%%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. |
| July 2oth Prompt: In 1969, Neil Armstrong first set foot on the moon. Afterward, people commonly complained, " If they can put a man on the moon, why can't they ____?" How would you finish that statement today? This statement reminds me of 'The Honeymooners' and Ralph Kramden's comment to his wife, " to the moon, Alice." I guess we almost always thought of the moon as a mysterious, far away place. But moon visitations? It's becoming more feasible.With that possibility in mind... I wish to know why they, they being the all mighty inventors and problem solvers extraordinaire, cannot invent a bandage that actually sticks to skin and is impervious to moisture. Come on, is this that difficult? Oh, and it must not remove hair either. It is a puzzle. Bandages are sticky enough to be used as permanent hair exfoliators, but they refuse to adhere to skin for more than a few minutes. I'm not in the habit of pressing them to my upper lip only to wrench them off in an effort to discourage the return of a moustache. The whole idea of a bandage is to swath a wound and nobody I know heals in the three brief minutes a bandage is in place. Why do they wrinkle and bunch, too? Is it too much to ask for a dependable first aid dressing? Oh, and since I'm whinging about bandaids, why can't their paper-sleeve packages be easier to open? Too many times, I've been squirting, sometimes pulsing my valuable blood as I've struggled to tear open the world's thinnest yet toughest paper wrapper. How is it untearable? It is terrible. Gripping a corner requires super human dexterity and strength not readily available to a wounded, bleeding victim. With desperate pulls and a combination of cursing and pleading, I've torn the trapped bandage in half with its paper cocoon still intact. What the...? If by some miraculous alignment of the stars, I've managed to coax a bandaid from its sheath and wrap it snugly around my mortal wound, why does it fail to remain where it is positioned? Adding extra layers does not impede the release. Okay, since I'm being encouraged to complain I have another 'why can't they.' Why can't they produce better quality driver's licence photos? Why do we resemble no one walking this earth? We do not look like ourselves. We are blurry. We are smudged. We could be anyone.This is our major form of identification? Satellites orbiting the earth can and do create sharper images. Cameras afixed to hair raising, stomach dropping, hurtling- to -imminent- death- and -destruction amusement park rides snap clear, sharp photos. The detail is amazing. Every goose bump is shown. The camera zeroes in our wild, tangled hair. Our bulging tearing eyes compliment our wide-mouthed screams and grimaces. Everyone can see our white- knuckled grip. The friend seated next to us with the blissful, face-splitting grin and both arms waving above their head is shown in stark contrast. We can be caught in a moment of terror, but we cannot be caught posing motionless? Granted we do fork out more of our hard earned money to gain access to an amusement park than we do for our drivers' licences. Perhaps we could arrange to have our driver pics shot as we speed past a pole- mounted camera. Oh wait, those are traffic cams and they can and do identify us. |
| July 19th Prompt: Hobby? I discovered this particular hobby when I first picked up a pencil and pressed it to a piece of paper creating a few random squiggles. I found my new hobby, doodling / sketching. I like imitating facial expressions, body posture, costumes and accessories. Sometimes, I exaggerate a facial feature or emphasize the scowl or an open-mouthed gap-toothed grin. Hairstyles are fun to play with, too. Animals are fair game for my renderings as well. For years, my efforts have entertained delighted children. At one time, my version of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles proved to be in demand. I had to learn their names to appease the young afficionados. Disney characters are popular and one of the first I mastered as a child was Winnie the Pooh.Sime kids simply request a giraffe or a lion, and I oblige. Painting faces is a fun challenge. My colourful canvases range from butterflies to tigers to 'monsters.' I never grow weary of the awed thanks. I'm not a paid, successful artist. A few months ago, I replied to a Facebook contest sponsored by the Canadian cartoonist, Lynn Johnston known for her comic strip For Better Or Worse. She shares the chaos and laughter of family life. She explained in her online post that she and her daughter like to challenge each other with doodle contests. They take turns presenting the other with a few random shapes and lines that are to be incorporated into a cohesive sketch. Lynn