%%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. |
| MARCH 20TH PROMPT:What are your favourite movie genres? Share some recommendations. I love comedies. There are many that never fail to make me laugh. Familiar favourites are Police Academy, Weekend at Bernie's, The Princess Bride, anything by Mel Brooks, and more. |
| PROMPT March 19th How are you different now than you were in the year 2010? What have been the most significant changes in your life in the last ten years? The last ten years have produced some inevitable changes. I am big sister to one less sibling. I am an orphan now. My parents died in a five year span. Grandgiggle number three joined our mob. Three girls now call me Nanna. Never again will there ever be a dull moment. I've amassed an ever-expanding library of digital photos. For several years, we've maintained a "poor man's cottage" ,a trailer / RV at a permanent campsite which attracts visitors both of the familial and the friend variety. I've dabbled in a bit of travelling and upgraded my passport to a ten-year version. I contribute to a monthly newspaper. I discovered WDC. I write more. My physical body has most definitely aged especially my cantankerous knees. In the past six years, I've endured four surgeries upon my left knee. During the third operation, I bid my birth knee adieu and adopted a replacement model. The right knee doesn't have much of a warranty either, but it will wait its turn for a better option. It survived a rebuild when I was seventeen and that has helped me to limp along. I have adapted to the electronic/gadget way of life. I possess both a home computer, a cellphone and a tablet. I stay in touch with options. I may call, text, e-mail, or instant- message my 'contacts.' Occasionally, I compose a hand-written letter and send it off via snail mail. Hubby and I down-sized from a house to a rented apartment. With no maintenance worries we can now lock the door and hit the road any time we feel the urge to get away. Before making this move, we purged, but most of the books insisted upon remaining with us. Sometimes, that ten-year span seems like a drop in the bucket. Memories vie for attention and not all of them retain a distinct time frame. Remember when? Did that really happen ten, five, or two years ago? |
| PROMPT March 18th If you were hired to show tourists what life is really like where you live, what would you show them or have them do? "Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Jeffries. I see you found our little slice of heaven without too much trouble I trust." "Well yes we did, but nobody told me it was such a bloody long drive sir." "Now, now, we only claim to be within driving distance of Toronto. We never said we were right next door. Remind me again. You reserved the lakefront cottage, did you not? Did you remember to pack your woolies? No? No matter, I can turn up the heat." "Do you always have this much snow in March? At home, the trees are budding." "In answer to your query madam, yes. Winter isn't finished with us yet. Mother Nature doesn't keep a calendar up here. Now, are you ready for your first excursion? I thought you'd like to visit the Machar Mall." "Do I have time to powder my nose and apply fresh lipstick?" "Well, I'm not going to stop you, but around these parts we don't stand on ceremony." "Pardon?" "Oh, we don't make a fuss. We're a come as you are crowd. I'd suggest you bring a camera though." "To a mall? How odd." "Yep, right here is the Machar Mall and I know it's not much to look at, but it's all ours. Here, let me steer you to the best seat in the house so to speak." "But, but, this is nothing but a landfill!" "No, no, technically it's a dump. We have a sense of humour in these parts. Hey, I suggest you don't make any sudden moves." "Eek! Is that a bear?" "Sorry, did I not caution you to be quiet? There are three bears not too far off, black bears." "I can see that, but why are we here? They are wild animals are they not?" "Last time anybody checked, them bears did not live in town. Are you pointing your camera? They'll be moseying on soon for a nap." "Need I point out that your brochure guaranteed we'd see wildlife? This is highly unorthodox." "Did you, or did you not just see some bears? Oh, look up in that evergreen. Do you see the eagles? Where to next? Would you like to see a moose up close and personal? I know just the road where they come out at dusk to lick the road salt. Come on!" |
| PROMPT March 17th Pretend that you have found a four-leaf clover that will bring you extraordinary good luck for exactly one day. Write about your lucky day. I groaned and rolled onto my backside. The large, scraggy mutt that had knocked me to the ground nuzzled my cheek and panted in my ear. With some effort, I pushed away his slobbering tongued head before he drooled all over me. As my vision cleared, I noticed a loose shoe lace and I reached to re-tie it. Adding to my ringing ears, a whine caused me to wince. I stomped my foot in hopes of shooing the clingy dog. Lifting my foot, the greenery I'd crushed sprang up save for one wee sprig. My nemesis sniffed it and I reacted by snatching it out of his reach. Imagine my surprise to be clutching a genuine four-leaf clover. Had I found the ultimate good luck charm? Were my fortunes about to improve? My first thoughts urged me to protect the talisman, so I reached into a pocket. Just in time, I felt the new, ragged tear. With