%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |    My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon. |
| PROMPT March 30th Congratulations on making it to the last day of the competition! What was your favorite prompt from the last month? What was the most rewarding aspect of participating in the competition? Whew! I've survived another month of blogging without my brain exploding. I kinda like the thought process of a daily blog post. I never know what I'm going to 'write' until I sit at my computer and stare at the blank screen. Do I have a favourite prompt? Hmmm... each one forced me to come up with something. Describing and reminiscing about board games made me laugh. I enjoyed revisiting memorable vacations. I believe I was creative with the finding of a four-leaf clover prompt. Being asked to consider the passage of time between 2010 and now caused some reflection. No, I cannot narrow it down to just one. Rewarding aspect? I enjoy reading the various comments and the discussions that are generated. I tip my hat to my fellow bloggers. Merci! |
| PROMPT March 29th What did you like / dislike about where you grew up? What do you like / dislike about where you live now? Ah, that is the question. Did I grow up? Did I mature? Some would answer nope. I will begrudgingly admit I aged. Sad, but true, I grew older. Now I recall my childhood in a small town known as Preston. Did I like it? Yes, yes I did. During my elementary school years, I lived one block from the school. Pretty difficult not to arrive there. What could go wrong in such a short distance? Oh sure, I suppose I could dilly and dally along the route. I never had to hurry. No possibility existed for me to skip school in favour of other pursuits. Neighbours knew where I should be and when. We all heard the school bells throughout the day that announced the time table. I rarely walked alone either. A gang of kids would sweep me up and herd me along. Every day I sauntered to and from school for my lunch break. Preston was not too big and not too small. I enjoyed the freedom to explore on my bicycle. One of my favourite haunts, the local library, never failed to entertain me. Wall to wall books beckoned. I loved to meander about Riverside Park with its immense, lush trees, manicured lawn, bright flowers, inviting trails, a small petting zoo, and of course, the playground. Nothing beats an afternoon spent sliding, swinging, and running. Sometimes, I'd recline on one of the benches and people-watch. Most days in the humid summer, my siblings, friends and I graced Eddie's Pool with our boisterous presence. Our parents preferred to stay home, probably to revel in the brief respite our absence provided. Ah, sun and water. When I close my eyes and travel back, I see all the bikes leaning against the fence glinting. Eddie's Pool was the place to hang out. I remember the constant throb of noise; squeals, whistles, shouts, laughter, splashes. I survived a period during my teens when I, the non-athletic klutz, insisted upon roller skating at the nearby arena. I never succeeded to master that distinctive rolling motion despite my repeated efforts. I tortured myself for the camaraderie, the booming music, and the chance to add to my bruise collection. My knees have never forgiven me. In Preston, my Mom would send me out on errands. I'd visit the butcher shop, the bank and other businesses as her emissary. I believe all the kids were doing this. For my high school years, I had to hike a couple of miles, but my route could be varied from day to day. At lunch breaks, my pals and I visited a Dairy Queen for ice cream treats. We wandered pretty much at will always deep in conversation. If and when any of us yearned for the attractions of a big city, we'd drive to Toronto which is about an hour from Preston. We could and did get our fill before we returned home. I've lived in many different areas since I left home and I still prefer smaller towns to cities. I like a quieter pace of life with less hustle and bustle. I visit bigger metropolises, ( metropoli?), but I've never been tempted to reside in them. For many years now, I've called Sundridge home . It boasts one school, an elementary one, one bank, one grocery store, a lakefront hotel, a hardware store, one drug store, a post office, a handful of restaurants and two traffic lights which were only added during a rerouting of the highway. The main street can be counted in a handful of blocks . Oh wait, did I mention there are two car dealerships? One of them stretches along the main street and spreads over a set of railway tracks. Railroad officials periodically hold meetings in which they encourage residents not to cross the tracks at this car lot...as if, not going to happen. Two of its garages are separated by the tracks. I am less than a block from Lake Bernard. Everything I could need is within walking distance and my vehicle sits for days before I drive it. My son, daughter-in-law, and two of my grandgiggles live nearby. Yes, I like where I live. As I mentioned, I've moved around and I do not plan to do so again. |
