Am signing off for a couple of weeks and will see you again in the New Year. I wish you all the very best for 2010.
The Old Biddy
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
A Victorian Adventure
About one month ago, four nearly old biddies, Aileen, Norma, Pat and Betty decided to go to Victoria. The Royal British Columbia Museum had been advertising an exhibit of Artifacts from the British Museum, and the girls thought it would be interesting and would make a pleasant day out.
Aileen, who is a very efficient organizer, agreed to take care of reservations for the one night stay in the hotel. The rest of the girls were quite happy to let her get on with it. The only stipulation they made was that the hotel had to be close to the museum which was in downtown Victoria.
There were three hotels in the area, the Queen Victoria Inn, the Chateau Victoria and the Executive House. However, they were all a little more than the girls wanted to pay. Aileen did note that one of the hotels advertised that there would be a price reduction shortly, so she decided to phone later when the lower prices became an option.
The four left Nanaimo early with Betty at the wheel of the car. The drive to Victoria was excellent and they decided en route, to get settled in at the hotel before going to the museum for the rest of the day.
As they reached the outskirts of Victoria, Betty asked what hotel they were staying in. Aileen replied that she thought it was the Chateau Victoria, but wasn’t quite sure, but she would know it as soon as she saw it. Their first call was the Chateau Victoria, but when it came into view, Aileen decided that the Chateau was definitely not the hotel they were looking for. Putting her hand on Betty’s shoulder, she confirmed that it was not the Chateau Victoria, so maybe Betty could turn the car around and head for the Queen Victoria Inn.
“Yes, this is our hotel”, Aileen said with a sigh of relief as they drove up to the entrance of the hotel. Everyone got out of the car and followed Aileen to the reservations desk. They relished the idea that within a few minutes they would be off to the museum, which, of course was the whole purpose of the trip.
“I’m very sorry,” said the girl behind the reservations desk looking at the slip of paper Aileen had provided, “but this is not one of our reservation numbers and we have no record of you coming to stay with us tonight.” Aileen looked stunned and the girls’ faces mirrored her concern. Aileen’s mind then went into overdrive. Having dismissed the Chateau Victoria as their destination after seeing the hotel, she now thought she must have booked there.
“Would you be kind enough to telephone the Chateau Victoria,” she asked the sympathetic looking receptionist, “to see if they have a reservation for us”.
But even after that telephone call they were no further ahead. The Chateau Victoria had never heard of them.
Poor Aileen, who was usually the epitome of efficiency, now looked decidedly fussed and her mind was frantically trying to work out what had happened. Of course, it didn’t help that the rest of the girls and the receptionist were trying to offer some helpful hints, even though they didn’t have a clue as to how the mix-up had occurred.
Frantically trying to sort out the booking procedures she had used back home, a vague notion occurred to her. What if she had mistaken the telephone numbers on the brochure? She asked the receptionist if the hotel had a copy of the visitor’s guide she had used when she did the initial bookings by phone. Ten minutes later the guide surfaced and was almost snatched up by a grateful Aileen.
Turning to where the Queen Victoria Inn was listed, she ran her fingers down the page until she reached the Queen Victoria Inn and then moved across the page. In the next column there was The Quality Inn, and there next to it was probably the telephone number she had used, thinking it belonged to the Queen Victoria Inn.
A quick call to the Quality Inn confirmed they were booked in. From that moment onwards, Aileen began to feel considerably better. Of course, it was not as close to the Museum as they had wanted it to be, but it was only four blocks further out and at least they had a bed for the night – at the lower rate. All four of them were beginning to have nightmares which involved sleeping in a tent in the nearby park!
After thanking the receptionist profusely for all her help, the girls departed in the car for the Museum, which they enjoyed very much – comforted by the fact that they didn’t have to worry any more as to where they were going to sleep.
The following morning, after a comfortable night and a good breakfast, they left back to Nanaimo after thorough enjoying their Victorian adventure.
Aileen, who is a very efficient organizer, agreed to take care of reservations for the one night stay in the hotel. The rest of the girls were quite happy to let her get on with it. The only stipulation they made was that the hotel had to be close to the museum which was in downtown Victoria.
There were three hotels in the area, the Queen Victoria Inn, the Chateau Victoria and the Executive House. However, they were all a little more than the girls wanted to pay. Aileen did note that one of the hotels advertised that there would be a price reduction shortly, so she decided to phone later when the lower prices became an option.
The four left Nanaimo early with Betty at the wheel of the car. The drive to Victoria was excellent and they decided en route, to get settled in at the hotel before going to the museum for the rest of the day.
As they reached the outskirts of Victoria, Betty asked what hotel they were staying in. Aileen replied that she thought it was the Chateau Victoria, but wasn’t quite sure, but she would know it as soon as she saw it. Their first call was the Chateau Victoria, but when it came into view, Aileen decided that the Chateau was definitely not the hotel they were looking for. Putting her hand on Betty’s shoulder, she confirmed that it was not the Chateau Victoria, so maybe Betty could turn the car around and head for the Queen Victoria Inn.
“Yes, this is our hotel”, Aileen said with a sigh of relief as they drove up to the entrance of the hotel. Everyone got out of the car and followed Aileen to the reservations desk. They relished the idea that within a few minutes they would be off to the museum, which, of course was the whole purpose of the trip.
“I’m very sorry,” said the girl behind the reservations desk looking at the slip of paper Aileen had provided, “but this is not one of our reservation numbers and we have no record of you coming to stay with us tonight.” Aileen looked stunned and the girls’ faces mirrored her concern. Aileen’s mind then went into overdrive. Having dismissed the Chateau Victoria as their destination after seeing the hotel, she now thought she must have booked there.
“Would you be kind enough to telephone the Chateau Victoria,” she asked the sympathetic looking receptionist, “to see if they have a reservation for us”.
But even after that telephone call they were no further ahead. The Chateau Victoria had never heard of them.
Poor Aileen, who was usually the epitome of efficiency, now looked decidedly fussed and her mind was frantically trying to work out what had happened. Of course, it didn’t help that the rest of the girls and the receptionist were trying to offer some helpful hints, even though they didn’t have a clue as to how the mix-up had occurred.
Frantically trying to sort out the booking procedures she had used back home, a vague notion occurred to her. What if she had mistaken the telephone numbers on the brochure? She asked the receptionist if the hotel had a copy of the visitor’s guide she had used when she did the initial bookings by phone. Ten minutes later the guide surfaced and was almost snatched up by a grateful Aileen.
Turning to where the Queen Victoria Inn was listed, she ran her fingers down the page until she reached the Queen Victoria Inn and then moved across the page. In the next column there was The Quality Inn, and there next to it was probably the telephone number she had used, thinking it belonged to the Queen Victoria Inn.
A quick call to the Quality Inn confirmed they were booked in. From that moment onwards, Aileen began to feel considerably better. Of course, it was not as close to the Museum as they had wanted it to be, but it was only four blocks further out and at least they had a bed for the night – at the lower rate. All four of them were beginning to have nightmares which involved sleeping in a tent in the nearby park!
After thanking the receptionist profusely for all her help, the girls departed in the car for the Museum, which they enjoyed very much – comforted by the fact that they didn’t have to worry any more as to where they were going to sleep.
The following morning, after a comfortable night and a good breakfast, they left back to Nanaimo after thorough enjoying their Victorian adventure.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
What Happy People Know: Just in Time for Christmas
Bookstores and libraries are my favourite places to visit (besides ice cream parlours and beautiful gardens). On a recent visit to two excellent bookstores in Courtenay, The Laughing Oyster and The Blue Heron, I noticed how many books there were on happiness. It is an interesting phenomenon of our times that while we have more material comfort than any previous generation, our happiness levels are very low. I checked out several of the books and noticed that similar ideas or themes appear in many of them, such as:
Focus on the present. Living in the past or the future detracts from life now.
Create a family life which is satisfying and healthy. If you’ve had a difficult childhood with poor parenting, take steps that allow you to break the cycle.
Accept responsibility for your life now. It’s easy to blame others. YOU control how you respond to situations--don’t let others control your life.
Develop good friendships. We can’t pick our family, but we can choose friends who help us be better people. Loving friendships help us be healthy, long-lived adults.
Avoid negative or unhealthy friendships. Seek out people who make you feel good!
Find a hobby or sport that you love--even grownups need to play.
Make choices that develop character. Be a person others can trust. Keep your word. Avoid gossip.
Work on meeting your own expectations of yourself, those are the ones that really count.
When negative thoughts enter your mind, press the delete button.
Create a well-balanced life, with time for family, work, friendships, exercise and hobbies.
Count your blessings. An old saying, but so true. We are 'the keepers of our own contentment.'
Learn to live within your means. Worry about debt is a prime cause of unhappiness and marital problems.
If you are frequently sad and experience little joy or enthusiasm, you may be depressed. Research the symptoms of depression online. If you have several, talk to your family doctor. A great deal can be done to improve the quality of your life.
The foolish man seeks happiness in the distance, the wise grows
it under his feet. James Oppenheim
(c) 2009 Virginia Brucker. Virginia is the author of Gifts from the Heart: Simple Ways to Make Your Family’s Christmas More Meaningful. It’s the perfect book about creating a recession-proof Christmas. Order copies for everyone on your Christmas list.
Focus on the present. Living in the past or the future detracts from life now.
Create a family life which is satisfying and healthy. If you’ve had a difficult childhood with poor parenting, take steps that allow you to break the cycle.
Accept responsibility for your life now. It’s easy to blame others. YOU control how you respond to situations--don’t let others control your life.
Develop good friendships. We can’t pick our family, but we can choose friends who help us be better people. Loving friendships help us be healthy, long-lived adults.
Avoid negative or unhealthy friendships. Seek out people who make you feel good!
Find a hobby or sport that you love--even grownups need to play.
Make choices that develop character. Be a person others can trust. Keep your word. Avoid gossip.
Work on meeting your own expectations of yourself, those are the ones that really count.
When negative thoughts enter your mind, press the delete button.
Create a well-balanced life, with time for family, work, friendships, exercise and hobbies.
Count your blessings. An old saying, but so true. We are 'the keepers of our own contentment.'
Learn to live within your means. Worry about debt is a prime cause of unhappiness and marital problems.
If you are frequently sad and experience little joy or enthusiasm, you may be depressed. Research the symptoms of depression online. If you have several, talk to your family doctor. A great deal can be done to improve the quality of your life.
The foolish man seeks happiness in the distance, the wise grows
it under his feet. James Oppenheim
(c) 2009 Virginia Brucker. Virginia is the author of Gifts from the Heart: Simple Ways to Make Your Family’s Christmas More Meaningful. It’s the perfect book about creating a recession-proof Christmas. Order copies for everyone on your Christmas list.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Musings on Imagination
Much has been written about famous men and women who have achieved success in spite of hardship and difficult childhoods. We admire them for what they have achieved, seemingly from nothing.
Imagination is something inherent in everyone but successful people have used their imagination to motivate themselves to succeed. How did they do this? Very simply by using an event or situation that appeared in their daily lives. In their mind they turned that subject into something they wanted to believe in, so they could recall it again and again.
For example, every young child who sees Peter Pan would like to think that they, too, can ‘fly’ like the boy who never grew up. After parents put a stop to the actual flying, the children then go on to imagine flying and other situations involving Peter Pan, Captain Hook and the Crocodile, etc. Children build these situations into their imagination so they have a clear picture in their mind of what they would like to see.
Other children might decide that if they cannot fly like Peter Pan, then they are not going to follow through on anything associated with the play, so the story and the meaning are soon forgotten. This may change if there is encouragement by parents, family, friends and teacher. For example, a friend of mine, when she was young , started to copy the actions of famous people. She consciously incorporated some of their character traits into her everyday living. This practice did not catapult her to fame, but she did develop a strong and sensuous personality which has been very beneficial to her in work and relationships.
There are a myriad of ways to encourage this creative power called imagination, through events in everyday living such as: books, films, television programs, discussions, trips, sightseeing, socializing, the theatre – the list is endless. Definitely one of the most popular ways to encourage the creative visions in a young person is through books. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis exposes young readers to a story rich in adventure and belief.
In another set of adventure books called Hell’s Gate Trilogy, a young person has the opportunity to see how belief affects their every day lives. This is demonstrated by the extraordinary adventures three young people fall into and the three angels/animals who accompany them. These books are set in three different places in the world and in one adventure the youngsters travel through time. There is plenty of opportunity for readers to use their imagination in these books.
If the family likes to participate in games with their children, putting imagination to work in a game can be enjoyable and interesting. Just organize everyone into small or large teams, give them a subject, and ask them to write a one page story about that subject. There is a time line for completing this, and the results are read to the rest of the gathering when everyone has finished. It can be very funny and a powerful use of the imagination.
The more children practice imagination, the more likely it is that they will be successful in various aspects of their life. This is not an easy task to accomplish; as it becomes more difficult to sustain the image developed initially and then follow it through to success. Many have done it. They have taken the image they created, have kept it in front of them and pursued it with a passion. In all probability, they had lots of encouragement from people around them, which is most important. Perhaps in some cases they have not had any inspiration from other people, but have hung onto their vision until it became a reality. We may never know the circumstances behind success, but one thing we do know is that imagination counts in the lives of our children.
It counts in our lives too, it keeps us going!
The Old Biddy
©2008 Susan Lancaster.
Imagination is something inherent in everyone but successful people have used their imagination to motivate themselves to succeed. How did they do this? Very simply by using an event or situation that appeared in their daily lives. In their mind they turned that subject into something they wanted to believe in, so they could recall it again and again.
For example, every young child who sees Peter Pan would like to think that they, too, can ‘fly’ like the boy who never grew up. After parents put a stop to the actual flying, the children then go on to imagine flying and other situations involving Peter Pan, Captain Hook and the Crocodile, etc. Children build these situations into their imagination so they have a clear picture in their mind of what they would like to see.
Other children might decide that if they cannot fly like Peter Pan, then they are not going to follow through on anything associated with the play, so the story and the meaning are soon forgotten. This may change if there is encouragement by parents, family, friends and teacher. For example, a friend of mine, when she was young , started to copy the actions of famous people. She consciously incorporated some of their character traits into her everyday living. This practice did not catapult her to fame, but she did develop a strong and sensuous personality which has been very beneficial to her in work and relationships.
There are a myriad of ways to encourage this creative power called imagination, through events in everyday living such as: books, films, television programs, discussions, trips, sightseeing, socializing, the theatre – the list is endless. Definitely one of the most popular ways to encourage the creative visions in a young person is through books. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis exposes young readers to a story rich in adventure and belief.
In another set of adventure books called Hell’s Gate Trilogy, a young person has the opportunity to see how belief affects their every day lives. This is demonstrated by the extraordinary adventures three young people fall into and the three angels/animals who accompany them. These books are set in three different places in the world and in one adventure the youngsters travel through time. There is plenty of opportunity for readers to use their imagination in these books.
If the family likes to participate in games with their children, putting imagination to work in a game can be enjoyable and interesting. Just organize everyone into small or large teams, give them a subject, and ask them to write a one page story about that subject. There is a time line for completing this, and the results are read to the rest of the gathering when everyone has finished. It can be very funny and a powerful use of the imagination.
The more children practice imagination, the more likely it is that they will be successful in various aspects of their life. This is not an easy task to accomplish; as it becomes more difficult to sustain the image developed initially and then follow it through to success. Many have done it. They have taken the image they created, have kept it in front of them and pursued it with a passion. In all probability, they had lots of encouragement from people around them, which is most important. Perhaps in some cases they have not had any inspiration from other people, but have hung onto their vision until it became a reality. We may never know the circumstances behind success, but one thing we do know is that imagination counts in the lives of our children.
It counts in our lives too, it keeps us going!
The Old Biddy
©2008 Susan Lancaster.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Book Review; A Fascinating Story
Here is a book you will need to curl up with in front of the fire over Christmas time – if you ever have any time to curl up! The book is called ‘Audition’ and is a Memoir by Barbara Walters.
Although I saw her a few times on television, she was not a person in whom I was particularly interested. But the book reviews were good and I felt that if nothing else it could be an interesting read and I would gain a bit more insight into her life. My goodness, she is one super lady who can honestly say – ‘been there, done that’. The great thing about this book is that you can almost feel the presence of the narrator. It’s as if she is telling you the intimate details of her life and her career and you are the only one in the room listening.
Barbara Walters is warm, open and honest – not a bit like the person I thought she portrayed on T.V. The times when I did see her interviewing people in the past I felt a bit uncomfortable because I never knew how much pressure she would put on people to get the information she wanted. Having read the book, I find now that this is the trait of a good interviewer.
Her own personal life has been far from idyllic for her and I’m sure that many people will equate with her and the family problems she had to deal with.
In her extraordinary life she has interviewed thousands of people. ‘What she said and what he said’, are all there to read. She certainly doesn’t skip over some of the spicy and risqué comments that came from some of her interviewees. This makes us appreciate the interesting, personal and funny side of all the conversations.
Somehow, I connected her TV shows with interviewing celebrities; not a bit of it. The people she interviewed came from all walks of life and all nationalities. They were a cross section of presidents and first ladies; celebrities who had affected Barbara in her life; heads of state, holy men, uncommon criminals and murderers and, of course, Joe public.
