In Over My Head

Just when I think I've had enough of the news...

2011-03-23T20:16:00.000-07:00

My local newspaper, the Times Colonist, ran this item today:

Naked man taken to hospital

A man who had been walking naked around Rock Bay was taken to hospital by police.

Officers who responded Monday after a complaint found the man "completely naked except for moments when a concerned woman citizen was able to place a towel around parts of him," said the Victoria police operations blog. When the officers asked why he was naked "the man responded by asking why they were walking around in clothes," the blog said.

"Unable to reconcile this philosophical paradox the officers conveyed the man to hospital for a mental health assessment."

Can Someone Please Explain to Me...?

2010-07-27T10:58:00.000-07:00

What are the (presumably Chinese-language) spamming comments all about? I'm wondering if perhaps a few seemingly idle blogs are singled out for clandestine communication. Could it be criminal? Political?

Costco

2010-04-05T19:46:00.000-07:00

I love COSTCO...I love it enough to foolishly linger over the name, highlighting the letters all the while smiling adoringly...

Costco kept me going when there was little I could enjoy. I had something over fifteen months of intensive cancer treatment - chemotherapy, hospitalizations, radiation, surgery, more chemotherapy. It wasn't much fun, but throughout the ordeal there was Costco. We went twice a week, usually every Monday and Friday. Monday is when the new 'sales' start and I often buy a small amount of whatever interests me and then decide during the week whether to really stock up on Friday. I missed only one of my regular Costco days - the Friday after my Thursday surgery. I actually thought about going but caution prevailed; it would have been quite embarrassing to start hemorrhaging or something... But I was back shopping the following Monday!

There's a lady who runs a floral kiosk there...I remember her hustling over to help me lift down a heavy detergent bottle. I hadn't asked for help but I suppose I looked like I needed it. Then there's a lady named Christine who works behind the customer service counter (I must write the company to tell them about her). When we figured I was almost dead I wanted to change all the accounts over to Peter's name. I've always handled all the paperwork and details in the past so most accounts were in my name. I had an ongoing problem with our Costco American Express card and busy though she was, Christine took it upon herself to take over the telephone when I announced "I give up, I haven't the strength to deal with this". I love Costco and I love their staff!

Now all of this is leading somewhere... My daughter Martha came up with the idea: "Mum, you've got to plan something fun to do when all this is over!" First I decided it would be a trip down to Los Angeles to visit her, then I had my inspiration! It's going to be the "Great West Coast Costco Tour", culminating in a visit with my daughter. I'm busy printing out a list of all the Costco's between Victoria and L.A. and I seriously hope to hit them all. "Hit" as in "shop there" not rob them.... We're leaving early next month.

Kimmy's Meme

2010-03-30T22:42:00.000-07:00

It's been so long since I last posted... I got out of the habit and nothing seemed interesting enough to merit publication, even in this medium. After wrestling with the Grim Reaper for so long everything else looks pretty trivial. Still, life goes on and each day is really a patchwork of trivialities. Kimmy - sweet Kimmy - put up this meme on her page and I think it will mark my return to blogging. She titles it "Strange Questions". Here it is, with my answers (Go to Kimmy's page for her answers) :

What kind of soap is in your bathtub right now? I don't really know or care (bet you don't either!) Something...we do use soap...

Do you have any watermelon in your refrigerator? Not yet. It's too early in the season for watermelon, but we will have it!

What would you change about your living room? Not much. I like my living room. It's quite comfy.

Are the dishes in your dishwasher clean or dirty? Always dirty. If they're clean, they're outa there.

What is in your fridge? Two fridges - one in the kitchen, the other in the pantry. About twelve litres of skim milk, cream, three dozen omega 3 eggs, butter, mango juice, Romaine lettuce, broccoli, carrots, onion, mushrooms, a wide variety of cheeses, coffee, V8 juice, soda pop, pickles, olives, salad dressing, sauerkraut....a lot of other stuff....Tiramisu cheesecake!

White or wheat bread? We don't eat much bread, but I prefer white.

What is on top of your refrigerator? Two large binders. One has plastic sheets that I slip appliance booklets and directions into. The other is divided into sections with headings such as "Paint", that section containing labels for the various colours of paint used in our house and the formulation so that they can be repeated.

What color or design is on your shower curtain? One shower has a glass door, the other has a yellow curtain with mauve and pink floral trim.

How many plants are in your home? I'm not going to attempt to count them. Far too many for a normal person. They're everywhere. I counted twenty-three in the living area (some are taller than me). I'm trying to remember...maybe ten or twelve in my bedroom...

Is your bed made right now? Yes.

Comet or Soft Scrub? Bleach.

Is your closet organized? Fair. My spices are in alphabetical order! I recently amused myself mightily by adding a second set of labels to my spices. Cinnamon now has the label "Botulin", Cloves is "Ground Glass", Garlic Salt "Giardia", Ginger is labelled "Arsenic", etc. I suppose I am quite juvenile.

Can you describe your flashlight? A big rechargeable one on a stand, a standard D-cell and a wind-up one with a radio for emergencies. (We do live in earthquake country.)

Do you drink out of glass or plastic most of the time at home? China. Tea is my beverage of choice.

Do you have iced tea made in a pitcher right now? No.

If you have a garage, is it cluttered? Very messy. But messy with a lot of good stuff.

Curtains or blinds? Blinds, and some seaside windows left uncovered.

How many pillows do you sleep with? Three

Do you sleep with any lights on at night? No, but various electronic gizmos keep the room bathed in a Christmas-y glow. I'm particularly fond of the red light projecting the time onto the ceiling above my head. Then there's a blue light from a little vacuum cleaner in the corner, an orange one on the television, a nightlight glowing in the bathroom.... Heck, YES, I sleep with lights on at night!

How often do you vacuum? Sporadically. When the dust is thick enough to notice.

Standard toothbrush or electric? Standard.

What color is your toothbrush? One's red, the other blue. I use whichever is dry.

Do you have a welcome mat on your front porch? Yes. I used to have one that said "Get Lost!" This meme is making me examine my childishness....

What is in your oven right now? Grease and ash. It needs cleaning.

Is there anything under your bed? Maybe the Toe Catchers...

Chore you hate doing the most? Tax returns. I foolishly got myself into that muck a few years ago when I complained about the mistakes made by our tax preparer. I do a good job and that's the problem. I find it quite worrisome because I want to do a perfect job.

What retro items are in your home? Many things from my husband's grandparents' home because we live on the property they lived and died on. Peter's grandfather's eyeglasses - quaint round ones in a worn black case - are sitting on the grandfather's old bookshelf. That bookshelf has glass doors and is filled with interesting old books (classics, many art books, etc.) Actually generations of household possessions are blended here, mostly ordinary things with only sentimental value.

Do you have a separate room that you use as an office? Yes.

How many mirrors are in your home? I'm not sure.

What color are your walls? Chocolate ice-cream brown downstairs, cream and woodsy green upstairs. Pantry and ensuite a lovely pale yellow.

Do you keep any kind of protection weapons in your home? Quite a number, but they're hobby items really. The most dangerous item is the ornery old bag at the top of the stairs (me).

What does your home smell like right now? Lilacs.

Favorite candle scent? I don't like scented candles.

What kind of pickles (if any) are in your refrigerator right now? Dills and gherkins. And twelve litres of garlic-stuffed green olives in the pantry. I really like garlic-stuffed olives....

What color is your favorite Bible? Red, a giant tome with four side-by-side translations.

Ever been on your roof? No. I don't want to. But I'd do it if I had to.

Do you own a stereo? Yes.

How many TVs do you have? There are six in the house, four are mine (One in the kitchen, for following the news; one in the living room; one in the computer room; and one in my bedroom). I don't watch tv much at all either - mostly just news now. Peter and Jon have tv's in their rooms too.

How many house phones? Six.

Do you have a housekeeper? Just me.

What style do you decorate in? Not much. I used to describe it as "British India". It's more like a British men's club look. Dark. Dark wood, leather, a herd of ceramic elephants, a jungle of plants and the occasional spot of bright colour.

Do you like solid colors in furniture or prints? I like lots of things.

Is there a smoke detector in your home? Yes.

In case of fire, what are the items in your house which you’d grab if you only could make one quick trip? An unfinished painting that hangs above our living room mantel. It was a collaborative effort of Peter's grandparents. Margaret (Grandma) did most of the painting I believe and Gus (Grandpa) posed for the figures. It's a picture of Romulus and Remus defending the gates of Rome. Not precisely my taste, but there are two figures who look exactly like my son Jon. The picture has a sad history - it was set aside, unfinished, when Gus died prematurely. We tried to find a suitable frame for it but couldn't, so even that remains unfinished. Still we love it. I've also put a plan in place to rescue pictures. When we had new bookshelves installed I had them put in drawers underneath. There are twelve drawers, eight of which are packed full of photo albums going back generations. The family has a standing order to get the painting above the mantel first, then pull out as many drawers as they can and take albums out by the drawer-ful.

Wrapping up

2009-08-09T12:15:00.000-07:00

It was fun, but I'm glad it's (mostly) over. As I expected, my too-pale Irish skin didn't tolerate the radiation well. I'm so glad that I shunned all reading matter relating to treatment (I do love surprises!) I would have been pretty worried had I known in advance that the state of my skin after the twenty-fifth 'zap' was only the beginning. The burn continues for another ten days to two weeks after treatment. I'd already been sent for nursing advice before treatment was complete because my skin was starting to bubble. (Not a technical term, 'bubble' is my own description of early blistering). A few days after my twenty-fifth treatment the radiation department called to ask how I was doing. "I'm miserable!" They suggested I go in to see their nurse again. She took one look and said "Holy moley!" (technical term). She brought in two doctors who looked quite subdued then presented prescriptions for more massive doses of antibiotics. It did look pretty gruesome -- bright red of course, oozing serum, black in some places and one pointy bit burned right off. I got some great pictures but decency prohibits posting them!

She's a lovely nurse, Beverly -- probably ten years younger than I am, but after visiting her a number of times I got to thinking of her as "Mom" for all her tender ministrations. One day a chemo nurse I knew wandered into the nursing station while "Mom" was soaking my burns. Calay, the chemo nurse, came over to have a look and Mom said "Ill tell you, when I first saw it, I GULPED! It was all red, like this (pointing to a still-dark area) and oozing."

The burn got better. The skin texture remains rather like heavy brown paper.

Next up was surgery. I seriously considered passing on that, thinking I'd endured a full year of torture already and now I was going to top it all off with mutilation?! I told "Mom" I might back out on it. She waggled her finger andf said "Now, you're going to have that surgery." I told dear Dr. Karimuddin I might not be showing up for the party and he said that if I didn't he'd keep calling me back to his office until he'd convinced me. "Surgery is still the best chance of effecting a cure."

I'm not really easily led. Had I decided not to proceed, no one would have been able to change my mind. (Actually, my mother considered me a very determined, obstinate person... ) At least I've also got a dollop of common sense and I listen to good advice. So I showed up for the surgery. That was a little different from what I had observed over the years. It strikes me that a mastectomy used to be considered a "big deal". Now it's treated almost as an outpatient procedure. You do your own pre-surgical scrub, once in the evening before surgery and again the morning of surgery. For me, admission was 11 a.m. and surgery about 1 p.m. They kept me overnight and I was dischaged at 9 a.m. the next day.

I was worried about having a general anaesthetic after the awful reaction I'd had to the bronchoscopy drugs (remember, I coughed out the I.V. and they had to replace it at least twice). I think I suffered real brain damage then; my memory was gone for months and suddenly I was an addled old lady. Fortunately the synapses seem to have reconnected, but heading into surgery I was concerned. The anaesthetist came to my bedside to introduce himself. Dr. Fard. A very pleasant, fine looking young man with cafe au lait skin and milk chocolate eyes. And you know what I was thinking? The night before I'd been talking with my daughter on Skype and she'd made a vague comment about anaesthesia. She didn't say much but my mind was back at work and I picked up on what she was thinking. She was thinking about those horror stories we've heard of people who are only half-drugged during surgery, paralyzed so they're helpless, but still able to feel every cut. So, when Dr. Fard introduced himself, I thought "Dr. Fard, I need to remember that name in case I have to kill him." The poor dear man! I'm sure I wouldn't really have killed him! Maybe knee-capped him...

