Auntie Dianne's Bear Story

Should I write about bears before I go to sleep?  Oh what the heck, why not you say?  Well, if ever I have a nightmare, it's usually about bears.  Awhile ago, I practiced a sort of self-taught therapy where you face your fears in your dreams.  I somehow overpowered a bear in my dream and thereafter I was okay for the longest time.  I have to remember that I am strong and powerful and after all, it's only a dream, right?

Okay, here is one of my bear stories, as written by my dearly departed Auntie Dianne.  Here's what she wrote as part of my 'celebrating 50 years' birthday tribute, put on by my family, but especially my party organizer extraordinaire daughter.  If you knew my Auntie Dianne, you will recognize her by the way she speaks, so here is her story.

     "Dear Carmen,   Here is a little story about your Mom that you may not have heard! 

     Long ago when Jean was a little girl she lived on a farm in Hudson Bay.  This area  was  considered  to be almost a frontier, wild and untamed.  Jean at this time was approximately  eight years old.

     One Friday night after work I drove to Hudson Bay to pick up Jean's Uncle Jerry and take him      back to Melfort.  Upon arriving at the Busby Farm and going into the house, it was very plain to see there was great excitement happening.  The table was set, the food was on the table and everyone's plate was piled high with food.  However, the only people sitting at the table were Jean, her Mom and her Grandma Busby.  A bear had been spotted and the hunters had lit out on its trail.  The hunters' of course being Jean's Dad Glen, Uncle Jerry, her Little Brother Doug and the hired man Bobby.

     Now having been raised on a farm and not being smart enough to be afraid Jean and I decided that we should join the hunt.  So we jumped in Uncle Jerry's new car and away we went out into the   middle of a field and parked the car in solid sand.  We very quietly got out of the car and started to    walk over to where the men were hunting.  I remember that Uncle Jerry was hiding behind a     disker, but I truly have no idea where the rest of the men were hiding.  We could see the wounded      bear up a tree and this was very exciting.  Just as Jean and I started to get close to where all the      action was happening Jerry yelled "the damn bear has come down out of the tree, and he is headed     this way.  Run Girls Run the bear is coming after you."  At this point I grabbed Jean by the hand      and we started to run back to the car.  Our adrenaline was pumping so hard that I was dragging      Jean behind me because I was older and had to save her from the bear.  Then I tripped in the      tangled grass, fell flat on my face and Jean still holding my hand kept right on running over top of      me, stepped on my head pushing my face down into the stinking grass.  Now you must realize that    I had a death grip on Jean because I had to save her from the bear!  As Jean helped me up we took      off running and finally reached the car with those words still ringing in our ears, as Glen yelled      "my God the bear is going to catch you Run Girls Run!"  We jumped into the car rolled up the      windows, locked the doors ...there was no way that bear was going to crawl in the window or open the door and get Jean.  I quickly started Jerry's car, threw it into reverse and floored it, promptly  burying the back wheels right up to the axles, all the while continuing to floor the car.  I bet we      were doing a hundred miles an hour and man was I driving.  However, we never moved.  The men
had to come and pull us out of the sand.  How Embarrassing!

     Needless to say as the years have passed, the story has been told, embellished and told again.  It is  wonderful to have such a hilarious memory of Jean and to be able to share it with her on her 50th    birthday!  Love, Auntie Dianne"


That's my Auntie Dianne alright.  It's true.  I really did step on her head as I ran over top of her to get away from the bear.  Can you imagine?  We were in an old farm yard on the south side of the Ridge Road.  There was this old abandoned hip-roofed barn sitting there without a speck of paint left on it and I think the big door was gone.  Whoever owned the place had those white, stacked honey bee boxes up against the bush.  A real attaction for a bear.  The bear in the tree, as it turned out was a baby.  Have you ever heard a bear cry?  It wails loudly and sounds almost exactly like a human baby.  I'll never forget that sound.  I can still hear him.  That poor little guy just cried and cried and cried.  I wonder where his mother was, but not far away I would suspect. 