She was really a ground breaker in her chosen profession and in many cases she wrote the rules. She had a lot to put up with, especially sexism in her early years. Her kind of journalism was cornered mainly by men in the early years and she was viewed as an intruder. But, she triumphed over everything and went on to become a legend in her own time. How she ever managed to accomplish all this and have a family life is beyond me.
She has shown through this story that a woman can be tough, driven and successful and still be a woman. Through it all she exuded a warmth and compassion which I never imagined she had.
Just read it and enjoy.
Although I saw her a few times on television, she was not a person in whom I was particularly interested. But the book reviews were good and I felt that if nothing else it could be an interesting read and I would gain a bit more insight into her life. My goodness, she is one super lady who can honestly say – ‘been there, done that’. The great thing about this book is that you can almost feel the presence of the narrator. It’s as if she is telling you the intimate details of her life and her career and you are the only one in the room listening.
Barbara Walters is warm, open and honest – not a bit like the person I thought she portrayed on T.V. The times when I did see her interviewing people in the past I felt a bit uncomfortable because I never knew how much pressure she would put on people to get the information she wanted. Having read the book, I find now that this is the trait of a good interviewer.
Her own personal life has been far from idyllic for her and I’m sure that many people will equate with her and the family problems she had to deal with.
In her extraordinary life she has interviewed thousands of people. ‘What she said and what he said’, are all there to read. She certainly doesn’t skip over some of the spicy and risqué comments that came from some of her interviewees. This makes us appreciate the interesting, personal and funny side of all the conversations.
Somehow, I connected her TV shows with interviewing celebrities; not a bit of it. The people she interviewed came from all walks of life and all nationalities. They were a cross section of presidents and first ladies; celebrities who had affected Barbara in her life; heads of state, holy men, uncommon criminals and murderers and, of course, Joe public.
She was really a ground breaker in her chosen profession and in many cases she wrote the rules. She had a lot to put up with, especially sexism in her early years. Her kind of journalism was cornered mainly by men in the early years and she was viewed as an intruder. But, she triumphed over everything and went on to become a legend in her own time. How she ever managed to accomplish all this and have a family life is beyond me.
She has shown through this story that a woman can be tough, driven and successful and still be a woman. Through it all she exuded a warmth and compassion which I never imagined she had.
Just read it and enjoy.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Who is the Babysitter?
I was chatting on the phone the other day to my ex-husband in Vancouver about our granddaughter. Having just returned from Asia recently, my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter Vera, age 4, are staying with Grandpa for a short while.
My son and his wife do not go out often but they like to get away to do some grocery shopping for a couple of hours without Vera tagging along.
Grandpa’s not happy about this because he is the one who is left to babysit. It is not that he doesn’t like looking after Vera, but the problem is he has a habit of nodding off throughout the day and doesn’t feel that he is a responsible baby-sitter any more. In fact, it was really worrying him that he is not able to look after his beloved granddaughter to the best of his ability.
Grandpa now feels that this practice has to stop; a decision that weighed heavily after a recent half hour trip to the store by my son. As our son was going out of the door he turned back and reminded Vera that she had to keep an eye on Grandpa and make sure that he is awake. If he goes to sleep, then she must wake him up. Vera responded that she was quite capable of looking after her Grandpa.
Who, is minding whom, I ask?
My son and his wife do not go out often but they like to get away to do some grocery shopping for a couple of hours without Vera tagging along.
Grandpa’s not happy about this because he is the one who is left to babysit. It is not that he doesn’t like looking after Vera, but the problem is he has a habit of nodding off throughout the day and doesn’t feel that he is a responsible baby-sitter any more. In fact, it was really worrying him that he is not able to look after his beloved granddaughter to the best of his ability.
Grandpa now feels that this practice has to stop; a decision that weighed heavily after a recent half hour trip to the store by my son. As our son was going out of the door he turned back and reminded Vera that she had to keep an eye on Grandpa and make sure that he is awake. If he goes to sleep, then she must wake him up. Vera responded that she was quite capable of looking after her Grandpa.
Who, is minding whom, I ask?
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
AN INVITATION
Have you ever wanted to write a story, perhaps a book, perhaps a mystery? If you want to write why not give it a try. I have a fun project on the go and I invite you to help me out.
If you go to http://susanlancaster.blogspot.com you will find another blog of mine that starts off with the opening few pages of a mystery novel. It would be great to get other people involved in writing a continuation of the book as it stands at the moment.
You don’t have to be an expert in grammar, the champion of a spelling bee, or a punctuation king or queen. It is simply a matter of writing whatever you like and using your imagination as to how you would like the story to develop. You can introduce a new line of thinking, new characters, new situations, new plots or sub-plots, but just write.
While talking about adding to the novel, I would also like to extend an invitation for you to write for this blog if you wish. If you have a short story, an experience you want to share, a humorous situation or whatever you like, please write about it (approximately 400-500 words) and send it to me at sanden39@shaw.ca.
Again, don’t worry about the grammar or spelling etc. I always edit content before posting and I will come back to you if there is a problem. Likewise, you article will only be posted after your OK.
Join me in these writing adventures and if you would like further explanations or information, please write to me at the above e-mail address.
Look forward to hearing from you.
The Old Biddy
If you go to http://susanlancaster.blogspot.com you will find another blog of mine that starts off with the opening few pages of a mystery novel. It would be great to get other people involved in writing a continuation of the book as it stands at the moment.
You don’t have to be an expert in grammar, the champion of a spelling bee, or a punctuation king or queen. It is simply a matter of writing whatever you like and using your imagination as to how you would like the story to develop. You can introduce a new line of thinking, new characters, new situations, new plots or sub-plots, but just write.
While talking about adding to the novel, I would also like to extend an invitation for you to write for this blog if you wish. If you have a short story, an experience you want to share, a humorous situation or whatever you like, please write about it (approximately 400-500 words) and send it to me at sanden39@shaw.ca.
Again, don’t worry about the grammar or spelling etc. I always edit content before posting and I will come back to you if there is a problem. Likewise, you article will only be posted after your OK.
Join me in these writing adventures and if you would like further explanations or information, please write to me at the above e-mail address.
Look forward to hearing from you.
The Old Biddy
Friday, November 20, 2009
BOOK REVIEW
This book is a must read. As one reviewer put it, ‘I’m a 54 year old who has not been a teen for 35 years. This is an incredible read’.
THE BOOK THIEF
by Markus Zusak, reviewed by Gloria Novak.
The book is a real tour de force. Its success is the combination of sympathetic characters, a web of simple stories and a masterful use of vocabulary.
This book may be written for the Young Adult crowd but trust me, the vast majority of adults will love this book. Yes, the story is one we have read before - coming of age during WWII, hiding a Jew in the basement, petty thieving among adolescents - but the writing and the consistently clever way with words is fantastic.
Death is the narrator and is working overtime now that the war is in full swing, and every once in a while, he/she has to stop and look around as an antidote for the pain of his job. Liesel Meminger provides some of that respite.
On her way to a foster home to live with Rosa and Hans Hubermann he sees her steal a book. There she painstakingly learns to read and begins her love affair with words.
Death uses words and the placement of those words on the page to paint pictures for the reader that, while about the horror of the war, are evocative but don't get to the point where the book is distasteful. Intense, but still beautiful writing.
You want to keep reading to hear the words in your head; to see what Liesel does or thinks next, to hear Hans and Rosa together, to keep anticipating a kiss between Liesel and Rudy, to see whether Max Vanddenburg (the Jew hiding in the basement) is caught, to read Max's book for Liesel and to wonder at the private pain of the mayor's wife as she silently listens to Liesel read.
These words of mine do not do this book justice. Read it for yourself and then try to describe it - I dare you.
THE BOOK THIEF
by Markus Zusak, reviewed by Gloria Novak.
The book is a real tour de force. Its success is the combination of sympathetic characters, a web of simple stories and a masterful use of vocabulary.
This book may be written for the Young Adult crowd but trust me, the vast majority of adults will love this book. Yes, the story is one we have read before - coming of age during WWII, hiding a Jew in the basement, petty thieving among adolescents - but the writing and the consistently clever way with words is fantastic.
Death is the narrator and is working overtime now that the war is in full swing, and every once in a while, he/she has to stop and look around as an antidote for the pain of his job. Liesel Meminger provides some of that respite.
On her way to a foster home to live with Rosa and Hans Hubermann he sees her steal a book. There she painstakingly learns to read and begins her love affair with words.
Death uses words and the placement of those words on the page to paint pictures for the reader that, while about the horror of the war, are evocative but don't get to the point where the book is distasteful. Intense, but still beautiful writing.
You want to keep reading to hear the words in your head; to see what Liesel does or thinks next, to hear Hans and Rosa together, to keep anticipating a kiss between Liesel and Rudy, to see whether Max Vanddenburg (the Jew hiding in the basement) is caught, to read Max's book for Liesel and to wonder at the private pain of the mayor's wife as she silently listens to Liesel read.
These words of mine do not do this book justice. Read it for yourself and then try to describe it - I dare you.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
THE WALKING TENT
As we grow older there is a tendency to shrug off any concerns we may have about how we look and how we feel. Many of us have reconciled ourselves, either consciously or subconsciously to the state of ‘what you see is what you get’ and we simply don’t worry any more. On the other hand, there are people who do care how they look and how they feel, but they hide this concern very well.
Speaking for myself, I am definitely of the ‘what you see is what you get’ variety, except for one thing – weight. That is something I do care about, very much and it drives me mad. When I retired I was delighted to assume the mantle of “The Walking Tent”. For me, the incentive to be a specimen of the perfect woman disappeared immediately when I no longer had to go out to work.
So, I now get up in the morning and throw on The Walking Tent, a loose garment that hides a multitude of sins, or a pair of jeans and top two sizes too big for me, which fools me into thinking that I’ve lost weight. A feeling that persists until I get on the scales and then all hell breaks out.
Make-up, what’s that? I’d almost forgotten to mention that. Who is left to impress. I think my husband regards me as part of the furniture, so I don’t invest in the effort to ‘tart’ myself up – who cares?
Being on the latter side of sixty tends to encourage us to cocoon, perhaps even more so if the scales are governing our lives. If, because of our somewhat large frames, we suffer from pangs of lack of self-confidence, remaining at home provides us with a marvelous reason to enjoy our solitude and become thoroughly antisocial.
Perhaps in the end, we tend to view our physical selves as something resembling bean bags, or soufflés on the verge of collapse. We make sure that the number of mirrors in the house are receding in size and quantity but are grateful that our bodies continue to serve us well. Some of us take an occasional peek into the remaining mirror and have seen the drooping boobs, the slightly wrinkled face and the sagging muscles on various parts of ourselves. We see and accept these facts, but we don’t worry about them because why should we? No matter what anyone will tell you, we still feel the same as we felt in our twenties and the bikini days are long past worrying about.
Perhaps the other side of the argument is that we should care – for a variety of reasons. Caring about ourselves engenders an interest in caring about other people. Caring about other people prohibits us from becoming selfish and antisocial. Caring what we look like gives us confidence in ourselves and maybe a new interest in improving our ho-hum routine. But, possibly, I just can’t be bothered; you get like that, you know.
Perhaps we should cater to those who ‘care’ in another blog spot.
Speaking for myself, I am definitely of the ‘what you see is what you get’ variety, except for one thing – weight. That is something I do care about, very much and it drives me mad. When I retired I was delighted to assume the mantle of “The Walking Tent”. For me, the incentive to be a specimen of the perfect woman disappeared immediately when I no longer had to go out to work.
So, I now get up in the morning and throw on The Walking Tent, a loose garment that hides a multitude of sins, or a pair of jeans and top two sizes too big for me, which fools me into thinking that I’ve lost weight. A feeling that persists until I get on the scales and then all hell breaks out.
Make-up, what’s that? I’d almost forgotten to mention that. Who is left to impress. I think my husband regards me as part of the furniture, so I don’t invest in the effort to ‘tart’ myself up – who cares?
Being on the latter side of sixty tends to encourage us to cocoon, perhaps even more so if the scales are governing our lives. If, because of our somewhat large frames, we suffer from pangs of lack of self-confidence, remaining at home provides us with a marvelous reason to enjoy our solitude and become thoroughly antisocial.
Perhaps in the end, we tend to view our physical selves as something resembling bean bags, or soufflés on the verge of collapse. We make sure that the number of mirrors in the house are receding in size and quantity but are grateful that our bodies continue to serve us well. Some of us take an occasional peek into the remaining mirror and have seen the drooping boobs, the slightly wrinkled face and the sagging muscles on various parts of ourselves. We see and accept these facts, but we don’t worry about them because why should we? No matter what anyone will tell you, we still feel the same as we felt in our twenties and the bikini days are long past worrying about.
Perhaps the other side of the argument is that we should care – for a variety of reasons. Caring about ourselves engenders an interest in caring about other people. Caring about other people prohibits us from becoming selfish and antisocial. Caring what we look like gives us confidence in ourselves and maybe a new interest in improving our ho-hum routine. But, possibly, I just can’t be bothered; you get like that, you know.
Perhaps we should cater to those who ‘care’ in another blog spot.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
GARDEN SNAKES CAN BE DANGEROUS...
This arrived in my e-mail the other day and I just couldn’t resist it. There are many metaphors describing the way Murphy’s Law works in my life. This is with thanks to its originator.
Snakes also known as Garter Snakes (Thamnophissirtalis) can be dangerous. Yes, grass snakes, not rattlesnakes. Here's why.
A couple in Sweetwater, Texas, had a many potted plants. During a recent cold spell the wife was bringing a lot of them indoors to protect them from a possible freeze.
It turned out that a little green garden grass snake was hidden in one of the plants. When it had warmed up, it slithered out and the wife saw it go under the sofa.
She let out a very loud scream.
The husband (who was taking a shower) ran out into the living room naked to see what the problem was. She told him there was a snake under the sofa.
He got down on the floor on his hands and knees to look for it. About that time the family dog came and cold-nosed him on the behind. He thought the snake had bitten him, so he screamed and fell over on the floor.
His wife thought he had had a heart attack, so she covered him up, told him to lie still and called an ambulance.
The attendants rushed in, would not listen to his protests, loaded him on the stretcher, and started carrying him out.
About that time, the snake came out from under the sofa and the Emergency Medical Technician saw it and dropped his end of the stretcher. That's when the man broke his leg and why he is still in the hospital.
The wife still had the problem of the snake in the house, so she called on a neighbour who volunteered to capture the snake. He armed himself with a rolled-up newspaper and began poking under the couch. Soon he decided it was gone and told the woman, who sat down on the sofa in relief.
But while relaxing, her hand dangled in between the cushions, where she felt the snake wriggling around. She screamed and fainted, the snake rushed back under the sofa.
The neighbour man, seeing her lying there passed out, tried to use CPR to revive her.
The neighbour's wife, who had just returned from shopping at the grocery store, saw her husband's mouth on the woman's mouth and slammed her husband in the back of the head with a bag of canned goods, knocking him out and cutting his scalp to a point where it needed stitches.
The noise woke the woman from her dead faint and she saw her neighbor lying on the floor with his wife bending over him, so she assumed that the snake had bitten him. She went to the kitchen and got a small bottle of whiskey, and began pouring it down the man's throat.
By now, the police had arrived.
They saw the unconscious man, smelled the whiskey, and assumed that a drunken fight had occurred. They were about to arrest them all, when the women tried to explain how it all happened over a little garden snake!
The police called an ambulance, which took away the neighbour and his sobbing wife.
Now, the little snake again crawled out from under the sofa and one of the policemen drew his gun and fired at it. He missed the snake and hit the leg of the end table. The table fell over, the lamp on it shattered and, as the bulb broke, it started a fire in the drapes.
The other policeman tried to beat out the flames, and fell through the window into the yard on top of the family dog who, startled, jumped out and raced into the street, where an oncoming car swerved to avoid it and smashed into the parked police car.
Meanwhile, neighbours saw the burning drapes and called in the fire department. The firemen had started raising the fire ladder when they were halfway down the street. The rising ladder tore out the overhead wires, put out the power, and disconnected the telephones in a ten-square city block area (but they did get the house fire out).
Time passed! Both men were discharged from the hospital, the house was repaired, the dog came home, the police acquired a new car and all was right with their world.
A while later they were watching TV and the weatherman announced a cold snap for that night. The wife asked her husband if he thought they should bring in their plants for the night.
And that's when he shot her.
Snakes also known as Garter Snakes (Thamnophissirtalis) can be dangerous. Yes, grass snakes, not rattlesnakes. Here's why.
A couple in Sweetwater, Texas, had a many potted plants. During a recent cold spell the wife was bringing a lot of them indoors to protect them from a possible freeze.
It turned out that a little green garden grass snake was hidden in one of the plants. When it had warmed up, it slithered out and the wife saw it go under the sofa.
She let out a very loud scream.
The husband (who was taking a shower) ran out into the living room naked to see what the problem was. She told him there was a snake under the sofa.
He got down on the floor on his hands and knees to look for it. About that time the family dog came and cold-nosed him on the behind. He thought the snake had bitten him, so he screamed and fell over on the floor.
