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
Friday, September 25, 2009
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.
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