My New Screen Door Policy

“No one loses their innocence. It is either taken or given away willingly.”

― Tiffany Madison, Black and White

I visited my blog this evening.  It's like visiting an old friend who tells the sames stories over and over again.  Sometimes it seems repetitive and stale and sometimes I'm surprised by how fun it is to rehash old times.  I uncovered this old post from 2011.  It was a draft that I never published.  The subject was an undeserving someone vying for my romantic attention.  When I re-read it, I was reminded of how silly I felt to be conned by an unscrupulous schmuck.  I was going to delete it because it's ancient history now, but I after a second going over, I realized that the experience had a lasting effect.  I won't say it ended my innocence, but it did cause me to drop my rose-coloured-glasses to the point of my nose for a bit.

I dusted off this old tidbit and decided to leave it here for consideration and contemplation; maybe as a cautionary tale for my readers about dogs that bite.

Welcome to 2020.  I've been missing you!




There is a lot to be said about the old "Open Door Policy." I made a pledge to be the kindest person I know and so throwing open my door and welcoming others in seemed to be an appropriate choice. Thing is, you let enough people in and one of them is bound to arrive with an agenda that slowly unfolds to reveal their very own Jerry Springer episode. And so it has. One hateful person who savours anger like an after-dinner mint was committed to taint and stain what would otherwise be a perfectly simple life. While I get to control the impact it has on my life, the continued attempts are tiresome and quickly eroded away any goodwill I had remaining. I grew weary of the charade.

And so...I adjust.  In true Wordpecker form, I peck around the festering wound left in the tree to excise the infection and find knowledge and truth and I begin the healing process.

The problem, of course, is trying to introduce a change that protects my pledge to be kind as well as my lifestyle. The answer, it seems to me, is to adopt my own "Screen Door Policy" at least temporarily...we'll see how it works. Everyone gets a smile, an ear and my full attention, but if it feels like I'm waiting for your pitch...I probably am.

I have good instincts about people. My problem, I know, is that I choose to ignore these instincts from time to time. I do this in favour of a romanticism I harbour about the inherent good of the human spirit and my admiration for those that overcome adversity to become successful, contributing members of society. I'm not the only one. Lots of people cheer for the underdog. There is a special affirmation in this rise to victory that bolsters the human spirit.   It's a celebration of hope and possibility.   Is there any other circumstance when we cheer so loudly for the most unlikely winners?  No!!!! We want it so bad, we believe in it so fully, that it seems our desire alone can and will force it to happen.

Sadly it can't.  

Sometimes the underdogs are just dogs. They come to our homes canvassing for sympathy and while we think we are helping, we are enabling...at our own cost in some cases.  These dogs stand on our welcome mats with smiles and stories and we open our doors and invite them in before we discover, too late, how feral they have become...either by choice or by circumstance. And then a beautiful idea becomes a spectacular mess and we writhe in the shame of our naivete and innocence.

Naturally our inclination is to close the door and take in our welcome mats but that seems to me to be an admission of defeat. When we shut everyone out, we're locking ourselves away and that changes who we are. We lose.

The screen door fits. It's a tentative acceptance of the certain truth that there are dogs in our midst but it allows us to commit to the idea that many people who arrive at our doorstep bring friendship and kindness. They stay--or leave--and our lives are better because we opened our door to their possibility.

You are Here to Risk your Heart

“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.” ― Louise Erdrich


On September 12, 2013, I saw this quote and I wanted to blog about it. It's been saved in my drafts since then sitting, waiting.  I write about what I know.  As I've said hundreds of times, it's about discovery; it's my process to gain an understanding.  As beautiful as this passage was, as much as I believed in its message, I couldn't relate to it.  It's like watching a hockey game.  You can cheer for your team at the top of your lungs -- "More cowbell!!" -- and you can share the excitement and the exhilaration of the win, but let's face it, the victory goes to the team.  Cheering from the sidelines is NOT the same as throwing on the equipment, giving everything you have and risking a loss in pursuit of the win.   Victory is for the brave.  I wasn't brave.  Not then.  Not until very recently in fact.

My friend Alison encouraged me to start trying -- to open my heart.  She said I was waiting, sleeping, resting.  I wasn't trying.    In fact, a few months ago, our sisterhood group had a tarot reading and my cards said that "he" was coming.  That he would find me. My first thought was that I was going to date a UPS guy because, let's face it, I don't get asked on dates.  People don't stop in here unless they're lost and looking for directions.  The ONLY guy who stopped by the cottage to "chat me up" was a 70-year old man with a belly full of beer and a bad pickup line.

I'm intimidating, I've been told.  I'm 5'9 and I don't slouch.  I am not a petite woman - Amazonian I joke.  My friend Anna-Lisa tells me I should stop looking for a man, because what I need is a warrior.

And then...he appeared.

