Official Old Fart (Fartess?) Day

Today's the day.

It didn't happen on my birthday. It didn't happen the week after my birthday when things finally slowed down and I could reflect on the aging process. Nope. It happened today when I opened my mail box and found the big brown envelope from Service Canada a.k.a. Human Resources Development Canada. It's my application for the Old Age Security Pension. The pension won't start until July 2008, but there's no sense in applying late for it. I'd better give them lots of time to get ready to send me the money. It will probably take me at least that much time to completely accept my official status as an Old Fartess.

In the meantime, I've had tons of fun quarreling with banks, investgating the ins and outs of locked-in pension money. (Some free advice here - never lock-in anything if you can find a way to avoid it. At the time my money was locked-in against my wishes, it was required by law.) I discovered that some tellers don't know much if anything about what the investment specialists in their own branch are and are not responsible for. I won't limit my sniping to just one financial institution either. Both TD Canada Trust and Bank of Montreal have provided me with incorrect information.

The guy at TD, who might be all of twenty-one years old, gave me not one but two out-of-date telephone numbers to call for information from the Federal and the Ontario governments. He's consistent, I'll give him credit for that. Now that I'm an Old Fartess, I have time to search for numbers and to wait on the phone; and after only 35 minutes I got a real person from the Ontario finance department who was polite, kind and informative.

I'm afraid it took longer to figure out the BMO problem, but Old Fartesses are persistent. After two phone calls to automated systems that accepted my account number but refused the password that works online but apparently not on the telephone, I paid an in-person visit to the bank. I asked the pertinent questions clearly and carefully, but the teller said I'd have to speak to the Investment Specialist and to do that I'd need to make an appointment. It'll take five minutes - or less - said I. Can't be done said the teller - make an appointment. So, this morning I kept my appointment. Yes, you guessed it the specialist didn't deal with my particular problem and couldn't answer any of my questions. Call the number on your statement. Oh gee - why didn't I think of that? After I got home I called the number, again, and again and again, and ... by pressing the number for the wrong department I finally got a human being. And, goddess be praised, he told me what I needed to know.

Because I'm an Old Fartess, it will take me at least a week to crunch the numbers and decide what I want to do to ensure I can survive in the minimal style to which I have been accustomed until the government's largess arrives next July.

For the moment, I have been saved from applying for work at the local Tim Horton's, or, worse yet, becoming a Kelly girl, again.

This Old Fartess thing is not so bad after all. It's keeping me laughing.

Cheers!

Mail Woes, Telemarketers and Rabbit Ears.

I suppose summer is as good a time as any for a magazine to change locations. I mailed a submission to a certain magazine on June 14 and today, there it was - back in my mailbox. The magazine moved offices on June 19th. I used the mailing address shown in their website on the day I sent out my work. Perhaps I should be glad the submission came back to me and wasn't lost during the move. I wonder why they didn't pay to have their mail forwarded to the new location, at least for a month or two. On the other hand, maybe they didn't choose that option so that the mail flood would slow down and bills would be delayed too.

The only other mail I've received lately has been political bumph. That stuff arrives with great regularity. And I bet it won't be long before the phone calls start because there's a provincial election this fall. There will soon be a national do-not-call list established to help people avoid telemarketers, but political parties will be exempt.

This morning I received a telephone call from someone soliciting funds for TV Ontario. I'm a big fan of TVO, or at least I was when I had cable and could get the signal. I explained this to the caller. He then suggested that I should get someone to adjust my rabbit ears for me. I'll admit, there are things that I'm not capable of doing all by myself, but I'm pretty sure I know how to adjust an antenna.

Pretty sure, but not certain - because after all, I was pretty sure I had the right address for that magazine.

The only important thing I know for sure is that Tim Horton's is going to raise their prices. I think I'll get one last double double before that happens.

Cheers!

Bookstore Bliss and some Writing Blather

Two days after my birthday, I received another present - a Visa Gift Card. I'd never seen one before, but the bookstore had no problem accepting it. Thanks to a friend who lives in British Columbia, I was able to purchase a Roget's International Thesaurus.. So, if I want a substitute for itchy I can use pruriginous, though it's an unlikely choice, or I can lean on a broken reed, rather than go out on a limb and so forth. I've always wanted to own one and now that I do, I'll try not to become a phrasemonger with an obtuse style who is over-fond of virgules.

Because many literary magazines close up shop for the summer months, it's been a struggle to find markets for some of my stories that need to go back into the world. However, after some research I've found places to send three of them and they've been mailed out. There was no mail of any sort in my box today, but I'll content myself with the thought that I've accomplished something over the last two weeks.

It was a lovely quiet weekend here in town. A big thank-you to all of the people who went elsewhere for the holiday, and to the city works department for not working on the side road during the long weekend.

Confusion Has It's Way with Me

I probably need to give a little background so that you can understand, or perhaps unravel my confusion.

First, I sent a story to Other Voices in July of 2005. I haven't yet received any mail from them about it, or at least I think not.

Second. I entered the Other Voices short story contest, (yes, that's me your typical writer/sucker) on March 13, 2007. The contest closed March 21 and I didn't expect to hear about the winners for a a long while. And there's nothing posted on their website.

Third, on June 21, I decided to send a -could you tell me pretty please what happened to my 2005 story - letter to Other Voices. Naturally I included an SASE and, in my letter, I gave them a choice of boxes to tick. That way, they; the editor, the go-fer, the strange volunteer, or whoever, might be able to give me some information, they could simply mark the page, slip it in the envelope and mail it back to me.

Is this too much detail? Maybe, but here's why I'm confused. Today I got one of my envelopes back from Other Voices. The date on the letter is June fifth, so it's been kicking around somewhere, Maybe it was in someone's purse, or under their lunch judging by the stains on the envelope. The letter says my work is not chosen for inclusion in the upcoming issue but does not mention which work they are talking about. Maybe it's the contest story. But there's no mention of the contest.

So, I still don't know what happened to the story I sent in 2005. Maybe a few months from now, I'll receive another food-stained envelope.

The contest had a rather hefty fee which includes a subscription to O.V. They'd damn well better send me the journal.

This situation calls for a Tim's coffee and something sweet.

Enjoy the long weekend.

When I'm Sixty-Four. The Birthday Blog

This morning I woke up thinking of that Beatles song and it stuck in my head until after I'd had my coffee. Well, I thought, I'm not crossing over into outright geezerhood until next year, so I'll just keep on enjoying my birthday celebration. It's been a lively and lovely three days.

D. and I had a wonderful time in Port Stanley. The inn we stayed at is right beside the water and had more than the usual conveniences, including a double Jacuzzi. We had dinner at a nearby restaurant then went to the theatre. The play, Don't Dress for Dinner, was quite funny and we had front row centre seats, so we didn't miss any of the nuances. I have no idea how the actors remembered some of the very complex and funny dialogue, but they carried it off very well. Even the weather cooperated. It was sunny but not too hot during the day and cool overnight.

Tonight we were at my daughter's place for barbecued salmon, salads, and strawberries dipped in chocolate. I could sing, 'heaven, I'm in heaven.'

I'm still here on earth, but it was pretty close there for a while.

Nancy's Twenty Seconds of Local Fame

My daughter was on the six o'clock local CTV news last night. I didn't know she would be and I missed it. But, they showed the same clip on the late local news at 11:30 p.m. and on the repeat of the late news at 6:00 a.m. this morning. So, I caught the clip twice. One of the Nutrilawn trucks is clearly visible so Nancy is happy with the free publicity. I imagine though, that she is not happy with the weather. A lot of lawns have already gone dormant because we haven't had any rain in ages. Showers are predicted for later today and the temperature has dropped so maybe we'll be blessed with rain.

In other news, oh- there isn't any. No more mail of any sort has arrived. I'll be in Port Stanley next weekend with D. in honour of my birthday. I'm going to enjoy myself and not think about turning sixty-four.

Cheers!

A Fat Envelope, But Don't Hand Out the Bubbly

There was a fat envelope in my mailbox this afternoon. I rushed upstairs to open it only to discover a certain American review had returned all the pages of my story. And there was a tiny, I do mean tiny piece of paper, not even 2 inches by 2 inches tucked in the middle saying thanks but no thanks. I know I indicated in my submission letter that I sent a copy of my story and not the original. It's also the fourth rejection in two weeks (though two of the rejections were for the same story). So, I guess it's true - litmag editors are clearing their desks in preparation for the fall onslaught. And I guess it's also true, as the writer-in-residence said, that some writers paper their walls with rejections slips. That's a bit too masochistic to suit me. I've made a note in my story tracker and in my day book so I know I have to send the story out again, eventually. And now, I think I'm going to rip the slips into itty bitty pieces.

Alas, Camp Head is Fleeting

The weather wasn't perfect while we were away, but it didn't matter. There was a fresh breeze by the lake, so fresh that we needed jackets and hats, and the sky was a deep blue with no pollution smudge on the horizon where the lake and the firmament meet. There was also ice cream, a scoop of butter pecan for me and two scoops of Tiger Tail for D (no Raisin Bran was allowed anywhere near the campsite). We had a camp fire on the second night since everything was soaked on the first night and there was no dry place to sit. There are ways to start a fire, when the wood is wet, but I've promised not to reveal them.

We decided to eat out on the first night, well actually, D. decided I shouldn't have to cook. So, we went into Port Elgin and spotted what looked like a very nice place to eat. Maybe it was too nice for the likes of us. D. and I were both wearing jeans, and he had his baseball cap on because of the wind. We went in - the waiter looked us over - and asked if we had reservations. It was all of 4:30 in the afternoon and only three tables were occupied, but he said they were full. Okay then. I bet that fresh fish they claim to serve is really from the freezer. We found a place that served fish and chips and didn't mind our attire. And, we didn't have to tip, either. Take that - Monsieur actor/waiter/ snob.

