Lit-er-a-ture

My grade 13 English teacher, Mr. McGarrity, was an impressive man. He was stern and insistent that we learn to love literature. I remember that he would always have us read aloud so that he could critique our diction. He had quite a task before him, because there were a number of students that were billeted hockey players. (The Peterborough Petes were a Junior A hockey team that sent their boys to my high school.) He had his work cut out for him with this lot. They were there to play hockey - and they didn't really care about the underlying social tension in Tess of the D'urbervilles. He couldn't even get them excited about Lady Chatterley's Lover.  They sat up a little when it came time for Shakespeare, however. He had us act out the plays in front of the blackboard. He didn't give a hoot if we didn't have a dramatic bone in our body. We would read, and we would read well - and it usually resulted in some funny moments.

He was disdainful of 'pulp fiction' - no, not the Quentin Tarantino film (p.s. - my 80 year old mother's favorite movie), but the kind of fiction you buy at the drugstore.

He influenced me more than he knew. I love to read and only have so much time to indulge myself with fiction. So, I try to confine myself to "Literature". If there is a book that everyone is reading, I refuse to read it. If its designed for the masses, I don't want to know about it. I'm a real McGarrity snob. I know it's a character flaw - but it's one I have not been able to really fix.

When I met Bill, he too was a snob about reading. But, his snobbery was little different. He confined himself to mostly non-fiction. He had spent his childhood reading science fiction and said that he was only interested in truth from now on. Life is short etc. etc.

It wasn't until a couple of years ago that I enticed him into my fiction world. And now he's hooked. He in turn, just hooked me on dime store fiction: The girl with the dragon tattoo by Steig Larsson. I could not put the sucker down. He listened to it on tape on his road trips to Albany. He told me to try it. I put my nose in the air and tuned him out. But, he LOVED it and highly recommended that I read it.  So I did. And now I'm off to the bookstore to buy the next in the series.

I will , however, hide it behind the cover of a 'real book'. I do have principles after all.

Summer jobs

It's been quite some time since I applied for a summer job. I always managed to be employed through high school and university - but it was a much different time years ago. I didn't live at home during the summers. My parents were living in Buffalo and I couldn't work in the US. I happily remained in Peterborough, Ontario in a crummy apartment.  It was heaven to me - I had no money, but I was on my own  - free to make as many stupid decisions as I could.  I remember one summer in particular. I was especially stupid.

I worked on the Trent Severn Waterway, opening and closing the locks, cutting the lawn, keeping the bathrooms clean and being a good Parks Canada federal employee. I could write reams of stuff on that job. I had it for 3 summers. Talk about material - I could write psychological evaluations of the Lock masters, the guys in charge, that would curl your hair.

Anyway, one summer, I had the lock job that consisted of 3 x 12 hours days. In the evenings, I worked in the shoe department at Eaton's. That was pleasant. NOT. I was also taking a course at Trent University - called "Biology of algae". It was really a horrible choice for a summer course. I was also working part time at the university serving food and drinks at conventions and parties. Those hours were sporadic but the job paid well.  PLUS, I was getting my diving license. Not driving - d-i-v-i-n-g. So, guess what suffered? Biology of Algae. I got a 'C' in that course. It was virtually impossible to do poorly in the course. But, I figured out a way to do it.  Because it was considered a full semester, that C cost me a lot in my GPA. I still believe that C cost me admission into medical school. There is a lesson in here somewhere. I'm just not sure what it is.

Kids today have a horrible time finding summer employment. I think back at that summer where I had 3 jobs and I feel sorry for this generation. Now, the kids have such little chance of 'getting in somewhere' that they are sometimes forced to create their own employment.

My daughter called to tell me that she had been offered an internship and she was weighing whether she should take it.  There was a lot to consider in her decision making process, not the least of which she would have to leave Toronto and ...

COME HOME TO BUFFALO!!!!

I tried to stay calm. I tried to remain objective. I listened to her as she rationalized her decision. In the end, she knew that the best decision was to take the job.