Uncle Jerry really was hiding behind the disker and clutching his 22 rifle for all he was worth.  His eyes were like saucers, he was white as a ghost  and was shaking like a leaf.  He could barely talk. (He too passed away at a young age..59 to be exact.)  I can still see the look of disbelief on his face when he saw us two girls show up!  As you can imagine, he couldn't get us out of there fast enough.  Somehow though, I have a sneaking suspicion that my Dad was having a good laugh because I'm pretty sure if the bear was up in the tree and wounded, he sure wasn't going to chase after us.  Auntie Dianne says the bear had come down from the tree.   Maybe....but, I know my dad.  I know when he's laughing and teasing.  I knew darn well there was no bear coming, just by the sound of my Dad's voice... but just the look on Uncle Jerry's face was the part that scared me more than anything.  He really was scared, no doubt about it....but then again, so were we and I could run really fast given half a chance.  I remember her falling, me running over top of her and then realizing I couldn't just leave her there for the bear to get.  I remember helping her up and seeing that disgusted look on her face and then both of us laughing like crazy.

I do remember hardly being able to get into the car fast enough.  I remember her shaking fingers trying to get the key into the ignition and then once connected, her gunning the motor, sand flying everywhere, but still not moving an inch.  We were stuck and there was no moving, even if the bear did decide to come our way....which he didn't I might add.   I remember the men finding their way over to us shortly after and laughing like crazy about how dumb we must have looked.  I listened to Auntie Dianne tell them what happened and me feeling kind of bad, but not really.  Everybody was in such a frenzy about the bear that we became the biggest joke going.  I think it was to take the heat off of any of them and their fear.  After all, none of them were too expert at hunting bears.  Funny how we got sent home right away too...we were shooed off as fast as they could get us out of there, so that at least I for one never really knew what happened to the little bear in the tree.  I can only use my imagination and feel bad for the wee little fellow at what his future would hold.  After all, I was only a kid.

Like Auntie Dianne said, in the early sixties, to outsiders, Hudson Bay was still a pretty wild and woolly place.  I can remember visiting a family on the Ridge Road that had baby bears and fawns (baby deer) penned up in the living room.  My grandma, Auntie Hazel, Auntie Dianne, Mom and us kids and cousins stopped in to see these animals.  I guess it was kind of a big deal....a bit of an attraction, after all, how often do you find that today? Like never. 

Another time, our neighbour was trying to invite us for a meal of bear meat, but my Mom adamantly refused.  Thank goodness.  They say it is sweet, I hope I never have to find out.  Things were different back in those days.  I doubt I will ever have another opportunity to try bear meat again.  Somehow, I don't really feel that bad about it!
 

Bits and Pieces

     I just checked and saw that this week somebody from Serbia was reading my blog.  Once again I'm blown away by this and amazed at how small the world is getting.  Ain't technology wonderful?  To me, it wasn't that long ago that computers made their first debut.  In the grand scheme of things, three or four decades is a mere drop in the bucket.   I can remember a time when nobody had ever heard of such a thing.  In fact, I don't think we owned a computer until the late 1970's or early 1980's.  Just think, all the generations before us survived without wireless and 4G networks somehow.

     I was thoroughly entertained and impressed last night by watching a cross Canada travel show hosted by Scotsman Billy Connelly..Not sure if that's the right spelling, but I enjoyed his show.  He's hitting the high spots from coast to coast and started at Halifax - Pier 21 and  the Titanic burial grounds for instance.  He stopped at Cape Breton and visited a place where a man makes life-sized scarecrows.  There were at least 40 and many of famous people.   Billy noted all along how the cod are almost non-existent these days due to over-fishing, as you likely know.  He also talked about early explorers like John Cabot and Christopher Columbus who reported the cod as so plentiful, that a net wasn't even required.  All they had to do was to dip a basket overboard and it would instantly be full of fish. 

     Connelly went to the northern most point of Newfoundland and found people there who no longer fish for a living but who have turned to tourism.  They're claim to fame is the Viking.  They have what looks like a bomb shelter in the wall of a hill that is really a restaurant of sorts.  They dress up like Vikings and provide a truly unique experience to their visitors.  I believe it was some sort of bed and breakfast.  He stopped at Gander, NFLD, where their hospitality precedes them.  During 911, they had 39 jumbo jets re-routed and land there all at the same time.  The whole community lent a hand to feed and host the hundreds of stranded travellers for several days.