My mood improved when we visited the chocolate place in Port Elgin. They have truly delicious handmade dark chocolate, a perfect dessert since one cannot acquire extra pounds while on vacation. Yes, I made that up and it might come true since we did lots of walking.

There's no good writing news. Grain rejected a story of mine, but at least the editor wrote a personal note, (yes, I grasp at any straw that comes my way) though it took me hours to decipher it. And I didn't win, place, or show in the Ten Stories High contest this year. I'm trying not to stew about it. Maybe as D. says, I just wasn't the flavour of the month, this month.

I've just finished reading, Red and Blue God, Black and Blue Church: Eyewitness accounts of how American churches are hijacking Jesus, Bagging the Beatitudes, and Worshiping the Almighty Dollar by Becky Garrison. I liked it a whole lot. Garrison writes for The Wittenburg Door, a religious satire magazine. In fact, it's the only magazine of it's kind, as far as I know. As the editor of The Door says about Garrison's book - "you've got to care what happens to America, and you've got to care what happens to the church to write successful religious humour" and she does. In her loving but abrasive way, she cheered me up.

Now, it may be time for more ice cream, to finish the job of restoring my good humour.

Harper is not a "Leader" He's a Major Jerk - (Expletive Deleted)

Even if you are one who leans to the right politically, how can you, or anyone else, support Harper?

This morning, the air here is so bad you can taste it, but hey - we shouldn't even try to meet the Kyoto goals, because it would hurt our economy. Does it matter if we can breathe? Evidently not.

His party is spending tons of money on despicable ads that say Dion is not a leader. If Harper sees himself as a good leader he is totally out to lunch, and he's probably sharing that meal with the evil shrub (a.k.a. Bush).

Now, his party is blaming Hillier, the head of the Canadian Armed Forces, for the minuscule amount of money, $4,500, allowed for military funerals. That makes me gag. I hope every veteran speaks up about this injustice.

I'm going to go for a large dose of alternate reality on the weekend. Johnny Depp, please take me away. Then, on Tuesday I'll go away, for real, up to Port Elgin.

Maybe that'll restore my good humour.

A Case of "Camp Head"

Early Friday evening my daughter drove us to Camp Kenoris, which is just north of Port Elgin. After being in the fresh air for a few hours, I came down with a case of "camp head." That state of mind where you can remember your name, and maybe the names of your immediate family, but, nothing else seems to have any importance. It's a very serene feeling.

We had a camp fire on Saturday night. The stars were hidden by clouds and after the boys went to bed, Nancy and I sat and watched the flames and talked for a long while. We went in when it started to sprinkle and fell asleep listening to the peaceful sound of rain on the roof.

The smell of wood smoke lingers on my navy hoodie. Maye I'll wash it tomorrow, then again, maybe not.

Politicians. Eeek! They're Everywhere. Please Hand me a Broom

I wonder if politicians are born, or if some virus produces them. If genus politicus is produced by a virus, then someone ought try to find a cure.

Harper went to Afghanistan but, unfortunately, he came back. He hasn't said much since then, or maybe I've managed to ignore whatever he's currently spouting. I wonder if he wore lipstick with his flack jacket? I don't like him, but politicians closer to home are beginning to annoy me more than Harper does, and that takes some doing.

There's the school board member who lives in the same apartment building as my Viking. He likes to get on the phone and shout at people, beginning at 4 a.m. This is more than annoying for D. because he, like me, sometimes has trouble sleeping. I wonder what is so important that it needs to be discussed so often, at 4 a.m? This same politician votes against every budget increase, except board salary increases.

And right here in my building, there's another member of the species. He lives in the apartment right below me. He knows who I am, but, he never talks to me, never even says hello, except when it is politically expedient. This morning I ran into him bright and early and he actually spoke to me. Why? Because tonight condo owners will be electing new board members. My downstairs neighbour ran for a seat on the board last year. He talked to me just before the election and asked for my vote. And now, one year later, he's talked to me again. I didn't vote for him the last time, and I won't vote for him this time either. Thank goodness for secret ballots.

I'm not going to think about politics at all, this coming weekend. I'll be up at the trailer with my daughter and her boys and with any luck we'll sit around the fire at night, and I'll go for a walk later in the evening and look at the stars.

I can hardly wait.

Trees in Leaf - Smog alert

Even the largest trees are unfurling their leaves, just in time for the first smog alert of the season. Apparently, it's the earliest smog alert in the history of alerts for this area. That isn't progress. Meanwhile, Ontario is not closing its coal-fired generating plants because we, the people of this smoggy part of province, require more and more energy.

I try to use less electicity; but, since the sections of my windows that open are very small - it becomes difficult when there is no air movement. This morning, it's 26 degrees in here and by the end of the day, if I don't turn on the central air conditioning it will probably be 28 or 29. And the air quality is bad. I'm searching for a small fan that would fit in my bedroom window. But I know I'll have to use the central air conditioning when the temperature rises. It's only May 9th and that could mean a long expensive summer is ahead.

Maybe I'm grouchy because the fire alarm in the building went off this morning. There was no fire, just an inept contractor.

Or maybe I'm cranky because there's been no mail about my fiction.

On the plus side of the ledger, there's food. Turkey burgers from the famous butchers in New Heidelberg are delicious. He who likes to cook grilled them for our Saturday supper. I'm now a convert. And there's another good dining experience in my future, since I'm invited to my daughter's place for Mother's Day. She isn't cooking, her sister-in-law is arranging for Chinese food for the gang. I'm hoping for a good-luck fortune cookie.

Errol Flynn, and The Suit

Errol Flynn has popped up a couple of times in the last few days. First, he appeared in a very funny short story written by my friend Lori Hahnel. The story was snapped up 24 hours after she sent it to Humanist Perspectives. In the writing world, that's almost as fast as Flynn's sword play. Then, on the weekend, D. and I were searching for something to watch on television early Saturday evening and stumbled upon Errol in the original version of Robin Hood. I hadn't seen the movie for at least 20 years and was charmed by Flynn all over again. I also appreciated the fact that while there are lots of fights in the movie, gore does not spatter the screen.

Tuesday evening, I got to see another very handsome young gentleman, in person. Frankie, my oldest grandson was confirmed last night. For the occasion, he wore his new tailored suit. It's black with a grey pinstipe and he chose a black shirt and a black tie with white stripes to compliment the suit. His bright pink braces and his current hair colour, dark blonde with sparks of red made him stand out in the crowd, that and his broad shoulders will turn him into a girl-magnet. Last I heard though, he already has a girlfriend, so the other girls can only sigh and hope to catch his eye. Frankie dreams of being in a rock band and is saving his money for the purchase of a bass guitar and an amp. Who knows what he'll actually become? I don't, but I hope I'm still around when he gets there.

I wish Flynn was still around too.

June Callwood and other less important thoughts

June Callwood died a few days ago. That is, her body left this earth, but the life she led and the way she changed the lives others will be remembered. I know how much difference she made to the lives of women and I'm glad we had her with us for a while. She chose to die at Casey House, the hospice she founded for people dying with AIDS. It was the first hospice of its kind and when she conceived the idea there was a lot of opposition to it. But she prevailed. She was also a compelling writer who used her words to promote social justice causes. I'll miss her, a lot. She is one of those who inspired me to try to do things that would make the world a better place for those people who lack power in at least some small way.

Sometimes I have trouble deciding what my priorities should be, but things work out most of the time. For example; today I went for a wander through the shops in uptown Waterloo. It would be good, I thought to find a summer skirt, or a decent pair of summer shorts. But the price tags were shocking. Then, I popped into Wordsworth's Books Store, one of the last independent bookstores, and found a couple of things. A paperback version of The Paris Review book of People with Problems (a fiction anthology) was on sale for $5.99. How could I resist that? Then I picked up the current issue of The New Yorker magazine because there's an article titled "The truth about aging." The cover blurb about the article says - The ranks of the elderly are growing. Why has the medical profession turned its back on them? Atul Gawande on a coming crisis. I have to read that, I mean, it's research isn't it? So, I ended up spending about $13.00 and not buying any clothes. I think June would understand.

Paranoid - Who me?

There's been nothing in my mailbox for ages and ages, but I don't think the mail carrier is holding anything back. He's a nice guy, everyone in the building says so. But he was on vacation so maybe the substitute carrier can't read addresses properly, or maybe no one wants to tell me anything. All right, I can live with that for a little while longer.

But other things are making me a bit crazy. Secret things. Like the meeting that's scheduled for April 27th in Alberta.

This was posted on the Council for Canadians website:

"The leaked document of a prominent Washington-based think tank obtained by the Council of Canadians reveals that government officials and business leaders from Canada, Mexico and the United States are scheduled to discuss bulk water exports in a closed-door meeting at the end of the month as part of a larger discussion on North American integration.
Titled the “North American Future 2025 Project,” the initiative being led by the U.S.-based Center for Strategic and International Studies, the Conference Board of Canada and the Mexican Centro de Investigación y Docencia Económicas calls for a series of “closed-door meetings” on North American integration dealing with a number of highly contentious issues including bulk water exports, a joint security perimeter and a continental resource pact.
According to the document, a roundtable on the “Future of the North American Environment,” is planned for Friday April 27 in Calgary, and will discuss “water consumption, water transfers and artificial diversions of bulk water” with the aim of achieving “joint optimum utilization of the available water.”
"This is just the latest in a series of closed-door meetings that grant the business sector privileged access while shutting out the public,” says Maude Barlow, national chairperson of the Council of Canadians. “The document is damning not just because it outlines a process that lacks transparency and accountability,” says Barlow, “but also because of what is being discussed by governments and so-called corporate stakeholders.”
The document also reveals that “trilateral coordination of energy policy” and the development of “North American security architecture” are being discussed by high-level government officials from Canada, the U.S. and Mexico."