They wheeled me into surgery and introduced three nurses. One of them came over to do the mother role, holding my hand. Dr. Fard put a mouthpiece on my chest. "Take three deep breaths" he said, walking away and peeking back over his right shoulder. If it had been a trick, it wouldn't have worked == he looked too darned shifty! I inhaled once through the mouthpiece, twice, then a third time. Third time, I thought "Whoa!", looked up to the ceiling, thinking "that's powerful stuff!" It was probably quite a laughable scene because looking up to the ceiling obviously was quickly followed by my eyes rolling back in my head as I lost consciousness.

Anyway, I woke up from surgery and one of my first thoughts was "Dr. Fard. Good...no brain damage."

Minor glitches: I still have numb fingers and toes, a lingering side-effect from chemo. I've lost two nails from my feet and four more are definitely packing to leave.

They forgot to give me the painkiller prescription that Dr. Karimuddin had left for me, so I used Tylenol and Advil for post-surgical pain. I probably suffered a little more than I should have. (Doesn't matter.)

They told me my dressings would be fine left alone until my post-surgical visit with the doctor. The appointment was delayed and the doctor's office insisted it was still no problem leaving the dressings untouched. It was a problem. Apparently I'd been bound too tightly after surgery and there's some skin damage. I've also got some odd looking little folds. I don't know if they'll eventually disappear. I hope I'm not looking at future corrective surgery. Ah well, I'll worry about that later.

The wound still isn't healed. That's to be expected when surgery follows radiation. When I saw the radiation oncologist he said he wanted me to go back in four months because if I'm not healed by then there are "things we can do". Whoopee. But, never mind, it's all good.

Ten days after surgery I went to see Dr. Karimuddin. The pathology results still weren't back. Peter and I went to Costco then came home for tea. As we were sitting down, the 'phone rang. Peter picked it up and told me "It's Shri, from Dr. Karimuddin's office."

I went over "Hello, Shri".

"Actually, it's Ahmer, Ahmer Karimuddin....I couldn't wait to call you! Can you put your 'phone on speaker? The lab results just came in. They couldn't believe them at first, so they repeated all the tests. They didn't find a single cancer cell! This is the best possible outcome!"

I can't help but feel a little nervous about believing this, but I do. Dr. Bernstein called a couple of days later with the same news and the same 'take' on the report. And Dr. Alexander, the radiation oncologist, came into the examining room saying "I was so happy reading your file! We don't get many like that."

I remember saying to Dr. Bernstein once "I don't believe in illness". She responded, "Well you should, you've had plenty of it!" I don't know, ignorance seems to work for me!

Glow-in-the-Dark Susan

2009-05-01T23:14:00.000-07:00

That's me lying on the radiation table. (My arm really isn't as 'meaty' as it looks!) . The facility has five of these machines and each one treats between fifteen and twenty patients every day, five days a week.

I've had fourteen of the planned twenty-five 'zaps'. Actually, so far it's been fine. The system is very well run (Amazingly, this is one of the few times I'd be hard-pressed to suggest any improvements.) Appointments are seldom delayed and the people are capable and invariably upbeat. I haven't experienced any negative side-effects yet, but I've been told I can pretty much drop in any time for advice or prescription needs.

The major chemotherapy is done now and I've progressed to a 'maintenance' schedule. I had a somewhat difficult time with the second four-part series of chemo. My white blood count went down to dangerous levels after the first treatment with Docetaxel and Herceptin. I was admitted to hospital and dosed with Neupogen to rebuild the blood and I.V. antibiotics every eight hours to protect against infection. All very nice, but I don't want to go back there any time soon.

They reduced the dosage on the Docetaxel for the next treatment and ordered subcutaneous Neupogen injections for seven days after each subsequent chemo treatment. I was supposed to give the shots to myself but my neighbour Rose did most of them for me. When Rose went out of town for a few days I finally 'screwed my courage to the sticking place' and did the injections myself. It wasn't too bad. I developed a rash though....and by 'rash', I mean RASH. Funny, I told Rose that my face looked like a baboon's bottom. "No it doesn't!" Rose said, and all the while the silly grin on her face was saying "You're right! You're right! It does look like a baboon's bottom!" It was ugly alright, but not disabling and my family still loved me, so 'no big whup'.

The circulation in my hands and feet was affected too and that's a problem. My fingers and toes are still numb (I'm told this could last a year.) The nails of feet and hands look pretty disgusting and although they haven't fallen out yet, it remains a possibility.

They reduced the Docetaxel dosage to 75% for the third treatment. The rash got much worse. My face and hands were bright red and my eyes were red and watery. The doctor thought it might be an escalating allergic reaction. I was warned that the next treatment might do irreparable harm, that I might be permanently unable to fully close my eyes. They didn't seem too anxious to continue, suggesting there were alternatives we might explore. Ignorance is bliss -- I told them I was prepared to take my chances. We carried on and the final Docetaxal treatment didn't do much more damage. I did, however, develop another annoying side-effect. This one was so alarming that I kept my mouth firmly shut about it; I didn't want anyone jumping to the conclusion that cancer had spread to my brain. Every waking moment for at least two weeks I heard music! It started out with an endless loop of Nancy Sinatra singing "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'", then it switched over to a very bad bit of music with even worse lyrics. If I concentrated I could switch it over to either The Star Spangled Banner or O Canada for a little variety. Thank goodness that's over!

I'm still on chemo - IV Herceptin now, every three weeks - and having radiation treatments five days a week for five weeks. My face is back to normal, my hands are still a little 'stained' (looks like a wide-spread birthmark). After radiation I think they said they'd give me a month to recover and then surgery in early July. Ugh. I'm scared about that -- thinking of hitchhiking to Whitehorse instead....

Long Time No See...

2009-02-23T21:29:00.000-08:00

So....I'm alive. I'm actually feeling quite well. I've had a bit of difficulty, but things seem to be improving. I was scheduled for eight rounds of chemotherapy, spaced at three week intervals. So far I've had seven. The first four treatments were with Doxorubicin and Cyclophosphamide. I had an unexpected reaction, the doctor saying "That's not a side-effect with these drugs". I don't blame the doctor - everyone's unique and I guess I'm no exception... I spoke up right away, telling them that I felt I had 'swollen like an over-ripe tomato'. (How can I say this delicately? I can't. ) I experienced pretty severe internal and external fissures and suffered quietly for close to four months before I cried in public. Then they finally believed me!! I must say, I was amazed by the reaction. I'm not a crier, so it really took me by surprise. Talk about TLC! It was almost embarrassing, the attention I got. They called a specialist who came from his office to meet me at 'Emergency' within the hour. The nicest man! Love him. His name is Dr. Ahmer Karimuddin - young enough to be my son, but absolutely confidence-inspiring. Anyway, God bless him, his parents, his brothers and sisters and his descendants for all time. He diagnosed my problem and put a treatment plan in place that helped immediately. After that meeting things were definitely looking up....until...

The fourth through eighth chemo treatments are with Docetaxel and Trastuzumab. They're the ones with the side effects. The doctor cautiously started me on a seventy-five percent dose. They seemed to be expecting the worst because they had adrenaline, etc. loaded and ready to go when they started the I.V. I was fine - none of the reactions they were looking for. Seven days later, though, I obediently phoned the on-call emergency oncologist, as instructed, because my temperature had spiked. My white blood count was "dangerously low" - down from a normal 4.0 , below an acceptable 1.0, to .02. They admitted me to hospital and put me on intravenous antibiotics every eight hours (to combat any possible infections) combined with daily Neupogen injections to stimulate the bone marrow to produce white blood cells. It wasn't a horrible experience, but it wasn't pure joy either. A hospital's no place for sick people. And the food is disgusting!

I recovered nicely from all that. And I'm pretty good right now. My dear little neighbour, Rose, is a nurse and she volunteered to come over after chemo treatments six, seven, and eight to give me Neupogen injections on post-chemo days four through ten. It sounds gruesome (in the stomach), but actually it's not bad at all. It seems tummy flesh is nearly senseless. At least mine is!! The Neupogen causes some aches and pains (so far easily handled with Ibuprofen). The pain to the pocket-book is something else, but I'm lucky there too with our excellent medical coverage.

There's more scary stuff to come. I'm nervous about radiation. There'll be twenty-five treatments I think, five-days a week for five weeks. I'm warned that my phosphorescent Irish skin makes blistering a distinct possibility. Then radical surgery. And a lung biopsy via my throat.... Doesn't sound like a lot of fun, but "Yard by yard, life is hard...inch by inch, it's a cinch". I'll probably get through this o.k. I have wonderful support.

I'll tell you some nice stories soon, but tonight I'll just show you my arm! It doesn't really look so bad in the picture, does it? The larger bruise is from the latest chemo i.v. The big scratch is from rose pruning (I'm not to go near roses anymore, warned that I could get blood poisoning at this stage.). The mark near the elbow crease is the remains of an improperly sterilised hospital i.v. and the small red spot in the middle is a piece of flesh removed by the clothes dryer (I have no idea how that happened!)

Update

2008-10-03T18:14:00.000-07:00

Famous last words: "It's not my plan to let cancer take over this blog." Unfortunately, cancer took over me and I decided to spare you the minutiae of my misery. It's been quite a while since I last posted, though, so I'll give you to a brief update.

The process was agonizingly protracted. I had a diagnostic mammogram and on-the-spot biopsies on August 1. Immediately scheduled for a mastectomy, a subsequent CT scan ruled that out. The CT scan revealed a suspicious area in my lungs. One test after another followed.

Have you ever watched a Zamboni machine clear ice? It's a large, lumbering contraption that moves slowly around an arena, scraping, spraying, and resurfacing the finish. Waiting for the endless tests, I felt like I was lying on the ice, hearing the machine approach ever-so-slowly, knowing it was about to run over me. Then I had to lie still and wait for the next pass. Pass after pass. Unpleasant, and finally quite morale-destroying. There was a bone scan, a heart scan, ekg, and numerous blood tests. Chemotherapy treatment was scheduled and then re-scheduled when I told the oncologist that I'd been coughing for twenty-five years and that only last year I'd had lung function testing and an x-ray. The old x-ray threw enough mud onto the picture to prompt another chemotherapy re-scheduling in order to allow time for a bronchoscopy. Now that was an unpleasant test! I saw the respirologist for a post-op appointment yesterday and I think he explained it partially as "You have an interesting redundancy of cartilage..." Whatever, they couldn't get a sample in the area of interest. The I.V. drugs administered are supposed to render one unconscious and unable to remember the procedure. The I.V. was placed in my arm at least three times; I guess I coughed it out at least once because I have a distinct memory of waking and looking at a screen that resembled a simulation of the Martian landscape. I also recall choking and gagging. End result of the test, an inadequate sample but nothing abnormal in what they did retrieve. I came away with giant cold sores on top and bottom lip, across my tongue, down my throat and possibly in the lung. I'd also bitten my tongue rather severely. I ran a fever of 39.7 C and had serious failure in my ability to concentrate. That was September 23. Perhaps there was a lingering effect of the 'forgetfulness' drug because I really wasn't thinking straight again until the 30th. I visited the oncologist again on the 26th and at least had enough of my wits about me to enquire if the bronchoscopy might have suggested sarcoidosis. (My mother had had sarcoidosis and there's some suggestion of a possible familial connection.) Sarcoidosis isn't malignant. (I don't have a clue what it is, but it's not as intimidating as lung cancer.) Finally, after considerable discussion back and forth the oncologist (Dr. Vanessa Bernstein) announced that for the moment "we're going for the cure". Future events may change that, but right now the chemotherapy is tailored to hopefully eradicate the cancer.

There's a long haul ahead - about fifteen months to begin with. Months of chemotherapy, followed by radiation plus chemotherapy, and finally a mastectomy and lung biopsy.

I had the first chemo treatment on Tuesday, the 30th, and am pleased to report that it wasn't too traumatizing. The anti-nausea regime available today is truly wonderful because I've had very little discomfort so far. On days seven to ten post-chemo one is apparently at great risk of infection due to suppresion of the immune system, so I'm nervous about that. And my hair will be falling out in about a week. Could there be more fun?

Ah well, I've got my wig on hand. When the hair starts coming out in clumps I'll make an appointment to get the remains shaved off and have the wig fitted, steamed and styled. It's not a bad match to my current colour and not too 'wiggy' looking. I also bought a cute little sleeping cap, a cloche, and a variety of pirate-style bald-lady scarves. (If I have the courage I'll post a picture later.)

And as Forrest Gump would say: "That's all I've got to say about that."

