I’ve been reading other people’s blogs lately in hopes of finding something really inspiring. Today apparently wasn’t the day for inspiration. I did find the following meme online, and thought I might as well fill in my answers. If nothing else, I’ll have had the opportunity to reflect on my year.
1. What did you do in 2006 that you’d never done before?
Created a blog! Not this one, but this one from a few doors down. My own blog didn’t appear online until 2007. I also learned NOT to use Adobe Contribute to build a website.
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I did not make any, and I’ve been 100% successful at not breaking them, too!
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Nope. The closest one was my niece Morgan, born in the spring of 2005.
4. What countries did you visit?
O Canada! I don’t believe I left the province of Ontario in 2006.
5. What would you like to have in 2007 that you lacked in 2006?
Someone to pay me to do what I would like to do to earn a living.
6. What dates from 2006 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
October 2, 2006 – that was the day that my Aunt Gwen had her hip replacement surgery.
7. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I don’t recall any one thing that was a big achievement. I have a big head though, and am quite happy with just about everything in my life.
8. What was your biggest failure?
Again, see #8 – I don’t have any big failures to report.
9. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Good grief yes! Late in 2005 I fell down our hardwood stairs and broke my tailbone. There’s no way to put a cast on your tailbone, so I hobbled around and chewed analgesics for about 6 weeks. 2 weeks after I returned to work I dislocated a knee cap and was on crutches for a few weeks. Physically, 2006 wasn’t a fun year for me.
10. What was the best thing you bought?
Our new truck, without a doubt!
11. Where did most of your money go?
I gave most of my money to a dear friend of mine, Mr. Mort Gage.
12. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Christmas. I love Christmas! And every year, there it is again, a time to spend time with the various members of my family, friends, and time away from the office. Who could ask for anything more. Oh – and presents! I can’t deny that I do like presents!
13. What song will always remind you of 2006?
Margo’s Got The Cargo. Don’t ask.
14. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? b) thinner or fatter? c) richer or poorer?
Happier, fatter, and poorer.
15. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Catching big bags of money as they fell from the sky, of course.
16. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Complaining. I try hard not to, but sometimes the world just gets to me.
17. Did you fall in love in 2006?
All over again, every day.
18. What was your favorite TV program?
House, and CSI.
19. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Nope. I don’t hate anyone. I have a list of near-misses, but nobody is on the hate list.
20. What was the best book you read?
I can’t pick just one. The last one I read was Angela’s Ashes. I like anything by Torey Hayden, Sydney Sheldon, and too many others to mention.
21. What did you want and get?
New pots. I had no idea that pots and pans could be SO nice!
22. What did you want and not get?
Rich. Yet.
23. What did you do on your birthday?
If I remember correctly, I had the flu, so we had a quiet family night at home.
24. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
I think it was pretty great as is. Not injuring myself would definitely have been a plus.
25. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2006?
I'm supposed to have a fashion concept? Is “Look What Just Came Out of The Dryer” a fashion concept? If so, that’s what I’ve got.
26. What kept you sane?
Family. (Of course, who are they to judge my level of sanity!)
27. What political issue stirred you the most?
Everything at the municipal level. I’ve been bitten by the political bug, and am really enjoying the infection.
28. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2006.
That my family is incredible, unbeatable, and irreplaceable.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Nana and Pops
Once upon a time I called them Mom and Dad, once they graduated from Mommy and Daddy status. Now they're simply Nana and Pops.
When I was expecting a baby we talked often about what the grandparents would be called. I had two Grandmas - differentiated by their last names and their roles in my life.
My maternal grandmother was the 'country mouse', quite content to rock babies and coddle little children. She baked pies and cakes, and could turn half a pound of hamburger and a potato into a meal fit for a king. This grandmother had three girls and two boys, and was the stereotypical grandmother. She tucked us in to bed at night with a hug and a kiss, and was never afraid to give you a swat if you deserved it.
My paternal grandmother was more the 'city mouse' type. She had a full-time job, and lived in an apartment. Her time away from work was spent doing things that she enjoyed. She raised three boys and no girls. The rest of her grandchildren called her Nana, but for us she was simply Grandma.
Once I appeared on the scene as the eldest granddaughter, her own children had been on their own for quite some time. The grandkids had a basket of toys in her apartment, and she kept a fully stocked 'colouring drawer' for when the novelty of the toys wore off. It seems to me that she simply suggested to my parents when discipline was due.
As a child I could always tell which grandmother we were talking about, based on the rest of the conversation. Not that I wasn't close to both grandmothers - but a kid knows. If the discussion was about spending a night at Grandma's house - I knew that meant Mom's mother.
By the time I was nearly five years old, my maternal grandmother lived with us. We had a full-time live-in Grandma! I knew that we were the luckiest kids on the block, maybe even the luckiest kids on the planet! Nobody else had a live-in Grandma that I knew of. My brother and I never had a babysitter, EVER. We had three parents at home - and Grandma came fully equiped with scotch mints in her bedside table, stories to tell, and lots of hugs to share. Who needed a babysitter?
I knew that 'Grandma' was the right name for my mother. I hadn't seen her in grandma mode yet, but I was pretty sure she'd follow in her mother's footsteps.
My father presented another issue altogether. When I was born, I did have two grandfathers. My mom's father was Grandad. Dad's father was Grandpa. Sadly, Grandad passed away before I ever remember his existance. I have lots of pictures of me as a baby with Grandad.
Grandad had a woodshop whereas most people have a garage. He was a 'tinker' of all sorts. It seems to me there wasn't anything he couldn't build or repair. I believe he was a mechanic during the second world war. In his later years his passion was woodworking. I still have the cradle he made for me when I was a little girl, and the child size rocking chair has it's own proud place in my livingroom.
Grandpa, however, was a retired businessman, and a musician. He never came across to me as being particulary handy, but he was always interested in a good conversation or a debate. He worked with his mind more than his hands, I suppose.
My father didn't fit either mold exactly. He was a businessman by trade, and a woodworker by hobby. One afternoon when I asked him what kind of patriarchal title he preferred, he told me that his wish was to be called "Grandfather". I giggled a bit, and envisioned throngs of young children sitting on the floor around his throne, pledging their allegiance to the family and the territory it represented.
Grandfather. Hmmm...all that I could think of was the lyrics to "My Grandfather Clock". The biggest problem was that my parents were not old.
My son came into the world when my parents were still in their 50s. They were old enough to have 'been there and done that' according to whatever experiences I had to share, but they certainly weren't elderly by any stretch of the imagination.
'Grandfather' just didn't work for me.
By the time my son was about a year old my mother had already been designated as Nana.
One afternoon, Dad took Logan outside to have him help with some 'work'. I don't remember the task at hand, but it likely involved pouring copious amounts of water over a flower in the garden. Dad reached out for Logan's hand and said "Come with me", and Logan put his little hand in my father's and exclaimed "Okay Pops!" The rest, as they say, is history.
Boy, was I mistaken to think that the naming of the grandparents was my right.
When I was expecting a baby we talked often about what the grandparents would be called. I had two Grandmas - differentiated by their last names and their roles in my life.
My maternal grandmother was the 'country mouse', quite content to rock babies and coddle little children. She baked pies and cakes, and could turn half a pound of hamburger and a potato into a meal fit for a king. This grandmother had three girls and two boys, and was the stereotypical grandmother. She tucked us in to bed at night with a hug and a kiss, and was never afraid to give you a swat if you deserved it. My paternal grandmother was more the 'city mouse' type. She had a full-time job, and lived in an apartment. Her time away from work was spent doing things that she enjoyed. She raised three boys and no girls. The rest of her grandchildren called her Nana, but for us she was simply Grandma.
Once I appeared on the scene as the eldest granddaughter, her own children had been on their own for quite some time. The grandkids had a basket of toys in her apartment, and she kept a fully stocked 'colouring drawer' for when the novelty of the toys wore off. It seems to me that she simply suggested to my parents when discipline was due.
As a child I could always tell which grandmother we were talking about, based on the rest of the conversation. Not that I wasn't close to both grandmothers - but a kid knows. If the discussion was about spending a night at Grandma's house - I knew that meant Mom's mother.
By the time I was nearly five years old, my maternal grandmother lived with us. We had a full-time live-in Grandma! I knew that we were the luckiest kids on the block, maybe even the luckiest kids on the planet! Nobody else had a live-in Grandma that I knew of. My brother and I never had a babysitter, EVER. We had three parents at home - and Grandma came fully equiped with scotch mints in her bedside table, stories to tell, and lots of hugs to share. Who needed a babysitter?
I knew that 'Grandma' was the right name for my mother. I hadn't seen her in grandma mode yet, but I was pretty sure she'd follow in her mother's footsteps.
My father presented another issue altogether. When I was born, I did have two grandfathers. My mom's father was Grandad. Dad's father was Grandpa. Sadly, Grandad passed away before I ever remember his existance. I have lots of pictures of me as a baby with Grandad.
Grandad had a woodshop whereas most people have a garage. He was a 'tinker' of all sorts. It seems to me there wasn't anything he couldn't build or repair. I believe he was a mechanic during the second world war. In his later years his passion was woodworking. I still have the cradle he made for me when I was a little girl, and the child size rocking chair has it's own proud place in my livingroom.
