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 |    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. |
| Creation Saturday! Redefine the Ides of March to your liking and/or personal benefit. Beware the ides of March. Yep, I've heard that one before. Let's see, Caesar met his untimely demise by way of an assassination. No, murder isn't my cup of tea, not even the character assassination sort. I must admit I Googled today's blog subject. Apparently, this date was considered to be the first day of Spring, and a deadline for settling debts in Roman times. Okay, these are far less deadly than Caesar's fate, unless loan sharks are involved. Nah, I'm not the ultimatum/ threatening type of gal. What would I do with my own private ides of March? Hold up. Wait a minute. I can't shake the enforcer image of whacking a debtor in the knees... Isn't this what a loan shark refers to as " knee-capping"? Heck ya, I can think of somebody I'd like to take out at the knees. Well, actually, I'd like to take care of one of my knees. The left one is a pain, no really. It fails to hold its fair share of my weight, and it complains constantly. I cannot stand, roll over, or move without twinges, jabs, and stabs provoking me. My best foot forward is a grudging limp. I'm tired of stumbling. I'm tired of not sleeping. I'm tired of aching. My ides of March would be a blessed, wonderful, pain-free day. Oh what bliss to experience this for even one brief twenty-four hour period. On this glorious day, I will command my knee to shut up. It will be a no-whine time. |
| Fun Fact Friday! On this day in 1454, Amerigo Vespucci was born in Florence, Italy...Matthias Ringmann, a German mapmaker, named the American continent in his honor. What unexpected places have your personal explorations led you to? For a time, I became an amateur sleuth seeking the genealogy of my family. My initial explorations were of the sort conducted seated on a chair in front of a computer. I followed the trail of my ancestors from Ireland and England to Canada. I discovered that my Irish paternal people first settled in the province of Quebec. This intrigued me because the relatives I did know from this side of my family had never mentioned this particular connection, and they too seemed surprised . It's not as if my family were French speakers either. I studied the language in school, and I understand enough to make myself understood. In a strange coincidence, the hubby and I had opted to tour southern Quebec during our honeymoon eons ago. The area fascinates me, and after my genealogical find, I realized it just may be a natural attraction. Anyway, one summer weekend, my spouse and I decided to partake of a spontaneous road trip. We live in Northern Ontario, and driving is something we do all the time, and a necessary means of travel. With our bags packed and the gas tank filled, we set off. Fate, or whatever steered us towards our country's capital city, Ottawa. We'd visited this place many times, but, hey, why not another tour of the area? Of course, during the drive, we talked, and I mentioned my latest research finds. It set the wheels in motion for our next discovery. Ottawa is a border city between Ontario and Quebec. We were already so close to the town that my ancestors had inhabited, and we were curious. Yes, we bypassed Ottawa in favour of Shawville, Quebec. So, unannounced and as strangers, we visited this hamlet. Our first impressions were of a quiet, well-kept area. At a local diner, we partook of a late breakfast, and sparked conversations with our fellow diners. Our first surprise was that no one spoke French, the official language of this belle province. This amused the patrons. We soon learned that there was also no Catholic church, This was not a typical Quebec village at all. Our new friends were a chatty, friendly, and forthcoming lot. When they heard of my family surname, they all were quick to offer assistance and first-hand accounts. Apparently, I'd discovered the best place to honour my heritage, and the name Brownlee. I was accepted no questions asked, and with no hesitation, or doubt whatsoever. That name was my calling card. I was given directions to the nearby homes of several living and breathing Brownlees. I was told to just go there and knock on the doors, I'd be welcomed. So, I did just that. I met a relative who was also an avid genealogy buff, and he ushered me into his home. It turned out that we had shared family tree information on-line. We chatted happily for hours. Next, we visited and strolled through the main street cemetery. We noted the headstones of the relatives I'd found via my searches. As we toured this site, an elderly woman left her adjacent home, and approached us. It turned out she was a Brownlee widow, and she too was only too happy to talk about her husband and his kin. Like the other helpful townspeople she urged us to visit the Anglican Church. Everything was meant to be that day. At the Church, we were greeted by the husband and wife ministers, and yes, they were Brownlees, too. We were treated to our very own tour of this historical church which featured beautiful stained-glass windows dedicated to my dead family. It was a Brownlee who spearheaded the building of this edifice. Again, we passed hours hearing Brownlee lore from people who would know. It became one of the best weekends of my life. Call it serendipity, or chance, or even fickle fate. I learned so much about my ancestors, and discovered a quaint town seemingly transported from England. My surname was all the passport I required. I'm convinced it had been waiting for me to discover it. |
