happens to be right. One should definitely ask questions, but questions themselves are tricky things. I don’t think they are benign entities giving any number of answers out of the ether. Questions can provoke thought, spark lively debate, and bring to light truth. However, questions can also point straight to the answer giving little room for thought at all.

Should questions themselves be examined? Should they be made to prove their worth before being answered? Can even leading questions be useful for learning? Ah ha! Now, let’s see if anyone finds this question worth answering!

Wednesday Story: Barney Rides Again, Part 2

2006-05-18T13:35:00.000-07:00

The next afternoon found me dragging my feet across the lawn to the barn. I had no idea what horse would be waiting but it didn’t matter. The horse of my dreams would never be mine.

My teacher was waiting at the gate. “I think we may have found a solution to your horse problem.”

“Oh,” I smiled, “Did you fix my horse?”

She just laughed. “No, but I did find one that would fit you. I had to ask one of the boys in your class to trade …” she motioned for me to follow her into the barn, but I just froze. I could only imagine…

“Hey,” my teacher yelled, “I can’t wait forever. Here’s your horse.” And with that proclamation I found myself holding the reins of Barney, the farting horse.

The next hour seemed like a cruel joke. Instead of racing around the pen Barney meandered. Bugs passed us by. The boy who had rode Barney yesterday paused as he passed us.

“Like Barney?”

“Great.”  My eyes were burning a hole in my saddle.

The boy gave Barney a loving tap, “Just wait ‘til you see what he does when he stops.” He actually looked like he missed the pleasure. I was very afraid.

“Everyone rein in.” the call came across the pen. I tried. It was like pulling the leads on a rock. Barney would get there when and how he liked. Finally, we settled in close to the horse in front of us. So close that his nose brushed her wickers. “Hey,” said the girl, “Couldn’t you back up a bit?”

I tried to pull Barney back. He wouldn’t budge. I stood in the stirrups and pulled with all the strength I had, Barney gave his head a few disgusted shakes and moved back two steps. “How’s that?” I said loosening my grip. In a display of remarkable energy Barney lunged forward and bit. The horse jumped straight into the air, the flying girl screaming and clutching the saddle. I threw my hands up in disgust, “Sorry!” But Barney wasn’t finished. He backed up and kicked the white horse behind him sending the horse running into the ring. Barney, his fit of raucous energy fully spent, now sat parked, sideways, like a new Ford at the mall, lazily scratching level holes for his hoofs in the dirt.

“Get your horse back into position!” My teacher’ brown bob waved as she tried to catch the reins of the run away horse.

I did my best. I pulled the reins up and down, right and left trying to put Barney into a better position. Barney would not budge.  I tapped his side with my boot. He flicked his tail. I bounced up and down in the saddle breathing; “Come on!” down his neck. Barney chewed his cud. By the time my teacher finally got to my side Barney’s tail had stopped moving and he was feigning sleep. My teacher was livid. “Get your horse under control!”

“I can’t! He won’t budge!”

“Come on. Barney’s our oldest horse. He knows the commands. You’re the one with the reins, remember. That’s what the bit is for; you pull the reins, the horse follows. Watch.” Sure enough with the smallest tug she led Barney forward into position. “You’ll have to try again tomorrow,” she sighed, “Lead your horses to the barn.”

“He’s so old he probably doesn’t even remember.” I hissed under my breath. The look Barney gave said something very different.

Sunday Intellectual Question: Mother's Day Best and Worst

2006-05-14T09:36:00.000-07:00

In honor of Mother’s Day it would be great to discuss the best and worst parts about being a mother. Guys you can chime in too and let us know the best and worst parts of being a parent or a child.

I’ll start. The best part is definitely the smiles, love and hugs from your kids when they do something wonderful that you haven’t asked them to do. It makes you so proud. The worst? I was going to say lack of sleep but I think the worst is when your kids and the world around you ignore your hard work. Or are just plain mean about it. It doesn’t happen often, thankfully, but at the moment it happens it definitely qualifies as the worst.