Grandpa, however, was a retired businessman, and a musician. He never came across to me as being particulary handy, but he was always interested in a good conversation or a debate. He worked with his mind more than his hands, I suppose.
My father didn't fit either mold exactly. He was a businessman by trade, and a woodworker by hobby. One afternoon when I asked him what kind of patriarchal title he preferred, he told me that his wish was to be called "Grandfather". I giggled a bit, and envisioned throngs of young children sitting on the floor around his throne, pledging their allegiance to the family and the territory it represented.
Grandfather. Hmmm...all that I could think of was the lyrics to "My Grandfather Clock". The biggest problem was that my parents were not old.
My son came into the world when my parents were still in their 50s. They were old enough to have 'been there and done that' according to whatever experiences I had to share, but they certainly weren't elderly by any stretch of the imagination.
'Grandfather' just didn't work for me.
By the time my son was about a year old my mother had already been designated as Nana.
One afternoon, Dad took Logan outside to have him help with some 'work'. I don't remember the task at hand, but it likely involved pouring copious amounts of water over a flower in the garden. Dad reached out for Logan's hand and said "Come with me", and Logan put his little hand in my father's and exclaimed "Okay Pops!" The rest, as they say, is history.
Boy, was I mistaken to think that the naming of the grandparents was my right.
We, The People Of the Jury..
In Canada we do not have mandatory enlistment. Our young men and women need not worry about being drafted. One of our civic duties, however, is to present ourselves to serve as a juror when summoned.
I received my jury questionnaire about a year ago in the mail. The form was very official. It asked for my occupation, the languages I speak and whether or not I’d ever been convicted of an indictable offense. I dutifully filled out the form and returned it.
A month or so ago, my other half received a summons for jury duty in the mail. I was quite excited about the whole thing – but I’m like that. Any new experience is worth investigating. My number hasn’t been pulled yet, so I’m living vicariously through my spouse and his experiences of late.
He was at the local courthouse on the appointed day, at the appointed time to perform his civic duty. Day one was filled with lots of waiting - waiting to pass through the security check at the courthouse entrance - waiting for someone to call his juror number - waiting to see if he’d been selected. Lots of waiting! Rumour has it that the coffee at our local courthouse isn’t great, either.
He was selected to sit on a jury on day two. The trial was going to be approximately 2 months in duration. That’s when I started doing some research. Jury duty is not paid right off the bat. Some employers will pay you while you’re off serving on a jury, but some do not. By law – in Ontario, your employer does not have to compensate you for your time as you serve on a jury. By law, however, they do have to allow you the time away from work in order to perform your duty as a Canadian.
In Ontario, the first 10 days that you work as a juror are unpaid. On day eleven you start to earn money - $40 a day, to be exact. That’s $5 per hour. Nobody’s going to get rich sitting on a jury around here, that’s for sure.
Your income jumps to $100 per day once you hit day fifty-one.
The first case that Chris was chosen for was going to be roughly two months in duration. Two months is a long time to go without his ‘anticipated salary’, or at least it appears that way from my side of the accounting ledger. He was advised that he could plead ‘personal hardship’ if serving for such a long period of time was going to impact his financial obligations. Thankfully, that’s just what he did.
From what I understand, lots of people did the same thing. There were a few people there with what seemed to be perfectly legitimate reasons for not wanting to sit for 2 months on a panel of jurors. Imagine that you’re a stay-at-home parent with four or five children who depend on you for care while your spouse is at work. Daycare for four or five children for a day would far exceed the $40 allotment that you’d get on day eleven.
I did a little bit of research, and different provinces have different guidelines for jury pay. In Québec, jurors receive meal allowances of about $45 per day. That’s more than the Ontario jury pay amount, and in Ontario you're not compensated for your meals.
In Québec, jurors are entitled to compensation of $90 per day during the hearing and deliberation. They receive the same compensation for each full day as long as they remain on the jury and are confined to the premises designated by the sheriff. If the jury is put into seclusion for the evening (if no verdict has been reached) then they receive a supplementary allowance of $45.
Depending on your salary, and what you do for a living, one might actually MAKE some money serving on a jury in la belle province. A juror in Québec would also receive an allotment for childcare. I don’t quite understand why the pay scale is different from province to province.
As a member of the jury, one is not supposed to talk about what’s going on. Chris is not supposed to read about it, and he’s most certainly not supposed to come home and spill his guts to me.
All that I could get out of him was that the case that has come to trial this week is about ‘an incident’ that occurred in 2001. That was six years ago. I don’t remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, and I have no recollection of what went on six years ago from today. I suppose if whatever transpired was out of the ordinary I might still have some recollection – but I’m surprised that our system works so slowly. Wow.
At any rate, my partner is definitely being a good Canadian. He will do what’s required of him.
I’m glad I wasn’t chosen. . . . not because I’d lose some income, I think I could deal with that. I’m happy not to be chosen because from what I understand, although they call you “Juror Number 54321” they also call you by name. As you walk into the room with the alleged criminal and both teams of legal representation….they announce YOUR NAME to the world. I’m quite happy to NOT make Joe Criminal aware of my first and last names, thank you very much.
But again, I’m like that.
I received my jury questionnaire about a year ago in the mail. The form was very official. It asked for my occupation, the languages I speak and whether or not I’d ever been convicted of an indictable offense. I dutifully filled out the form and returned it.A month or so ago, my other half received a summons for jury duty in the mail. I was quite excited about the whole thing – but I’m like that. Any new experience is worth investigating. My number hasn’t been pulled yet, so I’m living vicariously through my spouse and his experiences of late.
He was at the local courthouse on the appointed day, at the appointed time to perform his civic duty. Day one was filled with lots of waiting - waiting to pass through the security check at the courthouse entrance - waiting for someone to call his juror number - waiting to see if he’d been selected. Lots of waiting! Rumour has it that the coffee at our local courthouse isn’t great, either.
He was selected to sit on a jury on day two. The trial was going to be approximately 2 months in duration. That’s when I started doing some research. Jury duty is not paid right off the bat. Some employers will pay you while you’re off serving on a jury, but some do not. By law – in Ontario, your employer does not have to compensate you for your time as you serve on a jury. By law, however, they do have to allow you the time away from work in order to perform your duty as a Canadian.
In Ontario, the first 10 days that you work as a juror are unpaid. On day eleven you start to earn money - $40 a day, to be exact. That’s $5 per hour. Nobody’s going to get rich sitting on a jury around here, that’s for sure.
Your income jumps to $100 per day once you hit day fifty-one.
The first case that Chris was chosen for was going to be roughly two months in duration. Two months is a long time to go without his ‘anticipated salary’, or at least it appears that way from my side of the accounting ledger. He was advised that he could plead ‘personal hardship’ if serving for such a long period of time was going to impact his financial obligations. Thankfully, that’s just what he did.
From what I understand, lots of people did the same thing. There were a few people there with what seemed to be perfectly legitimate reasons for not wanting to sit for 2 months on a panel of jurors. Imagine that you’re a stay-at-home parent with four or five children who depend on you for care while your spouse is at work. Daycare for four or five children for a day would far exceed the $40 allotment that you’d get on day eleven.
I did a little bit of research, and different provinces have different guidelines for jury pay. In Québec, jurors receive meal allowances of about $45 per day. That’s more than the Ontario jury pay amount, and in Ontario you're not compensated for your meals.
In Québec, jurors are entitled to compensation of $90 per day during the hearing and deliberation. They receive the same compensation for each full day as long as they remain on the jury and are confined to the premises designated by the sheriff. If the jury is put into seclusion for the evening (if no verdict has been reached) then they receive a supplementary allowance of $45.
Depending on your salary, and what you do for a living, one might actually MAKE some money serving on a jury in la belle province. A juror in Québec would also receive an allotment for childcare. I don’t quite understand why the pay scale is different from province to province.
As a member of the jury, one is not supposed to talk about what’s going on. Chris is not supposed to read about it, and he’s most certainly not supposed to come home and spill his guts to me.
All that I could get out of him was that the case that has come to trial this week is about ‘an incident’ that occurred in 2001. That was six years ago. I don’t remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, and I have no recollection of what went on six years ago from today. I suppose if whatever transpired was out of the ordinary I might still have some recollection – but I’m surprised that our system works so slowly. Wow.
At any rate, my partner is definitely being a good Canadian. He will do what’s required of him. I’m glad I wasn’t chosen. . . . not because I’d lose some income, I think I could deal with that. I’m happy not to be chosen because from what I understand, although they call you “Juror Number 54321” they also call you by name. As you walk into the room with the alleged criminal and both teams of legal representation….they announce YOUR NAME to the world. I’m quite happy to NOT make Joe Criminal aware of my first and last names, thank you very much.
But again, I’m like that.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Walkabout Waste
About 2 months ago I came across this blog while searching Google for other bloggers in Aurora. I'm very impressed with the efforts that Mrs. Walkabout Waste is making to clean up our town. As hypocritical as it might sound (because I'm not going above and beyond as she is to try and make a difference) - I have noticed the different piles of garbage on Yonge Street, but mostly the obvious ones - piles of garbage that seem to be neglected by the garbage man.