| PROMPT March 28th We need your help filling the Challenge War Chest with prompts! In your entry today, write three of your own 30DBC prompts and then choose one to respond to. Is it that time already? Okay, here are my three prompt suggestions... 1. If you have a pet, describe their day from their perspective. No pets? Choose your favourite animal. 2. If you could visit anywhere on earth, for a one-month vacation, where would you go and what would you do? 3. 10 Rules I've Broken I find that third prompt intriguing. Hmmm... what rules have I broken? 1. Speed limits... yes, okay, I will admit that sometimes I ignore speed limits. Do I have an excuse? No, not really, but sometimes speed limits are too restrictive. If I'm the only vehicle and weather conditions are optimal I will over-extend the speed of my car. Maybe part of travelling is in the journey, but when you just want to get the drive over with and arrive at your destination, you tend to push the accelerator. At some of the posted highway speeds it can seem as if I'm barely moving, or making any headway. I am not however a stunt racer. That's another level of ridiculousness and disregard for other drivers. Yes, I've earned a few speeding tickets in my lifetime, but three in forty-five years? Darn those impatient grandgiggles who insist, "Just go Nanna!" Not that I permit them to influence me... 2. Don't wear white after Labour Day. Says who and why? I will wear whatever colour I choose because I'm a rebel. In full disclosure, I must also state that clothing was impossible, especially whites, to keep stain-free when I lived in a certain town. The excess iron and manganese in the water supply ruined everything. It's no exaggeration to describe this water as resembling ice tea. Oh, and my skin tone is best described as beyond the pale. I'm whiter than white and that skin I'm in follows me everywhere. 3. Do not swim right after eating. OOPS. Really? As a kid I'd eat and swim all day everyday, well, everyday in the summer. One fueled the other. I suffered no ill effects. 4.Do not eat before surgery. Ah, oops again. Mea culpa. I must have a cast iron stomach. When I was sixteen and in a semi-private room with another young woman also waiting for surgery the next day, we snuck into a small hospital kitchen in the early morning hours. We made cups of tea and helped ourselves to the cookies we found. I ignored the nothing by mouth after midnight rule, but my knee surgery went off without a hitch. 5.best before dates on food. At times, I've dismissed these as simply guidelines, or suggestions. No, I've never been so reckless as to open a several years old can, a bulging can. Dairy products are iffy if past their prime, too. Bread, crackers, cookies, cereal should be okay to eat. 6.Don't stare, it's rude. Sorry, but it's a compulsion. I intend no harm, but I find people fascinating and when in public I indulge in people watching. 7.Do not remove tags from mattresses, stuffed articles, and furniture. Is this a rule? Of course, I rip off that stiff, annoying, overly large white tag. I fail to see the need for consumer cautions. I'm willing to take the risk and sleep on my mattress and lounge on my couch. I assume that heavy mantle of responsible ownership. 8. Follow the Covid -enforced markings upon the store's floor. Initially, I did not notice the red arrows stuck to floors in an attempt to direct customer flow and maintain social distancing. Their direction seemed arbitrary. To access one aisle I must find its entry point and treat it as a one-way street. Heaven forbid I proceed against the traffic. There is an upside though. For those who count their daily steps this helps them add a few more. Entire aisles must be strolled to reach the one you desire in the one-way mazes. 9.No trespassing. Um, define trespassing? Is it always deliberate? I may have broken this rule once, or twice, but in my defence I was wandering lost in a forest with Girl Guides. One large evergreen looks much like another. You really cannot see the forest for the trees. 10. Step on a crack, break your mother's back. I proved this to be a fallacy. I've tripped and skipped over many sidewalk cracks without injuring my mother. Too many times, I injured myself, but, hey, I'm the klutz. |