Almost all the experts who are contributing their thoughts are American. That's the thing that begins to make me paranoid. They, the Americans and others have already got their mitts on a lot of our natural resources. Now, they're eyeing our water and I'm angry. I hope a lot of other people will get angry about this too. But will it be too late? Will there be more than just 'discussion'? Will an agreement take place behind closed doors that we have no say in. Just wondering. And that phrase "North American integration" gives me the full-blown heebie jeebies.

There was even paranoia on the screen this weekend. Hoax, the movie about Clifford Irving (starring Gere, yum) shows not only Howard Hughes' paranoia, but Irving's as well. It's good though.

Hogde Podge - Middle of the Night Musings

Yes, it's 3:30 in the morning and I am wide awake. Boy I hate that! It's become more common as I get older and older and older. (No snide comments, please.) You'd think I'd be able to sleep, since D. was here earlier and we had a lovely time, but no. Maybe tomorrow night. So, I might as well put some thoughts here. Fair warning: they won't be in any particular order.

The Media: Canada's women's hockey team has won gold at the World's. I'm very pleased about that, but I couldn't see the game, since I live in a one-channel universe. The information appeared on the CBC website, for a few hours. If it had been a Canadian (men's) hockey team winning the Stanley Cup, I'm sure that information would have been prominent on the website for much longer. Discrimination, yup. I sure think so.

The Bank: A couple of weeks ago, I took $70.00 in quarters to my local bank branch. I asked the teller to deposit them to my chequing acount. Today, I received my Line-of-Credit statment in the mail - and there was the $70.00 added to my credit balance. What was it I said to the teller? I'm starting to wonder. Thanks to on-line banking I soon fixed the mistake, but I'm not going to visit the same teller the next time I have coins to deposit. The ATM is very reliable, but one cannot deposit coins in it. Maybe soon.

Belinda S: Belinda Stronach is/ will be leaving politics (for now). OOOooh shocking - not! Maybe Magna will buy out Chrysler Daimler and rescue Windsor in the process. I was looking at real estate prices in Windsor, my home town, and they are so low it's incredible. If I wasn't so attached here, I'd consider moving, if I could find the right condo. But Kitchener-Waterloo is now considered to be the Calgary of Ontario, or so CKCO, the local CTV station says,

Afghanistan and all that: It's more than painful, it's heart-wrenching to hear about the increasing numbers of Canadian troops dying in Afghanistan. Should they be there? Truly, I'm not sure. If they can help bring stability - yes, perhaps, but that goal seems so terribly unlikely. Our troops are supposed to be peacekeepers, that doesn't mean they won't have to kill (when it's an absolute necessity), and I resent the commentators who don't understand that, but we seem to be taking a more aggressive role and I can't find that acceptable.

I came, I saw, I filed: I came to the conclusion that I needed a filing cabinet. We shopped (the Viking loves the challenge of finding a bargain). I saw the wood, well parts of it are wood, filing cabinet I wanted. I purchased it. Then, after D (my Viking) had assembled it for me,I filed all my documents. Bliss ensued. Then I realized that a number of my short stories were languishing in said filing cabinet. Another project looms, but I must try to get at least a little sleep.

Travels and travails in the Big Smoke and Other Short Adventures

Late Wednesday evening, (technically, it was Thursday but only by an hour or so) I received an e-mail from a dear friend in Toronto. Her mother had died that night. On Thursday morning, my friend's cousin called and told me the service would be on Friday afternoon at 2 p.m. and gave me the name of the funeral home.

So, I took the bus to Toronto and then the subway up to Steeles and Yonge. The information on the Chapel's website indicated that it was 'a couple of blocks west of Yonge', so I decided to walk. It was a good thing I'd given myself plenty of time as the Chapel was about a quarter of a mile away and on the other side of the very busy road. I had to backtrack to the stoplight; however, I did arrive in time.

The rabbi who spoke about my friend's mother had a tendency to repeat her name and then say '____ is here.' I began to wonder if she was going to rise and appear before us. Fortunately, the friends of the almost-departed who spoke when the rabbi was finished were generous in their praise of her and gave us loving anecdotes that I'm sure my friend will cherish.

It was a rather long day for me, but I did manage to visit The World's Biggest Boookstore before taking the bus home. Friday night is not the best night to be on the bus. It was full and I ended up in a seat that slanted sharply toward the floor. But at least I got on. Some folk were not so fortunate and had to wait for the next one.

D. and I had a relaxing weekend and watched Marie Antoinette (the Coppola version) on pay-per-view. It was vacuous. Marie has almost nothing to say, and neither does the Dauphin (Louis), but the costumes and settings were eye-catching. I'd give it maybe two stars, just for the visuals, certainly none for the dialogue. Now I'll have to go and find out who the screen writer was. Damn curiosity. [Edit: it was Sofia Coppola.]

Sunday, we went shopping for a filing cabinet. The box containing the parts is now sitting on my living room floor and the pieces will be assembled sometime this week, when D. is available. I could do it, at least I'm pretty sure I could -- but he has much more fun doing that sort of thing that I do, and I hate deciphering those strange nonsensical diagrams manufacturers of furniture-in-a-box provide. It will be great and maybe even motivating, to have all my stacks of paper neatly filed in one place. I tried to make an appointment with the file fairy, but she stated that she is busy with other more urgent requests until 2010. Even minor deities have their priorities. I suppose it will take me about half a day to get everything filed, counting my personal financial stuff which is already in a small plastic file box, my stories and other writing, and my miscellaneous collection of stuff I might need/want to look at sometime. But I don't have to do that until the cabinet is assembled. Once it is, it will no doubt nag me to fill it.

The short adventure occurred yesterday(Monday). I decided to get my hair trimmed. It was just a little too long at the back and wouldn't curl under for me. My hairdresser's shop is only a few blocks away, so I went in on the off-chance that she could give me a cut. She could. I discussed, or tried to discuss, what I wanted. If I was smart, I'd have said - a little off the top, the back and the sides - isn't that what men tell their barbers. But I said shorter... I don't think I said bald, but I feel kind of bald now. My hair is shorter than many a man's. It won't require much care, so I suppose that's an advantage, and a woman on the elevator told me she liked my new haircut. But maybe she said that because she has very short hair, too. One thing's for sure, it won't be as easily snarled during certain, um, activities.

I'm a woman and I can change, if I have to, I guess. (apologies to Red Green for changing the gender in his slogan)

Round 'em Up - Head 'em Out

In the last week or so, I've been revising short stories that had wandered back home and I have two of them back in the mail. Maybe they'll fare better this time. I decided to enter a couple of contests since Customs and Revenue Canada kindly forwarded my tax refund. Usually, I don't enter contests because the entry fees can be high, but a little cash on hand has modified my opinion for the time being. And besides - it doesn't take eight months, or a year, or two years, to hear the results. Maybe I'll even enter a third contest this spring, if I can finish revising another story before the deadine. Why not be a big spender, temporarily?

Speaking of spring, it seems to be lurking close by, tempting us and then disappearing. Yesterday the snow banks diminished and its still mild today. If this weather continues, I may have to buy rubber boots. I was looking at some bright yellow ones in Zellers, but they turned out to be children's boots. Why can't I have bright yellow rubber boots? It would be fun to stomp in puddles while wearing them. Snow is predicted for the weekend so I guess I'll keep my staid old black boots close by, for now, and my daughter has told me to ask the weather gods not to send spring too early, so I suppose I must do that.

Saturday, I got a ride to the Chapters bookstore and used my gift card to buy two books about writing. Since I didn't know how much money was on the gift card, I chose two paperbacks. After paying for them I found out I still have $40.00 left on the card. Wow! I can't wait to get back to the store and spend the rest of it. I purchased "The First Five Pages: A writer's guide to staying out of the rejection pile" by Noah Lukeman, and "The Sound on the Page" (great writers talk about style and voice in writing) by Ben Yagoda. I've dipped into both books and think it likely that "The Sound on the Page" is the one I'll enjoy more.

Now, it's time to herd another story into the revision corral.

Reunited with Elvis

It's not that I meant to neglect Elvis. It happened because I've been a lazy so-and-so. I have an Elvis CD in my portable CD player and I listen to it when I'm on the treadmill in the exercise room downstairs. My friend Lori gave me the disc some time ago - it's got very early Elvis songs on it, and was recorded back when he was with Sun records, long before his music, and he, himself became overblown and um, over-stuffed. Lately, I'm a bit on the over-stuffed side too, so I had to get together with Elvis, and the treadmill today, before things get completely out of hand.

I think Elvis was wise and didn't know it. All the songs I listened to today seemed to have "messages" for me. That's All Right Mama was there to cheer me up and You're a Heart breaker, applies to the editors of more than one magazine. So, thanks, Elvis, wherever you are. We'll be getting together again soon.

Nora Ephron had a message for me too. I saw her yesterday on Oprah. Yes, folks, I watched Oprah, because I'd seen the promo saying that she and a couple of older actresses would be on the show. Ms. Ephron was promoting her book about her experiences with aging, and I'll bet sales will go through the roof. One thing she said stuck with me - she said, she's learned to enjoy carbohydrates, especially bread, now. Well, she should have come to me, long ago. I've been appreciating carbohydrates for years. Yes, indeedy, and I have the proof of that right here in my chair. It helps that we have some excellent bakeries in our area and I've also had the benefit of homemade spaghetti and meatballs this weekend. Now if only it was as easy to appreciate getting into a sweat on the treadmill as it is to appreciate all those lovely carbs, I'd have it made.

