tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3951911783234115002024-03-19T02:00:50.548-07:00rainbowwritimagesDon't step on it.... OoooooooooooUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-29315648935359784742013-09-20T07:44:00.001-07:002013-09-20T07:44:43.500-07:00What'll they think of next??<span style="font-size: medium;">Is it possible I’m getting old? I’m in that "what will they think of next?" mode a lot lately. </span><br />
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I mean, I remember actually having to get up to change the channel on the television. Heck, I learned to type on a big, heavy manual typewriter. Remember those? Of course, I still have to get up to turn on the lights, and remember to turn them off before bed. There's something comforting about this. I think.<br />
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The TV? These days, I don’t really get to have much say over what’s on. Even if I was to actually get up and hit some buttons on the receiver, it wouldn’t help. See, my husband is a remote hog. Oh yes, he just must have that thing in his hands, even during a program we’re watching. I think it’s the only time he ever thinks ahead, clicking to see what’s coming on later, even as a program we’re watching is playing. And if he loses track of the remote it’s blind panic as he searches for it under pillows, couch cushions, etc. He MUST have that remote in his hands.<br />
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Sometimes my daughter borrows our remote, like when hers is under her bed and she doesn’t want to get down on all fours to get it. When she returns it, she usually gives it to me, with a suspicious glance at her father, the remote hog. I’ll set it on the arm of my chair and turn my attention back to the TV. You know, I don’t have a clue how he does it, but when I check on that remote it’s always gone. I never even see him move from the couch, but there’s that remote in his hand again. It’s as if it’s attached to a fishing line and all he has to do is reel it in.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJ9kEPZvSEyXy2l0we4Mf1e59QRZWDdkTSYoxZtU9Q0iYWPmLhmKL2zXm6HLNJq_NrFX-L8xLQbEWJO7NdrDByWR_xssFM_0SZP4hDDKR79zpDgImGrB9r0gEvRGBheNDP-N6asABVN4b/s1600/switch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJ9kEPZvSEyXy2l0we4Mf1e59QRZWDdkTSYoxZtU9Q0iYWPmLhmKL2zXm6HLNJq_NrFX-L8xLQbEWJO7NdrDByWR_xssFM_0SZP4hDDKR79zpDgImGrB9r0gEvRGBheNDP-N6asABVN4b/s1600/switch.jpg" /></a>So imagine discovering, to my horror, that "they’ve" come up with a newfangled kind of electric switch, an automatic switch for lights, doorbells, etc., that even has a smart phone application. Hmmmm... wait, come to think of it, I don’t really know if this is going to be a new toy for hubby to play with, or if it’ll actually reduce his kingly power over the household. I mean, it’s automatic, turning on lights when it gets dark, turning them off when it gets light. It just might confuse him!! <br />
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Tsk, what will they think of next? Anyway, this is a heads up of what’s coming, ladies. Check it out!<br />
</span><span style="font-size: medium;"></span><a href="http://www.adoratouch.com/"><u><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">http://www.adoratouch.com/</span></span></u></a><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-90783820518739205772013-07-20T19:55:00.000-07:002013-07-20T20:10:12.796-07:00Caveat Emptor<span style="font-size: medium;">I wish I could say that customer service has come a long way. Alas, it has not.</span><br />
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Oh, but I’m not going to paint everyone with the same wide brush, though I think we all know that this is a concept lost on a lot of corporate types who seem to think they’re God’s gift to the world and the customer is someone to be endured, rather than courted. <br />
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One company that still hasn’t succumbed to this bizarre mind-set is CROCKPOT ~ The Original Slow Cooker. I wrote to them when the knob on my Crockpot broke. It’s well-used, but it still works, so I was just wanting a new knob to fix it and asked if I could order one from them. <br />
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I guess they didn’t have the part, because they wrote back and offered me a whole new crockpot.... no charge. Whoa! After years of experiencing deteriorating corporate attitudes, I was really very pleasantly surprised by this. They kept me notified of how and when it was coming and it arrived quickly and in good order. That was cool! I fixed the old one with a makeshift part and still use it, but having the new one in the wings is a good thing. Consumer relations live!<br />
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A couple of months later, summer arrived and I got out the canopy for the front yard shelter. I put it on the metal frame. It wasn’t in such good shape. It was pretty much down to the consistency of a dirty hanky, due mostly to UV exposure. It was tearing of its own accord. It’s a Woods shelter, so after checking in a few stores that carry such things (and not finding a replacement), I wrote to Woods to ask if I could get a new canopy from them. They kindly sent me back a copy of my request, so I know they got it, but they didn’t bother to answer me. Is that a no? Heh... I guess so. Not impressed. I made do with what we had on hand. There’s nothing wrong with the metal frame, so I’m not buying a new shelter just because the canopy is shot. And when the time comes to buy a new shelter, I will avoid the Woods brand, of course. In fact, I’ll avoid it for all and any outdoor products. And now I’m thinking in terms of something more permanent for a shelter anyway, so I don’t have to invest in any of those very temporary ones again. So maybe they did me a favour, eh?<br />
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A couple of weeks ago, I made up a nice batch (or what was intended to be a nice batch) of lemon/dill hummus. I appreciate that there are a lot of people who can’t relate, because there are a lot of people who don’t like hummus. In fact, I don’t like the store-bought stuff myself. It’s a lot like dipping food into toothpaste. But I make my own. I like it creamy and garlicky and so I make it that way. My daughter was hesitant about hummus for a long time, but curious, she finally dipped a chip into it and discovered that it’s not all that bad. She tried it with different things at regular intervals and over time she got so she quite liked a snack of something dippable with hummus. She even had me change brands from the PC Organic Chick Peas I like to make it with, to Yves Garbanzo Beans. Chick peas and garbanzo beans are the same thing of course... one of those things with two names. Anyway, she wanted the change because the PC product comes in a can with a plastic liner and she was concerned about BPA exposure. The Yves Garbanzos have no plastic lining in the can. So, even though they’re more expensive, I was giving them a try. <br />
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So there she was one evening, enjoying some chips with lemon/dill hummus for a snack, when suddenly she made an odd sound and yelled "eeeewwww... what’s in my hummus!!??" She spat something out and I went to see. She thought it was a piece of chicken, and it did indeed look like a piece of chicken white meat. She was aghast and since she’s vegan, also quite horrified. She wound up barfing up her snack. <br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJ-fm-3txoYG4Ls-Kd8gtuDD1M6lpv472A83ha5azXbsa3Eovn5rg7iVKqGQssACExI9jQWbOtGuikuANim7fcyMAcx5wHkSUsgMU_UX0BMJjnv-gWaXVHHPT6rlJLOFKzq10tkF2yUMR/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJ-fm-3txoYG4Ls-Kd8gtuDD1M6lpv472A83ha5azXbsa3Eovn5rg7iVKqGQssACExI9jQWbOtGuikuANim7fcyMAcx5wHkSUsgMU_UX0BMJjnv-gWaXVHHPT6rlJLOFKzq10tkF2yUMR/s320/001.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div>
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Longer story shorter, I kept the piece of material she spat out, the rest of that hummus, the tin and I also gave the Canadian Food Inspection Agency another tin of garbanzo beans with the same expiry date and lot number. They got back to me after a while and said it wasn’t chicken, but it was a fibrous material, like wood or something that was apparently in that can of chick peas. (They couldn’t identify it for sure.)<br />
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I’m not sure if this is supposed to make it ok or not, but I don’t happen to think that finding any foreign matter in your mouth from a canned food product is ok. I told Yves Veggie Cuisine about it. They evidently passed the matter on to the PR department of the Canadian distributor, Hain-Celestial Foods, who contacted me via email and asked me to phone them. I did so, using the 1-800 number, which was the <b><i>second</i></b> number she offered. (Do they really prefer customers to call long distance at their own expense???) Anyway, I spoke with a woman who was not apologetic, but really rather indignant and haughty about the whole thing. It seems to me that under the circumstances, the indignation should be mine, shouldn’t it? When I suggested there should be no foreign material of any kind in a can of garbanzo beans, she vacillated between claiming that the company keeps the highest health standards known to man, and then excusing the matter because the garbanzo beans were actually canned in the States. Huh? Isn’t this trying to have it both ways?<br />
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She offered to send me coupons. I guess this is the standard thing, but I told her we wouldn’t be eating their garbanzo beans again any time soon, and I started to tell her why other products might not be suitable. I mean, Yves makes many vegetarian products, but a lot of them contain gluten and both my daughter and I are gluten-free. Thing is, this woman kept interrupting me and I never got that out. Then she told me a bit later that I had refused to give her my address. <br />
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"When did I do this?" I asked, perplexed. I had not refused her this information at all, of course, she just hadn’t let me finish what I was saying. She was too busy condescendingly telling me how great they all are... or how American. Feh. I gave her my address. Again, unlikely I can use anything she sends (and I won’t believe she’s sending anything till it gets here). Do I give it to another unsuspecting consumer if she does? I’m not sure that would be right. Coupon kindling?<br />
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I wrote to Yves again, but they’re not talking. Apparently this is their consumer relations policy. Dump the upset consumer on someone who apparently graduated from the Godzilla PR program of some misguided college, and ignore the whole thing. You know, I would have dared hope for better, even for some <b><i>useful</i></b> compensation, maybe something in the way of a gift card from a major grocery store chain or something, since we can’t really use their products. But that clearly isn’t their style. Apparently they have no style... at all. So hey, just a heads-up people, if you’re trying those veggie foods and you find something strange lodged in your food, or in your mouth, and it has a lasting negative impact on you and/or your family, don’t expect Yves Veggie Cuisine to give a flying rat’s ass about it. Just sayin’. It’s back to PC Organic chick peas for me... plastic liner notwithstanding. My daughter won’t be eating hummus or anything with chick peas in it any time soon. *sigh* <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXWORMZr0_D7HYs0VS6QqjOlxsQL0JtS_LBPPhb9-4j1MKSEcmVn5Sf5s0zmyqKWYhRFbnjjM0GaqU4ZCxUizDLbNhu-yfXyNs2g-e966aczkXdPrd7Irn-ayq92RoyrBViUduyc_vmrgx/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXWORMZr0_D7HYs0VS6QqjOlxsQL0JtS_LBPPhb9-4j1MKSEcmVn5Sf5s0zmyqKWYhRFbnjjM0GaqU4ZCxUizDLbNhu-yfXyNs2g-e966aczkXdPrd7Irn-ayq92RoyrBViUduyc_vmrgx/s320/008.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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I’ll still enjoy it, just so it isn’t Yves garbanzo beans. In fact, by this time next year, I hope I’ll be enjoying my veggies and hummus in the shade of a nice gazebo in the front yard, while my new Crockpot makes veggie broth on the back of the stove in the house. Caveat Emptor, people... Caveat Emptor. <br />
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See also: <a href="http://writimages.blogspot.ca/2010/07/on-phone-again.html">http://writimages.blogspot.ca/2010/07/on-phone-again.html</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-51817944202648245202013-04-23T13:50:00.001-07:002013-04-23T13:59:23.110-07:00Yeah, always more to say...So, in fact, I will add to this blog right now. <br />
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Have you seen the ads dissing young Trudeau, the new leader of the Liberal party?<br />
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It was ridiculous enough that Harper's personal attacks on Ignatieff took root. I mean, ok, Ignatieff was an egghead, but the bullying Harper indulged in was disgusting. Even more disgusting is that it apparently worked. </div>
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Now he's launched an all out personal offensive against Justin Trudeau. I think he may have overstepped this time though. Trudeau is popular, especially amongst the young. And the pictures Harper's nasty little team of bullies chose to use were of him stripping down to his undershirt (oh, woohoo) for a charitable cause. A little bit of fun for charity, and Harper thinks he can make that look bad. I mean, maybe he can. That depends on Canadians.</div>
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The next attack came after the tragic bombings at the Boston Marathon. In an interview, Trudeau said he thought we should get at the root cause of this violence. Harper saw this as an opportunity to politicize the tragedy by criticizing Trudeau's thinking, saying that such attacks should simply be condemned.<br />
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Ok yeah... that's been working. {/sarcasm}<br />
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Terrorism: condemnation, terrorism: condemnation, terrorism: condemnation. Does anyone else see a repetitive trend here? Trudeau is right... we need to find out how these young people are being turned to terrorism and we need to put a stop to it.<br />