| PROMPT March 27th In your entry today, write about one of the most frightening moments of your life. I'm a mother and as such the most frightening moments in my life involve my children. Oh, there are numerous times my heart blocked my throat and all I could see was the immediate incident with all its unknowns. Adrenalin has bolstered me more times than I care to count. Who needs a stress test? I suppose the times I felt powerless to help my offspring were the most frightening. Events unfolded that I had no control over. One such incident happened almost sixteen years ago. My daughter-in-law, Terrilynn was rushed to the hospital in pre-mature labour with her second daughter. She had only celebrated her own birthday the day before and did not expect the arrival of Emily until late January. This was October. She underwent an emergency caesarian and Emily became a resident of the neo-natal intensive care unit. All I could do during that stressful day was fret, pace and care for my eldest granddaughter. I offered words of encouragement during one rushed phone conversation with my son. Events played out without my being able to comfort with hugs and my physical presence. I had no idea what was happening and what the outcome was. I had no experience with caesarian births and my mind raced with worry. The what-ifs and the unknowns were frightening. Was Terrilynn okay? How was Emily? How could I make this better? How was Chris coping? How dare this happen to my son and his family! Until the moment Emily arrived home Christmas Eve, every day brought more stress and worry. As a preemie, she battled to stay alive. She had to learn to breathe and to suckle. Luckily, she had no other health issues that might require surgery. This wee babe needed to gain weight and thrive. She needed to grow into her skin, literally. The first time I saw Emily in her incubator, I stared in wonder. She presented as a loose suit of skin, translucent skin exposing the outline of her tiny skeleton within. She was delicate and unlike the robust babies I'd known. I like to tell Emily that she was the length of a pencil, a new pencil, not a stubby. Fast forward many years and Emily caused another scare. I rushed my grandgiggle and her mother to the emergency room after a neighbour's dog attacked. Terrilynn and I were the frightened ones while Emily seemed to enjoy her experience. As the doctor stitched her cheek, Emily strained to see the procedure and she never shed a tear. The resultant scar eventually faded, but as it healed Emily liked to show it off. That silly Emily now muses about a fracture. She would like to break her arm just to feel what it's like. This 'wish' may be because my son is all too familiar with his own fractures. So far, she remains unenlightened. |
| PROMPT March 26th If you asked your friends to describe you using only three words, what would they say? And why do you think so? This is once again where I stall in an effort to think of something and I repeat the question. What would my friends say to describe me? What would they say, hmmm? Would they claim that I do just this? Would they speak of my delaying tactics? Could they point out that I'm avoiding the prompt? I'm wondering... I truly am wracking my brains. Perhaps they'd say I am modest because I do not speak of myself, or self-promote. I am just me, take it, or leave it. I've never forced my writing on anyone. Most of my pals have never read what I scribble. No one could ever describe me as posh, snobby, or better than anyone else. I don't care about appearances least of all my own. There are no putting on airs with me. I garb myself in t-shirts and jeans. I own no make-up. My eyebrows and eyelashes, my finger nails, oh, and my hair are original. I will and do engage in conversation with anyone, anywhere. I suppose my confidantes will point out that I am klutzy, clumsy, basically an accident magnet. I will begrudgingly agree. I am far from athlete material and nothing I do in my everyday life would qualify as extreme sport. Some will swear that I trip on air and there are times I'm bewildered. There's a high probability that walking across a room I will stumble, or slip, or collide with a piece of furniture, or step on my own foot, or bounce off a wall. Witnesses have been startled as I hurtled out of a trailer door and they've searched for the perpetrator that must've pushed me. I've suffered internet surfing accidents whereby I've rolled across my own foot with the computer chair I'm riding seated on, or that same ornery chair has bucked me off. Video footage exists of me executing a spectacular slip and fall in a grocery store. My truthful friends might let slip that I am a chatterbox. Yes, I like to talk. It's as natural and necessary as breathing. My school report cards never failed to remind my parents of this. Quiet time? Reading time? Watching a film? Gym time? My motto is a conversation should be acceptable anywhere and with anyone. Why wait silently in a line? Strike up some words with a fellow traveler to wile away the long hours. Who believes elevators are not for getting-to-know-yous? Waiting rooms often promote the best gab fests. My local post office always provides a convenient meeting place for people to natter with. So, this might describe modest, clumsy, chatty me. |