Maybe in an alternate universe.

In the meantime, I think I'll have a toasted tomato sandwich on light rye with mayonnaise and a dash of salt.

Saved from Vista, at Least for Now

Last week was the week when Word disappeared. Sure, in the beginning there was (the) Word, but then I couldn't access it at all. After many trials and tribulations somehow, it's working again. But it has led me to think about eventually purchasing a new Windows Vista program, since the problem originated in Windows.

All was well in computer-land, indeed, I even managed to file my taxes online today. That pleased me, since I'll get a refund. But now I know where some of that refund is going. When I printed out the 25 pages of my tax return (who knew it would take 25 pages for a low-income persons tax return?) the ink began to fade on some parts of the page, then on more. Apparently my long-lasting printer cartridge has finally reached the end of its life span. Admittedly, it has lasted longer than I expected. My HP printer is already obsolete, according the the HP site. I bought it in September of 2004. The cartridges cost $82.72, plus tax, so I'd better get one before they also disappear.

I've spent some time researching short story markets, and some more time researching the best place to buy a new printer cartridge. Then I went to the library to return some books and see if they had any by this year's Writer in Residence, Elizabeth Ruth. They do, but canny folk have already reserved copies of her two novels. Her bio makes her sound like an interesting choice, so perhaps I'll submit a story for an appraisal. First, though, I have to take care of my printer problem.

It's been almost luxurious, staying home, most of the time, for a few days, watching the snow, and doing a little of this and a little of that. I could get used to it again with no problem, but I think next week I'll be back in the office for some of the time. And before long, the spring lawn care season will arrive. Think busy, think very, very busy.

I'd better write some more and fart around some more, while I still can.

Slowest Typist in the East Forges On

I was going to title this post, Slowest Typist in the World but, having heard from my friend Lori, who also claims to be the slowest typist, I had to settle for a lesser title.

Its slow going because I'm learning to use a new and complex computer program. Or maybe I'm slow because I haven't done this sort of work for a long time. And I"ve never imported and exported information between two very different programs. It's more than three years since I worked outside my home. Excuses, excuses, just ask, I"ve got a million of 'em. The good news is, I haven't yet been fired. Then again, it might be hard for a daughter to fire her mother; though so far, she's had no difficulty in pointing out any errors. I think I'm improving s l o w l y.

In other news, the story that I revised and resubmitted to ye famous literary mag has been rejected, again. This time it was returned by a dfferent editor who had not read the first version.

Maybe there will be good news tomorrow, if not, there'd better be chocolate. And if no chocolate comes in the door, courtesy of my favourite Viking, this writer will finish off the Chapmans no sugar ice-cream that resides in the freezer. I wouldn't want the treat to gather ice crystals.

There will be enough ice crystals on my scarf tomorrow, if the weather forecast is correct.

I go to bed earlier and earlier, now that I'm working. In fact, it's time to go there now. Goodnght.

Grumbles and Accolades

I'd planned to update my blog sooner. In fact, I had updated it, but somehow the updated info vanished into cyberspace. So what's been going on? Plenty.

I enjoyed my trip to Myrtle Beach with my daughter. We were fortunate not to run into much snow while traveling through the mountains. I was the map-reader/navigator and I only made one mistake, but that took us onto a narrow winding two-lane highway for many many miles. At times, we could see the Interstate highway that we were supposed to be on, but it wasn't accessible until we reached a larger town. It was late by the time we found the hotel/conference centre. We were sure we were getting close when we passed the Mytle Beach information centre. But it is more than 60 miles away from Myrtle Beach itself. Deceptive advertising, I'd say.

The hotel was fine and there were even some perks, like cozy bathrobes and a very warm swimming pool and a salt-water hot tub. The hot tub was the perfect place to relax after a long day of listening to presentations and looking at screens. Or, almost the perfect place, if one didn't listen to the other people using the hot tub.

I went down to the beach twice and said hello the Atlantic ocean. It returned the favour by sneaking up on me and soaking one foot. There weren't many people walking the beach, but any good shells had been collected earlier in the day, I think. Or maybe I just couldn't spot any worth putting in my pocket.

One of the things that struck me as we travelled through the Carolina's was the contrast between the huge well-kept houses and commercial buildings and the abandoned houses and commercial buildings. I wondered why the buildings were allowed to stand and deteriorate. Why not pull them down since they are a fire hazard? I don't know the answer.

Another thing that impressed me, but not necessarily in a good way, was the size of the meals offered in restaurants. Larger is better - seems to be part of the American way. Even when we asked about the size of the meal, the server seemed to assume we wanted to know if there would be enough. Enough was never a problem. And even when we tried to make healthy choices, we were often foiled by the lack of information. A chicken dish that was noted on the menu as a healthy choice arrived swimming in some liquid that resembled butter, but wasn't. As my daughter said - the meal lingered on long after it had been eaten and gave her persistent indigestion.

But I have to praise the customer service people in the U.S. They impressed me with their willing attitude. Maybe it's part of their training, if so, it's a good idea. In only one case did we receive bad service. Well, actually it was no service, but I think that was an exception to the usual good service found in retaiI outlets and restaurants.

For example, we went into a fudge emporium, and the young man, the only staff person there, made the production of fudge into a show, complete with a running commentary that involved the audience. He was good, so good that a couple of the other potential customers who were watching asked him if he'd auditioned for the entertainment centre that is part of the shopping complex. He said he hadn't because he liked selling fudge.

It took me a few days to recover from the trip and while I was in recovery mode, my daughter asked me if I'd like come in to work sooner than I'd expected.

So, last week, I began my training. I'm in the office each afternoon and it's very strange to 'go to work' every day. Maybe I'll adjust after a while. But, at the moment, four hours per day seems to be a lot. Learning a new computer program is quite a challenge and I hope I'm up to it.

You might be wondering where the accolades come into this. We went to see A Note for Scandal and I thought it a wonderful film. Judi Dench is amazing in it. I hope she gets an Oscar for the role. Plus, any woman of her age who is willing to do a scene that takes place in a bathtub ought to receive a special award for courage. I'm younger than she is and I'd never consider it! That could be because I have more wrinkles in some places than she does.

A few more days of staring at a computer screen that is too far away will bring even more wrinkles, no doubt. After the person who is training me leaves, I plan to crawl under the desk and see if there is enough cable to move the screen closer to me. There is also an ergonomic keyboard and I haven't adjusted to using it yet. It's possible that I will. All things are possible, but some are less than probable. Maybe I can request a regular keyboard, instead. Maybe I'm not meant to be an ergonomic person - because, while the alphabet keys don't present a problem while using the ergo keyboard, the numbers do.

Will an old dog learn new tricks? Well, she'll try.

Off to work, perchance to type the right numbers.

Road Trip

It's official. We are going to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina by car. At first, we were going to fly, but I like this plan better. It makes the trip longer, since we will be away for eight days. Nancy and I haven't had this kind of adventure since we went to New Brunswick by truck and trailer, back when she was single.

I haven't been to the Carolina's, or to any other part of the U.S., since the late 1980's. Yikes! Can it be that long ago? When I was there the last time, I stayed on one of the out islands, but this time we will be in the heart of Myrtle Beach, not on the ocean, but close to it. When we are not attending the training seminar, we plan to walk on the beach, swim in the hotel pool and eat. Okay, so the eating part is my idea, but I'm sure I can convince Nancy that we need to have some Calabash style sea food. After all, she's trying to convince me to take a bathing suit - and that may mean experiencing the horror of trying to find a new one. I can't quite remember how old mine is. It doesn't have any kind of support for 'the girls'. It's a plain navy Speedo. I don't want to be covered in flowers when I swim.

I'm making lists of things I need to do each day before I go. Laundry appears on the lists several times and so does - take American money. If an American wants to give me money, I'm all for it. Maybe I'll be able to write a piece about the trip after I return. Or maybe, a certain fella I know will be so happy to see me that I'll have to wait a bit to get down to writing business.

And speaking of writing, I now have a business writing assignment and I'm also trying to get a couple of stories back out in the mail. I guess I should get to work, in between loads of laundry.

Take care y'all.

Recommended Reading

A few weeks ago, a friend recommended a book called The Kite Runner by Khaled Hossein. It isn't a new book, since it was published in 2001 but it certainly is relevant. The story is set in Afghanistan and reading it gave me a different picture of that country and its peoples and the long long roots of hatred between groups. The only quibble I had was that one of the characters seemed too good and selfless to be true.

Then yesterday on one of the internet bulletin boards I read, I found mention of this blog by an Iraqui woman. I only hope that she can continue to write and remain anonymous and safe. I haven't read all her blog entries yet, but I plan to. Some of her blogs were published in her prize winning book, Baghdad Burnng

Here's the link. http://riverbendblog.blogspot.com/

For 2007, I Promise Not to Make Any New Year's Resolutions, Until Next Week.

Last night, I thought about making one of those lists. You know the kind. A list of resolutions for the New Year. But then I recalled how often I've made that kind of list and decided not to make one. I resolved to go to bed instead. That seemed like the kind of decision I could follow-through on. Naturally, the phone rang midnight and it was my daughter wishing me a very happy 2007, and once I'd found my voice, I wished her a brilliant year.


2006 was a year of changes for me and I'm still adjusting to all of them. It doesn't even feel like the New Year is here yet. So, maybe, for me, it isn't. Maybe I'll make some lists next week, when I've recovered from all the holiday hoopla.

I have a brand new 20 inch computer monitor, so at least I'll be able to see the resolutions I make, before I break them.

Happy New Year!