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Some would-be terrorists were stopped here in Canada shortly after by virtue of a tip from the Muslim community about some young people who seemed to be involved in terror activities. Tragedy averted. It's more coooperation, detective work, and preemptive strikes like this that needs to repeated, instead of just more terror. And more condemnation.</div>
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We need to know what's happening to these young people, how the terrorists are getting at them and convincing them to participate. We DO need to look at the root causes of these attacks. Condemnation is NOT enough.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJz4zeAexEMhIXthjjWbd3PfLT_V3ROFVPvlrsJ_is3UOlX36MH_qtslYiL1elMtpU2FGx2dUiodNqM7QlCbeMdml2M4QqIKZFNNauIKN1gaojZc2KPIxLTAt1g59agDxDznd4ijridikB/s1600/harper2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dua="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJz4zeAexEMhIXthjjWbd3PfLT_V3ROFVPvlrsJ_is3UOlX36MH_qtslYiL1elMtpU2FGx2dUiodNqM7QlCbeMdml2M4QqIKZFNNauIKN1gaojZc2KPIxLTAt1g59agDxDznd4ijridikB/s1600/harper2.jpg" /></a>Ah, but Harper doesn't care. To him, it's just an opportunity to bully an opponent. I don't understand how this guy got a majority government, but I sure hope Canadians don't fall for his BS again. And this time, I hope the young people get out and VOTE. When the time comes, do not miss the opportunity.</div>
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Let your voice be heard!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-42968393070007546632012-03-27T10:22:00.003-07:002013-03-17T10:24:34.954-07:00What a Rough Time to be Christian!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwVXAcP9HWDt_t5jT_HWy43nDuFuIiIVhwXzvRukACjtpERC-q7ab_ccfRU8eHeCSId3LCs7J-yAcqpp-pTHEFMO8TP6gRn9UDfw9IZvaqba93qGeAovZ_BLKZO9Aqmyj2SUmLwIE2z0RN/s1600/417606_414635541886492_100000201489106_1878711_517962057_a.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724629062621270786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwVXAcP9HWDt_t5jT_HWy43nDuFuIiIVhwXzvRukACjtpERC-q7ab_ccfRU8eHeCSId3LCs7J-yAcqpp-pTHEFMO8TP6gRn9UDfw9IZvaqba93qGeAovZ_BLKZO9Aqmyj2SUmLwIE2z0RN/s200/417606_414635541886492_100000201489106_1878711_517962057_a.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 200px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 155px;" /></a>I really just want to salute you genuine Christians, you know who you are. For the rest of you, I'm talking about those caring Christians who actually believe in love, humility and the compassion for others that Jesus taught.<br />
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It must be a tough time to be a real Christian, when your faith has pretty much been hi-jacked by some bat-shit crazy, homophobic, misogynistic, right wing zealots who apparently think that Christianity is all about hate and intolerance. Oy.<br />
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I'm not big on religion in general. Following only one of the great masters who came among us to guide us tends to lead to conflict. I'm a spiritualist who tries to learn something from them all, so I don't label myself. Still, I am a student of the lessons of Jesus, and what some of these zealots are preaching in his name is shameful ... to the point of obscenity.<br />
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So, to those of you who follow the genuine lessons of Jesus, hang in there. Hopefully this darkness too shall pass.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-13290827394257975142011-11-27T18:46:00.000-08:002011-11-28T08:02:16.593-08:00People can be such idiots.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUgjpr9CDNaxQ3G310MLjUuFsKgvIMVeDwYTmAjWFPShDit0UGnmU3GAIvpJKuGBQUVL12KijLIKqLUMLB8JLz88iUq6I0MCZKRx-3ihoab553P87uGa7q5PBaxTyz8XLWVOJ4BdjtmIJ/s1600/thumbnailaut.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 123px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679876970144514530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUgjpr9CDNaxQ3G310MLjUuFsKgvIMVeDwYTmAjWFPShDit0UGnmU3GAIvpJKuGBQUVL12KijLIKqLUMLB8JLz88iUq6I0MCZKRx-3ihoab553P87uGa7q5PBaxTyz8XLWVOJ4BdjtmIJ/s200/thumbnailaut.jpg" /></a>What brings me to this unhappy conclusion? Well, I’ll tell ya. It has a lot to do with those old poops who advised me to beat my child when she had a public meltdown. No, she wasn’t just spoiled. She is a child of autism and has emotional and social disabilities. Tell me though, who do you think is really more socially inept? Those with social disabilities, or those who can’t accept these people with humility, imagination, and grace? I know the answer, but I won’t spoil it for ya.<br /><br />Then there’s the store clerk who said, “I don’t believe in ‘syndromes.’” Well yeah, it’s always easy to have an opinion at a safe distance from the problem. But I have to live with the reality 24/7, so I have to be more responsible than that.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqLdYag0TYDqRMz4fE8EucgdLSkE64P87CHjj4iUcc_i2aZT0YHTAWEtYhDHd08ovUchdbSM8AdumzmLI74O8QqLJkWU_83Zq_YhCkkXgN2U39Db9RtxlmNsY9Uk2huktmb5xUJuIdN2CT/s1600/celiac.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 140px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679875994486058418" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqLdYag0TYDqRMz4fE8EucgdLSkE64P87CHjj4iUcc_i2aZT0YHTAWEtYhDHd08ovUchdbSM8AdumzmLI74O8QqLJkWU_83Zq_YhCkkXgN2U39Db9RtxlmNsY9Uk2huktmb5xUJuIdN2CT/s200/celiac.jpg" /></a>Then there’s those who think celiac disease is some sort of current fashion. Some sort of "band wagon." Ok, maybe there are those few who’ve gone on a gluten-free diet as if it’s the next greatest fad diet to try. But celiac disease is no fashion. It’s a medically tested auto-immune disease. It hurts. It causes pain, bloating, gall bladder disease, fatty liver, depression and more. Is all this terribly “fashionable” to some people?<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiAXIAfQxIgUmXwg760Ncvan541qBw8GI6gNZy3p0jfpP13FezR6hn64zlr3FY6HJ1Mi42G0V_JFtEg8AxOQl9np9a_VAAoutZKtjZP0HNyQwKEuBjBVyQZaRYl4Mra62SVwnjJq0uBfy5/s1600/thumbnaild.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 198px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 198px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679875417313825458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiAXIAfQxIgUmXwg760Ncvan541qBw8GI6gNZy3p0jfpP13FezR6hn64zlr3FY6HJ1Mi42G0V_JFtEg8AxOQl9np9a_VAAoutZKtjZP0HNyQwKEuBjBVyQZaRYl4Mra62SVwnjJq0uBfy5/s200/thumbnaild.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Is cancer just a “fashion?” Is pneumonia just a hot fashion now that antibiotics have lost some of their power? Is diabetes just a rollicking modern fashion too?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Qt8LtxCtbLlvnsZyUjxfTPVbTr7GyfsyBdABva9ITsXS-1Mpv_HqZWLGr2_LyhYu8IJLSt3yH4v-wXZs6W-bWfBCttsCjemtzlEIUqoaL_u8SDbD6ZaS1djA2QjtSdnjed3aUZ12S9pp/s1600/276610_104784939604627_993125_n+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 171px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679874852906669330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Qt8LtxCtbLlvnsZyUjxfTPVbTr7GyfsyBdABva9ITsXS-1Mpv_HqZWLGr2_LyhYu8IJLSt3yH4v-wXZs6W-bWfBCttsCjemtzlEIUqoaL_u8SDbD6ZaS1djA2QjtSdnjed3aUZ12S9pp/s200/276610_104784939604627_993125_n+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a><br />Once again, it’s always so easy to have an opinion at a safe distance from the reality. But as much as I hate to confuse people whose minds are already made up with pesky facts: there is no day off from autism, ADHD, Asperger’s Syndrome. There is no day off from celiac disease, or even just gluten intolerance. There is no day off from Colitis. There is no day off from Diabetes, even for those who are just pre-D and in prevention mode. Just as there’s no day off from many health issues, from any auto-immune disorders or diseases, such as PANDAS and more, to cancers, to mental disorders, such as depression or bi-polar disorder, that make every day a challenge, and some days a living hell.<br /><br />These health issues are not games. They aren't something people drum up just to be “difficult.” They aren’t a joke for someone else’s entertainment. They aren’t about effing “FASHION” or playful BAND WAGONS... they are about living day to day with any and ALL the life-altering challenges that reality will throw at us. If you don’t get it, then you don’t. Lucky you. Just be aware that you damage your own credibility when you belittle the challenges that others face on a daily basis ~ especially those who face several of these challenges all at once.<br /><br />You think they aren’t real? Well, with all the respect you’re due, you’re an idiot.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-11887795709225284762011-08-27T12:52:00.000-07:002011-08-27T14:23:49.687-07:00Really????The poster, let's call him John S., wrote that he was retired from the armed services and regretted never having learned to dance. He would have liked to learn, he said. He said no more, just leaving that out there.
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<br />Another poster saw John's post. Let's call him Tanglefoot. Now Tanglefoot had been injured in an accident and he took dance lessons as part of his recovery therapy. It was something he'd always wanted to do as well, so he thought he'd be a sport and tell John all about it.
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<br />"I took lessons at a dance studio," wrote Tanglefoot. "The instructors were great ~ very patient ~ and I actually got very good at it, despite my disability. I don't dance to rock though, and I'm glad disco is dead, but I love being able to squire my lady around the dance floor to the slow tunes." He went to the trouble of including an URL to a national dance studio to help John out if he wanted to look into it.
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<br />But John came back with a little tidbit of information that he'd left out of his original post. "I lost my legs in Iraq," he said. "I don't much wear the prosthetics because they pinch, so I don't think I'll be dancing any time soon."
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<br />Tanglefoot was shocked, of course. But he was also angry. He felt used ~ taken advantage of by someone whose original post was not genuine... someone who just wanted sympathy and attention. Indeed, he felt bad for the guy, losing both legs, but he didn't like being misled, and sucked into the other man's self-pity.
<br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJNfpuR6WEV5H3nguSon4blCj0QCrGD31vmiJJSfNIwEQQ_gsrRjZj1PApkfpMRPGFyQEGuwddtxeDXEkg3riR9wtoLhjhD1i5K8_rN_esEx8Bea7at52ST1gJr17swpLTF7c4KUoUyU05/s1600/thumbnailCAHRMN6F.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 181px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645646509794798034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJNfpuR6WEV5H3nguSon4blCj0QCrGD31vmiJJSfNIwEQQ_gsrRjZj1PApkfpMRPGFyQEGuwddtxeDXEkg3riR9wtoLhjhD1i5K8_rN_esEx8Bea7at52ST1gJr17swpLTF7c4KUoUyU05/s200/thumbnailCAHRMN6F.jpg" /></a>Something stinks, Petunia</span>
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<br /><span style="font-size:78%;">
<br /></span>Tanglefoot himself was an amputee, having lost his foot in a winter climbing accident. But dancing had been the therapy he needed to <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxFft9CqIGNPGgSZpK_Y3mPc29LOM7efxZYeNQDN1p09REddJidoZ1BhOsv285oo7UeAtOeKPF3pcZ8oYSS851xecqtX6vh7_duA4TrZ7RJMvG-M7Ymz4A9obKc2Ls29HNaJIYD_k8zB0A/s1600/thumbnailCAHRMN6F.jpg"></a>gain the balance, physical strength and confidence he needed to manage now with the prosthetic foot. But while he was straight up about his disability, he didn't mention details because life isn't a contest and he didn't like to reduce it to one. He just didn't talk to John again.
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<br />Compassion? That cuts both ways, or at least it should. When someone presumes they are somehow more deserving of it and wastes someone else's time and effort in a pointless exercise, just to get pity and attention, they risk being denied the very thing they seek.
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<br />Yes, people like this have my pity, but not my respect. Perhaps that's partly because I know a great many people, mothers mostly, who face spirit-crushing challenges day in and day out with their kids, who aren't well, and who aren't always getting the medical care they need because of a backward medical community. These moms struggle to inform themselves through what is often a minefield of misinformation, and they take on the status quo and fight for their kids with amazing strength and determination. And they often do so without the support of loved ones... those very people they should be able to count on to stand with them. Then they turn around and help others who are tackling the same minefield, and they do so with love, compassion and grace. These are the people I admire and respect and for whom I have empathy and compassion.
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<br />But then there are the others.... I understand how Tanglefoot felt after his encounter with John S. People who are frightened and lonely will always have my sympathy. But I've made the same mistake as Tanglefoot a few times. It's made me hesitant to take people at face value. No challenge gives one person the right to "play" another and I intend to be more circumspect in future. I don't want to be sucked in by those lost in self-pity who think it's ok to misrepresent their situation as if the rest of us have nothing better to do than give them our attention whenever they want it.
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<br />Yeah, really.
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-16512315934472367632011-08-09T15:46:00.000-07:002011-08-09T17:08:56.091-07:00The Market, and the Unseeing People<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqlXwpXGEP-NjEdYxW5ByF_EeIDlfLZlSG5JmfH8l3B_atZdLT1cZBgNKWPaFWXWMTT7dAos18oVwMiXy_kIkSP840d2CXW7BaLEBejIrCBlY3l8JI9onC_34nvY0cp-Shx3eZmkliMCz_/s1600/100_2320.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639000220020748482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqlXwpXGEP-NjEdYxW5ByF_EeIDlfLZlSG5JmfH8l3B_atZdLT1cZBgNKWPaFWXWMTT7dAos18oVwMiXy_kIkSP840d2CXW7BaLEBejIrCBlY3l8JI9onC_34nvY0cp-Shx3eZmkliMCz_/s200/100_2320.jpg" /></a>I've mentioned the market before.... in a previous post. I think community markets are great. You can get all kinds of foods, as well as locally made arts and crafts. These markets are all about locally grown, often organically or naturally grown meats, vegetables, fruits and more. And local artisans offer up unique items of hand-made beauty, as opposed to those department store things made in some off-shore sweat shop or assembly line.