Wednesday Story: Part 1 - Barney Rides Again

2006-05-09T19:49:00.000-07:00

I had just finished grade six the summer I went to camp. I had a lot to be excited about. Even though the camp was thirty minutes from town I was going to stay over night. I would pore over the brochure in the evenings after school. There was roller skating, a pool, and a tuck shop where I would have an allowance to buy candy ... every night. My best friend Sarah was going, she was going to be in my cabin. Sarah and I always had a lot of fun together. We seemed to think the same way. We often made tapes of ourselves doing silly radio shows. This was before video and her dad’s little mono tape player did most of the hard work. I remember one show in particular where we painstakingly spliced Wham songs into our version of a George Michael interview. She was much better at doing voices than I was. I was too busy giggling. Oh yes, sleeping over, junk food and best friends were enough to keep me buoyant for days but the thing that I was really excited about was getting to ride a horse. When my mom asked me if I wanted to join the extra horse class I practically jumped across the table.

“Yes, oh yes, pleeeease!”

Oh, I knew all about horses. I had read lots of books. In the stories they raced across fields, leapt over fences and stood by the ocean with their manes flying. I wanted to do all that. Never mind that I had never ridden a horse. I would be the best rider ever and when I finished they would probably have to send the horse home with me.

That was my bright and sunny attitude as I raced across the yard to the barn for my first lesson. Let the other girls complain of the stench! I was only disappointed that I had to wear rubber boots, not riding boots, and I did my best to tip toe through the mud and poop without getting my boots dirty. After all, I had yet to read any book where the horse riding heroine had poop on her boots! I did my best with the rest of my outfit. In jeans, a plaid shirt, and hair pulled back in an elastic, I was certain I would make a great impression on the majestic stallion that was waiting. My teacher soon arrived and I silently scoffed at her attire. How could she be a real horse rider? She had a short brown bob haircut and floppy rubber boots. Jodhpurs were no were to be seen. I missed most of what she said as I gazed into the dark barn behind her. What kind of horse would I get? Palomino? Half wild stallion? Appaloosa? I just hoped the horse would be beautiful. My teacher stood back as the horses were led into the yard. I nervously eyed each one. Too gentle, too old, too sad. Then a beautiful brown horse trotted out of the barn. . He was tall, majestic, and his mane fluttered in the breeze. He had to be mine. Each horse was quickly paired with a rider, shortest to tallest. I held my breath and squeezed my toes to keep myself from running to the brown. I cringed as the last two horses remained. The brown and an old raggedy white horse that had all the grace of a hung over bum, Barney. I couldn’t even bear to open my eyes as another kid and I were carefully measured. When I finally opened them I was gazing into the tall brown nose of my favorite, beautiful horse.

For two days I held my head high as we pranced around and around the ring. My horse had verve and spirit to spare. I lightly tapped my heels on his side, off we went. I gently pulled the reins, we stopped. While waiting in line I snickered as the poor boy on Barney tried to get him to stop biting the horse in front of him. Barney was a grumpy, crass old horse. He bit, he farted, and he moved whatever speed he pleased no matter what his rider did. Most often, that speed was a slow crawl and the rest of the group did several tours around the pen to Barney’s one.

“It pays to be an inch taller,” I thought as I whipped by. My horse was royalty! He had class! He and I were destined for greatness!

On day three, things changed. Someone had set up a series of jumps in the middle of the ring.

“Oh good,” I thought, “Maybe tomorrow they’ll let us jump over a real fence.”

My sensible teacher soon quelled my excitement. She laughed.

“A beginner class? On day three? Sorry little girl.”

Well, what did she know; she was still wearing rubber boots. We did a simple warm up, going around the circle once, then twice; all the while I was eyeing those jumps.

“It would be so much fun. And it would sure beat going in a circle.” I muttered.

The third time around the ring my brown pulled his head to the side and took off for the jumps. A whole new emotion washed over me. Sure, I wanted to jump, but now that we were actually headed there…! I pulled hard on the reins and my brown reared a few times, tearing his head back and forth. It should have been exciting, and it was, a little, but I was terrified that any moment the horse would win the battle and I would be thrown. I hoped that I would land on something soft. A pillow perhaps. Then I hoped the horse wouldn’t land on me. I wondered if they would still let me take the horse home. Next thing I knew the teacher was beside me gently taking the reins, stilling the brown and letting me down.

“He needs to go for some jumps.” She said.

“No kidding” I thought and I watched as she took him over the piles in the middle of the ring. When she came back the brown was still anxious to go over the jumps again and kept leading to the centre of the ring. She frowned.

“We’ll have to get you another horse.” She said.

“Why?” I could not imagine another horse. I would not. “I’ll take him over the jumps, I will, you just have to show me once!”

“No,” she bit her lip, “you did well reining him in but I’m afraid he’s too young. He needs more training. You ride my horse today and we’ll find you another one next week.”

