It's been so long since I've been here, I'm having problems figuring out blogger! Seems like there's been some changes since I've last been here.



Mr. P. has switched my hardware and I'm a bit lost there too or I'd post a copy of the Christmas cards I sent out this year. They were all handdrawn original cartoons. About 50. It seemed like a good Idea until I actually got to about number 10. My hand is still not the same. Next year I'll know better.

P.S. If you were one of the people that didn't get one, it's not that I didn't love you, it's just that now I am crippled from the previous ones and I'll get to yours sometime soon. Probably not later than by this summer.

Merry Christmas and Happy, safe, healthy and sane New Years! (Not necessarily in that order)

Adventurer Meme to me....Now your turn

Now, Here Is What You Are Supposed To Do...And Please Do Not Spoil The
Fun! Hit Forward, Delete My Answers And Type In Your Answers. Then
Send This To A Whole Bunch Of People That You Know...And Send It Back To
Me So I Can See Your Answers, The Theory Is That You Will Learn A Lot Of
Little Known Facts About Those You Know.

Remember To Send It Back Please!

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Yes, myself.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
I don't cry, but my eyes prespire now and again.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING
I prefer my handtyping.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
balogna

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Yes. Five. They are 12, 10, 8, 5, and 46.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Not on your life! I'm an idiot.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
Not enough.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
That's a bit personal isn't it?

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
I don't have a death wish, so no.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
I don't really like cereal.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
That would be unnessessary work. Especially when they don't actually have laces.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE strong?
Only my body odour after I exercise.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Chocolate mint chip.

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Arrogance level.

15. RED OR PINK?
Pink.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
My brain.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST ?
Grandpa.

18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
ok.

19. WHAT ARE YOU WEARING NOW?
6 year old holey running shoes, a cycling coat, pants and a smile.

20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
lemon cranberry scone.

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
The little voices in my head.

22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Blue.

23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Lilac trees in bloom.

Dear Mr. P

"You have a serious problem" Mr. P states as he passes by watching me gaming with great intensity.

"Do NOT!" I retort. I can't get sucked into this conversation again at this time. I'm on a roll and about to win big money!

"Stop distracting me!" I throw out quickly as I continue with my game.

This is the greatest website ever! I love it. I don't get to use the computer very often any more. Our family rule is weekends only and on weekends I have to fight four other computer addicted little bodies for a few minutes on the blasted thing.

I take a second to look down at the points. $18,790. Wait a minute, that's not right!

"OH CRAP! ONE OF FOUR, GET YOUR BUTT DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!" I scream in full anger mode.

"Have you been spending my money? I was up over $20,000?" I ask the sheepish child now standing before me.

"Ya Mom. I wanted to take some courses. It costs money you know." she quietly replies.

"Do you know how hard I worked to earn that money?" I ask her unbelievingly.

"Well, ya. But you know....it is my Webkinz and my Webkinz account. I thought I could spend a little bit and you wouldn't get mad." she says defensively.

Huh. Little do you know. Maybe I need to purchase my own stuffed animal with account information. This selfish little monster doesn't appreciate all the hard work I do for her!

"You do realize this is a kids game." Mr. P reminds me with a smirk.

"I'm sorry, but that's what we're led to believe but in reality I'm telling you Mr. that there are a whole lot of adults sitting at their computers right now just like me playing on their very own childrens accounts!" I defend.

"Snort, right!!!!!" He laughs.

"Some of these games are quite difficult once you get up to the advanced levels, and I'm telling you, the person I played rock, paper, scissors against the other day was not a child. There was great strategy going into the moves that person was making. I tell you again....that was NO CHILD!" I rant.

"Besides," I remind him "what child plays Webkinz at 1:30 am in the morning on a school night? The place is just a hoppin' at that time. You can't tell me these are all kids, even with the time differences!"

Well Mr. P.....now I have proof!

Last evening at 11:30 pm, I was sitting in my car with just one of those people. It started off with a conversation about our kids and their love of certain toys. It went to stuffies and then Webkinz. Eventually there was an admission that yes, they did enjoy to go to the job office in Webkinz world and was frustrated that they were only allowed to work once every 8 or 9 hours. Also they liked to tend the garden of said childs toy. This un-named individual ALSO was granted permission to upkeep the site when the children were at their other parents home for the week.

That being said, I still want my own Webkinz toy. Maybe for Christmas Mr. P?

Happy Thanksgiving!

I was hungry. It had been a long bike ride into the dark country and I had forgotten to eat lunch before leaving. Always a no-no. I've never had a panini before, but the "Panini au Poulet" looked to good to pass up. I ordered it as written, in French.

Now as you can see from the above picture, I am at a beautiful little French cafe in a converted old home with lovely gardens and art work for sale scattered throughout the premises. After spending much of my summer "coffeeing" here I decided I was ready to try my hand at French.
As I approach the counter the young Frenchman behind immediately starts speaking in hyperspeed French. Is there, after all, any other kind? I am pleased by this, despite the fact that I have been attending this cafe a few mornings a week and always speak to this exact same fellow in English. He never seems to remember me, or at least that I am not a French speaking individual. This is good! I can practice on him.

"Panini au Poulet, et un petite cafe doux." I request politely.

"We will bring the Panini out to you when it's ready." he replies, in English. He's obviously marked me as the impostor I am.