I'm not going to lie.  I was prepared for a spectacular fail.  Actually that's not true -- I thought I was going to walk away with a new friend.  Maybe someone I could fix up with one of my single gal pals. Finding good people is never a fail and all my instincts told me he was "good people." I was raised as a tomboy and many of those traits have held over into my adult life.  Grabbing a couple of beer and "shooting the crap" is a good night by my standards.  It was a beautiful day.  Unseasonably warm.  A great day to kick back and sip some cold beer on a hot deck and enjoy some adult conversation.  How do you go wrong with a plan like that?  You don't.  Nobody loses.  Everybody wins!  It's a flawless plan!

I have a lot of rules.  This guy breaks a bunch of them.  My friend Shelley thinks that my rules are effectively in place to rule out 98% of earth's male populous.  She lives balls-out and I admire her for it. She thrives in stormy seas whereas I prefer lakes of glass...under clear blue skies...with a life vest. I always looked at my rules as the life vest but as I write this,  I realize they were my anchor.  They weren't saving me...they were stopping me.

"The Four Agreements" cautions us against making assumptions.  I had them.  Assumptions I mean.  In my defense, this fellow isn't a perfect stranger to me so...there they were...preconceived ideas.

He shattered each of them. One at a time.  Until all the little pieces lay at my feet.  Sparkling in the last few rays of a September sun.

It was profound.

Censors Beware

"Censorship reflects a society's lack of confidence in itself."

Potter Stewart

A few weeks ago the local paper ran an article about an  t-shirt at the local dollar store.  The t-shirt had the following image:

It seems that a female shopper was so offended by the image that she approached the storekeeper and requested that he remove the shirt from the display.  She very strongly felt that the image promoted violence against women.  The owner of the store refused.  The paper was contacted, as was Interval House (a local shelter for abused women and children) and a lengthy article ensued.  

As a woman I am not offended by the image.  I saw it myself on a visit to the store and it made me smile...I thought it was funny.  But then, I don't look to t-shirts for morality lessons.

This week in the paper, a letter to the editor referred to a photo  in last week's issue that "at best is in my opinion, extremely poor taste and at worst is blatant racism."  The reader goes on to say that "while I'm sure there was no conscious intent meant by the young man, the images and the act are, in essence, racist....The costume promotes the idea that being Mexican is humorous and, in turn, I feel, dehumanized an entire people."

The photo was a young man on horseback with a bad fake moustache, a poncho and a sombrero -- his promosal involved the word "Juan"...something like "juan to go to prom with me?" (paraphrasing) . I love puns so I remember thinking...punny.  I also remember thinking..."What the heck?  This article is two pages long?  It's a promposal!"  I read a few paragraphs about how this young boy planned his promposal but was not so engaged that I could commit to the entire article.  I don't recall any reference to the culture -- offensive or otherwise.  My interest started and stopped with the photo.  The visual stereotype was used to make the pun work...there was no ill intent, no hate, no prejudice, no exclusion...no racism.

We are bombarded by messages every day.  Lyrics, art, advertisements, newspapers, social media.  Hell, the Internet has been dubbed "Satan's playground."   I could learn to build a pipe bomb on the Internet but I didn't; I found a recipe and then baked a rhubarb coffee cake.

There is good and bad in the world and that's why as kids we are taught right from wrong.  Sometimes those lessons are fun, sometimes they are uncomfortable and painful.  Such is love and truth and growth.  Parents and teachers take great pains to instill these lessons over and over until they form the mortar in the subconscious foundations of our children.  The building blocks of everyday life lessons are bound together with moral judgement.  The kids grow up, we release them to the world and they build lives on the foundations their parents helped to create. Some crumble.  Some build empires.  It's not a perfect science...but it's been working for a long, long time.

Censorship doesn't help society.  Awareness helps society.  We need to learn how to filter messages -- good ones AND bad ones.  We need to wade through volumes of information and find the messages that help us understand our world.  Our true world...not one that's been edited by censors.

There is no truth in censorship; only ignorance.  Denying information doesn't make it non-existent...it simply hides the information from the unsuspecting and, as the old saying goes, secrets will out. Censorship is a tactic for fools and cowards; for dictators and totalitarians.  When someone is so arrogant that they assume to know what message is the "right" message for me...well,...THAT is what I find offensive.

To the lady in the dollar store, I suggest you partake in some deep introspection to discover the true source of your fear and insecurity.  It is not a t-shirt.  Perhaps you've been treated badly and I'm sorry if you have.  Nobody deserves to be mistreated.  No woman, no child, no man.  Nobody.  Plain black t-shirts are not your panacea.

To the man who felt dehumanized by the pun, I feel sad for you.  You know there was no ill intent. You said it yourself.  So either you're an attention whore or you've been marginalized at some point in your life because you are a visible minority.  It happens.  I know.  I've been marginalized because of gender.  But the whole world didn't do that...just a few schmucks along the way.  Get up, dust yourself off and try not to take yourself so seriously.