I'll try not to put you through too much more of this in the future.

Bright Sides

My dear family has been wonderfully supportive. Every vaguely positive medical report has been greeted with enthusiasm. My little girl drove all the way from Los Angeles to be here for me. My neighbour Rose, an ER nurse, came off all-night shifts and insisted on accompanying me to the surgeon and the first chemo appointment. I've had lovely surprise packages from Sharon and Ute, Debra and Maxine and Clare. Debra's little girls sent me delightful 'get well' cards. And I have some hope that this ordeal won't kill me.

2008-08-18T15:51:00.000-07:00

It's not my plan to let cancer take over this blog... Sorry to be "Debbie Downer" (as my daughter would say). I'm just going to post the latest news here because there are a couple of kind souls who've sent me such nice letters and I haven't written back. I hope you'll understand.

I went to the oncologist last Friday (the 15th) and he says it's advanced breast cancer and a mastectomy is advised, plus some lymph node removal. He does more lumpectomies than mastectomies but in my case it doesn't seem to be an option. Today I got an 8:15 am call from the CAT-scan booking department, telling me that the doctor had ordered a scan for completion "no later than tomorrow afternoon". From that I would infer that the mastectomy is tentatively booked for a pretty near date. Of course, that would be assuming that there's not excessive spread revealed by the cat scan.

I suppose I could find something to be thankful for whatever the scan results. If the surgery's a 'go' it would mean that the prognosis seems more hopeful. However, if it's a 'no go' I would avoid an ordeal and not be subjecting my body to excessive trauma. Sometimes I wonder if surgical intervention really is helpful - remember the old joke about the Irish woman at the Pearly Gates ? "I was at death's door and the doctor pulled me through!"

My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She went in for a biopsy and the hospital resident examined her and said "Your doctor's a respected specialist, but there's nothing there". They went ahead with the biopsy and found cancer, recommended a mastectomy. The next day, they decided 'no mastectomy' because it's Cancer IV. So they opted for radiation, forgot (really!) all about her for over a month, then did two courses of radiation. A year later she was in the Cancer Clinic for followup and asked the doctor there how she was doing. Now, before I continue let me explain that my mother's own doctor had decided to withhold the entire story because he knew she was fragile. The doctor in the Cancer Clinic ignored that and told my mother "I think you deserve to know. Nobody expected you to come out of the hospital last year; a quarter of one percent survive the first year..." Then, in response to 'how long?', she shrugged "Two months?" I think her name was Dr. Ellison. Damn her. I cold-bloodedly decided that I would beat her up after my mother had died. (I'm not normally a street fighter, you know...) My mother promptly went into a major depression, probably lost over sixty pounds, and was back in hospital dying. They brought food to her bed while she slept and took it away while she still slept. She became quite disoriented. My sister made the decision - "We have to bring her home. They're not doing anything for her here." So Mum came home. She was ninety-five pounds and the one doctor I trusted said we were 'on the home stretch'. I became the chief care giver, reading diet books and doing the opposite of what was recommended. I didn't allow her to stop trying. (My sister said that Mum told her "Susan would have made a good Nazi." I'm so proud...) Well, it doesn't matter. I gained weight myself with demonstration eating, but I also got my Mum up from ninety-five pounds to a hundred and forty-four pounds. And she lasted another nine years, in spite of the damned doctors. You know what killed her? Depression. She made contact with the Hemlock Society (a suicide group) and decided to stop eating. And she issued a DNR to the doctor. In hospital one day she coughed and her long-standing cariac arrhythmia stopped her heart.

And on that negative note, I am off for my Cat Scan tomorrow. I feel like punching someone in the nose. A guy butted in ahead of me in line at Costco today. He doesn't realize how lucky he was. (Think Dirty Harry - "Go ahead, punk...make my day!")

2008-08-10T20:46:00.000-07:00

Even horrible experiences can have good moments. It's amazing how kind people can be. Sharon Sahl is a lady I met online. We've exchanged a couple of letters, but she barely knows me. I owed her a letter and I didn't have much 'write' in me, so I sent the briefest note explaining that I was waiting for biopsy results. Look what she sent me! And the nicest accompanying note... Thank you so much, Sharon. Here's a link to her ornaments. My pictures don't do them justice because I messed up the focus. The detail on the figures is amazing! You can make out little stitches on the quilt and clothing pieces and the painting is just lovely. They're on my bedside table now and it makes me happy just looking at them.

Sunday Salon - The Yiddish Policeman's Union

2008-08-10T10:22:00.000-07:00

So, I got run over by a bus on Friday. Saturday, I'm standing in the kitchen with my sister, a stupid grin plastered on what's left of my face, reading her a paragraph from this book. She looks bewildered. "Didn't you just get run over by a bus?" she's thinking. "Yeah, but this is a great book!"

The previous paragraph has a faint echo of Michael Chabon's writing style. With apologies to Michael Chabon, of course. What do you call that kind of writing? I don't know the technical term, but I call it amazing!

I'm a little distracted right now, so I'm not reading very quickly. I think I've read about eight chapters so far. I love Michael Chabon's writing! This is a very 'ethnic' book, peppered with Yiddish. (There's a glossary at the back of the book, so that's not a problem.) The story is interesting and well crafted and this is the perfect book for me right now.

2008-08-08T20:52:00.001-07:00

This hasn't been the happiest of days. I went in for a biopsy last week and today I was told that I've got breast cancer and there's lymph node involvement. Perhaps I waited too long to go in about it, but the funny thing is I never for a moment considered the possibility of cancer. I've always been a pretty good physical specimen and I just don't believe in 'illness'. Well, like the old joke, I 'ken the noo'. (That's a Scot's dialect phrase, don't know if I've spelled it correctly...the joke is about an old Scot who is regretting something or other, wailing "If only I'da kenned!" The voice of God comes down "Well, ya' ken the noo!", meaning 'you know now').

Peter and I were sitting in A & W, just finishing off coffee and bacon'n'eggers this morning when the call came telling me that the lab results were in. Less than an hour later we were sitting in the doctor's office while the poor young woman squirmed and tried to get me to say the "C" word so she didn't have to. The office had already made an appointment for me to see a cancer specialist next Friday.

I've told my sister and two of my children. (One lucky child has yet to receive the surprise bucket of icewater over the head. ) Everyone's been very sweet and supportive. And look at the dear note Jon left on the whiteboard.

2008-07-22T21:53:00.000-07:00

Peter and I took the van in for an oil change today. The car dealership is in a seemingly decent part of downtown Victoria. We dropped off the car and walked two blocks, crossing a tourist-trap street known as "Antique Row". I had spotted a little restaurant called Bubby Rose's that I thought might be a good place for breakfast. It was too noisy so we didn't go in. We headed back in the direction of the dealership. In the first block we came up behind a man who turned his back and proceeded to piddle against a wall. We approached the corner at the same time as three rough-looking kids. Two girls and one boy, they were probably in their late teens or early twenties. They looked 'Goth' -- rings through the lips and tattoos. One girl was pulling a shopping cart that was loaded with sleeping bags, blankets and miscellaneous clothing. This is the city core.

2008-07-20T19:39:00.000-07:00

This is rare. Unheard of, actually. Debra at the Deblog challenges all comers to beat her time at the Set Puzzle every Saturday. I played regularly for about two years and was consistently pounded. Not just outdone, my times are usually quite embarrassing. I'm not good at this game; I over-think it. Eventually I slunk away, leaving it to the big kids. This Saturday when I visited Debra's page it looked like she was all alone with the game (usually I'll see at least five or six times posted there). I thought I'd give her the pleasure of once again humiliating me. Hah! Every dog has her day and yesterday was this b****'s day!

Look What Was Delivered Today!

2008-07-02T23:30:00.000-07:00

Debra Hamel had a contest at Book Blog and I was one of the winners! I'm absolutely thrilled. I can't remember the last time I won anything. Isn't free stuff wonderful?!

Thank you, Debra and thank you Hachette Books!

2008-07-02T19:11:00.000-07:00

Got a kick out of the company name posted on this van!

Sunday Salon with Sedaris

2008-06-22T00:02:00.000-07:00

On a recent trip to Costco I came across When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris. My daughter Martha raved about his "Me Talk Pretty One Day" and so I bought "Engulfed" after just a quick glance at the inside of the dust jacket.

I didn't know anything at all about David Sedaris, so when he revealed his homosexuality within the first few pages, I thought "Oh, oh" and prepared to set the book aside. Understand, I don't have a problem with gays. I believe gays have every bit as much right to be as I do. I was simply worried about the content of the book. I've never felt the need to discuss my own sexual proclivities, and I certainly don't want to hear about anyone else's. I crept forward, a little fearfully, ready to bolt if the bedroom door suddenly swung open. I'm glad I persisted.

This book is funny! and David Sedaris is a nice man. His essential sweetness comes through in his writing. The book just got better and better as I developed a genuine affection for David and Hugh.

There are some wonderful, outrageous stories. "That's Amore" introduces us to a New York neighbour, Helen, who is a profane, vicious old bag and yet, somehow, Sedaris portrays her with understanding and affection.

One thing I didn't love was his bug story. I hope this falls into the category of "exaggeration in the interest of humour". I guess most people wouldn't be bothered, but I'm a bit of a Jainist. There were some coarse-ish parts too. O.K., I've led a very sheltered life. The average person wouldn't be troubled by the odd rude reference and it probably takes a major pill to complain. I confess -- I'm a major pill, a thin-lipped, prissy old sack. But I'm recommending this very funny book anyway. It was written by a person I really like.

Two Years of Stealth Blogging!

2008-05-23T22:52:00.000-07:00

I was attempting to complete the previous post when Peter and Jon decided to chat. They took turns coming into the computer room, standing beside me and discussing whatever it was they were talking about. Actually, I have no idea what they were saying... I thought they'd never leave. I had heard footsteps approaching and did my usual trick, switching over to Spider Solitaire as each one arrived on scene. I swear, I must have played twenty sloppy games of Spider Solitaire. It's a decent enough game, but I really didn't want to be playing it that much. Somewhere around the fifteenth game it suddenly dawned on me, I've passed the TWO YEAR mark blogging without the family knowing. Two years I've been posting on this blog and those clods are still blissfully unaware!

2008-05-23T21:56:00.000-07:00

It was a very quiet birthday. Finally! I really don't like a lot of excitement. Just my three boys and Aunt Martha and Uncle David at teatime. I served mini quiches, egg rolls, a Pavlova and a hazelnut cream cake. Relaxed and easy -- exactly my cup of tea.

Peter gave me the new camera, Jon provided extra memory, Petie is fattening me up with chocolate. That's right, I'm not fat enough... He also gave me a native-style carving that I quite like (more on that in a minute). Auntie and David gave me some neon and a lovely bouquet. I suppose I shouldn't admit this, but I've loved neon since I was three years old. I remember travelling across Canada and the U.S. in a train when I was three and looking out the windows at night as we passed through various neon-lit cities. I was enchanted then and I'm still enchanted by coloured lights.

Now the carving... That's it, propped up on the bookshelf. Petie carved it himself under the tutelage of his native friend, Ty. Ty's a member of one of the Vancouver Island bands - such a nice young fellow! Anyway, Petie announced "I want you to understand, Mum, I was sitting beside an actual Indian when I carved this. He gave me advice on how to keep it authentic and touch up the fins, etc." Funny, cute and quite special. It's a salmon. Nice little notch in the tail, good gill representation. It's made of cedar (very authentic material). Really, it's not half bad and I'm thrilled with it.

Birthday Girl

2008-05-21T22:15:00.000-07:00

Arrgh, it's an ugly birthday I'm celebrating tomorrow. Should I admit how hideously old I'll be? What the heck... I'm so old I've stopped caring. Sixty! Ach! How is it that I'm still the same person I was at ten? I see the world exactly the same way as I did then. Perhaps my political opinions are somewhat more liberal than that horrid little ten year old's, but other than that, no change. I even look the same. (Yes, I was quite a homely child.)

My sister Martha and her husband are coming over tomorrow to celebrate with us. I know Martha thinks we should be making more of a big deal of the day, but I prefer 'simple'. So I made a Pavlova, which I love, and I bought a nice little hazelnut-cream cake. We'll have that, I'll insist that they sing to me, and then they'll leave. I'm getting a new Canon digital camera from Peter. I like that. I've got two digital cameras already, a Hewlett-Packard and an Olympus, but I love the Canon cameras. They're wonderfully user-friendly and produce excellent pictures.

