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.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
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
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
The Fly Fisherman
A fly fisherman is a true artist. He casts and performs a beautiful display of loops and curves with his line as he sends it flying over the water, eventually placing the fly at the end of the line in front of the fish lurking just below the surface; the fish doesn’t stand a chance. For the fish it is fatal temptation and it is not too long before our artist and hero is ‘bringing in the big one’ (all 12 inches of it)! What poetry in motion, what a feeling of satisfaction, what a tale for the telling.
After several attempts at this new sport, Denis sensed that this fly fishing business was not going to be a piece of cake. Weighed down by all kinds of equipment that he didn’t need as a beginner, he joined the ‘experts’ on a couple of local lakes. To his horror his casting was appalling, he was using the wrong type of flies and worse still, was creating too much of a splash on the lake, immediately advertising his presence to the fish and irritating other anglers nearby. However, he persevered.
As he became more practiced in his art, our intrepid hero had to suffer the indignities of overturned canoes, soaking clothes, flies in the hair, stalled engines on the boat, tangled lines and countless other stories to explain, ‘The one that got away.’
Wanting to reach the height of perfection, a never ending cash flow was required to purchase the ‘vital’ equipment needed to assure success. This included rods – not just any rod but the best hand-made rod and an array of back-up rods designed according to the species of fish to be caught.
Of course, there was the reel to go on the rod. Clearly, nothing but the best was appropriate for Denis – and several of them.
Hooks and flies – without which it is difficult to catch a fish, were added to the ever swelling inventory. Hooks vary in size, again depending on the type and size of fish being pursued.
Flies – a fly, is a fly, is a fly – not so when it comes to flies for sports fishing. They come in a beautiful array of colours for all kinds of fish and all kind of weather as well as ‘wet’ or ‘dry’ flies. The dry flies float on top of the surface and the wet fly (lure) swims in the surface water or below. In both cases the choice depends on what type of fish the fisherman is chasing, their feeding habits, the environment and the weather.
Clothing was not exempt from the, ‘I definitely need’ list. When he started fishing, Denis was content with the basics, but he progressed in his art, he found that waders were a definite asset together with a wading stick to test the depth of the waters at the bottom of the river (mud has a habit of sinking).
It was not too long before he realized that urgent repairs to broken lines or tippets were better done in the river, rather than returning to the bank. Therefore, a fishing vest had to be purchased; otherwise it would be impossible to fish!
A fishing vest is a waistcoat composed of a multitude of pockets upon pockets to hold all the tools of the trade and a variety of clips on which to hang the implements not suitable for pocket storage. Amongst other things, the vest may sport pliers, penknives, files, flies, fly boxes, a thermometer, a whistle, a flotant, scissors, a fly drying patch etc. In fact a well equipped fly vest, fully loaded, succeeds in presenting our intrepid fisherman as a ‘Pearly King’ or Christmas tree without lights.
As he climbed the expensive ladder of success to fishing competency and in some cases, outstanding flashes of brilliance, Denis had to focus on times and weather. The optimum times for fishing would appear to be between 7.00 a.m. and 2.00 p.m. and one hour before dusk to half an hour after dusk. There are, of course, other times to be tried – all day long and all night long, if necessary.
As in countless situations, other than fishing, the weather is crucial. A strong cold east wind can cause the fish to go deeper into the water. Bright days with a cloudless sky or white clouds tend to enhance the vision of the fish. The ideal condition may well be the still, dull, warm day in excess of 50ºF.
Finally, what does our hero see in this sport of fly fishing? To the layman or onlooker it is a dull, boring, slow and often futile sport, to say nothing of the cost.
As Denis points out, it is the enjoyment of pitting his wits against those of the fish. What wits does a fish have, I ask? He maintains that there is no time to think about other mundane problems and he is getting plenty of aerobic exercise, climbing, walking and casting. Above all there is the solitude, the river or lake, the countryside and the communion with nature. Then there is always the anticipation of catching ‘The Big One’ or just ‘a fish’ to show for being out all day and half the night!
Copyright © Susan Lancaster.