Coming Home

“Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.” —Virginia Woolf 



I am fortunate enough to have fallen in with a spectacular group of women. (If they agree to it, I'll tell you more about our sisterhood in future posts.)   I posted a link to this blog in our group page to share this site with them. To do so, of course, meant a visit. A homecoming of sorts.

What was intended to be a quick visit and a copied link turned into an evening of remembering for me as I read through old posts. I laughed out loud at some of them and got a little teary when I read about my Grandmother. I saw how far I've come across the years.  I can't believe that I made no posts in 2014.  Except for a brief moment of regret at that oversight, I still find joy in my posts which makes me so very, very grateful for my chronicle. It reminds me. It comforts me. It grounds me. It celebrates me. Coming here and not posting tonight would be like passing an old friend on the street and looking the other way. It's just not right. So I thought I would take a moment and feed my blog. 

December 2012 - We can celebrate the fact that the world didn't end in 2012 as predicted by the doomsayers. I got scolded by someone who thought that the collective consciousness should avoid any conversation that contributed to "end-of-the-world negativity." All I gathered from her comment is that she didn't read my blog. It hurt my feelings for a second but then the world kept spinning....pun intended.

February 2013 - You should know that My Asshole Cat ("MAC") did not survive the harsh realities of country life. He either contributed to the food chain or got married and moved away....you can choose your own ending to that story.   His replacement's name is Buddha but I refer to him lovingly as Kitiot. While he's not half the gentleman MAC was, he is his reincarnate when it comes to his need to be heard. My daughter named him Buddha which is a complete misnomer because he acts more like the head of Chaos; hence the nickname Kitiot.    He's only allowed outside during daylight hours.

My kids have flown the nest which makes this Wordpecker an Empty-Nester. I've always known that "empty nest" meant the kids moved out but I was not aware that it also refers to the fact that when they leave...they take  e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.   The mattress for the futon/couch/spare bed is now in my daughter's apartment while the "harder to store" frame is leaning on the wall in my kitchen where my dining room table used to be.  Instead, I have a lovely new couch on my credit card and I eat my dinner at my desk because my daughter left with my table and chairs.  Strangely, she did not take her cat.

So I have a cat in my empty nest...hmmm....that seems so metaphorical. (We may need to explore that in a later post.)

I'm at the lake, gearing up for Summer 2015. Exciting times here at the lakeside as I hammer out plans to exchange my seasonal for a permanent year-round-home.  (GOD I LOVE PUNS!!)  I cannot tell you how excited I am to grow my roots again. In the last 7 years one of my constants has been my love for the lake. I cannot imagine being anywhere else. It is my place in this world. It is where I find my magic, my inspiration, my belonging.   It is home.

Head Case

So here's the thing. We learned a couple of years ago that my sister had a brain tumor that we would later come to find included stage 3 cancer. Her prognosis was poor and she was preparing for the worst while hoping for the best.

Over a year later she has a new, optimistic prognosis and is well on her way to recovery. So we're writing her story. Which means one more blog.

I have Intermittent Tappings of a Wordpecker where I write about the world I see. I have a private blog - Uncivilized Me - that captures my most intimate thoughts - thoughts not fit for public consumption. My sister and I have now built BigBrainInc on Wordpress to build her book and tell her story.

So what?

So during this project, Intermittent will be just that. Things I feel I need to share with and about the world I live in. Uncivilized will continue to serve as an outlet for my most deeply personal experiences...a way for me to remember some important developments in my inner life. My diary so to speak.

Stick with me bloggers and followers. I promise to check in, but be patient as I venture down a new path. My sister's story would be the first telling I have ever attempted. It is important to me to do it justice. I promise to keep you apprised of our progress.

Still drinking coca cola? Watch this!

I've been living in my head lately, posting often to my private blog with little consideration for my conversation with the world I live in.

Then I stumbled across his video and thought...Yah...let's rag on Coca Cola.

In previous blogs I have talked about my immense loathing for Coca Cola. They are not good global citizens. They pirate resources in collaboration with corrupt governments of underdeveloped countries and replace fresh water with coca cola stands for nations that need nourishment.

I have a real hate on for Coca Cola. They lack conscience. My blog, my topic. Sorry.

Check out the video, brush your teeth, be sure to floss and...oh yeah...stop drinking coca cola.

A Message from the Universe

Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.

~ Barack Obama

I won't say I was struggling with a decision when I saw it, but I was thinking long and hard about something in my life.  I'm pretty slow to make big decisions if there is no urgency involved.  I like to know that I gave these decisions proper and thorough consideration...especially when the decision may impact others.  I get embarrassed sometimes because I feel as though I have this inflated sense of self...like MY decision has a lot more weight than it truly does.  I suppose some of that is just the burdensome responsibility that comes with being a single parent. I am not so arrogant to believe that my decision will change the world...but the big ones often change my world...so that's enough reason for me to give thoughtful consideration to things.