About 15 minutes later a flustered version of this very same normally cool and collected guy comes out and starts giving me the low down on why I wasn't already enjoying a piping hot panini. He's now gone from speaking at the speed of sound, to breaking the sound barrier and moving in on light speed French.....and I have absolutely no clue what he is saying!!!!!

I sit and watch his lips in awe, trying to grab at least one word that I could make out and perhaps aide me in deciphering what it is he is trying to tell me. Suddenly he stops. He waits. He stares at me awaiting my response.

"Ummm, I'm sorry, I could only make out part of what you said." A little white lie on my part.

What took him about three times as long to say in French has been compressed to a quick sentence in English. French is such a wordy language!

"Oh! There was a mix-up with your Panini and we are now making another for you." he replies looking quite relieved.

You see, I have started remembering something else about the French while observing them at this cafe. Having had Francophone relatives I should have remembered that when they get annoyed, angry, or just slightly ticked off they tend to get loud. Very loud. They like to speak with their hands too! When he remembered I was only Anglophone, he knew he was as good as off the hook. There would be no unruly scene.

Eventually a young lady comes to my side and says, "Vous poulet?"
Now, about a half hour after I ordered my lunch I am sitting day dreaming, and have forgotten my panini for the time being and am taken aback by this woman calling me a chicken for no apparent reason.

"What?" I respond with an annoyed and slightly loud reply.

"Panini au polet?" she says not seeming to notice my raised voice.

"Oui, merci." I finally have my lunch.

Finally, as the final crumbs of my first and probably last panini disappear, I pick up my mug and bring it to the counter. I am polite and hate to see the staff have to come outside to get it. The young man looks at me and says,

"Panini?" in a questioning voice.

And I reply,"Non.... Finini."

Collecting Nuts

While the squirrels are collecting nuts for the winter, so will I. Here are the nuttier points of my Summer. An overview, as you will....if it really matters to anyone.

What I saw:

Jesus riding a bicycle. He was wearing a long brown hooded robe, sandals and had a face full of hair and long flowing locks. How did I know it was Jesus and not Moses? He didn't look a thing like Charelton Heston and wasn't a card carrying member of the NRA.

A very large and startled doe almost took me off my bike. In the middle of the city people, on the edge of the downtown core. I was riding over from Quebec. I looked over to see a doe running at full break-neck speed straight at me. I hit the breaks and freaked her out and she darted back into a wooded area along side the road.

I'm still not convinced that this wasn't a diabolical plot by the other half of we to take me out by bike. Mr. P would have loved the venison too, had they let him keep it.

I came across a smallish black bear foraging along the bike path. It was ok though! There was a roller-blader right behind me and he was moving slower than me. He was also juicier and tastier looking with a crunchier coating. (I had forgotten to wear my helmut that day.) At least to a bear I mean. I did warn him though....the man. More so because I wanted to see if he could see the bear too or if it was just a hallucination. Thank God! It was real.

I watched my brother in law looking very hot in his fire fighters equipment using the jaws of life to take apart a car. First of all, by hot I mean it was a roasty toasty day and I felt sorry for anyone in uniform. I won't completely admit though that it wasn't a double entendre! Second of all, it was just a demonstration and did not have anything to do with my driving. It's just too bad that they accidentally used the wrong car for the demonstration. kidding!

A middle aged woman of Asian decent walking sideways and/or backwards along the bike path every morning. I don't know. What more can I say about that?

Two individuals rolling around in the grass, making out along the bike path. They were dressed in clothing worn by a very strict religious group who have been known to get upset if you insult them. So I won't say anymore. I just sure hope for her sake she doesn't get pregnant!

My doctor cry. The medication for my Anxiety Disorder had the unexpected side effect of making me more creative, smarter, more charming and beautiful beyond compare....ok. Maybe just marginally more creative. She took full credit for my newly found talent and was quite pleased with my portfolio. So much so that she grabbed me in a bear hug while I was sitting naked in nothing but a paper sheet and a smile on the examination table. Maybe next time I show someone my portfolio I'll make sure I'm wearing clothes.

My favourite pastor leave our church. We took the summer off and now God has his work cut out for him! I'm like Dr. House on a bad day. That's what happens when you don't nourish the soul. I did attend one service at a new church. They started in on Global warming and I just had to never go back there again. PLEASE! Isn't there anywhere to hide from that bogus topic!!!?

And finally.....I quit drawing, blogging, writing. Biking pretty much filled my time. I have as much artistic talent right now as a one year old with a hand full of poop. I can draw something, but it just makes a mess. Ditto for the writing.

Curfew

When I mention the word curfew, most people would think about children and adolescence. It's something used to help keep our younger folks safe and out of trouble after the fall of darkness. Most wouldn't think of mandatory curfews being in place for individuals say....in their 90's!

My Grandmother is 94 years old. She has a curfew. Back to the Nursing home before 9pm or you're locked out baby! Just pull up a rock and sleep on the sidewalk cause you aren't getting in!

Now I'm sure there are rules such as this for safety reasons. Someone wandering in or out of the nursing home when there are possibly less staff to deal with them at night. Perhaps they are worried about undesirables coming into the home from off the street.

I never stopped to seriously think it could be to contain troublesome behavior on the part of the older folks. At least not until I watched Grandma start rockin' to Billy Idol's "Rebel Yell" on the way home. Then I started to remember.