Reading Walkabout Waste has really made me stop and examine my surroundings just a little bit closer. I'm flabbergasted by the number of takeout coffee cups and fast food packaging that I see tossed willy-nilly in the vicinity of the restaurants. That's what the trash cans are there for, people!
Hopefully reading through these de-littering adventures will prompt other citizens to take note of their surroundings. I think the first step is recognizing that the problem exists - and hopefully everyone will do their part to clean up after themselves.
And, just for the record, if you're really unsure what to do with that empty coffee cup as you're driving to work - do just what I do... toss it on the floor of the back seat of your car. Once you have a large enough collection back their, your spouse will grumble, or your children will complain because there's no room to sit - then you simply gather them all up in a bag, and put them in their place! Ha!
Thursday, March 15, 2007
"Ay, the Ides of March Are Come, But They Are Not Gone"
Have you ever had the feeling that you’ve forgotten something? Well, for me, today, that’s how I feel - not that I’ve forgotten something mundane like to brush my teeth or to turn the furnace down before I left the house this morning – but that I’ve forgotten something of paramount importance.
I have scoured my calendar, it’s not my mother’s birthday, it’s not anybody’s anniversary. Today I didn’t have any appointments scheduled at all. My office calendar is clear too. All of my bills are paid in full, and there is still money in the bank for the next round.
Yet, I have this feeling in the bottom of my stomach that at any minute someone will pounce on me, leaping out of the shadows waving a calendar or an invoice and shouting “You forgot! How dare you?”
"Well, the Ides of March are come. Ay, they are come, but they are not gone."
Maybe I’m still ensconced in the story that I’ve been reading. “The Fortune Teller” by Marsha Norman.
Fay, the protagonist, is just that, a fortune teller who is not always looked upon kindly by her neighbours. Norman paints a clear picture of how Fay is made out to be a ‘freak’ by the locals.
The storyline is twofold…in the ‘main storyline’ Fay uses her psychic ability to help pinpoint the location of 27 children who have gone missing from the fairgrounds. I’m quite intrigued with her ability to simply study at a picture of one of the missing children, put her head down on the table and, using her mind’s eye, see everything that the abducted child can see in their surroundings.
In one chapter, she ‘mentally suggests’ to a three year old girl to walk closer to a gym bag on the floor in hopes that she can catch a glimpse of the name and address on the tag. The little girl does just as she suggests, and shortly thereafter, the police arrive at the house and happily reunite the little one with her distraught mother. Fay is credited with the child’s safe return, and the townsfolk are thrilled and suddenly very accepting of her abilities.
In the second storyline, which flows parallel to the missing children saga, Fay is struggling with to accept her own abilities. Fay’s daughter, Lizzie, is nearing adulthood and is ‘leaving the nest’ as the expression goes. Lizzie doesn’t do anything that a normal 17 year old wouldn’t do - the trouble lies first of all in her mother’s lack of acceptance. Fay simply can’t bear to watch Lizzie grow up because she knows that means that one day Lizzie will leave and she’ll be alone. Through all of the issues in their small town, the one constant, the one normal thing that Fay clung to, was her daughter Lizzie. Unfortunately for Fay, childhood is not everlasting.
Although Fay isn’t willing to accept that one day her daughter might just pack her bags and move out of their home above the fortune telling studio – the fact that Fay can ‘channel in’ to what is going on in her daughter’s life doesn’t help the situation at all. Fay sees snippets of Lizzie’s evening cruise with a dark-haired young man that Fay refers to as “The Devil”. Fay observes Lizzie’s wedding day procession down the aisle of a fancy church, and can see that the brides side of the church is totally vacant.
I’m only half way through the novel, and right now Fay is still trying to help locate the abductees, while trying to keep focused on what is going on with her daughter. I’m very intrigued. The locating of the children makes me think that a psychic ability is definitely a blessing……but watching Fay’s daughter ‘grow away’ – well, that’s the flip side obviously.
I wonder, if I had a similar ability, would I be able to see what I feel like I’ve forgotten….or would I not have forgotten it in the first place because my thoughts would always be ahead of what is going on in the here and now?
“I can always remember anything I don’t forget,
But sometimes I forget to remember.”
~Uncle George
I have scoured my calendar, it’s not my mother’s birthday, it’s not anybody’s anniversary. Today I didn’t have any appointments scheduled at all. My office calendar is clear too. All of my bills are paid in full, and there is still money in the bank for the next round.
Yet, I have this feeling in the bottom of my stomach that at any minute someone will pounce on me, leaping out of the shadows waving a calendar or an invoice and shouting “You forgot! How dare you?”
"Well, the Ides of March are come. Ay, they are come, but they are not gone."Maybe I’m still ensconced in the story that I’ve been reading. “The Fortune Teller” by Marsha Norman.
Fay, the protagonist, is just that, a fortune teller who is not always looked upon kindly by her neighbours. Norman paints a clear picture of how Fay is made out to be a ‘freak’ by the locals.
The storyline is twofold…in the ‘main storyline’ Fay uses her psychic ability to help pinpoint the location of 27 children who have gone missing from the fairgrounds. I’m quite intrigued with her ability to simply study at a picture of one of the missing children, put her head down on the table and, using her mind’s eye, see everything that the abducted child can see in their surroundings.
In one chapter, she ‘mentally suggests’ to a three year old girl to walk closer to a gym bag on the floor in hopes that she can catch a glimpse of the name and address on the tag. The little girl does just as she suggests, and shortly thereafter, the police arrive at the house and happily reunite the little one with her distraught mother. Fay is credited with the child’s safe return, and the townsfolk are thrilled and suddenly very accepting of her abilities.
In the second storyline, which flows parallel to the missing children saga, Fay is struggling with to accept her own abilities. Fay’s daughter, Lizzie, is nearing adulthood and is ‘leaving the nest’ as the expression goes. Lizzie doesn’t do anything that a normal 17 year old wouldn’t do - the trouble lies first of all in her mother’s lack of acceptance. Fay simply can’t bear to watch Lizzie grow up because she knows that means that one day Lizzie will leave and she’ll be alone. Through all of the issues in their small town, the one constant, the one normal thing that Fay clung to, was her daughter Lizzie. Unfortunately for Fay, childhood is not everlasting.
Although Fay isn’t willing to accept that one day her daughter might just pack her bags and move out of their home above the fortune telling studio – the fact that Fay can ‘channel in’ to what is going on in her daughter’s life doesn’t help the situation at all. Fay sees snippets of Lizzie’s evening cruise with a dark-haired young man that Fay refers to as “The Devil”. Fay observes Lizzie’s wedding day procession down the aisle of a fancy church, and can see that the brides side of the church is totally vacant.
I’m only half way through the novel, and right now Fay is still trying to help locate the abductees, while trying to keep focused on what is going on with her daughter. I’m very intrigued. The locating of the children makes me think that a psychic ability is definitely a blessing……but watching Fay’s daughter ‘grow away’ – well, that’s the flip side obviously.
I wonder, if I had a similar ability, would I be able to see what I feel like I’ve forgotten….or would I not have forgotten it in the first place because my thoughts would always be ahead of what is going on in the here and now?
“I can always remember anything I don’t forget,
But sometimes I forget to remember.”
~Uncle George
Sunday, March 11, 2007
The Finished Masterpiece
I'm quite pleased with the finished results. It took a lot of finicky final touches, but here it is!
Running with the Herd
A friend suggested that I post my answers to the following questions on my blog. Why? I don't know exactly, but apparently everbody's doing it.
It's Sunday morning and I'm all mixed up with the time change - so I thought I might as well, while I wait for the rest of the world to wake up. Here we go:
1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was your first thought?
I have no idea what time it is!
2. Do you read while you're in the bathroom?
Of course! Unless I'm brushing my teeth, I'm not that coordinated.
3. What rhymes with fit?
Knit!
4. Favourite planet?
The sun - life would be pretty dismal without it, now wouldn't it?
5. Who is the fourth person on your missed call list?
I don't have caller id.
6. What is your favourite ring on your phone?
We have one that plays the Star Spangled Banner, which is neat - right now it's set to Beethoven's 9th (Ode to Joy).
7. What shirt are you wearing?
A pink one!
8. What were you doing 20 minutes ago?
Pouring a second cup of coffee.
9. Name the brand of shoes you are currently wearing.
Fuzzy purple slippers.
10. Bright or dark rooms?
Bright! I don't like 'muddy colours' or dark ones for the walls.
11. What do you think of the person who posted this survey?
Well, that would be me - I think I'm alright.
12. If you're in a room with two beds which one do you sleep in?
The empty one.
13. What were you doing at exactly midnight last night?
Sleeping.
14. What was the last text message you received on your cell phone?
Telus - reminding me that I was almost out of airtime.
15. How do you like your eggs?
Poached, with Hollandaise sauce.
16. What's a word/phrase you say a lot?
I'm not sure - I will have to pay close attention to myself today and see what word appears most frequently.
17. Who told you he/she loved you last?
My Mom. She's the best!
18. Last furry thing you touched?
Besides the slippers? I guess the last furry thing I touched was Muffy.
19. How many drugs have you done in the past three days?
Uhhh... I took an Advil one day this week for a headache.