Laugh if you will but when I am really labouring over a problem, I pray for guidance and then I watch for signs.  I listen intently to what others are saying...or not saying.  I pay attention to what song plays on the radio when I'm thinking about my issue.  I pay closer attention to random messages in my everyday -- street signs, newspaper ads, advertisements in windows, greeting cards, news stories, banter on the radio.  It's like an awakening I think, when you open yourself up to world around you after you throw out a simple S.O.S. to the cosmos.  So when I saw it, I knew my decision was made. 

As I left the office, I saw in the sky a Phoenix.  It could not be missed.  The timing was perfect.  I get that it's a cloud, but in that moment, at a time in my life I needed to "see" something, THAT cloud became a message that promised rebirth.  It was relevant and it was timely and it was obvious.   Some will poo, poo this as a coincidence, but it doesn't matter to me because I had asked for guidance and I saw it in the sky.  If you don't ask, you don't get -- so...in the end...what's the harm in asking? 

Besides, in those moments when I believe the universe is communicating to me, I experience a sense of belonging which compares to no other.  It is transformative and powerful and it is the fundamental reason behind the feeling I have that I am blessed.  And to the cynics I would suggest, "Why wouldn't the universe communicate with me?  I am open, I am listening and I am worthy." 

So, thank you universe.  I accept my message.  In return, I send out love.

I Walked Across a Smile

"A smile is happiness you'll find right under your nose.

~ Tom Wilson

I try to walk every day.  In the heat of the summer, that sometimes means an early morning walk before work.  Most days, I like to get a break during my workday and get out for a walk to clear my head.  Occasionally I walk after work to exercise away the day's stress.  I've walked hundreds of miles on the same streets of Perth over many, many days, but today was different.

Today on my walk, I happened across a nice surprise.  As I was headed back down main street to return to the office, I noticed an arrow drawn on the sidewalk in chalk.  I was headed in the direction of the arrow and thought little of it.  I was half expecting a game of hopscotch on my travels but discovered instead a simple message...."Smile." 

I did.

I continued past "Smile" and found myself a the end of the block and a four-directional arrow.  It was clear to me that some kids had been playing a game of some kind -- a treasure hunt maybe.  I crossed the street and continued along my way.

Within half a block, I happened across another message...."One Happy Thought."

So I conjured one...

...and I smiled again.

It was completely unexpected and absolutely delightful.  It brightened what was already a pretty awesome day. 

It would be nice to think that the universe was speaking to me but I get the randomness of it.  Some kid wrote it...I just happened across it.  BUT...it could have rained and washed away; I could have taken another route; it could have been a game of hopscotch.  None of that happened, so I'm taking it as a hug from the collective consciousness of the universe.  It was a message and I received it.

Thank you universe.

Right back atcha!!

So here's my little message to the kid who wrote the message.  "Thank you for not drawing a penis or the chalk outline of a dead person or another hopscotch pattern that I never know whether to jump across or walk around.  Thank you for choosing a five letter word instead of a less-complimentary four letter word.  Whether you had intended it or not, you had an impact.  The choice you made brought joy to another person -- ME -- so....kudos to you Random Nameless Kid.  You rock!"

Sometimes I Feel Like a Watcher in a Dream

I sometimes feel like a watcher in a dream.
Sequences unfurl before me, around me
Manifested by a tired mind
Puzzling through the leftovers of today.

I sometimes feel like a watcher in a dream.
Gazing through windows in a room without doors
The intentional design of a sleepy architect
Longing for someone to serve witness to their existence.

I sometimes feel like a watcher in a dream.
Searching the horizon for footholds of reason
Constructs of truth in a make believe world
Where paths are made of both stone and quicksand.

I sometimes feel like a watcher in a dream.
Borrowed scribe to chronicle naked testimony
Of reasonable and unreasonable judgements
With a pen that drips empathy on stacks of blank paper.

I sometimes feel like a watcher in a dream.
Trapping understanding in locking boxes
Built by Freud and churches and worried mothers
With porcelain keyholes and glass tumblers and crystal keys.

I sometimes feel like a watcher in a dream.
Muted by a divine yet nebulous purpose
Galvanized by faith and confidence and duty
Where I may silence the aching isolation of my disconnect.

Playing Hostess - Setting the Stage

One might well say that mankind is divisible into two great classes: hosts and guests.

~ Max Beerbohm

I'm a guest.  I am a kick-ass visitor.  I am NOT a hostess.

Having confessed this, you should know that I'm hosting a very dear friend and her family on the upcoming long weekend.  While I want everything to be perfect, it won't be -- because that's not how things go.  It is not her expectations I fear, but rather my gnawing tendencies towards perfectionism.  Strangely, once she's here, I will stop measuring "things" like how clean the cottage is, or how good the food is, or if there's anything "missing."  I will go crazy stressing over food, cleaning, lawn care and activities until she arrives and then those shallow things will fall to the wayside as we simply enjoy our time together.