2008-05-15T20:57:00.000-07:00

Do you remember how I said that soon the shade garden would be a mass of lovely blooms? Here's the view today.

May 14

2008-05-14T11:28:00.000-07:00

The Aunt (my sister, Martha) is off on a cruise today and Young Peter has just picked up his brand-new car (a Toyota Civic). I've suggested the name "Mr. Moto" but I suspect that's unacceptable. Males for some reason refuse to name their cars. Silly boys. Our Dodge Caravan is "Raj, the Dodge" and Peter's little Mercedes is "Silk". So, meet Mr. Moto!

Kayaking off Vancouver Island

2008-05-09T22:09:00.001-07:00

Your mind is Green

2008-05-05T15:13:00.000-07:00

Of all the mind types, yours has the most balance.

You are able to see all sides to most problems and are a good problem solver.

You need time to work out your thoughts, but you don't get stuck in bad thinking patterns.

You tend to spend a lot of time thinking about the future, philosophy, and relationships (both personal and intellectual).

What Color Is Your Mind?

I found this at Maxine's place. Kinda fun...

What a Wallet SHOULD Look Like

2008-04-30T12:44:00.000-07:00

Oh my goodness, look at Debra's tiny wallet! It's pitiful, isn't it? It probably doesn't weigh anything. Now, my wallet...it's impressive -- 4.2 pounds stripped to the bare essentials. The bare essentials being two tape measures, husband's spare glasses, cellphone, spare keys for two cars, house keys, pen and four pencils, changepurse and ziplock bag full of overflow change, pill box loaded with glucosamine (only), post-it notes, kleenex, Purell hand sanitizer, sudoku puzzles, two sets of disposable chopsticks, and an appointment book which I can probably eliminate.

Ah, Clare has joined us and her purse is on display here. Love the beautiful leather of her wallet and purse! I can never find anything as nice -- and I've looked, I really have. It's such fun snooping, isn't it?

123 Meme

2008-04-29T21:12:00.000-07:00

Debra Hamel from "The Deblog" tagged me for the 123 Meme. The rules are:

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

I chose "Foreskin's Lament", a memoir by Shalom Auslander. On page 123 he talks about his childhood friendship with a pair of black children. Now he tells how the friendship dissolved as they grew a little older:

Our friendship seemed to wither as new friends entered our world: friends of his who wondered why I was talking to him. Hellos became waves. Waves became nods.

I commented on this book earlier. I certainly have reservations about it, but it impressed me.

Now, to tag five people. How about Tom, from Random Thinking; Clare from Keeper of the Snails; Maxine from Petrona; Kimmy from Smug Cloud; and YOU (You know who you are! You'd like to do the meme, wouldn't you?)

Easter 2008

2008-03-24T15:10:00.000-07:00

Just want to show you my pretty table and the delicious dessert! It's a Pavlova - if you haven't had one you've missed the best dessert ever. I'll copy out my neighbour Rose's recipe for you:

Pavlova

Part-way through preparation set oven to 300 degrees F. When you put meringue in oven, immediately lower temp to 250 degrees.

4 egg whites, pinch of salt

1 cup berry sugar

1 tsp cornstarch

1 tsp malt vinegar

1 tsp vanilla

Beat egg whites and salt together 'til stiff enough to form peaks. Sift sugar and add slowly, beating at high speed until all the sugar is dissolved. (This takes a very long time...allow about twenty minutes). Fold in cornstarch, vinegar and vanilla.

Pile on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Form into a dish shape (8 or 9 inch diameter - it spreads a bit ) with slight depression in centre. Bake in bottom of oven for about 1 hour, until quite firm to the touch. Turn off oven and leave the Pavlova in to cool.

At serving time cover with whipped cream or Dream Whip, add berries of choice.

Poet vs Pragmatist - A Sunday Salon Wrestling Match

2008-03-04T20:00:00.000-08:00

I really do have mixed feelings about this book -

The Witch of Portobello by Paulo Coelho , translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa. On the one hand, the poet in me appreciates some very artistic phrasing. On the other hand, my pragmatic self finds the writing annoyingly artsy. The poet appreciates Coelho's creative presentation of his central character. Deceased as the story opens, The Witch is revealed through successive interviews with people who knew her. Each character has a unique viewpoint and contributes additional pieces to the portrayal. My pragmatic self has problems with the believability of all the characters.

Sherine Khalil (The Witch), prefers to be called Athena. She is a gypsy by birth, adopted by a Lebanese Christian couple. Her adoptive father's apparent belief in her psychic abilities causes the family to flee Lebanon and emigrate to England. Later Athena meets and seems to instantly recognize the man she will later marry. The suggestion, of course, seems to be that she is a clairvoyant. Well, Pragmatist thinks the clairvoyant needs glasses. She's not much of a soothsayer since her marriage fails and causes the loss of her important connection to the Catholic church. Denied communion, she overreacts.

Pragmatist: You're not kidding! She stands up in church and curses them!

Poet: Is it possible that this is not a case of faulty fortune-telling, but rather a conscious decision on Athena's part, a decision to suffer for some as yet unexplained reason?

Pragmatist: Rot!

Poet: The book is interesting. I can't put it down. Sometimes I find myself stopping mid-paragraph, just to savour a new idea. How about this: Pity those who seek for shepherds, instead of longing for freedom! That's a really great sentence!

Pragmatist: Did this come from Coelho or from the translator? How much has been lost in translation? How much has been added?

Poet: Some of the writing is quite lovely.

Pragmatist: Artsy crap, over-embellished and it sounds foreign. He lost me when the landlord told how a group of people came to his house every night with the express purpose of dancing to percussive sound. Their object was to dance to the point of exhaustion and to thereby reach a state of ecstasy which they claimed was a "search for the Vertex". And not just one person! A whole collection of loonies! These are not normal people. Nah...just too nutty.

Poet: Yes, it does strain reason a bit, but I'm going to finish this book. It has redeeming qualities. There's some poetry about it.

Susan: Coelho did accomplish one thing. He's provided a temporary cure to my book buying. Normally I'll pick up two or three books on each of my twice-weekly shopping trips to Costco. The last time I went I couldn't bring myself to even look at fiction. Like a drowning man, I grasped for a straw. I bought "The God Delusion" by Richard Dawkins.

Poet-Agnostic: Now, I have some reservations about that one...

Happy Birthday, Rebecca S!

2008-02-29T00:00:00.000-08:00

Wishing you a long and happy life!

Spring Cleaning in the Garden!

2008-02-26T21:26:00.000-08:00

Spring usually comes early to Victoria (lovely, lovely city with a very mild climate). I've been toiling like a peasant farmer all week, tidying up the yard. The tidier it gets, the more slovenly I look. The large pile pictured above is awaiting our community 'yard clean-up' day, when crews with front-end loaders, trucks and shovels come around to gather debris from the boulevards.

The second picture doesn't begin to do justice to my little shade garden. I'll take pictures a little later in the year and you'll see! The brown-looking branches in the upper left of the shot will turn into a glorious display of lilacs with a carpet of lily-of-the-valley beneath. There are violets in bloom there now. The stone wall will be covered with roses and there's a pergola to the right draped with more roses, plus wisteria and kiwi. Each corner of the garden is a separate vignette, with seating facing different directions. There's a little path to a separate 'room' with a simple wooden bench, a small St. Francis statue and a disembodied concrete head. Jon found the head years ago when he was playing on the beach. He spotted a nose in the sand and dug down to unearth it. (Kind of horrifying at the time, you can imagine my relief on learning he hadn't discovered a corpse!)

I'm putting in new soaker hoses this year. You'll see that I haven't quite managed to get them in place yet. There are potted bulbs to move and I need to upgrade the nighttime lighting. It's such a joy to be back in the garden!

Twenty-Six Years

2008-02-13T21:23:00.000-08:00

It's our twenty-sixth anniversary tomorrow! Not the best picture of me, but Peter still thinks I'm gorgeous. (We've always been snappy dressers...)

It was his idea to marry on Valentine's Day, romantic old buzzard. We'll be pulling out all the stops - plan to go to a fancy dining place called "Swiss Chalet". I think it'll probably be the house specialty, chicken, and maybe summa that store-bought pie.

Is Something Wrong Here?

2008-02-11T20:03:00.000-08:00

Canadian news reports that a violent Polish sex offender has managed to avoid deportation simply by refusing to sign travel documents. The man has a long criminal record (1981 - 1998) for rape, uttering threats, unlawful confinement, fraud and drug offenses. He refused to participate in sex-offender programs while in prison. His latest conviction was for the armed sexual assault of a teenager and deportation was recommended. Released from prison in March 2004, he has been held in immigration detention pending deportation. By refusing to sign the necessary travel documents he has successfully stymied efforts to deport him. Apparently, under Polish law, he must agree to be deported.

Sunday Salon - February 10, 2008

2008-02-10T12:54:00.000-08:00

I finally finished "Organize Your Corpses" and it wasn't the worst book I've ever read. Really, it had its moments. I think I was too critical; I simply wasn't the target audience.

Now I've started a novel by a Canadian author. Wind Tails, by Anne DeGrace is a lovely book! Can it be that I'm just responding to the strong Canadian voice? The author is another librarian, from Nelson, British Columbia. She also wrote Treading Water.

The writing in Wind Tails seems effortless and fluid, suggesting to me that it was sifted, filtered, written and re-written. The clarity of this writing! Just wonderful. Like a cool mountain stream, the words spill out and are perfection. The subject matter is quite ordinary and commonplace, the characters believable. It's an ideal book for the person who observes humanity. Set in a roadside diner, various characters pass through the narrative and we see their interactions.

The characters I've met so far are quite likeable. Some may be flawed, like the amoral Irishman who seduces both the main character and her mother, but the portrayals are very human. Eamon (the cad!) isn't a total villain. The central character is Jo. She is attending her first year at university when her mother announces that a distant relative will be staying with the family while he looks for work. Eamon moves in and charms the lot -- mother, father, and daughter. He spends his days lounging, drinking father's whiskey and occasionally reading the help-wanted ads. Given the opportunity, he seduces Jo who naively believes that their relationship is something that it's not. She becomes pregnant and sick, hurries home unexpectedly one day and discovers Eamon in bed with her mother. Fast forward - the baby has been born and surrendered for adoption. Jo leaves the hospital, crosses the road, and starts hitchhiking. Her third lift is with Archie, a trucker, who takes her to Cass' Diner. Archie and Cass are old friends and seem to adopt strays fairly regularly. The characters could easily have become poor cliches, but they're not - they are real people. You'll be sure you've met them somewhere.

The second chapter tells us more about Cass and hints at the relationship she has with Archie. Cass is in her late sixties, single and childless. She "never wanted a kid or a dog or a cat or a husband." It strikes me that in one way or another Archie has been filling Cass' needs for years. He brings her people in need of help and thus Cass is able to experience a kind of motherhood.

Next we're introduced to "Pink" a young American who claims to travel only in the direction the wind is blowing. (This is going to explain the book's title.)

I've reached page ninety-one and another character, a bitter old woman, has passed through the diner...I love this book!

Sunday Salon - January 27

2008-01-27T10:11:00.000-08:00

Organize Your Corpses (Death is never tidy) by Mary Jane Maffini sounded amusing. The cover announces "Organizing tips included!". The author is described as "a lapsed librarian, a former mystery bookseller, and a previous president of Crime Writers of Canada. In addition to creating the Charlotte Adams series, she is the author of the Camilla MacPhee Mysteries, the Fiona Silk series, and nearly two dozen mystery short stories. She has won two Arthur Ellis awards for short fiction, and "The Dead Don't Get Out Much", her latest Camilla MacPhee Mystery, was nominated for a Barry Award in 2006." So it should be good, right? Maybe it is. I just don't like it myself. Obviously the failure is mine. I'm part-way through chapter five and I'll tell you where I have problems with this book.

Have you seen the old television program "Gilmore Girls"? I found that program incredibly annoying for it's too rapid-fire, too smart-alecky dialogue. Organize Your Corpses echoes the style. Now, my daughter loved Gilmore Girls and she's no fool, so maybe it's the generation gap - perhaps I'm just too old, stodgy and witless.

I find the book over-written and under-edited. The author seems to be unduly hasty in revealing her characters and they're a well-worn cast of cliches. They all need killing. (Just like the Gilmore Girls). After about one chapter it felt like I was laboring over a tough steak, ruminating on an excess of adjectives and adverbs. Mary Jane Maffini's phones 'scream' and 'trill'. Her characters 'squeal' and 'shriek'. The situation is 'craptacular.'