At the age of 90, my Grandmother and her second husband could be seen cruising around the city in a new Volkswagon Beetle, (it's a very comfortable ride she told me.) decked out in leather coats, pants and boots. They were both always at the height of fashion. Hair perfectly coiffed, make-up and jewelry. She looked pretty good too;-) She has all her original teeth. Perfect and white. How I don't know, but true.

Soon after that, the housework became too much of a chore and they decided to move to a nursing home. He lost all will to live and passed on not long after. I think his son had instructed him in this. He is a well respected doctor. At least to some. I can't imagine telling my parents time to let go, so don't eat or drink for a couple of weeks and you can pass painfully away. From where I was sitting, that's what it looked like happened.

My Grandmother is a fighter though. She lost her first husband and 36 year old son to cancer within a month of each other. She has had two of her Grandsons fight brain tumors, and lost a Granddaughter at aged 40 suddenly to an aneurysm. Brother's and sisters have passed ahead of her. Her Mother died at 102. She was a fighter as well.

I was getting sleepy and decided to forgo asking if she minded my turning on the radio. I thought perhaps if I kept it low enough it wouldn't bother her sitting in the passenger seat beside me. Her mind isn't as sharp as it used to be, but there's nothing wrong with her ears!

I tuned in my favourite radio station to find they were playing a set of Billy Idol tunes. "Oh brother!" I thought as I turned it down further. Of all the Artists to start with, I was hoping for something a wee bit more mellow.

As we drew closer to her residence I could hear a tapping to match the music which soon became a full fledged drumming from beside me. Normally I'd yell at the kids to stop. I can't stand a back seat drummer. But I couldn't this time. My Grandmother was enjoying herself too much. She was keeping perfect time to "Rebel Yell." Head bobbing, humming and smiling.

Maybe there is a reason some 94 year olds have a curfew after all!

This is a practice on using coloured pencils. I've got much to do on this one still, but how much work should one put into a practice picture?

I can't believe it. I think Mr. P might be trying to take me out. As in to the great beyond. Why else would he have me cycle the hilly cliff laden path over on the "dark side" of the country? Oh sure, it's beautiful. Most of it anyways. Once you get by the hydo stations, industrial area, the crazy cursing French drivers and passed the old French overweight pot bellied bathing beauties lining the shore. All men. Yuck! I have pictures. I took them with my cell phone, but unfortunately they will not be shown due to technical difficulties. Ok. It's really due to my computer ineptitude.

I came to one hill that had a warning sign that showed a bike a steep decline and huge lettering that said, "DANGER." Good think I speak enough French to know what DANGER means! They didn't have it in English;-)

Funny thing I noticed when I was over there was that there were cranes, ducks, but not one Canadian Goose. There are loads of them on the Ontario side. You have to beat a path through them in certain points of the trip. I'm not surprised though really. It is Quebec. They don't even recognize Canada Day like the rest of the country. I wouldn't take a chance over there either if I were an animal with Canada in my name.

Anyhow, I made it back. Almost threw up a few times along the way. Is that a bad sign? Maybe he's trying to invoke a heart attack. To be fair, he didn't specifically tell me to try the 16.7 mile path in 98 degree heat. It's my last free morning before school is out and I thought I'd go for it before I'm completely tied down.

Boy, I can't wait for that 8 hour bike ride next Spring he's asked me to go on with him. I don't know how many miles it is, but at least it stays on the flat side of the country.

Just a wee bit more to go. With my luck lately though, I'm sure I'll spill something on it just as I get it done.

CU 3 coming alive....but not quite done!

I have been asked why I don't draw my own children. I guess one good reason is that Adventurer is my supplier of some of the best photos ever! I however am not a photographer. Since it is so hard to sketch a moving model with detail such as is displayed here, (at least a few hours worth) I'll keep sketching other peoples kids for the time being. But hey! Summer vacation is coming up. If I can get my kids to sit still for 8 to 10 hours.....aaahhhhh, maybe not.

CU 3 - continues

CU 3

Here's another one for grandma C. This is CU number 3. I thought I'd post this one at various stages of completion. The last one I did that to stalled. Hopefully I'll have better luck with this one.

It's a lovely day outside. Or it would have been had I decided to go about my usual routine and bike with the other half of we part way to work. This has become our routine. I go with him to the border of our province and let him do "that other one" himself. I hate to cross over to the dark side of the bridge because were I to get hurt, lost or find myself in need of a Gatorade I'd have a hell of a time trying to get them to understand what I want. C'est terrible! Excuse my French, but I just don't speak the language.

Anyhow, that's all irrelevant because the other half of we blew me off today in favour of another woman! He was meeting her behind the Parliament buildings.

"But dear, I want to know where the path is so I can cycle behind them instead of in front of them." he insists innocently.

Like we all haven't heard that lame duck excuse before!

A date. My husband had a date. I was willing to overlook the lunch date. Both of them. This is different! This is my time. I actually even went further yesterday to keep him company. I went 20.53 km! Since he decided to stay in Canada a bit longer and take a different bridge.

Oh well. Makes me feel less guilty for purchasing those two art books online the other day.

And for the record....I only admired the black bald and buff fellow from a distance on the bike path last month. I didn't try to follow him behind Parliament Hill!

