%%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 10th What artist or band do you always recommend when someone asks for a music recommendation? Huh, I do not recall that anyone has ever requested a recommendation for music from me. My cellphone and tablet are free of a playlist. I reserve their use for things other than music. When I read and write I do so in silence. Rarely do I sit and just listen to music and it's not because I dislike it. If I choose to play music, I lean towards that from the seventies, nineteen-seventies. In a nostalgic mood, I will belt out the lyrics and dance as if no one is watching because I make certain no one is lurking about. Occasionally, I will concede to a different era. While travelling in my vehicle, I listen to 'new', popular, current music chosen by faceless d.j.s. I like the randomness and I have discovered music that appeals to me. In this way, I am prepared for excursions with my two eldest grandgiggles. This Nanna is not totally unaware, or clueless, or lame. My parents preferred country music and it wormed its way into my memory. Once I hear a few familiar notes, I am transported to my childhood and I sing every word of the lyrics. I suppose I did pay attention despite being a captive audience. My hubby refers to this genre as 'cry ass country' and he's not incorrect. With lyrics such as "your cheatin' heart", "he stopped lovin' her today," "stand by your man," and "I'm so lonesome I could cry" there was a common theme of heartbreak and betrayal. I admit my three children repeated this legacy of hearing their parents' music over and over. They recite the lyrics to Jefferson Starship hits with ease. 'We Built This City' and 'Somebody to Love' flow effortlessly. They grew up with Queen, E.L.O., Elton John, Meatloaf, Supertramp, Michael Jackson, The Eurythmics and more. |
| PROMPT March 9th Write about the mythical or science fiction creatures/beings that could actually exist. Imagine a world where there was definitive proof of their existence - how would life be different? Imagine a mythical creature as a beloved, pampered pet. Of course, as a caring steward I would take this magnificent creature for walks in which he stretched his mighty limbs, inhaled pure, fresh air and cavorted at his leisure. I'd decline any undue exertion on my part and choose to venture forth upon my pet's broad shoulders. Oh, what a commanding view I'd enjoy from my lofty perch well above the tree tops as we gamboled. Neither of us would be unduly bothered by mud, dust, pot holes, or the like. Sure-footed describes my amiable companion. To my great relief, this beast would never wish to visit an emporium that shampooed him, cut and styled his fur, manicured his nails, and more. His idea of pampering would be a refreshing dip in a lake, or an exhilarating scrub under a waterfall. Yes, he twitches a back leg in ecstasy when I scratch just the perfect spot. He moans in delight when I rub his ample belly. His heavy tail thumps against the ground when he is enjoying a jolly mood. Sometimes, he rolls about in the sun-warmed grass. Unlike canines and felines, he does not feel compelled to sleep snuggled against me in my bed. Curled up on the floor before the fireplace is comfy enough for him. Not often does he request a pillow, but occasionally he slumbers under a large quilt. Why not? We call it creature comforts. As a reasonable fellow, he dines upon anything really. Whatever I'm eating suits him. No special diet, or food restrictions hamper his appetite. He doesn't like to throw his weight around, but if he wants something how could I deny him? With his bulk, he can help himself and if I'm being honest, I admire this independence. He is not waiting for me to serve him, or remember to refill a bowl. Together we experience treks to remote locations. He is so much stronger than a pack mule. He has this unbeatable skill suited for rough camping. I've yet to coax a campfire to life before he does. His name should be fire-starter. Alas, one big awkward inconvenience mars our getaways. Most pet fanciers accept the unpleasantness of 'poop, stoop and scoop' as an unavoidable necessity. How shall I put this? My enormous fellow necessitates the back-breaking use of a shovel. No matter how I approach it, it's still 'gag and bag.' Naming my unique creature may prove difficult. Not just any old moniker will do. Nothing cutesy. Something masculine, strong. Sigh, I love my dragon what's-his-name. Perhaps, he'd prefer I call him Darryl, or Dave, or Doug, or Drew. |