His wife thought he had had a heart attack, so she covered him up, told him to lie still and called an ambulance.
The attendants rushed in, would not listen to his protests, loaded him on the stretcher, and started carrying him out.
About that time, the snake came out from under the sofa and the Emergency Medical Technician saw it and dropped his end of the stretcher. That's when the man broke his leg and why he is still in the hospital.
The wife still had the problem of the snake in the house, so she called on a neighbour who volunteered to capture the snake. He armed himself with a rolled-up newspaper and began poking under the couch. Soon he decided it was gone and told the woman, who sat down on the sofa in relief.
But while relaxing, her hand dangled in between the cushions, where she felt the snake wriggling around. She screamed and fainted, the snake rushed back under the sofa.
The neighbour man, seeing her lying there passed out, tried to use CPR to revive her.
The neighbour's wife, who had just returned from shopping at the grocery store, saw her husband's mouth on the woman's mouth and slammed her husband in the back of the head with a bag of canned goods, knocking him out and cutting his scalp to a point where it needed stitches.
The noise woke the woman from her dead faint and she saw her neighbor lying on the floor with his wife bending over him, so she assumed that the snake had bitten him. She went to the kitchen and got a small bottle of whiskey, and began pouring it down the man's throat.
By now, the police had arrived.
They saw the unconscious man, smelled the whiskey, and assumed that a drunken fight had occurred. They were about to arrest them all, when the women tried to explain how it all happened over a little garden snake!
The police called an ambulance, which took away the neighbour and his sobbing wife.
Now, the little snake again crawled out from under the sofa and one of the policemen drew his gun and fired at it. He missed the snake and hit the leg of the end table. The table fell over, the lamp on it shattered and, as the bulb broke, it started a fire in the drapes.
The other policeman tried to beat out the flames, and fell through the window into the yard on top of the family dog who, startled, jumped out and raced into the street, where an oncoming car swerved to avoid it and smashed into the parked police car.
Meanwhile, neighbours saw the burning drapes and called in the fire department. The firemen had started raising the fire ladder when they were halfway down the street. The rising ladder tore out the overhead wires, put out the power, and disconnected the telephones in a ten-square city block area (but they did get the house fire out).
Time passed! Both men were discharged from the hospital, the house was repaired, the dog came home, the police acquired a new car and all was right with their world.
A while later they were watching TV and the weatherman announced a cold snap for that night. The wife asked her husband if he thought they should bring in their plants for the night.
And that's when he shot her.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The Broken Dish
About a month ago, I was cooking the Sunday lunch. The roast was in a casserole dish that had been in the family for years and years. There was nothing special about this dish. It was a rather drab brown, stoneware rectangular dish with gently sloping sides of about two inches in depth. It was not a particularly attractive dish to look at. It was just there, and it was used for everything that was going into the oven. It seemed to be just the right size for all the dishes I cooked, and I rarely used another cooking utensil except for turkeys and large roasts.
During this Sunday lunch preparation, I removed the tin foil lining and picked up the dish to put it in the sink. Because it had been sitting on top of the stove for sometime, I thought it would be quite cool and so didn’t bother to put on the oven mitt. It was not cool. It was hot, hot, hot. It was off the oven top, over the floor and on the way to the sink before I realized that my fingers were burning. I dropped it with a shriek of pain. Upon making contact with the floor, my beloved casserole dish broke into a thousand pieces.
My shriek of pain, turned to tears of anger, and then painful tears of anguish because I had lost a piece of family history. Crowded thoughts of many years suddenly appeared in my head, particularly of my parents and two sisters. This dish had reminded me of the love and warmth we enjoyed as a family, together with the heartaches and tears (not too often) which were not enjoyed.
It reminded me of a quieter and much more serene life many years ago; a time when families interacted and entertained themselves instead of relying on television. A time when life was much gentler and certainly less complicated. I suppose I could go on, but what is the point The casserole dish is no more and neither is our youth. I guess that was the reason for my tears.
During this Sunday lunch preparation, I removed the tin foil lining and picked up the dish to put it in the sink. Because it had been sitting on top of the stove for sometime, I thought it would be quite cool and so didn’t bother to put on the oven mitt. It was not cool. It was hot, hot, hot. It was off the oven top, over the floor and on the way to the sink before I realized that my fingers were burning. I dropped it with a shriek of pain. Upon making contact with the floor, my beloved casserole dish broke into a thousand pieces.
My shriek of pain, turned to tears of anger, and then painful tears of anguish because I had lost a piece of family history. Crowded thoughts of many years suddenly appeared in my head, particularly of my parents and two sisters. This dish had reminded me of the love and warmth we enjoyed as a family, together with the heartaches and tears (not too often) which were not enjoyed.
It reminded me of a quieter and much more serene life many years ago; a time when families interacted and entertained themselves instead of relying on television. A time when life was much gentler and certainly less complicated. I suppose I could go on, but what is the point The casserole dish is no more and neither is our youth. I guess that was the reason for my tears.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
H1N1 and the Media
This is just a short blog about a controversial topic that has been blown out of all proportion by our friends, the media.
This pandemic has offered another frenzied feeding to the media. They have had a wonderful time tracking every little variation of H1N1, both good and bad, predominantly bad. The result of their reporting has been responsible in the large part for the public chaos over vaccinations for H1N1.
They have whipped the population into a state of nervous confusion, especially people with children. This has resulted in huge lineups at clinics because of jammed telephone lines by people trying to get information from the local authorities. A debate in parliament followed, with the intention, so it would appear, of trying to find a culprit to which the blame can be attached. If ever there was a time when co-operation is needed between parties, this is it with a hope that cooperation will find a solution to the mess.
Personally, I don’t think anyone is to specifically blame. There has been a huge rush to create a vaccine, get it on the market and provide for people who may be ‘at risk’ of getting N1H1. It has been a combination of all these factors, plus the media, which have contributed to the current state of affairs. Also, when there is media frenzy like this, you get hundreds of people who are not in the ‘at risk’ category, managing to get the shot before anyone else and this makes for debatable headlines, too.
As I’ve mentioned before, the media does a lot of good, but they don’t achieve anything when instilling fear and despondency among people.
This pandemic has offered another frenzied feeding to the media. They have had a wonderful time tracking every little variation of H1N1, both good and bad, predominantly bad. The result of their reporting has been responsible in the large part for the public chaos over vaccinations for H1N1.
They have whipped the population into a state of nervous confusion, especially people with children. This has resulted in huge lineups at clinics because of jammed telephone lines by people trying to get information from the local authorities. A debate in parliament followed, with the intention, so it would appear, of trying to find a culprit to which the blame can be attached. If ever there was a time when co-operation is needed between parties, this is it with a hope that cooperation will find a solution to the mess.
Personally, I don’t think anyone is to specifically blame. There has been a huge rush to create a vaccine, get it on the market and provide for people who may be ‘at risk’ of getting N1H1. It has been a combination of all these factors, plus the media, which have contributed to the current state of affairs. Also, when there is media frenzy like this, you get hundreds of people who are not in the ‘at risk’ category, managing to get the shot before anyone else and this makes for debatable headlines, too.
As I’ve mentioned before, the media does a lot of good, but they don’t achieve anything when instilling fear and despondency among people.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
TO CHILKO AND BACK continued...............
The following morning was bright and sunny, an invitation for us to head out to Chilko Lake (all 80 miles of it), a further 15 kilometers on from the River Lodge. When we reached the lake, a dire warning about bears being frequent visitors to the area greeted us at the entrance of the park. In accordance with the instructions posted, I insisted that wherever we were going to fish, the Jeep could not be far away. We smiled and both of us suddenly realized that while we were at home, the thought of encountering bears in the wild caused apprehension and we even enquired about bear spray! However, we arrived in the wild without bear spray and while fishing in bear country, neither one of us was at all concerned or worried.
The bears didn’t put in an appearance and we spent a marvelous 3-4 hours, the sole occupants of the Park, Denis fishing and me learning to fish – casting, that is. Actually, in retrospect, I was quite pleased with my efforts by the end of the day. We didn’t catch any fish, but that was beside the point. It was a joy just to be out there. The sun, the sky with tiny cotton wool clouds moved gently by a slight breeze, the gorgeous colours of the lake itself stretching out before us, predominantly ice blue and white as a result of the winter melt and run off; the huge snow-capped peaks towering above us and of course the endless trees – just as it all had been for thousands of years. It was spring (early June) and the entire panorama seemed to be coming alive in anticipation of summer.
We returned to the Lodge, tired out but invigorated, without fish! Unfortunately, for the rest of the holiday it was the weather, not us, that dictated the holiday activities. Denis did get some more fishing in and actually went out on the lake with Mike, the resident fishing guide. Alas, I cannot report any success.
My activity apart from writing was one afternoon of horseback riding. This was wonderful, although some of my riding skills taught so many years ago were a bit rusty. Silver, my horse, and he was a big horse (he had to be to carry me) was a dream. I thoroughly enjoyed myself just ambling behind our host in the late day’s sunshine, with Bandit, the border collie running ahead of us to ensure that we wouldn’t come upon any wildlife unexpectedly!
The holiday was so neat; we decided to stay an extra day before heading back on the long drive home. We returned the way we’d come until we got to Cache Creek where we decided to head out and investigate a new route and which, according to the map, was a gravel road. The owner of the gift shop at Cache Creek assured us that the road was recently leveled and that it would not produce any difficulties for us, particularly since we had a Jeep. So off we went into Downing Provincial Park and then up what appeared to be an unassailable mountainside. Actually, it wasn’t, but it was very steep and I was just a little concerned as the ground seemed to drop away more steeply than ever round each bend!
Coming down on the other side was much gentler and the country spread out before us, mountain after mountain, some with snow, some without, bathed in the afternoon sunshine. It was absolutely vast, breathtaking and unbelievable. On the lookout for wildlife, we saw only one black bear, but unfortunately the noise of the Jeep frightened him and he took himself off at a high speed before I could get the window down to take a picture. As we descended the road passed through some private land and we witnessed ranchers herding cattle and roping calves – fascinating – long live the Wild West.
By the time we got to Lillooet it was getting late, but we decided to press on. We followed route 99 through some steep, precipitous mountains rising on both sides from the highway which produced a strange feeling of claustrophobia. The road was good but fraught with twists and bends so you had to be on guard all the time. Finally, at about 8:00 p.m. we reached Whistler and booked in at the Holiday Inn (the first hotel we came to). We went from the sublime to the ridiculous – rustic but very comfortable living to state of the art hotel conveniences, which included a Jacuzzi; just what was needed after a long day’s journey.
The following day we got up early to finish the journey to the Ferries at Horseshoe Bay and then home to Nanaimo. It was great to see home again, but we were both sad that we couldn’t have stayed longer at Chilko.
Keywords: horse, River Lodge, bears, bear spray, Chilko Lake, Williams Lake, barbecue, crossword books, Jacuzzi, Holiday Inn, Lillooet, fishing, horseback riding
Saturday, October 31, 2009
TO CHILKO AND BACK Getting to Know Beautiful British Columbia
Chilko Lake beckoned seductively via Ts’yl-os Provincial Park as we sat in front of the television set. Boy, did it cast its spell over us. We both knew we had to go there and it wasn’t long before we packed ourselves up and set out.
Our first stop en route to our destination was Hell’s Gate in the Fraser Canyon. In 1808 Simon Fraser, the explorer who discovered the Fraser River, described this narrow passage as ‘an awesome gorge – the mouth of hell’ and indeed that’s what it looks like. The rock walls of the Fraser River on either side plunging down towards each other forcing the waters through a passage way only 110 feet wide. Apparently, at certain times of the year, a greater volume of water goes through the narrow gorge that is Hell’s Gate, than goes over the Niagara Falls! After looking down at the seething, boiling water, I can believe that fact to be so. Leaving Hell’s gate we continued to travel north and finally reached Williams Lake at about 7:30 p.m. and decided to find a bed there for the night.
The distances and scenery of this province are mind boggling. We had already travelled 338 miles from Vancouver to Williams Lake through lush valleys, wild mountainous scenery and through rocky, barren and desert-like vistas. It just seemed to go on and on. As the crow flies, Chilko is only 150 miles from our home, but we had travel all this way just to get to the Chilko Lake area!
From Williams Lake, the road was good, much better than I expected - a hardtop highway with gravel shoulders. With a short coffee break and lunch thrown in, it took about three hours to reach the final turn off for Chilko River Lodge. It was then I discovered to my horror that we were going to travel the remaining 50 kilometers on an gravel road. Thank goodness for the jeep. The journey was devoid of any signs of habitation or people which created for us the sense of being the only people on the planet! When we did eventually arrive at Chilko River Lodge, a warm greeting by the owners of the lodge immediately nullified our sense of desolation
As it was early June and a tad on the cool side, our hosts soon had the Yukon stove in our cabin rocking on its feet, and a barbecue on the go outside for our meal of steak which we proposed to cook. When we read the lodge brochure and noted that there was a barbecue outside each cabin, my mind ran to a sort of modified Canadian Tire barbecue, metal black with drop down working space on either side. Not a bit of it, this barbecue was much simpler!
A ring of stones marked the spot out of which arose a teepee-like creation of metal rods, held in place by a triangular metal bracket at the top. Attached to this bracket was what looked like a painted, old fashioned lavatory chain (it was, of course, your everyday chain you buy at the hardware store). The other end of this chain was secured to a metal ring surrounding one of the metal rods, thus allowing for height adjustment of the grill suspended by three wires above the stone ring. Never having seen one of these barbecues before, I was somewhat dubious as to its capabilities. I needn’t have worried; the steak was ‘par excellence’ and tasted absolutely delicious.
After dark, we retired to a cabin bathed in gaslight and we could almost believe we were back in Victorian times. There were books, cards and crosswords provided to amuse us if we so wished and it was a blessing to be without deadlines to meet and especially no telephone! We settled down to read in front of the Yukon stove with two gaslights providing illumination. Here, it was bliss.
To be continued………….
Our first stop en route to our destination was Hell’s Gate in the Fraser Canyon. In 1808 Simon Fraser, the explorer who discovered the Fraser River, described this narrow passage as ‘an awesome gorge – the mouth of hell’ and indeed that’s what it looks like. The rock walls of the Fraser River on either side plunging down towards each other forcing the waters through a passage way only 110 feet wide. Apparently, at certain times of the year, a greater volume of water goes through the narrow gorge that is Hell’s Gate, than goes over the Niagara Falls! After looking down at the seething, boiling water, I can believe that fact to be so. Leaving Hell’s gate we continued to travel north and finally reached Williams Lake at about 7:30 p.m. and decided to find a bed there for the night. The distances and scenery of this province are mind boggling. We had already travelled 338 miles from Vancouver to Williams Lake through lush valleys, wild mountainous scenery and through rocky, barren and desert-like vistas. It just seemed to go on and on. As the crow flies, Chilko is only 150 miles from our home, but we had travel all this way just to get to the Chilko Lake area!
From Williams Lake, the road was good, much better than I expected - a hardtop highway with gravel shoulders. With a short coffee break and lunch thrown in, it took about three hours to reach the final turn off for Chilko River Lodge. It was then I discovered to my horror that we were going to travel the remaining 50 kilometers on an gravel road. Thank goodness for the jeep. The journey was devoid of any signs of habitation or people which created for us the sense of being the only people on the planet! When we did eventually arrive at Chilko River Lodge, a warm greeting by the owners of the lodge immediately nullified our sense of desolation
As it was early June and a tad on the cool side, our hosts soon had the Yukon stove in our cabin rocking on its feet, and a barbecue on the go outside for our meal of steak which we proposed to cook. When we read the lodge brochure and noted that there was a barbecue outside each cabin, my mind ran to a sort of modified Canadian Tire barbecue, metal black with drop down working space on either side. Not a bit of it, this barbecue was much simpler!
A ring of stones marked the spot out of which arose a teepee-like creation of metal rods, held in place by a triangular metal bracket at the top. Attached to this bracket was what looked like a painted, old fashioned lavatory chain (it was, of course, your everyday chain you buy at the hardware store). The other end of this chain was secured to a metal ring surrounding one of the metal rods, thus allowing for height adjustment of the grill suspended by three wires above the stone ring. Never having seen one of these barbecues before, I was somewhat dubious as to its capabilities. I needn’t have worried; the steak was ‘par excellence’ and tasted absolutely delicious.
After dark, we retired to a cabin bathed in gaslight and we could almost believe we were back in Victorian times. There were books, cards and crosswords provided to amuse us if we so wished and it was a blessing to be without deadlines to meet and especially no telephone! We settled down to read in front of the Yukon stove with two gaslights providing illumination. Here, it was bliss.
To be continued………….
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Strangers at the Ferry Terminal
I only intended to take two weeks holiday but sadly, the often talked about Rufus dog went to sleep permanently, so my break turned out to be much longer than planned! Now I must really play catch-up.To open on a happier note – something nice that happens when you least expect it. I was coming home last week on the ferry from Vancouver to Vancouver Island and completely forgetting that Friday was not the day to travel on the ferry (line-ups galore), I raced for the 3:00 p.m. sailing from Horseshoe Bay (Vancouver). It was full.