Until then....I make lists.  Lists for food, lists for ingredients, things to do, things to buy, things to have, things to clean, things to fix, lists, lists, lists.  I make lists.  I even make a list of lists I will need.  Lists, lists, lists.  

I initially asked for help with the menu from my dear friend "The Foodie" whose strength (as you can imagine by the nickname) is food and menu ideas.  He is a very good cook and food is important to him -- he is my life's version of Wolfgang Puck - food is his hobby.  It drives me nuts.  I subscribe to the "live to eat" notion that food is necessary fuel for our bodies.  I remember to eat when my stomach growls but more often than not, I skip meals like a hopscotch champion.  On weekends, I generally eat a pot of coffee in the morning and then make something late afternoon when I have a chance.  It's a terrible, unhealthy habit but it's an incredible time-saver and I don't usually have a sink full of dishes waiting for me.  The Foodie plans his activities around meals most days.  I have a real problem with it. 

The Foodie and I had a falling out, however, so I took it upon myself to Google some meal ideas.  I have a rough idea of dinners, lunches and breakfast.  We'll have at least 1 meal out -- maybe 2 -- and the rest will be taken care of.  First night is Mexican-ish-y fare ... mostly because I want to mix up some Margaritas...bad...I know.  Saturday will be seafood lakeside with cedar grilled salmon and skewered shrimp with vegetables and rice.  Sunday is either steak or chicken...maybe both.  I think I have this food thing down.

I spent the last week doing deck repairs to avoid an injury (or worse, a lawsuit) involving my company.  My friend has a young daughter so I'm cleaning up the kayaks and have found a small(ish) life jacket for her.  The pool at my parents (across the road) is on stand-by.

I weeded the garden, and The Foodie dropped by today to apply a fresh stain to the bench on the deck.  He also kindly dropped off two lounge chairs in anticipation for my "girl time" lakeside catching up.  Thoughtful!!  Hmmmm, maybe sucking up....not sure...possibly both.

I spent the weekend burning crap from my deck repairs and cutting the lawn and stacking some wood by the bonfire pit.  The lawn looks pretty good except for all the crud washing up with the high water and the flooded part of the lawn.  It's as good as it's going to get.

I cleaned the bathroom and washed the floors and took a stab at the cobwebs -- though cobwebs grow overnight here at the lakeside.  I know, I know, I will freshen up the bathroom before she arrives -- maybe twice.

Things won't be perfect, but the weekend will be.  She has already warned me..."We are not coming to see your house...we are coming to see YOU."  She is an absolute joy to be around so I know that everything will be just fine and our time together will be fun and full of laughter.

I found this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt, however, and I thought, "I can live with that."

"The only advantage of not being too good a housekeeper is that your guests are so pleased to feel how very much better they are."

~ Eleanor Roosevelt

The Miracle of the Dragonfly

                 The Dragon-fly                   ~ A poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson

 

Today I saw the dragon-fly

Come from the wells where he did lie.

An inner impulse rent the veil

Of his old husk: from head to tail

Came out clear plates of sapphire mail.

He dried his wings: like gauze they grew;

Thro’ crofts and pastures wet with dew

A living flash of light he flew.

The Miracle of the Bumble Bee

"Aerodynamically, the bumble bee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumble bee doesn't know it so it goes on flying anyway." 

~ Mary Kay Ash

"A bee is never as busy as it seems; it's just that it can't buzz any slower." 

~ Kin Hubbard

"To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few."

~ Emily Dickinson



Lakeside Living - Art in Nature

"Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain."

~ Henry David Thoreau

The waves battered the shoreline Saturday as the day spun through patterns of snow and rain and everything in between.  When the sunshine arrived early Sunday morning, I walked along the shore in search of the usual offerings of litter and found objects that arrive after a day of whitecaps. 

Along with bait containers, bobbins, tennis balls, soda cans and beer bottles, I found the shoreline shrubs in a sheath of ice.  The only evidence on this peaceful morning, of the battering they endured the day before.

 

Lakeside Living - A Storm Rolls In

"I was a complete tomboy. I loved wandering out in storms or walking on the beaches in the dark. It was a very free upbringing, and I'm grateful to my parents for that."

~ Amanda Burton

I was summoned from sleep Saturday morning by the sound of ice pellets tapping against my window.  I cracked an eye to the grey dawn and burrowed further beneath the blankets.  Some time later, the sound of the rising wind drew me from my bed.  I stood by the window and watched a squall work its way up the lake.

Our lakefront cottage provides front row seats for every system that settles in from the northwest -- and most of them do.  We watch fog creep up the lake or burn away under the heat of the morning sun.  We watch storm clouds roll and churn and tumble up the lake.  And sometimes, as it happened on Saturday, a squall arrives like a curtain drawing its way across the lake.

I am captivated by the way that nature can breathe life into a day with a breeze, that rises to a wind, that manifests into a storm and then dissolves back into a clear day.  A photograph may capture the mood, but never the energy..