<br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span>
<br /><span style="font-size:78%;">This colourful hanging thing is made of origami birds!</span>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WlX3SVMtuWp_fkj-gy2kq3a4ErevXmzAjvV8pZvapmNueXeFaigQ5gOQlXfY274QV1DQ4IBDYllC6ClDkki64n5BCbwEW27jven4UetpSEnXEEEe2GQnUifEaQs5P1dR46S6Mv3XMzwu/s1600/100_2272.jpg"></a>
<br />There are always people who understand this and who shop the market all season long, enjoying the varied fruits of the season. But in the past several weeks of "doing" the market in my local community, I've noticed that there are also a lot of lost people who apparently don't see what is around them.
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WlX3SVMtuWp_fkj-gy2kq3a4ErevXmzAjvV8pZvapmNueXeFaigQ5gOQlXfY274QV1DQ4IBDYllC6ClDkki64n5BCbwEW27jven4UetpSEnXEEEe2GQnUifEaQs5P1dR46S6Mv3XMzwu/s1600/100_2272.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNBxZ1HleTSkpB3JmqdfWrMTyfc0UX8ttCggb78P6Tn87h041VpUsehw9DK3hT1IRMhDIjO5iBoYJjkCmsWn6FMDtw3H_C_lGzSsGTi7FFt9P92gdNqrxmml2ELi4zFb0hX6zmQJGbkPH/s1600/100_2269.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639005449899195106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNBxZ1HleTSkpB3JmqdfWrMTyfc0UX8ttCggb78P6Tn87h041VpUsehw9DK3hT1IRMhDIjO5iBoYJjkCmsWn6FMDtw3H_C_lGzSsGTi7FFt9P92gdNqrxmml2ELi4zFb0hX6zmQJGbkPH/s200/100_2269.jpg" /></a>
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<br />I don't know why these people come to the market. They walk through quickly, not looking left <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WlX3SVMtuWp_fkj-gy2kq3a4ErevXmzAjvV8pZvapmNueXeFaigQ5gOQlXfY274QV1DQ4IBDYllC6ClDkki64n5BCbwEW27jven4UetpSEnXEEEe2GQnUifEaQs5P1dR46S6Mv3XMzwu/s1600/100_2272.jpg"></a>or right at the goods available. It's ok if they don't want to buy, but why would they not open their eyes and take a little look? Pass the time of day with the vendors or with others who've been attracted to the site? But these people seem quite blind to what is going on all around them. They navigate the wandering crowds, the little knobs of people standing chatting.
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WlX3SVMtuWp_fkj-gy2kq3a4ErevXmzAjvV8pZvapmNueXeFaigQ5gOQlXfY274QV1DQ4IBDYllC6ClDkki64n5BCbwEW27jven4UetpSEnXEEEe2GQnUifEaQs5P1dR46S6Mv3XMzwu/s1600/100_2272.jpg"></a>
<br />They aren't even annoyed by the obstacles. They just duck and weave around them and keep walking. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WlX3SVMtuWp_fkj-gy2kq3a4ErevXmzAjvV8pZvapmNueXeFaigQ5gOQlXfY274QV1DQ4IBDYllC6ClDkki64n5BCbwEW27jven4UetpSEnXEEEe2GQnUifEaQs5P1dR46S6Mv3XMzwu/s1600/100_2272.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WlX3SVMtuWp_fkj-gy2kq3a4ErevXmzAjvV8pZvapmNueXeFaigQ5gOQlXfY274QV1DQ4IBDYllC6ClDkki64n5BCbwEW27jven4UetpSEnXEEEe2GQnUifEaQs5P1dR46S6Mv3XMzwu/s1600/100_2272.jpg"></a>They could always just walk through the parking lot, a stone's throw away, if they're just out for<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WlX3SVMtuWp_fkj-gy2kq3a4ErevXmzAjvV8pZvapmNueXeFaigQ5gOQlXfY274QV1DQ4IBDYllC6ClDkki64n5BCbwEW27jven4UetpSEnXEEEe2GQnUifEaQs5P1dR46S6Mv3XMzwu/s1600/100_2272.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639003218149567858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WlX3SVMtuWp_fkj-gy2kq3a4ErevXmzAjvV8pZvapmNueXeFaigQ5gOQlXfY274QV1DQ4IBDYllC6ClDkki64n5BCbwEW27jven4UetpSEnXEEEe2GQnUifEaQs5P1dR46S6Mv3XMzwu/s200/100_2272.jpg" /></a> a brisk walk, instead of wending their way through the crowds of shoppers, huggers and chatters. There are few obstacles in the parking lot. Just some parked cars. No people, dogs, kids or other moving obstacles to slow them down. And yet.... there they are, seemingly unaware of where they <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WlX3SVMtuWp_fkj-gy2kq3a4ErevXmzAjvV8pZvapmNueXeFaigQ5gOQlXfY274QV1DQ4IBDYllC6ClDkki64n5BCbwEW27jven4UetpSEnXEEEe2GQnUifEaQs5P1dR46S6Mv3XMzwu/s1600/100_2272.jpg"></a>are, what they're doing there, the goods or the humanity around them. Even if they don't see, you'd think they'd notice the smells...
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WlX3SVMtuWp_fkj-gy2kq3a4ErevXmzAjvV8pZvapmNueXeFaigQ5gOQlXfY274QV1DQ4IBDYllC6ClDkki64n5BCbwEW27jven4UetpSEnXEEEe2GQnUifEaQs5P1dR46S6Mv3XMzwu/s1600/100_2272.jpg"></a>the hot pies, the potato burgers, the herbs! And the garlic! My goodness... the garlic!!
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<br />Who are these people? Why are they walking blind? What is their stress that they get up, get dressed and come out to market, yet notice nothing?
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<br />Oh well, there's nothing I can do about it. I take joy in talking to all who stop by my table. If they buy, great. If they want to chat, that's cool too. It's all good. And I get to spend my morning enjoying the smells, doing a little shopping of my own, and gabbing with folks. I just can't help wondering about those willfully blind people who weave through the crowds unseeing. Unaware. All I can do is encourage you, the reader, to go out to your community market, and look, see, smell, chat and enjoy. Whatever your stress is, enjoying what is around you is what will help relieve it.
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-13205315016433294092011-07-14T20:51:00.000-07:002011-07-14T21:04:35.865-07:00You go, Madonna!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97e05_iis0sZgazmTousd5SpxKuZCfeRRBpzQMG_WzqPiqC3qL1c1LBo0nWNDWPtb9ifkUpVymfTCvqZ9Ddo_EmUBgXKUROxWFZY-lyiB74SBYmmCkghcTdEym8CjJ6-GVZpbvOkb3Uxq/s1600/thumbnailmadonna.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 132px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629422573145212546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97e05_iis0sZgazmTousd5SpxKuZCfeRRBpzQMG_WzqPiqC3qL1c1LBo0nWNDWPtb9ifkUpVymfTCvqZ9Ddo_EmUBgXKUROxWFZY-lyiB74SBYmmCkghcTdEym8CjJ6-GVZpbvOkb3Uxq/s200/thumbnailmadonna.jpg" /></a>Ok, I told myself to just shut up, but I can’t help myself. *sigh* I’m probably going to get run over by this little band wagon, leaving deeply spiritual tread marks all over my very human bod. But I just can’t help it.<br /><br />It was something Madonna said. It was a quote presented on Facebook: “I want to be like Gandhi and Martin Luther King and John Lennon but I want to STAY ALIVE.” Oy. Here come the harsh words from those who presume to judge her.<br /><br />Well, I’m just not climbing on that wagon. For one thing, I can find a certain dark humour in what she said. (My gift apparently, though I am quite aware that some could just slap me for it.) For another, I just happen to think that judging someone harshly just because they’re rich and famous is every bit as lame as idol-worship. And for yet another, I don’t actually know the woman. I mean, I’ve never met her personally, talked with her, hung out with her. I only know about her what’s reported in the media ~ not exactly the paragon of accuracy. (And no, I don’t indulge in the gossip rags.) Even if I did know her, who died and made me God that I should judge her and her aspirations?<br /><br />Heh. Madonna is just human, like the rest of us. I’m sure she’s trying. I’m sure she stumbles. I’m equally certain she sometimes triumphs and has her glory moments. I also think she aspires to some lofty heights with her choices, but what’s wrong with that? Should we not aspire to greatness? Are we to assume it’s out of our reach? Ok, it could be argued that wanting to stick around for the standing O is a little self-serving, but on the other hand, which of us is looking forward to being shot, crucified, burned at the stake, drawn and quartered or whatever? Talk about a need for attention, if posthumously. Yeah, yeah... glory in spirit. Well I’m not going to seek out my assassin, I can tell you, greatness or no.<br /><br />Madonna is a celebrity. As such she lives much of her life under the intense scrutiny of the media, where a lot of what she says and does may be deemed “news” at the whim of a sometimes misguided world. Yep, it’s part of the price of fame, but I bet it still makes life and making those choices all the more difficult.<br /><br />So I’m cutting her some slack. I admire the people she wants to be like, for whatever reason. What we have here is just life on Earth for however long we’re given it. We are human, for the moment anyway. How we die isn’t supposed to be our choice; but how we live is. And whatever wisdom you aspire to, the reality of life before Enlightenment is chop wood, carry water; after Enlightenment: chop wood, carry water.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdjjdPAMn31cKNMBM2KcqZo5MDXRA5tQuJNfuddOMFG_1b8ZXvhNcE512iEnWznyzcezTQyZCQhKPF_kQb0BS5Ank-mT7-D7IaYWauS4Q9B9dKzKNe7fSuPQ796n2iTaWudDfhT9_LVPD3/s1600/thumbnailmoses.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 159px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629422781329279442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdjjdPAMn31cKNMBM2KcqZo5MDXRA5tQuJNfuddOMFG_1b8ZXvhNcE512iEnWznyzcezTQyZCQhKPF_kQb0BS5Ank-mT7-D7IaYWauS4Q9B9dKzKNe7fSuPQ796n2iTaWudDfhT9_LVPD3/s200/thumbnailmoses.jpg" /></a><br />Moreover, it’s only something Madonna <em>said</em>. As far as I know she didn’t carve it in a stone tablet and carry it down a mountain. Perspective. Tolerance. Humour. These are just some human qualities I admire. So, nope... maybe it’s an easy ride, but I’m not jumping on the judgement band wagon. You go, Madonna! Maybe one day you’ll get to be as admired as at least one of your heros, AND live to be very old. And in our world, you’ll likely get a standing O just for that. :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-30043324805837807012011-05-05T09:06:00.000-07:002011-05-05T17:07:07.036-07:00Parenting ~ It Just Comes Naturally, Right?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTy0jcP0yKsWyXS4p-OcYVdZVP8ZBCErey5LnEBLsyTXBmhxSBj-RPHiuoPHxJEkYasa5Q6nrtFp610IvJ9N6GJpgtKX9S2tTjsEZHwIZkXBliaw9Lo1APaC1pAR2Q7u48NiamTmT-f_9a/s1600/bbyboy.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 145px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603268812624692146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTy0jcP0yKsWyXS4p-OcYVdZVP8ZBCErey5LnEBLsyTXBmhxSBj-RPHiuoPHxJEkYasa5Q6nrtFp610IvJ9N6GJpgtKX9S2tTjsEZHwIZkXBliaw9Lo1APaC1pAR2Q7u48NiamTmT-f_9a/s200/bbyboy.jpg" /></a><br />It does, doesn't it? I mean, people have been popping out babies since the beginning of humanity. If they hadn't known how to care for their progeny, we wouldn't be here. Right?<br /><br />Of course, there was a time when youngsters learned to parent at home, with the raising up of their siblings. Older kids, girls in particular, helped with the household chores, including the watching, changing, feeding of younger sibs. Boys also helped with the chores, but these were more likely outdoor, seasonal, farm chores, etc. Still, these taught them responsibility.<br /><br />Well, times change ~ industrial revolution, child labour laws, schools... Do you remember baby dolls? I do. I even had one. The idea of the baby doll was to acquaint little girls with the care and raising of babies. In fact, most human play initiated by toys was, at one time, intended to teach to some degree. "No, no!" said Mom. "You don't drag a baby by its leg, bumping it's head along on the ground! Here's how you carry a baby." My baby doll could wet herself. Of course, after the first few times, Mom put a stop to that, what with all the wet spots all over the living room. The little baby bottle disappeared. The little diapers didn't work quite like real ones. <span style="font-size:78%;">{snicker}<br /><br /></span>Anyway, I digress. So yeah, way back, play was instructional. Ah, but since it was decided that children need to be in school from about the age of 4 onward, playtime isn't the same. Alas, we weren't allowed to play a whole lot in school. Oh kindergarten was fun. But it isn't as if we could play with dolls. There was serious scissor work to be done, and letters to learn, and stories... so many stories.<br /><br />And of course, even the playtime available has evolved over the last half century. Baby dolls have given way to the Barbie with all its fashion and accessories. And hunting, fishing, fixing the tractor, car, or whatever, has given way to the video game. Boys are still playing war, but it isn't about physical stealth and target shooting, although they are learning some great hand~eye coordination. And then there's TV... tons of potential, and yet....<br /><br />Hmmm... so what about these parenting skills? How are kids learning these? With both Mom and Dad working in our society, and with school work, TV and video games taking up so much of their lives, where are kids picking up these skills? Do they learn how to parent from Mom and Dad rushing them around to organized sports, music or dance lessons, cheerleading practice? Could something be missing?<br /><br />Some schools are experimenting with parenting classes for teens these days, I hear. That's where the teacher sends a student home with a bag of flour to be cared for. This can <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjAemKQR9VlgBdTGtrS3eLT5dIJ2YG4jvVSN-Fr0k7zEVb_WBVzZy9d4gwN2oc8Yukel6I7ZEkgpwufJ6oB8rwLJnOuauI0re3rJ5Ne7IwCfEvb55PsT9-hM8iEN2u19xJwfmX1w8XWUJe/s1600/100_1686.