| PROMPT March 25th What’s the best or worst practical joke that you’ve played on someone or that was played on you? Well, my brother and I thought it to be hilarious if we refilled Dad's glass beer bottles with tap water and hammered the metal cap back on. Ah, Dad probably humoured our pitiful attempts to trick him. The battered cap must've been a clear give-away. My kids and I have hurried into a restaurant to request a no-smoking table . Then we hid the smoker's cigarette package and his lighter inside a paper napkin dispenser right on the table. Did he really not see his cigs nestled amongst the white napkins? At a restaurant when our three children were elementary school age, my hubby ordered three 'brown cows' for them. The waitress reappeared with the adult liquor version of 'Brown Cows.' Had she never heard of chocolate milk being called 'brown cow?' Someone, a complete stranger, substituted salt for white sugar at a local store and I purchased it. Haha, whomever you are. I brought home a six-pound bag of a white crystalline substance and poured it into my sugar canister. On Christmas day, I mixed up pancakes from scratch and my youngest tasted them first. Even with maple syrup they were salty. She then stirred two teaspoons of the fake sugar into her cup of tea. Blecch! Gag! When I was pregnant with my first child and as big as a house, my baby sister decided to prank me. At eleven, she could not appreciate how difficult it is for a pregnant woman to deal with footwear. At that stage, while standing I could not make visual contact with my feet. They existed and carried on out of sight. It is far from easy to pull on shoes with that resisting mound thwarting your considered efforts. Imagine a firm beach ball stuffed under your shirt as you huff and puff. After my visit concluded, I struggled to cram my foot into a winter boot. I pushed. I stood up and stomped the foot. Nope, my foot would not, could not enter the boot. Had my feet grown since I'd arrived? Oh no, were my feet also swollen? I heard Sherry trying to stifle laughter as she watched me intently. Hubby reached down and picked up the uncooperative boot. From within he pulled out a tennis ball and lobbed it at my sister. Haha, not. |
| PROMPT March 24th Write about some of your most memorable vacations. Where did you go? Who were you with? What was your favorite part of the trip? Family trips, specifically camping excursions are most memorable. Nothing else promotes togetherness quite like it. When I was a youngster, my parents, three siblings and I, plus two dogs first attempted camping in a tent. I remember it resembled a circus thing of canvas all green and yellow stripes. In no way did it blend into the Northern Ontario forest campsite and I'm sure the local wildlife viewed it as a pop-up food source. Many a night, I heard foraging raccoons squabbling over our scraps. Striking a tent, especially a new one and therefore unknown is an exercise in patience. Specific metal poles must be coaxed through their respective slots. We learned that a tent has a front and a rear. Poles bend. Poles sway. The corners of the tent need to be pegged into the ground. There really should not be anything lumpy, or bumpy under the floor such as branches, or rocks. Dogs do not respect the no-walking across the tent while it's helpless upon the earth rule. The zipper is not a toy even though it's within reach on the flap. Waking up to our first official morning as campers in May, we discovered snow upon the ground. Of course, none of our clothing had been packed with the return of winter in mind. Crammed, I mean cuddled together in our temporary shelter, we had not noticed the temperature drop. It is known as roughing it. Starting a fire to cook breakfast proved difficult, but not impossible. I appreciated the toast created over a round metal ring and the minor burns were worth it. During that same weekend, one of our German Shepherds pestered an ornery skunk and desperately needed a bath. My father made an emergency foray into a nearby village to purchase cans of tomato juice which we used to douse the sorry dog. I fell asleep that night next to a damp, snoring canine who perfumed the air with eau de skunk and notes of pizza sauce. Hubby and I recreated