But wait a minute! I just scanned the pages quickly to remind myself of those little gems. It's not so bad if you read it fast enough!

Don't write this book off based on my comments. That wouldn't be fair to the author. Perhaps I should put it aside for another day.

Bad Poetry

2008-01-26T15:21:00.000-08:00

I found a torn piece of foolscap when I was cleaning today. (It's obviously a long time since I tidied in that particular area!) Back in my daughter's high school years, I recall she had an assignment to write a poem patterned on the style of Frost's "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening". I always enjoyed assignments of this type... Okay, I'm not delusional - this is pretty bad. I had fun with it though and so I fished it back out of the wastebasket for one last airing:

That chicken looked a little pink
Maybe undercooked - ya think?
I have to make up some excuse
Salmonella sure would stink.

I'll stall for time and sip some juice
I'm sweating now, and it's profuse
I've got to think up some good lie
A ploy, a trick, or clever ruse.

Dessert is coming - apple pie
But instinct tells me, "say goodbye"
I don't need to tell them why
I don't need to tell them why.

Sunday Salon - January 20

2008-01-20T12:43:00.000-08:00

I've just picked up "The End of the Alphabet", by C.S. Richardson - haven't read very much yet, but it's a lovely, 'neat' little book which I find very pleasing aesthetically.

The central characters are Ambrose Zephyr and his wife Zappora (Zipper) Ashkenazi. I like that - A.Z. and Z.A. The little I've read thus far describes the civilized, restrained, perfected life that Ambrose and Zappora have been living. Sadly, we discover that Ambrose has but a month to live, "give or take a day"...

Ten p.m: I finished the book and a few jobs as well. The book is so short - a hundred, thirty-nine pages and some of those quite abbreviated. Lovely little book, I'm still digesting it...

Ambrose has lived a somewhat mundane life, but we discover that he has a spark of creativity. His last month is a 'flame-out', the last flashes of brilliance left in his fire. He's had a life-long fixation on the alphabet and when faced with death he feels suddenly driven to make one last race through Amsterdam, Berlin, Chartres, Deauville. In Amsterdam Zipper buys a small journal which the book itself seems to illustrate. The description of her journal coincides nicely with the cover of the book. The quality of the book paper seems 'just so' and even the occasionally nearly-blank page evokes Zipper's journal. Her journal remains untouched until the last page of the book.

Ambrose adjusted his itinerary for his wife's sake, settling for "E, for Eiffel Tower" instead of his planned Elba. Next is Florence, then Gaza. "H" and "I" are turning points - Ambrose and Zipper return home to England and the alphabet is completed there.

This one deserves to be read again I think. The writing is elegant and subtle. I read slowly, carefully and yet I feel certain that there must be something I've missed. It's that good.

Indelicate Sunday Salon - January 13, 2008

2008-01-13T12:32:00.000-08:00

My daughter checked my Amazon wish list before Christmas and chose three books for me... I'd forgotten that I had a wish list at Amazon dot COM since I've been using Amazon dot CA exclusively of late. It was a long time since I'd looked at the dot com list so on Christmas day when I unwrapped this book my jaw went slack. I'd completely forgotten. I suppose it's good that I did because it was the perfect present, one that I would never buy for myself. I mean, I was interested alright, but I wouldn't have wanted anyone to see me looking at it...

I've always been drawn to things Jewish - felt a connection somehow. Both my grandmother and great-grandmother were Esthers...maybe somebody forgot to tell me?... (Quite honestly, I don't think so, but I told my daughter that she can count on me to convert if she finds the perfect Jewish fiance and needs a Jewish mother to 'seal the deal'.) I came across a review of this book somewhere (probably Debra's blog again) ages ago and absent-mindedly put it on the 'to buy' list. I understood it to be a 'slice' (gasping for breath at my own highly-evolved sense of humour...) of Orthodox Jewish culture.

The first thing to surprise me was the author's photograph. I expected a nerd and instead found myself looking at Mr. Intensity, a stereotypical football tackle. The next revelation was that Jewish people are not all perfect parents. (I had thought they might be.)

The book troubles me though. The author, Shalom Auslander, seems to be a very hurt, angry man. I don't think this is going to help him at all. I imagine it will cause grief to his family and it's not helping Jews much either.

I think Shalom has increased my understanding of the Jewish experience and I may withdraw that offer to my daughter... It strikes me that these wonderful people are slaves to history - haunted by it, hating it, and yet clinging to it. The group I've been reading about seem to fasten a ball-and-chain around each new infant's leg, expecting the child to abandon any hope for joy. It's no way to live. Shalom's stories about his family are heartbreaking. He's got good reason to complain. And yet...and yet...

Shalom, Let it go! I know you're hurt. Believe me, a painful childhood is not a unique experience. You're an adult now and you can't continue to rail against your family forever. Your mother and father were responsible for you when you were a child and they failed you. But how long are you going to hate them for their frailty? Let it go! I'll tell you what's worked for me: Look at your family as a long line of brothers and sisters. You had the misfortune to be raised by a brother and sister who weren't very good at the job. They were flawed, imperfect people. Forgive them and move on. Really, it's possible to still love imperfect people. And if you don't have it in your heart to do it for them, do it for yourself. This anger is not good for you or the brothers and sisters who'll be entrusted to your care. Your parents have some forgiving to do too, now that you've publicly humiliated them...

So...It's a pretty good book. There's humour (bitter, edgy humour), a couple of insults for the Gentiles and even more for the Jews. And I'm getting my peek into the Orthodox household.

12pm: I've read a hundred, nine pages so far - seven chapters - and I'm not sure I'll finish the book. It's decent-enough writing, and there have been some really amusing vignettes but I feel terrible to be laughing at the pain and dysfunction of this family. I remind myself that Auslander is writing from a different culture and a different generation - I shouldn't be so offended by vulgarity. I acknowledge that I am a 'prude' and I am still reading...

A thought: At one point Auslander tells us that his rabbis at the yeshiva school predicted that one day he would be a great rabbi himself. The young man he portrays seemed to be sincerely trying to live a righteous life in spite of everything. I'm wondering if he might not in fact have become a positive force in his community were it not for the negative effect of his family. Such a pity. (Who was it who said "We spend the second half of our lives trying to recover from the first half"?)

The offer's off the table, Martha. I'm not converting. I don't really fancy organized religion much anyway...

I'm going to look at this book next. I've read it before...there's a chapter on Adolph Hitler that almost has a 'synchronicity' to Auslander's book.

Shalom, I think you need to move to Hawaii and immerse yourself in the 'Aloha Spirit'. Instead of separating yourself in a community bent on exclusion you need to find a community that is non-discriminating and embraces everyone. You need to find some happiness.

Undercover Sunday Salon

2008-01-06T10:47:00.000-08:00

I've been finding it very difficult to post clandestinely; this is the time of year I never seem to have five minutes alone. So, this may be quite brief...

I was at Costco yesterday, glancing over the book tables, and I spotted a name I vaguely recognized...couldn't remember where I'd come across it, but my memory is a wonderful thing because I had successfully stored the title as a 'buy'. I didn't even take the time to read the blurb, just threw it in my cart and carried on (I have great faith in my memory). Well, I certainly wasn't mistaken ! This book is exactly my cup of tea.

I suspected I might have read a review on Debra's Book Blog, and sure enough, there it was. I don't think Debra loved it the way I do though. (Debra's probably too 'normal' to fully appreciate this book.) The story is written as narrative from an autistic person's point of view and it is quirky, creative, zany... Autism is a handicap, alright, but a peek into this mind is pure pleasure. The book is different from anything I've ever read before. I just love it!!

2007-12-28T22:00:00.000-08:00

2007-12-28T21:58:00.000-08:00

Christmas 2007

2007-12-28T21:52:00.001-08:00

Christmas 2007

2007-12-28T21:46:00.000-08:00

The 'plane was delayed - Martha was due in at 6:30 but arrived smiling a little after midnight. We left the airport around 2am after she filed a 'lost baggage' claim.

Surreptitious Sunday Salon and Smoke

2007-12-09T17:08:00.000-08:00

Yes, smoke. Peter's been working on the computer room and today he was grinding down a windowsill. Honestly, the air was thick and breathing is somewhat iffy even now...

I've been reading "Born Standing Up", an autobiography by Steve Martin. I've always liked Steve Martin - he reminds me so much of my brother (attractive, smart, and he seems to be a nice person). I was interested to learn what exactly it was that spawned such a bright fellow. I had imagined him coming from a 'privileged' background. I had imagined an Ivy League education. It appears that I was pretty much wrong. Steve Martin is a worker in the finest sense of that word. He started as a part-time employee at Disneyland when he was ten years old and moved on to a job at Knott's Berry Farm at eighteen. He was finally inspired to work at his education by a girlfriend (apparently she's an Evangelist of some note, but I don't know her...)

The book is a pleasant, speedy read. There is carefully worded mention of problems with the father - some physical abuse. Martin left home at eighteen and then had little contact with his family (I understand there's a reunion with his older sister due in a future chapter.)

So far I haven't read anything to put me 'off ' him. I still think he's a remarkably worthy fellow. I'll recommend the book.

Sunday Salon November 25

2007-11-25T10:54:00.000-08:00

Up late and I haven't picked up a book yet. I've been reading Sunday Salon posts though. Would that count? Clare's got a good one, on "Virus Hunter".

I've got "Saxons, Vikings, and Celts" on the bedside table and I'm still not finished it. The fact is that I stay up too late and by the time I pick up the book I'm too tired to read, so I have a tendency to read about three pages and then re-read while moving my legs about or shaking my head to ward off sleep. It seldom works.

I picked up a new book last night - Sea Room by Adam Nicolson. (He's the fellow who wrote "God's Secretaries", another book on my TBR shelves that I haven't got to yet.) In Sea Room Nicolson writes of his love for a group of islands in the Hebrides which his father had bought as a young man. I haven't got very far yet, just a couple of chapters and a 'cheat' read toward the end of the book. He writes well and he seems the embodiment of Kipling's ideal man - "walks with kings nor loses the common touch" - I like him. I don't know whether the information came from the beginning of the book or my cheat read, but I see that he has some mixed emotions about ownership of the Shiants (pronounced Shants). He tells us he owns them, but acknowledges that no one can truly own a wonderful piece of nature. He wants others to share the wonder and simultaneously takes umbrage when a conservancy agency attempts to intrude on the area. I sympathize with Nicolson. Here is a remarkably decent man who feels himself steward of a natural treasure but in fact he does own the islands and is rightly offended by the cheekiness of some approaches.

Sunday Salon, Third Post, November 18

2007-11-18T14:30:00.000-08:00

Saxons, Vikings, and Celts is nicely paced narrative, unpretentious and written for the general reader. The author is likeable and has a quiet humour which is appealing. His book is peppered with entertaining anecdotes and is certainly holding my attention.

We are told that very often oral 'myths' of a region are closer to the truth subsequently revealed by genetic testing than are conclusions based solely on archaeological evidence. Somewhat disconcertingly, Sykes also reminds us of the dangerous myths that have caused so much damage - most notably the "Aryan myth" (must read more on Max Muller who is given credit/blame as the originator of that one).

I'm reading chapter four at the moment, an overview of the Celt versus the Saxon. Robert Knox, who wrote "The Races of Men" (published 1850) didn't think much of the Celts! I suspect they didn't think much of him either. The viciousness of his diatribes against the Celts is really quite laughable. It makes me think - surely that should be the favoured way to handle all racial hatred - laugh at it! Hatred shouldn't blanket an entire population. I think we need to choose the objects of our own particular revulsion very carefully in order to be sure that they are truly worthy.

I'm finding so much interesting material in this book! This is why I seldom read fiction.

Sunday Salon, Second Post, November 18

2007-11-18T13:00:00.000-08:00

A direct quote from "Saxons, Vikings, and Celts" will give you a taste of the book. It certainly whets my interest:

(Referring to Cheddar Man)

"While his bones were gradually entombed by the drip, drip, drip of limestone water in the silence of his cave, the ancestors of the ancient Celts have arrived in Wales and Ireland, the ground has trembled under the marching feet of Roman legions, the shingle beaches of Kent have yielded to the keels of Saxon warships, and the blood-curdling cries of Viking raiders have echoed from the defenceless monasteries of Northumbria and the Scottish islands. While he endured 12,000 years of solitude, the world outside pulsed with life - and death. His DNA stayed where it was, but outside the cave it had another life in the generations of descendants whose stories we can now begin to unfold. "

This is pretty good writing! I'm enjoying the book.