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603281973585882962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjAemKQR9VlgBdTGtrS3eLT5dIJ2YG4jvVSN-Fr0k7zEVb_WBVzZy9d4gwN2oc8Yukel6I7ZEkgpwufJ6oB8rwLJnOuauI0re3rJ5Ne7IwCfEvb55PsT9-hM8iEN2u19xJwfmX1w8XWUJe/s200/100_1686.jpg" /></a>have interesting results. Still, an effort is being made. Before writing this, I googled "parenting classes in schools" with limited results. So I'm wondering, shouldn't parenting skills just be part of what kids are learning in school? I mean from a young age too. Just as they take health, physical education and history, should they not be taught the basics of caring for another, little human being?<br /><br />I just can't help wondering. Afterall, we need a licence to drive a car, or pilot a plane or boat. We need one to get married, or to hunt, fish, to sell real estate, or even to have a dog. And yet, no classes and no licence is required to procreate. Not that I'm advocating this. It's just that for something this important, and with issues such as bullying, anger management, social skills and more surfacing as areas of social concern, wouldn't the learning of parenting skills in school be a good thing? Anyway, I think so. Caring <em>is </em>still important. Isn't it? <p>Just wondering.</p><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>A nod to Crystal Jigsaw, whose blog post got me to thinkin'. The link to her blog is: http://crystaljigsaw.blogspot.com/</em><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-2122516733365686922011-03-22T05:49:00.001-07:002011-03-22T08:53:38.595-07:00Why Don't We Stop Lying to Our Children?Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely.<br /><br /><div><div>This is a quote from the words of John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton, first Baron Acton (1834–1902). The historian and moralist, who was otherwise known simply as Lord Acton, expressed this opinion in a letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton in 1887:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5I5CVb_Du_J2HSWRYTVRhdpmT2IokQjz7lNlAARWtghpl0WarlKBY-cXWSwGNsDCmP_GLvKPichcT29INBXSKADSKsao_a00uaZPex9CeWLNwQ8Az3j3DQ8L-F-G1UdOuJbhpT8CU2OEu/s1600/acton.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 138px; HEIGHT: 184px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586886257857095938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5I5CVb_Du_J2HSWRYTVRhdpmT2IokQjz7lNlAARWtghpl0WarlKBY-cXWSwGNsDCmP_GLvKPichcT29INBXSKADSKsao_a00uaZPex9CeWLNwQ8Az3j3DQ8L-F-G1UdOuJbhpT8CU2OEu/s200/acton.jpg" /></a>"Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men." </div><div> </div><div><p>He said a mouthful.</div><div></div><div><p.he><div></div><div><p>How often have we seen this proven in the pages of history? Answer: too often. What to do? A discussion broke out (I think an apt description of how discussions tend to start these days) over deposing corrupt leaders. Someone asked how we'd feel if someone from another country wanted to depose ours. Heh. Apples and oranges. You see, we can depose our own. It's called an <strong>ELECTION</strong>. People in countries like Libya don't have that handy opportunity. The problem here is that we don't necessarily recognize when there's a problem and we don't use our opportunity for change to our own benefit. We sit dumbly by while our trust is abused. We call 53% a "good" voting turnout. We are a rather apathetic society, to put it mildly. Ah, but, I digress.</p></div><div></div><div><p>Gaddafi took over Libya by military coup and has had absolute power over the Libyan people for over 40 years. He is corrupt, to say the least. He has been, to some degree, controlled by other powers by virtue of sanctions and threats over this time. But he has always had an ace up his sleeve: oil, the main commodity of Libya and something the rest of us want. And so, despite the disdain of many nations and world leaders, he has remained in power, at times teetering on the brink of pushing others too far. But this is a man who regularly slips in sh!t, then gets up smelling like roses, because better the devil you know, than the devil you don't.</p></div><div></div><div><p>Perhaps his most notorious slip was his connection to the terrorist bombing of an airliner over Lockerbie, Scotland in 1988. He escaped virtually unscathed from that by later denouncing terrorist activities. A few men were prosecuted; one was jailed, then released in 2009 on humanitarian grounds. The families of the victims? Well, tough luck, I guess.</p></div><div></div><div><p>While all this teetering and gesturing was going on, where was the UN? Now, don't get me wrong ~ this league of civilized nations has been a great forum to hear world concerns of all kinds from many concerned people over the years. And they have done great things for the children of the world. But the fact is, it is a gathering of responsible nations that lacks any muscle when it comes to dealing with political corruption and horrendous violations of human rights. It's great to speak to higher ideals, but rhetoric didn't stop the genocide in Rwanda, the horrors in Darfur, "ethnic cleansing" in Bosnia~Herzegovina, etc., etc. And the nations of the UN spent a lot of time hemming and hawing while Gaddafi murdered his own people.</p></div><div></div><div><p>I don't like war. I don't like violence. I don't like bullies. Do you?</p></div><div></div><div><p>Many of us in western countries try to teach our children that violence isn't justifiable. We discourage our kids from fighting in the school yard to resolve conflicts. And we are discouraged from using corporal punishment on our kids, the way our parents did. Violence, we are told, is not the way to solve problems. There is a big campaign on now to stop bullying, because it just isn't right.</p></div><div></div><div><p>And yet, our kids <strong><em>are</em></strong> bullied, and many of the ones who do survive the school yard no sooner get through puberty than they're decked out in spiffy uniforms and handed automatic weapons to go off to other countries to resolve political conflicts by violence, by killing, by getting killed. Huh? But wait....</p></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS0F86UMDdUXwam43y57nf9TJ-D81xEHPFiEj3AR7hY39jOdYdUEENv6dUwR9vEiN3t1o5dZQ3JCf8zhnA3cwYaae_Pm5_GwwERhhnbqHat4b86KxM-S34Yg7iWszUsnUKnTJbcfGoAu4s/s1600/thumbnailCA2V4657.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 195px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586921601126738930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS0F86UMDdUXwam43y57nf9TJ-D81xEHPFiEj3AR7hY39jOdYdUEENv6dUwR9vEiN3t1o5dZQ3JCf8zhnA3cwYaae_Pm5_GwwERhhnbqHat4b86KxM-S34Yg7iWszUsnUKnTJbcfGoAu4s/s200/thumbnailCA2V4657.jpg" /></a>Moreover, political bullying isn't at all frowned upon either, apparently. I mean, look at the leader of my country, Canada. His name is Stephen Harper and he routinely launches personal attacks on the opposition on national television. No, he's not just attacking policy and political platform, his ATTACKS are <strong>personal, </strong>against Ignatieff in particular ~ his personal history, his motives for entering Canadian politics, and more. This is not political campaigning, it's <strong><em>bullying</em></strong>! Harper is also a fear-monger, threatening Canadians with all sorts of supposedly dire political consequences if we don't vote for him. Are Canadians falling for these tactics? Heh... I don't see any uprising here. Canadians do have a means of deposing our bully: an election. But do Canadians care? It remains to be seen, but I have my doubts.</div><div></div><div><p>Gaddafi is killing his own people. In fact, he has pledged to kill anyone who continues to oppose him. (Yes, this is more extreme than Harper's tactics, but it's the same genre of sh!t. The only difference is that Harper does not have <strong>absolute power</strong>. Something I wouldn't trust him with for even a minute.) So finally the UN decides to step in. A bit late. I mean, by this time there is no diplomatic or economic means of influencing change in Libya.</p></div><div></div><div>It's war. It's violence. It's killing to stop killing.<br /></div><div><p>So why don't we just stop lying to our children? Violence<strong><em> is </em></strong>the way we resolve conflict, and bullying <strong><em>is</em></strong> the way we influence people. It's really mean-spirited to lead our kids to believe some higher ideal is possible, when it plainly isn't. We are all just big liars ~ politicians, educators, parents... all of us. We should just let our children duke it out in the school yard to settle arguments. This will prepare them for the real world. We should just sit idly by while the meanest, toughest kids take over the school yard and all the other kids have to bow to their whims to get through the day. </p></div><div><img style="WIDTH: 150px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586917285938174338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnG9BPpS2D5pl-eU_roiKqisw0N5lJAU8jrawQt_gXDEMrUF_6RSJVBmDgLJdrVtSzFWR0TMUnXSFBSRKWVIiHnkaAc-89Ukol9n2u3zQwLJVOhR5xpwu_LuTzADUAEqs2JkVNxNTi2bs/s200/100_1689.jpg" /> Ideals are nice, but we don't have the stuff to make them real. Corruption, violence and bullying <strong><em>is</em></strong> the real world. </div><div></div><div><p>Eh? Did you say something? Really? Did you vote in the last election? You're bloody lucky if you have that recourse. Do you bother? Or do you just lie to your children?</p></div><div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-7629103184883446212011-03-16T07:06:00.000-07:002011-03-16T07:30:55.319-07:00A Gentle Tea CleanseOK, yet another dietary-related post. This one is about a cleansing tea that will help clean out that digestion system.... sort of a spring-cleaning for the bawd.<br /><br />I always start with a <strong><em>green tea</em></strong> bag of some sort... Earl Grey, blueberry, ginger, or even decaf is fine. (Decaf is preferable if you're having it in the evening.)<br /><div></div><br /><div>Then I add at least a tsp. each of <strong><em>dandelion root</em></strong> and <strong><em>milk thistle seed </em></strong>(dandelion root cleanses the bile ducts/gall bladder; milk thistle restores the liver), then a few <strong><em>rosehips</em></strong> (vit C), some <strong><em>red clover blossoms</em></strong> (good ...for us girls), a <strong><em>slice of ginger root</em></strong> (digestion aid and lowers cholesterol), and top it off with <strong><em>dried cranberries or blueberries</em></strong> (mostly for flavour, but crans cleanse the urinary tract and blueberries are healthy a few ways). You can also add <strong><em>dried cherries</em></strong> if you have 'em. They help lower uric acid, an overabundance of which can cause gout. Dried cherries are just a little pricey, but sometimes you can get them on special, if you watch. Another nice flavour that aids in digestion is <strong><em>fennel seeds</em></strong>.</div><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbX2uSpdbouuD0_WnsY7toy-hFmixZc8yw4qwYcnzRvY37BB3cfdK0u5F0lBlJ_NzLt1KPqF_llpu0_HI66mVkiv9DR7QGEgv_jIU-wQCGtp6o59sDv1cBChC-uHCExfsPkTeHSL9UUmWW/s1600/100_1811.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584683357176335090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbX2uSpdbouuD0_WnsY7toy-hFmixZc8yw4qwYcnzRvY37BB3cfdK0u5F0lBlJ_NzLt1KPqF_llpu0_HI66mVkiv9DR7QGEgv_jIU-wQCGtp6o59sDv1cBChC-uHCExfsPkTeHSL9UUmWW/s200/100_1811.jpg" /></a>Put the tea bag, herbs, ginger and flavour enhancer of choice into a an old-fashioned teapot and add 3 cups boiling water. Allow to steep for 10 minutes. (If I'm needing an anti-inflammatory, I may even sprinkle in a bit of <strong><em>turmeric</em></strong>.) I will often have 2 cups hot, then let the rest cool. Later, or even the next day, I'll put ice cubes in a glass and finish tea cleanse as an iced tea.<br /><div></div><br /><div>This is a delicious (add honey if you like things sweetened), and excellent tea for when you're trying to cleanse your system gently. Enjoy. :)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-89060269056855287222011-03-12T06:44:00.000-08:002011-03-12T07:12:25.350-08:00Lasagna!Ok, throwing in another one while we're in the baked pasta mood. Daughter has been wanting some lasagna, even though she can't have dairy, including cassein. Here's what I did:<br /><div></div><br /><div>1 bottle of Classico Roasted Garlic and Onion tomato sauce</div><div>Rizopia oven-ready brown rice lasagna noodles</div><div>1 lb. ground elk (locally raised and marketed)</div><div>1 pkg. Galaxy Foods vegan rice-based Italian flavour "cheese"</div><div>mushrooms and herbs to taste</div><br /><div></div><div>I browned up the elk, then added most of the tomato sauce, some fresh thyme, and blended. I used the sauce I held back to layer the bottom of the baking dish. This helps the oven-ready pasta to soften. I laid the noodles on the sauce, then a layer of meat and sauce, then a layer of mushrooms and a layer of grated "cheese." Repeat. Bake, covered, for 45 mins in a pre-heated 350 degree oven. </div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5E2XoZGehdLhQsvYVsNk_Ov3OVEfOh49Dr1jCdV0wC5ZBxVXl2rZm60boilkANkoJwej_OFhX6B2TACiq-fB0zlXq5AMI7RJ3D1P8qMs8q_iVxwRnxSRVzAwxV51G1OuxQihbgU6dxucx/s1600/100_1792.