I can't believe how lucky we are. To have our 21 year old daughter for 10 weeks this summer. She'll be able to concentrate on her internship, live at home and make some money. She is so much smarter than I was at her age.

Bill and I toasted our luck, once again.

Cartman

I actually went WITH Bill to the grocery store this evening. It's an uncommon occurrence because I generally hate going shopping, but I was determined to try to enjoy it. We just had a couple of things to pick up and I really wanted to buy some ice cream. I can't trust Bill to bring home decent ice cream. He will usually opt for frozen yogurt or "half the fat ice cream". What good is that?  I figure, if you're going to eat ice cream, go BIG.

We weren't in a particular hurry, and kind of ambled in through the entrance. As I walked over to the stacked grocery carts, I heard a loud voice behind me. An old man with a seriously crabby face, shot a cart in my general direction and yelled (yes, yelled) "HERE, TAKE THIS ONE".  His tone did not imply that he wanted to do us a favor. He had obviously followed us in and was angry.  I thought Bill was going to take the guy down. But, instead, Bill looked at me and said: "Don't touch that cart!  Nobody orders ME around in the grocery store". I don't know why, but I thought that line was particularly funny.

We took another cart.

I had forgotten that they sold flowers in the grocery store. So I hemmed and hawed over the selection. That was nice. By the time I had picked out a few posies, Bill had half the list done. I told him I had to get something in the frozen aisle. He left me to my own devices. At least, I think he left me. I was so entranced with the vast array of real ice cream that I think I may have zoned out for a while. It was hard for me to choose. But, the cart was still there behind me and Bill was only a few feet away. He did not make a comment on my fat laden choice.

As I wandered the aisles, in a slight daze, I wondered why the crabby old guy was so insistent about the cart. The only thing I could think of was that he saw two able-bodied people, walking aimlessly past a number of parking lot carts - carts that had not yet been picked up by the grocery store retrieval team. He was angry at our laziness, perhaps? 

I didn't feel guilty about this at all. I was not lazy - far from it. I remember my dad telling me years ago (one of his many small bits of wisdom, HA!): "never take a cart back from the parking lot - you are depriving someone of his/her job."

I looked for that old guy in the grocery store but I never saw him again. Maybe he was coming onto his shift as the cart retrieval guy.  

I wonder where the yellow went?

Today I did something I thought I would never do...I paid good money to have my teeth whitened. And, it wasn't in my dentist's office. It was at a standalone business which I (a) did not thoroughly investigate and (b) had not asked friends about. I have no idea why I was so cavalier about this endeavor. It was a lark.

I had casually gone in to this establishment to inquire as to whether I was a candidate. Without asking me any questions, the "technician" (she WAS in a white coat) assured me that I was.

And...she could take me right away. I was a-tingle with anticipation. But, first I had to dump my mother as she was in the car waiting.

No sooner did I tell my tag-a-long mother that I was the next patient, than Mum trotted in to inquire if SHE were eligible. Of course she was! Despite her dental work, veneers, caps, and bridges... she, too, could experience Hollywood whitening.  We were ecstatic.

The advertisement on the outside said "15 minutes". Marsha, the "technician" said that it would actually take two 20 minutes sessions. But, we could do them back to back and be outta there for dinner.

Mum went first. Once the struts were applied to her lips for maximum opening and the gel was applied she looked like a crazy chimpanzee on high alert. Then, Marsha put on orange colored eye glasses to counter- act the very special blue light which would activate the gel. I believe the gel was merely a solution of hydrogen peroxide (H2O2 for those who still like to pretend they remember the periodic table).

I was next. Luckily I couldn't see how insane I looked during the 40 minute treatment. But, I did keep sneaking looks at my mother for reassurance. She, however, had fallen asleep! Unbelievable. The H2O2 was already burning the inside of my lips and Marsha had disappeared, out of sight. I was relegated to watching the Price is Right while I waited for the buzzer to go off.