Sunday Salon, November 18

2007-11-18T12:00:00.000-08:00

Today I'm reading Saxons, Vikings, and Celts, the Genetic Roots of Britain and Ireland, by Bryan Sykes (published in the U.K. under the title "Blood of the Isles")

This is the first book on the genetic history of the British Isles which utilizes DNA as a main source. The author, Brian Sykes, is a professor of human genetics at Oxford University and is well known for research on the nine thousand year old remains of 'Cheddar Man' and comparisons of Cheddar Man's DNA with that of the modern residents of Somerset. (You'll probably remember the media excitement when it was announced that testing had confirmed a kinship match with a man living in the area today.)

I'm quite interested in this book. The subject matter is fascinating of course and the writing is directed at the layman (me). Sykes tells of his chance introduction to Robert Hedges, an archaeologist at Oxford and their discussion on the possibility of extracting more from ancient bones than simply a carbon dating. Imagine! The first lab in the world to do this kind of testing, Sykes' team has tested Neanderthals, Oetzi (the Iceman of the Alps) and the people of Polynesia.

In 1995 Sykes published a paper disproving the Thor Heyerdahl theory of Polynesian migration by tracing migration routes from an origin in South-east Asia out into the Pacific Ocean. He collected DNA samples from dozens of Pacific islands and extrapolated the progress through the Pacific. Spurred by the success of the Polynesian study, Sykes then sought to investigate the origin of modern Europeans. I'll 'skip to the chase' and tell you that he seems to have concluded that the ancestors of modern Europeans were hunter-gatherers and not the previously-accepted farmers from the Middle East. Tests on skeletons from the Cheddar Cave lent some weight to the theory because Cheddar Man and an older skeleton also studied were hunter-gatherers who lived at least six thousand years before farming arrived on the Isles and their DNA is identical to modern Europeans'.

The first known Homo Sapiens in the British Isles date to twenty-six thousand years ago, then there's a fourteen thousand year gap in the fossil records (due to the Ice Age). As temperatures gradually fell from year to year, the people living in what are now the British Isles retreated to the south - to France, Italy and Spain. When the climate improved, they followed the herds back North. Twelve thousand years ago the British Isles were still connected to Europe by land and the people crossed an area called Doggerland that now lies under the North Sea.

Sunday Salon - Third Post

2007-11-11T15:45:00.000-08:00

I like this book. I can understand the characters. By page two hundred, twenty-six we've had a series of intriguing vignettes from the author's youth. "These are stories" Munro has told us in her foreward. I guess. If that is true, the stories are very well done.

The View from Castle Rock doesn't disappoint and yet I'm just a little disappointed. The framework is historical, but the flesh around the bones largely ignores history. There are certainly some excellent, timeless character studies though.

Sunday Salon - Second Post

2007-11-11T13:14:00.000-08:00

I stopped to do a little housework, then came back and set a kitchen timer for thirty minutes' more reading. By page eighty-eight I was too enthralled to pay any attention to the timer, so I kept reading to page one hundred, forty-three. I wonder if 'old James', the driving force behind the family's emigration, was really the chronic malcontent he's portrayed to be. I have to remind myself that this is a story and not true history!

Sunday Salon by Stealth

2007-11-11T11:00:00.000-08:00

I was drawn to The View from Castle Rock by Alison Munro because the book, a fictionalized account of Munro's family history, seems to parallel my own family's story. Her people came to Canada in 1818, the same year my own great-great grandfather brought his family to Canada. I have a fair amount of information on my Hobson ancestors and I'm interested to see how Munro's story compares to my own.

The book opens with a visit to the Ettrick Valley of Scotland where the author finds the headstone of her direct ancestor, William Laidlaw, in the churchyard at Ettrick. William is known locally as Will O'Phaup (Phaup being the local version of the name of his farm - "Far Hope"). Will appears to have acquired quite a mythology built around his life and experiences.

Sunday Salon on the Sly

2007-11-04T10:07:00.000-08:00

Debra Hamel and Clare Dudman have suggested that readers/bloggers spend a part of each Sunday reading and periodically blogging comments on the books they've chosen. They've named this highbrow enterprise The Sunday Salon. I'm not sure how successful I'll be at this because my family still doesn't know that I'm blogging. I've been at this for a year and a half now, right under their noses, and they still haven't caught on. (...Yes, we're a rather stupid lot.) Debra coaxed me to participate "on the sly" and I'll try to do so. Of course, it's difficult to be sly when there are time constraints to consider, so I think I'll need to come up with some creative solutions to the problem. It's no use trying to read when my husband is around anyway. There's no ignoring Peter. He'll stand beside me, talking, demanding responses. That's just too frustrating. So, this time I won't attempt to do periodic updates. I'll just tell you what I'm reading at the moment.

I've got two books on my bedside table: "Stumbling on Happiness" by Daniel Gilbert and "44 Scotland Street" by Alexander McCall Smith.

Daniel Gilbert is someone you'd like to have over to the house. His book is interesting and cleverly written. He's a university lecturer and you know that his classes will be well attended because he has the witty approach appreciated by young people. His book discusses why it is that we seldom know what we really want or what will truly make us happy. I've already used his advice to advantage. He illustrated how we are apt to make purchasing decisions based on the wrong criteria. Stores will display a variety of products and frequently convince the consumer to choose enhanced features or capabilities which are neither wanted nor desirable. We are routinely influenced to turn our backs on what we actually want in favour of another item which may in fact not suit us as well. A variant of the same kind of thinking can be applied to relationships too. A worthy book.

"44 Scotland Street" is something of a disappointment. The title quite possibly is a reference to the long-running British soap-opera "Coronation Street". It would make sense, because the book is very much like a soap opera. Originally published in "The Scotsman" (newspaper) in serial form, this book - the first of a series - has one hundred, ten abbreviated chapters.

Alexander McCall Smith is a likeable, very accessible writer but he's no Clare Dudman. I find his characters relatively unbelievable and lacking dimension. Really, the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series is where he shines. I think that's because his respect and affection for the African people is so evident in his books. Perhaps my own lack of familiarity with Africa allows me to more readily accept the lack of nuance too... While it may not be 'great' writing, McCall Smith produces a pleasant, highly marketable product and if he isn't rich as Croesus now, he soon will be. There's a lesson to be had here: It needn't be exquisite writing to be commercially successful. In fact, I think really good writing may actually limit commercial success. After all, most of us (the reading public) are ignorant clods who don't want to be bothered with reading anything too demanding.

2007-11-02T15:12:00.000-07:00

Forget about all that highbrow stuff - this is the best book ever! It's such juvenile fun! Page ten, "Ear Wiggling Made Easy" tells how to use adhesive bandages to attach a string to the back of the ears. Then, tie another string to the middle of the first one. Let it dangle down through the back of your shirt. Pull on the string behind your back and wow 'em! This is definitely my simple-minded cup of tea.

Page twelve has "the nastiest activity in this book" How to Fake a Sneeze. It involves first wetting your hand under a faucet, then faking the most disgusting sounding sneeze possible while simultaneously shaking the water from your hand onto the back of someone's neck.

I ask you, is there anything in the world better than remaining childish at heart?

Trick or Treat!

2007-10-31T18:49:00.000-07:00

It's Hallowe'en and I've set out a large container of chocolate bars inside the front door. When I was a youngster, communities were teeming with children (post-war baby boomers). Hallowe'en must have been torture for the adults then. Today it seems that Hallowe'en has faded into memory. Even when my boys - now in their twenties - were trick-or-treating there were few children around. Now, there aren't any! We haven't had a trick-or-treater to our door in at least four years. I can't say that I really regret it. I never did think much of Hallowe'en. In the larger cities there are always 'home invasion' incidents reported - thugs taking advantage of people readily opening their doors. At least that isn't a concern here (yet), thank goodness.

It looks like I've got a big job ahead of me. I bought enough chocolate bars to serve a mob and there's no mob. I wouldn't want all that chocolate to go to waste!

Happy Birthday to Debra!

2007-10-31T09:21:00.001-07:00

Test Post for the Sunday Salon

2007-10-31T09:18:00.001-07:00

The title says it all...

I'm back, I'm back, I'm back!

2007-10-29T16:49:00.000-07:00

Okay, I actually chose to be incommunicado for a while there.... Yesterday, though, I tried desperately to get into my blog so that I could participate in Debra's "Sunday Salon". I kept getting messages that my account had been de-activated. The pain! It's one thing to choose not to blog, but it's something else entirely to be told that one isn't allowed on the playground. I wonder why the account was de-activated? I wasn't away that long...

Central Flying School

2007-08-27T18:21:00.000-07:00

6th Course - May-August, 1914 (Click on the picture to enlarge)

Herry taught me how to set my digital camera to 'Macro' to rephotograph old pictures, probably producing a better copy than a scanner would. The picture above is an interesting one, showing a group of First World War (British) airmen. My father-in-law is the tall navy fellow in the back row. I've carefully..painstakingly...copied all the names. I had to use a magnifying glass because the ancient typewriter used to caption the original produced a faded, uneven and difficult-to-read list. My list is accurate though - I'm fairly proud of that.

Back Row (left to right): Capt. T.H.C. Frankland, Lt. D.S. Crosbie, Lt. C.G.G. Bayly, Sub.Lt. F.M. Barr, Lt. Lord G. Wellesley, 2Lt. F.P. Adams, Lt. E.C. Emmett, 2Lt. L.A. Strange.

Row 2 (numbered from top, left to right): Capt. A.B. Burdett, Capt. C.F. de S. Murphy, 2Lt. A.L. Russell, 2Lt. R.A. Payze, Lt. K.R. Van der Spuy, Lt. P.A. Broder, Sub-Lt. J.M.R. Cripps, 2Lt. S.P. Cockerell, Sub-Lt. H.G. Wanklyn, Capt. D. Le G. Pitcher.

Row 3: Lt. G.S. Creed, 2Lt. A.A.B. Thomson, Lt. C.A.G.L.H. Farie, Lt. G.L. Cruikshank, Lt. G.W.W. Hooper, 2Lt. C.E.C. Rabagliati, Sub-Lt. L. Tomkinson, Lt. B.H. Turner, Lt. T.L.S. Holbrow, 2Lt. G.J. Malcolm, Lt. A.S. Barratt.

Row 4: Capt. T.I. Webb-Bowen, Lt. R.H. Verney, Lt. V.S.E. Lindop, Capt. G.H. Cox, Lt. F.B. Binney, Capt. A. Ross-Hume, Lt. I.M. Bonham-Carter, Capt. G.P. Wallace, Mr. G. Dobson, B.A., Lt. E.F. Chinnery, Asst. Paymr. J.H. Lidderdale, Major Sir B. Leighton, Bt., Lt. G.R. Bromet.

Front Row: Capt. E.G.R. Lithgow, Fl-Lt. B.E.C. Peirse, Capt. A.C.H. MacLean, Fl-Lt. A.B. Gaskell, Major H.J. de Lotbiniere, Capt. G.M. Paine, C.B., M.V.O., Major H.M. Trenchard, C.B., D.S.O., Squ-Comdr. P.A. Shepherd, Capt. A.G. Board, Fl-Lt. C.D. Breese, Lt. E.L. Conran.

Waiting for the Pendulum to Swing

2007-08-15T14:18:00.000-07:00

Yet another panhandling murder in Canada. What is the solution?

Fantasy

2007-08-12T16:12:00.001-07:00

Years ago I lived in a very tall building in downtown Vancouver. It was a hotel for the first twenty floors or so and apartments for the remaining floors, up to floor thirty-five. I think I lived on the twenty-ninth floor...

Riding up and down in elevators on a regular basis one comes to expect a certain level of civility and I found myself increasingly irritated by other riders. The occasional buffoon would enter the elevator and place himself directly in front of me, allowing a space of perhaps two inches between his back and my face. Now, understand, I spent a lot of time in elevators... I was also relatively tall at the time, starting with a God-given five foot, six inches and then adding about four inches of heel. I often rode the elevator staring at someone's frail, vulnerable neck. One day it occurred to me what a wonderful surprise it would be if I suddenly sank my teeth into the neck that was so close, so meaty. After that I could never ride the elevator again without a big smile on my face and evil in my heart.