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583207970223516338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5E2XoZGehdLhQsvYVsNk_Ov3OVEfOh49Dr1jCdV0wC5ZBxVXl2rZm60boilkANkoJwej_OFhX6B2TACiq-fB0zlXq5AMI7RJ3D1P8qMs8q_iVxwRnxSRVzAwxV51G1OuxQihbgU6dxucx/s200/100_1792.jpg" /></a>Now, it's absolutely necessary that foods I make for my daughter are dairy (and cassein) free. She doesn't have to have gluten-free foods, but I'm trying to reduce her gluten intake so she doesn't get to a place where she develops a problem with it. I can't find anything in the Galaxy "cheese" that should have gluten in it, but the package does not say "Gluten-Free." Some day I'll try it and see what happens to me. ;o) There are gluten-free "cheeses" available tho, so with the rice noodles, this recipe can easily be gluten-free as well. (The Classico sauce is also not labelled gluten-free, but I consume it without ill-effect. There are also gluten-free sauces available in the health food section of many grocery stores.)</div><div> </div><div><p>Ok, it's not at all traditional, but it's a yummy lasagna look-alike. Enjoy!</div><div> </div><div> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-16835832847254762942011-03-08T17:16:00.000-08:002011-03-08T17:35:55.204-08:00Gluten-free RavioliOk then, sticking in another dietary blog post. I'd been putting this off for awhile, but the daughter asked me to make her homemade ravioli. I've been wanting to cut down on her gluten as well, so even though I'm content for the moment with my brown rice pasta, I decided to go gluten-free for hers.<br /><br /><div><div></div><div>She can have eggs, so I decided to make egg pasta using quinoa flour. 1 cup quinoa flour, 2 eggs and just a little water, then a bit more flour to work it in. I put it through my pasta maker, but I couldn't get it any thinner than the #5 setting, so you don't really need one. Just roll it out as thin as you can. I cut it with a tart cutter. </div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-BMgMkzhiwQBP3ingCs18C5h9xw70G3rg19OiYO_1LNyrJID5l4PwjhCVm02BZUK2DOuH_X2YfMWc0BAX6ZTcdF-uVeMnLgKwoPxDp7Fp2Zh34aQ0PeftQmc0TbMbpi8Uo3iTBxwz4Iwa/s1600/100_1783.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581885074215884818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-BMgMkzhiwQBP3ingCs18C5h9xw70G3rg19OiYO_1LNyrJID5l4PwjhCVm02BZUK2DOuH_X2YfMWc0BAX6ZTcdF-uVeMnLgKwoPxDp7Fp2Zh34aQ0PeftQmc0TbMbpi8Uo3iTBxwz4Iwa/s200/100_1783.jpg" /></a>I filled each one, dampened the edges just with water, folded and sealed. I made the filling with sauted mushrooms, peppers, garlic, basil and a little already cooked natural beef. Make your filling of whatever you like!</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCsA8zocAUm9uBCK9YPxQ3n4skdc_X_uGgcZTIcHgH8l1wJ-GTo2mN4gvE0myzbzTa5-aWa8NNFVkztPETh2MaMOyOF4vzSWxMjyeay7DcjKV5ukuyWwkn8TWKaAG8vKqkSyKMmXfYMCwN/s1600/100_1784.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581886157729353682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCsA8zocAUm9uBCK9YPxQ3n4skdc_X_uGgcZTIcHgH8l1wJ-GTo2mN4gvE0myzbzTa5-aWa8NNFVkztPETh2MaMOyOF4vzSWxMjyeay7DcjKV5ukuyWwkn8TWKaAG8vKqkSyKMmXfYMCwN/s200/100_1784.jpg" /></a>Then I smothered the little raviolis in tomato sauce, again, your choice, and baked in a 350 oven for half an hour. The "cheese" on top is actually vegan cheese. I'm not actually positive it's gluten-free, but it's dairy-free ~ also an issue. But I'll have to check a new package to see if it has gluten. But again, sauce of choice!</div><div> </div><div><p>My daughter had it for supper. Yes, she liked it. :)</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-38432296073235317252011-03-01T08:01:00.000-08:002011-03-02T08:51:23.401-08:00Pickers!A commentator on local radio reviewed this new television show, <em>American Pickers</em>. When I saw the advertisement for it, I smiled, because I got a bang out of the fact that they’ve actually created a show around those who recover treasures. I haven’t seen it, but I’m a fan of the concept. My husband and I used to be pickers.<br /><br />For awhile we ran a little collectibles shop to try to change course during the 80s recession. We got a lot of our stock from auctions, lawn sales, and yes, from the large garbage that people put at the curb. In those days, when people wanted to get rid of something, they just put it at the curb for the magical garbage faeries to take away. There wasn’t a lot of concern that charities might be able to sell those clothing items or books, or that the old dresser might be a treasure disguised under layers of icky paint.<br /><br />We not only found treasures that we could use, we re-directed some items to charity. We were careful what we chose to take them. Unfortunately, charities here are now being dumped on by people who apparently don't know what is re-usable and what is genuinely garbage. It’s like there’s a line there that some people can’t fathom. But these charities have to pay to discard the ratty furniture and broken junk, so we need to be discerning, and take them things that someone else might be able to use. And we need to discard the other things ourselves. If you have a box of soft-cover novels you don’t want anymore, someone might like those, and probably a local charity like a literacy council, thrift shop, or your local library, or even a used book store, would take those off your hands and recycle them to interested readers. Or those large jeans you’ve dieted your way out of. If they’re done, they’re garbage, but if they’ve still got wear in them, how about taking them to your local thrift shop? Or if they at least have good material left in them, perhaps a local quilting club would like to have them. Just sayin’. This keeps things out of landfill, and helps others... sort of a win/win thing.<br /><br />But I digress. We really had fun picking through the stuff people placed at the curb during “big garbage” pickup. Hubby refinished several chests of drawers that turned out to be good hard wood underneath. We found chairs, lamps that just needed rewiring, window frames that made great mirrors, books, collectibles, intact carnival, cranberry, and depression glass items and more. Some people had a nasty “I don’t want it but you can’t have it” mentality that I don’t get. They’d break glass, cut screens, leave their discards piled in such a way that was plainly dangerous to touch, so we went around. Whatever. But most people didn’t care where the stuff went, as long as it went. So we kept good stuff from going to landfill and found new homes for it. Some of it needed work, but you know what they say, one man’s garbage is another man’s treasure! And it’s true.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7hhEksY9mx3luMxxFykwJMZFN0IPx_6VCV5WR661rMEk3EeTtT5PS_6K2qYq6qT5dm6m5YN7esdTt1mt0BH09LhtTbFJ2RcS6FN7c8d2fh6zckZ8oUCn5Z6bR14YozC1DNQ0LLsi-nslE/s1600/100_1770.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579151518328130610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7hhEksY9mx3luMxxFykwJMZFN0IPx_6VCV5WR661rMEk3EeTtT5PS_6K2qYq6qT5dm6m5YN7esdTt1mt0BH09LhtTbFJ2RcS6FN7c8d2fh6zckZ8oUCn5Z6bR14YozC1DNQ0LLsi-nslE/s200/100_1770.jpg" /></a>One Mother’s Day we even took my mom garbage picking with us. She thought we were nuts at first, but she actually had a good time and got quite excited by some of our finds. There were a number of items that wound up on her shelves instead of in our store. While we were glad for her to have them, we didn’t take her picking with us too often. Hehe. We went a different direction after a while. We live in an economically depressed area and these days only scrap dealers can find treasure in those piles at the road. But we had fun for awhile there. If you have stuff you don’t want, don’t just send it to expensive landfill unless it really is garbage... and then do. But ask yourself if that item might be useful to someone else. No, don't get dollar signs in your eyes... no one makes a fortune on this stuff, except on television. If you have pickers in your neighbourhood and you don't want to drive around with that interesting stuff, make sure they can find the items you think are recyclable. Or, if you have charities in your community that raise funds with used goods, make sure suitable items get to them. That’s what community is about. Seriously.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-62178851075444640372011-02-13T08:15:00.000-08:002011-02-17T07:00:04.286-08:00Did He Say Mendelssohn?No wait. He said meddlesome. Hey!!<br /><br />Well really. I never! (Actually, I probably have.) I mean, I make the effort to keep my comments anecdotal so they aren’t seen as meddlesome. And I know I can be moody, like those dips into darkness, so I try not to impose those moments on others and just read sometimes. And really, couldn't any response to a published plea for attention be construed as meddlesome? Heh... I think so. But whatever. I dig it. I don’t like meddlesome people either. Like name-callers. So back atcha, fella! Feh.<br /><br />But hey, I think it's in the nature of humans to meddle. There are meddlers in my life too. Here’s a list of my fave 5:<br /><br />5) Hubby, who likes to turn on and tune in the TV to a program he likes before leaving the house, and I'm the only one at home. (Hmmmm. I can’t choose myself?)<br /><br />4) Visitors who feel a need to tell me how to do things. Even really basic things, as if I wasn’t managing at all myself before they stumbled through my door.<br />(Hmmm... on this note, I wonder if youth really need advice, or just time, and life.)<br /><br />3) Single, childless veterinarians who tell me I must meal-time my pets. Sheesh, I haven’t even successfully meal-timed my family. (But then, I don’t feel a compelling need to.)<br /><br />2) Chiropractors who keep whacky hours and TELL me when I must appear for a lecture, wherein he TELLS me how much time I must spend each day doing his whacky exercises. (That’s right, I’m pushin’ 60 and I need some young twerp who calls himself a doctor telling me how I must live my life. Heh.)<br /><br />1) People. Well.. hehe.. I guess I better qualify that since people are at the root of most annoyance on this planet. Lemme see, how about those who take EVERYTHING, including themselves, so very seriously. Lighten up people! We’re on the ride down. Might as well enjoy the wind in your hair. (With that in mind, most of the posts on this blog are written tongue-in-cheek. That means they should be read with a salt-shaker at hand.) ;o)<br /><br />~~Thought for the day: If there is anyone on the planet who is perfect, I’ll bet they’re really impossible to live with. We all have flaws. Keep a perspective. ~~<br /><br />But I digress. I notice when I want someone to meddle and solve some bothersome problem for me, they rarely do. No, I have to struggle with it. Although my daughter came through for me recently when I showed some confusion over terms of sexuality. She filled me in. Lemme see:<br /><br /><em>Heterosexual</em> ~ people who are attracted to the opposite gender.<br /><em>Homosexual</em> ~ attracted to same gender.<br /><em>Bisexual </em>~ attracted to both genders.<br /><em>A-sexual</em> ~ likes neither gender. Hmmm.<br /><em>Trans-sexual</em> ~ wants to be the other gender.<br /><em>Pan-sexual</em> ~ not really a sexuality, more of a philosophy that<br />it’s ok to love anyone, regardless of gender, race, cultural heritage and all that. (Now see, I thought a pan-sexual was just<br />somebody with an unhealthy love of pans.)<br /><em>All-sexual</em> ~ a bisexual hermaphrodite<br />(My daughter admits she invented this one.)<br /><em>Auto-sexual</em> ~ someone in love with their car.<br /><em>Bi-curious</em> ~ just wondering.<br /><br /><p>Do I have it straight? Oh... possibly an unfortunate choice of words. Ooops.<br /><br />But I digress again. Back on the subject of meddling, there’s those people who are johnny-on-the-spot to answer rhetorical questions you only asked to provoke thought. In fact, not only do they answer, they do it right away. Of course. *sigh*<br /><br />Of course, I don't really need the label. I mean, when you get a compliment, like "you're a beautiful being," it passes by before you can say "aw shucks." But something like "meddler," well, that could stick like the nickname "Stinky" at a junior high school. Oh well, I’m told I spend too much time online, and that’s probably true. Like many people these days, I have a bucket list. I’ve been enjoying crossing things off it and a lot of those things have been online activities. One thing I still haven’t gotten to though is re-acquainting myself with my musical instruments. Not an online activity, except for the guitar tuning site. Mendelssohn? Nope, probably more like the Eagles or John Denver. Sunshine on my shoulders. No kidding. And I'm going to put my hand to more original songs... call the first one, Sweet Release.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgox2cdMEAejSuRifELJ61YAxlpsc_ttct2YQLgFjTqdqtqnYHIwd9iysj9csitywQkVNFNzkHTpOcuuz4nS74Ug4qW9NVXbxEXmDzODm0cvjgdIebhebDXEYZj5OV9XN7KK1Ift8QoOTPk/s1600/100_1713.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 78px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573217886118025650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgox2cdMEAejSuRifELJ61YAxlpsc_ttct2YQLgFjTqdqtqnYHIwd9iysj9csitywQkVNFNzkHTpOcuuz4nS74Ug4qW9NVXbxEXmDzODm0cvjgdIebhebDXEYZj5OV9XN7KK1Ift8QoOTPk/s200/100_1713.jpg" /></a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-20427796650111995892011-02-06T20:15:00.000-08:002011-02-06T20:27:09.145-08:00Dreams ~ Creative Sparks in the Night?