I back to my cabin that night in a deep funk. I thought a lot about rescuing the brown and jumping over fences. I decided I was a much better thinker than a doer. Mostly I worried about what the next day would bring.

Playing With People: Bathroom Accessories

2006-05-09T08:32:00.000-07:00

Next time you have a party or just someone over, place something funny and surprising in your bathroom. It could be a musical soap dish, a faux fur behind the hand towel, or even the singing fish you got for your birthday last year. Wait until some unsuspecting soul has to use the bathroom then make sure everyone else knows what’s going on. Listen for their screams of surprise. When the person finally comes back to the party and says “you have something weird in your bathroom” fain ignorance and make them explain what happened. It will be very funny indeed! My parents did this when I was little. I can’t for the life of me remember exactly what was in the bathroom … but everyone seemed to have a lot of fun with this gag!

Enjoyed this post? Try:
PWP:Progressive Party
PWP:The Guest Book

Sunday Intellectual Question: At what age does responsibilty start?

2006-05-07T07:45:00.000-07:00

My question is two pronged:
What age are we accountable for our actions?
What age should we be legally accountable for our actions?

Here in Canada we have a controversial young offenders act. Children under a certain age (14 I believe) are not tried as adults and so are not subject to adult penalties. This is meant to protect children who "get off on the wrong foot" they get a second chance as it were. However, there have been problems with abuse of this law. Some gangs recruit children to do killing or other things because they will not be charged the full penalty. There have been children who have flaunted the law and used it to their advantage. There have probably also been chlidren whose life have been taken out of a tailspin by this law, but you would never see that in the papers.

What do you think?

The Battle Cry Rings Out! Down With Barney!

2006-05-05T18:55:00.000-07:00

Nothing makes you go out of your mind faster than a couple of hours listening to Barney. Nothing. Torturers should seriously look into it as an alternate to their regular routine. It might brighten their day. Take the blah out of the ordinary. However for the average parent it is an uneasy toss up between deliriously happy children with freaky parents or screaming so loud it manages to drive out “I love you, you love me, we’re one happy family” that was formerly etched on your frontal lobe, … Out of desperation we have found a few songs that we can stand to listen to. My husband made a cd for the car so we could survive our long trips without listening to 8 straight hours of Barney, punctuated by short bursts of Winnie the Pooh. Oh, we like Winnie, don't get me wrong, but 8 hours is 8 hours! Here are some of our songs:

Video Killed the Radio Star (the kids love the Awa Awas)
Mickey (as in “Oh Mickey you're so fine”)
Venus (Bananarama)
Everybody walk your Dinosaur (Was Not Was)
Who needs sleep (this is my anthem! from the Barenaked Ladies)
Walk like an Egyptian
Final Countdown (Europe)
A number of classical songs from both of the Disney Fantasia series

That’s our survival kit. True these are not the only weapons in our arsenal. The others fall into these delightful categories:

Snacks
Sugar
Snacks with Sugar
Snacks with Sugar we pulled over to get
Things the nice lady at the drive thru gave us
Toys they like to throw
Books they won’t read or colour in
And the coveted DVD player we bought last year

Right now you may be thinking: “Wait, if they are having so much trouble keeping everyone happy why don’t they just play the DVD all the time?” Ah, my friend, if only it were so simple! You see, the children are smart and very cunning. They work in groups. They have secret meetings. Manuals you can’t read. Messages from aliens giving them superior advantages. If you do not have your game plan down they will catch you and have you at their mercy. With this in mind the DVD’s have to be rationed out or the whining is unbearable, then it’s every parent for themselves. Beware! Beware! I don’t believe most conspiracy theories but this one must be true: watch your children, they are waiting to take over, and then Barney will rule the world!

Poem: Snow

2006-05-03T18:30:00.000-07:00

To tide you over until the story begins next week I thought I would post a short poem.
This poem bids goodbye to the last bit of snow here in the cold and frozen north. It should, by all rights, be a poem praising the wonders of spring and expressing, with deepest gratitude, the freedom of the great outdoors after long months of being locked inside, however, this is what came out. Hope you enjoy.

Snow

Myriad of dropping dreams,
Crystallized rainbow, floating down,
Living,
feet thick,
on my porch, on the ground,
Snow hugs a tree, caressing the bark,
Fixed, on glistening windows,
Sparkling fingertips,
Tongues,
Hats,
Shoes,
Making life bright,
In dead winter.