posted a few looping, unconnected lines flanked by two circles. The rules were simple. Make something of these given lines without altering or moving them. So, challenge accepted. I did. Initially, I envisioned a swimming whale and I also could see the figure of a person as other submitters did. I turned the offering 180 degrees and saw something different. I created a cat with folded front paws and long tail twitching, sprawled across the top of a fish tank. Bug-eyed fish swam within that tank. As directed, I snapped a photo of my doodle and submitted it online as a Facebook post. Surprise! Lynn liked it and mailed one of her original doodles to me with an inscription referring to me as a fellow cartoonist. Wow! I'm not going to lie. That praise, that recognition, that affirmation made me feel fantastic. I am not in her league. I am a mere dabbler. |
| July 18th Prompt: Have you ever boycotted a company or product? Well, hubby and I refuse to send our vehicles to a local garage or call them for roadside assistance, so I suppose that is our boycott. For years, hubby ran his own auto body shop where he specialized in restoring vehicles. Eventually, he closed up shop and returned to the open highway as a trucker. When he did this he no longer had a garage in which to carry out his own maintenance and repairs. He paid former associates to keep his semi in good repair. This seemed beneficial for everyone. As a long haul trucker only ever home for a short period of time, my spouse sought these procedures when he could. He made scheduled appointments. He always paid his bill. One day, hubby visited this particular garage to discuss a few needed repairs. A new customer walked in, interrupted, and my hubby was ignored. He waited patiently for the owner to return and continue their conversation. When this finally happened he told the owner that his behaviour had been rude. He was a paying customer with limited free time and if his truck could not be fixed, he'd lose money. The interrupter worked locally and did rely upon his vehicle to earn a living. No emergency could account for the interruption. What about first come first served? Thinking that the issues had been resolved, hubby walked out to the parking lot where the new owner's father accosted him screaming and waving his arms. He and my hubby had worked together for years trouble-free, so this came as a shock. Where had the expletive-laced tirade come from? This angry man demanded my hubby take his business elsewhere and my partner did just that. He did not want the inexplicable drama. Two days later, this man phoned to apologize. He begged my trucker to return. Had he thought about the loss of guaranteed revenue? Too late, my hubby has refused to return. He drove an hour away to seek servicing for his semi. We reside in a tiny rural village and we support local businesses. We were once a local business and we appreciated any and all patronage. Were two people offended? Did they both over react? Perhaps. |
PROMPT July 17th How important is the role of music in your life and in your creative process? Do you write to music? If so, what kind and why do you think it helps? Well, this will be a brief blog post. Music is not at all important to my creative process. There I stretched it out by repeating the words of the initial question. No, I do not write to music. I prefer silence. Now I'm not anti-music, no, not at all. If music is playing it is not background noise, it's distracting. I sing along to it. Occasionally, I will feel compelled to dance to it. Since I am far from coordinated, I cannot possibly write and boogie at the same time. Nope, it aint happenin'. I like the sound of silence. I am comfortable in the quiet and I prefer to think immersed in it. Perhaps this is because I savour my me time . I'm not always alone and when that occurs, music is blaring, laughter fills the air, and conversation is ceaseless. I do not attempt to create then. I enjoy the temporary company knowing I will write at a later time. On a side note, similar as it is about background noise, I do not like the unceasing whirring of a fan either. I am aware that some claim it helps them sleep and blocks out other noise. It is still noise! I do not care if it is termed 'white noise.' Noise is noise. A fan is nothing but annoying noise. It whirrs, clicks, squeaks and more. |