20. How many rolls of film do you need to get developed?
Film? I have a digital camera, and don't use film.
21. Favourite age you've been so far?
Twenty-four was the year I had my son, that was a pretty good year for me.
22. Worst enemy?
I don't have an enemy.
24. What's the last thing you said to someone?
This is a silly question. I said "Bye, Chris!" when he went out.
25. If you had to choose between a million dollars and being able to fly?
Show me the money!
26. Do you like someone?
Is this a teeny-bopper question? I like lots of somebodies!
27. If you could punch one person in the face, who would it be?
Right now, nobody.
28. What's the closest object to your left foot?
My left slipper, of course.
29. If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?
I'd likeskin that never wrinkles, hair that never grays, and vision and hearing that never fails. to look back proudly on my life some day and realize that the white hair I earned didn't come from simply walking through a snowstorm. White hair is like stretch marks - battle scars that one should be proud of!
30. If one thing about you could always remain the same, what would it be?
My ability to talk. Without that, I'm afraid I'd be nothing at all!
It's Sunday morning and I'm all mixed up with the time change - so I thought I might as well, while I wait for the rest of the world to wake up. Here we go:
1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was your first thought?
I have no idea what time it is!
2. Do you read while you're in the bathroom?
Of course! Unless I'm brushing my teeth, I'm not that coordinated.
3. What rhymes with fit?
Knit!
4. Favourite planet?
The sun - life would be pretty dismal without it, now wouldn't it?
5. Who is the fourth person on your missed call list?
I don't have caller id.
6. What is your favourite ring on your phone?
We have one that plays the Star Spangled Banner, which is neat - right now it's set to Beethoven's 9th (Ode to Joy).
7. What shirt are you wearing?
A pink one!
8. What were you doing 20 minutes ago?
Pouring a second cup of coffee.
9. Name the brand of shoes you are currently wearing.
Fuzzy purple slippers.
10. Bright or dark rooms?
Bright! I don't like 'muddy colours' or dark ones for the walls.
11. What do you think of the person who posted this survey?
Well, that would be me - I think I'm alright.
12. If you're in a room with two beds which one do you sleep in?
The empty one.
13. What were you doing at exactly midnight last night?
Sleeping.
14. What was the last text message you received on your cell phone?
Telus - reminding me that I was almost out of airtime.
15. How do you like your eggs?
Poached, with Hollandaise sauce.
16. What's a word/phrase you say a lot?
I'm not sure - I will have to pay close attention to myself today and see what word appears most frequently.
17. Who told you he/she loved you last?
My Mom. She's the best!
18. Last furry thing you touched?
Besides the slippers? I guess the last furry thing I touched was Muffy.
19. How many drugs have you done in the past three days?
Uhhh... I took an Advil one day this week for a headache.
20. How many rolls of film do you need to get developed?
Film? I have a digital camera, and don't use film.
21. Favourite age you've been so far?
Twenty-four was the year I had my son, that was a pretty good year for me.
22. Worst enemy?
I don't have an enemy.
24. What's the last thing you said to someone?
This is a silly question. I said "Bye, Chris!" when he went out.
25. If you had to choose between a million dollars and being able to fly?
Show me the money!
26. Do you like someone?
Is this a teeny-bopper question? I like lots of somebodies!
27. If you could punch one person in the face, who would it be?
Right now, nobody.
28. What's the closest object to your left foot?
My left slipper, of course.
29. If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?
I'd like
30. If one thing about you could always remain the same, what would it be?
My ability to talk. Without that, I'm afraid I'd be nothing at all!
Thursday, March 8, 2007
That Was Then, and This is ....Almost Finished
Here is the 'before' photo. The original is about 3 inches tall and 2 inches wide. Notice the wear mark where the little boy's forehead used to be. Poor kid!
And here is my progress so far. I've fixed his forehead, and have started to add some colour: Adding colour to the shrub rose in the background is going to be quite a challenge, as I'll have to do them one at a time.
I had a hard time selecting colours that appeared 'washed out enough' to be natural looking in a photo this age. Little Harry's blue socks are still a bit too dark, but I will fade them out as I continue.
And here is my progress so far. I've fixed his forehead, and have started to add some colour: Adding colour to the shrub rose in the background is going to be quite a challenge, as I'll have to do them one at a time.
I had a hard time selecting colours that appeared 'washed out enough' to be natural looking in a photo this age. Little Harry's blue socks are still a bit too dark, but I will fade them out as I continue.I'm really enjoying the learning process that goes along with a project like this. I now have a great appreciation for why so many photo restoration places charge an arm and a leg for this service!
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
A Work in Progress
Here is another old photo that I'm working on adjusting. The original was wrinkled with age, and there was a gaping hole where the little boy's forehead should have been:
I've filled in the hole as best I can, and am now working on recolouring the image just slightly. We'll see how it goes. I will post a complete before and after once the picture is finalized.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
A Blast from the Past - and Some Photo Editing
According to the writing on the back of this photo, it was taken September 6, 1941 when my Grandad Morton was home on leave during WWII. Grandad isn't in the picture, so I can only assume he was the photographer.
Back row, left to right, Clarence, Iva (Grandma) and Norris
Front row, left to right, Blanche and Gwen.
The picture above looks pretty straightforward, but I put a lot of time into making it look that way. The copy I had looked to be a proof, it was approximately 2.5" square, including a white border around the outside.
I scanned the photo into my computer at 1200 dots per inch using the software that came with the scanner. Then I switched to my new favourite program, Paint.Net. I blew the picture up to the point where I could clearly see the facial features of each of the people, and began to edit.
I removed some blotchy areas, cut out the top of the window, added the smoky border, and typed the date at the bottom. The copy I have now is nearly 4" wide and 6" high and it's much easier to look at. I'm very satisfied with my efforts.
This picture was taken a few years before my mother was born. I intend to find one that includes the whole family, and see how I can improve it to share with my family.
Monday, March 5, 2007
"I've Been to London to Visit the Queen"
Well, I didn't venture as far as London, but I did go to the local theatre to see Helen Mirren starring in "The Queen", on Friday night. I go to the movies no more than twice a year, so I have to really want to see one before I'll shell out the $10+ that it costs for a theatre ticket. The movie was only mediocre. On second thought, mediocre may be not quite positive enough, but "relatively good' is too strong of a rating. I read several reviews of the movie before going to see this film, and the reviews made the movie sound like a groundbreaking film that everyone should see - a film with fantastic acting, wonderful dialogue, and all the glamour that Hollywood and Royalty combined should exude.
That may have been partly why I was disappointed. The last review that I came across gave the movie 7.9 out of 10, so I expected to see a really good show.
Helen Mirren won an Oscar for her acting in the movie. There were a few scenes where she portrayed a teary-eyed Queen, and there were a few scenes where she snuck in a quick smile or a sneer, but the role didn't seem to be one requiring fantastically honed acting skills.
The scene that struck me as the best acted was the one where the Queen was attempting to cross the river narrows and bottomed-out the truck on a rock. The truck's axle was broken, and the Queen stomped around, and peered under the vehicle with a puzzled look on her face, before using her cellphone to summon some help. I can relate to that frustration.
I'm not an actress, but I still can't see that the role of HRH called for a lot of 'emotion' or characterization. Maybe Helen Mirren is bubbly and vivacious in real life, so changing herself into someone who appeared mostly calm and collected WAS in fact an act. I don't know.
I left the movie wanting to hear the next part of the storyline...what happened in the relationship between the Queen and Tony Blair? And why didn't Mr. Blair and his wife either do their dishes or clean the toys up from the kitchen floor - or hire someone to do that?
Why did the Queen spend so much time saying "I must be with the boys", and "My grandsons need me", yet they were never all seen in the same room at all during the film? That was not very believable.
The only thing that I really found truthful, based on my recollections of the news reports at the time, was the public's outpouring of sorrow when the People's Princess was killed. The Queen was portrayed to be unemotional for the most part, and relatively aloof about the whole ordeal.
I think I'll stick to reading the movie reviews for entertainment now.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
A Double Whammy
Ever have one of those days you just wish would end.... right now!? Or one, where if you could rewind it, you'd simply start all over again with a fresh attitude and a cheery outlook? That's how I feel today.My day started to descend around 8am this morning when I was attempting to call the dentist's office to get an appointment. I've had a toothache for 2 days, and thought that I either lost a filling, or simply developed a really vicious cavity.
I called the dentist's office number, and a cheery voice said "Our office hours are from 8am to 5pm. Please dial the extension you wish to reach, or please hold for the receptionist", and at that point I spiralled into voicemail hell. There was no receptionist at that hour, but there was no voicemail either.
I tried back a few times, and finally reached the happy receptionist around 8:20. Sure, that's only 20 minutes...but 20 minutes when you have an agonizing toothache that feels like a drill from your molars into your brain - well, that's probably the longest 20 minutes a human can endure. Happy Receptionist secured me an appointment for later this afternoon.
Fast forward to about 3 o'clock. I left work, and drove to my mother's house so I could brush my teeth in a familiar bathroom. A few minutes later I headed out to the dentists.