After several attempts at this new sport, Denis sensed that this fly fishing business was not going to be a piece of cake. Weighed down by all kinds of equipment that he didn’t need as a beginner, he joined the ‘experts’ on a couple of local lakes. To his horror his casting was appalling, he was using the wrong type of flies and worse still, was creating too much of a splash on the lake, immediately advertising his presence to the fish and irritating other anglers nearby. However, he persevered.
As he became more practiced in his art, our intrepid hero had to suffer the indignities of overturned canoes, soaking clothes, flies in the hair, stalled engines on the boat, tangled lines and countless other stories to explain, ‘The one that got away.’
Wanting to reach the height of perfection, a never ending cash flow was required to purchase the ‘vital’ equipment needed to assure success. This included rods – not just any rod but the best hand-made rod and an array of back-up rods designed according to the species of fish to be caught.
Of course, there was the reel to go on the rod. Clearly, nothing but the best was appropriate for Denis – and several of them.
Hooks and flies – without which it is difficult to catch a fish, were added to the ever swelling inventory. Hooks vary in size, again depending on the type and size of fish being pursued.
Flies – a fly, is a fly, is a fly – not so when it comes to flies for sports fishing. They come in a beautiful array of colours for all kinds of fish and all kind of weather as well as ‘wet’ or ‘dry’ flies. The dry flies float on top of the surface and the wet fly (lure) swims in the surface water or below. In both cases the choice depends on what type of fish the fisherman is chasing, their feeding habits, the environment and the weather.
Clothing was not exempt from the, ‘I definitely need’ list. When he started fishing, Denis was content with the basics, but he progressed in his art, he found that waders were a definite asset together with a wading stick to test the depth of the waters at the bottom of the river (mud has a habit of sinking).
It was not too long before he realized that urgent repairs to broken lines or tippets were better done in the river, rather than returning to the bank. Therefore, a fishing vest had to be purchased; otherwise it would be impossible to fish!
A fishing vest is a waistcoat composed of a multitude of pockets upon pockets to hold all the tools of the trade and a variety of clips on which to hang the implements not suitable for pocket storage. Amongst other things, the vest may sport pliers, penknives, files, flies, fly boxes, a thermometer, a whistle, a flotant, scissors, a fly drying patch etc. In fact a well equipped fly vest, fully loaded, succeeds in presenting our intrepid fisherman as a ‘Pearly King’ or Christmas tree without lights.
As he climbed the expensive ladder of success to fishing competency and in some cases, outstanding flashes of brilliance, Denis had to focus on times and weather. The optimum times for fishing would appear to be between 7.00 a.m. and 2.00 p.m. and one hour before dusk to half an hour after dusk. There are, of course, other times to be tried – all day long and all night long, if necessary.
As in countless situations, other than fishing, the weather is crucial. A strong cold east wind can cause the fish to go deeper into the water. Bright days with a cloudless sky or white clouds tend to enhance the vision of the fish. The ideal condition may well be the still, dull, warm day in excess of 50ºF.
Finally, what does our hero see in this sport of fly fishing? To the layman or onlooker it is a dull, boring, slow and often futile sport, to say nothing of the cost.
As Denis points out, it is the enjoyment of pitting his wits against those of the fish. What wits does a fish have, I ask? He maintains that there is no time to think about other mundane problems and he is getting plenty of aerobic exercise, climbing, walking and casting. Above all there is the solitude, the river or lake, the countryside and the communion with nature. Then there is always the anticipation of catching ‘The Big One’ or just ‘a fish’ to show for being out all day and half the night!
Copyright © Susan Lancaster.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Michael Jackson (From an Old Biddy's Perspective)
When Michael Jackson burst onto the pop musical scene in the late 1980s and early 1990s, I could see he and I were not going to get along!
I was then in my late forties, and for me, he was way too far out. His music was something I would never listen to, his eccentricity was beyond belief, and his voice, the odd song here and there I heard by accident, was not particularly the kind of voice I appreciated. I didn’t see any of his videos and so was unaware of any other talents he had. In fact Michael Jackson was a vague, eccentric personality somewhere out there on the horizon in my life and I really had not formed any kind of opinion about him.