| The Wildcard Round! Winner gets a choice between a non-exclusive MB they don't have or a 10k portfolio ribbon. Says the Virtual Dice...when I get there *Smirk*. Give us the best definition of "lazy" you'll allow yourself to get away with...before it's "too much", but to where you're not right with being shamed for it. Lazy, eh? I've been counselled not to name names by those who understand the legalese of libel/ slander. Apparently, it's perfectly acceptable to describe, label, and disparage these same people as long as they are unaware of it, and I don't reveal their identities. But the whole point is that they are lazy. If they had to lift a finger, or feign interest then they wouldn't be lazy. I define lazy as those disinclined to do anything, or become involved. These souls are reluctant to expend energy, or effort unnecessarily. They refuse to step up and step out. Their get up and go got up and went. They are not concerned in the least with self-motivation, self improvement, or self-maintenance. Their attitude is one of why bother. The lazy are loathe to exert themselves. Perhaps they are allergic to perspiration. I appreciate the bluntness of the elderly. Just spit out what you want to say, political correctness be damned. Years ago, I heard an older gentleman pronounce judgement on a group of male teenagers lounging/lolling on a park bench. Who's to say that these young men were authentically lazy, but the man of enhanced years seemed to think they were. I nearly drowned sipping my coffee when I heard his mutterings. "As useless as tits on a bull." ( Maybe he actually said, "teats"?) "Look at them shithawks. ( TRANSLATION: seagulls ) All they're good for is stuffing their faces, shitting, and squawking." Lazy evokes the memory of a co-worker, and at the risk of repeating myself, I shall not name him. The word reluctant describes him 'cause he made no effort, period. He was a slovenly dresser, often wearing the same stained, torn clothing for days on end. Oh, he was a talker, a motor mouth, but he had a very limited repertoire of stories. He repeated the same ones over and over, day after day. He made no effort to talk about something else. He preferred to loiter at the back door, and smoke endless cigarettes. He displayed no initiative whatsoever. If not directed, he did nothing .Ah, Cr.... OOPs! Of course, I do not see myself as lazy. Who has time to be lazy? I'm always busy with things, multiple things. I'm a fan of multi-tasking because there are only so many hours in a day. Even when I sit and read, I am occupying my mind, entertaining myself, and conducting a writer's research. |
| War Chest Wednesday! Whispers, or screams? Okay, both of today's blog prompts happen to be opposite spectrums of noise. One is quiet and one is loud. Both have their time and place. Actually, both whispers and screams are mainstays of horror films. Frightened characters are forced to whisper their communications to each other in the hopes that the monster/ evil entity does not hear, and then find them. They save their blood-curdling screams for when they are attacked, tortured, ripped limb from limb, and more. Yeah, yeah, screams also indicate their extreme level of terror. I can certainly appreciate both a whisper and a scream. There are opportunities/applications for both. A whisper suggests a shared confidence, a morale booster, a private comment, a special bonding moment, an endearment. Whispers are not meant to be heard by everyone. Children love the intimacy of a whisper. Screaming, yelling, hollering, caterwauling, whatever, serve a bigger purpose proportionate to their decibel levels. Warnings of imminent danger carry across space and spur people into action. A wispy whisper wouldn't cut it, or galvanize anyone. A "look out", or "danger", or "fire", and the like need amplification that only a scream will deliver. During a sporting event, fans whoop and holler. They intend this to be vocal support for players. There's nothing like a bit of adrenaline to incite physical prowess. I suppose it may be a release for the fans, too. Rollercoasters are synonymous with screaming. Is it an indication of daredevil excitement, fear/panic, and euphoria? The top-of-the-lungs, high-pitched scream that my youngest granddaughter released when she cavorted in the lake never made sense to me. She seemed to be enjoying herself, so why? I would holler back, "Knock it off. Save the screams for an emergency." Ah, now, those type of screams are in a class of their own. |
| Talk Tuesday! What would you prefer...talking pets, or humans with heightened animal sensibilities? I've long wondered what a cat is thinking when it stares with half-slitted eyes, unmoving; no blinking, no twitching, no flinching. It's entire demeanour is unruffled and difficult to read. Is it judging? Is it bemused? Is it dying to speak and render its opinion? What if that same feline could communicate? What if it could speak in a language I understood? Could there be a conversation, or an exchange of ideas? Would that sublime creature chastise me? Would it offer superior advice? I doubt we'd trade jokes, or pithy comments about the weather. I imagine a sarcastic, haughty tone. The cat would most likely observe that I expend far too much energy guessing, and then placating people. The advice would be to relax and chill. Perhaps, I'd be ordered about, and constantly criticized. I believe it would not be fair at all if that same feline retained its animal sensibilities. I envy that animal it's ability to leap straight into the air, effortlessly, without stretching, or preparation