While waiting, the only excitement that happened was that another woman walked in - she had made a previous appointment and was quite perturbed that Marsha was attending to something other than her needs. This woman.... this woman was not what I would call a likely candidate. She was at least 275 pounds, walked haltingly with a cane, dressed rather haphazardly when it came to color matching and wore sandals with socks. She had to have been more than 80 years old and she wore the world's worst perfume. Old Lady perfume. My mouth was open as wide as possible and I was practicing shallow breathing so I wouldn't choke on my saliva. I winced every so often when then peroxide hit my sensitive inner lips. My moans could not be heard by Marsha who was attending to something in the back room. But, honestly, worse than the near choking and the wincing was the fact that somehow, this incredibly toxic perfume had entered my olfactory glands. I couldn't wait to leave.

But, the buzzer finally blew, the struts were removed, I rinsed and spit in a plastic bag (which was creepily like an air-sick bag) and a mirror was placed in front of my face. To be honest, I couldn't tell the difference between my 'before' and my 'after'. But, I ooohed and awwwed over the results. Mum was so happy with her results she was postively giddy.

When we got home we flashed our smiles in a most unnatural way. Bill didn't even notice. He was too busy telling us about tonight's dinner. We had to tell him that the entire menu had to be changed (no peppers, no dark leaf lettuce, no tomatoes, no cilantro) since we couldn't eat anything red, dark or caustic - because of our Hollywood teeth.

Once we told him where we'd been for the last hour, he said that he could really tell the difference in our smiles, but I think he was just trying to be kind.

But, guess what?  He changed the menu.

What's in a name

Emma came home for a quick visit on the weekend. She brought a friend, a roller derby friend, to go shopping at the mall. Emma introduced me to this young woman using her roller derby name: HELLBAT. Looking at this wee girl, you would never think that she would go by such a surprisingly lethal name. Her real name was much lovelier. I didn't ask her permission to talk about her in my blog, so I will not divulge her identity. However, her surname was Italian. I asked her what her name meant and she told me she didn't know... in fact hadn't even questioned its meaning in her 29 years. As soon as she left I looked it up on the web.

Later, when I talked to Emma I told her I thought it was odd that Hellbat hadn't wondered about her own name. Emma said that I was the odd one - in fact she began to list a number of oddities that I apparently possess. But, honestly... your NAME? It's who you are - your essence, your being. Why wouldn't you be curious about that? (To that end, I'm getting rid of my tax preparation poll at the right and asking a question about genealogy - please take 2 seconds to respond)

Bill asked me to a Sabres hockey game for our first date (yes, there is a connection here). When he first met me he had only ascertained two things about me: that I was Canadian and that I liked a cocktail or two (we met at Jimmy Mac's, a local watering hole in Buffalo). He managed to get my number and figured that the best way to lure me on a date was to dangle the prospect of gold seats (it was the old Aud) and the New York Rangers. I took the bait. Once the game started I watched very little of it. I spent a considerable amount of time explaining the game to Bill. It was the first time that he had truly understood icing and offside. We spent the rest of the time reading the game roster and guessing the country of origin of the players. Reijo Ruotsalainen - clearly a Finn, Kjell Samuelsson - obviously a Swede - we covered the entire team. It didn't occur to me until months later that Bill and I shared this (bizarre?) interest in surnames. One of the first things I ask people when I meet them is about their ancestry. Bill does the same. I guess it is a little weird and probably a little invasive to some.

Anyway, back to Hellbat. I surmised that her Italian last name was a form of the verb" to overwhelm". I texted Emma and she relayed the information to Hellbat. Emma's texted response? "This pleases Hellbat".
I laughed out loud.

Helping hand

My computer router and modem was on the fritz last night. So, I couldn't do my blog. For the life of me, I couldn't fix it. I felt badly about not writing because I was determined to write about my dad yesterday. It was the anniversary of his death. I always try to be with my mum on the day - and I've managed to do it every year since his death. We both miss him a lot. We're never morbid about the anniversary- rather we like to tell funny stories about him. Like Bill, he provides a lot of hilarious material.