That being said, I didn’t approve of the way the press always had him ‘in our faces’ whether we liked it or not. The public was forced to swallow much more of Michael Jackson than perhaps they or he wanted. During his various lawsuits and trials, you were compelled to read at least one paragraph of the proceedings because it was all on the front page, and in most cases – filled the front page. In spite of my indifference towards him, I never believed for one moment that he was guilty of any of the charges brought against him. In my opinion, these legal sensations were the result of a couple of people who had known the star. They saw an opportunity to capitalize on a tenuous situation and blow it out of all proportion. For them, this was all in the name of money, money, money. How pathetic.
I could lapse into a complete tirade about how the press treats all these various celebrities. It is dreadful. The press can do a lot for us, but they can also quite calmly destroy people’s lives without any care in the world. When someone dies, the media goes on a feeding frenzy and pushes forward any material good or bad that cause people to buy the paper and therefore earn more money for the press.
We have seen this exact same media nonsense with Diana, Princess of Wales. The media went mad and have since gone to profound lengths to keep her memory in the news with whatever tidbit they can get hold of. Unfortunately, they are aided and abetted by a voracious component of the public who don’t seem to care what they read as long as it provides them with gossip and something to talk about. It now looks as though we are going down the same road with Michael Jackson. Everybody is suffering; most of all his three children, the rest of his family, his friends and his fans. Do they really want to see their idol smeared with put downs and any grotty innuendo the mass communications can find?
As mentioned before, the media does have its positive side and for me, that was taking whole television news hours to define what Michael Jackson had meant to his fans. At last I was able to see what everyone was raving about, because I watched his dancing, his singing and bits of clips of his private life and interviews.
I was truly amazed. Here was an extremely multi-talented, versatile person. His voice was excellent, his dancing fabulous and his charisma electric. Looking also at some of the interviews he tolerated about his personal life left me truly disgusted with the media. How rude could they get? In addition to all his talents, he was quite a handsome man despite his efforts to change his face.
It has been alleged that he died heavily in debt, and, if that is the case, I don’t think his estate will be debt-ridden for long. In fact, in death he will probably make more money than when he was alive and financially more than compensate for the come back we never saw.
I am sad that he has gone; sad because he was so young, sad because he left three charming children without a father and sad because his further contribution to his art will never be.
I finally have a new respect for Michael Jackson – he was superb in all that he did. I might buy his videos – if I can find them.
Rest in peace, Michael.
I was then in my late forties, and for me, he was way too far out. His music was something I would never listen to, his eccentricity was beyond belief, and his voice, the odd song here and there I heard by accident, was not particularly the kind of voice I appreciated. I didn’t see any of his videos and so was unaware of any other talents he had. In fact Michael Jackson was a vague, eccentric personality somewhere out there on the horizon in my life and I really had not formed any kind of opinion about him.
That being said, I didn’t approve of the way the press always had him ‘in our faces’ whether we liked it or not. The public was forced to swallow much more of Michael Jackson than perhaps they or he wanted. During his various lawsuits and trials, you were compelled to read at least one paragraph of the proceedings because it was all on the front page, and in most cases – filled the front page. In spite of my indifference towards him, I never believed for one moment that he was guilty of any of the charges brought against him. In my opinion, these legal sensations were the result of a couple of people who had known the star. They saw an opportunity to capitalize on a tenuous situation and blow it out of all proportion. For them, this was all in the name of money, money, money. How pathetic.
I could lapse into a complete tirade about how the press treats all these various celebrities. It is dreadful. The press can do a lot for us, but they can also quite calmly destroy people’s lives without any care in the world. When someone dies, the media goes on a feeding frenzy and pushes forward any material good or bad that cause people to buy the paper and therefore earn more money for the press.
We have seen this exact same media nonsense with Diana, Princess of Wales. The media went mad and have since gone to profound lengths to keep her memory in the news with whatever tidbit they can get hold of. Unfortunately, they are aided and abetted by a voracious component of the public who don’t seem to care what they read as long as it provides them with gossip and something to talk about. It now looks as though we are going down the same road with Michael Jackson. Everybody is suffering; most of all his three children, the rest of his family, his friends and his fans. Do they really want to see their idol smeared with put downs and any grotty innuendo the mass communications can find?