Grumbling about the frustration of it all, I drove slowly into a holding area to await repositioning for the next sailing. Two hours to kill, sitting in the car at the ferry terminal – definitely not my choice. As I was sitting there, I began to have a coughing fit – and I mean a real coughing fit, to the point where I felt I was going to be sick. I had no lozenges, no water, no candies – nothing that would assuage that miserable needle-like jab at the back of the throat which demanded I cough to get rid of it.
Suddenly, the door of the van in front of me opened; I tried to catch the eye of the driver as he got out. No luck. Fortunately, it was not long before he re-appeared and I waved to him. Just as I was getting out of the car to meet him he was there, and I explained my plight.
“Sorry to bother you,” I said, trying to suppress yet another cough, “but do you have any candies or anything to help my cough?”
“Nothing,” he replied sympathetically, ‘but wait a minute, we do have some chocolate coated almonds – I don’t know if those would be any good to you?”
I could have hugged him.
“That will be just fine,” I replied with grateful thanks. He returned to the car and came back with the candy bag out of which I helped myself to three almonds. As he was returning to his car, he was beckoned yet a second time by the driver parked on my right, just ahead of me. Returning to speak to me, he suggested that the driver of that car may be able to help me further.
It turned out that driver number two had some orange juice and he went diving into the trunk of the car to retrieve it, while I admired the two dogs who occupied the back seat.
“You really have saved my day,” I said to the driver as he returned with the juice, “thank you so very much.”
He was all smiles, I was all smiles and the driver of car number one was all smiles.
How nice strangers are in your hour of need. I certainly won’t forget that incident.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Vacation Time
Just a short note to let you know that I am on holiday. Back in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, browse through past posts and enjoy. When I start posting again, there will be more of Travels with Verna and Jean, plus a variety of other subjects.
Thanks for you support and take care.
The Old Biddy
Thanks for you support and take care.
The Old Biddy
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Book Review: The Shack by Wm. Paul Young
Having noted one Saturday, reading the Globe and Mail best seller list, that The Shack had been a best seller for 60 weeks, I was persuaded to go to the Net to see what all the fuss was about.
There appeared to be hundreds of reviews of this book, but I just stuck with the story outline and decided it was definitely worth a read; went to Coles, purchased said book and started to read. What a book. I just couldn’t put it down.
The author gives us a story that is not shrouded in biblical allegory, but a simple and easy to understand presentation of love. Basically, the story line is about a man called Mack, who has an encounter with God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit; but what an encounter. It challenged my long held views and opinions. It is funny, tragic, moving, amusing, spellbinding, sad and whatever other adjective might come to mind. It is the Holy Trinity as I had never imagined it to be. It is written for the people of today. It is family, it is power, it is understanding and above all, it is about love for everyone on this earth. It is about the kind of love that binds us all together and, if allowed to surface in people, would make the world a much better place.
It gives us an idea of how and why God makes all his decisions. The most revealing fact is that he does not make decisions for us and for the rest of humanity; that is up to us. Events happen in our lives not because God wants them to happen, or because it is going to serve a purpose for Him or because it is His will. They happen because there is evil which affects everyone. It is human beings seeking their own kind of power and independence. God is left to pick up the pieces and in His Grace he does pick up those pieces.
This is a powerful story which really makes you think, and I love stories that make me think. As I was reading, I could put myself in Mack’s shoes with all his pent up anger, negativity, loss, waffling beliefs and pain, ready to blame God for the tragedy he has suffered and the anger and pain it produced.
The book, of course, is a fictional story, but it could quite easily be very real for every one of us battling with the uncertainty of this life. The attraction of this story is that everyone can equate with the central character. We all have problems in our lives, and in this book, Mack is able to share his with God directly.
There were, in fact, many negative reviews of this book like, ‘manipulative tripe’ ‘boring’, ‘not my kind of book’, ‘same old, same old’, ‘poorly written’. After reading some of these it is revealed that the reviewers didn’t even finish the book. Why write a review when you don’t read the book? One of the many positive reviews noted that if anyone had grappled with the concept of God, they should read this book. Amen.
I am ready to start reading this story again, so that I can fully understand all the wisdom imparted and the vision of eternity we can expect.
I can only say, buy the book or borrow the book, read it and form your own opinion. Your life will feel richer for having read it.
The Old Biddy
There appeared to be hundreds of reviews of this book, but I just stuck with the story outline and decided it was definitely worth a read; went to Coles, purchased said book and started to read. What a book. I just couldn’t put it down.
The author gives us a story that is not shrouded in biblical allegory, but a simple and easy to understand presentation of love. Basically, the story line is about a man called Mack, who has an encounter with God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit; but what an encounter. It challenged my long held views and opinions. It is funny, tragic, moving, amusing, spellbinding, sad and whatever other adjective might come to mind. It is the Holy Trinity as I had never imagined it to be. It is written for the people of today. It is family, it is power, it is understanding and above all, it is about love for everyone on this earth. It is about the kind of love that binds us all together and, if allowed to surface in people, would make the world a much better place.
It gives us an idea of how and why God makes all his decisions. The most revealing fact is that he does not make decisions for us and for the rest of humanity; that is up to us. Events happen in our lives not because God wants them to happen, or because it is going to serve a purpose for Him or because it is His will. They happen because there is evil which affects everyone. It is human beings seeking their own kind of power and independence. God is left to pick up the pieces and in His Grace he does pick up those pieces.
This is a powerful story which really makes you think, and I love stories that make me think. As I was reading, I could put myself in Mack’s shoes with all his pent up anger, negativity, loss, waffling beliefs and pain, ready to blame God for the tragedy he has suffered and the anger and pain it produced.
The book, of course, is a fictional story, but it could quite easily be very real for every one of us battling with the uncertainty of this life. The attraction of this story is that everyone can equate with the central character. We all have problems in our lives, and in this book, Mack is able to share his with God directly.
There were, in fact, many negative reviews of this book like, ‘manipulative tripe’ ‘boring’, ‘not my kind of book’, ‘same old, same old’, ‘poorly written’. After reading some of these it is revealed that the reviewers didn’t even finish the book. Why write a review when you don’t read the book? One of the many positive reviews noted that if anyone had grappled with the concept of God, they should read this book. Amen.
I am ready to start reading this story again, so that I can fully understand all the wisdom imparted and the vision of eternity we can expect.
I can only say, buy the book or borrow the book, read it and form your own opinion. Your life will feel richer for having read it.
The Old Biddy
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Forget Me Not!
“Come on, teatimes,” I called to Rufus, after giving his food a final stir. I sailed into the dining room and put his bowl on the table. I called again.
“Come-on, tea times”.
Why was Rufus sitting in the kitchen with a puzzled look on his face.
“Ouch,” I said to myself, picked up the bowl, and backtracked to the kitchen, putting the bowl down on ‘his’ table. No wonder the poor dog looked confused.
On another occasion, I was wrapping up the leftovers to go into the frig. Where did they end up, in the bathroom. How, oh how, could I be so stupid.
Really, these senior moments are becoming all too frequent.
It was changing sheets day and I was going to put the set of pink sheets on the bed. Trouble is, I didn’t know where the pink sheets could be found. They were not in the linen closet and I checked out the linen closet downstairs which revealed nothing. Perhaps I had put them in one of the drawers in the spare bedroom downstairs – remote, but possible - no, they were not there. In desperation I looked into the semi storage room, just in case. There was no sign of any pink sheets.
I was getting myself really worked up about these bed linens. After all, a pair of sheets and pillow cases didn’t just walk out of the house. The more I fussed, the worse the situation became. Finally, I asked my husband, somewhat tersely, if he had seen the pink sheets.
“Yes”, he said, “they’re on the bed.”
Apart from these bizarre trivialities that arrive more frequently as we grow older, there are the more delinquent problems that affect our sense of comfort. For example, going out without our teeth (partial plate) because we completely forgot about it; thus causing some whistling sounds through the teeth that are not there as we speak. There is also the most embarrassing gap in our teeth when we let our guard down and actually smile broadly
The car keys and our inability to remember where we put them can cause some screaming, and swearing; especially when we are in a hurry to go out and they are nowhere to be found and we have an appointment or deadline to meet.
Finally, there are spectacles. For most of my life I have been short-sighted and was never able to see much beyond the end of my nose without glasses, which I wore all the time. On becoming bi-focal, I took the glasses off when I wanted to read, or look at something close, but they were never far from me.
This last year I had cataracts in both eyes removed. It was such a glorious feeling to see clearly into the far distance again; I felt liberated. I knew before the operation that I would have to wear glasses for reading, but had temporarily forgotten about this on a shopping spree shortly after my last operation.
I went to buy some clothes and no matter how hard I tried to decipher the price and size tag, nothing less than putting the garment on the floor, and then zooming in on it until I could see would suffice.
This incident precipitated a furious round of activity to equip myself with reading glasses to be placed strategically around the house. Not for me glasses on a chain around my neck. If anything dates you it was specs on a chain around your neck. I did try, but the glasses either slipped out of the chain holders or I caught the chain on something and it broke.
I now have glasses in the den, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, lounge, dining room and handbag. Yet still, I walk from room to room carrying or wearing the specs and then leaving them in the destination room. When I return to the original room and can’t find them all hell breaks loose and my blood pressure shoots way up high.
So life goes on, and does ‘forget me not’ get any better – no, I don’t think so. It goes with the territory and we have to devise a plan. I’ll let you know when I have one.
The Old Biddy
“Come-on, tea times”.
Why was Rufus sitting in the kitchen with a puzzled look on his face.
“Ouch,” I said to myself, picked up the bowl, and backtracked to the kitchen, putting the bowl down on ‘his’ table. No wonder the poor dog looked confused.
On another occasion, I was wrapping up the leftovers to go into the frig. Where did they end up, in the bathroom. How, oh how, could I be so stupid.
Really, these senior moments are becoming all too frequent.
It was changing sheets day and I was going to put the set of pink sheets on the bed. Trouble is, I didn’t know where the pink sheets could be found. They were not in the linen closet and I checked out the linen closet downstairs which revealed nothing. Perhaps I had put them in one of the drawers in the spare bedroom downstairs – remote, but possible - no, they were not there. In desperation I looked into the semi storage room, just in case. There was no sign of any pink sheets.
I was getting myself really worked up about these bed linens. After all, a pair of sheets and pillow cases didn’t just walk out of the house. The more I fussed, the worse the situation became. Finally, I asked my husband, somewhat tersely, if he had seen the pink sheets.
“Yes”, he said, “they’re on the bed.”
Apart from these bizarre trivialities that arrive more frequently as we grow older, there are the more delinquent problems that affect our sense of comfort. For example, going out without our teeth (partial plate) because we completely forgot about it; thus causing some whistling sounds through the teeth that are not there as we speak. There is also the most embarrassing gap in our teeth when we let our guard down and actually smile broadly
The car keys and our inability to remember where we put them can cause some screaming, and swearing; especially when we are in a hurry to go out and they are nowhere to be found and we have an appointment or deadline to meet.
Finally, there are spectacles. For most of my life I have been short-sighted and was never able to see much beyond the end of my nose without glasses, which I wore all the time. On becoming bi-focal, I took the glasses off when I wanted to read, or look at something close, but they were never far from me.
This last year I had cataracts in both eyes removed. It was such a glorious feeling to see clearly into the far distance again; I felt liberated. I knew before the operation that I would have to wear glasses for reading, but had temporarily forgotten about this on a shopping spree shortly after my last operation.
I went to buy some clothes and no matter how hard I tried to decipher the price and size tag, nothing less than putting the garment on the floor, and then zooming in on it until I could see would suffice.
This incident precipitated a furious round of activity to equip myself with reading glasses to be placed strategically around the house. Not for me glasses on a chain around my neck. If anything dates you it was specs on a chain around your neck. I did try, but the glasses either slipped out of the chain holders or I caught the chain on something and it broke.
I now have glasses in the den, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, lounge, dining room and handbag. Yet still, I walk from room to room carrying or wearing the specs and then leaving them in the destination room. When I return to the original room and can’t find them all hell breaks loose and my blood pressure shoots way up high.
So life goes on, and does ‘forget me not’ get any better – no, I don’t think so. It goes with the territory and we have to devise a plan. I’ll let you know when I have one.
The Old Biddy
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Greyhound
“What are these people going to do when the Olympics arrive?” asked the bewildered American gentleman (from New York) with a hint of humour.
The American was behind me in a line-up waiting to buy a ticket for a bus trip. We were two of the twenty or so people lined up at the Greyhound desk at the Vancouver Bus Terminus. There were two agents selling tickets and each ticket sale took anywhere from a couple of minutes to sometimes ten minutes, depending upon the customer’s command of the English language and the complexity of the journey being undertaken, re: connections, etc. Seeing my frustration, my daughter-in-law offered to take my place at the end of the line up, while I enjoyed time with my granddaughter.
Just before she and I changed places, one of the two agents put the ‘ closed’ announcement in front of his wicket and disappeared. After watching this scenario from a distance I couldn’t stand it any longer and went to speak to the remaining ticket agent after one passenger had finished at the wicket. I asked why there was only one person to serve 20 + people who it appeared may, or may not, catch their respective buses given the snail’s pace processing of the passengers. The agent was obviously a junior and had little experience in dealing with this old battleaxe who bore down on him to question Greyhound’s agent efficacy.
I won’t go into the details of my conversation with him especially after I was told that agents were entitled to their breaks!
“What breaks?” I demanded, “when 20+ people are waiting to buy tickets, hoping to catch their bus?”
Returning to my American friend just behind me, he asked what I recognized as a realistic question. He assured me that the attitude in the bus station was indicative of the attitude throughout British Columbia. Customer care and satisfaction by most businesses, especially Greyhound, was laid back and casual.
He noted that there were no express ticket machines where people could insert a credit card, select their destination and buy a ticket. This is unbelievable when you can go to a hugely busy international airport like Vancouver and purchase a ticket from a machine to practically anywhere in the world. You can even shop by machine in a grocery store, but certainly not with Greyhound – no way!
The one group of people I exclude from any criticism of Greyhound, is their drivers. They are excellent. However, there are many things Greyhound can do to improve their customer service in the terminus. Leaving the unions and their coffee breaks out of it would be a good start.
What, I ask, are the paying customers going to do when they want to go to Whistler by bus in 2010? I think Greyhound and the B.C. Olympic Games Organizers, need to take this kind of ‘outstanding lack of service’ by a national carrier, into account.
If this happens in Vancouver, how are customers going to cope with other bus services in British Columbia who plan to serve the Olympics?
P.S. Quite a part from alternative methods of staffing which would solve customer problems, there is a small matter of common sense. Of course people deserve their breaks, but can’t common sense prevail with these individuals? Can’t they plan their breaks after the line-ups diminish? Or does Greyhound not have a Common Sense 101 course?
.
The American was behind me in a line-up waiting to buy a ticket for a bus trip. We were two of the twenty or so people lined up at the Greyhound desk at the Vancouver Bus Terminus. There were two agents selling tickets and each ticket sale took anywhere from a couple of minutes to sometimes ten minutes, depending upon the customer’s command of the English language and the complexity of the journey being undertaken, re: connections, etc. Seeing my frustration, my daughter-in-law offered to take my place at the end of the line up, while I enjoyed time with my granddaughter.
Just before she and I changed places, one of the two agents put the ‘ closed’ announcement in front of his wicket and disappeared. After watching this scenario from a distance I couldn’t stand it any longer and went to speak to the remaining ticket agent after one passenger had finished at the wicket. I asked why there was only one person to serve 20 + people who it appeared may, or may not, catch their respective buses given the snail’s pace processing of the passengers. The agent was obviously a junior and had little experience in dealing with this old battleaxe who bore down on him to question Greyhound’s agent efficacy.
I won’t go into the details of my conversation with him especially after I was told that agents were entitled to their breaks!
“What breaks?” I demanded, “when 20+ people are waiting to buy tickets, hoping to catch their bus?”
Returning to my American friend just behind me, he asked what I recognized as a realistic question. He assured me that the attitude in the bus station was indicative of the attitude throughout British Columbia. Customer care and satisfaction by most businesses, especially Greyhound, was laid back and casual.
He noted that there were no express ticket machines where people could insert a credit card, select their destination and buy a ticket. This is unbelievable when you can go to a hugely busy international airport like Vancouver and purchase a ticket from a machine to practically anywhere in the world. You can even shop by machine in a grocery store, but certainly not with Greyhound – no way!
The one group of people I exclude from any criticism of Greyhound, is their drivers. They are excellent. However, there are many things Greyhound can do to improve their customer service in the terminus. Leaving the unions and their coffee breaks out of it would be a good start.
What, I ask, are the paying customers going to do when they want to go to Whistler by bus in 2010? I think Greyhound and the B.C. Olympic Games Organizers, need to take this kind of ‘outstanding lack of service’ by a national carrier, into account.
If this happens in Vancouver, how are customers going to cope with other bus services in British Columbia who plan to serve the Olympics?
P.S. Quite a part from alternative methods of staffing which would solve customer problems, there is a small matter of common sense. Of course people deserve their breaks, but can’t common sense prevail with these individuals? Can’t they plan their breaks after the line-ups diminish? Or does Greyhound not have a Common Sense 101 course?