exaggerated care, my fingers searched a second pocket and deemed it sound. Withdrawing my empty hand, a damp nose grazed it. I swiped my skin across a pant leg and flung out my arm with a command. "Go! Get away!" The mutt cocked his impressive head and stared. I struggled to my feet brushing dirt and leaves from my clothing. Forgetting why I'd been in the park, I stumbled towards the street. Glancing over my shoulder, I glimpsed my hulking furry shadow. I quickened my step, but he kept pace with me. Why did he insist upon following me? Without stopping, I lurched off the curb. Something struck me from behind and arms flailing I thudded to the pavement. Horns blared. Tires screeched. Voices screamed and shouted. A rough tongue swabbed my face and I forced my eyes open. A mass of matted fur lay across my heaving chest. "Sir? Sir are you all right?" "You sure are lucky mister. That cab just missed you." "You must have a horse shoe, or a four-leaf clover in your pocket. That was a close call." "I saw it with my own eyes. Your dog jumped up and knocked you down. What is he, an Irish Wolfhound?" With shaking hands I ruffled the warm form protecting my body. The darkest brown eyes I'd ever seen stared into my own bewildered ones. Had this canine chosen me? "Hey, what's your dog's name? I'd like to shake his paw." My voice rasped, "Lucky, his name is Lucky." |
| PROMPT March 16th What lesson do you remember most vividly from your childhood? . I'm surprised I did not suffer any residual brain damage when I navigated my childhood. At least, I believe most of my faculties lived to blunder along. I'm not bragging per se, yet I learned to balance atop a careening bicycle free of any safety gear whatsoever. No helmet cinched under my chin and bobbed along. No elbow or knee pads cushioned my sharpest and most vulnerable joints. Have I mentioned bell bottoms, the flared denim jeans I stuffed myself into? Most of those flares were so exaggerated, my jeans could've subbed as the mainsail for a sail boat. Oh, and my sneakers came equipped with extra-long shoe laces that refused to stay knotted. They preferred to drag. Are you getting the picture? Apparently, I was setting myself up for the perfect storm, or calamity. I learned a few valuable life lessons which I repeated as my fractures, road rash, and contusions can verify. I discovered that what goes up must come down. I met gravity more than once. I proved speed is a contributing factor in most accidents. I relived the physics mainstay. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Yep, flares and shoelaces are not ideal biking gear. Maybe it's the law of attraction, but they could not resist the lure of the chain. An entanglement ensued. Imagine my surprise, especially the first time my bike stopped without warning and I felt myself jet-propelled to the unforgiving road. Now, I have realized that much of my childhood mishaps just happened to be physics lessons. Unwittingly, I recreated the formula for velocity. A falling object, me, is 'v.' The letter 'g' is free fall acceleration while a 't' stands for fall time measured in seconds. Oh, and 'Vo' is initial velocity. This is velocity: v=Vo + gt. I can attest to falls occurring in seconds, perhaps even micro seconds. I also lived and breathed impact mechanics on a daily basis. "An impact is a high force or shock applied over a short time period when two or more bodies collide." Oh, I can attest to the 'bodies' colliding. My body, my bike, and the pavement know all about shock and collisions. This science also alludes to resilient materials having a better impact resistance. Is that what my infrastructure, my bones, and my surface material, my skin proved to be? |
| PROMPT March 15th What’s your favorite board game or card game to play with friends? Family and friends alike enjoy playing a game known as 'What's Yours Like?' To participate, one person is 'it' and they will receive clues about a person, place, or thing, so, basically some sort of noun, from the other players. They will be describing their version of this object and attempting to stump the guesser with vague information. Often the various clues seem to have nothing in common and it becomes difficult to identify what everyone is sharing. The confusion of 'it' proves amusing and the players revel in their attempts to be clever. This game is not for the shy, or meek. To play along is to be boisterous, rowdy, and often bawdy. Paul becomes the first official 'it' of the evening and he turns to Emily and asks, "What's yours like?" She replies with a grin, "Tall." Unable to ascertain the object with this one word clue, Paul repeats his question to Sydney. "Prickly." Shaking his head, Paul asks Carrie, "What's yours like?" She laughs and answers, "Bushy." This continues with three more clues from the others present. Paul hears short, green and full. With no further edification, he shrugs and admits defeat. The laughs reveal he has been trying to identify a Christmas tree. Emily becomes the next 'it'. She begins by asking Paul, "What's yours like?" He simply stare at her and offers one simple word, "Full." The others have seen his and they agree. His are definitely full. Emily has no idea what it could be and so she again asks the leading question. "Mine are brown." "The school has lots of them." "If you saw mine you'd see they hold lots of snowmen." Emily flounders. "I dunno, boobs?" Her reaction is to