| PROMPT March 8th Where are some unusual places you’ve been? What was the most interesting or surprising thing you learned or discovered about those places? I'd recommend visiting British Columbia. There the eyes may feast upon the majestic Rockies, towering forests, glistening water, lush greenery, and the ocean. Beautiful doesn't begin to describe it. From shoreline to mountain top it's magnificent. Vancouver Island is beyond compare. I discovered a lovely town named Chemainus during my exploration. Many of the main buildings such as the library, the legion, the town hall, and businesses serve as canvas for gorgeous painted murals that depict the area's history. Different artists have recreated the logging industry, shipping, indigenous contributions, immigration, the two world wars, the railway system and more. What a unique nod to their heritage. Also situated on scenic Vancouver Island is Telegraph Cove. Originally, it housed an extension of telegraph service to and from the island with one linesman living there in a shack. In the mid 1920s,a salmon saltery and a sawmill were erected. During W.W.II, the protected cove became a relay station for the war effort and servicemen ran the mill. Before a rough dirt road pushed through, this area could only be accessed by boat. It is an isolated spot in the mountains. A small community lived there year round, and one teacher would be hired to teach all of the children in a one-room schoolhouse. Today, about twenty people live there fulltime. Telegraph Cove has become a tourist destination. Many of the original buildings, built on stilts in the water, still stand and a wooden boardwalk connects them. To view the telegraph poles and cables strung up sheer slopes amongst a thick forest of trees and stretched across valleys and waterways boggles the mind. To erect them required strength and derring-do. Near Victoria, B.C. a gorgeous garden beckons. Actually, to call it a garden doesn't do it justice. It's a large park and more. It maintains flowers and trees sourced from around the world. It supports green houses in which plants are started and seeds collected. It's a feast of colour year round. This grand garden is known as The Butchart Gardens and it was the concept of a woman with that surname, Butchart. The area had been a quarry and she envisioned a lush green space. According to the official history, she used her husband's army of employees to carve out her dream. She also assisted with the back-breaking labour and did not fear hanging from scaffolding above towering pits. I'd presume many believed her to be mad and over-reaching, but the barren quarry is a distant memory. |
| March 7th Prompt: Write about one of your fondest memories. Write about only one great memory? There are so many. I cherish all of them. But if it's to be one... Five years ago, hubby and I splurged on a family adventure that proved to be one we still talk about. Seven of us drove from Northern Ontario, Canada to Kissimee, Florida for a Christmas / New Year's celebration. Just saying goodbye to the snow and freezing temperatures proved to be a treat. Three in our party had never before been to Florida; our son and his two daughters.His sisters, who were childless and accompanied us, had each visited Florida in the past. We were eager sun and fun tourists. This trip was our gift to each other. No gift paper, no bows, no wrapping and unwrapping, no Christmas tree, no decorations, no winter cold-weather gear.We enjoyed a carefree holiday. We swam outside! We ventured forth in flip flops, (thongs). We welcomed the slathering of sunscreen in December and January. We weathered the unfortunate loss of our sunglasses in a gigantic wave pool and we shopped for replacement designer goggles. Of course, we explored Disneyworld and Universal Studios. We were the whooping fools dripping and soggy who insisted upon multiple loops on the water rides. We slogged along in our slow-to-dry clothing with squishy footwear.We hollered from dizzying heights and laughed non-stop. Many opportunities arose to snap pictures. We marvelled at the mob of like-minded tourists. The spectacular explosion of colours from fireworks had us oohing and awing. The only snow we experienced swirled from a glorious blue, cloudless sky and it was obviously man-made. Disney impressed us with its extravagant Christmas decorations. Perhaps another family adventure of an equal magnitude awaits us in the future. I for one hope so. |