this family fun with our own three children and two dogs. Ah, there's something nostalgic about the aroma of damp dogs and wood smoke. We shared our escapades and many campfires with friends. During one such getaway, my eldest slugged her friend across the head with a broken wooden baseball bat she found. No, it was not a deliberate attack. Valerie stepped behind Carrie just as she swung at the ball. Nothing is more chilling than hearing your eldest scream she's killed Valerie. Oh, blood certainly made it seem as if this girl had died. My hubby and her mother whisked Val to a country doctor who performed a miracle with sixty plus facial stitches. When she returned later that evening just in time for a fireworks display, poor Val resembled a prize fighter with dark purple bruises, swelling, an eye swollen shut, and the stark line of stitches tracked across her fair face. During another unforgettable weekend, my son, Christopher found himself trapped within a de-commissioned army tank. Yep, this campground proudly displayed an old metal tank upon a cement platform and kids would climb up inside to explore. My eldest alerted me to her brother's plight by simply telling me he was stuck. For some strange reason, I interpreted this to mean kids would not let him leave the tank. I soon discovered that no, he really and truly was stuck up inside. I had to prostrate myself and shimmy under the tank. I next had to climb up inside to see my son all bug-eyed and perspiring with his arm buried to his shoulder in what I perceived to be an exhaust port. Of course, I did not believe my eyes and I tried to extricate him with a tug, but, no, he was wedged tight. Within minutes we were joined in our cramped quarters by off duty volunteer firemen who'd also been camping nearby. They brought cooking oil and dish soap donated by fellow holidayers that only drenched us and did not free Chris. Our ears were assaulted by the echoing hammering of an impact gun attempting to cut its way into the one tank wall. Shoulder to shoulder with these take charge strangers, I suggested that we ask for a doctor to come and break my son's arm. Drastic, yes, but I wanted him freed. A doctor did squish in with us to sedate Chris and dislocate his arm. A relieved Chris was whisked away and I soon wriggled out. We were met by a huge cheering crowd, an ambulance with strobing lights, an immense fire truck, a couple of police cars also with flashing red and blue lights, and a distinct line of yellow 'Do Not Cross' tape. I was nudged to the open back doors of the ambulance and boosted up inside. Chris and I were slimy and dripping with sweat, grease, cooking oil, and soap, but we were out of that infernal tank. Whew! Camping is occasionally a wee bit nerve-wracking. During another campout, my youngest fell off a boat moored at a dock. We parents could not see her in the murky water and my hubby fell in, too. He'd leaned against a collapsible railing which is what we suspected Danielle did. On his downward plummet, he struck our daughter who was rising to the surface. The two of them were bundled up in blankets and placed before a roaring fire to recuperate. From this scare, we learned to expect anything and always pack extra gear. One jacket and one pair of shoes may not be enough. Be prepared. For us, this is an omen. Anyway, we survived to camp another day and we still camp as a family years later. We have more memories to create. |
| PROMPT March 23rd What do you do to improve your mood when you are sad? If you are frustrated or angry, what is your secret to feeling better? When I'm feeling blue and the logistics of a face-to-face meeting are insurmountable, I treat myself to a Facetime visit. It's all so Jetson'ish, but I can see a familiar visage as we speak. As a matter of fact, I heard the distinct warble that announces such a splendid phone call just a few moments ago. I answered to be greeted by the grinning ,close-up face of my two-year old grandgiggle, Alexandra. She burbled, "Nanna!" and then scampered out of visual range. I watched her twirl and skip as the phone's screen sought her out and followed her. In the kitchen, she built a tower from canned and bottled goods she swiped from a corner cupboard. With an "oh no" and one sweep of her arm, Alexandra knocked her creation to the floor. Via the camera scan, I chased rolling cans and I glimpsed a blur of the ceiling. After a bit of coaxing, she returned everything to its rightful shelf while muttering, "thank you." I heard and witnessed her search for 'chat', a pink, scraggly cat. She dragged a favourite pink blanket behind her. While my daughter, Danielle and I chatted, Alexandra plopped herself in her mother's lap for a brief thumb-sucking