| July 16th Prompt: Neowise comet, a "frozen ball of ice that won't return to the inner solar system for 6800 years". Talk about it! So, a giant ball of ice is currently lingering for all to see. Huh, in Canada we'd call that winter and it takes a toll on our roads and vehicles. I've been in a comet. My hubby has tinkered with a comet, in fact he rebuilt one. We've both steered a comet. It really wasn't that difficult. I think it was a comfortable ride. I'm not sure, but there may have been ice. Ice is not a rarity here. Okay, this particular comet is a vehicle manufactured by Ford and known as a Mercury Comet. They sure had lofty model names. There is also a Ford Galaxy. They tended to rust, but they do make comebacks. To spot one head to a car show one starry night. No binoculars required. According to Google, a celestial comet is composed of dust, ice, methane, carbon dioxide and ammonia. This sounds like a sure fire recipe for combustion. Hey, I have an abundance of dust in my home. It's a naturally reoccuring substance. Like the comet it just appears and lingers. Most of that dust resides under the easy chair where certain sitters feel free to expel gas. The cushions of that recliner are methane infused. Wait a minute. I see a science experiment in the making. Okay... In the winter, we shall convince Grandpa to recline in his favourite chair outside. Of course, we will provide him with a parka. We're not barbarians. We shall sacrifice several of the dust bunnies, too. Hey, monkeys were launched into space in the name of science. We shall bribe a grandchild to pull Grandpa's , aka Menace of the Universe's finger 'cause we know what to expect. Boom ! Kazam! Fresh, natural methane meets dust and ice. Instant home-grown comet? |
| PROMPT July 15th Describe your sense of humor. Is it dark, sarcastic, slapstick, silly, or something else? Do you have any favorite comedians? What always makes you laugh? Sorry, but I'm Canadian and it's humour with an 'o.' We're an inclusive country and as such we recognize that vowel and display it proudly. It's like the French 'amour,' or 'toujour.' We're all about the laughter and love. Speaking of laughter, there are so many delightful words to describe it. Snort, snicker, chortle, guffaw, giggle, titter, tee-hee, bray, and more. Like a yawn, a laugh is contagious. We recognize it and join in. My sense of humour is all of the above. If I can squeeze out a side-splitting, gasping laugh, I will. Puns and word play tickle my funny bone. Slapstick and physical fun spark incredulity. The inane, the ridiculous, the silly, the sarcastic, the unexpected, the ironic all invoke thigh-slapping glee. My personal favourites , ( note the presence of that cute 'o' ), list is extensive and I'm always adding to it. With the advent of the internet, I've discovered many comics and television series. There really is a plethora of comedy out there circling the globe. Nobody understands and shares comedy like the British though. It ranges from subtle to bawdy with no apologies. As a teenager, I discovered Monty Python and I loved its absurdity. It dared to play with history and turn it on its head. Who else would dream of pairing the bubbly song "Look On The Sunny Side Of Life" with the barbaric practice of nailing people to a wooden cross exposed to the harsh elements? Who else would poke fun at the established history of knights and all their heroic lore? They were portrayed as stubborn men who acted childish. Who else would mimic the custom of collecting the newly plague - deceased in a cart and not checking for a pulse? "I'm not dead yet" is a phrase I use to indicate my current health. Imagine arguing with a poor man that he will be dead soon enough. I cannot see a lush green bush and not recall, "Bring me a shrubbery." A few years ago, I stumbled upon this British gem,'The Vicar of Dibley.' The premise begins that a small hamlet, Dibley, is expecting a new minister and the retired one had been a male, so they presume the replacement will undoubtedly be male too. They are flustered when Gerry is Geraldine. This new vicar is everything the older man was not. She is a free spirit who imbibes spirits and speaks her mind. She struggles with the small town sensibilities and its charming, eccentric citizens. One young woman, Alice, is beyond naive. She takes all that she sees and hears literally. Alice does not comprehend Gerry's jokes and she is often mortified and yet fascinated by them. Here is one that Gerry shares with Alice. Gerry is flabbergasted by Alice's 'innocence.' "They've come up with a new low fat communion wafer. It's called I can't believe it's not Jesus." Here is another. Two nuns are driving through Transylvania when a great big vampire jumps on the bonnet. One nun says to the other, "show him your cross." So the nun opens the window and yells, "get off my bonnet you toothy git!" To my great delight, I found' A Bit Of Fry And Laurie' to tickle my fancy. Most of us recognize Hugh Laurie as the curmudgeonly, antisocial, brilliant doctor House, but he is foremost a British comedian. With Stephen Fry, he created a series of comedy sketches. In one of them, Fry is a uniformed police officer standing