Old Man is not for snow,
He scowls at his shovel,
Stamps his foot into glossy prints,
While sleighs of children squeal in delight.
Snow is not for tired,
or sad,
But for energy balls of tightly wrapped children.
Snow is their domain, an enchanted playground,
Full of dreams.

If you enjoyed this poem try:
One of my favorite poems:The Night has a Thousand Eyes
Child

The Vestibules Online

2006-05-01T07:19:00.000-07:00

The Vestibules Online

Here's the guys who inspired last weeks "Piffle, Piffle, Snort" Their sketch "Bulbous Bouffant" found on their first album is knock down funny. I can only imagine that the rest of their stuff is plenty funny as well. This site has a few free down loads and samples, video, audio and, interestingly, animated sketches ... hmmm. Sounds like fun. A visit to their site is worth it just to see three guys with shoes on their heads. You'll see what I mean!

Presenting the Andertoons

2006-05-01T07:03:00.000-07:00

I found a wonderful new addition to my site ... the daily Andertoon comic! If you will now direct you attention to the left side bar. There snuggled in between my links to favorite topics and the Blogger Button is a small thumbnail cartoon. Perhaps at this moment you are thinking what I thought when I first saw it

"That looks like it might be interesting. Too bad I can't see it. I must need better glasses."

Fret no more. Simply click on the small image and you will have a larger, seeing impaired version for your viewing enjoyment. For those of you who had it figured out long before ... well, try not to rub it in.!

Sunday Intellectual Question: How would you use the government's money?

2006-04-30T16:18:00.000-07:00

How a government uses its money demonstrates the priorities and goals it sets forth for its culture. Governments of the past have poured money into architecture and other art forms for moral or to solidify their country’s identity in the world, some governments have chosen to put their money into armies to advance their property, save the land that they have or subdue their own people, others have more subtle programs that demonstrate their philosophies none the less. In Canada, for instance, we have a free health care system (well almost free) and this demonstrates the notion that we should each care for our fellow citizens regardless of their wealth. In many ways the money gestures are small but they represent what the country sees as important.

If you had the opportunity to be in power what would you spend the money on?

More intellectual questions? Try:
Religion and Politics
Finding Sources

Working with Photo-Paint

2006-04-27T08:25:00.000-07:00

Here's my first foray into Photo Paint .... grrrr! It is not exactly idiot proof. For example the help section blithly encouraged me to "spray on the layer" with ne'er a spray tool in sight. Never mind the fact that layer was not the word they used for the photo in the first place! However, I did prevail in the end although I have yet to figure out just how to change the size or exactly how I managed to "spray" in the first place. These are tasks best left for another day. For instance, the day the sky falls. Face it, I will probably be stuck with what ever random size or act this program spits out. Especially if I spray it.

An Architect's Tower: The Ending

2006-04-26T20:41:00.000-07:00

Antoni wandered, alone, down the streets back to the cathedral. His anger was seeping into the cobble stones and bewilderment rushed in to replace it. What right did Beatriz have to say the things she said? After all, he knew she wasn’t perfect. And yet, it was hard to believe she meant him true harm. After all, if she didn’t care she would have stayed at home. Beatriz had come a long way … for him, and he had let her go, no forced her to leave, that much was clear. He suddenly felt short of breath and leaned against a house to rest.

A little boy and his father hurried by and, seeing Antoni, crossed to the other side of the street. The little boy tugged on his father’s sleeve, “Daddy, we should give him something. Look he’s so tired.”

But the father just shook his head “No, he’ll be fine. Just look, he’s got money in his hand.”

Antoni waved his cane, “Save your money, I’m no bum!” but they were right, he certainly looked like one. Antoni opened his hand, checking to see if he was indeed still holding his change from the meal. There, right in his palm, was a tiny snail shell. It was odd that he hadn’t even felt it. He gazed at the tight spirals of the shell going on and on in constant motion and seamless parallels, the shades of palest pink to brown in glorious ribbons. Beatriz picked them, shelled them everyday, and yet … he remembered with a smile, she loved the shells. She had a small collection by the time he left the town all carefully laid in a box she had lined with felt. He had asked her once how she could bear to look at those things and she had said … he closed his eyes as the memory fell into place.

Beatriz, her long dark hair flowing in the breeze held the shell so gently in the palm of her hand.

“I don’t know why you keep these. You get new ones every day.” Antoni could just see the gulls circling by the beach and was anxious to get there.