I haven't done it yet, but there's no telling when I may snap.

B.C. Day

2007-08-06T11:35:00.000-07:00

My grandfather, George Hobson, moved west to British Columbia in 1888, just seventeen years after B.C. joined Confederation. Clever fellow, he raised his family in the best province in Canada!

Today is B.C. Day and I can't think of another place I would rather live. British Columbia has the most moderate climate in Canada, making it appealing to every Canadian retiree. Our population therefore is probably quite a bit older, on average, than those of the eastern provinces. The influence here has always been strongly British but in the last twenty-five years or so there's been an influx from Asia (primarily Chinese and Indian I think.) The community doesn't seem to be any the worse for it; we all get along very well. That's one of the wonderful features of this country - we don't describe it as a 'melting pot'. We are, instead, 'multicultural'. An example - A television channel I frequently watch has daily broadcasts of news in Mandarin and Cantonese.

There are some problems that concern me. B.C. is also a magnet for indigents, given our good climate and excellent social services. Here's an item from yesterday's news that highlights the danger of professional panhandlers . Unfortunately there have been quite a number of similar incidents. I don't know if there's any reasonable solution... I'm not planning to move though.

2007-08-04T17:18:00.001-07:00

Peter and I went for a walk yesterday and came home with a lovely little dog. Rupert was wandering alone near the waterfront and happily joined us. We had to make a couple of telephone calls to track down his owner, volunteering to return the dog to its home. The lady came to pick him up, saying that the elderly Rupert was disturbed by extensive renovations going on at home so he chose to leave. She had no idea how he was getting out. When our doorbell rang, Rupert galloped over to the door with us, saw his owner and promptly indicated that he'd prefer to stay here a while. I don't think Rupert thought he was 'lost' - he was merely 'visiting'. Peter assured me that this is definitely not an abused pup...

Alice in Wonderland Decorates

2007-07-24T10:29:00.000-07:00

My son Jon made the following observation last night: "Oh, Mom, I hope you never grow up!" This in response to my strange sense of humour. I give you an example of a small thing that pleases me...

The vase on top holds real roses, cut from my garden. The vase pictured below holds artificial flowers. Just to throw the boys off-balance, I scooped petals which dropped from the real flowers and placed them under the artificial. Childish, yes, but I love watching the faces while the strangeness percolates.

2007-07-22T14:33:00.000-07:00

Simpsonize me: This is Tom's discovery. I confess, I chose the accessories and they may be just a tad overdone...

2007-07-20T22:15:00.000-07:00

Debra had an interesting item on her blog today, another one of those self-assessment quizzes. It's fun, albeit a little time-consuming.

Here's my Personal DNA map:

If you put your cursor over any colour, you'll see the characteristics assessed. I'm a little concerned about that large blue box on top.

Alan Johnston FREE!

2007-07-03T18:29:00.000-07:00

He's been released!

2007-07-01T20:34:00.000-07:00

In case you hadn't noticed, it's BAFAB week, one of four weeks during the year when you are encouraged to "Buy A Friend A Book" for no particular reason. Strikes me that one might get more mileage out of "Buy(ing) A Foe A Book". Probably wouldn't hurt and it would certainly throw them off balance!

Canada Day

2007-07-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

William Hobson and his family - my family - came to Canada in 1818. I'm so glad that they did because this is a wonderful place to live. Happy 140th!

Pictured above, a scene from our backyard: The neighbour's new fishing boat, converted for recreation with four sea-doos on the back, and Indian longboats arriving for Canada Day festivities. (Click on picture for larger view.)

Seen on a waterfront walk

2007-06-30T23:20:00.001-07:00

Can you read the little flag? It says "Shame". We have very high standards in this community...

Chez Sack

2007-06-30T14:10:00.000-07:00

Eight Random Facts

2007-06-27T20:05:00.000-07:00

Clare from "Keeper of the Snails" has tagged me for a meme.

Here are the rules:

1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each participant posts eight random facts about themselves.
3. Tagees should write a blogpost of eight random facts about themselves.
4. At the end of the post, eight more bloggers are tagged (named and shamed).
5. Go to their blog, leave a comment telling them they're tagged (cut and run).

Eight Random Facts

1. My parents were unhappy, unwise intellectuals.

2. I was raised in a volatile, high-stress household and for the first thirty years of my life I was what my husband would call a "shrieker".

3. Recognizing my own frailty I sought out and married the perfect man - a great soul, a mahatma.

4. I would describe myself as normally very sensible and practical and yet I am still haunted by a dream suggestive of reincarnation which I had when I was only five or six years old.

5. I've achieved all I wish to achieve, but I regret my lack of education.

6. I can 'read' faces and expressions very well and because of this I'm hesitant to get involved with people. Still, I find it easy to treat most people with respect.

7. Two members of my family (none I've mentioned here!) were bi-polar. Medication made them worse and so I'm very leery of doctors and medication myself. Surely I must be the weakest link in my family chain, but it probably doesn't show. I have a 'mood gauge', my attitude to Peter (the mahatma). If I ever catch myself muttering negative comments about him under my breath I know that there must be something wrong with me. I take stress-formula (B plus C) or just plain B vitamins. Invariably Peter is his old adorable self within a day or two.

8. I'm very happy with my family. Of course I think the children are physically beautiful and intellectually gifted, but, more importantly, they are good and decent people. Each one of them can be relied upon to do the right and kind thing.

Now I am required to tag eight people. Eight! Eight people who would probably prefer to spit on my shoe... Please consider playing along, but I know some people are cool to memes so there will be no hard feelings should you opt to spit on my shoe.

Eight People:

Debra, from the deblog
Maxine, from Petrona
Tom, from Random Thinking
Kimmy, from The Smug Cloud
Doug, from Crossword Bebop
Jan, from Jan's Writing Journal
My new friend, Herry, from Herry's Journal
Ian, from This Writing Life

2007-06-20T22:12:00.000-07:00

2007-06-20T15:39:00.001-07:00

I have to face facts, if some (fool) were to do a movie of my life the best choice to play Susan would be Colin Firth in 'drag'. Not that I have a gender-identity problem, it's just that I see my nature as being a Colin Firth character. Decent enough, but lacking that external 'sparkle'.

This train of thought was set in motion by blog posts from Debra and Clare. Debra's is an amusing story about plumbing problems on a Continental Airlines flight. Clare's relates her discomfort hearing the activity of a wasp nest in her attic. My 'take' on both stories is so pragmatic and dull. What do I do? I am concerned about the effect on Continental's business and I consider the first step for dealing with a disturbing noise. It's funny, once I was a 'creative' sort of person. I think that the demands of dealing with life efficiently have turned me into a dray horse. Perhaps I should start drinking or something...

Botanical Beach

2007-06-19T17:30:00.000-07:00

Peter and I trekked down to Botanical Beach today. At the west end of Juan de Fuca Park, it's one of the richest tidal areas on the west coast. The shoreline is unique, with ridges of shale and quartz jutting up through black basalt.

The drive took about two and a quarter hours on a narrow former logging road. The area is rain forest and more often than not foggy and dripping rain. It was a lovely day today though. After arriving at the parking area, about two kilometres from the beach, we descended a steep wooded trail, past wild columbine and trillium. Signs warned that black bears and cougar could be seen at any time. I was more alarmed by a fellow walking behind us singing at the top of his lungs (perhaps intent on driving bears away?). He sounded like a tone-deaf Johnny Cash and the lyric he sang seemed somewhat threatening.

The tides are at their lowest at this time of the year and visitors can walk out across the sandstone to look into tidal pools full of marine life trapped when the tides recede. It's really a lovely spot, but the access is a little challenging. Tomorrow I'll probably be writing about my aches and pains!

Elderly desperadoes

2007-06-10T18:40:00.000-07:00

Victoria has a large population of senior citizens. Now, in answer to the growing threat, the city has introduced suitable restraints. Only in Victoria...

Lateral Thinking

2007-06-10T14:52:00.000-07:00

Another 'lateral thinking' item, this one proves to me that I'm not fit to survive in the real world.

Many years ago in a small Indian village, a farmer had the misfortune of owing a large sum of money to a village money-lender. The money-lender, who was old and ugly, fancied the farmer's beautiful daughter. He proposed a bargain. He said he would forgive the farmer's debt if he could marry his daughter.

Both the farmer and his daughter were horrified by the proposal. The cunning money-lender suggested that they let providence decide the matter. He told them that he would put a black pebble and a white pebble into an empty money bag. The girl would pick one pebble from the bag. If she picked the black pebble, she would become his wife and her father's debt would be forgiven. If she picked the white pebble she need not marry him and her father's debt would still be forgiven. If she refused to pick a pebble, her father would be thrown into jail.

They were standing on a pebble strewn path in the farmer's field. As they talked, the money-lender bent over to pick up two pebbles. As he picked them up, the sharp-eyed girl noticed that he had picked up two black pebbles and put them into the bag. He asked the girl to pick a pebble from the bag.

Now, imagine you were standing in the field. What would you have done if you were the girl? If you had to advise her, what would you have told her? Careful analysis would produce three possibilities:

1. The girl should refuse to take a pebble.

2. The girl should show that there were two black pebbles in the bag and expose the money lender as a cheat.

3. The girl should pick a black pebble and sacrifice herself in order to save her father from his debt and imprisonment.

Take a moment to consider the story. It is used in the hope that it will make us appreciate the difference between lateral and logical thinking. The girl's dilemma cannot be solved with traditional logical thinking. Think of the consequences if she chooses the above logical answers. What would you recommend the girl do?

The girl put her hand into the moneybag and drew out a pebble. Without looking at it, she fumbled and let it fall onto the pebble-strewn path where it immediately became lost among all the other pebbles.

"Oh, how clumsy of me," she said. "But never mind, if you look into the bag for the one that is left, you will be able to tell which pebble I picked."

Since the remaining pebble is black, it must be assumed that she had picked the white one. And since the money-lender dared not admit his dishonesty, the girl changed what seemed an impossible situation into an extremely advantageous one.

MORAL OF THE STORY:

Most complex problems do have a simple solution. We just don't usually think them through to achieve an answer.

Lesson learned by Susan: Don't even try to live by your wits! It never once occurred to me to try a 'tricky' approach. My solution was to simply draw out both pebbles and expose the deceit. As my friend Sender would have said "This will not help you, Susan!"

2007-06-10T14:23:00.000-07:00

Martha sent me this - just a sweet 'zen' moment.

Eczema by Clare Dudman

2007-05-24T11:08:00.000-07:00

I'm sick again - went to bed hours earlier than usual last night. Before I turned out the light I read Clare Dudman's short story Eczema from the collection Logorrhea. It's a remarkably complex story to fit into just twenty-five pages. The first sentence captured me - "crows?"

I turned out the light to a feverish, perhaps delirious sleep during which I struggled with a strange re-working of the story. I don't know what I was doing - collecting sentence parts, rearranging chairs. I'm not sure that Clare actually intended it, but in my fitful sleep I found a number of 'born again' Christian elements to her story. Interesting, strange - you really should read it.

I haven't read any of the other stories in Logorrhea yet, but Clare comments on a pair of them here. I'm very happy with the book at any rate. Eczema alone justifies the purchase. I'd be interested in hearing someone else's 'take' on the story.

Basketgirl

2007-05-22T17:32:00.000-07:00

Take a look at this! Make sure to stay around for the slow-motion version too.

2007-05-22T11:32:00.001-07:00

Ian Hocking has a post with writing tips. Very interesting content, and I particularly enjoyed his link to this page. I've 'borrowed' the picture, but I don't think this miniaturized version does it justice. Do click on the links here!

An Anniversary

2007-05-21T14:35:00.000-07:00

A year ago today I tried to comment on Debra's daughter's blog and found that I'd unwittingly signed up for one of my own. A year, and my boys still don't know that I'm blogging! It's been interesting. I rather regret that I haven't yet come up with a 'theme'; "In Over My Head" is very random and casual. Perhaps that's the best I can do...random and casual.

Anyone care to venture a guess on how much longer I'll be able to keep this blog a secret from the family?

Responsibility

2007-05-21T12:06:00.000-07:00

Martha sent me this link. Interesting story, but I can't sympathize with the players. Actually, they seem pretty loathsome.

Introducing The Brother!