As mentioned before, the media does have its positive side and for me, that was taking whole television news hours to define what Michael Jackson had meant to his fans. At last I was able to see what everyone was raving about, because I watched his dancing, his singing and bits of clips of his private life and interviews.
I was truly amazed. Here was an extremely multi-talented, versatile person. His voice was excellent, his dancing fabulous and his charisma electric. Looking also at some of the interviews he tolerated about his personal life left me truly disgusted with the media. How rude could they get? In addition to all his talents, he was quite a handsome man despite his efforts to change his face.
It has been alleged that he died heavily in debt, and, if that is the case, I don’t think his estate will be debt-ridden for long. In fact, in death he will probably make more money than when he was alive and financially more than compensate for the come back we never saw.
I am sad that he has gone; sad because he was so young, sad because he left three charming children without a father and sad because his further contribution to his art will never be.
I finally have a new respect for Michael Jackson – he was superb in all that he did. I might buy his videos – if I can find them.
Rest in peace, Michael.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Ghosts in the Attic - Catch Up.
After writing about our ghosts initially (see previous post), we had peace and quiet for about three weeks.
While reading my book one evening, the banging started again and I just couldn’t believe it. What was going on? Again, Denis and I toured the house and could find nothing that could be the cause of this problem.
After two or three days of this intrusion into our daily lives, we decided that something had to be done, but what? Since we could not identify the noise, it was difficult to know the qualified person needed to fix the problem. Our best bet so far was someone in construction because we were now convinced that something was going on in the basic roof construction and if it wasn’t fixed we had visions of part of the roof collapsing.
The following evening, Denis walked into the lounge with a smug grin on his face and announced that he had found ‘the ghost’.
“What!”
“You’ll never guess. They are the speakers belonging to my computer.”
“But that’s in your office, not the attic,” I reminded him.
“Come and see”, said Denis as he started to walk back to the office.
He twiddled the knob on the speaker as he increased the volume, and sure enough there came the hollow, rather loud static bang that sounds exactly like someone banging on the wall.
Since Denis’s office was at the end of the house, I could see how the sound could reverberate and appear to be coming from other places.
“We can easily put this to the test,” said Denis, “by turning off the speakers and then putting them on again.” Sure enough, it was the speakers, and when they were off we never heard another sound. $155 later our problem was solved.
So much for our ‘ghosts’! The moral of this story is – if you think you have ghosts in the attic, check the speakers attached to the computer first.
I was telling this story to someone yesterday, and she asked me if I seriously believed in ghosts?
Do you?
While reading my book one evening, the banging started again and I just couldn’t believe it. What was going on? Again, Denis and I toured the house and could find nothing that could be the cause of this problem.
After two or three days of this intrusion into our daily lives, we decided that something had to be done, but what? Since we could not identify the noise, it was difficult to know the qualified person needed to fix the problem. Our best bet so far was someone in construction because we were now convinced that something was going on in the basic roof construction and if it wasn’t fixed we had visions of part of the roof collapsing.
The following evening, Denis walked into the lounge with a smug grin on his face and announced that he had found ‘the ghost’.
“What!”
“You’ll never guess. They are the speakers belonging to my computer.”
“But that’s in your office, not the attic,” I reminded him.
“Come and see”, said Denis as he started to walk back to the office.
He twiddled the knob on the speaker as he increased the volume, and sure enough there came the hollow, rather loud static bang that sounds exactly like someone banging on the wall.
Since Denis’s office was at the end of the house, I could see how the sound could reverberate and appear to be coming from other places.
“We can easily put this to the test,” said Denis, “by turning off the speakers and then putting them on again.” Sure enough, it was the speakers, and when they were off we never heard another sound. $155 later our problem was solved.
So much for our ‘ghosts’! The moral of this story is – if you think you have ghosts in the attic, check the speakers attached to the computer first.
I was telling this story to someone yesterday, and she asked me if I seriously believed in ghosts?
Do you?
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