behind a reception counter and he is approached by citizen Laurie. After some pleasantries, Laurie reveals why he has made this appearance. He delivers his tale of woe with sound effects which Fry not only struggles to comprehend, but record in a notebook. The two of them click, snort, whistle and more as they communicate. How did they keep a straight face and their composure? Another British series, 'Keeping Up Appearances' is hilarious. Hyacinth Bucket has aspirations of grandeur and she puts on airs. She envisions a life of gentility, but in reality she leads a rather mundane, working-class life. She insists that people pronounce her married name as 'bouquet' the French word for, well, bouquet as in a bundle of flowers. Imagine a surname as common as bucket, how mortifying. She affects an upper class speaking accent, or what she perceives as a posh accent. Hyacinth is a social climber, a wannabe. She hails from a low middle class family who do not share her aspirations of social superiority. In her attempts to elevate her social standing, Hyacinth often creates situations for herself that end poorly. She insists upon inviting the influential to accompany her yachting, but the boat is not at all grand. She and her guests traipse across country with all manner of finery required for an elegant afternoon meal. They lug tablecloths, crystal, china, silverware, bottles of wine, food, deck chairs. Of course, Hyacinth has encouraged the proper yachting attire with fancy hats, heels and gloves. She ends up tipped in the water and dripping in a rowboat oared by the vicar. Ah, there are many comedies to entertain me. I miss the ones of my youth. 'Carol Burnett' never failed to make me laugh. 'Laugh In' was a hoot. Sigh, wonderful memories of 'Wayne and Shuster.' Oh, I cannot forget 'The Red Green Show.' Canadian comedy is alive and kicking. May I suggest the following television series. SCTV, Just For Laughs, This Hour Has 22 Minutes, Baroness Von Sketch, Schitt's Creek, Corner Gas... |
| July 14th Prompt: Win a trip, all expenses paid, no travel restrictions... What country would you visit? Who would accompany you? What would you do? After collapsing onto the floor breathless from my impromptu happy dance, I would begin packing. Preparation is key to travelling. Hubby and I will opt to visit Britain. We will blissfully traipse through all of it, the entire island, north to south and east to west. No stone will be left unturned. We will hike, ride the train, rent a car, boat, and ramble in a bus. Time will be fluid. Oh, the people we will meet and the accents we will decipher. We have a family heritage to explore. We will experience for ourselves the memories of relatives. I'm sure sampling the local cuisine will be a pleasure. Bubble and squeak, toad in a hole, bangers and mash, whatever, it will be on the menu. It must be edible, right? Perhaps we will borrow a caravan and meander through the countryside and along the coast. If we wander for months, we may adopt a new vocabulary with a unique accent. |
| PROMPT July 13th Write about your favorite summer activity. Happy Monday the 13th! For some reason, this is more acceptable and less ominous than a Friday the 13th. Is this because it's the beginning of a fresh week and not the tail end of a tired week? So, yes it is officially summer. All the signs abound. The snow and ice have been banished. The Canada Geese have returned, honking and practising their water landings. Voracious bloodthirsty insects swarm. Jewelled butterflies and iridescent dragon flies flitter and hover. Long before the sun streaks the sky, squawking birds air their grievances. From their leafy posts, squirrels chitter. Sleek, round groundhogs waddle in the dew-sprinkled grass. Calm, mirror-like lakes glisten. And annoying, blaring, spewing road construction hinders vehicle travel. Most of my non-winter / summer revolves around camping at my seasonal site. Perhaps the canoe- portaging backpackers will sniff and point out that technically I am 'glamping.' I do not sense or encourage any glamour whatsoever, but I will concede that I sleep well above the hard ground in a bed with a mattress that is placed within its own separate room in a trailer. There are no sequins, or feather boas, or pink anything. I do not employ a staff to cater to my every whim. Imagine camping with a butler, a maid, and a chef now that would be glamping! And if it rains as indeed it shall, I stay dry in my shelter with a kitchen and a bathroom. Yep, I do not stumble down a shadowed, rocky path in search of a 'relief station' aka an 'outhouse.' Okay, I enjoy a level of camping above basic, but not extravagant. I will admit that camping with a ready, steady supply of hot water is luxurious. Sure, I could shower, or wash