Passport to Nowhereville, or I am Not Worthy

For a number of reasons, I think I should acquire a new passport. Therefore, I read about the requirements on the Passport Canada website. According to them, I don't know anyone living in Kitchener or maybe anywhere else, who is worthy enough to be my guarantor.

Before this, I had no idea that I lived on the fringes of upright society. I thought I was quite a civilized and worthy person but apparently, I'm not. There are a number of professions listed as appropriate for guarantors but I don't know anyone who is a "professional" in this city (they need to have known me for two years), and I may not be able to find one in Toronto either. The list includes doctors, (don't have one), dentists, (don't have one) judges, magistrates and police officers (I haven't made the acquantance of any) lawyers, (don't have one) ministers of religion, ( I've know several, but none are around now - was it something I said?) and so on. If only social workers were still eligible to be guarantors my problem would be solved. Or what about writers - why can't writers be guarantors. Never mind - we know why. It's because we lie in the service of the truth.

The guy at the passport office was very kind and polite, especially considering that the office was filled to capacity. People were lined up just to get in the real line-up, probably the crowd was bigger because the U.S. is going to require Canadian visitors to have passports before the end of January 2007. The man give me an In Lieu of Guarantor form at my request, but he also warned me that since I'm a Canadian, it would seem odd if I didn't have a guarantor and would really slow the process down.

Oh well, at least I don't need a passport to travel inside Canada.

I'm staying close to home for now and I plan to enjoy my green Christmas.

Seven Days Until Christmas

And Ho Ho Ho to all of you!

There are no stockings hung by the chimney with care - because there isn't a chimney. And anyway, stockings wouldn't be hung until Christmas eve. I don't know if my grandsons will put Christmas stockings on their bedroom doors. But since it's their tradition, likely they will. I enjoy certain traditions too, and I plan to institute some new ones.

The first new one was a family party I hosted last Saturday in the condo party room. There's more space and a billiard room too. All went well, if one doesn't count blowing on one's fingers to keep warm while playing pool, the party was a time of warmth and frivolity.

It's been a challenge shopping for teenage boys, my son-in-law, and the man in my life. My shopping is finished, or at least I think it must be, since I've overspent my budget (another tradition). I'll worry about that in January.

I've found some time to practice my Christmas music and to play some of my old Christmas records. Every year I think I should buy a new and bigger print version of the Messiah sheet music, and every year I squint at my 40 year old tiny note copy instead. That's become a tradion too, I guess.

I tend to get senitmental at this time of year so here's my mushy stuff.

Whether your Christmas is green or white - may it be a time of joy for you.

Three Long Cheers for My Friend!

My friend and fellow writer, Lori Hahnel, has had three of her short stories accepted for publication in the last month or so. Her fiction is wonderful. It's original, sometimes quirky, and highly readable; and I recommend everyone run right out and buy any journal her work appears in.

The best news is that her short story "Leading Men" will be published in Prairie Fire. PF is one of the best literary journals in Canada. Her fiction is also going to be published in Rags, Southern Alberta's Creative Writing Journal and one her short stories is now in Menda City Review. Here is the link:
http://mendacitypress.com/12.2006Hahnel.html

It's great when talent, passion, discipline and persistence are rewarded. Here's to acceptances for all of us in 2007 - Cheers!

Even Cats Can Nag

My daughter has three cats and I've had the opportunity to be educated by them this week since I am staying at her place while she and her husband are on vacation. Two of the crritters are quite vocal when their wishes have not yet been granted.

Dopey expects to have his water dish, which is located away from the other cat dishes, filled as soon as anyone is mobile in the morning, and he complains until his wish is granted. Emma is fairly laid back and quiet, but I've discovered that she expects my daughter's bed to be made, at least by mid-morning, so that she can take her cat nap(s). I had no idea what Emma was going on and on about as I prepared to take my shower, after the boys were off to school, and after I'd done the dishes and read the paper. When I descended the stairs to collect my clothes for the day. There was Emma, standing beside the bed and complaining vociferously. As soon as I made the bed, she hopped up and settled down for what she seemed to think was a well-deserved rest.

I plan to have my well-deserved rest Friday evening, and it will not be interruped by cats, though I'lll miss them.

Men Don't Notice - So Why Must I?

I blame it all on my grandmother. The pre-Christmas, must clean and tidy and fuss compulsion, I mean.

Men never notice if you haven't dusted the top of the book shelves in two months.
Men don't care if your oven sparkles or not, as long as it doesn't make the food smell funny, or send smoke into the room.
Men don't mind if you haven't made the bed in the Martha Stewart fashion.
Men are not bothered by a square candle perched in a round dish, because you can't find the right one.

But the darn Christmas tree, whether it's real or fake, large or small, had better be straight. Where did I put my hammer?

If People Would Stop Asking, I Might Get Something Done

It's not December, not yet, and already my neigbours are asking me if I'm ready for Christmas. An answer springs to mind, but I don't use it. I could say - Yes, I'm ready, I've even cooked dinner and it will stay on the table until the day. The truth is, I'm not the who will be cooking the dinner on Christmas day, my daughter will have that delightful task. I am planning a family party for December ninth and that seems to lead to things like soaking all my stainless steel flatware in the sink overnight, cleaning out my junk drawers in an effort to find certain kitchen implements I never use and wondering if two different types of salad dressing will be sufficient.

Then there's the tree issue. People are asking me if I've put my tree up yet. No, I haven't. It isn't December yet. If we have a snowfall that stays on the ground sometime before December first, I might become filled with pre-Christmas spirit and put the new tree together.

And, no, I haven't finished my Christmas shopping either. I'll likely go to the mall next Monday when I hope it will be quiet and maybe I'll be able to find what I want. If I knew what I wanted it would certainly be easier. But never mind, ideas will come, they always do.

Speaking of ideas that don't come easily. I went to see "Stranger Than Fiction" with the man in my life on Saturday. I won't reveal all of the plot, but if you are a writer, I think you would enjoy the movie.

Friends who know I write are asking me if I've had anything else published. Only a letter to the editor, I reply. I guess that answer won't change if I don't get some of my stories back on the road and revise the one I should be working on now.

It seems I've run out of excuses and will have to proceed with revisions.

Strange Media Happenings

For the last week or two, CTV has been promoting its telecast of the Giller Prize awards evening. I find it more than passing strange that CTV and not the mother-ship (CBC) is broadcasting this show and in prime time. Justin Trudeau is the host and that alone will likely draw some viewers who don't usually watch literary television. All the promos for the show mention the "big" prize money. They don't mention how long the writers may have slaved before they became luminaries - but then again, why should they? - unless the writer has a personal Dickensian tale to tell.

Four of the five short listed books have been published by two small presses, House of Anansi and Cormarant Press. As more and more publishers get gobbled up by conglomerates, it seems there are few independent presses left, so I hope the publicity will be a helpful for both presses. Running a small press has to be a labour of love because it sure isn't the way to make piles of money.

Speaking of money and the media. Moses Znaimer, the guiding light behind CITY TV and MuchMusic and other successful money making ventures, has purchased a Toronto-based classical music station. There is speculation that either Moses has gone soft, or he sees a market trend that others have not noticed yet.

I'll be quite happy to have another classical station to listen to, if my tuner can pull it in. But I don't know if I can tolerate more than two ads per hour. Maybe I'll just stick with CBC Radio Two.

Two 38C Specials Please and Other Nonsense

I wonder if there are now any unretouched photographs left in this world. There is one that I know of but I'll talk about that later.

CBS Sunday morning showed one of those 'real beauty commercials'. It starts with a good- looking woman who is then made-up to a fare-the-well, but the make-over doesn't stop there. The picture is then photoshopped to elongate the woman's neck, raise her eyebrows and make her eyes bigger. It's all part of the so-called beauty game I guess. It sure ain't real life, but it is on a billboard.

The Blind Date television program claims to be real. I've seen parts of it once or twice, by accident, and found it extremely silly but mostly boring. The producers use captions to indicate how the person's thoughts may not match their words. So, this weekend when we were trying to choose what to watch on pay-per- view, one of the choices was outakes from Blind Date. At least that's what the description said. The short film should have been called Boobs and nothing Butt. Every female blind date had visited the same plastic surgeon and no matter what size their other body parts were, all of them had breasts that were 38C. They all flashed their breasts at their dates and it became obvious that the women were all strippers in real life. The only funny part was the commercial for boobie beer. It was followed by a woman who burped all through her dinner date then later she shook her almost bare ass and farted. True class, or what?

Maybe her burps and the gas that is coming out of Tony Blair's mouth are responsible for the increase in global warming.

After we recovered from watching the Boobs R Us silliness, we watched Inside Man by Spike Lee. In most of the film, everyone is wearing coveralls. It was refreshing not to see many body parts.

I'd like to close with a warning. Do not allow anyone to take a picture of you before 8 a.m. and certainly not before you have imbibed an appropriate amount of caffeine. No amount of photo retouching is of any avail. I shall have to change my name and move to another country if the photo ever escapes custody.

Magic and Tricks

This week, I watched three movies and almost finished one book. Now that the grey and rainy season is here , I'm spending more time in front of the television screen, the computer screen and the movie theatre screen.

I borrowed "L'Age d'Or" from the library. I knew nothing about the film but noticed that Salvadore Dali was one of the writers and it was directed by Luis Bunuel. It's a black and white film made in 1930 and it's very surreal, some of the images are inexplicable, and I'm sure that's intentional. There's no point in mentioning the plot, since it barely exists, but the film is unique in its total strangeness. I understand that later on even Dali refused to be associated it with it, but I'm not sure why, since the film, while it offended many, has a strange magic to it.