| March 6th Prompt:If you were given 5 million dollars to open a museum, what kind of museum would you create? Wow, five million? First of all, I've never had a budget like this. Books. I'd like to build a book museum with lots and lots of books. Of course, there will be untold genres and a plethora of subjects. Every language will be represented. Oh wait, wait a minute. This is a library. They already exist... everywhere. Hmmm, okay, plan B. How about a cookie museum? Who doesn't like cookies? They're a dessert, a snack, comfort food to some. Think of the many scrumptious varieties! I envision unlimited sampling. Oh bliss! Chocolate chip, caramel, cocoanut,pecan, peanut butter... drool. It will be a hands-on facility. Patrons will mix as in inter-mingle while they mix and match different cookie ingredients. This will be stirring stuff. Flour will float in the air. Eggs will be broken, beaten, dropped on the floor. There will be stickiness. Ahh, I do love cookies. |
| PROMPT March 5th What is always sure to get you excited? What makes you irrationally happy? Spending time with my grandgiggles always makes me happy. There are three of them at last count, all girls. Groups of things have names. A flock of crows is a murder. A gathering of elephants is a parade . A number of cobras is a quiver, ( that would be the tic of my snake-phobic hubby). We all know a gaggle of geese. There's the pride of lions. You get my gist. I believe a group of girls should be referred to as a giggle of girls. They are vibrant and bubbling with life. Yes, they tend to giggle. For some inexplicable reason, they seem to find me amusing. I cannot imagine them being a grump of girls, or a gruff of girls. To me, they are synonymous with light and laughter. The eldest, Sydney, had the honour of being the first grandchild to my fledgling grandparent self. These are but a few memories. "It's not bonne nuit Nanna. It's goodnight." "Oh river, Nanna. See you later." ( She meant 'au revoir', French for goodbye.) "You do know Spongebob isn't real, right Nanna?" Syd responding to my mumblings and rantings while I drove in big city traffic. "Um, they can't hear you, Nanna." Giggle Number Two, Emily, has always kept me on my toes. I suppose she speaks in malapropisms, or the like. I often must remind myself to stop, not react immediately to the confusing thing she's said, and think before I reply. Even with this, I am sometimes lost and not sure what she means. Add to this her dismissive attitude towards questioning and I struggle. It's as if she believes she has already spoken out loud, so why should she repeat herself? She tells stories from somewhere in the middle without an introduction. These are a few examples. "I don't want to go to school today, Nanna. I hate jiggling." As we approached the school, I finally understood. Every morning, the students were encouraged to burn off energy before classes started by running laps around the dirt track. Emily did not like jogging. She had a point though. Most people do jiggle when they jog. "How many mittens before school starts?" This caused me to puzzle for a bit. Aha, Emily meant how many minutes. Again, I sort of saw her reasoning. A clock has hands and what do hands wear in the cold winter, mittens. Telling time has proven to be a difficult skill for Em to master. Yesterday, tomorrow, whatever. Losing something she uttered, "I had it the day after yesterday." Over the years, Syd, Em and I have enjoyed many 'sleep-me-overs.' I anticipate the same with Grandgiggle # 3, Alexandra. This may well be the bilingual grandchild with an English mother and a French father. At the age of two, she speaks both languages, but she picks and chooses which words she will utter the most. For example, she can say 'cat', but she prefers to say 'chat.' Her first distinct word was 'oiseau' which is French for bird and she still prefers it to bird. It's so cute to hear her offer a 'merci', or a 'thank you.' Now she is quick to declare," I coming" if I dare to leave the room without her. I laugh the most when Alexandra insists that her reluctant 'chat' and dog must be hugged. She confronts the pets with outstretched arms and this demand. "Give me cuddle!" My repertoire of nursery rhymes and kids' songs is proving useful. How could I have forgotten that "do the hokey-pokey' is fun? Even the calisthenics' classic 'head and shoulders knees and toes' is good for a laugh. So, oui, my three fantastic grandgiggles are sure to make me happy. |