2007-05-20T21:47:00.000-07:00

left to right, Don, Cindy and Peter

We had a lovely visit with Don and Cindy, our newly-discovered kid-brother and his wife. They've got a very nice country-style home with plenty of room for their three dogs to roam. Even the dogs were charming. Bruce, the big male, was temporarily banished to the yard while we were there. He responded by standing a foot from us, on the other side of the window, barking to be let in. Once inside he was happy as a clam and quite interested in the company.

Don and Cindy are kind of an 'alternate universe' Peter and Susan. They're active and productive, a very commendable pair. She's a retired paediatrician and I can't help but think that she was wonderful in the job - a petite, sweet lady who wouldn't frighten the children. As for Don, he was a policeman and he's got a policeman's bearing. A big, robust fellow, the resemblance to his father is nothing short of amazing.

We're glad Don found us. I had forgotten until the other day, but I think that I actually played a part in making the reunion possible because at one time I was a very active campaigner for adoption reform. It's twenty years ago now that B.C. introduced an adoption reunion registry and allowed adoptees access to identifying information on their birth parents. When the changes were being discussed in our legislature a couple of politicos introduced me as I sat in the gallery (scroll down almost to the bottom of the page, under "Accountants (Chartered) Amendment Act, 1987") So long ago, I'd almost forgotten. I hounded those people relentlessly, hoping to find a half-brother, the son of my mother. A social worker had told me that my only hope would be to change the law and while I was just one voice among many, I think mine was a fairly shrill voice. I haven't found my mother's son, Jolyon, but Don has found us and that pleases us mightily.

Books

2007-05-14T20:35:00.000-07:00

A good day for books today! I bought "Summer Stories", selected by Alberto Manguel, at Costco. When we arrived home, there were two Amazon packages waiting for me. I'm looking forward to "Logorrhea", edited by John Klima. (Clare Dudman has a story in the collection.) I also got "At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances" by Alexander McCall Smith and "The Origins of the British, a Genetic Detective Story", by Stephen Oppenheimer. I just wish that I could count on having an uninterrupted span of twenty minutes to read...

Trip to the Big Smoke

2007-05-13T23:06:00.000-07:00

Peter and I are going to visit his brother in Vancouver this week. I don't know if you'll remember, but we had a telephone call last September, from a funeral home. Peter picked up the 'phone and I overheard a very subdued conversation: "Yes...uh-huh...yes...yes...uh, sure, that would be fine" I sat nearby drinking tea and wondering if I should offer advice along the line of "Just tell them you're not interested!". He hung up the 'phone and said "That was Sand's Funeral Home. They said they've been contacted by a retired Vancouver police officer who thinks your father was also his father. They wanted to know if I was willing to talk with him."

We had our first telephone conversation with The Brother on September 10 which, coincidentally, was The Brother's birthday. There's been a lot of e-mailing back and forth and photo sharing, etc. (the brother looks to be a virtual clone of Peter's father) and there was a brief meeting on December 26. We really like the fellow. His demeanor is so like Peter's that I felt instantly at ease with him. I sent him an email after the visit and asked if he was o.k. with my posting pictures on this blog. He didn't respond, so I let it go. It's possible that he missed the question in all the excitement, so I'll broach the subject again on this visit. Of course, the trick will be to ask when Peter's not around. (I've been blogging for almost a year now and my boys are still blissfully unaware!)

We've been assembling a collection of photos to take with us as a gift. I scanned quite a variety of family pictures - mainly the father-in-law, but the rest of us too. There are some excellent WWI RNAS pictures and I've carefully deciphered and copied the captions. Here's one: "Returning from a spotting patrol over Chanak. I had to ditch just short of the island of Tenedos, August 1915." It actually seems remarkable that we have so many good quality pictures from the First World War.

Fred (Peter's father) is in uniform in most pictures. He served in the Grand Fleet, RNAS and during the Second World War he joined the Canadian forces. A very robust man, he took ten years off his age in order to serve in WWII and the doctor who did the enlistment physical told my mother-in-law that he had the physique and constitution of a man in his thirties. Fred was born in 1892, so he had to be close to fifty at the time.

I found a photo box for the pictures we've been scanning and chose one of the 'older' pictures of Fred for the lid.

I do hope I'll be able to post some pictures of Peter and his brother here later.

What To Wear

2007-05-02T22:53:00.000-07:00

...when your wife has a job for you to do.

Stupidity or Serendipity?

2007-05-02T14:56:00.001-07:00

I had a lovely little package arrive from Amazon yesterday. I put it aside to open when Jon wasn't around because "The Children of Hurin" is for his birthday. The package also contained two Alexander McCall Smith books ("Blue Shoes and Happiness" and "Portuguese Irregular Verbs"). I don't know how I managed it, but instead of the book I ordered a 4-CD version of "Portuguese Irregular Verbs". I'm a little disappointed, but perhaps it will turn out to be a happy mistake! I haven't had a book read to me in ages. This might be fun! If I love it the way I expect to, then I'll just order the book as well.

I'm reading McCall Smith's "The Good Husband of Zebra Drive" right now and I find his writing delightful. There's a Sunday School feel about it - sweetness, kindness and simplicity - what a lovely change of pace! (I think I need to order every one of his books. )

2007-04-19T21:16:00.000-07:00

Imagine buying this fellow's dogfood! Hercules is an English Mastiff. He has a 38 inch neck and weighs 282 pounds!

2007-04-17T12:38:00.000-07:00

Alan Johnston is a BBC journalist who disappeared in the Middle East on March 12. The BBC has organized an international petition requesting his safe release.

The Alan Johnston petition:

"We, the undersigned, demand the immediate release of BBC Gaza correspondent Alan Johnston. We ask that everyone with influence on this situation increase their efforts to ensure that Alan is freed quickly and unharmed."

To add your name to the petition, please click on the button located at the top right of this page. You can also get code there to place a similar button onto your own blog.

Why not try? Perhaps we can do little, but we can at least try.

2007-04-15T22:30:00.000-07:00

A man feared his wife wasn't hearing as well as she used to and he thought she might need a hearing aid. Not quite sure how to approach her, he called the family doctor to discuss the problem. The doctor suggested a simple, informal test to get a better idea about her hearing loss.

"Here's what you do," said the Doctor, "Stand about 40 feet away from her, speak in a normal tone and see if she hears you. If not, go to 30 feet, then 20 feet, and so on until you get a response."

That evening, the wife was in the kitchen cooking dinner, and the husband was in the den. He thought to himself, "I'm about 40 feet away - let's see what happens." In a normal tone he asked "Honey, what's for dinner?" No response.

The husband moved closer to the kitchen, about 30 feet from his wife, and repeated, "Honey, what's for dinner?" Still there was no response.

Next he moved into the dining room, about 20 feet from his wife and asked, "Honey, what's for dinner?" Again no response.

He walked up to the kitchen door, about 10 feet away. "Honey, what's for dinner?" No response, so he walked right up behind her.

"Honey, what's for dinner?"

At last, an answer!

"RALPH FOR THE FIFTH TIME; WE'RE HAVING CHICKEN!"

Three Rules to live by

2007-04-14T14:16:00.000-07:00

Debra presents a question, asked first by Karen of Write from Karen:

"What three main rules, standards, or morals do you live by?"

Debra's responses are noble and decent and of course you'll agree with them.

Now here's a less admirable response:

1. Family right or wrong. I am one hundred percent behind my family and they all know where to come if they ever need an alibi.

2. Never 'join' anything. Always float with the current but keep oars and a 'kicker' motor at hand in case the current leads you to the edge of a waterfall. Certainly never hand over control of the boat to anyone else.

3. Try for perfection but realize that you'll never find it. Be content to just keep trying.

2007-04-13T16:08:00.001-07:00

Gas prices are up again, to $1.189 a litre here. That's equivalent to $3.97 in U.S. dollars per American gallon or 2.366 British pounds per British gallon. I did the conversions (3.8 litres equals one American gallon and 4.5 litres equals a British gallon). We haven't even reached the height of tourist season yet, so I think we can expect a few more hikes. Canada seems poised to lose control of the oil sands (to Asian interests), so things are likely to get worse too!

2007-04-06T14:07:00.000-07:00

This is the only interior shot I have of my Easter village... I'd forgotten this little figure - it is a mother rabbit reading to a baby rabbit. Not a very good shot, but the only one I have Clare!

2007-04-04T21:16:00.000-07:00

A man was leaving a convenience store with his morning coffee when he noticed a most unusual funeral procession approaching the nearby cemetery. A long black hearse was followed by a second long black hearse about 50 feet behind. Behind the second hearse was a solitary man walking a pit bull on a leash. Behind him, a short distance back, were about 200 men walking single file. The man was overcome with curiosity. He respectfully approached the man walking the dog and said, "I am so sorry for your loss, and I know this is a bad time to disturb you, but I've never seen a funeral like this. Whose funeral is it?"

"My wife's."

"What happened to her?"

The man replied, "My dog attacked and killed her."

The man inquired further, "Well, who is in the second hearse?"

"My mother-in-law. She was trying to help my wife when the dog turned on her."

A moment of silence passed.

"Can I borrow the dog?"

"Get in line."

Easter

2007-04-03T12:27:00.000-07:00

I suppose I do tend to overdo things... I've always enjoyed looking at life from a child's perspective and so I love all of the 'events'. Easter is no exception. These are pictures from last year because I probably won't put up the Easter village this year. My 'children' are a little old for it now. Still, it's the twenty-four year old who annually responds to my "I suppose I won't bother with the village this year..." with "Next you'll say no Christmas tree!".

Over the years I collected quantities of bunny figures. I decided to make a little village for them and so Peter put together two layers of plywood and installed lightbulbs under the top layer. I used wire and papier mache to mold a hill, a roadway, a little mountain and a stream. I cut little holes into the mountain so that you can peak through to the lighted interior and see a little bunny family at the dinner table in one room, a sleeping rabbit in another, a sleeping bear cub and mother bear in another. I put up shelves inside the caves and knick-knacks on the shelves. (I think that if you click on the picture it should come up larger...)

The boys (two sons, one husband) get excessive amounts of Easter candy and so our Easter egg hunt was a bit problematic. I don't want to put them into diabetic comas! I came up with the best idea for an Easter egg hunt, inspired by the joy I see in big Pete's eye when he's spotted a lost coin on the street. I have rubber stamps (also to excess) and among them I have a variety of Easter egg stamps, so I rubber-stamped egg designs onto cardstock. Then I had the great fun of colouring them! I am so childish. I also found scrapbook paper printed with beautiful Faberge-style eggs. I glued the scrapbook paper to cardstock for more eggs to cut out. I marked the reverse of each egg (perhaps two hundred of them) with a value or an item (5 cents, 10 cents, 25 cents, a dollar, two dollars, candy). I hide them in the house and because they're quite small it seems to be an appropriate challenge for adults. The boys loved it.

Easter

2007-04-03T12:26:00.000-07:00

2007-04-03T12:25:00.000-07:00

Spring

2007-04-02T13:41:00.000-07:00

Spring is a wonderful season of renewal - I love it. The daffodils are pretty much done now, but they're replaced with tulips and hyacinths, aubretia and camas.

The neighbours' yards are looking lovely, ours a little less so because Peter doesn't want any part of a garden. He wants to mow the lawn until his careful schedule of non-watering allows him to stop mowing in mid-summer.

I've been a somewhat unreliable gardener myself. I think if I didn't have so many sea-side aches and pains I'd probably do better. I do have a wonderful little shade garden at the front of the house, behind a stone wall. It has a narrow, meandering path and almost total shade even at the height of summer. I put in too many plants, I'm afraid, because I was impatient. There are kiwi vines, wisteria and climbing roses along a pergola. There's a carpet of violets that are just fading now, soon to be replaced by masses of lilacs overhead and lily of the valley intruding onto the path. One little nook has a bench and St. Francis, and a little further along the path a concrete bench is starting to look moss-y.

2007-03-31T21:39:00.001-07:00

Scrapblog

2007-03-30T14:39:00.000-07:00

Now this looks quite interesting! You can make a Scrap Blog and keep or give your creations as photo books, DVD's, etc. There's a video tour to teach you the basics. Check it out! I'm wondering how I might be able to use this in conjunction with my Hobson Family History.

Update: I jumped right in and tried it out myself. It's a little intimidating, and it'll likely take me a good long time to figure it out. You definitely need to look at the video tour. I hope I'll be able to catch on to this because it looks absolutely amazing!

Springtime in Victoria

2007-03-29T21:01:00.000-07:00