I was travelling east on a 4 lane road. I was in the curb lane and I noticed that about 50 ft ahead of me there was a transport truck PARKED in my lane with it's flashers on. I signalled at that point to move into the passing lane, looked in my mirror when I put on the signal, looked over my shoulder at my blind spot just before I made the lane change. I merged successfully and there was no traffic at all that I could see in the passing lane before I merged (this is important later - but doesn't it just make sense that I would NOT have merged if there was other cars right there?).
So...I was travelling due east in the passing lane, passed the transport and was just going to contemplate moving back into the curb lane....speed limit was 60km/hr and because of my lane change, having crossed over the traintracks about 40 ft before the transport truck, and b/c the roads were wet but not snowy, travelling up a slight incline in a manual transmission (I was in 3rd gear and my car will NOT go into 4th successfully unless I'm going over 60 k/hr - otherwise she moans and groans), I highly doubt that I was travelling at 60k.
Anyway....I'm now in the passing lane, travelling along and THWACK! For a split second I was confused. There were no cars around (or so I thought - other than a few in the opposite lanes) and I heard the thwack and felt the impact, but it all happened in slow motion and I couldn't fathom what might have caused the noise and the jarring.
I looked to my right and over my right shoulder, and there was nobody in the curb lane and I was quite a ways ahead of the parked transport....so I signalled, and pulled to the curb with my flashers on. Had the guy who hit me not done the same (he pulled ahead of me and stopped too) I would not have known what kind of vehicle hit me....because I didn't see him coming at all. He must have been travelling VERY FAST. Either that or he dropped out of the sky just before he hit me.
I looked ahead and saw one head in the driver's seat, and immediately thought "Oh great... some stupid broad....." when a man got out of the driver's door. He was driving a Buick - some kind of funky thing that wasn't quite a car, but not quite a truck either.
Mr. Driver walked back to where I was and said "Are you hurt?" and I said "I'm really pissed off", and smiled. I reached for my license/insurance folder which is always in the inside pocket of my purse, and asked him to go get his information. He said "Are we supposed to call the police" and I said "I don't think so unless the damage is over $700" (that was my second mistake....my first was driving down that road at that particular time). We exchanged information, and off we went. Oh yeah, he said "Thank you" as I was steaming and getting back in my car.
I continued to drive to the dentist where they froze me and drilled out important parts of my skull, but that's a story for another day.
Fast forward to supper time. I explained the story to my other half....and we both know you have 12 hrs to go to an accident reporting centre after an accident. I planned to go before 8am tomorrow morning.
Half way through supper, the phone rings. Isn't that always when the phone rings? The caller was Constable Twelve Year Old - that's exactly how old she sounded. She was calling to advise that Mr. Driver called in the incident so I won't have to. Incident number is ##### and to write it down to give to my insurance company. His Buick is leased, and so it all has to be reported. Fine, I will do that.
I expressed my displeasure with his driving skills... he was going too fast and swerved around the truck (and me) and in an effort to correct his oversteering, steered into my rear driver's side quarter panel.
Anyway....Constable Twelve Yr Old asks if I was injured. No. Was I the only person in my vehicle at the time of the incident. Yes. She then advises that the THREE CHILDREN IN THE BACK OF SCHMUCK'S VEHICLE ARE ALL FINE.Arrrrrrrrgh! Either they were teeny tiny children, or they were headless...because anyone over about 3 years old in a car seat, well their head stick up OVER the back seat and I think I would have noticed them.
Moral of the story - ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS call the police if you are involved in any kind of accident. ALWAYS! Did I mention ALWAYS??
Nobody was hurt. I probably will NOT fix my car because it's only redeeming quality is the fact that it runs. It's not beautiful by any means, and has had a couple of minor reconstructive surgeries in it's lifetime.
So THAT is the story of my fabulous day.
Strangely enough, although I want to curse and swear about it..I'm not upset. Angry, perhaps... but not all upset about it. Sh!t happens.
Life has been grand lately... so I guess every once in a while some jerk has to throw a wrench into the works.
As the saying goes....tomorrow is another day. I'm hoping for a better one!
Saturday, February 10, 2007
History, Family and Genetics
Last week I sent a picture in to the Auroran that I found in a box of genealogy from my grandfather. The picture is of the management team of the T. Sisman Shoe Co. Ltd., and was taken in about 1950:
It's has created quite a stir. Dad got a call from a lady who's lived in the area for many years, who just wanted to know if the Heather Sisman who submitted the picture was any relation to him.
Another lady whom I met at the dinner for the former mayor, Tim Jones, on Thursday night was very enthusiastic about it - she remembered this person and that person and she gave me details on a whole bunch of information that I could have used to write a history report, no doubt. Sadly, I didn't write any of it down.
I will though! The history of my town, and my family, is of great interest to me. My paternal grandfather, John Eades Sisman, (centre, back row of the photo above) traced the Sisman name back as far as 1686 in Leighton Bromswold, Huntingdonshire, England.
I've learned that there are Sismans and Sissmans and Sisemans in Canada, England, Australia, New Zealand, and the U.S.A., and thanks to the internet I've even made contact with some of them. I have a 9th cousin twice removed in Australia, who is about my age. I also have a 3rd cousin twice removed in England, also about my age. Together we've shared genealogical data, names, dates, charts, etc., as well as stories and rumours. I find it all really interesting.
I've heard that genetically all humans share 90% of our DNA with other intelligent life forms like the banana (we're all organic, which accounts for most of it). I wonder though, how it works in form of pedigree, and the genes we share from one family member down the line.
I studied a lot of biology in school, both in highschool and university. I can draw a basic chart of how to figure out what colour your offspring's eyes are likely to be:
My brother looks like our father, who looks like his father, who looks like HIS father, but not all of them have the same eye colour. I can see resemblance in photos between my own brother who was born in 1978 to my great great grandfather who was born in the early 1800s.
I wonder, genetically, what kind of other similarities there are between myself, and these distant cousins who live on other parts of the planet.
At any rate, I plan to keep learning and researching all of this. I want to learn more about the history of my family, the T. Sisman Shoe Co. Ltd., and the town in which I live.
There simply aren't enough hours in the day to squeeze it all in! I'm hoping that anyone out there who sees the pictures in the Auroran, or who is reading my blog, might have more information to share with me.
It's has created quite a stir. Dad got a call from a lady who's lived in the area for many years, who just wanted to know if the Heather Sisman who submitted the picture was any relation to him.Another lady whom I met at the dinner for the former mayor, Tim Jones, on Thursday night was very enthusiastic about it - she remembered this person and that person and she gave me details on a whole bunch of information that I could have used to write a history report, no doubt. Sadly, I didn't write any of it down.
I will though! The history of my town, and my family, is of great interest to me. My paternal grandfather, John Eades Sisman, (centre, back row of the photo above) traced the Sisman name back as far as 1686 in Leighton Bromswold, Huntingdonshire, England.
I've learned that there are Sismans and Sissmans and Sisemans in Canada, England, Australia, New Zealand, and the U.S.A., and thanks to the internet I've even made contact with some of them. I have a 9th cousin twice removed in Australia, who is about my age. I also have a 3rd cousin twice removed in England, also about my age. Together we've shared genealogical data, names, dates, charts, etc., as well as stories and rumours. I find it all really interesting.
I've heard that genetically all humans share 90% of our DNA with other intelligent life forms like the banana (we're all organic, which accounts for most of it). I wonder though, how it works in form of pedigree, and the genes we share from one family member down the line.
I studied a lot of biology in school, both in highschool and university. I can draw a basic chart of how to figure out what colour your offspring's eyes are likely to be:
My brother looks like our father, who looks like his father, who looks like HIS father, but not all of them have the same eye colour. I can see resemblance in photos between my own brother who was born in 1978 to my great great grandfather who was born in the early 1800s.
I wonder, genetically, what kind of other similarities there are between myself, and these distant cousins who live on other parts of the planet.
At any rate, I plan to keep learning and researching all of this. I want to learn more about the history of my family, the T. Sisman Shoe Co. Ltd., and the town in which I live.
There simply aren't enough hours in the day to squeeze it all in! I'm hoping that anyone out there who sees the pictures in the Auroran, or who is reading my blog, might have more information to share with me.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
A Letter to the Editor
Here is a copy of the letter that I've sent to the Auroran.
Dear Editor,
On February 6th I attended a meeting of Aurora’s Council in committee. An agenda item really took my interest. The town has $80,000 to spend for a gateway sign. The money for the project was provided by Whitwell Development (State Farm Insurance).
An item from June 2006 on the town's website says that "the construction of a prominent Entry Feature such as proposed in this report will only enhance the importance of this gateway."
I agree. A great big sign proclaiming:
is certainly warranted. However $80,000 is a large price tag to attach to something like this. The designs provided are aesthetically appealing, but they all remind me of cemetery headstones.
A taller, livelier welcome to Aurora is a better idea.
$80,000 is a lot of money. I'm proud to be an Auroran. Council could consider paying the money to a local artisan, or group of artists to produce a sign of this nature. Wouldn't that be a sign of pride and confidence? The money could be divided between the town's high school arts programs; an investment in our education system, and an opportunity for the youth of Aurora to show their stuff. If the idea were put forth to the artsy folk of Aurora, I’ve no doubt that they could come up with something fitting for less than $80,000.