And speaking of magic, yesterday we went to see "The Prestige" which opened this weekend. It's a movie about rivalry, tricks and magic and it's set in the early 1900's, more or less. I was fascinated by all the period details, as well as the tricks and the very convoluted way the movie unfolds. I won't reveal much about the plot because that would spoil the movie. I will say I didn't have a clue until the end, and the man in my life didn't either. That's unusual because he takes pride in being able to figure out all the twists and turns and in knowing the ending of a suspenseful film before it's shown. There are two women in the film, but they are merely there as props for the rivalry between the magicians. Too bad. Still, the film is a good solid two hours of entertainment. It was worth the price of two seniors tickets - and it has Michael Caine and David Bowie, in addition to the two main actors who are both excellent.

Friday night, I watched another movie from the library, "Silent Messenger." It's a documentary that "explores the mysteries of the Inuksuit" ... the standing stones found in the Canadian arctic. and also shows the changing ways of the Innuit people. It's outstanding, though not recommended (by me) for young children, since there are graphic hunting scenes. I was mesmerized by the beauty of the landscape and the people. The film was produced by Norman Hallendy who has spent almost 40 years in the far north. I've never been to the far north, yet somehow it is a part of my cultural unconscious. Maybe someday I'll see it for myself, if I'm very lucky.

Right now, I've nearly finished reading "Seek My Face," John Updike's 2002 novel about a 78 year-old painter, her life as an artist, the artists in her life, the transformative power of art, and some other themes as well. The novel is very introspective, but also very visual, and it's chock full of flashbacks and digressions, but it works. At first I found it difficult to stay inside it for long, but after a while, Updike's long paragraphs and the rhythm of them, seduced me. So did all the details about the postwar American art world and the struggles of those who try to produce art, especially female artists.

I was going to look for a book by one of the hot new young authors, but I'm glad I read Updike, instead.

I think I'll go and find some seductive adjectives.

It's All in the Chair

There's an internet site that features pictures of writers' habitats and I found it rather fascinating. No doubt their offices were spruced up for the photos, but I noticed that while many writers have small desks, some are almost as small as mine, they all seem to have very comfortable writing chairs.

Their chairs bear no resemblance my slipshod office chair. Maybe there's some mystic connection between the chair and the writer. My desk chair is both uncomfortable and uninspiring. It even mocks me by tilting when it sit on it. The adjustment handle has a mind of it's own and the fabric is beginning to come away from the seat. I think I'll demote it and start using one of my wooden kitchen chairs. That'll show it who's boss.

And furthermore, I haven't received any good mail.

It's raining so there's nothing for me to do but to stay in and try the kitchen chair.

Oh, and if you want to see the pictures, here's the link.

http://www.paigecuccaro.com/html/the_cave.html

That "F" Word

The local weather forecast for Thursday includes the word "flurries." Maybe the weather reporter was too chicken to say he meant snow flurries. Maybe Flurries or Blizzards from Dairy Queen are going to arrive instead.

I am not ready for even the non-stick kind of snow flurry.

I am however, about ready to spit nails at Mr. Harper, or use the other "F" word when referring to his recent actions. He's cut funding to the national Status of Women and cut funding for court challenges, and and and. It's weird that there are actually people, some of them are female people, who think that Status of Women groups are some secret feminist cabal that intends to rule the world. Not even close. Basic battles are still being fought. Heather Mallick's article on the CBC website has lots of food for thought and some interesting responses.

http://www.cbc.ca/news/viewpoint/vp_mallick/20061006.html

Here endeth the rant, because I am not feeling well.

Here's Lookin' At You, Kid

If you guessed Casablanca, you win.

It was weekend of movies. We saw Casablanca Sunday, on Rogers pay-per-view, and Saturday we went to see All The King's Men. I mentioned Casablanca first because it stands the test of time. Like an old friend, it has a few minor flaws but I love it and besides - who could resist Bogie? All the King's Men was very good and Sean Penn gives a powerful performance, but there are dramatic moments followed by lulls that maybe could have been fixed. Naturally, it's a great story with lots of plot twists and turns. Sometime, I'm going to watch the original movie version since some critics say it is better than the 2006 version.

Speaking of Bogart, the man in my life said he'd heard that Bogart and Ed Sullivan were brothers. That bothered me and I had to check it out. It isn't true. It's merely one of those legends that someone started. Don't people have better things to do and don't I have better things to do than to disprove said legend? Well, sure, and I mean to get to them. Right after I take a walk through the autumn leaves.

If it Bleeds, It Leads - Gore Sells

The shootings in Montreal yesterday at Dawson College are featured on the front page of our local paper, The Record. The two lead articles are about the "rampage" and I don't disagree with their placement. But - there's a picture - and a huge one of students leaving the college and at the bottom of the picture, there's the blood and the covered body of the gunman.

Gee thanks - I really needed to see that. My twelve year old grandson really needs to see it too. He reads the paper every day. I don't subscribe to the paper and only saw it by accident while having coffee at Tims. And you can be sure I'm not going to subscribe anytime soon.

Wildlife and A Wild Life

Yesterday, people in the area were told to watch out for escaped bison and a couple of weeks ago, there was a black bear wandering somewhere on the outskirts of the city. But it won't be long before any large animal will have no space to hide in around here. I've had the opportunity to tour the outskirts, or what used to be the outskirts of Kitchener Waterloo. There are so many new subdivisions going in that I began to wonder if I was seeing Calgary.

What the hell are the so-called planners thinking? They're building houses in environmentally fragile areas and, according to the man in my life, one huge subdivision is being built on land that will surely sink. At this rate, we'll soon become just another suburb of Toronto. The Region and the Province keep talking about improving the "transit corridor" between this area and the Big Smoke, but nothing happens.

Since I live in what the city refers to as the Civic Centre area I do have the luxury of visiting any of the three court houses, if I want to be entertained. The court house that is closest to my apartment building is going to be renovated. It's the Family Court and they need a new court room that will be designed for children's needs. That's fine, but the contractor wants to work on the building from 5 in the evening until 6 in the morning so that the court will not be shut down. That's not fine at all, and no one in the neighbourhood was notified of the contractor's intent until the last second. The contractor claims not to have known about the anti-noise bylaw. City council has not approved an exemption yet, and if local residents can protest loudly enough, maybe the council will stand firm. I hope so, because I'd like to have a few quiet months before spring arrives and the city begins tearing up the street on the far side of this building to replace water and sewage lines and repave.

I've been reading "Floor Sample," Julia Cameron's memoir about her life. She wrote The Artist's Way and The Artist's Way at Work and several other books about the creative life. The Artist's Way at Work is on my bookshelf. I read it a few years ago and found that writing morning pages helped me to clarify why I didn't want to work at the community centre any more. So, I was interested in finding out more about Julia Cameron. She's led a "wild" life in many ways and seems to have always followed her creative instincts, sometimes without remembering to care for herself.

I'm going to write my morning pages again for a while and see what they tell me.

It 'Themes' to Me

A friend remarked that she seems to write about the same thing in many of her stories and I started to think about that. Sometimes I'm a slow thinker but once in a while I have a flash. I'd think it was a hot flash, if I wasn't too old to have them. I seem to have an object fetish. When I write, I like to change the role of ordinary things like chocolate, or brushes or slippers and I guess I'm also fascinated by death and being near death and lost chances for love and connection. Just your typical writerly fascinations, I suppose.

I've been participating in an online discussion about what love is and men and women's different approaches to it. It's fascinating to read what some young people think love is. As for me, I'm in the same camp as Scott Peck. I think love is not primarily a feeling (though, believe me I enjoy the feeling) but an activity and an opportunity for spiritual development for both people.

Okay, that's more than enough high-falutin' philosophizing for one blog. It's time for nitty gritty things - like putting one sentence after another. Maybe I can even manage to write a whole paragraph without rereading and changing every sentence as I go along.

Maybe.

Tree-House Days and Talladega Nights

My grandsons have had a tree house in their back yard for about seven years. Their father built it for them and it was supported by two ornamental trees. It has a window box, a rope climb entrance and a slide for an exit. There's a sand box on the ground under the tree house. The tree house has been a magical place for the two boys, but that's about to end. The trees that support the structure are rotting and the boys favourite hide-out isn't safe anymore. Their special place, and the trees that hold it up are about to be removed. Now that the boys are twelve and fourteen, maybe they can live without it. But they talk of building a fort to replace it. I'm glad they're still innocent enough to think a fort isn't a silly idea.

Friday, I took both boys to the movies. We saw Talladega Nights, The Ballad of Billy Bobby, and we all enjoyed it. Some of the satire went un-noticed by the boys, but not all of it. And of course they liked the fast cars and the silly parts of the movie. Both grandsons covered their eyes when Billy Bobby kissed the villain. Kissing is yucky anyway, says the youngest and I don't think that my fourteen year old grandson has kissed anyone, of either sex, except family members, yet.

Their comparative innocence won't last, I know. Frankie's is bound to be challenged when he starts grade 9 in a September and Sam has to cope with a new school too. At least they can just be boys for a few more days.

Not in the 'Write' Mood

I wasn't in the mood to write anything last week. Of course, some folks say mood should have nothing to do with it. They may be correct. In any case, I had to write something about children and obesity for a client and so, I did. Sometimes the have-to factor rules. Then, I thought I'd work on getting into fiction-writing mode by editing an old short story that's been around the block a couple of times. I'm always surprised by how much I can find to change when I reread a story I haven't looked at for a few months. I don't suppose I should be surprised, but if I don't start out with some belief in what I'm doing, I'd never reach the third or fourth or tenth edit stage. Every time I finish an extensive edit, I think - boy! That's got to be it. I'd like to be right more often about that.