I wish that I could find words to describe the miracle of nature.  Instead, I can explain only by saying that I feel closest to God when I am in the temple He created...rather than rejoicing in one we created for Him.  

On KD and Soda Pop

"No disease that can be treated by diet should be treated with any other means."

Maimonides

Food bloggers, I've learned, have started a petition to remove the artificial food dyes that are responsible for Kraft Dinner's distinct appearance. Tartrazine, or yellow food dye #5 and #6 is an approved food additive according to North American food watchdogs. It serves no nutritional purpose and does not affect product flavour...just colour.

In fact, and I find this strange, the same food dye is NOT in the same product sold overseas to European consumers. Hmmm.

In reading the article discussing consumer petitions, I learned that PepsiCo recently made modifications to their product after a consumer petition received national attention.  Good job active consumers!

I'm not a fan of Kraft Dinner.  I was raised on a macaroni and cheese casserole that my mom makes with tomatoes and sharp cheddar cheese.  There was not a lot of prepared food in our home.  Sliced bread, margarine, Miracle Whip, Peanut Butter, sometimes cookies and the occasional store-bought buttertart (thanks Dad), but otherwise we were a meat and potatoes, snack-deprived family. Apples were our snack.  "Have an apple." "Oh you're hungry?  Grab an apple, dinner will be ready in two hours."  Apples, apples, apples. 

Our meals were almost always made from scratch. The exception was grocery night which was, almost always, hot dog night. Fortunately, due to this tradition, I have already consumed my lifetime quota of hot dogs. KD was usually purchased for nights when the kids had to make dinner.

As far as PepsiCo goes....ahhhh geez....don't get me started.   I have a very low opinion of soda pop. At our grocery store, there is an entire isle dedicated to chips/snacks and soda pop.  One isle. An entire isle of carbonated, sugary drinks. Empty, pointless, tooth-rotting, belly-busting, soda. I can choose from over 20 kinds of soda pop in my grocery store. There are precisely three varieties of mushrooms in the vegetable isle. The bananas are almost always green and you have to check the bottom of the berries to make sure you're not buying half-rotten fruit....but there's a crap load of soda pop on the other side of the store.  ..... Sorry....didn't I say "don't get me started?"

KD is a childhood food really. I remember it from my childhood and I fed it to my kids when they were younger. I stopped buying it when my kids were able to eat using their own knife and fork....around the time KD hit a buck a box. I occasionally crave the nostalgia of Kraft Dinner but have learned, after a few failed attempts, that it's true...you can't go back. 

As a result, KD has been forever banished to my food category  "foods that you think you want, until you eat them, and then you're just disappointed."  KFC is also on that list....and fried egg sandwiches.

So there you have it.
1)  Kraft Dinner may become a paler version of what you're used to but...hey...they still eat it across the pond. 
2) Consumer petitions can be effective but the biggest impact consumers have is their choice to buy or not buy a product. 
3) I would strongly suggest you consider NOT BUYING soda pop. 

It's my opinion.  You are, as always, invited to take it or leave it.

Public Health Care - Canada's Frankenstein

"Time and health are two precious assets that we don't recognize and appreciate until they have been depleted."

~ Denis Waitley

I was born and raised in the province of Ontario. I am average, I am in good health and I pay taxes.  I use the health care system as necessary but I wouldn't want to rely on it to save my life.

Public health care is a noble idea.  When it was first introduced it was intended to provide its residents with emergency medical services and preventative care at no charge. (Well, no additional charge -- the "system" after all is financed through taxation.) It meant that the impoverished or the uninsured/uninsurable could access basic health care. Honourable.

Some forty years later, Ontario introduced an additional health care premium on personal tax returns based on annual earnings.   The same year the new levy was introduced, the provincial government began to de-list services that had, until then, been made available through OHIP.  Residents were now being asked to pay more for less. Those of us paying attention noticed that certain health care coverage was now offered to individuals under the age of 19, over the age of 65, or to individuals on social assistance.  Wage earners -- those funding the program through taxation -- were being asked to pay out of pocket for services available free of charge to the unemployed.

The fact is, our medical insurance program lost sight of its original purpose -- to provide emergency health care and preventative care at no cost.  It has grown over time to fund diagnoses and treatment across multiple modalities from birth until death on an inpatient and outpatient basis.  It became and unwieldy beast.  Our Canadian Frankenstein.  It was a good idea at the time...but it soon grew out of control.

How could an idea conceived 50 years ago integrate contingencies to reflect decades worth of medical advances and their financial implications much less anticipate swings in the economic landscape and changes to the the nation's demographics?  It cannot.  And, as with every other government program, failure to manage the program has resulted in a crisis.  That, in my opinion, is the single biggest flaw with government health care -- it is not managed.  It is budgeted, it is regulated, but it is not managed. 