I understand the money was provided to the town through an agreement with a developer in the area. Does this mean that if they hadn't given the money to the town, our gateway sign could possibly have read:
Dear Editor,
On February 6th I attended a meeting of Aurora’s Council in committee. An agenda item really took my interest. The town has $80,000 to spend for a gateway sign. The money for the project was provided by Whitwell Development (State Farm Insurance).
An item from June 2006 on the town's website says that "the construction of a prominent Entry Feature such as proposed in this report will only enhance the importance of this gateway."
I agree. A great big sign proclaiming:
"Welcome To Aurora - It's Our Town and We're Proud of It!"
is certainly warranted. However $80,000 is a large price tag to attach to something like this. The designs provided are aesthetically appealing, but they all remind me of cemetery headstones.
A taller, livelier welcome to Aurora is a better idea.
$80,000 is a lot of money. I'm proud to be an Auroran. Council could consider paying the money to a local artisan, or group of artists to produce a sign of this nature. Wouldn't that be a sign of pride and confidence? The money could be divided between the town's high school arts programs; an investment in our education system, and an opportunity for the youth of Aurora to show their stuff. If the idea were put forth to the artsy folk of Aurora, I’ve no doubt that they could come up with something fitting for less than $80,000.I understand the money was provided to the town through an agreement with a developer in the area. Does this mean that if they hadn't given the money to the town, our gateway sign could possibly have read:
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
It's My Money!
Last night I attended a general committee meeting at the Town Hall. I was already moderately familiar with some of the issues that were discussed.
A recurring item is the ACI trailer/storage unit issue on Ridge Road. Three residents have kept the issue alive and council continues to seek additional information to make a decision which will satisfy them.
The way the ACI trailer/storage container debate has played out to date, it seems that the residents are not out to put ACI out of business, and ACI is not out to destroy the environment -- but the debate rages on, week after week.
I was surprised to see all the various department heads at the meeting. On a basic level, my tax dollars pay for these employees to be there, and provide insight. Taxes are unavoidable. I have to pay them because I have invested in a home.
My right to vote means I can choose the person I wish to represent me, the person I think best suited to consider how my taxes will be spent.
At the meeting, Councillor Buck commented that the residents will never be happy till the Town accepts their direction. For what it’s worth, I agree. If I were a resident with a burning issue, I would not be satisfied either, until people saw things my way. That’s human nature.
Councillor Buck was interrupted, and told blatantly and rather abruptly by the chairperson that her comments “were not acceptable at the table.” Why not??
I’m NOT a councillor. I’m not aspiring to be one, but I certainly know what I expect of one, and thus of all of them. I'd like to think that collectively, the councillors will work towards the best decision possible...they are the link between me and the municipality itself.
Each councillor is an independent. I would fully expect at times for there to be 8 different opinions on a subject, and it's up to everyone involved to discuss and debate and even brainstorm to come up with a solution that is in EVERYONE'S best interest. Council gets to make the decisions - to play judge and jury. They were ELECTED to do this. My ideal councillor would do exactly what I would do in any given situation.
If I were there, I would insist on ALL the information. I would need to view all the facts and weigh all the options. Whether the information came from reports, citizens, councillors, staff, or even my own research……it's all relevant. I wouldn’t settle for anything less.
For one councillor to dismiss the comments of another.. is disrespectful not only of the councillor but of the people who chose that councillor. That behaviour is certainly not something I expect out of an elected representative. It's childish and smells of "I'm better than you are" - which is not true. Each elected Member of Council is equally as important as her peers. The man who rolls his eyes, and lounges way back in his chair, letting his tongue hang out of his mouth like a dog on a hot summer day - he should learn that in order to earn respect, you have to show some in return.
If I can't decide FOR MYSELF exactly how each penny of the various taxes I pay is distributed amongst the various costs - I need to know the people elected are capable of researching issues and listening to the views of others and arriving at informed decisions in spending my tax dollars.
If councillors want to win willy-nilly popularity contests ..then let them try running their own businesses...not the Town's, and certainly not MINE!
Certainly, I take these things personally - but I’m paying for it, aren’t I?
We have all heard of the dysfunctionality of the last council. At first glance, it looks like this one might not be much better.
A recurring item is the ACI trailer/storage unit issue on Ridge Road. Three residents have kept the issue alive and council continues to seek additional information to make a decision which will satisfy them.
The way the ACI trailer/storage container debate has played out to date, it seems that the residents are not out to put ACI out of business, and ACI is not out to destroy the environment -- but the debate rages on, week after week.
I was surprised to see all the various department heads at the meeting. On a basic level, my tax dollars pay for these employees to be there, and provide insight. Taxes are unavoidable. I have to pay them because I have invested in a home.My right to vote means I can choose the person I wish to represent me, the person I think best suited to consider how my taxes will be spent.
At the meeting, Councillor Buck commented that the residents will never be happy till the Town accepts their direction. For what it’s worth, I agree. If I were a resident with a burning issue, I would not be satisfied either, until people saw things my way. That’s human nature.
Councillor Buck was interrupted, and told blatantly and rather abruptly by the chairperson that her comments “were not acceptable at the table.” Why not??
I’m NOT a councillor. I’m not aspiring to be one, but I certainly know what I expect of one, and thus of all of them. I'd like to think that collectively, the councillors will work towards the best decision possible...they are the link between me and the municipality itself.
Each councillor is an independent. I would fully expect at times for there to be 8 different opinions on a subject, and it's up to everyone involved to discuss and debate and even brainstorm to come up with a solution that is in EVERYONE'S best interest. Council gets to make the decisions - to play judge and jury. They were ELECTED to do this. My ideal councillor would do exactly what I would do in any given situation.If I were there, I would insist on ALL the information. I would need to view all the facts and weigh all the options. Whether the information came from reports, citizens, councillors, staff, or even my own research……it's all relevant. I wouldn’t settle for anything less.
For one councillor to dismiss the comments of another.. is disrespectful not only of the councillor but of the people who chose that councillor. That behaviour is certainly not something I expect out of an elected representative. It's childish and smells of "I'm better than you are" - which is not true. Each elected Member of Council is equally as important as her peers. The man who rolls his eyes, and lounges way back in his chair, letting his tongue hang out of his mouth like a dog on a hot summer day - he should learn that in order to earn respect, you have to show some in return.
If I can't decide FOR MYSELF exactly how each penny of the various taxes I pay is distributed amongst the various costs - I need to know the people elected are capable of researching issues and listening to the views of others and arriving at informed decisions in spending my tax dollars.
If councillors want to win willy-nilly popularity contests ..then let them try running their own businesses...not the Town's, and certainly not MINE!
Certainly, I take these things personally - but I’m paying for it, aren’t I?
We have all heard of the dysfunctionality of the last council. At first glance, it looks like this one might not be much better.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Because I Said So.
My parents are fantastic.
I'm confident in saying this, because I've spent a lot of time watching other people's parents. As a child, other family's rules were of great importance to me. I can remember asking Mom, "But her mother is letting her go....why can't I?" "His mother lets him stay out till midnight, how come I have to be home at ten?"
It wasn't until I had a child of my own that I was able to better understand why Mom and Dad unjustly fabricated some of these rules.
Wearing a winter coat was a point of contention in our house for a lot of winters. I can't begin to count the number of times I was told to button up or zip up because I was going to catch pneumonia. I've never had pneumonia, ever, so their suggestion must have paid off.
As the mother of a nearly eight year-old child, it is my duty to make sure he doesn't catch pneumonia himself, so I continue the endless fight of "Zip up! Where's your hat? Yes you have to wear your snowboots!" It's obviously going to make a tremendous difference in his life, don't you think? All this nagging.
Logan asked me last night, "Mom, why do I have to put on a sweatshirt just because you're cold??" A response snuck out of my mouth before I even had time to think about it, before I even became aware that there was a thought there, much less a response to his question.
"Because I said so."
There you have it. Those were the four words that I promised I would never use on a child. Because I said so was something I heard a zillion times growing up.
Why do I have to go to bed now?
Why do I have to eat this?
Why can't I have more chocolate?
Why can't I fingerpaint in the livingroom?
"Because I said so."
I like to think I'm a modern parent, a good modern parent. I know better than to try and rationalize with a two year old (I learned it from experience though, don't get me wrong, I'm far from perfect!). I know that aiming for the toilet is something only a mother thinks about. I also know that sometimes the 'real' answer is just too convoluted and complicated, both for me to explain, and for my son to follow.
And....honestly.....because I said so was the reason that was used to counter my questions. I learned it from my parents.
"You have to wear your winter coat because it's cold out there. If you get sick, I will stay home with you till you've recuperated, or drop you off at my parents' house where they will feed you apple pie with ice cream for three meals a day, and then I'll take you to the doctor's where we'll wait for two hours for a 15 minute appointment where the doctor will pronounce that you're not dying of whooping cough, don't need to be admitted to hospital, and have simply contracted the common cold, or a virus of some sort. Then, I will catch the nasty bug from you, and share it with Chris, and then, likely my folks will get it too. We'll all be sick and miserable because we just don't recover as quickly as you do, Logan."