     David Suzuki is also a man I admire.  He has a show on T.V. that now includes his grown daughter.  She is every bit as passionate about the environment as her father and their travels around the world make for exceptional adventure.  A few years ago (quite a few), one of my university classes was about critical issues in Canadian society.  The prof was someone I never met, but most impressive.  Brian Puk.  (I've since read the odd letter to the editor he writes in the local newspaper).  The course was by distance and we had all these readings to do.  The ones that had the most impact on me were excerpts from Dr. David Suzuki.  He talked about things I'd never heard of.  Things like 'ghost nets' in the oceans that are simply nets cut away from boats and left to drift aimlessly in the water.  What they do is catch sea creatures, like dolphins, who can't get away and eventually die, trapped for eternity like that.  He talked about Victoria's dirty little secret - how the city of Victoria dumps their raw sewage directly into the Pacific Ocean.  (I think at one time so did Saskatoon and Edmonton, right into the good old Saskatchewan River).  I hope things have changed on that front!  It was the first time I'd heard how mother's breast milk was more contaminated in the Arctic that anywhere else, even Mexico City, which was really bad at one time.  He reported finding seals that have blisters all over their noses from the contaminants that find their way to the poles.

     It's never too late to learn...in fact being a life-long learner is what we all have to be so we don't stagnate.  I love history and loved writing papers about what I learned.  The whole voyages of discovery were fascinating to me.  I found out that the reason travel occurred to India in the first place was for the spices...not to mention the gold.  There were only ice boxes back then, and spices were used to cover up the taste of rancid meat.  I'm so glad somebody invented the fridge.  Way to go inventors!  Where was Dragon's Den back then?  Actually, these explorers were trying to get to China, but they couldn't go over land because of encountering what they called the 'dreaded infidels'.  That's why they travelled by ship down the coast of Europe and beyond.

     You have to marvel at all the discoveries, brilliance, futuristic thinking and planning that occurred over the centuries.  Even though they found things out the hard way, I think they may have been just as tough, if not tougher and more enterprizingm than any of us today. Back in the days of the plague, sanitation was not exactly a high priority.  In fact, in those days, people didn't seem to make the connection between filth and ill health.  They didn't know that it was the flea on the rat that was the carrier of the plague.  They didn't realize until it was too late that their sewage and drinking water should not be mixed, i.e. seep into each other.  Hospitals were horrific with the saying that you were better off recovering under a hedge than lying three to a bed in a louse-filled, hot and dirty room.  Public health was at an all time low.

     After the onslaught of the Bubonic Plague, it didn't take long for them to start putting two and two together.  They were sick and tired of living in the black darkness. The fever ships moored in the harbors during the Irish Famine were a real attempt to segregate the sick from the healthy. That Irish Famine was the catalyst for many of our Irish ancestors, who had no choice, but to leave their native land and sail to North America, or starve.  Florence Nightingale advocated for so many things, but the biggest impact in my mind was her cry for "fresh air" and clean drinking water.  She realized as far back as the days of the Crimean War that fresh air was necessary for good health and survival and not something to take for granted or avoid.  You can imagine what it was like riding on a ship across the ocean, many ill, with little food or water.  It's interesting that many of these early immigrants landed at Pier 21 in Halifax.  :-)

     You can't beat the stories of the early explorers who made their way across the ocean.  One had visited the 'natives' on the North American shores several times.  On his last visit, he sat helplessly in his ship a safe distance away and watched in horror while the initial boat loads of crew who had gone ashore first were killed and eaten by cannibals. This same group of natives had welcomed them with open arms on earlier visits.  In between times, however, other explorers had raped and pillaged their villages, and that served to change their whole point of view about these strange travellers who had entered their midst.  Another explorer and his crew travelled North and met with what are today called the Inuit.  In those days, as you know, they were called Eskimos.  (If you're writing a paper, you will get marks taken off if you don't use 'Inuit'...also you must say humankind instead of mankind....just a few little tips..)  The explorers were treated royally to begin with, but eventually, the bad habits and behavior of the visitors were thought to have contributed to their never being heard from again...probably turned out onto an ice flo to fend for themselves.

     I found out that Hitler, as a youth, was a runner of messages in World Ward 1.  He would physically run up and down the trenches, behind the front lines amongst soldiers dead and alive holding guns and bayonettes.  He delivered word and directives to the officers and men. Perhaps this ultimately dangerous work contributed to his hatred for others and love of power as the years wore on.

     I also discovered that the high towers in the ancient castles of Europe were built like that more than just for aesthetics.  If you've never noticed, the tall tower has a window that allowed boiling water or oil to be poured down upon the heads of marauding invaders.         Brutal, yet effective.  Not just for Rapunzel to let down her long hair..