scowl when the players hoot in disbelief. "Really Emily? Who here has brown boobs with snowmen sitting on them?" "Well then what is it, huh?" "We're talking about shelves, Emily, shelves." Sandy once was 'it' and received two tantalizing clues. "Okay. Mine is white." Danielle elaborated. "Mine is tear-able, but it's not terrible." Sandy guessed correctly with toilet paper. Poor Paul found himself 'it' with another puzzler. His random clues were deep, slippery, satisfying and hot. Once again, he could not make the connection, yet, of course, it made perfect sense when he discovered the object was a bathtub. Sometimes, this game slips into the gutter with suggestive offerings such as 'mine is always wet' and it is in reality an innocent toothbrush cast in the role of mystery object. Another game favourite is 'Pictionary'. The person who is 'it' must sketch a thing, an action, or perhaps a feeling chosen from the drawing of an inscribed card from a deck. Within the time constraints of a timer, 'it' endeavours to portray something with a pencil and a piece of paper. During one session, I didn't hesitate to recreate a car with a noticeable circle at the front end. To emphasize the circle, I drew radiating lines like those most of us make to represent the rays of the sun. |
| March 14th Prompt: Make a list of your favourite words to say. Describe why they are your favourites and include a pronunciation guide. Brownie points if you can use these words in a sentence. Favourite words? All words are wonderful and expressive. They each flow and support each other. But... I like words that are fun to pronounce and sometimes they are not English. Pantoufles! ( pan-too-fle) Every morning, I stretch before I cram my feet into my pantoufles and shuffle into the kitchen. Parapluie ( paira- plooey) When it rains, I open my yellow parapluie and shelter under it. Scarpered ( skar-purred) The thief scarpered with my wallet. Mardy (mar-dee) After a night of tossing and turning, Danielle is mardy. Being told no, two-year old Alexandra stomps to the couch and sucks her thumb because she is mardy. Knackered (nak-urred) Driving a thousand miles a week, Paul returns home knackered. Patch (pa-t-ch) A versatile word. There are quilt, bald, pocket, eye and garden patches. The gleaming patch on the man's head glistened as he bent to dig in his vegetable patch. Coronamude(with the German umlaut over the u)(kor-own-a-mood-a) Most everyone's feelings about Corona-19 may be summed up as coronamude. Doddle(daw-dul) No one may claim that this worldwide virus is a doddle. |
| March 13th Prompt: What traditional food dishes from your culture does your family still enjoy? Tell us about how the recipe was passed down and what notificatiins were made over the years. My step-grandfather hailed from a Polish family. He chose to keep the spelling of his surname, Cherski, but a few of his relatives anglicized the name to Christie. I liked to tease him by lamenting that the cookie/cracker dynasty would've loved me as a granddaughter because I appreciated their delicious products. Alas, he was not nor had he ever been related to those Christies. Because of his heritage, Grandpa introduced me to pierogis. Now, he never created them himself. Well, okay, once in a blue moon he deigned to peel potatoes for the prep. work, if he was in a good mood. Most of the pierogis were made by his wife and daughters. From start to finish, this meant a long day of assembly line toil. Potatoes were skinned and boiled in a gigantic pot. Bacon was fried in the largest pan. Numerous onions were peeled and chopped. Sauerkraut was drained. All of these ingredients were stirred together in at least two large bowls to make the pierogi guts. The shell ,the outside skin of the pierogi was fashioned from a flour dough mixture cut into circles with the rim of a drinking glass. I remember a haze of flour floating in the kitchen and the delectable aroma of sizzling bacon. Now, the assembly of the pierogis required copious mugs of tea, non-stop chatter, lots of laughter and nimble fingers. A teaspoonful of 'guts' was centred in a douch circle and then the wanna-be pierogi was folded in half and pinched. The secret was to be patient and warm the seam between fingers until a bond formed. This was important. The pierogis were slipped into boiling hot water until they floated to the surface. If a seam had not been closed, the 'guts' spilled out into the pot. Families are forgiving sorts. I'd participated in this ritual at least once a year since my birth. I knew what was what. This did not deter me from taste-testing the delectable 'guts' more than I pinched the pierogis togther. In other words, my intake did not match or better my out put. Before long, I'd be banished from the pierogi party which suited me just fine. I always preferred eating the finished project. I became spoiled. To this day, if I crave pierogis I wait until my sister, or an aunt makes them. I am pierogi-dependent. I'm not sure that a printed recipe exists. The pierogi caretakers just know what to do. Now, my father, the diesel mechanic grease-stained hands cook of the family was famous for producing these biscuit/buns. He worked from sure experience and never consulted a recipe. He never measured ingredients either. He believed in a pinch of this, and a smidgen of that, or a dab here and there. He also mixed with his hands. I dubbed them Father B. Biscuits and they never failed to be scrumptious. Years later,I experimented and managed to create something akin to my father's baking. Imagine my surprise to stumble across a cookbook recipe later still and it claimed these mythical delectables were in fact baking powder biscuits. To me they will remain a fond food memory of my childhood. |