CU 1

I'm being urged out of artistic retirement by higher forces. I think!?

Here's one for Grandma C may recognize.

Mr. Hunter

This is the reason I find myself sleeping with my pillow and blanket at night half in a dog crate.

This is the reason that I have to wash my floors every couple of hours. Floors, carpets, deck boards, grass......(I don't was the grass, d'uh! I have to rinse the runny poops off though!)

This is the reason that I have perfect strangers approaching me and talking 'baby talk' at my side. Seems to especially attract the stinky people. Especially the ones that smoke. They can't seem to pass on by.

This is the reason I have to baby proof my house ..... again.

This is the dog that knows how to open his dog crate.

This is the dog that knows how to get food off of the cupboard and dog food from the closed bag.

This is the dog that absolutely loves yarn as much as any kitten you may find and can shred a baby blanket in the process of being created faster then I can grab it from him.

This is the dog that has his days and nights mixed up.

This is the smartest puppy I have ever come across. I'm talking scary smart!

This is Hunter. God have mercy on me!

The list of volunteers was growing. I offered to do portraits for free for family and friends. All they had to do was supply me with an appropriate picture that I could work from. I got what I asked for.

While flipping through the many sheets of models containing dogs, dogs, and more dogs, people, places and things, I settled on this one. Only.....I was feeling a little bored at the time, restless and silly. A bad combination in an artist apparently working on a wedding portrait. I accidentally put the dress and earring on him and the shirt on her. Darn it!

I inverted the picture as to not disclose the truly true identity of the people. The original is in graphite on white paper. I think though, I like this version even better! I may try it in white on black now!

Cute Kid Stuff

I found 4 of 4 laughing at the breakfast table this morning and so I asked what was so funny.

"The radio wezzah lady said that it was going to be number 11 today with clowns in the sky havin' showers." she laughed quite heartily.

"I think she meant it's going to be 11 degrees (yes, celcius) with CLOUDS in the sky and possible showers."

"oh....that's funny, eh!?"

Gettin' into my Jeans

The punchline was, "You're not the only one who wants to get into your pants." It came from my Mother-in-law when I mentioned that her abundance of desserts would cause problems with my waistline, and that I wanted to avoid them so I could get into my pants. She was looking at Mr. P when saying this with a grin as big as Texas as he gave her a warning glance and told her not to say it. Little did I know he took it a little more literally than figuratively.

He called to me from the living room while I was busy in another room. He sounded .... eager and playful. "Oh, what do you want now, I'm busy." I replied.

"Just come here. I want to show you something!" I bet you do I think as I head out to the living room. I was not however, expecting to see what I did upon entering.

There, standing in the middle of the living room, was the other half of we with nothing on but a smile and my jeans.

"You Bast***! (I am not a swearing woman, and don't believe I have ever called him a vulgar name in my life, at least not until yesterday.) You've got some nerve!" You see, I have told him on occasion, that the day he could fit into my jeans was the day I killed myself. I guess he wanted me dead, because there he stood in the middle of the room.....IN MY JEANS! He even looked better in them than I do!

"Well, they are loose on me you know!" I say, trying to save a shred of dignity.

"Hey, me too!" he answers with an even larger grin than before.

The only thing that saved him from a ice water bath in bed while he slept was that he's not fat. Otherwise he possibly wouldn't have lived to see another day.

My only question is why he was shirtless. Was he hoping to try my bra on too? Wouldn't surprise me I guess. That kind of thing runs in his family.

I've been remiss in my blogging duties. Life's funny that way.

It was the last half hour of the last day of ski season. Typical. The gravel had broken though it's winter confines and was now the prominent feature in the parking lot. I was in the ski lodge sketching and looking forward to packing up and leaving. Twenty more minutes to go and we were out of there! Then the news came.

Two of four came excitedly into the lodge. "Mom!!!!!!! One of Four fell on the last run and the ski patrol are taking her off of the hill in the toboggan. Oh ya....and Daddy said a swear word!"

After an entire season of three of the four of our kids skiing in the racing program, One of Four falls going at a snails pace down a small part of the hill to go and find her racing results. Apparently bindings don't release really well when you're going that slow when they hit a patch on the hill where there is actually still some snow.

Two days, one surgery and about 6 ice cream bars later, we are home. Full cast from the upper thigh to the ankle is what you get when you rip a chunk of tibia bone away from your knee cap. Ligaments are stronger than bone when you are 11. I'm told this is a good thing since bone heals better than ligaments.

Funny thing is, she seems to have enjoyed much of the process (although not all). The ambulance ride with the silly singing paramedics was a ride of a life time. Getting to order your food in the same manner you would through room service in a five star hotel, and getting to choose pogos, fries, ice-cream, pizza from the menu was unlike anything she has been allowed at home! Your own personal t.v. in bed, people running to your every beck and call at just the push of a button and ....ah yes! Morphine! Hooked up to a self administration pump. Finally...."crotches" as she frequently called them. Once we explained the difference between what a crotch was and a crutch, she finally got it right. Unfortunately her French Canadian physiotherapist couldn't. They were crotches to her as well.

Not my dog

As per your request Adventurer......the creepy eye;-)

Bath Time

Portrait #1

As I sit here watching a rat lick the opening to the lid of my Starbucks mocha latte cup I ponder my purpose in life. Had I not been finished my latte, my sole short-term lifes ambition would be assuring the untimely demise of the household vermin. Luckily for him I was done.