.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
A Different Kind of Holiday - to Newfie Land
A recent vacation to Newfoundland saw us arriving very early a.m. into Port Aux Basques on the overnight car ferry from Cape Breton.
What a contrast to the UK – we actually saw vast amounts of space around us (once we had cleared the ferry terminal that is). In the UK there’s hardly any space left!
There were signposts on the highway talking of places many hundreds of kilometres away; we rarely get beyond double figures in England, otherwise we would end up driving into the sea.
To cap it all, somewhere en route to Gander we came to a sign saying “Mooseburgers, 63 Km”! Either they were a long way off, or they were mighty big burgers, we mused to ourselves.
Unfortunately, there are so few primary places to visit. Each day in our respective B&Bs, everyone we talked with was either going to, or had been to, the same place(s). We were arriving at places hundreds of Kms away knowing what was on the menu.
A competition began over one breakfast as to whom had seen the most moose in NFL so far. Some people from central Canada won the game, but we suspected they weren’t the kind of guys to be beaten and that they were counting sightings from earlier visits too in order to score maximum points. We lost because we’d only encountered two by that stage, and the “winner” had amoosed 27! No contest.
Then there were the highway re-construction zones, or road works as we call them in England; armies of people and machinery blitzing the landscape, a scene from Thunderbirds. If they did projects that size on UK roads, the country would seize up and everyone would cry off work (even more than usual). We don’t even have machinery that big at home. For example, we still de-ice aircraft with a thumb over the end of a hose to make it squirt a bit faster!
The guide books said there was no fruit available in NFL – but we found the world’s most expensive banana at Deer Lake and had to cash in an extra Amex cheque to purchase same. We tried to make the banana last three days, but it wasn’t too good after twelve hours, even after using full aircon in the car and lodging the banana by one of the air vents. Anything more than stage two on the fan started to break up the fruit.
Fantastic accent the natives of NFL have; and such warm people too, but we couldn’t understand what the true locals were saying so heaven alone knows what we’ve said yes or no to during the conversations! I keep looking at my credit card statements just in case we inadvertently bought a house or something. We did manage to extract the word “partridgeberry” from the experience. This, to a UK national, conjures up imaginative pictures of preserves adorned with feathers plus a wary eye looking forlornly out at you from a jam jar. Weird! Reminded me of a sign on the back of a car I once saw – “Preserve wildlife, pickle a squirrel”.
One could go on for ever – NFL was perhaps the most “different” place we have ever visited and a return trip would definitely be considered. Twillingate, in particular, was charming providing icebergs and wildlife in abundance; the only place we’ve been to where the term “moving house” means loading your large chalet onto a raft and taking it to the other side of the bay.
Now that says it all!
David F,
England.
What a contrast to the UK – we actually saw vast amounts of space around us (once we had cleared the ferry terminal that is). In the UK there’s hardly any space left!
There were signposts on the highway talking of places many hundreds of kilometres away; we rarely get beyond double figures in England, otherwise we would end up driving into the sea.
To cap it all, somewhere en route to Gander we came to a sign saying “Mooseburgers, 63 Km”! Either they were a long way off, or they were mighty big burgers, we mused to ourselves.
Unfortunately, there are so few primary places to visit. Each day in our respective B&Bs, everyone we talked with was either going to, or had been to, the same place(s). We were arriving at places hundreds of Kms away knowing what was on the menu.
A competition began over one breakfast as to whom had seen the most moose in NFL so far. Some people from central Canada won the game, but we suspected they weren’t the kind of guys to be beaten and that they were counting sightings from earlier visits too in order to score maximum points. We lost because we’d only encountered two by that stage, and the “winner” had amoosed 27! No contest.
Then there were the highway re-construction zones, or road works as we call them in England; armies of people and machinery blitzing the landscape, a scene from Thunderbirds. If they did projects that size on UK roads, the country would seize up and everyone would cry off work (even more than usual). We don’t even have machinery that big at home. For example, we still de-ice aircraft with a thumb over the end of a hose to make it squirt a bit faster!
The guide books said there was no fruit available in NFL – but we found the world’s most expensive banana at Deer Lake and had to cash in an extra Amex cheque to purchase same. We tried to make the banana last three days, but it wasn’t too good after twelve hours, even after using full aircon in the car and lodging the banana by one of the air vents. Anything more than stage two on the fan started to break up the fruit.
Fantastic accent the natives of NFL have; and such warm people too, but we couldn’t understand what the true locals were saying so heaven alone knows what we’ve said yes or no to during the conversations! I keep looking at my credit card statements just in case we inadvertently bought a house or something. We did manage to extract the word “partridgeberry” from the experience. This, to a UK national, conjures up imaginative pictures of preserves adorned with feathers plus a wary eye looking forlornly out at you from a jam jar. Weird! Reminded me of a sign on the back of a car I once saw – “Preserve wildlife, pickle a squirrel”.
One could go on for ever – NFL was perhaps the most “different” place we have ever visited and a return trip would definitely be considered. Twillingate, in particular, was charming providing icebergs and wildlife in abundance; the only place we’ve been to where the term “moving house” means loading your large chalet onto a raft and taking it to the other side of the bay.
Now that says it all!
David F,
England.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
How Not To Buy a BBQ
The other day, I was at Canadian Tire with Don, my husband, who wanted to buy a replacement bulb for our security light. I said I would wait in the car. That was my first mistake, letting him into Canadian Tire on his own. After all, he is a man, and Canadian Tire has hardware and neat tools (although I could never see anything neat about looking at tools and car stuff – definitely a man thing).
Anyway, after I had almost finished reading the car manual, he reappeared, bulb in one hand and a very nice looking aluminum suitcase in the other hand.
“Look what I bought”, he announced with some satisfaction. “The regular price was $49.95 and I got it for only $14.95”. It really was a nice set of BBQ tools and accessories but the thing is we don’t have a BBQ, but what the heck, it was on sale!
Our son Dan and his girlfriend, Candace came over for the weekend. Don showed Dan this neat tool set he bought for a ‘song’. Dan asked him if he was going to buy a BBQ.
“Yes one day”, said Don.
I should mention here that we got rid of our old BBQ many years ago because Don ‘really didn’t like BBQing’. Why he suddenly liked the idea again, enough to buy a set of BBQ tools, I have no idea. Perhaps it was the BBQed wieners he kept saying were so good when BBQed at the model airplane field. If wieners were what Don had in mind, a Hibachi would have worked just as well.
Dan suggested that Dad should buy the BBQ now so that he could help him get it home. Off they went and, of course, they found another deal. Father and son came home with this humongous BBQ. Bearing in mind there is just the two of us, this thing has six burners, with a hot plate on one side, to boil the kettle I suppose. On the other side is a pull up shelf, and a bottle opener. Do they even make bottles any more that aren’t screw top? But, hey, just in case they do, Don is ready.
He informs me he will do all the cooking and he even went out and paid full price for a BBQ cookbook. So far we have had two salmon steaks and a couple of pieces of chicken and, of course, zucchinis. Unfortunately, I haven’t found any sauce I like, so I made my own BBQ sauce which is excellent; it contains alcohol. I now have many different kinds of spices etc, because the book says you have to use them. Funny thing, though, Don doesn’t like steak and I thought that was what a BBQ was all about.
One last thing, our old BBQ had a rotisserie on which I used to BBQ roasts, chickens and turkey, etc. This monster has a place to put a rotisserie, but we can’t find one long enough that will fit from end to end. That’s probably why this monstrosity was so cheap. Not to be outdone, Don phoned the manufacturer back east and for $100 they will send him a rotisserie. This BBQ is definitely not the bargain he thought it was.
There has to be a moral to this story somewhere! Maybe it is ‘never let your husband shop at Canadian Tire alone! Ah well, until the next time.
Biddy Jean
Anyway, after I had almost finished reading the car manual, he reappeared, bulb in one hand and a very nice looking aluminum suitcase in the other hand.
“Look what I bought”, he announced with some satisfaction. “The regular price was $49.95 and I got it for only $14.95”. It really was a nice set of BBQ tools and accessories but the thing is we don’t have a BBQ, but what the heck, it was on sale!
Our son Dan and his girlfriend, Candace came over for the weekend. Don showed Dan this neat tool set he bought for a ‘song’. Dan asked him if he was going to buy a BBQ.
“Yes one day”, said Don.
I should mention here that we got rid of our old BBQ many years ago because Don ‘really didn’t like BBQing’. Why he suddenly liked the idea again, enough to buy a set of BBQ tools, I have no idea. Perhaps it was the BBQed wieners he kept saying were so good when BBQed at the model airplane field. If wieners were what Don had in mind, a Hibachi would have worked just as well.
Dan suggested that Dad should buy the BBQ now so that he could help him get it home. Off they went and, of course, they found another deal. Father and son came home with this humongous BBQ. Bearing in mind there is just the two of us, this thing has six burners, with a hot plate on one side, to boil the kettle I suppose. On the other side is a pull up shelf, and a bottle opener. Do they even make bottles any more that aren’t screw top? But, hey, just in case they do, Don is ready.
He informs me he will do all the cooking and he even went out and paid full price for a BBQ cookbook. So far we have had two salmon steaks and a couple of pieces of chicken and, of course, zucchinis. Unfortunately, I haven’t found any sauce I like, so I made my own BBQ sauce which is excellent; it contains alcohol. I now have many different kinds of spices etc, because the book says you have to use them. Funny thing, though, Don doesn’t like steak and I thought that was what a BBQ was all about.
One last thing, our old BBQ had a rotisserie on which I used to BBQ roasts, chickens and turkey, etc. This monster has a place to put a rotisserie, but we can’t find one long enough that will fit from end to end. That’s probably why this monstrosity was so cheap. Not to be outdone, Don phoned the manufacturer back east and for $100 they will send him a rotisserie. This BBQ is definitely not the bargain he thought it was.
There has to be a moral to this story somewhere! Maybe it is ‘never let your husband shop at Canadian Tire alone! Ah well, until the next time.
Biddy Jean
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Rumblings Over The Blue Bridge
Rumblings are reaching the City of Nanaimo about the plight of the Johnson Street Bridge in Victoria. I live in Nanaimo, but for many years I lived on the Saanich Peninsula and in Victoria and still have a very soft spot for Southern Vancouver Island where I visit now and then. During my time in Victoria, for a couple of years I was commuting daily between Esquimalt and downtown Victoria, over the Johnson Street Bridge. It is with these memories that I offer my opinion on the current dilemma.
It appears that the City of Victoria suddenly decided, in April of this year, that it might be a good idea to apply for some of this infrastructure money the Federal Government has hanging around. But they needed an infrastructure to address. What better than the Johnson Street Bridge? Prior to that date the Johnson Street Bridge was not in council’s plans, never mind on the agenda.
In three short months, the City moved at the speed of a bullet; estimates were calculated, tenders went out, consultants hired, designs drawn up and application for funding prepared and finalized. I really would like to see any city, not just Victoria, act with such speed and alacrity because they had found a toy to spend money on.
In the meantime, some concerned citizens became aware of what was going on and decided that they really had to put a spoke in City Council’s wheel, before it could do any more damage. After all, this was a heritage structure under fire – a utilitarian structure but most definitely historical. Quite rightly, this concerned citizen’s group of Victoria wanted to know why Victorians had not been consulted. The City did schedule public input, but only after the investment was approved.
In the meantime, this group worked very hard to bring this venture to the notice of the rest of the Victoria citizenry. Now many more people are talking about the possible fate of this old faithful. Apparently, even the City is having to recognize and accept that Victorians are worried and want to have their say about this monumental plan. So, why not a referendum allowing the public to get on board and make an informed vote?
I am always amazed when people mention to me that England and Europe must be wonderful, historical places with all those buildings hundreds, and some cases, thousands of years old – and we have nothing like that here in Canada. Come on, City Hall, get with it. Would you consider replacing the Empress, or the Parliament Buildings, or Craigdarroch Castle. I think not. Why pick on the Johnson Street Bridge? Oh, I know why, but funding can still be obtained for refurbishing so that the bridge is good for another 40 to 50 years. The dollar difference between refurbishing the Blue Bridge and bringing in the wrecking ball to allow for a new design structure, could be used for more desperately needed infrastructure work in the City of Victoria.
Long live the old bridge.
It appears that the City of Victoria suddenly decided, in April of this year, that it might be a good idea to apply for some of this infrastructure money the Federal Government has hanging around. But they needed an infrastructure to address. What better than the Johnson Street Bridge? Prior to that date the Johnson Street Bridge was not in council’s plans, never mind on the agenda.
In three short months, the City moved at the speed of a bullet; estimates were calculated, tenders went out, consultants hired, designs drawn up and application for funding prepared and finalized. I really would like to see any city, not just Victoria, act with such speed and alacrity because they had found a toy to spend money on.
In the meantime, some concerned citizens became aware of what was going on and decided that they really had to put a spoke in City Council’s wheel, before it could do any more damage. After all, this was a heritage structure under fire – a utilitarian structure but most definitely historical. Quite rightly, this concerned citizen’s group of Victoria wanted to know why Victorians had not been consulted. The City did schedule public input, but only after the investment was approved.
In the meantime, this group worked very hard to bring this venture to the notice of the rest of the Victoria citizenry. Now many more people are talking about the possible fate of this old faithful. Apparently, even the City is having to recognize and accept that Victorians are worried and want to have their say about this monumental plan. So, why not a referendum allowing the public to get on board and make an informed vote?
I am always amazed when people mention to me that England and Europe must be wonderful, historical places with all those buildings hundreds, and some cases, thousands of years old – and we have nothing like that here in Canada. Come on, City Hall, get with it. Would you consider replacing the Empress, or the Parliament Buildings, or Craigdarroch Castle. I think not. Why pick on the Johnson Street Bridge? Oh, I know why, but funding can still be obtained for refurbishing so that the bridge is good for another 40 to 50 years. The dollar difference between refurbishing the Blue Bridge and bringing in the wrecking ball to allow for a new design structure, could be used for more desperately needed infrastructure work in the City of Victoria.
Long live the old bridge.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Don't Mess with God
Last week, Wednesday, August 26th, the opening of the B.C. Legislature took place. Prior to the official opening, there was a brief time of prayer for the government and the work it has set for itself.
I heard about this on the CBC Early Edition with Rick Cluff asking if it was appropriate to open the Opening of the Legislature with such a practice? The following day comments poured in.
“This kind of thing should never be allowed”, “Was it warranted?” “I thought it was rather pleasant”, etc. etc. All those for and against weighed in.
As I was listening to this, I realized that this practice had probably been used at every opening of the Legislature for a number of years. This point was borne out later by Rick’s guest the following day who confirmed that opening with a prayer has been the tradition since the first Legislature sat in B.C. I was asking myself why the appropriateness of the practice should suddenly be questioned now? If the Legislature feels that it must appeal to a higher power to guide its path in government decisions and policies, then so be it.
Listener replies were many and varied, the main question being the necessity of separating the church and the state. John Redekop a visiting professor from Trinity Western University assured listeners that there was no constitutional law or legal requirement in Canada to separate church and state. That prerogative was left to our neighbours in the south.
There was also the remark that we all prayed to the same God who not only listens to prayers as rendered on Wednesday, but also sanctions suicide attacks on innocent people. The professor hastened to assure us that the latter was not the God of his faith.
Surely the above is all perception – a faith or collective peoples’ opinion of what their God would have them do, not necessarily what God wants them to do.
What was intoned in prayer to God on Wednesday was something that we British Columbians all hope for, so what is the point of questioning the practice.
Benjamin Disraeli once said, “Never Complain and Never Explain”. What a fantastic piece of advice for all of us.
As the learned professor said, there should be no marginalizing of different faiths. What I say is that we should get on with the business of non-condemnation for those who hold different ideas from the ones we hold. Whether atheist, agnostic, Christian, Jew, Hindi, Muslim, Buddhist and with all due deference to the many other faiths not mentioned, respect other people’s views and religions, go about your own business, but don’t mess with God.
I heard about this on the CBC Early Edition with Rick Cluff asking if it was appropriate to open the Opening of the Legislature with such a practice? The following day comments poured in.
“This kind of thing should never be allowed”, “Was it warranted?” “I thought it was rather pleasant”, etc. etc. All those for and against weighed in.
As I was listening to this, I realized that this practice had probably been used at every opening of the Legislature for a number of years. This point was borne out later by Rick’s guest the following day who confirmed that opening with a prayer has been the tradition since the first Legislature sat in B.C. I was asking myself why the appropriateness of the practice should suddenly be questioned now? If the Legislature feels that it must appeal to a higher power to guide its path in government decisions and policies, then so be it.
Listener replies were many and varied, the main question being the necessity of separating the church and the state. John Redekop a visiting professor from Trinity Western University assured listeners that there was no constitutional law or legal requirement in Canada to separate church and state. That prerogative was left to our neighbours in the south.
There was also the remark that we all prayed to the same God who not only listens to prayers as rendered on Wednesday, but also sanctions suicide attacks on innocent people. The professor hastened to assure us that the latter was not the God of his faith.
Surely the above is all perception – a faith or collective peoples’ opinion of what their God would have them do, not necessarily what God wants them to do.
What was intoned in prayer to God on Wednesday was something that we British Columbians all hope for, so what is the point of questioning the practice.