Speaking of writing, my dear friend and fellow writer, Lori Hahnel was on the short list for the PRISM International short story contest. If you search her name on the Internet, you'll see that link and links to many of her other fabulous fiction credits. Here's the kicker - PRISM didn't tell her she'd made the short list. She only found out when she checked Google to see which of her writing credits were still showing up on the World Wide Web (Bill Walsh insists those words should have capitals). Here's the link: http://prism.arts.ubc.ca/

Early this morning, I noticed some pedestrians were wearing light jackets, the Canadian National Exhibition has opened and school starts in less than two weeks. I don't know about you, but for me those things are signs that summer will soon be over. I didn't do a lot of the things I had planned to do this summer. I was going to repaint my bathroom. I was going to visit friends in Toronto at least twice. I was going to stick to a writing schedule, but I never figured out what the schedule should be. Oh, and most important, I was going to be at least half way through a decent draft of my novel. Life is filled with unfinished business, but now I have a little list, a little list. Actually, it's a long list, but never mind, at least I've made the list. And, I'm going to tack it up somewhere very visible, then I can cross things off when they're done.

I've had an extraordinary summer in many respects. Much of this summer's joy came from time spent family and friends and with the man in my life. There's been some sorrow , but maybe that, and the joy too, will find its way into my fiction.

The Canadian Motor City Gets My Vote. Take Note, Toronto.

My trip to Windsor was almost everything I hoped it would be and I'm very glad I went back to my old home town.

Once upon a time, long, long, ago, local radio stations referred to Windsor and Detroit as the Motor Cities. I can't vouch for the condition of Detroit, but Windsor still retains the Canadian title. It's tied to the auto industry, much as it was in the past. Everyone should have a car, or a truck or a van, and preferably a Canadian-made one. In the less wealthy neighbourhoods, nearly everyone does. But in parts of Walkerville, one of the upscale neighbourhoods, I saw some expensive foreign cars. Oh, the shame of it!

I was most impressed by what Windsor has done with its waterfront. The city has gorgeous waterfront parks that stretch for kilometres. Riverside Drive hugs the shoreline of the Detroit river and absolutely no development is allowed on the side of the road closest to the river. The city also reclaimed the railway lands (the tracks used to run along beside the river). It's truly amazing that a city of 200,000 has the ability to resist the type of hideous but extremely profitable condominium development that ruined the central waterfront in Toronto. My old and still very politically active friend, Patsy, is one the people responsible for fending off the developers. Every five years or so, the no-development policy is challenged at City Council, and Patsy rallies the troops.

On the downside, Windsor is still a city that isn't much into the idea of public transit. There were about 7 bus routes 10 years ago and now, I think there are 10. The bus terminal is exactly the same as it was in my youth. If I'd ever taken psychedelic drugs, I'd have assumed I was having a flash-back when I saw it. At least the city has some newer buses, and yes I was on one.

Most of my exploration of the city took place on foot and, as my grandmother might say, my feet is plumb wore off at the knees. It was the best way to get a feel for the neighbourhoods I wanted to see. I walked all around the downtown area, the Wyandotte street strip, the Erie street area, Willistead and the street I grew up on and other areas. I spoke with several business owners, they were all friendly and took the time to give me their impressions of the city. The Casino is undergoing renovation but it was well-patronized. I couldn't get over the number of different slot machines. Did you know there are some that take $500 for a single chance? Egad! No one was trying their luck at one while I was there. No bloomin' wonder. I wasn't tempted to try anything, not even the nickel slot machines. And anyway, most of them were being used by seniors. I visited the poker rooms. One is not allowed to make casual conversation with the dealers, I discovered. The man who sold chips was not inclined to answer my questions. Maybe I started with the wrong question though. When I asked if seven card stud poker was available, he marked me down as a complete innocent, or an idiot.

On the "our girl makes good" side, that's how Patsy refers to it, another friend of mine from way back when I worked at the Windsor Women's Centre is now the head of the United Way. Patsy, who seems to know every other person in town decided we would drop in on Sheila and we did. A wave at the receptionist and off we went to the head honcho's office. She was glad to see us and we didn't over-stay our welcome.

The funniest thing that happened to me was an encounter with a memorable woman. There's a famous, or maybe infamous, jewellery store in downtown Windsor. It's one of those institutions you have to see to believe. It's been on the same corner for thirty years, or more. Not a thing has changed. The store sells a lot of figurines, plates and miscellaneous chochka's as well as jewellery and fine china. It has display cases so close together that even a thin person must be wary and the carpets are almost see-through. On one counter-top near the door, there is a picture of Mr and Mrs. S., the founders of the store. I naturally assumed that both of them had retired. They were 'old' when I was a young sprat. But I was wrong. The inimitable voice of Mrs. S. accosted me. Mrs. S. knows nothing about subtle sales tactics.

I said, "it's nice to see the store still looks the same after twenty years."
She said, "Where have you been? "
"Toronto," I replied.
"So," she said, "why haven't you come here? Lots of people come here from Toronto."

Oy vey! The conversation went on in this vein for a while. I agreed to look around and asked about Mr. S. He was away on a buying trip. Fortunately for me, Mrs. S. was distracted by the arrival of some Americans. I managed to get out without buying anything and without laughing until I was around the corner. Those Americans would not escape without buying something, or her name isn't Mrs. S. She was once famous for going into the street, stopping tourists and dragging them into her store. After seeing her in action, I suspect that when she is having a good day, she probably still does.

I have pages of notes from my trip and they may be useful, but the most important thing was renewing my acquaintance with the city.

It's still got a great heart and I'll miss it

Checking out The Ambassador Bridge and Other Adventures

On Thursday, I'm going to Windsor. I'ts been years since I visited my home town and I need to soak up its ambience, its flavours. I plan to take lots of notes and maybe some pictures, though a lot of places won't look the same as they did ten years ago. Maybe I'll met an old friend for coffee, if she isn't out protesting something. Patsy must be at least seventy, but she still has a radical heart that leads her in some interesting directions.

What's the first thing a travelling writer packs? Lined note pads, of the right size and shape to fit into a small purse. I found some and I've already stashed them in my suitcase. The other packing won't happen until the last minute.

I plan to visit some of my old haunts - the park under the Ambassador bridge (the best place to watch the submarine races) and a couple of other parks too, the Casino (for research purposes only), the Tunnel Barbeque, if it still exists, and the street where I lived as a child.

I really don't know if I can capture what I need, but I'm going to try.

Sometimes I have lucky days. Saturday was one. The man in my life had suggested earlier in the week that if the weather cooperated we would go to the Mill Race Folk Festival in Galt, if I was interested. I was delighted by the idea and I had the chance to mention I was going to the festival to a friend who lives in the big smoke. It turned out that she was going to be at the festival too. The day was clear with wispy clouds, little humidity or pollution and not too hot. We found a shady spot close to the main Mill Race stage and the river and enjoyed the singers. We weren't easy to see in the crowd, since we were tucked way in a corner, but my friend Dorothy, who can actually see people from more than 500 feet away, spotted us. So, Dorothy and I had a chance to talk between performances. I also enjoyed the music and singing along on the choruses. It was a perfect afternoon.

Maybe my trip will contain some unexpected delights too.

An Encouraging Rejection

As all three or four, or maybe, sometimes five, reasonably regular readers of my blog know, I wrote a story about a man named Jesse. The story, Jesse's Gift, had been revised to a fare-thee-well. I sent it to PRISM International in April and hoped it would fare well.

Today, my SASE to PRISM came back to me. I could see that the piece of paper in the envelope wasn't even a letter size reply. Oh great, I thought, just one of those notes that says sorry and they've conserved paper by giving me toilet-tissue size response. Well, the editor does say no. But, below the - We receive many excellent submissions but due to space constraints we're unable to publish them all, etc. Please try us again in the future - he added a hand-written note.

"This story of full of detail. It is visceral and sensual and beautifully depicted. I like how this depiction relates to the characters and the worlds that they live in. Thanks so much for the strong submission."

According to other writers, getting a personal note from an editor of a first rank magazine like PRISM is a very good sign. So, I'll have to put on my market research hat and find another place to send it.

Wal-Mart and the movie, The Producers

The last full week of July is upon us. Summer is half-over. Okay, maybe not officially, but in other ways, it is. So many things start again in September. For now though, I'm in lazy summer mode and maybe the weather can be my excuse.

On the weekend, our plans changed due to rain and we saw another movie, The Producers. It's very funny, thanks mostly to Mr. Lane who is consistently hilarious. Before watching the movie, I had the opportunity to visit the local Cambridge Chapters/Indigo bookstore. Of course they didn't have the book I was thinking of purchasing, but I did buy the July issue of Harper's magazine because the cover listed this article: Breaking the Chain, The Antitrust Case Against Wal-Mart. The article is long and informative. It discusses the deleterious effects of the unchecked power of W**^***t including monopsony, my new word of the week. "Monopsony arises when a firm captures the ability to dictate price to its suppliers because the suppliers have no real choice other than to deal with that buyer." Many firms have been affected adversely after chaining themselves to the Wal-Mart star in the hope of soaring. But that is only part of the problem. And you probably wonder why I'm linking The Producers and W-place in my subject line.

Even if you don't wonder, here's why. "Every day Wal-Mart expands its share of the ... markets for magazines, recorded music, films on DVD and books (YIKES, even books). This means that every day its tastes ... weigh that much more on decisions made in Hollywood studios, in Manhattan publishing houses ... (and soon, maybe other publishers).

So, if the retail super-behemoth should decide that a film like The Producers, which features a musical number called Springtime for Hitler, and other possibly unacceptable shenanigans, shouldn't be distributed in DVD format, then it wouldn't be available to the 30 percent of American consumers who shop there. Would that be tragic? Well, no. But is this the thin edge of the Whale-Mart tells us what to view or to read wedge?

I wonder.