of any kind. It is all lithe strength. It pounces, stalks, and races with graceful ease. I'd like at least a vestige of that powerful grace. Regrettably and to my painful detriment, I am a klutz. Now, I'm not aspiring to leap buildings, or even furniture in a single bound, but I'd really appreciate being able to walk across a room, maintain my balance, and not bounce off bruise-inducing obstacles. Yes, I would like a wee bit of muscle control, agility, and strength. Ya, I'm not so sure I'd fully appreciate possessing a heightened sense of smell. Phew, no. Already I find perfume/aftershave scents to be overpowering. Vehicle exhaust is foul enough, as is a sewage odour. Hearing, I could experiment with an animal's keen sense of hearing. As a mother, the feeble hearing I had was my superpower. Crying, sniffling, gasping, moaning, sneezing, arguing, whispers, I could hear them all. Cabinets and doors were not stealth enough to elude me. No tip-toeing escaped my attention. Ah, the mischief and misfortune I could waylay if my ears honed in on sound like a cat. Then again, too much noise would be distracting, a cacophony. It would become overwhelming, and constant. Hmmm, it might not hurt if people could become more cuddly, and accepting like a pet. We could use more unconditional trust and love. Less condemnation and judgement would be a positive thing. Of course, now I'm describing a dog. |
| Motivational Monday! Flemish mapmaker Gerardus Mercator was born on this day in 1512. What's been your reasoning behind going anywhere you once thought before you'd never get to? Am I being asked if I've been around? What's the expression? Yes, I'll admit I've promenaded around the block, once or twice. I may have attempted a thing, or two. No worries though, my travelling has not taken me to hell and back. Sure, there were bumps, and glitches along the way. Not everything was smooth sailing. My life's journey has not been uneventful. What's been my reasoning? I believe I could claim like the song lyrics that "I did it all for the glory of love." Maybe it's a cliché, but I've made most of my choices based on a partnership with my hubby. We married young, we were both nineteen, and as of this July we'll have been together for forty years. More than half of my life, I have been part of a couple, a team. All of my decisions spring from that. We leapt feet first into the adventure of parenthood. Yes, I suppose we were naively optimistic, but why sweat the small stuff? We took a risk. We survived. More importantly, the offspring survived. With the raising of children, we experienced trips necessitated by medical emergencies, sports involvement, and school projects. Interspersed in amongst this, we travelled for fun and leisure. We visited amusement parks. We camped in different areas of the country. We explored. We met wonderful people. As a family, we moved to new towns a few times, and started afresh. We never planned to do this more than once, but it happened. New job opportunities beckoned, or extended family requested our assistance with life-altering health issues such as cancer. Forty years ago, I never dreamt that hubby and I would get to where we are now. We made it to a significant milestone in our marriage while still loving each other. |
| The Sunday News! In February, teachers throughout the entire state of West Virginia went on strike , citing poor working conditions including low salaries and rising costs of benefits. Strikes by public employees aren't legal in WV, yet the teachers have been willing to take the risk because the situation can't get much worse, and there aren't enough certified teachers in the state in part because starting salaries are startlingly low. What do you think? What's a fair salary for teacher, based on the expectations faculty administrations and parents place on them? Any other thoughts on the topic? ARGHH!! I had a blog reply prepared and , POOF, it disappeared... okay, I'll attempt another reply... First of all, I'd like to state that I appreciate teachers. I have fond memories of both mine, and the educators of my children. I believe we actually learned things not least of which is to read and write. Thank you! We had mainly great experiences. The teachers in our lives were successful. I don't naively believe that a teacher's job is an easy one. They face both praise and criticism. They are weighted with expectations that are not always reasonable. I believe they deserve respect and admiration. How do we measure an educator's worth? What is the magic formula for a salary that reflects all that they do? I do not know. Here, in Ontario, Canada, teachers seem to earn a comfortable wage. This does not stop them from striking at each contract renewal. They complain about mandatory testing, accountability, reporting requirements, class sizes, pensions, and, of course, salaries. Many times, they have to be legislated back to work. Is this necessary? Is this worthwhile? Who knows for sure. Strikes are never pretty and they take their toll. |
Creation Saturday! This is the title and cover of your next book. What's it about? And what are some of the world-famous authors saying on its back cover?   Hmm, what could my book be about? How about I write to convey the pent up yearnings of a harried housewife/mother. In her daydreams, she fantasizes about escaping her drudgery. She envisions what she would pack for her ideal vacation. She plans her mode of transportation, and creates an itinerary. Of course, her travels would be kid and husband-free. She'd have the luxury of time, and unlimited leisure. With no timetable, my female is able to savour every experience. She shall discover anew her life passions, her raison d;etre. Ah, the famous and feted authors shall tout this seminal novel.... KATHY REICHS: This book really gets to the bones of a woman's life. JAMES PATTERSON: Bravo! A fresh look at the all too real hopes and dreams of an everyday woman. JANET EVANOVICH: A fun ride! |