my hands in cold water, shudder, shudder, but why would I? That would be barbaric. That would be classed as 'roughing it' and why would I choose to do that? If I feel the urge to shock my system, I jump in the nearby freshwater lake where I can experience a full spa experience with skin-sloughing sand and a clay facial mask. Throw in the excitement of something tickling your unsuspecting bare feet and you have a cardio workout as well. I enjoy my poor man's or poor woman's cottage. It is my retreat, my summer oasis. I unplug and adopt a slower pace. Meals are never complicated. Most are cooked, sometimes charred, on the barbecue. I choose to relax on the deck with my feet propped up on an ottoman, ( yes, that's correct, even camping I use an ottoman), and my nose buried in a page-turner of a book. Fun times are shared via campfires. There's just something primal, satisfying about burning wood outdoors. You haven't lived until you are gasping and weeping because of cloying wood smoke. Anyone with a sniffer recognizes that odour of eau de campfire. The best stories dance with the flames and all dispersions dissipate with the smoke. Laughing to the backdrop of crackling and snapping warms the soul. Embers and eyes both reflect the glow. Camping has been my summer tradition since I first learned to walk. I cannot fathom a summer without it. |
July 12th Prompt: When did you first start blogging? WDC? Why? What did you blog about? Has your blogging style changed since you began? Okay...To^ answer the first question. Way back in November of 2014, I began blogging. I made my initial attempt here at WDC.I had noticed an MSN headline and I felt compelled to reply to it. According to this particular article " talking to your car could be dangerous." My immediate thought was huh, sure. My blog titled 'Distracted Driving A Mom's Specialty' began my blog . If you wish to read it, here it is. "Distracted Driving, A Mom's Specialty"  Since that auspicious beginning I have blogged about many topics. Sometimes I still reply to a news story. I like the challenge of creating something in a 24-hour period. Often the prompts are topics that I would never think to address and as such I am forced to improvise. Many prompts are excuses to exaggerate or have fun. I respond to the spontaneity of suggested group prompts and I enjoy reading the different responses. No, I do not believe my blogging style has changed in the intervening years. |
| July 11th Prompt: Imagine what the world would be like today if humans had never discovered /invented ________. Hmmm, I am con templating a different life without board games. Say it isn't so. What kind of life would that be? Oh, the unspeakable horror. Would there be devastating boredom? Would there, could there possibly be no laughter? Gasp. I imagine the deafening silence. Board games have amused my family and I throughout our combined history. They have never failed to entertain us and the accompanying tales of triumph grow ever more heroic with the passage of time. Someone only has to remark, "remember when?", and we dissolve into giggles. Our family lore is built upon our board game prowess. Are you familiar with the game Pictionary? The player who is 'it' must draw clues for his or her opponents with the aid of a pencil and a blank piece of paper. Of course, we are not all artists and our renderings are often crude and mystifying. Sometimes they prove unidentifiable if not illegible. We question the smudged squiggles. We struggle to see the likeness of anything. What word could this possibly represent? Is it standard English? I once submitted my masterpiece for my family's perusal. I had considered how best to draw my word and I believed it needed no explanation. My rendering was lifelike and so I thought, easy to decipher. My youngest daughter took one peek and burst out laughing. She dubbed my drawing "the penis mobile." For years, it has been displayed front and center on her fridge door for any and all to admire. She sees an erupting, spewing penis. I drew a car with an illuminated headlight because that was my clue word, headlight. Critics! Another family favourite that never fails to create a chaos of laughter and general rowdiness is the game What's Yours Like? The player who has been deemed 'it' will ask each of the other participants to reveal a clue about their object. The idea is to provide vague unobvious clues. My middle grandgiggle, Emily had drawn the honour of being the guesser. We shared that our common thing could be found in schools, it was most often brown, and in my instance, mine were full of snowmen. She shrugged her shoulders and hazarded a guess. "Boobs?" We howled until we cried. We'd been describing shelves. |
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