Hot and Cold

It's been miserably hot, but a storm blew in last night and cooled things off, temporarily. Good thing, because I was tired of being confined to my living room.

It was hot on Thursday when we celebrated Sam's birthday. He loves hot food, so he had pizza with hot peppers, and hot wings too. Friday I got a rejection letter for one of my short stories from NQ. I rather expected it, since NQ is a notoriously difficult magazine to conquer, but I have to try once a year. By Saturday, it was downright horrid outside. I went to the market early and bought a bouquet of flowers for myself. Why not?

Better things happened on the weekend. The man in my life took me to the movies. We saw Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean Part II. I didn't like all the dead critters, but at least there was Johnny to look at, and Orlando Bloom.

Yesterday, I got more birthday mail. It was more than somewhat late, but I don't mind having my birthday goodies spread out. My friend Sharon sent me a silly card, a generous gift certificate for the LCBO, and a copy of her brochure (one I did some work on). So, I can celebrate all over again, perhaps with a lovely single malt scotch, when I'm able to walk as far the LCBO. It may be a while before I can do that, though.

My knee is not speaking to me - it is yelling instead. So, I'm giving it the old cold treatment. I recall one of my many physiotherapists saying "Ice is Nice." That's a damned lie. But I have to use it anyway. And I guess kneeling is off my list of can-do things for now. Floor washing is boring and can be postponed.

I'm going to Windsor August 10 to 13th. Research, research and lots of note taking. Maybe a visit with an old friend, if she is in town, and a visit to the Casino. After all, I have to make the gambling scenes realistic. I won't spend as much as my character does though, she has a bigger budget.

Canada Post, or Pony Express

After my weekend in Port Ryerse, and after receiving excellent advice from my writer friend in Calgary and a friend here, I added the final grace notes to the story I'd been revising, and revising. Then, I prepared to send it out. I decided to be brave and choose two markets this time. I was feeling happy about this decision as I walked to the postal outlet in the card store in the old market building on King. When I handed the envelopes to the person behind the counter and paid the postage, he stamped them and put them in the outgoing first class bin. As I was turning away, the woman who had been waiting beside me "went postal" and began berating the clerk.

She claimed that this postal outlet had lost a package worth $4,000. And furthermore, nothing that she had mailed through this outlet since June 15 had been received. Someone has threatened to sue her, she claimed. Then she said she might sue Canada Post.

I was transfixed by this tale, not to mention worried. It was too late to get my envelopes back, so I'll just have to hope they get to their destinations. I considered that outlet my lucky place, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe I'll have to choose another.

There are plenty of horses in this area, perhaps someone could start a new version of the pony express.

Some Mild Patriotic Words

Tomorrow is Canada Day and while I'm not going to wave the flag about, I do want to say - Happy Birthday - eh!

A couple of nights ago, I answered a telephone opinion survey. It was a political survey and after the first three questions, there was no doubt in my mind. The survey was designed to find out whether Canadians agree with Harper's policies and his agenda. There were about 15 questions connected with the likelihood of a terrorist attack on Canada and how the government is handling this supposedly urgent matter. There were also a lot of questions about how much information the government should be able to access (in order to prevent terror attacks, naturally) and how further access to information, conversations, you name it, could be made legal. Finally, there were questions about Canada's role in Afghanistan and our role as peacekeepers.

Many of the questions started with "Are you afraid? - of terrorist attacks, of youth gangs, of criminals not being locked-up forever, of refugees who may be terrorists, of our inability to defend our arctic waters, of ill-equipped customs officers, or conversely, of not being able to enter the United States of... Well ... Everything.

How can anyone reasonably answer a question like - will there be a terror attack on Canada in the next year? Yes, no, maybe - all are equally correct. If terrorists are going to target us, they are not going to warn us about it.

The questions concerning Canada's peacekeeping role were equally unsuitable. Should we stick to our "traditional observe and help role;" or should we take a more "Military" role. In the first place, our traditional peacekeeping role has always included military "action" when necessary in a protective manner. In the second place, actively assisting the Americans in Afghanistan to attack and kill is not peacekeeping. And it will not stabilize anything.

The whole questionaire seemed designed to prod paranoia buttons. Well my button didn't function. Let's not try to become Americans. We are Canadians, and that is more than good enough.

Harper, smarten up. Don't make me smite ya.

Signs, signs, everywhere Signs - Open the Door!

My birthday weekend was replete with the kinds of people and events, I'd wish everyone I care about could have on their birthday. And yes, there were signs.

The front of my daughter's house was decorated with a Happy Birthday sign. Primarily, it was there for my grandson, who celebrated his fourteenth birthday on Saturday, but I choose to believe it was there for me as well.

This evening, Wayson Choy spoke about signs and symbols in a writer's life and I realized there have been quite a few signs pointing the way for me. However, it takes me quite a while to understand the portents.

New ones given to me on Sunday, when I visited my daughter. My youngest grandson made a card for me. The front of the card has a "door" that opens, and the card says
"Do you choose to open the door to life?" I am not impartial. I'm blown away by my soon-to-be twelve grandson's ability to cut to the heart of things. My daughter gave me a beautiful brick candle to light my way. And the man in my life gave me a book. And not just any book, but: Writing Life: Celebrated Canadian and International Authors on Writing and Life.

Over the years, there have been lots of other signs. Some of them seemed negative at the time. My eighth grade teacher insisted I couldn't possibly have written the story I submitted and tried to fail me. My tenth grade teacher said I should continue to write poems. Eventually, I did, but they came back from editors with notes that said - not these, but do you have more. I didn't send more. This could be an endless list. My mother kept every letter I ever sent to her until I insisted she get rid of them. One of my ex-lovers has a stash of my letters and will not give them back to me, nor will he destroy them. I've only written eight short stories that I feel are "finished" but two have been published. That should be considered a good average, but of course I don't consider that - I wonder what's wrong with the rest of them.

I've managed to ignore the fact that I wrote a two page letter that enabled the Veterans program to get half-a million dollars in expansion money, and every other grant proposal I wrote brought in money too. Then there was the condolence letter I wrote to a former client's son. It was a simple and direct letter about having known his father. I did it because I wanted to acknowledge a man's life, but the son was so moved by it that he made a very large donation to the agency, and a friend tells me that he continued to do that for two more years.

So, there have been lots of signs, I'm just a slow reader.

Older than them thar Hills But, Not Smarter, Yet.

It's that time of year again. The time when I officially get older. It isn't a decade birthday, but today my grandson officially graduates from elementary school and on the weekend he will be fourteen. In two years, Frankie will be driving. I guess that makes me older than them thar hills. It's a good thing I became a mother at such an early age, because I'll have more than one generation to depend on as I enter my dotage.

I'm still too young to have any of the advantages of being older, like crankiness and forgetfulness, the flaws people ascribe to our elders. But I've decided some early practice wouldn't hurt. Maybe I can "forget" to pay some bills and use the extra money for a treat, and maybe I'll ask the mail carrier what he's done with all the acceptance letters that should be in my mailbox. I might even tell the superintendent of my building that I don't want to hear about every complaint she receives. Well, I might, if I have a personality change, but it's more likely that I'll continue to listen to her.

I'm not any smarter than I was last year. Probably that's just as well, though, because if I was too smart I'd give up the mug's game of writing fiction, since logic would say my chances of success are so low.

Fortunately, I'm not smart enough to accept that. Instead, I plan to celebrate being young enough to pursue my dreams.

Capri Pants Must Die.

I was at the mall today looking for a skirt, or a decent pair of dressy straight-legged slacks. Every other woman who passed me in the mall was wearing capri pants. Ick! They make women's legs look shorter and fatter. Unless you're a stick figure, they simply don't work. What really aggravates me is that next year, that fashion will be as dead as dead can be, and hundreds of thousands of women will put the Capri pants or cropped pants, or whatever you want to call them, (I just call them ugly) at the back of their closets.

And while I'm still in fashion rage mode. Why are there only ballerina, flouncy skirts on the racks, or skirts with weird zig zag hem-lines? And why is the only suitable cotton A-line skirt in the entire mall priced at $80 (including the taxes) and made in China? Maybe the pretty beaded filigree trim accounts for it, but I have my doubts.

I also doubt that I'll be able to add anything else to my wardrobe in the near future.

I am only a channel for "The Fashion Maven," side of my personality and take no responsibility at all for her crankiness.

The New Yorker, The Walrus, and Snidely Whiplash

The good folks who live in Toronto are recovering from the media frenzy that blared forth when suspected terrorists were arrested on Friday. I think it was Friday, time seems to waiver when news reports leave out details. Before this incident I'd been thinking about the media and humour in the media. Now, I wonder what The New Yorker magazine and The Walrus magazine would have to say about the incident. I know what Snidely Whiplash would say, he'd say "Curses! Foiled Again."

So why am I mentioning Snidely in the same sentence as those two magazines? It all began when I bought an April issue of the New Yorker and then the June issue of The Walrus. I like to buy Canadian magazines, and I wish that at least one could compare to The New Yorker. The Walrus tries hard, and the June issue has a very good article by Roy Romano on Canada, as well as an article by Mark Kingwell about the empire of the United States but it also has a pitiful attempt at humour by Marni Jackson. The New Yorker is still a weekly magazine, and it's the only weekly magazine that will print long detailed articles, fine fiction, and humour and there is always at least one cartoon in every issue that makes me laugh. Maybe someday there will be an equivalent Canadian magazine, maybe, but that's about as likely as the return of Snidely Whiplash. Snidely, the inept cartoon villain from The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, might say - tie Ms. Jackson's computer to the tracks. Then, I'd have to stop him in order to preserve his reputation. But I'll give him another task, he can make a brief appearance or two in my novel, if he misbehaves in the appropriate manner.