Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Decorating With Turkeys.

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Penguins have only one mate their entire life and when they choose a mate, they often make it known by giving them a pebble. Presumably, the whole Penguin gang gathers round and they all make Penguin squealing sounds.  I am pretty sure we just can't hear them because they are a really high frequency that only dogs can hear, which makes complete sense.   Dogs are NOT impressed by pebbles, diamonds. marriage OR National Geographic, why would they bother showing up to celebrate with birds that can't even fly?

Friday, August 18, 2017

The Mother of All Inventions.

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I am a responsible blogger who sees fashion as a gateway to life.  I figure, as long as we are all expected to get dressed each morning - fashion is a gateway drug to anything you want to blame on it.  Most criminals are clothed when they commit crimes.  Maybe it is not their upbringing at all, but the fact their pants do not go with the shirt they chose.

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Pass The Candy Floss

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I imagine most people have seen the video by now of the big ride that broke down and sent people flying off into the air.  Ya … that pretty much sums up why I don't do the rides anymore.

Like most kids, I was all over the rides.  Growing up and attending almost every world famous Stampede during those years, we had a good exposure to rides.  I always wanted the latest and greatest.  There is something about rides that are just thrown up in a few hours having travelled from some other little Canadian town's animal and veggie-o-rama.  It is like a prairie kids one chance to live on the edge.

That and eating the crap they sell there.

Then you become a mother and the whole throwing up bit sort of loses its charm.  (not to mention the prices)  I didn't want to throw up and I wasn't real keen on cleaning up the throw up from my kids who wanted to ride.  They already lived in the city.  They didn't NEED the rides, they had downtown and surviving Junior High to give them all the life and death situations they could possibly NEED.  I saved them from wheat and cows for crying out loud - why can't kids ever be happy with what they have?

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

The Suspenseful Suspenders Story

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Suspenders are an interesting invention.  Santa Claus and grandpa were pretty much the gateway introduction for me.  My parents tried to gloss over them in their bedtime story reading, but no detail ever escaped my attention. 

I like to speculate how and where things were invented.  Life was pretty simple once upon a time and "necessity was the mother of all invention" they say despite the unkind things written about her on bathroom walls.  She was just a single mom doing the best she could with a really unruly kid.  So I can imagine that someone was having probs with the whole belt concept.  Either they were  "the belt goes through the loops" challenged or "the little metal thingy goes in one of the holes" challenged.  OK, maybe the motivation was that they could not find a belt big enough for someone but were people ever really that fat before McDonalds, potato chips and coke? And besides, it is just as likely that they were invented for a really skinny guy with no butt to keep his pants from sliding off.  

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Life Is But A Dream

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It was a great dream, there I was packing up treasures from home, me being the recipient of undiscovered treasures.  Suddenly there were rooms that I never knew were there and the stuff in those rooms was beyond awesome.  Then it morphed into walking by the beach and watching the dolphins jump and then I was being swept way out to sea by a giant wave and pushed miles away and me thinking I could use my hands in my rubber dinghy to get myself back.  Thank heavens I hit the wall on the far side with the flocked wallpaper or I would have probably been a goner.

Then I woke up.

That was the start of my day.

Friday, April 14, 2017

They Call The Wind "Whacko."

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The problem with growing up on a farm is that when you try to go to school in anything other than blue jeans and flannel, you get labelled a whacko.

I was the school whacko.

That was aided by the fact I was not allowed to touch the cows. Do you have any idea of how you stand out, living on a farm where everyone is in 4-H touching cows all day long and you are cow-less?  It was like wearing a giant red cow with a bar through it on my forehead.  It is a wonder they did not rename me "Hester."

Thursday, April 6, 2017

Under The Influence Of The Evening News.

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Last night there was a report on the evening news about a 95 year old man who was busted for speeding around his gated community in his converted golf cart/wheelchair super-sonic road blaster.  I think he was doing wheelies on the round-a-bout and it was freaking out the neighbours so the police really leaned on him and warned him they would get him if he did not stop it.

Another evening new Police Brutality report.

The cops were incredibly stern with him.  They made him stop and show them some ID and they informed him he was speeding and operating his vehicle in a dangerous manner.  No-one even tried to do a strip search.  Despite that, the guy put his hands up and sneered at them and told them to go ahead and cuff him, he didn't care.  He was a really bad dude.  I could already hear the comments that would be made on the viral You Tube piece of this gangsta grandpa.  They would say he deserved what he got.  He was asking for it.

Friday, March 3, 2017

The Beginning of The End

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I have been a little remiss in showing up for life lately.  I am not sure what happened.

I have examined my belly with the windchimes in the trees, scented candles aflame, oming and examining my bellybutton.  Maybe I don't really understand what I am supposed to be looking for.  Do other people's belly buttons do something special?  Mine just lies there.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Pink Is The Colour Of My Own True Heart

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In my head, I like to pretend I had a pink room as a child and that I was allowed to embrace all thing's girl.  That never happened.

I was raised by my grandparents in the middle of the prairies of Canada.  The hardware store where one shopped for clothes, furniture, housewares, bedding and bath wares, office supplies, garden and combining needs … was limited in colour selection.   There was "sturdy brown," "sensible beige,"  "serviceable John Deere green,"  "coal black," "steel grey," and "combine red."  Sometimes they got crazy and threw the colours into a floral pattern or even a plaid.  The line for those items would be all the way down the street to the Combine parts catalogue store.  Nothing makes you feel more young and alive than knowing your grandparents have the exact same outfit that you do.

If I had been born on the ground in a dirt shack and wore nothing but beaver pelts … I would never have been a brown girl.  God made me allergic to brown.  I did not do brown.  If someone tried to make me, I threw up and got hives.  Once I think I may have even killed a goat.  I can't be sure, but the last thing I remember was being made to wear brown pants and then I woke up and there was a goat hoof in my pocket and bits of goat fur caught in my teeth.  Something happened and I was there, lying in the neighbours haystack and there were no live goats in sight.  Brown does that to me. 

Thursday, January 26, 2017

The Land Mass Known As "Bliss."

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I figured it out. 

I am pretty much done with people invading my space.  I saw a meme that said, "someone just honked to get me out of my parking space faster so now I have to sit here until both of us are dead."  I so relate to that.

I have done that.

Please don't judge me, unless you truly admire me for that and want to speak publicly on it … then please, you have my blessing.

I have tried.  I do try.  I start my day with my polite, tolerant underwear strapped on but by midday, after being bumped and walked into, pushed and shoved . . .  I am pretty much unstrapped and going commando.

Saturday, January 14, 2017

My Hubby Is The Girl I Always Wanted To Be.

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I suck at packing suitcases.  I try hard.  I do.  I think about what I need to take and I lay everything out.  I really get it down to bare essentials but then I start to think about the things we are going to be doing and I add a thing or two … and another . . . and suddenly there are tons of things. 

I fold them nicely and put it all in my suitcase.  Everything is relative . . . in  a vacuum.  I create a nice vacuum of me, my clothes, and my suitcases.  And then my hubby shows up with his clothes, his suitcase and ruins it all.  Hard to be proud of my efforts - 8 suitcases, almost all my clothes and colour co-ordinated within their purpose designations - when he is standing there, gloating.  One suitcase, everything he needs, room for more.  I hate him.

I would like to be that person.  I look at all those Pinterest posts on nifty ways to pack for a holiday and I visualize me, picking 6 colour co-ordinated,multi-purposefull, non-creasing items, into my carry-on, having the most fab holiday ever.  I have always wanted to be THAT girl.  But, I am not and what really hurts … my husband is.