Because I said so just works so much nicer in a situation like this. As much as it makes me cringe to say this.... my parents were right. Because I said so is a valid reason. For just about anything. All the time.
Yet another reason why I feel that my parents are fantastic. If you don't believe me..... you'll have to take my word for it, just because I said so.
I'm confident in saying this, because I've spent a lot of time watching other people's parents. As a child, other family's rules were of great importance to me. I can remember asking Mom, "But her mother is letting her go....why can't I?" "His mother lets him stay out till midnight, how come I have to be home at ten?"
It wasn't until I had a child of my own that I was able to better understand why Mom and Dad unjustly fabricated some of these rules.
Wearing a winter coat was a point of contention in our house for a lot of winters. I can't begin to count the number of times I was told to button up or zip up because I was going to catch pneumonia. I've never had pneumonia, ever, so their suggestion must have paid off.
As the mother of a nearly eight year-old child, it is my duty to make sure he doesn't catch pneumonia himself, so I continue the endless fight of "Zip up! Where's your hat? Yes you have to wear your snowboots!" It's obviously going to make a tremendous difference in his life, don't you think? All this nagging.
Logan asked me last night, "Mom, why do I have to put on a sweatshirt just because you're cold??" A response snuck out of my mouth before I even had time to think about it, before I even became aware that there was a thought there, much less a response to his question.
"Because I said so."
There you have it. Those were the four words that I promised I would never use on a child. Because I said so was something I heard a zillion times growing up.
Why do I have to go to bed now?
Why do I have to eat this?
Why can't I have more chocolate?
Why can't I fingerpaint in the livingroom?
"Because I said so."
I like to think I'm a modern parent, a good modern parent. I know better than to try and rationalize with a two year old (I learned it from experience though, don't get me wrong, I'm far from perfect!). I know that aiming for the toilet is something only a mother thinks about. I also know that sometimes the 'real' answer is just too convoluted and complicated, both for me to explain, and for my son to follow.
And....honestly.....because I said so was the reason that was used to counter my questions. I learned it from my parents.
"You have to wear your winter coat because it's cold out there. If you get sick, I will stay home with you till you've recuperated, or drop you off at my parents' house where they will feed you apple pie with ice cream for three meals a day, and then I'll take you to the doctor's where we'll wait for two hours for a 15 minute appointment where the doctor will pronounce that you're not dying of whooping cough, don't need to be admitted to hospital, and have simply contracted the common cold, or a virus of some sort. Then, I will catch the nasty bug from you, and share it with Chris, and then, likely my folks will get it too. We'll all be sick and miserable because we just don't recover as quickly as you do, Logan."
Because I said so just works so much nicer in a situation like this. As much as it makes me cringe to say this.... my parents were right. Because I said so is a valid reason. For just about anything. All the time.
Yet another reason why I feel that my parents are fantastic. If you don't believe me..... you'll have to take my word for it, just because I said so.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
All That From a Conversation with Logan
This post struck a chord with me, especially the part where I thought Logan was being impolite, and Evelyn understood that it was an "example of the clear, uninhibited thought process of a very young child's mind."Logan will be 8 years old in a couple of weeks. He's always open to sharing his wisdom with others, and to question theirs. Last week, during a visit to the hospital to have tubes put in his ears he met another young boy who was going to spend the day in the hospital as well. Logan's second statement to this boy, once he'd determined he was staying for the day was "I'm getting tubes put in my ears, what's your problem?"
If he weren't 7 years old and so darn cute, that question would have upset me. You simply don't ask things like that. It's just not done! Obviously my parents instilled these kind of thoughts in my head.....they're not part of 'the uninhibited thought process of a child's mind' at all.
When Logan was about three and a half years old, he discovered that all he needed was money. With the right amount of money, he could have purchased all that he felt he needed to be happy. Toys! Lunch at McDonald's! More toys! All of those 'available at a retailer near you' goodies that they advertise on after-school television commercials -- he could have it all, if only he had some money.
During a routine trip to the grocery store he spied a package of small plastic cars. He wanted me to buy them for him. I explained to him I only had enough money for groceries. When he asked a second time I explained to him I was not going to spend $4 on 4 cheap plastic cars. Obviously I was trying to help him to understand the ADULT concept of money. He just didn't get it, no matter how many different ways I tried to explain it to him.
Once we'd left the store and he'd finally stopped grumbling about the cars, he explained HIS concept of money to me. When you're three and a half years old, and you're in need of money, the solution is simple. You crawl under Pop's recliner and take as much as you like.
I wonder if my father would think I was impolite if I followed Logan's lead?
A Plethora of Thoughts
I'm obsessed. When I find something I like, I like it A LOT.
Blogging - I like it A LOT. It's much tougher being the one doing the writing though. Up till now, I've been the 'feedback board' for Evelyn's blog, and find that I'm driven to express my own thoughts in a way that works for me. I'm not as organized as I could be, and my thoughts are still in the haphazard stages - but I will get there. My goal is to work towards being able to write what I'm thinking and accurately convey my thoughts to others.
I have questions - mostly about politics. Today's question comes from the significance of protocol at a council meeting. It reminds me of my time on the debating team in high school. "Be it resolved that.....", and all that jazz. It was great fun. I came up with a real doozy once, "Be it resolved that all clocks be abolished." We argued that one for days, both in and outside of the debating classroom. I'd be happy to continue to argue it. (I'm anti-clock, by the way.)
Where was I? Protocol. I understand there has to be a chairman to maintain order, but I don't understand why things can't just be discussed. First there has to be a notice of motion (which to me is like saying, "I'd like to make a statement." - just make it already!) Then, at a later date, the motion is seconded, debated and voted on and either 'approved' or 'defeated'. Why not just toss it out there and vote? Are your chances greater of having it approved if you discuss it to death? This is one of those things I'm going to have to learn by asking, obviously, because I've watched several meetings so far, and just don't get it.
And, who on earth are these people who appear at council meetings? I've been to a few of them since our new council was inaugurated in December, but I simply sit in the gallery and listen. Not that I haven't been tempted to jump up and exclaim "WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?" from time to time.
Last night a man wanted the amount of his water/sewer bill explained. Why didn't he just call the office and ask?? My tax dollars are paying for the staff and council to sit around the horseshoe and make decisions on what they're going to do with the remainder of my tax dollars after their salaries are covered. I don't think Joe Public needs to bother them with trivialities like this. On the flip side, some people show up with legitimate concerns, I'd even stretch to say "most" people. Some though, just boggle my mind.
Writing is supposed to be focused, and disciplined but I don't feel like I'm there yet. My head is so full of thoughts - I can't seem to get them to line up in single file and proceed in an orderly manner. I am simply going to do my best to talk about things that I know well, and to post my ponderings of things that I don't know well.
I sent this blog posting out to a friend for some feedback. Her initial comment was that a word that I used in the very first line was wrong. Talk about a kick in the pants. I'm trying my best, and I used a 'wrong word'! I fixed the 'wrong word' - but I'll have you know that I have my very own lexicon. It's compiled of words that I like to think I either coined myself, or words that I've changed the meaning of to suit my own use.
Scraggle is one of my favourites lately. Scraggle is a very useful term. When you walk home from your friend's house really late at night (or early in the morning, depending on your outlook), and you're physically exhausted - but your brain is whirring at 200 km/hr - THAT is scraggling. You feel like death warmed over, but your brain is just chugg-chugg-chugging along. Thoughts are exploding like fireworks. New ideas float in softly like baskets of babies being delivered by the stork. Thunderclouds are booming in the distance. You can almost feel the electricity arcing between the neurons. Then, you have to brush your teeth and go to bed and attempt to shut it all off.
I scraggled home last night. I think I might still be scraggling. I can't stop it though, so I might as well run with it!
Blogging - I like it A LOT. It's much tougher being the one doing the writing though. Up till now, I've been the 'feedback board' for Evelyn's blog, and find that I'm driven to express my own thoughts in a way that works for me. I'm not as organized as I could be, and my thoughts are still in the haphazard stages - but I will get there. My goal is to work towards being able to write what I'm thinking and accurately convey my thoughts to others.
I have questions - mostly about politics. Today's question comes from the significance of protocol at a council meeting. It reminds me of my time on the debating team in high school. "Be it resolved that.....", and all that jazz. It was great fun. I came up with a real doozy once, "Be it resolved that all clocks be abolished." We argued that one for days, both in and outside of the debating classroom. I'd be happy to continue to argue it. (I'm anti-clock, by the way.)
Where was I? Protocol. I understand there has to be a chairman to maintain order, but I don't understand why things can't just be discussed. First there has to be a notice of motion (which to me is like saying, "I'd like to make a statement." - just make it already!) Then, at a later date, the motion is seconded, debated and voted on and either 'approved' or 'defeated'. Why not just toss it out there and vote? Are your chances greater of having it approved if you discuss it to death? This is one of those things I'm going to have to learn by asking, obviously, because I've watched several meetings so far, and just don't get it.
And, who on earth are these people who appear at council meetings? I've been to a few of them since our new council was inaugurated in December, but I simply sit in the gallery and listen. Not that I haven't been tempted to jump up and exclaim "WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?" from time to time.