Being a stay at home mom has it's rewards. Not as many as I used to have mind you, in my previous careers. In Nursing, I got to help people and their families though some difficult times. I was always up to date on the latest medical advancements and medications. Sometimes I was treated with respect, like a professional in my field. Sometimes I was treated like a maid, servant, hostess, hooker. It was rewarding sometimes, stressful always. The perks were that firstly, I got paid, and secondly, I got to keep all of the vomit, feces, and urine I could take home in my shoes and clothing.

As a Library Tech. for a high tech firm the perks included unlimited access to the stationary supply cupboard, first dibs on all Bellcore and Industry standards, and sticky buns from the company cafeteria. Oh wait, I had to pay for the sticky buns. But, I did get paid.

As a mom. Hmmm....well, I'm a kept woman. No salary, no benefits....well, Stephen Harper pays me $100 a month. I'm thankful for that. I didn't get anything from the Liberals! I get to spend that $100 sitting at a cafe with Adventurer some mornings pretending to be artistic, and with White Mocha some afternoons being a mom and shaping the future generation of coffee addicts. I enjoy that.

Sometimes I feel guilty for enjoying life in a way that Mr. P. doesn't. He's the only one drawing a salary, and that bothers me. I was always taught I need to work to save for retirement. Our governement has for years made it clear that a mom at home is bad for her children. She is lazy and they will all be stupid. Luckily that is not the philosophy of the current leaders.

I can't help but feel bad none the same for Mr. P. The poor man is right now away in Vancouver (Vicki Stripesless) working his fingers to the bone to bring home enough money so I can enjoy a comfortable lifestyle. He hates travelling. I'm sure that he also hates the upgrade to the executive suite and gacuzzi in his room. The meals out in restraurants of his choice are such a drag. The five hour plane ride....alone, without a single disruption or question from the peanut gallery. Going to the bathroom alone, no one to jimmie the bathroom lock while you're in the shower, to ask you to get them a drink of milk right that very second. How can he stand it? Oh well. At least he gets paid! If not, our rats would be living in the garbage instead of dining on Starbucks coffee. I suppose we would be too!

Hide and Go Seek.....By-Law Office Style

I wasn't impressed. The hands on the clock were inching forward closer to piano class time. I however, was not. I could be found standing fully dressed for my outing in my new winter coat and gloves with music in hand. This was how Mr. P and 2 of 4 found me as I charged down the laneway to the awaiting vehicle. It had barely been shut down. Only 20 minutes left. I would be late because they were late first.

Upon arriving at my destination, I finally found parking after a brief search, right in front of the building I would go and butcher a piano at. I wasn't the only car parked here. There were many others who had also lucked out. I was greatful as it was an exceedingly chilly night with a windchill strong enough to freeze the skin and to make ones nipples stand up in a full salute. Across the street large machinery of varying types plowed and removed to snow. I did a thorough inspection of the snowbanks on my side of the street to assure myself that it was safe to park here. There were no warnings of impending snow removal. I was safe.

Shoot!!!!!!!! In my rush to get to my lesson I had left the house without my purse. No money, no id in case I got murdered, no cell phone to call 911 and report my murder. An uneasy feeling crept over me, further stimulating my nipples. I had to go home after class. No coffee, No Adventurer, No CU 4.....no fun! I couldn't go without my purse. After witnessing the mugging 2 weeks ago, I refuse to be out past 9pm without at least my phone.

My evening already ruined, I proceed to class grumbling all the way. I managed to pass onto a new piece of music, so apparently disappointment and annoyance work for me as a stimulus to adequate piano playing. I pack up and leave.

As I walk out the door, I notice something is not right! The snowbanks, formally up against the sidewalk on my side of the street, are now sitting out in the middle of the busy roadway. My car is nowhere to be seen. Ahhhh SH*&T! The game is afoot....and I'm not dressed for the weather!

Our fine city considers it an appropriate action to remove cars and deposit them wherever their little hearts desire if they are in the path of a plow. Before doing this though, they are generally post notice in the snowbanks, forewarning drivers to consider parking elsewhere. This was not done. I was now fuming mad. I return to the store.

"You're right! They didn't have signs posted in front!" Mr. G. a very talented guitar instructor informs me. (I especially like him because he agreed with me!)

"They generally park them around the corner or in a lot nearby when they remove them. That's what they did with Mr. L's last time." he correctly informed me. I know he was correct because I went marching up to a group of plow operators standing around chewing the fat and demanded to know the whereabouts of my car!

After much looking and much walking I was starting to think that this was some kind of bad joke. The heavy equipment operators must have hidden mine and been having a giggle at my expense watching me stomp up and down the street, nipples high and goose bumps out. Hatless, scarfless, long underwearless, talking to myself like some madwoman who just let herself loose from some institution.

I turn down yet another street and walk for some distance when I see it! Like a beautiful 17 year old rusting mirage in a frosty white desert. Beasty! Oh Beasty.....I've been looking all over for you! What have they done to you!

There sitting, not next to the curb, but a third of the way into the street was my car. Not just around the blog, but a good ways around the block all the way down to kingdom come.