<div>Do you ever have active or interesting dreams where you wake up suddenly in the middle of the night and remember something about the dream you were just having that seemed somehow inspirational? Of course, you go back to sleep and in the morning you can’t remember what it is you thought might save mankind. So you put a notebook and pencil on your bedside table, to record anything you might come up with in your sleep. I mean, it might be important, right? So naturally you don’t want to forget it next time it happens.<br /><br />I woke up one night with this great idea for a writing project I was sure would win me some sort of important prize... Pulitzer, here I come. So I carefully wrote down a key word I thought would surely bring the whole wonderful thing back to me when I read it in the morning. Well, I got up and did my bathroom thing. Then I went back to the bedroom to get dressed, saw the notebook and vaguely remembered writing something in it. Eagerly I flipped the pages until I came to the one I’d written this no doubt pithy key word on. “Clouds,” it said. “Clouds?” I repeated out loud, perplexed. Wha...?? Now just what was “clouds” supposed to mean? Not to give up too easily, I went to the door and looked outside. The sky was blue and cloudless. Some help that was. I tried to imagine clouds in the sky, figuring I might somehow conjure the inspiring image that had been given to me in the night. I closed my eyes and really tried to come up with something... um... cloudy? Nope. Only thing that was cloudy was my brain. I made coffee.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivre99G0_cIgO_a-mAYd81Jp6IeRJuV0XX-tIHc7tPaqR8K4IQ70gHwsi5ATfuAdRz4qWJDbLlG3vokDe8Esk8JD108NNNZEUAxWvSjv9i36_zug_c8DJiGdi5gOORDovHQs76cRSLzx3e/s1600/100_1676.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570798770413330210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivre99G0_cIgO_a-mAYd81Jp6IeRJuV0XX-tIHc7tPaqR8K4IQ70gHwsi5ATfuAdRz4qWJDbLlG3vokDe8Esk8JD108NNNZEUAxWvSjv9i36_zug_c8DJiGdi5gOORDovHQs76cRSLzx3e/s200/100_1676.jpg" /></a>Of course, I didn’t give up on the idea of capturing some inspiration right away. I stubbornly kept that notebook and pencil by my bed and I actually wrote things in it a few more times. But the results were pretty much the same, only instead of “clouds” it was something equally enlightening, like “waves” or “bare trees” or “tickertape joking.” (No kidding... apparently I wrote a prize-winning joke on tickertape in my sleep. I woke up actually laughing.) But all I’ve ever managed to come up with in the morning is the possibility that sometimes I have really fascinating dreams. Too bad I so seldom remember them. </div><div> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-82422546694551863912011-02-01T08:24:00.001-08:002011-02-12T17:54:01.545-08:00Regroup, Review, Refresh, Re-CenterSometimes I lose focus of the fact that it's ok to do things just for me. I mean, I work hard and take care of my responsibilities, so I should have time for self-amusement, right? I have also spent a lot of my life looking after others, so I don't really owe anyone anything. Heh. And yet I so often feel as if I have to be "helping" somebody. Not enough Karma in the bank?<br /><br />I have to convince myself that it's ok if I do some stuff just for me. In fact, the world can get along very well without my attention, a fact that is both liberating and a little depressing for someone with the "help" gene. Ah, but balance in all things.<br /><br />It is at this time of year that I tend to feel as if I'm swimming in oatmeal no matter what I do. I don't know why. The days are growing longer and there is the promise of Spring, if not yet any indication that it's actually out there somewhere. Delayed reaction to not enough light? SAD. I don't know. Could be. Or perhaps just the knowledge that promises can be broken and doodoo happens? Especially in this time of weather anomolies. Is spring something I can really count on? I guess I won't know for sure until the patches of snow are getting hard to find and that unmistakable odour of thawing dog poo assails my nostrils on an otherwise refreshing, warm Spring breeze. Only then will I know that Spring is truly at hand.<br /><div></div><br /><div>In the meantime, I'm a person who makes things and I think I should be doing some of that. I'm supposed to making jam right now. I have the fruit right here. I forgot to buy sugar. Again. *sigh* Can't make jam without sugar... at least, not this kind. This is the second time I've forgotten to buy sugar when I knew I'd be needing to make jam. Brain!! Why do you abandon me??!!<br /></div><div><p>It seems to be preoccupied with pointless ponderings. My brain that is. Doesn't matter what I think anyway. Not really. So why don't I turn off the ponderings and try to remember why I left the house when I go shopping? </p></div><div>"Of what use is a philosopher who doesn't hurt anybody's feelings?" — Diogenes of Sinope<br /><br />An internet friend put this on his status today. Of what use is a philosopher at all? Nevermind one that wounds. A chronic ponderer fares no better. So hey, time to regroup, review, refresh, re-center, re-everything, I think. May also be time to start a new blog. I mean, let's be realistic: a few thoughtful, depressing poems will take care of these dark feelings, right? And nobody reads poetry anymore either. The poetry book is over on that unused shelf next to the book of philosophy. So it's purely a carthartic exercise. Then I should move on... to SOMETHING I LIKE TO DO. No, I'm not threatening to blog the dark oatmeal pondering poems. Yes. I am thinking of starting a new blog on things I like to do. :) Stay tuned. ;o) </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2nmX-reQQVMHm7QqCSM49Us5i49w8s3MtBpJ7Iv1Ew3My7AmAtSjzuq_BVOgeXgXMX2EXV1JsqmShLSApeEHTYyQcrt6PYXFSV7ZZJhiGTVkMgSv7L_Lb7kwxXoBZ6V_KKixgQ4_xdMmN/s1600/100_0572.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568769745514112514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2nmX-reQQVMHm7QqCSM49Us5i49w8s3MtBpJ7Iv1Ew3My7AmAtSjzuq_BVOgeXgXMX2EXV1JsqmShLSApeEHTYyQcrt6PYXFSV7ZZJhiGTVkMgSv7L_Lb7kwxXoBZ6V_KKixgQ4_xdMmN/s200/100_0572.jpg" /></a>I did it. Yes I did. :) <a href="http://quillingartandmore.blogspot.com/">http://quillingartandmore.blogspot.com/</a> </div><div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-62366119158674642232011-01-20T08:05:00.000-08:002011-01-20T08:57:23.453-08:00Let’s Talk QualityIt’s winter. It’s been snowing. The weather has been cold, mild, cold, thawed out, frozen over again, wet snow, dry snow, winter. The roads are a mess. By the time the plow/sanders come by the snow on the road is already packed down by traffic till it’s ice. This makes for treacherous driving. Of course, there was a time when putting snow tires on the car helped the wheels grip the road some better, but apparently those days are gone.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMlDouPlR-FrDNJoX9cQ-wC_U7Pje8-j4EHbzQURPKYOmxD7puS903AeQhAZx-Y8sPI-PJI3-E_5JImW7kR2Aex7-s5d-d0c8SbzsXxAgeFsUyxEWqIhwYnPNIRe9mmnwrMJAgxXc6oCsE/s1600/thumbnailtire.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564307954986054786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMlDouPlR-FrDNJoX9cQ-wC_U7Pje8-j4EHbzQURPKYOmxD7puS903AeQhAZx-Y8sPI-PJI3-E_5JImW7kR2Aex7-s5d-d0c8SbzsXxAgeFsUyxEWqIhwYnPNIRe9mmnwrMJAgxXc6oCsE/s200/thumbnailtire.jpg" /></a>We have four snow tires on the car. Used to be four all season radials was good enough. Then putting snow tires on the front (front wheel drive) was an ample safety measure. Now there’s four snow tires on there .... and you wouldn’t know it. Geez, hit an icy patch on the right and the tire slides right off instead of going over it. But of course, when there’s an oncoming car, you have to move over and make room, because the sander has only sanded the middle of the road. (Remember when they did both sides?) Sure, everyone wants to drive on the sand, but when you’re passing an oncoming car, it’s move over or crash. One wheel on the sand has to do.<br /><br />So I steer the car with the snow tires on up onto the icy track, and it slides off. That won’t do, so up onto the ice I steer again. It slides off, or tries to as I stubbornly wrestle the car back up onto the icy track, at least till the other car safely passes. But geez, up, slide, up, slide ~ the hood of the car is bobbing up and down like the bow of a boat in a three-foot swell. A person could get sea sick just driving to town.<br /><br />Where did these snow tires come from? Where were they made? More to the point, what are they made with? Because I’m sure the same material used to make those treads is also used to coat the bottoms of toboggans to make them slip and slide better and faster.<br /><br />Let’s face it, it isn’t just happening with tires. Does anybody else remember when our mechanics could turn the brake rotors at least once to make them last longer? No more. Score the thin rotors available now and they’re done. Sure, they’re cheaper, but what isn’t? Especially in the quality meaning of the word.<br /><br />Crap. It’s all crap. Used to be it was odd to encounter a mistake with a product, now we can take for granted that something will be wrong. Cheap labour. Cheap production. Cheap product. Even if you try to find and pay for good quality, it just isn’t there. Just kind of isn’t worth buying stuff anymore. Oh well. I guess that’ll save money, won’t it? Problem is, what’ll I do when I need to replace something I really need, like these snow tires? Hmmm... maybe I could have a local craftsman carve me some out of wood. Won’t be any slipperier than the ones on there now, I’m sure.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-59210300277136033522011-01-17T08:01:00.000-08:002011-02-12T17:49:13.990-08:00The Ying and Yang of Computer TechnologyComputers: very much a mixed blessing. I mean, I love the idea, because it allows me to research and reach out into the world to learn new things and talk to all kinds of people. The computer allowed me to find out what was wrong with me in a society where doctors are either unavailable or content to tell patients it’s all in their head. Gluten. Simple. Don’t eat it. Thank you computer!<br /><br />My old computer wouldn’t do all these things for me. I mean, I guess computer years are a lot like dog years. It was over ten years old. Not just old, but decrepit. It wouldn’t do Facebook or Twitter, wouldn’t even stay online for very long. I’d be going along, looking for things, and the computer would just.... I dunno... burp? And I’d suddenly be offline. Like an old man... when the burps and farts start, and the waistline starts to creep toward the armpits, it can no longer do the things it used to.<br /><br />So I went out and got one of these newfangled laptops. Heh. Ok, I learned to type on an old Olivetti-Underwood manual typewriter. The school didn’t ever have to worry about the business equipment disappearing because even the captain of the football team couldn’t run off with one of those things. The keyboard has evolved over the years till it’s marginally different from the one I learned to type about 75 wpm on. Not only is it terribly flat, there are all kinds of keys I just don’t understand. I’m typing away, as I am now, and suddenly I’ll apparently tag a key I didn’t mean to. A little box will appear asking me if I really want to leave the page. I don’t, and this should be my chance to reverse the boo-boo, right? But no. It doesn’t wait for me to cancel. It’s gone. I’ve had the whole browser close on me. I have no idea what button I hit to do this. There’s all kinds of extraneous little buttons and symbols on this thing. And they do strange things. It took me months to discover how to turn off the É thing and get the ? back. I used to have to turn the whole thing off and start fresh. Came across it by accident. In fact “accident” seems to define my relationship with this newfangled thang.<br /><br />I have to use a mo<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFTAUY9IRP85JlETRkqO65lfUnkxzkRHWaGpqclwKtI_WemEl1fqHLzHAxDsPSo1CljXS1fW8a7KcNEurste5SefgP_vr_pCMIoEGaxP-5GfvD-zisrmgrqfYaD5u7D0TLJ1uD1cUWeqT/s1600/100_1600.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563191876277780386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFTAUY9IRP85JlETRkqO65lfUnkxzkRHWaGpqclwKtI_WemEl1fqHLzHAxDsPSo1CljXS1fW8a7KcNEurste5SefgP_vr_pCMIoEGaxP-5GfvD-zisrmgrqfYaD5u7D0TLJ1uD1cUWeqT/s200/100_1600.jpg" /></a>use, even though this came with one of the those built-in little finger pad thingies. I can’t use it, any more than I can wear a watch. I have a some sort of bizarre electrical field around me that makes things like that go wonky. Even just passing my hands over it has Twitter dancin', down, then up, then ZING, all around ~ dosie doe! So the bottom right hand corner of my newfangled ‘puter is already worn in spots from the mouse. I guess I should count myself lucky there was a place to plug it in. I had to go to lengths to get this thing to do dial-up. Hey, it’s not my fault there’s no better hook-up here. Primitive describes my living conditions a few different ways.