So now what?  So now we have a system that is built to fail.  It is unsustainable. Worse still, Canadians feel it is their birthright and they become outraged when insurance drops another service.  Our health care program has become a political playground used to launch platforms and criticize government spending.   Now, doctors and bureaucrats are playing tug-o-war with our health insurance as the latest cuts focus on a "wage freeze" for physicians.  That's right...our government currently maintains that the health care crisis is partly due to medical professionals who have benefited from a 75% increase in earnings over the past 10 years.

Canadians need to read between the lines.  Politicians will not freely endorse or work towards a two-tiered system until it has the support of the Canadian public.  There is too much unease around any inequities that may follow.  We all agree that class should not dictate the level of care one receives...but it does.  It always did.  It always will.  If you have money, you can spend it on your health.  It is as simple as that.  Let's not be naive. 

Private health care options already exist in Canada, however they are few and far between.  The Canada Health Act penalizes provinces who, among other things, make private health care an option for their residents by reducing federal transfer payments.  Some view the penalty as an acceptable loss in exchange for alternative health care solutions that would alleviate a program in crisis.  Clearly it's a financial win for some provinces. 

Canada needs a strategy that would provide health care solutions for individuals covered by private insurance plans or who may be willing to pay out-of-pocket for health care services; a two-tiered system that alleviates a straining health care system without diminishing services to those that rely on a public health care.  A system that keeps health care dollars in Canada to promote research and development and create jobs for health care professionals that are being lured south of the border.

There has been no health care reform in Canada.  If anything, Canadians should not be upset because services are being de-listed, they should be outraged that their government is not planning a strategy that will outlast its term of office.

Bucket List - Yi Peng Festival, Thailand

“No one lights a lamp in order to hide it behind the door: the purpose of light is to create more light, to open people's eyes, to reveal the marvels around.”

~ Paulo Coelho

Each fall in Thailand, the Yi Peng lantern festival is held in Chiang Mai.  The picture below taken by Ng Chai Hock was recognized in Sony's 2013 Photo Awards.

The lanterns are released in respect for Buddah.  It is thought that this symbolic act would release bad memories and that the lantern would transport a wish for the future to the heavens.  It was monks who had traditionally released the lanterns but the festival has grown so that anyone may participate.  In the evening floating lanterns are released all around Chiang Mai province. 

This event has made its way to my bucket list.

Soul Sista Lost and Found

Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is far the best ending for one.

~ Oscar Wilde

I met Nori one summer at a local campground.  I was a shy teenager completely captivated by this outgoing, cheerful, funny dynamo who was unlike anyone else I had ever met.  She truly was one-of-a-kind.  We spent a lot of time talking and I credit her with being a trusted confidante and a guide, of sorts, as I stumbled -- often blindly -- across the minefield of teenage angst.  She kept me happy and real and positive.  I met her when I absolutely needed her and am better for it.

We found each other on Facebook a while ago and tonight we talked on the phone for about an hour.  It was interesting to hear about her life and all of the changes.  I am beyond thrilled to learn that she is a mom -- because when I met her all those years ago, there was nothing more important to her than having children. 

People change over time.  We see it every day.  Some people resign themselves to their life.  Some people trade their ambitions or desires for the role of parent or partner.  The people that learn and grow from their trials become better versions of themselves; the people that don't are at risk of becoming empty husks. 

Nori is a light.  She is everything I remember but better.  I can't wait to see her. 

I sometimes make fun of Facebook because it can be bogged down with pointless remarks and hurtful messages.  Sometimes though, it delivers a friend.. For that, Facebook, I am grateful.

My Asshole Cat. Part 4 - The Surrender

Kneading on You. You may think this is a sign of affection, but your cat is actually checking your internal organs for weaknesses.

~from How to Tell if Your Cat is Plotting to Kill You

Yesterday, I carted up Mac and we headed to town for our vet appointment. I dropped Lys at the high school and made my way across town to collect my drive-thru breakfast before making a quick stop at the office. Within a few minutes of dropping Miss Alyssa, I was assaulted by a stench that – literally – brought tears to my eyes. I lowered the windows and tried to calm Mac but her nerves clearly had gotten the best of her. I stopped at the office for some paper towels and some cleaner and decided to make an early appearance at the vet clinic.

Dr. Greg hadn’t arrived yet so I begged the vet tech to borrow an exam room and clean up Mac before her debut appointment. Once in the room I forced open the windows and released Hell herself from the carrier. She left her prison like a shot and was soon a drenched, smelly mess on the other side of the exam room. I decided to let her gather herself so I took the opportunity to clean up the carrier. There are no words that can adequately convey to you the breath-robbing, eye-stabbing stink of that cat. I dabbed and rubbed at her wet fur without any measure of success.  It really seemed like nothing more than busywork.

As Dr.Greg entered the room, his first words were “Wow, smells like a tom cat in here.” I quickly apologized and explained that she messed herself in the carrier on the way over. He placed Mac on the exam table and after the briefest palpation exclaimed – “…because it IS a tom cat.”