| PROMPT March 4th What is something you started doing during the pandemic that you will continue in the “post-pandemic” world? I've started speaking to myself. This is not at all the same as hearing voices. It's me all right. I recognize my pitch, intonation, idioms and more. My voice still requires a workout, a chance to be heard. I've been muzzled, er, masked and self-isolated for too long. I just happen to be my own captive audience. Sometimes, things need to be said. Most mornings, after I stretch, I ask myself a question and let it linger in the air. "What are we doing today?" Yes, I feel this compulsion to do, be busy and productive. The hours stretch before me with infinite possibilities. Invariably, I shrug and reply. "I dunno." Of course, this does nothing to rally my conviction. Where's the enthusiasm? Nudging myself to dress should spur me on. Dress for success. Dress for the occasion. Be prepared for anything. Alas, self-quarantine doesn't have a dress code. The most I may muster is a half-hearted argument re what colour t-shirt to pull on and should my socks co-ordinate? "I know, I know, you don't need to remind me. Father B. taught us this was important. The devil is in the details." "Let's see what's new and exciting on the news. First, turn on the computer and let it warm up then fill the kettle. Sure, we could brew coffee for a change, but we prefer tea." As I sip and attempt to digest the latest headlines I cannot contain my outbursts. "Did you read that? Another murder? What is happening? No, I do not care about another celebrity scandal. Oh, really? Covid may be around for a while? What's a while? Too many statistics boggle my mind." Binging on my newest indulgence Britbox and a plethora of murder mysteries I nod my head and blurt out loud. "Oh come on. We know it was the headmaster in the cloakroom with an exam paper." I'm not so sure this is a habit I should, or would continue. What if I feel obliged to answer myself? Alas, I confess that I did not attempt dieting during this Covid crisis. Too often, I whipped up a little something and baked it because I had all this time to indulge my cravings. Sure, I could justify the extra calories by reminding myself that standing to measure and stir burned calories and could rightly be described as physical exertion. Scrubbing the extra dishes could also be labour intensive. I could continue baking and stuffing myself, but will I? "Can't you think of something you'd like to continue in the future?" Well, I have discovered Facetime. I will admit I rather enjoy conversations that permit us to see each other as we speak. Body language does not reveal itself in simple phone calls. Facial expressions are special and convey so much. In this manner, I drop in and visit my two-year old grandgiggle from a distance of hundreds of miles. We are pleased to put a face to a voice. Not only do we sing songs, but we can laugh at each other's dance moves. It is the next best thing to being together. Besides, I prefer talking with her than with myself. |
| PROMPT March 3rd Do you have a green thumb? Are you a gardener? Do you want to be? Do I have a green thumb? Isn't this the time-honoured method of stalling? Repeat the question whilst formulating a reply. After staring at my thumbs, I can report that they are in fact stained blue, blue with ink. Pens can be messy tools. Ink tends to splatter, splotch and smear. I digress. The mind wanders. If the query is am I able to grow plants, most of them indeed a vibrant green, then the answer is yes. I cultivate an indoor grow-op. Greenery lines windowsills, radiators, tabletops, counters, and much of the floor space in my apartment. Basically, I reside in a greenhouse with kitchen facilities. If I had a balcony, or a patio it too would feature plants. There are so many plants surrounding me, hubby rarely notices when I smuggle in another one. At times, I must chastise him and point out that he is crowding a plant, or being a tad too rough as he pushes his way through them. Come on, respect the green. His chair has a clear path to it and the fridge is not blocked. I doubt a single plant has tripped him. I love the different leaf shapes and the variegated colours. Each houseplant is a beauty. Many have accompanied me from home to home, surviving the indignity of upheaval and ultimately thriving with a fresh start. Many know repotting as they outgrow their first pots. Many have experienced curious toddlers yanking their leaves and cats shredding their stalks. Many lived to flourish another day after an extended 'plantover' similar to a sleepover at my mother's home. She could never be described as one with a green thumb, but she aspired to be. She appreciated their looks, but found plants to be too needy. I do not discriminate. A croton steadily stretches towards the ceiling. A money tree endeavours to be a bush. A peace lily and a bamboo share sunlight with a spider plant, two palms and a fern. Numerous succulents grace the livingroom windowsill and they take turns blossoming. Once again, I cherish a succulent known as a donkey's tail. It is fragile and easily gives up its unique heads. Years ago, my eldest grandgiggle and one of our shelties tore apart a particularly