break. Recharged she jumped and rolled across the couch. She returned to stare into the phone and contort her face into a few skewed poses to hear me laugh. She is working on a wink. After a few 'byes', I took the hint and bid my daughter and grandgiggle adieu. What a great mood enhancement without the four-hour drive. I'll travel in person for Easter. Dancing, or what I as a klutz refer to as dancing, and belting out song lyrics to upbeat music never fails to improve my melancholy. Most likely my increased heart rate and gasping for air add to my euphoria. Just being grateful that my breathing eventually returns to normal banishes any blue emotions. If I experience anger, or frustration, I force myself to get moving. Yep, I punish my poor, unprepared muscles. There's nothing like a brisk march when the ol' blood is boiling. It might as well pump for a good reason. I try not to throw things. This is usually a regrettable reaction that only leads to self-anger as I clean, repair, replace the airborne objects. Flying missiles fail to solve anything. Now, having said this, I must admit to one moment of passionate fury. Many years ago, my hubby restored a jeep for his brother. For months, he welded, sanded and painted in our garage. One fine morning, Tim, my bro-in-law, confronted me and I lost it. Suffice it to say, I'd discovered some 'irregularities', financial irregularities instigated by Tim. I demanded that he remove his jeep from 'my' property, but before he could do so, I exploded. Only one last piece remained to be installed on that finished vehicle and it stood leaning against a wall. I picked up the brand new windshield and let it drop on the driveway, smashing it to smithereens. Tim had to reverse over that broken glass. It felt so satisfying! The shattered glass still covered the asphalt when my husband returned home and this clean-up became one I didn't mind at all. Temper, temper... |
| PROMPT March 22nd Write about your earliest memory. Try to describe it in as much detail as possible. Memory is fluid. It ebbs and flows. It shimmers and shape-shifts. Sometimes it's murky. Sometimes it floats to the surface unbidden and then it meanders in slow-moving circles. Memory may be a nagging snippet of loose thread pulled from a snagged sleeve. Has a hole been formed? How? Where is that sleeve? When did this happen? Why this thread, this sleeve? Some memories burst forth as blinding flashbacks, all kinetic energy and echoing noise. Burned gunpowder assaults the nose. I squint in the brightness. Sunlight dances and glimmers all around me as I try to touch it. Something tickles my chin. Warmth caresses my cheeks, and my hair is tugged and tousled. I am seated and struggling to maintain my balance. A force nudges me, pushes me, rocks me. I kick my bare feet and a grittiness scrubs my toes. With some effort, I reach down to squish this new roughish texture between my fingers. Raising my bare arm water droplets plink down onto my upturned forehead and I blink as they trickle from my eyelashes and down my cheek. I strike the cool water churning it into mini waves. I am splattered by wet splashes, plonks, splats, ker-plunks. There, my earliest memory is of me becoming and enjoying being a water baby. I've never feared or disliked water. |
| March 21st Prompt: What food or dish have you never eaten, but would like to try? Hmmm, I will answer I dunno. Oh, this is not because I am a fussy eater. Really, I will try anything at least once. I have tasted disgusting cucumbers more than once to my gagging horror and their flavour has not improved. So, anything with cucumbers in it will never feature on my must try list. Who was the monster who suggested they'd be yummy in a sandwich? Salads do not need them. Did I mention I like most anything edible? In my culinary escapades I've sampled and enjoyed haggis. This name I admit is more palatable than blood pudding. Granted this dish is not easy on the eyes, but I can attest to its deliciousness. Being adventurous I've also sampled beef tongue and if cooked properly, this delicacy melts in the mouth. Yes, I also like kidney and liver. I love spicy fare, food with a kick. This means I tend to enjoy curries. So many spices are aromatic and tempt me before my taste buds meet them. Peppers, such as habanero and jalapeño enhance a meal. Growing up, I happily ate the food my diverse neighbours created whether that was Jamaican, German, Portuguese, Italian, or Greek to name a few. In more recent years, I've discovered Thai dishes and I would never turn them down. So, no, I cannot think of a food I'd like to try. I follow the see food diet. I eat what I see and yes, that includes actual seafood. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