<br /><br />So, I have no problem with the concept of smaller, better computers. I mean, innovation is great and more compact works for me. But what are cookies and why are there some in my computer? Aren’t the crumbs bad for it? Why do I have to delete or enable them? And how do I do that? And Twitter.... oh Twitter. I thought that was something only birds could do. But my daughter showed me how and it was fine until some techy type who didn’t have enough to do decided it needed to be improved. The new Twitter is not the better Twitter. It’s slow... ponderously slow. I have to switch back to old Twitter to hold a conversation. It doesn’t tell me who retweeted my tweet so I can thank them. (The old Twitter does.) I can’t even check out new followers on the new one. Won’t even load. Simplicity was the very beauty of old Twitter, but they’ve “improved” it. {sigh}<br /><br />The idea of Twitter was already a bit of a love/hate thing. I mean, I get it. Let’s keep our comments brief and to the point. It’s a mental exercise in brevity for sure, especially for someone who comes from the age of “why use 20 words to express a thought when 40 will do just as well.” Some people are really good at expressing both hilarity and profundity in 140 characters or less. I admire them. I’m still a little intimidated by this limitation, but I’m getting there. But please, make the new Twitter more like the old Twitter. Or here's a thought... call it an interesting experiment and forget it? Pull....eeeeze!<br /><br />So yeah, I always say it, there are pros and cons to everything. Ying and Yang.. and computers. And one frustrated ol’ lady at the controls who's wondering what the heck will be next. Beware.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-76028709908143589792011-01-10T15:38:00.000-08:002011-02-08T06:12:51.792-08:00Extremism is Bad - Empathy, Good<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_q_fg1tfQnVey2VwQbP8StCXBFvaCIVbDPlioTxsMeCpSzm46LSkRLCU0z-jUC46HUWPibYlGeSCUBK1-hF8iRUAN1ebUpcelvkdiKamAqcB7gq4TIbJ_vwq7IVHZUfGo0GJMAwxX1UQ/s1600/thumbnailCAKUUU2Y.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 160px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 155px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560714527344839026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_q_fg1tfQnVey2VwQbP8StCXBFvaCIVbDPlioTxsMeCpSzm46LSkRLCU0z-jUC46HUWPibYlGeSCUBK1-hF8iRUAN1ebUpcelvkdiKamAqcB7gq4TIbJ_vwq7IVHZUfGo0GJMAwxX1UQ/s200/thumbnailCAKUUU2Y.jpg" /></a> <div>Yesterday I tweeted “extremism is bad,” along with the words, “take the middle road.” It’s pretty unusual for me to tweet sweeping generalizations, but I felt pretty safe here, because of course, I had extremism such as Al Qaida and other religious and political extremism in mind. And I was advocating that we try harder to understand and empathize with one another, rather than taking extreme views that tend to drive us apart and even breed resentment, hate and violence. But of course, who could know that?<br /><br />First I got a tweet from a young musician saying that extremism is fun. Ok. In this age of extreme sports and wild living, I can see what she means. I was young once. I remember that. Then I got a tweet from a SAHM who is homeschooling an autistic child, who may have misunderstood my intent and the exchange, and who also thinks her life is pretty extreme. Ok. Being a sometimes working, sometimes SAHM (stay at home mom) to an aspie whom I homeschooled, I can certainly understand where she is coming from too. Been there; done that.<br /><br />Hmmm.... ok, how about All Generalizations are Bad? (This, of course, is satire. Think about it.) So ok, this is where the empathy comes in. I don’t think the young musician needs to change her response, even if it seems insensitive to some, because she’ll get there. Life has a knack of taking care of that youthful exuberance and light-hearted way of seeing all things. I'm for letting her enjoy it while she's young. The mom? Well, I fully understand the intense pressure cooker she’s living in, so I’ll cut her some slack too. This is called empathy. Something many of us could all use more of.<br /><br />When I was a young woman, I had my fun and adventure too. I hitchhiked much of the way across Canada to see some of my country. I wanted to see how the other half lived, but I wasn’t attracted by the world’s richness, such as the Taj Mahal, castles, cathedrals or even Graceland. No, to learn more about the half that interested me, I travelled north on the Muskeg Express, a very old train with oil lamps on the walls between the windows, which opened, and the tracks visible when you raised the toilet seat. I visited several Metis settlements to take pictures and learn something about life and people. And I did, all of this and then some. I was right there with the residents when that crate of fruit came in on the train. Oh, it wasn’t the fruit we were anxious for... it was those little paper wrappers on it. Everyone wanted a share of those for the outhouse. Soft. I spent an evening in a smoke filled log cabin with an old man who's only defense against the bugs was a smudge fire. I listened, I photographed, I laughed and I learned. I wanted a photo of the train coming into the station, and I wanted it straight on. So there I was on the track as it pulled in, trying to focus my camera, when I suddenly realized I had a wide angle lens on there, and the train was much closer than it appeared through the viewfinder.</div><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRQNIHEROiN67fZiCxCWyXzVFi88mRwHl7TaSKGeyl6Ojut3Ji88oOPQcSIcz0QZGGqz9zjAruEOrJKOo3mbqqaP3ncSe9yyI7c1mwozdB3OdL0b-hj9f5IpjJh7__umC84w57bYM7FAH8/s1600/100_1694.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 200px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571320208405173154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRQNIHEROiN67fZiCxCWyXzVFi88mRwHl7TaSKGeyl6Ojut3Ji88oOPQcSIcz0QZGGqz9zjAruEOrJKOo3mbqqaP3ncSe9yyI7c1mwozdB3OdL0b-hj9f5IpjJh7__umC84w57bYM7FAH8/s200/100_1694.jpg" /></a>So yeah, I had my own extreme fun and adventure when I was young. When I think about it, I realize I'm probably lucky to even be here. Later, I became a mom to a beautiful baby girl who was eventually diagnosed with some challenges, so I’ve had those impossible days of extreme stress as a homeschooling mom too. Yeah, I know life can sometimes be <em>extremely</em> challenging.</div><div> </div><div><p>Still, the kind of extremism I was referring to that’s so bad, that’s the hate and violence in our world. Perhaps the human age is unfolding as it must, but sometimes I just wish more people would learn compassion and empathy. But as I like to say, what good is a light without a dark to shine it on? And the middle road I spoke of? I guess in this instance, that's what empathy is. </div><div> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-55583310429543840532010-12-06T08:03:00.000-08:002010-12-06T10:41:55.775-08:00You're Bringing What into the House? ~ The Christmas Tree<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpE0GCC-VA9zEYhJigY7dxLh8naYpQ_K6ICfRDj8vXBMkVQnDwlMfvK_6qRgaRiefuJU_bR1LW6oizXfJcCEVJjO8EFaMrR7uZ60elVLHzJUEbNhXPpKeSaugI-qrqTu3zALkLcXy8tp8s/s1600/100_1528.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547638964155732562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpE0GCC-VA9zEYhJigY7dxLh8naYpQ_K6ICfRDj8vXBMkVQnDwlMfvK_6qRgaRiefuJU_bR1LW6oizXfJcCEVJjO8EFaMrR7uZ60elVLHzJUEbNhXPpKeSaugI-qrqTu3zALkLcXy8tp8s/s200/100_1528.jpg" /></a><br /><div>There were no written histories in the days where such customs as bringing tree boughs indoors began, so there’s a lot of speculation about the origin of the Christmas tree.<br /><br />It is thought that early Pagans in the north brought evergreen boughs into their homes and decorated them at the Winter Solstice. Some tales suggest this was a superstitious thing... providing a home for the wood nymphs through the cold winter so they wouldn’t play tricks on them come summer and mess up hunting, growing, etc. Others say it was just part of the celebration acknowledging the seasons. The Yule log in the north and laurel wreaths in the south also came from this seasonal celebration. Also in the south (Rome), where Pagans celebrated Saturnalia, houses might be decorated with evergreen clippings. </div><div> </div><div><p>Honestly, Pagans could be credited with inventing the concept of the wreath more than the Christmas tree. But some Pagans in the south of Europe did decorate living trees with bits of metal and replicas of their Pagan Gods. It was this practice that may have frightened some early Christians, so there was intense opposition to the Christmas tree, strangely, mostly in northern Europe, in centuries past. They were outlawed in England for some time. But Martin Luther, German founder of the Lutheran Church, found a way to make the Christmas tree a symbol of Christian celebration, and so Germans began to once again enjoy the smell of evergreen in their homes at the Yuletide... or Christ Mass, or Christmas.<br /><br />Christian holidays tend to fall at the same times of the seasons as Pagan celebrations. Christmas fell at the same time as Saturnalia (Roman holiday) and is close to the Winter Solstice, for instance. Easter is named for the Pagan Goddess of Fertility, Eostre. She was the symbol of spring time, when the ewes were lambing, chickens and other birds were laying, rabbits multiplied with extra zeal, etc. It is these symbols that were carried over into Christian celebrations, which fall near the Spring Equinox. It is thought this was done to lure Pagans into Christian churches to hear the stories of Christ in an environment that wasn’t totally strange to them. Either that, or Christians were just copy-cats, eh?<br /><br />Anyway, in Victorian times, Queen Vic married Prince Albert, a German, and Albert brought the Christmas tree to the English palace. Well, you can’t very well outlaw a custom in all the country when the head family is enjoying it, can you? So opposition to this Christmas custom slowly waned and Christmas trees enjoyed a resurgence in England as well. It was probably brought to North American by Hessiens (German soldiers) but there are many legends as to how the custom crossed the ocean and spread.<br /><br />Segue to modern day: Christmas trees have seen many incarnations, from real trees, to plastic, to silvery foil and more. But the original custom of bringing an evergreen into the house for the holidays seems to remain a favourite. Occasionally some well-meaning environmental group, organization, publication... will object on environmental grounds. This is because, though they mean well, they haven’t informed themselves. There is no need to “save” real Christmas trees as if someone has schlepped into the boreal forest to cut them down. They haven’t. Christmas trees are grown on tree farms. They are an economically and environmentally viable, renewable crop resource that is actually good for the environment. I mean, fields upon fields of little evergreens can only be helping the Earth breathe.</div><div><br />Some people object to disposal methods when the holidays are over, but this is something that people need to address in their communities by being proactive in the political decisions being made in their community for waste management. There is NEVER any excuse to throw used Christmas trees in landfill. That’s just wrong. They are compostible, at the very least. If your community does not have a waste management strategy that deals responsibly with used Christmas trees... well, for one thing, you need to get more involved in your community and change that, but for another, you can ask a local farmer if they'll take trees to compost or you can compost your tree yourself, either by cutting or grinding it up and throwing it into your composter, or by putting it with your autumn leaves to compost. If you’re in a municipality that allows outdoor fires, just throw it into a corner of the yard till spring and there you go... fire wood. (Outdoors only... soft, sappy evergreen wood is not good for an indoor wood stove or chimney.) Or of course, if you're in a snowy region, you can always stand it up in a snow bank and hang orange peel in it for the birds until it falls apart of its own accord as Spring approaches. Then compost it. There are a number of responsible ways to deal with used Christmas trees.<br /><br /></div><div>Please, if you celebrate Solstice, Christmas or like holiday where an evergreen figures in, and unless you have allergies, buy a real tree ~ a better economic and environmental choice for a joyful holiday celebration.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-5521269862779460202010-12-03T07:31:00.000-08:002010-12-03T08:38:12.821-08:00Humanity is, of its own accord, a cosmic conundrum held together by sticky threads of irony<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjduuUzmVDLBKtTMgTl-ud8V4_lTflZl2HLHAbJTlj5wxLI93cNN742bbvigOUa9GCvFURmjeoWDAFUxQ9G107ePU8Gsz_jf5qI8V_QG44Bf7WE6afukMNezVhjgilARp8n9TbdgiVDSv3P/s1600/earth%252520cartoon%252520drawing_small.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 100px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 131px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546494180086012786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjduuUzmVDLBKtTMgTl-ud8V4_lTflZl2HLHAbJTlj5wxLI93cNN742bbvigOUa9GCvFURmjeoWDAFUxQ9G107ePU8Gsz_jf5qI8V_QG44Bf7WE6afukMNezVhjgilARp8n9TbdgiVDSv3P/s200/earth%252520cartoon%252520drawing_small.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div><div>If 71% of the Earth’s surface is covered with water and humans are made up of roughly 70% water, why do we have to pay for it?<br /><br />What fashion statement is a nudist making? And what do they do when it snows? I know you’re going to say they live in a snow-free climate, but... these days? Really?