“Oh, I see lots, but they are so beautiful. This one; I like the color, and the shape, it’s small and perfect.”

“I don’t know. It’s just a shell. It’s alright to look at; I just don’t know why you’d keep it, that’s all.”

“You look,” she said, handing him the shell gently, “you have better eyes for this sort of thing.” Her legs swung back and forth under the bench, “I started collecting them after what the priest said at church…”

Antoni laughed, “He told you to start collecting snail shells?”

“No!” she elbowed him sharply, “of course not! Don’t you remember? He was showing all the kids, you know, us older ones, the symbols painted around the church, ‘this one is the Lamb of God’ and ‘that one is St.Andrew’s cross’…”

“Yes, I think I remember, a little…”

Beatriz laughed, “You were looking at something I bet! Looking again and not really listening. Anyway, he comes to this shell, a snail shell, and a few of the girls were snickering at me again, but he says to us all. ‘Don’t you laugh children, this is an important symbol. It reminds us all of how we get to heaven.’ And one of the boys yelled, you must remember this, ‘Yes, you go round and round!’ But the priest made us all very quiet and whispered ‘No. Our sins died with Jesus on the cross. This shell, in its spiral, reminds us that the stone was rolled away from the tomb. That he was no longer to be found with death. That he brings us to rise again to new life, a life of forgiveness. That is what the shell reminds us all.’”

Antoni gazed at the shell in his hand. It was Beatriz’s precious shell from all those years ago. He remembered. He remembered it all.

The sun was just setting through the panes in Antoni’s workshop as Joan came in the final time.
“I’m sorry Mr.Gaudi, but I really must go home. This is the third time this week I have missed Rosa’s meal and I…”
Antoni held up his hand to stop him but didn’t even look up from his work. Joan sighed and leaned against the wall watching the sun go down through the colors in the window. Finally, Antoni looked up, his eyes shining gleefully; he thrust a long roll of paper into Joan’s arms. “I’ve found it Joan, I’ve found it!”

“What?” Joan looked up from his daze.

“I’ve found the secret to the towers!” Antoni patted the roll urgently, “Now go, quickly, to the foreman. Go, Go!”

Joan didn’t move, he just sighed. “That’s what I have been trying to tell you Mr.Gaudi, the sun is setting, everyone has gone home for the day.”

Antoni threw his hands up into the air, “When do these people work? Never mind, never mind, I must at least show someone. Look here.” He unrolled the drawing for Joan to see.

Joan squinted through the gathering dark, “Yes, most unusual staircase inside the bell towers. What is it? A shell? Very imaginative but, forgive me sir, I’m not sure that I understand.”

Antoni smiled and nodded, “Yes, I had exactly that problem myself.”

Miss a chapter? Here they are:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

Piffle, Piffle, Snort.

2006-04-24T20:09:00.000-07:00

Some things are worth saying ... for instance ... blubber.

Certain words just sound good. It doesn’t matter what they mean or if they are attached to a sentence, you want to say them all the time. It’s unfortunate, but some of the best words are ones that you only use on rare occasions.

I say, starting today, throw caution to the wind and use these words as much as possible. Make up new tenses and variations if you have to! Why should the zoo keepers have the regular use of blubber all to themselves? You could, for instance, say that you are having a blubber day. Did you eat too much? Work too slow? Were you adding extra insulation to your walls? Let them wonder. Here’s my list of the latest “must have words”:

Blubber
Buble: (As in Michael Buble. Buy his album if you want or just use it as the upper class version of ‘bubble’.)
Anonymous: Like pseudonym it should have been an ‘80’s hit song, whakachicka, whakachicka!
Scrumptious: Diddlyuptious!
Piddle
Horseradish
Hasenpfeffer
Contraption: Use instead of ‘thing’. As in “what is that contraption?”
Discombobulated
Gob smacked
Carmi lion
Boing
Buckle
Pickle
Banana
Lob
Butter
Smokey Tokyo: Not a comment on the place, my brother and I used to say it because it sounded cool!

Join the fun! Add to the list!

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Survival Tips For Cave Dwelling
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Time with Family

2006-04-18T17:37:00.000-07:00

Hey there,
Just a quick note to explain the thin posts. We always end up having our family visits after Easter and this year is no different. I am taking a few moments to enjoy our time together, it is always so short. The posting will resume after the weekend. Happy Easter all and best wishes to everyone!