     The stories of royalty are equally intriguing. Of course, royal bloodlines predominated as a prerequisite to sitting on the throne (irregardless of whether the person was mentally sound or even of age).  Murders by various means such as poisoning and beheadings were common.  Adultery and being locked in dungeons and wasting away from starvation in chains, occurred more often than not. Methods of torture and execution were barbaric.  People would have all their limbs tied and then be  stretched until they were torn apart.  I think they called it the "rack".

     If you're looking for some astounding reading, or if you want to understand why they say history repeats itself, just pick up a history book and start reading.  Pre or post rennaisance...it doesn't matter, but keeping track of what was happening with art and sculpture after the rennaisance alone is enough to give you a full-time career if you take the time and choose to be interested.  Did you know that at one point, all the art and sculptures were of men?  To begin with, when women were eventually included, their bodies were designed and crafted just like a man's, complete with muscled arms, legs, chest etc.  I expect the reason was because really, who would be allowed to be the model in those ultra conservative time periods?  As you know, things did change and there are spectacular paintings and statues all over the world that tell a different tale from every age and culture.

    So many great authors, artists and painters emerged, such as  Leonardo da Vinci whose works are well known, because his paintings have become part of our world's heritage.  He too was an inventor, inventing things like scissors and flying machines.  His work in the Cistene Chapel occurred on his back over several years.  His Mona Lisa smile has intrigued multitudes all these centuries.  Anyone who has seen the  daVinci Code will have had their memories refreshed about him and his work.  Today we have rap and grafitti...Some day in the future, they may be mavelling at how brilliant these works are.  We just scratch our heads.

     In fact, architectural designs over the centuries and across continents are fascinating and worth studying.   If you can afford to travel, paying attention to the uniqueness of our world is a large part of understanding how humankind has evolved in every corner.  By paying attention to history and our neighbours in our own country, we learn to understand more fully where we are going in life.  Like John Edwards showed me today, we are the You in You-niverse!


    
 

I can see peeling paint when I close my eyes

Believe it or not..  I've had over 1,200 people looking at my blog from all around the world.  It makes me really happy every time I check who my audience is.  This week I have three new people reading from the United Kingdom!  Thrilling! 

So it was back to work for me today and for the next six weeks at least, I'll be covering two portfolios.   Everybody was in a great mood and happy to be back after a long, relaxing summer.  I guess you could say that technically I've been on holidays because I did take a few days and go to the lake at the end of July, and I also sort of had another few days off last week.  In between times, I took a summer job working as a nurse for home care.  Oh those patients, they are the best.  Nice to make new friends and learn more about this beautiful city.  I had three weeks of full-time orientation in July, learned scads of stuff, and then worked three shifts a week for most of August.

In between times, there was a flood at my regular office and I had a big project to keep me out of mischief at home.  I wanted to repaint my garage door.  A simple thing.  The paint was peeling when I bought the place two years ago, and it hasn't improved.  It had some kind of really heavy duty, oil-based paint on it (epoxy?) and I wanted to change the new finish to a water-based stain.  Why (everybody asks)?  Because stain doesn't crack and peel in the hot sun like oil-based paint...at least I don't think it does.  My vision is that when I eventually have to re-stain, then that's all I'll have to do....not all this scraping/sand-o-rama rigamarole that I did this year.  (Incidentally, I do have experience in this, because I re-did my back deck last summer).  I think I must have some sort of affliction that drives to do these ignorant jobs....  :-( 

Keep in mind to get to the goal isn't exactly easy because you can't put latex over oil.  So readying the surface means scraping and sanding ad nauseum, then repeat.  All the old coats have to go.  The first step of paint loosening, chipping away paint, scraping, wire brushing, rasping and you-name-it  took me weeks.  The sanding was about a day, while the staining happened over a couple of days. In the end, I had nearly worn out my hands, wrists and forearms and had to apply ice paks for several hours on the final day. It was worth it.

I had to smile and eventually learn to hold my tongue at all the passersby who watched me working away during those hot summer days.  They most often had a word of wisdom or two or a tiny suggestion here and there.  Over time, it was obvious some were frustrated with my slow progress and concerned that I was overdoing it.  "Don't work too hard" was pretty common, and mostly everyone said what a big job it was.  No kidding.  Some shook their heads, others clucked their tongues.  Others came right out and told me that I was doing it all the hard way.   A common thread was that I could blast the paint off with a pressure washer instead..  What they didn't know was that I had already applied two coats of paint remover gel which has to stay wet as much as possible.  Every time I used the garden hose to wet things down, the water ran into the garage into a low spot on one side.  That side just happened to be where my two electric deep freezes sit.  Somehow, the pressure washer was a little over the top. 