impressive donkey's tail. A few weeks ago, an orchid I've sheltered for about two years suddenly burst forth with gorgeous hot pink blooms. I'm awaiting the flowering of two lilies. In the summer months, I cater to a small garden of perennials at my seasonal campsite. Most of the plants attract butterflies, but alas, caring for them in the spring attracts voracious biting mosquitoes and blackflies. It's the price exacted to be a gardener. Venture outside, feed the insects. Disturb the earth, feed the insects. Weed and water, feed the insects. Sigh. Spring will arrive some day and I hesitate to write soon. It's never in any hurry. For now, I enjoy my indoor garden and scheme to fit in a few more green tenants. |
| PROMPT March 2nd What kinds of things do you like to cook or are good at cooking? What are your comfort foods? I can honestly claim to like food, most food. I gag to type this, but I detest cucumbers. Just the smell never mind the yucky flavour turns me off. I mention this because I also like dill pickles and they are created from cucumbers. Dill is a wonder that disguises the objectionable 'cucumberness' I dislike. This represents my style of cooking I suppose. I love to cook with spices, seasonings, enhancements. If it wasn't for sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and their ilk I could claim to never ever eat fruit. In a dessert whether that be a cake, a pie, a cheesecake, or whatever fruit is palatable. I suppose I should qualify my statement with most fruit. Melons cannot be made edible. Now veggies and I get along. I will and do eat them without hesitation. My motto is ' an onion a day will keep the doctor away.' Sure the prepping of a fresh onion provokes tears, but other than that I believe they boost my immunity. My only ongoing health issue is a pair of cantankerous knees and they have proven impervious to an onion's charms. My father taught me to cook and he never found an onion he didn't like. His motto varied from mine and as a daughter I prayed it wasn't true. 'An onion a day puts hair on your chest.' So far, I've swallowed a great many onions and I can attest that they don't contribute to the noticeable growth of anything on the chest. My dear old Dad liked to experiment with ingredients and spices. Not once did he hesitate to substitute, or fret over a lack of supply. If he did peruse a recipe, he considered it a suggestion. He once garnished devilled eggs with cayenne pepper instead of paprika and I lived to recall it. If a teaspoon of chili powder was listed as an option, he considered a tablespoon to be better. If a ham could be enhanced with a handful of whole cloves, why not stud every inch of that meat? Dad's chili failed to erode my digestive system and that is a blessing. It once burned through the bottom of an aluminum pot though. Gasping and swigging water after each mouthful meant the chili 'had a kick.' There may have been steam or smoke wafting from our ears, I never noticed. The fierce tears blurred my vision. All of that eating trained my stomach to become as tough as cast iron. To this day, I love spicy, hot food and I've never experienced heartburn or indigestion. With my cooking background, I taught my three children to like and eat a variety of spices, onions, garlic and peppers. We love Italian food / pastas. My son, Chris, has become a bit of a renegade and he's decided that green peppers are "too vegetabley". He prefers red peppers now. My hubby hails from British ancestry where if anything has a flavour, it must be boiled some more. He has adapted quite well. My cooking weakness is barbecuing. There's something about a flame and a grill... Hubby would tell his co-workers that the wife was 'bbqing' because he could see the black smoke billowing miles from home. I will admit I once presented my starving family with a platter of blackened chicken legs. They poked at it and made the "I dunno" faces. I encouraged them to " just scrape off the black bits." I'd succeeded in cremating that chicken. Even the bones were brittle and crumbling. Cooking is a process. Not every dish is a winner. Not every attempt is repeated. Some efforts flourish in family lore and remain inexplicable. We still puzzle over the turnip that refused to surrender its raw state. For hours it boiled in a pot of salted water only to remain raw. It is referred to as the petrified rutabaga. A chocolate cake once metamorphosed into a spewing spitting volcano in the oven. Molten chocolate bubbled everywhere. I've lived to cook another day with my taste buds and my culinary skills intact, so, I suppose I'm still cooking with gas. |
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