Benjamin Disraeli once said, “Never Complain and Never Explain”. What a fantastic piece of advice for all of us.
As the learned professor said, there should be no marginalizing of different faiths. What I say is that we should get on with the business of non-condemnation for those who hold different ideas from the ones we hold. Whether atheist, agnostic, Christian, Jew, Hindi, Muslim, Buddhist and with all due deference to the many other faiths not mentioned, respect other people’s views and religions, go about your own business, but don’t mess with God.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
ORGANIZATION – OLD CODGER STYLE
If you have two items on a shopping list, I’m still thinking in terms of taking about half an hour to accomplish the tasks. Not so as the years move on; especially not if the trip involves a husband. Today, as well as the two items listed, we had to stop at the bank to sign a form, which would probably take a couple of minutes. Anything involving Denis immediately places the expedition in danger, so we need a half hour (or longer) planning session to figure out where we are going and what we are going to do. In fact the entire operation makes planning for a trek to the Himalayas looks like child’s play.
Naturally, dog had to come too, since Rufus refuses to accept the term ‘guard the house’. The first call, the bank, went very smoothly and when we returned to the car, I mentioned to Denis that the next stop was Fabricland to get a zipper. I also explained that he would wait while I purchased said zip and then I would take dog and walk to Superstore, while he went by car. I shouldn’t even have mentioned it as it took the whole of the car journey to Fabricland for Denis to understand what was about to happen.
Zip was purchased, I collected dog from car and off we went on our separate ways. I walked to the front of the store by the disabled parking lots but was beaten by Denis who not only swooped into a spot, but promptly reversed and went back the way he had come – at great speed, I might add.
“I paid for the gas”, he called from the car window, “but forgot to put the gas in the tank – won’t be long”. Rufus and I stood there with our mouths hanging open – has it really come to this?
When Denis arrived back to the gas pump, there was a car occupying the space by his pump, but of course the pump wouldn’t start. The attendant in the office told him that she saw him leave without filling the car and immediately turned the pump off. So, it fell to Denis to explain to the two people getting quite exasperated at the pump, that they had to move to another pump so that he could fill his car with the gas he forgot to put in on his first trip!
Finally he returned with a full tank of gas and we managed to shop without further incident, except that I couldn’t get the prescription I wanted, and we had to go to another store.
It was there, while waiting for the prescription to be filled, that I sat talking to a 90 year old, who, in my estimation, looked 70. She had quietly been waiting for at least 20 minutes for someone to give her some information. We commiserated about how long it took to do something these days. She was also bemoaning the fact that every time he saw her, her son-in-law was on her case about what to eat and what not to eat, plus the fact that she should come off all medication! She retorted on all occasions that obviously she was eating the right thing to get to the age she was and she saw no necessity to change.
As we entered the parking lot of the next pit stop Denis suddenly started to drill me about the Stilton Cheese.
“Did you get the Stilton at Superstore”, he asked. “No”, I said, I thought you were going to do that. “ No, I forgot to do it, would you mind to buy some Stilton in Thrifty’s”. And so it goes on.
What should have been a half hour shopping trip, turned into a whole morning nightmare.
Naturally, dog had to come too, since Rufus refuses to accept the term ‘guard the house’. The first call, the bank, went very smoothly and when we returned to the car, I mentioned to Denis that the next stop was Fabricland to get a zipper. I also explained that he would wait while I purchased said zip and then I would take dog and walk to Superstore, while he went by car. I shouldn’t even have mentioned it as it took the whole of the car journey to Fabricland for Denis to understand what was about to happen.
Zip was purchased, I collected dog from car and off we went on our separate ways. I walked to the front of the store by the disabled parking lots but was beaten by Denis who not only swooped into a spot, but promptly reversed and went back the way he had come – at great speed, I might add.
“I paid for the gas”, he called from the car window, “but forgot to put the gas in the tank – won’t be long”. Rufus and I stood there with our mouths hanging open – has it really come to this?
When Denis arrived back to the gas pump, there was a car occupying the space by his pump, but of course the pump wouldn’t start. The attendant in the office told him that she saw him leave without filling the car and immediately turned the pump off. So, it fell to Denis to explain to the two people getting quite exasperated at the pump, that they had to move to another pump so that he could fill his car with the gas he forgot to put in on his first trip!
Finally he returned with a full tank of gas and we managed to shop without further incident, except that I couldn’t get the prescription I wanted, and we had to go to another store.
It was there, while waiting for the prescription to be filled, that I sat talking to a 90 year old, who, in my estimation, looked 70. She had quietly been waiting for at least 20 minutes for someone to give her some information. We commiserated about how long it took to do something these days. She was also bemoaning the fact that every time he saw her, her son-in-law was on her case about what to eat and what not to eat, plus the fact that she should come off all medication! She retorted on all occasions that obviously she was eating the right thing to get to the age she was and she saw no necessity to change.
As we entered the parking lot of the next pit stop Denis suddenly started to drill me about the Stilton Cheese.
“Did you get the Stilton at Superstore”, he asked. “No”, I said, I thought you were going to do that. “ No, I forgot to do it, would you mind to buy some Stilton in Thrifty’s”. And so it goes on.
What should have been a half hour shopping trip, turned into a whole morning nightmare.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Smile
A post today to remind ourselves that this short poem is very important. It's important to our well-being and to the well-being of others. If anything can lift a spirit, it's a smile.
Smile
Smiling is infectious
You catch it like the flu
When someone smiled at me today
I started smiling too
I passed around the corner
And someone saw my grin
When he smiled I realised
I’d passed it on to him
I thought about that smile
Then realised its worth
A single smile just like mine
Could travel round the earth
So if you feel a smile begin
Don’t leave it undetected
Let’s start an epidemic soon
And get the world infected
NM from Wales, UK
Smile
Smiling is infectious
You catch it like the flu
When someone smiled at me today
I started smiling too
I passed around the corner
And someone saw my grin
When he smiled I realised
I’d passed it on to him
I thought about that smile
Then realised its worth
A single smile just like mine
Could travel round the earth
So if you feel a smile begin
Don’t leave it undetected
Let’s start an epidemic soon
And get the world infected
NM from Wales, UK
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Beliefs
The following is an excerpt from a booklet written about changing a poor self image. We, as old biddies have probably made up our minds a long time ago on the issues discussed in this booklet. I was asked to talk about this booklet to a gathering of about 45 seniors and was extremely apprehensive because seniors were not my target audience. Surprisingly, afterwards everyone bought a copy. They didn’t want it for themselves, they wanted it for their children and grandchildren.
Beliefs
Whether we admit it or not, the one part of our life that has a profound influence on the way we think is our belief system. Take a few minutes to consider the following before flatly refusing to acknowledge that anyone, other than yourself, is responsible for your destiny.
Decide if you (we're not talking other people, we are talking you) believe that you hold the key to your own destiny and peace of mind, or whether God does?
Think about the enormity of that choice because it will affect every facet of your life in the future.
Ask yourself if you have a personal code of ethics to guide you along the way because you will need it, if your choice is to go it alone. This code might have headings such as ‘personal conduct’, ‘accountability’ and ‘commitment’, etc.
Ask yourself about the future and how you are going to conduct it by yourself. Think carefully. It is an awesome undertaking to be totally responsible for the rest of your life.
Determine if you are going to make yourself the person around whom your world revolves. Will you be the person who makes all the decisions, calls all the shots, and expects everything to fall into place immediately?
Decide if you will be forever seeking material things which you believe will bring you happiness and satisfaction, or, is there another choice?
Determine also if skills and knowledge, to the exclusion of all else, are going to provide you with the contentment you are seeking.
The above is just one part of one of the subject areas that affect our lives. The idea behind the booklet is not for me to play psychiatrist, but to nudge recognition of a problem by individuals, which will encourage them to seek professional help if needed.
The other subject areas are:
- The other side of beliefs
- Writing down your problems
- People
- Making connections
- Improve your people image
- Attitude
- Self awareness
- Acceptance
- For more information, please go to www.snosrappublishing.com
Let me know whether you would like to hear about the other side of beliefs.
Beliefs
Whether we admit it or not, the one part of our life that has a profound influence on the way we think is our belief system. Take a few minutes to consider the following before flatly refusing to acknowledge that anyone, other than yourself, is responsible for your destiny.
Decide if you (we're not talking other people, we are talking you) believe that you hold the key to your own destiny and peace of mind, or whether God does?
Think about the enormity of that choice because it will affect every facet of your life in the future.
Ask yourself if you have a personal code of ethics to guide you along the way because you will need it, if your choice is to go it alone. This code might have headings such as ‘personal conduct’, ‘accountability’ and ‘commitment’, etc.
Ask yourself about the future and how you are going to conduct it by yourself. Think carefully. It is an awesome undertaking to be totally responsible for the rest of your life.
Determine if you are going to make yourself the person around whom your world revolves. Will you be the person who makes all the decisions, calls all the shots, and expects everything to fall into place immediately?
Decide if you will be forever seeking material things which you believe will bring you happiness and satisfaction, or, is there another choice?
Determine also if skills and knowledge, to the exclusion of all else, are going to provide you with the contentment you are seeking.
The above is just one part of one of the subject areas that affect our lives. The idea behind the booklet is not for me to play psychiatrist, but to nudge recognition of a problem by individuals, which will encourage them to seek professional help if needed.
The other subject areas are:
- The other side of beliefs
- Writing down your problems
- People
- Making connections
- Improve your people image
- Attitude
- Self awareness
- Acceptance
- For more information, please go to www.snosrappublishing.com
Let me know whether you would like to hear about the other side of beliefs.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Beautiful Madness: One Man's Journey Through Other Peoples' Gardens by James Dodson, Dutton Publishers, 2006
This is an enjoyable, chatty book that follows Dodson on his year of garden discovery. A must for the garden lovers.
Dodson lives in the north of Maine on a hillside where winters are very Canadian (subzero cold) and summer is at best seven weeks long. Apparently, he has tried to ignore that and build an English garden full of tender perennials – a true test of a garden masochist. Each summer he works in a frenzy trying to get everything as he would like it, spending hours and pots of money in the process, only to weep at the winter kill and proceed to envision new plantings the next summer.
His garden centre owner/friend suggested he take a year to be nosy in other people’s gardens and get a horticultural education, So he did, beginning with the Philadelphia Flower Show in March. His journalism skills and contacts brought him to Walt and Linda Fisher who force bulbs of all kinds over the winter to bloom all together in a great crescendo for the Show. From there it was a hop skip and a jump to other gardeners, other gardens and other shows, the famous Chelsea Flower Show being one of them.
One poignant chapter relates his visit to Sweet Alice Brown, an old friend of his mother’s. All her life she had loved her garden and her flowers, but was now in a nursing home suffering from slight dementia. Dodson remembers the riot of plants around her little blue cottage and offers to take her by to see it again. When they get there, he sees scrappy grass, a rusted Monte Carlo, sagging porches, and a chained yellow dog – nothing much left of the garden’s former glory. All that remains is two redbud trees. At her urging, he quickly digs one up (distracting the dog with the remains of his takeout milkshake) and they make a quick getaway.
This is a book for those who love to garden, and for those who love reading about gardens. Dodson has a conversational style that carries you along from page to page, garden to show to gardener to wonderful new discoveries. He invests himself in every scene and anecdote in such a way that you get to know who he is and the enthusiasm he brings to his investigations. His final story in the book is about visiting his mother’s house, long since sold to strangers, to spread her dog’s ashes. Great ending to a most enjoyable book.
Dodson lives in the north of Maine on a hillside where winters are very Canadian (subzero cold) and summer is at best seven weeks long. Apparently, he has tried to ignore that and build an English garden full of tender perennials – a true test of a garden masochist. Each summer he works in a frenzy trying to get everything as he would like it, spending hours and pots of money in the process, only to weep at the winter kill and proceed to envision new plantings the next summer.
His garden centre owner/friend suggested he take a year to be nosy in other people’s gardens and get a horticultural education, So he did, beginning with the Philadelphia Flower Show in March. His journalism skills and contacts brought him to Walt and Linda Fisher who force bulbs of all kinds over the winter to bloom all together in a great crescendo for the Show. From there it was a hop skip and a jump to other gardeners, other gardens and other shows, the famous Chelsea Flower Show being one of them.
One poignant chapter relates his visit to Sweet Alice Brown, an old friend of his mother’s. All her life she had loved her garden and her flowers, but was now in a nursing home suffering from slight dementia. Dodson remembers the riot of plants around her little blue cottage and offers to take her by to see it again. When they get there, he sees scrappy grass, a rusted Monte Carlo, sagging porches, and a chained yellow dog – nothing much left of the garden’s former glory. All that remains is two redbud trees. At her urging, he quickly digs one up (distracting the dog with the remains of his takeout milkshake) and they make a quick getaway.
This is a book for those who love to garden, and for those who love reading about gardens. Dodson has a conversational style that carries you along from page to page, garden to show to gardener to wonderful new discoveries. He invests himself in every scene and anecdote in such a way that you get to know who he is and the enthusiasm he brings to his investigations. His final story in the book is about visiting his mother’s house, long since sold to strangers, to spread her dog’s ashes. Great ending to a most enjoyable book.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
THEY WOULDN'T DARE!
Yesterday morning as I was getting ready for the day, I heard the following story on CBC. It made me mad – and I decided to put it on the old biddy blog to see what other people thought.
The gist of the story is about a baby deer found near the dead body of its mother outside the town of Ucluelet in B.C. five years ago. Janet Schwartz, of Ucluelet, adopted the baby deer and raised it as a pet. Bimbo and Janet have become firm friends over the past five years.
Suddenly, out of the blue, along comes the Ministry of the Environment; not one month, or one year after this adoption occurred, but FIVE years later, and decrees that the deer must be returned to the wild! Where, oh where is common sense?
I have to agree with the Ministry that wild animals should not be kept as pets, but I have to ask what it has done in the past with real wild animals, lions, tigers and snakes, particularly pythons, smuggled into the province and kept in cages as pets; animals who pose a huge danger to people if they escape?
In this case, why did the government not intervene five years ago? I suspect they didn’t know anything about the situation and they only know now probably through the tales of a pious know-it-all neighbour or individual, or possibly one of these rabid environmentalists who cannot make any kind of exception to any rule.
I am outraged on a number of fronts, not the least of which is severing the bond between animal and human that has been forged over the last five years. I doubt that Bimbo could ever be rehabilitated and returning her to the wild is returning her to an environment fraught with dangers for her. She is absolutely no threat to the general public I agree with Janet that the separation of deer and human is not an option. The ‘damage’ such as it is, has been done, and the ministry should now butt out and leave the matter well alone.
You can find more detail about this report by going to www.cbc.ca/bc Select under headlines on left hand side, ‘bc woman fights to keep deer at home’.
The gist of the story is about a baby deer found near the dead body of its mother outside the town of Ucluelet in B.C. five years ago. Janet Schwartz, of Ucluelet, adopted the baby deer and raised it as a pet. Bimbo and Janet have become firm friends over the past five years.
Suddenly, out of the blue, along comes the Ministry of the Environment; not one month, or one year after this adoption occurred, but FIVE years later, and decrees that the deer must be returned to the wild! Where, oh where is common sense?
I have to agree with the Ministry that wild animals should not be kept as pets, but I have to ask what it has done in the past with real wild animals, lions, tigers and snakes, particularly pythons, smuggled into the province and kept in cages as pets; animals who pose a huge danger to people if they escape?
In this case, why did the government not intervene five years ago? I suspect they didn’t know anything about the situation and they only know now probably through the tales of a pious know-it-all neighbour or individual, or possibly one of these rabid environmentalists who cannot make any kind of exception to any rule.
I am outraged on a number of fronts, not the least of which is severing the bond between animal and human that has been forged over the last five years. I doubt that Bimbo could ever be rehabilitated and returning her to the wild is returning her to an environment fraught with dangers for her. She is absolutely no threat to the general public I agree with Janet that the separation of deer and human is not an option. The ‘damage’ such as it is, has been done, and the ministry should now butt out and leave the matter well alone.
You can find more detail about this report by going to www.cbc.ca/bc Select under headlines on left hand side, ‘bc woman fights to keep deer at home’.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
On the Road Again with Verna
..............continued from last post
We finally made it to Ruth and Bill’s. Bill met us on the road, as he said he would and escorted us to the house. We had a great time there, played a lot of bridge and toured the area in his rebuilt 1939 car. I should mention, this is where our cameras came out and we managed to actually take pictures of some people. This was good, otherwise we would have ended up with numerous pictures of wheat fields, which would have gone nicely with my pictures of stunted trees!
After a very pleasant visit with Ruth and Bill, we took off from their house and made our way to the Yellowhead Highway and Prince George; Verna to visit her brother, and me to visit my sister-in-law. The only unplanned incident we had on the way to Prince George was the matter of gas. We followed one of those signs that say ‘Gas Ahead’. I might suggest to our readers, that when you see a sign that says ‘Gas Ahead’, unless you can actually see the garage, don’t go. I thought at the time we didn’t have much choice, but I since realized that we probably had enough gas for another one hundred miles.