I bought some Tim Horton's ground coffee and we filled the pot. We sat together in the kitchen and drained the first pot and made a second. Mum cut and washed some fresh fruit and put out some scones. We reminisced about dad but we mostly talked about Mum's volunteer work at the hospital and the "situations" she has found herself in. Come to think of it, Mum is a source of good material, too. Besides delivering magazines and smiles to the ill, she also takes care of a couple of women from her church. These women are also pretty sick, but they are not in the hospital. She runs all over town with them to take them to appointments and picking up food and sundries. I think she's nuts doing all this out of the goodness of her heart. But, she thinks it is part of her calling. She was determined to get one of the women to see a psychiatrist  because Mum felt that she was decompensating and needed professional help. She knew that if she told her 'charge' that she was going to see a shrink that she would object. So, she did what every good Presbyterian does - she lied.  When they got to the doctor's office and sat down in the waiting room, mum noticed that there was a sign near the secretary that indicated that the doctor was a psychiatrist. Mum leapt out of her chair and artfully placed  some artificial flowers in front of the sign. When they left the office, her charge asked Mum why, on earth, the doctor wanted to know who the president was and what year it was!

Anyway, now the computer is back on line. But, it totally aggravated my sleep last night. It bothered me so much that I dreamt about fixing computers all night. I tossed and turned. And, in those first few seconds when I woke up, I actually thought I had it figured it out. What an idiot.

Ultimately, it was my Emma who solved the problem. She called today to see how her Nana was doing. During the phone call she told me exactly how to fix the modem. Apparently, she's running her own help desk from her apartment in Toronto. 

"Thank you, Emma".  I can blog again tonight and tonight it turned out to be about mum.

Google maps

I had to send maps to my poker pals so they wouldn't get lost coming to my house. (By the way, dinner was excellent and the ladies were very  happy with Bill's menu.) Anyway, I decided to go to google maps to cut and paste some directions. While I was there,  I took the time to open up the "street view". If you haven't done this for your house, you should. You'll find a 3D photo of your street and you can navigate all through your neighborhood. When I clicked on my address I was delighted to see a 3 year old picture. You might wonder how I knew it was 3 years old. I knew because my old VW bug was parked in front of the house.

I could tell so much from this picture. First, it was taken on Monday morning. How do I know that? Because the garbage can and recycle bins are out on the curb. Second, it was taken in mid summer (foliage and garden progression). Third, the cleaning lady was there (her car is parked further down the street) so it was morning. And fourth, it was taken in July or August  because the car is parked a good 2 feet from the curb.  My mother lives with us in July and August and she drives my car when she is here. The parking job was done by my mum: she likes to leave ample space between the curb and the passenger door. 

Anyway, I stared as this picture for quite some time. I really MISS my creamy yellow VW bug. I think the technical color was "harvest moon beige". It was my favorite car of all time. And I don't care about cars AT ALL. But, this car ...this car had something about it. My Ganesha charm fit so nicely on the dash. I felt safe and secure knowing that Lord Ganesh, remover of all obstacles had his eye on me.

My mother, was a little taken aback by this " icon" sitting on the dash. But, she accepted Lord Ganesh and felt that the car fitted her to a 't'.  Truthfully, it suited my mother much better than me. It used to make me mad that SHE would get compliments when she drove it. No one ever made a remark to me. I must admit she did look adorable in it! She's tiny and cute, just like the bug, and her hair color matched the car!

In the end, though, it was an impractical car because it really couldn't haul much and if you had more than 2 passengers, it was kind of uncomfortable. But, for the three years I leased it I truly looked forward to driving it every day.  I still drive a VW - but not a bug. When my lease is up next year- I may lease another bug. But, this time I'm going to lease one that matches my hair color - whatever color it happens to be.