| PROMPT March 12th Imagine you had to create an art piece for a gallery or museum. What would you create? Create an art piece? Moi? While I ponder this let me explain what I would not do. I would not throw, or splash paint on a canvas and claim it's art. Where's the thought? Where's the effort? Where's the blood, sweat and tears from a struggle to express one's self? I would not paint a red circle mid centre of a white background and call it art. It's a dot, a geometric shape. How can that represent anything? How is that to be interpreted? How can that rate a name, an identity? I admit I am no art expert, but I know what I like. I like something I can identify be that a scene, or an animal, or a portrait. I suppose I prefer reality. That being said, I am not a fan of the Campbell's soup can. Is that an Andy Warhol? Imagine all the instant food containers he didn't reproduce. Why did he never paint a Kraft Dinner box, or the Kool-Aid animated pitcher? I appreciate the artists who combine hundreds of used and discarded vehicle tires to fashion the figure of a rearing horse. I marvel at the carvers who work their magic and transform tree trunks into historic figures. In Truro, Nova Scotia trees struck by Dutch elm disease were revived as forty-three carvings of local figures, a person playing a piano, Girl Guide leaders, and more. It's a shame that soon they will be removed after twenty years existence due to rotting. Every year, in Campbell River, British Columbia, carvers compete to sculpt a log into wondrous art. The subjects range from salmon to indigenous people to mythical creatures. During my visits there, these carvings become the backdrops to my photos. I am in awe of the imagination and skill that is needed to reshape a piece of wood. At a West Coast exhibition, I laughed at the work of an artist who had created all the people present at a shotgun wedding. He, or she had captured the various facial expressions with the deer- in-the-headlight groom, the stern frowning father of the bride clutching a shotgun, and the beaming , barefoot pregnant bride. That carver captured a moment in time, a slice of life. Portraits catch my interest. I am drawn to facial features and their numerous configurations. We all are issued one nose, a pair of eyes, and a mouth, yet we look both similar and unique. Wealthy people in the past commissioned portraits of themselves and many are so rich in detail and lifelike they appear as vivid as our present day photographs. That is my idea of art. I also like caricatures. Hmmm, I can draw enough to create cartoons. Perhaps that's what I should create and present to a museum. Don't worry, I shall not take up wood whittling, or carving. Sharp, pointy tools and I are not friends. |
| PROMPT March 11th What qualities do you look for in a friend? Are there any qualities you avoid? What qualities about yourself do you think make a good friend? Nancy and I met when we were both five and in kindergarten. I suppose that became our common ground. We were both girls, we were both the same age, and we were both new to school. I don't recall that first eureka moment 'cause we were not in close proximity because of our surnames and the alphabet. We would not have been next to each other in a line up. Maybe when we realized we were sorta neighbours we decided that made sense for ease of visiting. Neither of us were nappers and we squirmed on our sleep mats. Why sleep? Surrounded by other kids, she and I sought mischief. Quiet time felt like a waste of time. We would speak to each other and be promptly shushed. We would try humming since actual singing had been banned. We could and did amuse ourselves with funny faces. Our feet would tap on the floor. It seemed like forever before we'd be permitted to rise to our feet. At recess outdoors, Nancy and I ran in numerous games of rowdy tag. We sang and skipped rope. If we were lucky, we'd snag seats on a swing and pump furiously in our stretch to reach the sky. I remember our teacher introducing an arts/craft in which we'd be cutting with scissors. Before we could cut and decorate the beautiful construction paper, we had to show our skill by first cutting the intended shape from newspaper. Alas, I remained the only student sitting at that practice table until Nancy rescued me. At the time I gratefully accepted her help never realizing how she must have struggled being left-handed. Sitting next to her as we learned to write, we'd bump elbows, my right jabbing her left. We'd laugh about it. We had the gift of gab and giggles in common. 'Chatty Cathies', 'gabby girls', we heard it all. After school, we rode our bikes. Together we explored as far as we could pedal. We remained friends up to and through high school. Our friendship continues today, but we live hundreds of miles apart. I married and had children before she did. Nancy remained in our hometown area while I moved several times. Family obligations kept us busy and separated over the years. For a time, we kept up a correspondence. Nowadays, we communicate via Facebook. |
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