Off we went following the signs along a side road. We seemed to travel for an eternity until we finally saw a house with a sign that said ‘GAS’. There were no pumps in sight, or people, so we drove round the back of the house. A young girl came out and directed us to where the one pump was. This was Alberta, so maybe you can have your own gas pump!
With a full tank of gas, we left the gas ‘house’ and instead of turning back the way we came we just carried on into unknown territory. Again, it was another long journey until we came to a house where a man and a lady were working in their yard. I stopped the car and asked the fellow if he could tell us how to get back on the Highway. He went into a lot of turn here, go half a mile, turn left etc. Finally, frustrated, his wife came over to us and said “Don’t listen to him, he will only get you lost. Men don’t understand how woman think”. So she told him to get into the car and lead us back on to the highway, and he did. We really liked that lady.
The rest of the trip was uneventful but very funny. However, this involved relatives so we won’t go into that; you’ll just have to take my word that it was funny.
Will tell you about our trip to Penticton next time.
Biddy Jean
We finally made it to Ruth and Bill’s. Bill met us on the road, as he said he would and escorted us to the house. We had a great time there, played a lot of bridge and toured the area in his rebuilt 1939 car. I should mention, this is where our cameras came out and we managed to actually take pictures of some people. This was good, otherwise we would have ended up with numerous pictures of wheat fields, which would have gone nicely with my pictures of stunted trees!
After a very pleasant visit with Ruth and Bill, we took off from their house and made our way to the Yellowhead Highway and Prince George; Verna to visit her brother, and me to visit my sister-in-law. The only unplanned incident we had on the way to Prince George was the matter of gas. We followed one of those signs that say ‘Gas Ahead’. I might suggest to our readers, that when you see a sign that says ‘Gas Ahead’, unless you can actually see the garage, don’t go. I thought at the time we didn’t have much choice, but I since realized that we probably had enough gas for another one hundred miles.
Off we went following the signs along a side road. We seemed to travel for an eternity until we finally saw a house with a sign that said ‘GAS’. There were no pumps in sight, or people, so we drove round the back of the house. A young girl came out and directed us to where the one pump was. This was Alberta, so maybe you can have your own gas pump!
With a full tank of gas, we left the gas ‘house’ and instead of turning back the way we came we just carried on into unknown territory. Again, it was another long journey until we came to a house where a man and a lady were working in their yard. I stopped the car and asked the fellow if he could tell us how to get back on the Highway. He went into a lot of turn here, go half a mile, turn left etc. Finally, frustrated, his wife came over to us and said “Don’t listen to him, he will only get you lost. Men don’t understand how woman think”. So she told him to get into the car and lead us back on to the highway, and he did. We really liked that lady.
The rest of the trip was uneventful but very funny. However, this involved relatives so we won’t go into that; you’ll just have to take my word that it was funny.
Will tell you about our trip to Penticton next time.
Biddy Jean
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Old Biddy Days Off
Dear Friends:
Even old biddies who are supposed to organize everything, do everything and remember everything, need a break sometimes. For the next seven days, this is my break. See you shortly with a continuation of On The Road Again.
Thank you muchly for your support.
Old Biddy Susan
Even old biddies who are supposed to organize everything, do everything and remember everything, need a break sometimes. For the next seven days, this is my break. See you shortly with a continuation of On The Road Again.
Thank you muchly for your support.
Old Biddy Susan
On the Road Again with Verna
I decided it was time my oldest friend Verna, met my ‘old’ friend Ruth. Ruth and Bill lived in a Trailer Court just south of Edmonton. As usual, we had done nothing in the way of planning before we set off, except to get a few directions. I don’t really know why people give us directions because we never use them. Our friends seem to think we are renowned navigators and so should be able to follow simple directions. If that was true, we would just have to be told to turn right at the Big Red Barn. Those are the kind of directions we can follow, sometimes.
Once in Vancouver, I suggested we take the road through Port Coquitlam, Maple Ridge etc., rather than the Freeway straight out to Hope. We figured the back way would be much less boring than the Freeway. It all sounded simple enough and we would avoid a lot of traffic. I could always dream! I lived in Coquitlam for 29 years but who would have thought in the last 10 years since we left a whole new city had grown up. So eventually, being women and not men, we did ask for directions and managed to follow enough of them to get us on our way.
We got off the ferry at about 10:00a.m., and should have been over the Coquihalla before supper. As it was, we only arrived at Hope in the late afternoon. We had spent so much time finding our way out of Vancouver, instead of taking the Freeway, but what fun would that have been?
Getting out of Hope was a little easier than getting out of Vancouver. We only had to ask a service station guy once for directions to the Coquihalla and he just pointed over our shoulders at the very large sign that said ‘this way’. Not in those words, but you know what I mean.
Once over the Coquihalla, we took a secondary highway to avoid Calgary. We were getting close and weren’t sure (surprise) which was the road to Bill and Ruth’s place. A phone call to Bill and he said, turn on to such n’ such a road and follow it to their place and he would meet us at the road into the trailer park. We came to what looked like a good road, but couldn’t find a name on it. However, we figured this was the road Bill meant. We just went for miles and miles and the farms got further and further apart. The two of us reflected how many trailer parks, unprotected on the ‘bald’ prairie, had been flattened in tornados and we decided this is not right road. So, we turned around and went back to the main road.
Following the highway for a short distance, we saw ahead of us about six or eight RCMP officers with three or four police cars. Obviously, there was a serious problem for the RCMP. We just pulled into their ‘Road Block’. I mean people are usually pulled over at a road block, you don’t go into one! They really looked puzzled, like what the heck were these two old biddies doing? One officer came over to the car and I asked him if he knew where “such n’ such a road was. He pointed to a matter of yards from where they had set up their road block. Again, there was a nice big sign telling us that this was the road we wanted. As we pulled away, looking back we could see all these officers scratching their heads and smiling.
To be continued............
Biddy Jean
Once in Vancouver, I suggested we take the road through Port Coquitlam, Maple Ridge etc., rather than the Freeway straight out to Hope. We figured the back way would be much less boring than the Freeway. It all sounded simple enough and we would avoid a lot of traffic. I could always dream! I lived in Coquitlam for 29 years but who would have thought in the last 10 years since we left a whole new city had grown up. So eventually, being women and not men, we did ask for directions and managed to follow enough of them to get us on our way.
We got off the ferry at about 10:00a.m., and should have been over the Coquihalla before supper. As it was, we only arrived at Hope in the late afternoon. We had spent so much time finding our way out of Vancouver, instead of taking the Freeway, but what fun would that have been?
Getting out of Hope was a little easier than getting out of Vancouver. We only had to ask a service station guy once for directions to the Coquihalla and he just pointed over our shoulders at the very large sign that said ‘this way’. Not in those words, but you know what I mean.
Once over the Coquihalla, we took a secondary highway to avoid Calgary. We were getting close and weren’t sure (surprise) which was the road to Bill and Ruth’s place. A phone call to Bill and he said, turn on to such n’ such a road and follow it to their place and he would meet us at the road into the trailer park. We came to what looked like a good road, but couldn’t find a name on it. However, we figured this was the road Bill meant. We just went for miles and miles and the farms got further and further apart. The two of us reflected how many trailer parks, unprotected on the ‘bald’ prairie, had been flattened in tornados and we decided this is not right road. So, we turned around and went back to the main road.
Following the highway for a short distance, we saw ahead of us about six or eight RCMP officers with three or four police cars. Obviously, there was a serious problem for the RCMP. We just pulled into their ‘Road Block’. I mean people are usually pulled over at a road block, you don’t go into one! They really looked puzzled, like what the heck were these two old biddies doing? One officer came over to the car and I asked him if he knew where “such n’ such a road was. He pointed to a matter of yards from where they had set up their road block. Again, there was a nice big sign telling us that this was the road we wanted. As we pulled away, looking back we could see all these officers scratching their heads and smiling.
To be continued............
Biddy Jean
Thursday, July 30, 2009
DOWN MEMORY LANE
With reference to the previous post, I can almost hear, “Oh, that’s the kind of thing I would do!” In fact, a friend mentioned this morning when I met her, “Susan,” she said, “I can’t count the number of times I can identify with that situation.”
In this post, I thought I would like to offer re-assurance for those of us who think that because we take the milk carton to the bathroom, instead of the frig, we really are losing it!
About 15 years ago, I attended a seminar on “Your Memory”, in the hope that I would find some answers to my forgetfulness. In many respects the seminar was just what I expected, but from another angle it was quite outstanding. The particular explanation I heard concerning forgetfulness and memory as we get older has stayed with me to this day; and, in my advancing years, given me great comfort.
The speaker likened our brain to the hard disc drive of a computer. When we first begin to use the computer, it is very fast because it is a brand new hard drive with very little on it. The more we use it and the longer we have it, the slower it becomes as we ask the computer to retrieve information from the hard drive. To grant our request, the computer must sort through hundreds and thousands of files and material resident on its hard drive; so it takes a tad longer to get the answer.
So it is with our brain. The older we get, the more difficult it becomes to enunciate and retrieve information from our brain. If it is difficult for a computer to find material in less than one second, can you imagine the pressure on our brains which hold a life time of data – much more than a small computer could ever hold.
So we mumble or grumble, or to be honest, curse and swear because we cannot think of the word we want to use; somebody’s name, or even worse, where we had put something away for safety! Remember, this is all quite normal and not an indication of an underlying serious problem. No, we are not getting senile.
This explanation provided to me by the ‘Memory” seminar all those years ago, has served me very well indeed and I just wanted to pass it along to you as a reminder.
In this post, I thought I would like to offer re-assurance for those of us who think that because we take the milk carton to the bathroom, instead of the frig, we really are losing it!
About 15 years ago, I attended a seminar on “Your Memory”, in the hope that I would find some answers to my forgetfulness. In many respects the seminar was just what I expected, but from another angle it was quite outstanding. The particular explanation I heard concerning forgetfulness and memory as we get older has stayed with me to this day; and, in my advancing years, given me great comfort.
The speaker likened our brain to the hard disc drive of a computer. When we first begin to use the computer, it is very fast because it is a brand new hard drive with very little on it. The more we use it and the longer we have it, the slower it becomes as we ask the computer to retrieve information from the hard drive. To grant our request, the computer must sort through hundreds and thousands of files and material resident on its hard drive; so it takes a tad longer to get the answer.
So it is with our brain. The older we get, the more difficult it becomes to enunciate and retrieve information from our brain. If it is difficult for a computer to find material in less than one second, can you imagine the pressure on our brains which hold a life time of data – much more than a small computer could ever hold.
So we mumble or grumble, or to be honest, curse and swear because we cannot think of the word we want to use; somebody’s name, or even worse, where we had put something away for safety! Remember, this is all quite normal and not an indication of an underlying serious problem. No, we are not getting senile.
This explanation provided to me by the ‘Memory” seminar all those years ago, has served me very well indeed and I just wanted to pass it along to you as a reminder.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
STUPIDITY
I have been intrigued with the 'Musings of the Old Biddy'. I don't know what the male of the species is called, but never mind, we should be allowed to have our say. There are many examples of 'Old Timers' not quite with it. I wasn’t quite with it recently, and I couldn’t believe I could be so stupid.
I like to experiment with cooking and recently made a steak and kidney pudding which I used to love as a child in England. However, having gone to town with the ingredients, I had so much steak and kidney left over I thought I would make a stew. With my stews, I always like to have dumplings, large and fluffy dumplings, so I set about making them. Out came my scales to measure the ingredients for dumplings and I weighed 3 ounces of shredded suet and put that into a dry pudding basin. Next, I added a pinch of salt and thoroughly mixed the suet and salt together. Then came the all purpose flour and I measured out 6 ounces of flour.
During this time, the simmering steak and kidney stew was making me feel very hungry. I quickly mixed the contents in the pudding basin with sufficient water to bind the dumplings. This is a bit of a messy palaver; the mixed dough had to be molded into balls the size of.....well it doesn't matter too much..... if you like dumplings you can make them large or small. After boosting the simmering stew to boiling point, I carefully forked my balls of dough into the stew.
After 25 minutes of cooking time, I eagerly served up my stew with my light-as-a-feather dumplings. Biting into one of them, I nearly broke my teeth! My, oh my, what had happened? My dumplings were just as hard as cannon balls. Had my mind temporarily lapsed? Where had I gone wrong?
Pondering the whole matter, my eyes roamed around the kitchen and came to rest on the scales and I was mortified. There was the carefully measured flour still on the scales. I had forgotten to add the flour! Will I ever live that down?
D.P. The Old Timer
I like to experiment with cooking and recently made a steak and kidney pudding which I used to love as a child in England. However, having gone to town with the ingredients, I had so much steak and kidney left over I thought I would make a stew. With my stews, I always like to have dumplings, large and fluffy dumplings, so I set about making them. Out came my scales to measure the ingredients for dumplings and I weighed 3 ounces of shredded suet and put that into a dry pudding basin. Next, I added a pinch of salt and thoroughly mixed the suet and salt together. Then came the all purpose flour and I measured out 6 ounces of flour.
During this time, the simmering steak and kidney stew was making me feel very hungry. I quickly mixed the contents in the pudding basin with sufficient water to bind the dumplings. This is a bit of a messy palaver; the mixed dough had to be molded into balls the size of.....well it doesn't matter too much..... if you like dumplings you can make them large or small. After boosting the simmering stew to boiling point, I carefully forked my balls of dough into the stew.
After 25 minutes of cooking time, I eagerly served up my stew with my light-as-a-feather dumplings. Biting into one of them, I nearly broke my teeth! My, oh my, what had happened? My dumplings were just as hard as cannon balls. Had my mind temporarily lapsed? Where had I gone wrong?
Pondering the whole matter, my eyes roamed around the kitchen and came to rest on the scales and I was mortified. There was the carefully measured flour still on the scales. I had forgotten to add the flour! Will I ever live that down?
D.P. The Old Timer
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Rufus
My shadow, as black as a crow, finds his step in tune with my own.
Eyes, the shade of arbutus in the sun, know the path by heart where we will walk.
Morning reaches down into the damp woods and lays gently her warm blanket down.
Seagulls scream for unknown desires; the geese parade along the edge of the water.
The heron hunts for its next meal with a stealthy eye.
All these things will still be tomorrow.
Dog stops to ponder the moment with pure of heart and an uncomplicated mind.
He comes to sit at my feet as I rest.
The seagulls disappear into the sky with the rising sun and the geese head back to quieter places.
The heron lifts off with hesitant wings to wait for another day.
My shadow, light as angel wings, walks beside me.
His dark chocolate eyes can see the truth and nothing more.
All these things will still be tomorrow.
But none will last as long as the bond between us.
Love without words, loyalty without bounds and shadows without darkness.
Dog, with coat as black as night, brings light to my eyes.
And I am grateful for the warmth in my life.
Nearly Biddy
Ava
Eyes, the shade of arbutus in the sun, know the path by heart where we will walk.
Morning reaches down into the damp woods and lays gently her warm blanket down.
Seagulls scream for unknown desires; the geese parade along the edge of the water.
The heron hunts for its next meal with a stealthy eye.
All these things will still be tomorrow.
Dog stops to ponder the moment with pure of heart and an uncomplicated mind.
He comes to sit at my feet as I rest.
The seagulls disappear into the sky with the rising sun and the geese head back to quieter places.
The heron lifts off with hesitant wings to wait for another day.
My shadow, light as angel wings, walks beside me.
His dark chocolate eyes can see the truth and nothing more.
All these things will still be tomorrow.
But none will last as long as the bond between us.
Love without words, loyalty without bounds and shadows without darkness.
Dog, with coat as black as night, brings light to my eyes.
And I am grateful for the warmth in my life.
Nearly Biddy
Ava
Monday, July 20, 2009
The Black Dog and Blue Fly
Lulu, her muzzle bearing tell-tale signs of extra rich strawberry ice cream, sat in her usual position between the two front seats of the car balanced on the gear shaft casing. Her lovely beady brown eyes darted expectantly between Mother and Granny, hoping that more ice-cream was coming her way. She was a beautiful, if somewhat podgy Doberman Pinscher with her black coat glistening in the sunlight. She was enjoying her 'treat' after a long run on the beach and a swim in the sea - a feast of ice cream at the local cafe car park, generously offered by her doting owner and owner's mother (Granny).
Reluctantly she noted that preparations were being made to leave and therefore ice cream gorging had ended for the afternoon. She settled herself comfortably on her towel on the back seat of the car ready for the journey home. It was a hot day, so all the windows were open allowing a breeze, although not very cool, to circulate around Lulu and humans as the car moved off.
Shortly the car drew up at traffic lights, adjacent to a market stall. Between the market stall and the car stood a rather nervous looking older lady clutching her bicycle, waiting for the lights to change. Mother and Granny promptly christened her 'Nervous Nelly'.
Suddenly, there was a high pitched yelp as Lulu leapt onto a startled Granny's lap with a thud. This unexpected action unleashed a whole chain of unexpected events. Overcome with shock on hearing the yelp, Nervous Nelly nearly jumped out of her skin momentarily releasing her bicycle which fell over onto the nearest market stall loaded with oranges.
While Mother was trying to calm Granny and Dog, there was an angry shout as a precariously balanced crate of oranges, dislodged by the falling bicycle smashed onto the pavement. Oranges cascaded out of the crate and rolled all over the street.