<br /><br />Why is 53% considered a good voting turn out?<br /><br />We can put people on the moon, so why can’t we park our cars straight without those little yellow lines?<br /></div><div><p>Why do we insist that French fries are vegetables?</p></div><div><p>Why do we think we’re so important that we have to drive and talk on the phone both at the same time?<br /><br />Why do we call any schnook who does a good deed a “good Samaritan” when the point of the original story was to show compassion for an enemy?<br /><br />Why do we struggle to buy gifts for people who have everything?<br /><br />We’ve been sent many teachers to guide us. They all had similar messages. Why do most of us think we have to pick just one and fight over it with those who pick another?<br /><br />I know, religion and politics are off limits, but how does one talk about human irony without them? Just another sticky irony, eh? Or is it a conundrum?</p></div><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsOFTUipImj352pdM5T2Y_AVCPExMhjDVjMo92DQZ_3GnfUygA8V8ubMz-2NSjYu9r7uVVqb0UzyfLfOixhEALLUjxQW13E_pAcdX5VBwyFxhDGJ3rjbICAl9twdomlSPm8lpZxSUWM3v/s1600/100_1546.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 150px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546485509551225218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsOFTUipImj352pdM5T2Y_AVCPExMhjDVjMo92DQZ_3GnfUygA8V8ubMz-2NSjYu9r7uVVqb0UzyfLfOixhEALLUjxQW13E_pAcdX5VBwyFxhDGJ3rjbICAl9twdomlSPm8lpZxSUWM3v/s200/100_1546.jpg" /></a>Anyway~~<br />If you can, please give to those less fortunate this holiday season. If you’re one of those armchair philosophers who’s going to say this doesn’t really help anyone, kindness always helps. If you don't want to give, don't give. That's what freedom is all about. But don't look for validation from others. Just keep your excuses.<br /><br />A box of food is a short-term help to those going through a temporary downturn in fortune. Non-perishable food items to a food bank in your community is a great way to reach out to others in need. And Gifts of Magic via Unicef, as well as Gifts of Hope via Plan, are longer-term international giving options for those who have everything.<br /><br />There are many other worthy caring options in most communities as well, such as hospital funds, meals for the elderly and homeless, wildlife and animal shelters or programs, and more. Sharing the challenges along with the benefits is what community is really all about.<br /><br />Happy xmasolstichanakwanzadan ... hehe. (Full credit to Jo Qatana for this amalgamation of seasonal holidays.) Have a safe, warm holiday season filled with love and many bright blessings.<br /><div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-85123500956892084732010-11-21T09:16:00.000-08:002010-11-21T09:35:37.846-08:00It Isn't A Mouse At All!!Hahahaha.... joke's on us! That little grey mouse we'd only caught glimpses of is actually a silver-grey mole!<br /><br />And what a healthy coat he has! Well, I guess he should, since he's been living off salmon and free-range chicken cat food. <br /><br />Last night we were sitting at the table solving all the world's problems when I noticed a grey nose sticking out from under the fridge. "There's the mouse," I said, with what I thought was a remarkable grasp of the obvious. <br /><br />The slow, fat cat came over and took an interest, crouching into the pounce position. Then, here came the little critter out from under the kitchen counter toward the cat dishes. The cat did nothing. And I said, "hey... that's not a mouse. It's a mole." <br /><br />To which Hubby replied, "yes it is. And apparently the cat is keeping it for a pet."<br /><br />"We should call it Digger," I said, helpfully.<br /><br />"I should get a REAL mouse trap," said Hubby. "And I like Driller better," he added. We watched the mole and the cat for awhile longer, then our daughter came into the room. We told her what was going on.<br /><br />"I like Digger better," she said, adding her two cents.<br /><br />"Sorry Dear," I said to Hubby. "You're out-voted."<br /><br />"Again," he observed.<br /><br />Meanwhile the mole came out to sniff at a bottle that was sitting on the floor near the sink. The cat watched it, but didn't seem to want to pounce. The mole ducked back under the counter unit and came out a minute later at the cat dishes again. It took another piece. All together it came out 4 or 5 times for a bit of dinner, but before it was done, the cat lost interest and just wandered away.<br /><br />A mole. We have a mole named Digger living in our kitchen. I wonder what it's fate will be. Hubby was wondering if moles and mice co-exist. "Maybe," he pondered, "if we leave it alone, the mice will stay away."<br /><br />Heh... my kitchen is turning into some sort of bizarre zoo. :pUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-8655461385795665132010-11-18T08:50:00.000-08:002010-11-18T09:47:35.121-08:00The Cats, the Mouse and the Dust Bunny<div><br /><div>Ok, so here’s the whole sordid story:<br /><br />Awhile back we put in a new kitchen counter. At first Hubby and I thought we could do this ourselves. We were trying to change the taps and got stuck, so we put them back on. Or so we thought. But then there was this big bang and first one, then another geyser spewed forth from where the knobs used to be. (The knobs were now bouncing around in the kitchen.)<br /><br />Our daughter heard all this from her room, said to herself, “oh my God, they’re plumbing!” and promptly hid under her covers.<br /><br />Hubby and I decided we really ought to get help, so we called on a handy man type fella. Together he and hubby took out the old outfit and put in the new counter. While they were doing this they took out a few extra pipes that were just there, doin’ nothin’. This left holes in the floor under the new counter. We don’t have a basement. Underneath the kitchen is a crawl space. A crawl space into which tiny wildlife types generally move when the weather turns cold. You know, like mice for instance.<br /><br />I thought everything was under control when they were putting in the counter. I went out to pick up a few things. I left the MEN to look after things. Which is to say, no one thought to plug up the holes in the kitchen floor from the extraneous pipes BEFORE putting in the new counter. Yep. So here come the li’l miceys with their tiny suitcases just as soon as that autumn breeze blows a little cold. Into the crawl space under the kitchen they squeeze. They look up.<br /><br />Ok, excuse me a minute while I work on this WRITTEN INVITATION to the tiny creatures to move into the house proper. *sigh*<br /><br />So we see evidence that there are mice in the kitchen. No, no... this will not do. We have cats. We have steel wool with which to plug those holes. Better late than never, right?<br /><br />Longer story<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEistrAbWEk37_IkpE_fz6G6GtK5bg2OmPbvU1czM0h7MB_089IBbpiBPJ9LQTuRUjbVgQzRWL-blcmqSJuSIObim882Ys58ZllKZPrMizSkqTePlYPBP7QBIf9dfV28hWievgUPHybG4THy/s1600/100_1363.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540942809289046898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEistrAbWEk37_IkpE_fz6G6GtK5bg2OmPbvU1czM0h7MB_089IBbpiBPJ9LQTuRUjbVgQzRWL-blcmqSJuSIObim882Ys58ZllKZPrMizSkqTePlYPBP7QBIf9dfV28hWievgUPHybG4THy/s200/100_1363.jpg" /></a>, shorter:<br />There are two cats. They sleep a lot. *yawn* You want us to catch what?? One cat just happens to be standing by her food dish when the mouse peeps out from under the counter. She takes a swipe at it. She misses; it scurries back under. She shrugs, scratches her ear, goes in search of a comfy place to flop.</div><div>Irony: the mouse seems to be thriving on little pieces of cat food. My life is fraught with little ironies.</div><br /><div>It's a little grey mouse. He seems to be alone. Hubby plugged up the holes, apparently trapping the lone, adventuresome mouse on this side of the holes. (Mouse: “Hey! Who locked the doors??”) Hubby put out a “humane” trap. The mouse PLAYS with it. Like the guy who bungee jumps for kicks, this mouse routinely goes into the “humane” trap and wrestles around for awhile. He is NEVER in there when Hubby checks the trap.<br /><br />There’s an elusive dust bunny under my couch. I’ve gone after it with a broom. I’ve gone after it with a duster. I’ve gone after it with a vacuum. It’s a dancing dust bunny and it dances around under there out the way of any weapon I bring to the battle. I wrestle with it. It wins.<br /><br />So last night, I was sitting here, by the fire, using this computer, the cats were sleeping contentedly, the dog was snoring beside me, and I heard noises. It occurred to me that maybe the dust bunny was trying to catch the mouse. Now, you can say what you want, but I think they were actually dancing. I really do. While the fire crackled on one side of me and the animals all slept, the mouse and dust bunny were tripping the light fantastic in the dark corners of my wee house. I know it. *sigh*</div><div> </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-395191178323411500.post-7579962279157377062010-11-04T18:52:00.000-07:002010-11-09T16:42:21.468-08:00This is Will<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgybiC3kqaAb47tSmzzbtsG5QOT3H5_PJ0IjvyWWyBf9lqT1xlyP7CnNmEoWl0zeyVR72KAyeTUtE3JrYQP613wtreVc7EDyXPqNQ-swt6lgq-IYWyhZuGw9I4Hd_X1vEePgz7NaK1aNW6w/s1600/100_1472.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 132px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537714419444141650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgybiC3kqaAb47tSmzzbtsG5QOT3H5_PJ0IjvyWWyBf9lqT1xlyP7CnNmEoWl0zeyVR72KAyeTUtE3JrYQP613wtreVc7EDyXPqNQ-swt6lgq-IYWyhZuGw9I4Hd_X1vEePgz7NaK1aNW6w/s200/100_1472.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Handsome, freckle-faced, almost always smiling, talented, youthful. He’ll always be youthful. Will played the fiddle, piano, wind instruments. He loved music. Seems whatever instrument he attempted he could play. His talent was just natural. Will’s dad and uncle were in the army, so when his country became embroiled in a conflict, Will wanted to join the army too. Problem was, he was only 17. That was too young. But Will was determined, so he ran away and tried to join under an assumed name by lying about his age. He was caught, fortunately, and returned home.<br /><br />But his mom was frightened. She worried about him running away again and maybe getting away with joining up under another name, and then, if something bad happened, she might never know what became of him. He really wanted to join up, so she signed her permission on the condition that he was admitted to the bugle corp, which was supposed to be kept behind the lines.<br /><br />And so he went. Wounded in France, he was transferred to an army hospital in England. He was able to send a few letters to his mom with the help of the nurses there. The mayor of a city near his home heard about him and raised money to send his mom overseas to be with him. But even as she packed for the trip, she received news that Will had succumbed to his injuries.<br /><br />I don’t like war. I guess no one really does, except maybe despots and power mongers. We now try to teach our kids that problems aren’t solved with violence. We discourage them from fighting for things in the school yard, in the back yard, or anywhere. We don’t even let Mom and Dad whack the kids anymore, because corporal discipline is no way to properly raise a child. Even the measured blow of a loving parent on the bum to make a point is a no-no.... because violence doesn’t solve anything. And yet, in amazingly hypocritical governmental policy for dealing with other countries and their policies, we still send young people to war to fight and die for political reasons.<br /><br />Will died in the “war to end all wars,” or the first world war. He was a bugler with a Canadian drum and bugle corp and was wounded in the head with a piece of shrapnel in a small town in France. He was 17 and ½ years old when he died. He is buried in a military cemetery in England. If he had not been killed in a war, who knows what innovation to style, recording or instrumentation this young man might have contributed to the music industry? And perhaps if he’d had kids, one of them might have inherited his talent and made great strides in music too.<br /><br />Will was my uncle. I never knew him. Hell, my mom, who was his sister, never knew him. I have his fiddle. On Remembrance Day (Veterans' Day in the U.S.) I will remember my Uncle Will who went overseas to help in the political struggle that was supposed to end conflict. And I will salute my dad, who probably died younger than he should have because he went overseas in the big war after that ~ for four years. I don’t like that we are so primitive as a species that we still have wars, but despite what we tell our children, we still do. So on November 11th I will pay homage to the sacrifices of the men and women who have given so much to preserve our freedoms. I do this not just because of their sacrifice, but because of ours. Yes, we have freedoms for which I am grateful. But I can’t help wondering how different, how much better, our world and our way of life might have been if all those vibrant, talented young people who gave their lives in conflict, hadn’t had to.<br /><br />Imagine. Just imagine. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0