I didn't plan very well with the first coat of gel, because in the midst of scraping the now loosened, long rolling curly Q's of paint off , I had to go out somewhere in my vehicle and that meant opening the garage door.  All those wet chips and pieces of sticky paint and crudded up paint remover gel went flying and dripping down everywhere as I opened the overhead door (onto my red vehicle specifically) which was parked in it's place (inside the garage)...Since I didn't have the foresight to hose it down right away, it dried and stuck there. I had been preoccupied with trying to suck up the unwanted water with the shop vac prior to leaving and ignored the fact that all that muck had dropped onto me and stuck too.  Since I didn't have time to rush in and sponge myself off, no wonder I was getting funny looks.

I had tried a test section using oven cleaner as a paint remover last year and found it really does work, but is even messier and probably more toxic than the commercial paint removal concoctions.  I had researched paint removers on the internet and got so excited when I read about oven cleaner that I rushed out and bought six cans.  When it came time, I was all gung ho, but a male friend urged me not use it.  He didn't really have a good reason, but I tend to defer to others more knowledgeable and in the end, spent $69 for a half gallon pail of something less caustic.  I noticed there were really no bugs bothering me, so they must not have liked it.  I did end up with a sore throat every day while using it, but that doesn't count I guess.  Incidentally, I have a lawn with weeds, but my neighbour who is a scientist forbids me to use chemical weed killer because like he says, they cause cancer in the weed, so what do you think they'll do to you?  Him, I believe.  Incidentally, I've cleaned three ovens this summer, and am getting pretty good at it.

A male friend helped stave off the chance of electrocution by flood waters in the garage by raising the deep freeze closest to the door up onto two - two by four's, so at least it wasn't sitting directly in the newly created puddles on the cement floor.  It took me awhile, but eventually (another day) I realized I could set up a barricade made of plastic and boards, so it wasn't so easy for the water to pool into that corner.   The resulting garbage bags didn't look too professional, but served the purpose.  At that point, I almost tried the pressure washer, but the paint was so unbelievably stuck on, I seriously doubt it would have worked.

Another fellow came along one day and offered to lend me both of his sanders.  As it turns out, I have my own.  I have an old rectangular sander which I used as well as another pretty professional-looking belt sander.  I realized that the sanders wouldn't be of much value until I got rid of the big pieces and chunks of paint.  I just had to get rid of the majority of the old paint first and leave the sanding as a final step before staining.  I used coarse sandpaper and a wire screen type of material on the rectangular sander.   When I finally did use the belt sander, I was at the bitter end of scraping and had to wear goggles and a face mask.  I hadn't done so and realized I needed to because of the fine sawdust collecting in my eyes...but man, it was 29 and 30 degrees celsius temperatures, and awfully suffocating work. 

A most extraordinary thing happened when I pulled out the power tools.  The collective neighbourhood sigh of relief was almost palpable...especially from the men.  They had been forced to sit back and watch me for days, as I was reduced to struggling with anything that remotely worked as a scraper.  My best tool was a type of razor blade (thanks Home Depot) and several  different-sized putty knives.  I used a butter knife from the kitchen drawer for all of the rounded moulding edges.  But, I guess the manual scraping was taking it's toll on everybody, not just me.   A fellow showed up one day and brought me his heat gun, almost begging me to use it....something I still have to return.  Unfortunately, it didn't work, probably because the door was wet.  It was a small version of a hair dryer from what I could tell.  Supposedly, you just have to heat up the paint and it peels off like nobody's business.  Great for furniture I guess. 

A tidbit about what works for furniture stripping came to me long ago from a lady in Hudson Bay.  She used to douse furniture with lye soap out on the lawn in a tub of water.  She recommended wearing rubber gloves, ha ha....

When I finally got to the staining, I realized I had to put the first coat on with a paint brush, because of all the nooks and crannies.  The garage door is white with brown trim.  I gave it two coats of white and then thought one coat of brown would do.  Not quite.  Every brush stroke showed.  In the meantime a man called out that I was really doing it the hard way.  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I answered, "Believe me, if I knew what the easy way was, I would be doing it."  I waited for him to share his much revered secret, but he just laughed and strode off.  Now I was getting ticked.  A lady slowed as she drove by and rolled her window down.  She asked if I was almost done and then smirked about how much scraping I'd put into it....I'm not sure what look I gave her, because she quickly back peddled with, "you've done an awful lot of work, and it's looking great"....After that, I couldn't wait to be done.  I was getting embarrassed...  I immediately retired the paint brush and broke out a tiny roller for the fastest final coat of brown paint on record.  My hands never hurt so much as after using that piece of crap....but I was done at 10:45 a.m. on August 19...a Sunday no less. 