Relief flooded over me. I wasn't going to get into trouble for loosing the car from Mr. P. I wasn't going to have to drag my family out into the cold night in our van, kids and all, to drive around and find my missing ride. Some of the anger started to melt away....well, not too much actually. When I looked up and saw the little love note the tow truck driver left me. A ticket.

Now luckily for them there wasn't any monetary value assigned to the ticket. BUT! the fact that they had the gall to post a ticked saying I had broken a by-law by parking where they were removing snow, as indicated by the SIGNS, I had gotten my car moved.

Let's just say that all driving regulations on the way home where optional where there was no chance of injuring anybody.

This means war.

Happy Valentine's Day

Still here, not dead yet. But... the day is young.



Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
If Mom should die before I wake
I sure hope Nana bakes a cake

Perpetual Chocoholic

Dod: February 9, 2007

Yes, apparently I am one of those people who has had a near death experience.

I went to school to pick of 4 of 4 after her morning junior kindergarden class. Her teacher approached me with a sly kind of smile which was soon replaced by a bubbling giggle that just wouldn't stop.

Mrs. Giggles: "4 of 4 told one of her classmates and then the rest of us that you had died and gone to heaven. She insisted she was ok and well taken care of because Nana and Poppa came to take care of her while you were dead."

Perp: "Huh?"

Mrs. Giggles: "Is everything ok? I mean, I can see your not dead (she's a very bright teacher as you can tell!), but were you sick recently, in the hospital....have PMS or....something? (ok, she didn't ask about the PMS, but she might as well have!)

Perp: "Not even a hangnail."

Mrs. Giggles: "oh well, maybe it was a dream."

Perp: "My brother (when he was about 4 of 4's age) had on more than one occasion dreamt my Grandmother was in the hospital and would ask my parents why. They would assure him she was fine and at home in her appartment. At least she would be until the next day when she inevitably always ended up in the hospital. Maybe 4 has the gift! Maybe I'll be dead tomorrow!!!!!!!"

Mrs. Giggles: "Oh no, I'm sure you'll be fine."

Perp: I give her a stoney look and the silent treatment. [why does she think that my daughter killing me off in her dreams is so funny!!!?]

Mrs. Giggles: "She did also say that everything was ok now though, you came back from heaven."

Perp: "yah, what a relief."

I then proceeded to the office to sign myself out and repeated the conversation almost verbatim with the school secretary. Only she started off with,

"Oh, and here I thought you were dead.....hahahahahah!"

So in case there is no tomorrow, Goodbye for now. See you all on the flip side. God willing!

This picture describes how I feel today. Confused.

I've never been one of those people who automatically attracts a crowd of admirers. You know the type. They just have to enter the room and everyone gravitates towards them. It's like some magnetic invisible force. They don't have to even be physically attractive....or have large breasts or anything. They just have that certain something. That certain something that I lack.

When I'm somewhere out in public and I reeeeallly want to be alone, I then become that person. Unfortunately, I don't attract the normal human beings. I get the wacko ones. Never fails.

Last night I stood in front of a group of approx. 30 kids. The children's pastor was away, and being the co-ordinator of the program I was the one expected to do the closing routine. I became that first person in the extreme. Not only did these kids not gravitate towards me, but they down right ignored me! As I looked across the sea of faces, including group leaders and assistants, I could see nobody had the slightest interest at all in what I was or wasn't doing and saying at the front. This called for drastic action. I screamed. Silence gradually fell across the room in a wave.

"You need to listen to me NOW! I am trying to get started so we can all get out of hear on time." I yelled as loudly as I could. Although I could still hear mumbles, primarily from the kindergardeners, but generally I had caught their attention.

"Alright now. Pastor S. is away tonight. I need somebody about this tall to come up and take her place." I indicated about someone upto my shoulders height. The Pastor is a wee bit on the short side. One of the boys volunteered. In fact it was one of the more rambunctious gentlemen.

Tonight this is Pastor S. And now Pastor S. will lead us in our song and Bible verse. I stepped aside. (heeheehee!) The guys 11 year old face dropped and registered both panic and confusion. The room was quiet.

"Well....we're waiting....SING!" I was barely able to keep my face straight. This was way too much fun.

He sang, he lead the verse. I allowed a couple of the other children to come up to the front so the poor guy wasn't totally alone. I had asked one of the leaders to finish with a prayer. The end to a successful evening.

I suppose that I learned that when you are ignored, the best way to get noticed is to become a bit silly.....a wacko. This doesn't mean that I want to listen to every nut case that comes my way when I'm out in public, but maybe the odd one. You know, just to make them feel heard.

I was remined of this little fellows request when visiting Rainy Pete's blog. I saw Shane on t.v. and thought that it would be nice to share this address as Pete did. I know the school my house monsters attend are having the children make cards for Shane. Maybe you would like to as well.


Hi, my name is Shane I am 7 years old. I am diagnosed with leukemia.

My Birthday wish this year (May 30th) would be to receive the largest amount of cards as possible and from all places. If you can help me, it would be appreciated.PLEASE, contact your friends…THANK YOU !

Shane Bernier
P.O. Box 484
Lancaster
ON
Canada
K0C 1N0

JAILED?

Ok. I realize the irony in this whole thing. After complaining that I felt that I was "jailed" in at home, I had a lovely evening out with a good friend and a week old boy with that new baby smell. Heaven! (and no I'm not talking about the poopy diaper smell!!!!!) That's how my evening started. It ended with 45 minutes in the back of a police cruiser.