Last night a man wanted the amount of his water/sewer bill explained. Why didn't he just call the office and ask?? My tax dollars are paying for the staff and council to sit around the horseshoe and make decisions on what they're going to do with the remainder of my tax dollars after their salaries are covered. I don't think Joe Public needs to bother them with trivialities like this. On the flip side, some people show up with legitimate concerns, I'd even stretch to say "most" people. Some though, just boggle my mind.
Writing is supposed to be focused, and disciplined but I don't feel like I'm there yet. My head is so full of thoughts - I can't seem to get them to line up in single file and proceed in an orderly manner. I am simply going to do my best to talk about things that I know well, and to post my ponderings of things that I don't know well.
I sent this blog posting out to a friend for some feedback. Her initial comment was that a word that I used in the very first line was wrong. Talk about a kick in the pants. I'm trying my best, and I used a 'wrong word'! I fixed the 'wrong word' - but I'll have you know that I have my very own lexicon. It's compiled of words that I like to think I either coined myself, or words that I've changed the meaning of to suit my own use.
Scraggle is one of my favourites lately. Scraggle is a very useful term. When you walk home from your friend's house really late at night (or early in the morning, depending on your outlook), and you're physically exhausted - but your brain is whirring at 200 km/hr - THAT is scraggling. You feel like death warmed over, but your brain is just chugg-chugg-chugging along. Thoughts are exploding like fireworks. New ideas float in softly like baskets of babies being delivered by the stork. Thunderclouds are booming in the distance. You can almost feel the electricity arcing between the neurons. Then, you have to brush your teeth and go to bed and attempt to shut it all off.
I scraggled home last night. I think I might still be scraggling. I can't stop it though, so I might as well run with it!
Evelyn, This One's for You!
I suppose I should start with a little bit of history on how I got here and where I think I'm going.
I love to write. I love to talk even more than I love to write. Aunt Blanche told me once that they couldn't send me to kindergarten on time because although I could talk like nobody's business, walking wasn't my forté. The walking part was a joke - I think.
Let's start with the lady in the subject line.
I met up with Evelyn Buck a couple of years ago at Halloween. At first glance, she's your typical 'elderly lady neighbour'- she lives in a house down the street from mine. At Halloween she was handing out your typical individually packaged chocolate bars - but she had also made some ginger cookies to share. I told her that the neighbourhood children were likely putting these cookies in their trick or treat bags, only to have them thrown out by Mom and Dad during "Candy Inspection". At the time she was sitting in a darkened corner of her front porch, armed with a cane, and flanked by an ominous animatronic skeleton. She's got a thick scottish accent, and a deep chortling laugh. Evelyn suggested that I eat one of her cookies myself if I was worried about feeding one to my son.
I did. I'm still here to talk about it - so the questionable cookies obviously weren't laced with anything sinister - just some good, old fashioned, neighbourhood friendliness. I went back last Halloween for another cookie, or three or four!
I ended up contacting Evelyn via email with a question I had about some street signs, and we struck up a 'cyber-friendship' of sorts. She mentioned that she was having a website created for her election campaign this term - and that she was experiencing some technical difficulties with her computer.
I will sheepishly admit that although politics has always interested me - it wasn't until I became a property-owner and thus a tax-payer that I thought I'd best pay attention to where my money was going. I volunteered to check out Evelyn's computer and see what the problem was, and hoped to gleam a little bit of political information out of her as well.
Talk about removing one's finger from the dyke and flooding the city! She's definitely not your typical 'elderly lady neighbour' - that's just a disguise.
You can read about Evelyn's history on her own website at www.evelynbuck.com - but suffice it to say that she's got more political experience than Carter's has liver pills! She's been involved in the politics of the town of Aurora for many moons, and has a solid understanding of how it should work and how it shouldn't work. I'm appreciative of the fact that she makes educated decisions. Who can argue with that rationale?
I wasn't able to solve her computer issue, but we quickly moved on to bigger and better things. We made some changes to her website and discovered that with my computer 'skills' (she calls them skills, I call them 'flying by the seat of my pants') and her willingness to share, that we make a great team. She cottoned on to the idea of blogging, and a whole new chapter of my life was born.
Geekish? Yes. Nerdy? Perhaps. Intellectually stimulating? Fun? ABSO-FRICKIN-LUTELY! Could I give up my day job to do this? Probably not. I like to keep one foot in the door where the money is. But this is..... I can't even finish the sentence, because this is so many things. Empowering. Fun. Creative. Fun. Stimulating. Have I mentioned fun?
I've learned more about HTML and the internet in the last three months than I believe I ever could through taking a course. The internet is a marvellous tool for teaching yourself new things.
Evelyn and I have shared many late night (nearly ALL-night, one night in early December) conversations, a few bottles of wine, a zillion ideas, and now we share a fast friendship.
The way it works lately is that Evelyn will send me what she wants posted to her blog, and I tidy it up a bit, and post it. The thoughts are her own - I'm encouraged to comment - which I do, but if I disagree, we talk about why she's right and then I post what she wants. It's her blog, afterall. I'm just the administrative monkey.
This morning Evelyn emailed me:
"I still think you should be writing your own blog."
I think maybe she's right. I find that lately I'm waking up in the night thinking "We should write this", or "I wonder what she thinks about this". Now's my chance to express my own opinions and to share them with the world.
It really is empowering, being able to just say whatever I want to, with the understanding that someone might read it. On that same note, nobody might read it. I'm compelled to write it anyway.
I love to write. I love to talk even more than I love to write. Aunt Blanche told me once that they couldn't send me to kindergarten on time because although I could talk like nobody's business, walking wasn't my forté. The walking part was a joke - I think.
Let's start with the lady in the subject line.
I met up with Evelyn Buck a couple of years ago at Halloween. At first glance, she's your typical 'elderly lady neighbour'- she lives in a house down the street from mine. At Halloween she was handing out your typical individually packaged chocolate bars - but she had also made some ginger cookies to share. I told her that the neighbourhood children were likely putting these cookies in their trick or treat bags, only to have them thrown out by Mom and Dad during "Candy Inspection". At the time she was sitting in a darkened corner of her front porch, armed with a cane, and flanked by an ominous animatronic skeleton. She's got a thick scottish accent, and a deep chortling laugh. Evelyn suggested that I eat one of her cookies myself if I was worried about feeding one to my son.
I did. I'm still here to talk about it - so the questionable cookies obviously weren't laced with anything sinister - just some good, old fashioned, neighbourhood friendliness. I went back last Halloween for another cookie, or three or four!
I ended up contacting Evelyn via email with a question I had about some street signs, and we struck up a 'cyber-friendship' of sorts. She mentioned that she was having a website created for her election campaign this term - and that she was experiencing some technical difficulties with her computer.
I will sheepishly admit that although politics has always interested me - it wasn't until I became a property-owner and thus a tax-payer that I thought I'd best pay attention to where my money was going. I volunteered to check out Evelyn's computer and see what the problem was, and hoped to gleam a little bit of political information out of her as well.
Talk about removing one's finger from the dyke and flooding the city! She's definitely not your typical 'elderly lady neighbour' - that's just a disguise.
You can read about Evelyn's history on her own website at www.evelynbuck.com - but suffice it to say that she's got more political experience than Carter's has liver pills! She's been involved in the politics of the town of Aurora for many moons, and has a solid understanding of how it should work and how it shouldn't work. I'm appreciative of the fact that she makes educated decisions. Who can argue with that rationale?
I wasn't able to solve her computer issue, but we quickly moved on to bigger and better things. We made some changes to her website and discovered that with my computer 'skills' (she calls them skills, I call them 'flying by the seat of my pants') and her willingness to share, that we make a great team. She cottoned on to the idea of blogging, and a whole new chapter of my life was born.
Geekish? Yes. Nerdy? Perhaps. Intellectually stimulating? Fun? ABSO-FRICKIN-LUTELY! Could I give up my day job to do this? Probably not. I like to keep one foot in the door where the money is. But this is..... I can't even finish the sentence, because this is so many things. Empowering. Fun. Creative. Fun. Stimulating. Have I mentioned fun?
I've learned more about HTML and the internet in the last three months than I believe I ever could through taking a course. The internet is a marvellous tool for teaching yourself new things.
Evelyn and I have shared many late night (nearly ALL-night, one night in early December) conversations, a few bottles of wine, a zillion ideas, and now we share a fast friendship.
The way it works lately is that Evelyn will send me what she wants posted to her blog, and I tidy it up a bit, and post it. The thoughts are her own - I'm encouraged to comment - which I do, but if I disagree, we talk about why she's right and then I post what she wants. It's her blog, afterall. I'm just the administrative monkey.
This morning Evelyn emailed me:
"I still think you should be writing your own blog."
I think maybe she's right. I find that lately I'm waking up in the night thinking "We should write this", or "I wonder what she thinks about this". Now's my chance to express my own opinions and to share them with the world.
It really is empowering, being able to just say whatever I want to, with the understanding that someone might read it. On that same note, nobody might read it. I'm compelled to write it anyway.
So there you have it. That's why I'm here. I don't know yet where I'm going, but I'm convinced that I'll get there. 
This one's for you, Evelyn!
This one's for you, Evelyn!
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