| Edited: March 1, 2018 at 9:33pm March 2nd Prompt. by Fivesixer ☮ (513) Fun Fact Friday! On this day in 1984, the first McDonald's franchise was closed; a new location was opened across the street from the old one in Des Plaines, Illinois. Have you ever worked in fast food (or the restaurant industry in general)? Tell us about your experience! Good, bad, ugly, and/or fun! And if you haven't, I'm sure you've got an entertaining restaurant experience from the customer's perspective you'd be more than willing to share. No, I have never worked in a fast food restaurant, but I once survived three and a half years toiling as a cook in a friend's eating establishment. I suppose it could be classified as a "family-style" restaurant, and it definitely was not a franchise. Yes, sigh, moan, groan, guffaw, there are many memories! Foremost, many of my recollections involve personal injury 'cause I'm a mishap magnet. I once dropped an industrial sized dough mixer on my defenceless foot. I'm gonna say I was hopping mad. Yep, it resulted in yet another fracture. Of course, there were burns on my fore arms from the always room-hogging pizza oven. Inevitably, the knives and I agreed to disagree. I learned it is impossible to maintain the wearing of a bandage, and many times I frantically searched for it only to discover it discarded on the floor, and not in someone's meal. I can truthfully say that I've worn a finger condom which is nothing more than a sheath of protective latex 'cause my digit needed to heal from stitches. One memorable morning, a colleague in the kitchen suffered a seizure. I managed to catch him before he nose-dived onto the grill, but in the tumble to the floor one of his feet became wedged under the stove. There's nothing quite like the faces of fear and uncertainty amongst the clientele as paramedics make their grand entrance with ambulance lights flashing. One waitress provided me with many laughs, and I labelled her antics as "Elaine'isms". She particularly disliked serving French customers, and their presence unnerved her. The poor fellas were forced to pantomime their requests. They'd wave empty mugs in the air, or pretend to wipe their mouths with imaginary napkins, and she'd still plead ignorance. Elaine was almost in tears over a French trucker's order of 'mayonnaise'. What could it be in English? She considered their every move as suspicious. I still shake my head in disbelief that she counselled a shy and well-endowed sixteen year old dishwasher to seek employment at a Hooter's. "If I had your God-given blessing, that's where I'd work." Uh-huh... One table in a corner served the local retired men. They would sit, sip coffee after coffee, and gossip. Boy, could they gossip! Joining them was guaranteed to be educational. Topics included marital woes, the weather, politics, health concerns, and more. I especially enjoyed tantalizing bits about local history. Ah, restaurant work has its moments. In my small town, there was always more than food on the menu. |
| The Wildcard Round! This week's winner, chosen by the Virtual Dice from all eligible entries at some point this weekend, will receive a Finance Merit Badge! Tell us about a purchase you made after receiving a large sum of money. A large sum of money? What's that? There are still times when I believe an extra $20 is a small fortune! With that in my pocket, I feel rich. Okay, okay, we're talking about mega bucks here. Hmmm, that kind of spending money is a rarity. Hubby and I entered into a lifetime marital contract when we were both nineteen. At that time we considered ourselves rich because we had each other. Real money was scarce. To begin our co-habitation, we cobbled together family leftovers and wedding gifts. Yep, we made do with a mix of old and new. I suppose the first real thing of significance that we purchased was a boxspring and mattress. For our first few months, we slept on the unforgiving floor. Needless to say, we celebrated in our own way, when we graduated to an actual off-the-floor bed. Camping out sans comfort is over-rated. Over the years, we experimented with alternate sleeping arrangements. We loved our water bed. We kept it for what seems an eternity, and it accompanied us on our many moves to new locales. It was so simple to pack. All we had to do was drain it, fold the mattress, toss it into a truck, and go. At our new home, we lugged it into the bedroom, ran a hose to it, turned on the tap, and refilled it with fresh water. That waterbed was tough. It survived being frozen. It endured kids that treated it as a trampoline. Dogs and cats loved its warmth and rocking motion. Sigh, the waterbed was retired several years ago now. Our complaining and determinedly aging bodies learned to dislike the extra effort needed to roll over, or rise. We found ourselves needing to purchase a conventional mattress once again. These are not inexpensive! Yes, we have come full circle. Sometimes, I miss the rocking motion of that waterbed. On the colder nights, there was nothing more comforting than crawling into a pre-heated bed. You know, I've never had a mattress stuffed with money. That's probably a good thing. How comfortable could cash be as stuffing? |
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