I've never before had occasion to sit in the back of a police cruiser. I never realized how little room they afford you back there. I suppose the tighter someone is crushed in, the less likely they would be able to cause any significant problems. I honestly don't know how in the world they squeeze anyone of generous proportions into that little itty bitty space. The problem wasn't getting in so much as it was getting out. I suppose that's the whole point. Once you're in, you aren't meant to get out so easily. Which is why you also can't open the door from the inside, even when you are allowed to leave. The cop has to physically release you.

I witnessed a mugging. At the time, we didn't realize that was what was occuring. I thought just a couple of crazy teenagers messing about on the sidewalk. Tripping over the snowbank, running and jumping in a van.

"hmmm, crazy kid! He just left his girlfriend standing at the side of the road! Maybe they had a fight!?"
"oh, look! She's running out into the middle of the street to .... ? Look at his license plate?!!!!!!!!!!"
"D'OH!!!!"

We were a block away at least and they were just sillouettes moving quietly under the light.

I stopped on my way back from walking my friend to the corner and asked if she was ok. I had a blackberry thrown at my ear. This was my second first time event of the evening. I had never before used one of these wretched creatures. I felt like I was speaking to a calculator!

"This is 911 dispatch, would you......blah, blah, blah......and please remain on the scene until the police arrive. They may want to take your statement."

They did and they did. I could see on his screen in the front of his car the woman's name, address, and that she had been held up at knife point after just coming out from a bank machine.

After writing my info and then being subsequently interviewed, all in the darkend back of teh vehicle without my reading glasses might I add, the officer took my id which happend to be my driver's license and swipped it into the computer. Yikes! Good think I didn't have any outstanding warrants or anything. I was a sitting duck!

Anyhow, he thanked me, uncaged me and laughed with me as I fumbled my way out of the back of the car. I tucked my purse into my jacket and pensively walked the last few blocks to my car.

The only thing I really saw was perhaps the colour and shape of the vehicle the mugger was driving. It differed from the description of that of the woman making the claim. It seems though, that my description turned out to be the one that was probably right. I guess there was a purpose in my being there after all. And no, I don't mean that now I won' t go out so late in that area alone, Mr. Perp. It just means that next time I'll make sure that my purse is tucked into my jacket, and that I don't go to a bank machine that late at night!

I've been jailed. Yes, sad but true. The weather finally warmed enough to stick more than just a nose out the front door....and I am house bound. Fond memories of a place I used to love to visit every winter taunt me. I can almost feel myself gliding semi-gracefully down the seemingly never ending smooth ice surface of "the worlds longest skateway." AS RECORDED by the Guiness Book of Records people (so in your face other Canadian city who thinks it's you! HA!)

I can almost taste the beaver tails melting, oh so slowly, in my mouth. I like mine with cinnamom and sugar. MMMmmmmm! And a hot chocolate with little marshmellows is a nice finish to this fine delicacy. I haven't tried any other flavours of beaver tail, but why do so when you have tasted perfection with your first choice?

My children's virus' decided that it would be more fun to have only one child home sick at a time to stretch out the amount of time that they can keep me held up in our home.

Ottawa's Beavertails
One particular form of this "bread," adapted from a recipe in Renfrew County in Ontario, has become very popular at Winterlude, Ottawa's annual cold weather festival. Indeed Pam and Grant Hooker's Beavertails are the culinary hit of every winter carnival in Canada's capital city. The Hookers adapted an old family recipe, from a grandmother who lived near Medicine Hat, based on a German dish called Küchl or Kökle ‘little cake.’
To make Hooker's Beavertails, a swatch of sweet, whole wheat pastry dough is put through a roller and stretched out to a vaguely beavertail-like shape, then it is fried for a minute or two in hot vegetable oil. The fried dough is then painted with melted butter and various savoury toppings are applied. Among the Hooker's best-selling Beavertails are those bedecked with cinnamon and sugar. They have many franchise operations across Canada. A popular Beavertail at the British Columbia skiing resort of Whistler is one slathered with cream cheese and smoked Pacific salmon.

Congratulations!

An old cartoon for a new baby boy. Congratulations to Adventurer, DH, and CU's 1-3 and Grandma C and family. The baby (from now on to be know as CU 4?) was a whopping 10lb 12oz healthy boy. He was not due for at least another week. Could you imagine if..... Yikes!

Now on to Robbie Burns day. Mr. P. If you so much as try to set foot in this house with that stomach turning, vomitrocious, putrid dish know as hagus again this year....May you rest in peace! I'm the Scottish one, you're NOT! So bring me home some green beer and we'll pretend we had hagus instead.

Don't they have anything that doesn't taste like you're licking a dogs butt? (not that I've ever tried that people!) They must have some....tasty dessert or something more palitable and, you know....edible!!!?

Onion Brain and Sour Cream Delight

I've written a few blog entries lately. Unfortunately I've done so only in my head. I was just thinking that things will be so much easier when they find a way to hook the computer directly to my brain. I don't expect that will happen in my life time. Upon reflection, I started to wonder if this sort of device would be such a good idea after all.