Two volunteers from the crowd gathering to see what was going on, went to help the owner of the stall collect the oranges. Unfortunately, one of the volunteers stood on an orange which split and he slipped. He put his hand out to grab the nearest thing to steady him which was hosepipe used to produce a gentle spray to refresh the produce. As he grabbed the hose it was wrenched out of the socket in the wall and the water, which had been carefully controlled into a slow steady trickle for the purpose of watering, now gushed on to the assembled crowd.
As Mother glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw the mounting chaos in the square, the traffic lights turned to green and she decided that discretion was the better part of valour as she moved her foot onto the accelerator. She didn't want to be around to witness the next turn of events.
When they arrived home, Mother was determined to find out what made Lulu jump into Granny's lap. She didn’t have very far to look. There, on the back window ledge of the car was a large, exhausted bluebottle fly in its death throes. She knew, only too well that if Lulu encountered a fly the very worst was to be anticipated. Given freedom of space, the dog would beat a hasty retreat from the vicinity of the wretched fly - she just couldn't stand them. Any encounter between dog and fly encouraged human involvement to dispatch the fly at the earliest opportunity; a bit difficult in the confined space of a car.
The people in the market square thought they had problems being soaked to the skin and picking up oranges. They just didn't know how lucky they were that Lulu's preference was to jump on Granny's lap instead of out of the window!
Reluctantly she noted that preparations were being made to leave and therefore ice cream gorging had ended for the afternoon. She settled herself comfortably on her towel on the back seat of the car ready for the journey home. It was a hot day, so all the windows were open allowing a breeze, although not very cool, to circulate around Lulu and humans as the car moved off.
Shortly the car drew up at traffic lights, adjacent to a market stall. Between the market stall and the car stood a rather nervous looking older lady clutching her bicycle, waiting for the lights to change. Mother and Granny promptly christened her 'Nervous Nelly'.
Suddenly, there was a high pitched yelp as Lulu leapt onto a startled Granny's lap with a thud. This unexpected action unleashed a whole chain of unexpected events. Overcome with shock on hearing the yelp, Nervous Nelly nearly jumped out of her skin momentarily releasing her bicycle which fell over onto the nearest market stall loaded with oranges.
While Mother was trying to calm Granny and Dog, there was an angry shout as a precariously balanced crate of oranges, dislodged by the falling bicycle smashed onto the pavement. Oranges cascaded out of the crate and rolled all over the street.
Two volunteers from the crowd gathering to see what was going on, went to help the owner of the stall collect the oranges. Unfortunately, one of the volunteers stood on an orange which split and he slipped. He put his hand out to grab the nearest thing to steady him which was hosepipe used to produce a gentle spray to refresh the produce. As he grabbed the hose it was wrenched out of the socket in the wall and the water, which had been carefully controlled into a slow steady trickle for the purpose of watering, now gushed on to the assembled crowd.
As Mother glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw the mounting chaos in the square, the traffic lights turned to green and she decided that discretion was the better part of valour as she moved her foot onto the accelerator. She didn't want to be around to witness the next turn of events.
When they arrived home, Mother was determined to find out what made Lulu jump into Granny's lap. She didn’t have very far to look. There, on the back window ledge of the car was a large, exhausted bluebottle fly in its death throes. She knew, only too well that if Lulu encountered a fly the very worst was to be anticipated. Given freedom of space, the dog would beat a hasty retreat from the vicinity of the wretched fly - she just couldn't stand them. Any encounter between dog and fly encouraged human involvement to dispatch the fly at the earliest opportunity; a bit difficult in the confined space of a car.
The people in the market square thought they had problems being soaked to the skin and picking up oranges. They just didn't know how lucky they were that Lulu's preference was to jump on Granny's lap instead of out of the window!
Friday, July 17, 2009
AN OLD BIDDY'S BOOK REVIEW
The Holford GL Diet By Patrick Holford
Today is useful information day. At least I think it useful, you may not. Patrick Holford was recommended to me by my sister, so I promptly went to the library and picked up his books. His platform is excellent – use food instead of medicine and his Low GL diet appealed because it involved eating lots of fruit and vegetables which I love. The ‘GL’ is the abbreviation for Glycemic Load and there is no need for a detailed explanation, until you read the book.
Some of you may have read my feelings on various diets in ‘The Day The Scales Crashed’ in a previous post. But, I decided a couple of weeks ago that an attempt on another diet was in order, hence my decision to invest in the above book.
I started out in fine fettle, spending an enormous amount of money on the foods the author recommended. Basically, I had to eat mainly fruit, vegetables and protein in the form of chicken or fish to begin with; carbohydrates were supplied in the form of oats, oat cakes and pumpernickel bread. Forget it!
With the size of the servings I was supposed to consume, I became aware that Mr. Holford was catering to the foodaholics who consumed copious amounts of food before switching diets. For them, the quantity of servings in the diet would perhaps be more in keeping with the amount they previously ate and consequently less of a shock to their systems.
Oats as a cereal are not a problem; as oatcakes they are ghastly in my book and pumpernickel bread is like eating sawdust. That really is the only real criticism of the diet I have.
Unfortunately, cooking for me is a complete waste of time and after labouring over what seemed to be ‘cordon bleu’ recipes for main dishes, common sense told me that, upon analysis, they were just plain protein and vegetable tarted up.
The GL diet is basically a good nutritious diet, set out in detail with all the benefits, menus, recipes, exercise recommendations, balancing blood sugar, etc., in good comprehensive form.
My own problems are simply, as I have emphatically stated, quite personal. I don’t like wasting time cooking, the portions are far too large for me and I am not amenable in any way to oatcakes and pumpernickel bread.
There is another problem that has nothing to do with any of the above. I have discovered that I have a food allergy to sugar and that includes sugar in overly sweet fruits. The amount of sugar I consume directly affects my asthma and I cannot afford to mess around with anything containing an excessive amount of sugar, much as I love fruits.
Incidentally, the expense incurred for the initial shopping expedition was hefty because I needed to stock up. This is not an ongoing high expense diet.
I would certainly recommend that you read this book. It is available at the library, so have a look see and then if you are interested, buy the book. The diet is good, nutritious and sensible and I am continuing with it with some modifications as per the problems outlined above.
Good reading, good cooking and good eating.
Today is useful information day. At least I think it useful, you may not. Patrick Holford was recommended to me by my sister, so I promptly went to the library and picked up his books. His platform is excellent – use food instead of medicine and his Low GL diet appealed because it involved eating lots of fruit and vegetables which I love. The ‘GL’ is the abbreviation for Glycemic Load and there is no need for a detailed explanation, until you read the book.
Some of you may have read my feelings on various diets in ‘The Day The Scales Crashed’ in a previous post. But, I decided a couple of weeks ago that an attempt on another diet was in order, hence my decision to invest in the above book.
I started out in fine fettle, spending an enormous amount of money on the foods the author recommended. Basically, I had to eat mainly fruit, vegetables and protein in the form of chicken or fish to begin with; carbohydrates were supplied in the form of oats, oat cakes and pumpernickel bread. Forget it!
With the size of the servings I was supposed to consume, I became aware that Mr. Holford was catering to the foodaholics who consumed copious amounts of food before switching diets. For them, the quantity of servings in the diet would perhaps be more in keeping with the amount they previously ate and consequently less of a shock to their systems.
Oats as a cereal are not a problem; as oatcakes they are ghastly in my book and pumpernickel bread is like eating sawdust. That really is the only real criticism of the diet I have.
Unfortunately, cooking for me is a complete waste of time and after labouring over what seemed to be ‘cordon bleu’ recipes for main dishes, common sense told me that, upon analysis, they were just plain protein and vegetable tarted up.
The GL diet is basically a good nutritious diet, set out in detail with all the benefits, menus, recipes, exercise recommendations, balancing blood sugar, etc., in good comprehensive form.
My own problems are simply, as I have emphatically stated, quite personal. I don’t like wasting time cooking, the portions are far too large for me and I am not amenable in any way to oatcakes and pumpernickel bread.
There is another problem that has nothing to do with any of the above. I have discovered that I have a food allergy to sugar and that includes sugar in overly sweet fruits. The amount of sugar I consume directly affects my asthma and I cannot afford to mess around with anything containing an excessive amount of sugar, much as I love fruits.
Incidentally, the expense incurred for the initial shopping expedition was hefty because I needed to stock up. This is not an ongoing high expense diet.
I would certainly recommend that you read this book. It is available at the library, so have a look see and then if you are interested, buy the book. The diet is good, nutritious and sensible and I am continuing with it with some modifications as per the problems outlined above.
Good reading, good cooking and good eating.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Group Aims to Enjoy Life
The Red Hat Society began in 1998 when Sue Ellen Cooper started giving her friends a red hat and a copy of "Warning", a poem about a woman in purple clothing and a red hat. The significance of this was to remind them that life is short and every day is a gift that needs to be celebrated.
In no time, a group formed to simply enjoy life and each other, and the Society has taken off. There are hundreds of thousands of members all over the U.S. and Canada who enjoy getting together, and one of the results of getting together is the book Eat Dessert First!
Once I opened this book, I found lots of recipes that called to me, sang to me, and lured me down calorie lane. I had to photocopy some of them, only for personal study though so I did not infringe copyright law. One I will have to try is Auntie Joyce's Wine Biscuits, as we always seem to have one or two half-finished bottles of wine that we just can't pour out even though we don't like it.
Many of the recipes reflect the American penchant for making dishes using mixes and other packaged items. The Cake Mix Cinnamon Rolls look pretty good in the photograph. I tried them out and, yes indeed, they were yummy. I don't know how they are after a day out of the oven as there were no crumbs left to test.
Gloria Novak
For The Oceanside Star
This quick review of East Dessert First – oh, those decadent calories, reminds us of two very important facts. First, as we grow older, we need to socialize and enjoy life. Some of us, myself included, tend to cocoon ourselves in the house. The other reminder is that there is a book out there with recipes for unmentionable dessert calories which we need to look at, buy, or borrow from the library – to heck with the calories. Why should we bother about such nonsense at our age. After all, once in a while……………….
In no time, a group formed to simply enjoy life and each other, and the Society has taken off. There are hundreds of thousands of members all over the U.S. and Canada who enjoy getting together, and one of the results of getting together is the book Eat Dessert First!
Once I opened this book, I found lots of recipes that called to me, sang to me, and lured me down calorie lane. I had to photocopy some of them, only for personal study though so I did not infringe copyright law. One I will have to try is Auntie Joyce's Wine Biscuits, as we always seem to have one or two half-finished bottles of wine that we just can't pour out even though we don't like it.
Many of the recipes reflect the American penchant for making dishes using mixes and other packaged items. The Cake Mix Cinnamon Rolls look pretty good in the photograph. I tried them out and, yes indeed, they were yummy. I don't know how they are after a day out of the oven as there were no crumbs left to test.
Gloria Novak
For The Oceanside Star
This quick review of East Dessert First – oh, those decadent calories, reminds us of two very important facts. First, as we grow older, we need to socialize and enjoy life. Some of us, myself included, tend to cocoon ourselves in the house. The other reminder is that there is a book out there with recipes for unmentionable dessert calories which we need to look at, buy, or borrow from the library – to heck with the calories. Why should we bother about such nonsense at our age. After all, once in a while……………….
Saturday, July 11, 2009
The Road Trips: South and West Vancouver Island In Two Days Flat!
Verna’s husband passed away 10 plus years ago. Since then, my good friend Verna and I have taken a road trip somewhere every year. Don, my husband, is quite happy for me to go on these trips, just as I am happy to see him go snowboarding in the winter. We do manage to get away together at some time during the year. However, this year I am not so sure because he has all those zucchinis to look after.
Back to the trip with Verna; we always take our cameras along for the ride. Halfway through the trip we decide we should really take some pictures and we do, just once. For example, I have several picture of stunted trees in Alberta and Verna has many pictures of sand formations we saw at a rest stop. That is about the extent of our picture taking. Each trip we stop and take pictures of vague, undefined and boring landscape, somewhere along the way. We don't even take pictures of each other. If we did, we would only look at them and wonder who were those two old biddies.
As you would probably tell us, we should really stop and smell the roses on our trips, instead of traveling from A to B in one mad dash to get there. I am also thinking it is about time we traded our cameras in and got a camcorder. I am sure it would make for some very interesting dialogue!
I bet we are the only two people who toured the southern and western part of Vancouver Island in two days! For those of you not familiar with Vancouver Island, that is about 4 or 5 days of touring at the pace old biddies generally tour. We planned on taking a week because we have to figure on getting lost, at least once. The first day we went south to Victoria, and then on to Sooke. The following day we traveled back up the Island again and did the west coast. Actually, we never got lost once; confused, yes, but not lost. For instance, friends told us we should go to the Wickaninnish Inn on the west coast, and have lunch. According to them it was a great place to visit. Well, we went there and didn’t think it was that hot. Added to that, we couldn’t find out where our friends had eaten.
Later we discovered there are two Wickaninnish Inns, the old and the new. Of course we went to the old which is now just an information centre and place from which you can view the Pacific Ocean. Furthermore, the two Inns are nowhere near each other.
We drove to Uculet approximately 30 kilometers down the road, where we had lunch in an old boat that was made into a restaurant. The food was really good. After lunch I asked where the rest room was and was directed to the head of some stairs. Ah, life is never that simple for us. Down I went into the bowels of the ship and at the bottom was a long hallway which I followed, right into what looked like crew quarters. At least there was a bathroom complete with toothbrushes and other grooming gear.
It was eerie and apparently I was the only one down there. I suddenly realized that if I yelled for help, nobody would hear me. Added to all this I was now beginning to doubt myself. This was not the rest room for the restaurant because those stairs were pretty steep and you have to step over a sill from room to room; there was no way it was a wheelchair friendly place. I worked my way back upstairs to where Verna was beginning to wonder if I was O.K. I suggested to her if she has to use the bathroom, I would stop at the first garage and she can use theirs.
Did I mention that this year we are planning (the only way Verna and I plan is to just get in the car and drive), a trip to the northern most part of the Island. We will just go till we run out of road. I am planning to pick Verna up at the ferry in Comox. If we are going to get lost, this would be the time, trying to get out of Comox!
I figure this is the only reason why she and I take these jaunts; so we can get together and have a lot of laughs We laugh at things other people don’t think are funny and we learn new words to call all the other drivers on the road.
Till the next time,
Biddy Jean
Back to the trip with Verna; we always take our cameras along for the ride. Halfway through the trip we decide we should really take some pictures and we do, just once. For example, I have several picture of stunted trees in Alberta and Verna has many pictures of sand formations we saw at a rest stop. That is about the extent of our picture taking. Each trip we stop and take pictures of vague, undefined and boring landscape, somewhere along the way. We don't even take pictures of each other. If we did, we would only look at them and wonder who were those two old biddies.
As you would probably tell us, we should really stop and smell the roses on our trips, instead of traveling from A to B in one mad dash to get there. I am also thinking it is about time we traded our cameras in and got a camcorder. I am sure it would make for some very interesting dialogue!
I bet we are the only two people who toured the southern and western part of Vancouver Island in two days! For those of you not familiar with Vancouver Island, that is about 4 or 5 days of touring at the pace old biddies generally tour. We planned on taking a week because we have to figure on getting lost, at least once. The first day we went south to Victoria, and then on to Sooke. The following day we traveled back up the Island again and did the west coast. Actually, we never got lost once; confused, yes, but not lost. For instance, friends told us we should go to the Wickaninnish Inn on the west coast, and have lunch. According to them it was a great place to visit. Well, we went there and didn’t think it was that hot. Added to that, we couldn’t find out where our friends had eaten.
Later we discovered there are two Wickaninnish Inns, the old and the new. Of course we went to the old which is now just an information centre and place from which you can view the Pacific Ocean. Furthermore, the two Inns are nowhere near each other.
We drove to Uculet approximately 30 kilometers down the road, where we had lunch in an old boat that was made into a restaurant. The food was really good. After lunch I asked where the rest room was and was directed to the head of some stairs. Ah, life is never that simple for us. Down I went into the bowels of the ship and at the bottom was a long hallway which I followed, right into what looked like crew quarters. At least there was a bathroom complete with toothbrushes and other grooming gear.
It was eerie and apparently I was the only one down there. I suddenly realized that if I yelled for help, nobody would hear me. Added to all this I was now beginning to doubt myself. This was not the rest room for the restaurant because those stairs were pretty steep and you have to step over a sill from room to room; there was no way it was a wheelchair friendly place. I worked my way back upstairs to where Verna was beginning to wonder if I was O.K. I suggested to her if she has to use the bathroom, I would stop at the first garage and she can use theirs.
Did I mention that this year we are planning (the only way Verna and I plan is to just get in the car and drive), a trip to the northern most part of the Island. We will just go till we run out of road. I am planning to pick Verna up at the ferry in Comox. If we are going to get lost, this would be the time, trying to get out of Comox!
I figure this is the only reason why she and I take these jaunts; so we can get together and have a lot of laughs We laugh at things other people don’t think are funny and we learn new words to call all the other drivers on the road.
Till the next time,
Biddy Jean
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