Congratulations, it’s a boy!

I burst out laughing. “Boy, do I feel stupid!” He assured me that I shouldn’t feel bad…it would be far worse, he explained, if THEY got it wrong.

(You should understand that this man knows that we have not actively pursued “pet owner status.” We do not go to pet stores, choose our pets, build our intelligence about their breed and behaviour and then dote upon them with our vast knowledge and skill. We are…instead…a small family of bleeding hearts that cannot turn their backs on a stray animal in peril and so we commit to their care in the absence of a loving owner. We are pet owners by circumstance.)

He excused himself from the room to gather the vaccinations. I could hear him tell his tech to correct Mac’s chart to show a male cat…”the she is actually a HE,” he said. I smiled and turned to Mac… "You tricky little bastard,” I whispered. I took those brief seconds to reflect on Mac’s behaviours and things began to fall into place. Wait until I tell the kids, I thought..

The rest of the appointment went very well (obnoxious odour notwithstanding) and Mac was treated for every possible parasite and disease before returning – with much help from Dr. Greg – to the carrier for our return trip home. I paid for the appointment and booked Mac’s neutering for next Thursday. The tech and I laughed about the Mac’s sexual confusion and I told her it was going to take some getting used to – I refer to the cats as “the girls” so I’m going to need some retraining. I suggested that in all likelihood, Mac would return to its rightful owner AFTER I vaccinate and neuter him and the tech reassured me that “at least” neutering was less expensive than spaying to which I thought…OK…silver lining. (I clung desperately to that little thread of positivity as I tried to bathe the stink off that tom cat later in the evening.)

So there you have it.

I confess to being an inadequate pet owner – so much so that I failed to correctly identify the sex of my cat. I confess also to surrendering to this irksome little beast. While I will continue to fondly refer to “my asshole cat,” I have to admit that he has grown on me. If I’m being honest, I kind of prefer “spunky” behaviour – predictable can sometimes be boring – and this little jerk kind of fits with our familial band of misfits anyhow.

Love him or hate him…Mac’s vet record clearly shows that we are now, officially, his family.

My Asshole Cat. Part 3 - Staging the Coup

I had been told that the training procedure with cats was difficult. It's not. Mine had me trained in two days.

~Bill Dana

It has been several weeks now since outdoor cat made her appearance and there is no sign of her leaving despite all of our encouragement. It’s clear she wants to stay. So, she has plotted her takeover.

I recognize and easily admit that I am the weak link. She has broken me down using clever sleep deprivation techniques. She has walked across my remote control in the middle of the night waking me to the fevered pitch of late night info-mercials. She has stepped on my snooze button releasing country music into my otherwise silent night. With my defenses down, she manipulated me with cuddling and soft, soothing purring, focusing her feline attentions on me until I submitted to the Stockholm Syndrome that has defined our relationship.

Our household rhythm has slowly changed to follow the beat of our little outdoor drummer. Wake-up call is precisely 5:45 am each and every day without fail. Outdoor cat jumps to the bedside table where she quickly bats any loose objects onto the floor before short-jumping her way to the bed. Once there, she begins with a “brrrip brrrrip” to signal her presence (in case I missed the remote control hitting the floor) and then takes position on the side of my pillow that I am currently facing. As is our usual routine, I roll over and she begins noisily cleaning herself until I throw back the covers in surrender.

We traipse down the stairs together as she commences the morning workout with agility exercises, zigzagging her way down the stairs in front of me. Once downstairs, I prepare the coffee maker and my servitude begins. The cats are fed twice daily – once when I wake (which outdoor cat orchestrates) and once when I return from work (though it took a while for outdoor cat to understand that this does not mean every time I come in the door from outside). Once the cats are fed, I turn my attention to the hated litter box which is scooped twice daily and thoroughly scrubbed once a week. While I may be able to tolerate cats, I absolutely hate the smell of a dirty litter box. I have designed a concept for the outdoor kitty litter box which I will experiment with once the warmer weather arrives.

This winter has brought with it some very hostile weather which meant that “Outdoor Cat” has become a bit of a misnomer. I suppose we could rename her “Fairweather Outdoor Cat” or simplify that with the slightly more fitting acronym FOC, but I’ve always thought pet names should be “call worthy.” You know, you stand at your door and call out the name of your pet – here Skippy, here Buster, here "insert name here" -- so it must be inoffensive, short, catchy and identifiable at high volume. “My Asshole Cat” is not call-worthy, but I’m thinking MAC may be a fit for this little furry jerk. Move it Mac! Hey Mac, what’s the problem? Yup...Mac is the winner.

Mac heads to the vet this Friday for a full work-up. I’ve been avoiding this appointment but it’s clear that this cat is officially ours so, we’ll concede that she staged a successful coup. The vet appointment, I can re- frame for my own purposes as a calculated maneuver recommended by General Sun Tzu…”know thy enemy.”