My brain tends to think in layers. Kind of like an onion. For each single thought awaiting verbalization, there are always multiple thoughts simultaneously vying to be the one chosen to be expressed. Luckily, there is a little "thought traffic controller" in my head editing and choosing the most appropriate dialogue. Sometimes the forces gang up on this little fellow and over ride it, at which point I generally end up looking like a shrew or a total ass. (I don't normally like to use obscene language when blogging, but if the big ass fits....)

A friend, as well as my brother, an artist, recommended a book called "Drawing on the Right Side of Your Brain." What it said seemed to make a lot of sense to me. The only problem was that I don't think that I actually have a right side of the brain. Not that I'd ever noticed anyhow. I never visualize in pictures, feelings, etc... I believe though, I may be a wee bit hasty in this assumption!

The other day I was walking through the dairy section of the grocery store and I had the most intense desire for sour cream that I had ever had before. This was not expressed in a verbal format as left-sided thinking is, but in a gut retching desire that I could not explain. It was all I could do to pass by the sour cream without at least feeling one of the containers. Sniffing the container. Maybe a quick lick of the container would suffice? I didn't understand this strong feeling I was experiencing. I had never liked sour cream that much before.

As I passed through the sourcream aisle, I moved onto the potato chip/soft drink aisle. Then it hit me. Dip. I needed sour cream to make dip for the vegetable plate I was bringing to my brothers for Christmas dinner. Great! Now I don't just have a multiple layer onion brain talking to me in words, now my Right brain has finally kicked in, after all these years of just atrophying in my head, and finally decided to function and throw in it's two cents too!

Why wouldn't it send me a picture of vegetables with dip all arranged beautifully on a plate. Wouldn't that have been more effective? What's with wanting to slather myself in sour cream and absorb it through my every pour? Does this mean that not only is my left brain an opinionated know-it-all ass that is incorrect most of the time, now my right brain is stupid too? [sigh] Maybe hooking up directly to my brain isn't such a good idea after all.

Thank goodness I wasn't shopping for personal feminine hygiene products!

Someone just sent me this e-mail link in an attempt to assist me in the realization that I am indeed not too old to try something:

http://www.solsup.com.au:80/greenman/Nevertooold.jpg

EWWWWWW! That's just wrong! I don't feel better, just sick! The age of these individuals isn't the main point of this article. It's that they are all insane!

I have always been told that God gives each of us a gift. Some of us have even been fortunate enough to receive more than one. Wow. The trick is to find out what that gift is and to use it to the best of our God given ability to serve him and others. Did he doze off when I got up to bat or what!?

I'm not sure what my gift is. Perhaps in my case he decided to send me on a scavenger hunt to figure out what it might be. Maybe eventually I will figure out what the heck I'm doing, but not yet. I just hope I've actually figured out exactly what it was before I finally expire! I think I may be getting close.....to expiring that is. Much like that green powder puff tangerine in my daughters lunch bag, along with the 5 sandwiches sitting there since December 22nd that I just found....I should be put out to pasture. Squirrel food.

My melancholy mood all started with two boxes of hair dye and a book called "2006 Artist's & Graphic Designer's Market."

Santa decided that my daughters were good this year and should get what they asked for for Christmas. 2 of 4's heart's desire was a box of temporary hair dye. Copper Explosion to be exact. What does that mean in laymans terms? Honey... that means Orange.

Now there was a time that having orange hair meant that you called yourself a red head and hoped that you didn't get beat up before lunch. If you didn't get called carrot top before the end of the day it's because you stayed home sick from school. Now unbelievably kids actually want to have orange hair.

1 of 4 decided that if her sister was to have orange hair there was no earthly reason why she shouldn't be allowed to have passionate plum to enhance her beauty. Translation: A burgandy purple. I don't even think the colour purple had yet been invented when I was a kid. Nobody wore or dyed anything purple that I can remember. Huh. Purple?

Anyhow, a very dear friend gifted to me some business cards with kind and supportive words, along with the above mentioned book. I was pumped. I was going to sell my art. Well, not the stuff that I've already done, cause I haven't done any yet, but the great stuff that I would produce. Then I read the book.

Apparently it helps with your endeavours if you have actually trained as an artist first. I'm friggin' 41 years old! Do they think that I'm some kid just out of school or something? Do I look like a have hours a day to sit down and produce art, go to school, wear weird clothes, become gay and learn the art lingo? Heck! My brother-in-law is just recovering from a heart attack at 39 years old! I'm on my way down baby! Art couldn't possibly be my gift to give! Is this some kind of a sick joke, because I'm too old to learn something new now!

Please note that in the afore mentioned book..."2006 Artist's & Graphic Designer's Market"....the editor instructs the user that the first stage when one considers a career in art is the Denial ("I can't do it!) stage. I'm there baby!

After entering one of the caption contests in the New Yorker I received a form e-mail encouraging me not to give up. After all this particular cartoonist submits at least 40 cartoons for every one that get's published. Great. At a cost of about $3.50 cdn to mail it with a SASE to the states per cartoon, plus paper, ink and envelopes I'm looking at a profit of about negative $90-$125.00/accepted cartoon. Woohoo! [wimper, sob]

At 39 I took up the piano, quilting, co-ordinating a children's program, dressing up lawn ornamentation of strangers. At 40 I took up blogging. What makes my true passion so hard to take a chance at? Fear of failure? An inadequate amount of time? Not wanting to see naked people modelling knowing I couldn't draw the private parts without a giggle? Your guess is as good as mine!