What really made it all worthwhile was an  elderly gentleman and his wife who were visiting in the area.  They were loading their car to leave as I was putting the final touches on.  As they went to leave, he hollered across the street to tell me what a beautiful job I had done.  Awhhh...My whole mood lifted.  My spirit soared.  No longer was I feeling bad.  Suddenly I was elevated to project completion...because I knew I had done a great job!  I backed up and took a long hard look.  He was right, it was beautiful.  Yes, I guess I am meticulous and a slow worker, and maybe I do things the hard way, but darn it, why not... because it sure feels good when it's all over. 

Simple Things

It's the simple things in life that truly make me happy, not the convoluted and complicated ones.  I had almost forgotten the simple joy of riding in a vehicle with the windows rolled down.  The situation came about yesterday, because of some funky smell in my SUV.  It was evening and I started out by driving down Spadina Crescent, along the river bank.  I powered every window down, even opened the sun roof.  The sun, wind and humidity were just right and the air was oh, so fresh!  I hardly ever do this, but was quite thrilled at how exhilarating it felt.  I got to wondering why I don't do it more often.
I vaguely recalled what led to my overlooking and almost discarding this lovely way of driving.

Bugs are one.  Getting hit on the cheek or eye or mouth by a wayward insect makes you want to go for the window roller upper pretty quick.  I was scraping paint off the outside of my house yesterday and a mammoth dragonfly flew into the garage door and then did the most startling things...it was a form of the "chicken" really.  The buzzing noise he made was frightening, and he flew all over the place, in a confused thrashing way, poor thing.  I was ducking and getting out of his road at every turn.  The fluttering and grinding of his anntennae, legs and big wings is something I never want to come in contact with.  In my books, I want to avoid insect fluttering anywhere near me especially that of moths, who tend to shed a grey powder.   So, bugs should be avoided when possible, whether on horseback, riding a bike or whatever, you can easily be "taken out" by an insect, and... when you least expect it!  I got hit hard on the cheek by a massive bumble bee one afternoon, on a Honda 50 when I was about 16...we were only half way home.  Now that hurt!

If you slow down with your windows open, especially on a cloudy, muggy day (but any day really),  black flies, mosquitoes, horseflies, no see um's, etc. usually sense the opportunity for fair game and go for it.  These creatures dive bomb and bite and leave you itching or bleeding or both. Some you feel in the moment and can swat, but mostly you find out because you start to scratch some time later.  You know, it's those pesky females that do it, because apparently, the males are more docile, or just not built that way (at least for the mosquitoes)..

Wasps, hornets, and spiders are others who seem to find their way inside your car by accident and might have to sting you while trying to find their way back out.  The result isn't the innocent mosquito bite, it's more like an injection of painful venom that may or may not cause you to have a severe reaction.  You will definitely feel it exactly when it happens...no doubt.  Most people can count on one hand how many bee stings they've ever had in their life. They can vividly recount exactly what they were doing at the time.  When my son was about four, we were in the straweberry patch on our acreage.  His little blue jeans had a gap at the waistband at the back.  He was down on his hands and knees playing and a monolith bumble bee started to crawl down the gaping area.  His dad saw this and whacked our little boy hard on the backside in order to kill the bee.  Oh dear, it was a bee sting and a hit all at the same time....Yes, there was loud wailing involved, but there was no loss of limb and he has grown up to be a fine man.... In fact, you may not know you have an allergy to bee stings until it happens and then know that the plan will include a quick trip to the nearest emergency department for a shot of adrenalin! 

Not only that, but all the swatting and enticing of the biting insect, (i.e. bee) out of the cab of the vehicle may cause you, the driver, to swerve all over the road. Not pretty...This erratic driving, to the surrounding drivers, could look like drunk driving, and there's a number to report that.  You could find yourself up in front of a magistrate, explaining yourself faster than a cat on a hot tin roof (or a dragonfly, temporarily head-injured from hitting the garage door)!  Driving with the windows rolled up in the first place might have been smarter in the long run.


Another excuse to keep the windows up on a summer's day is rain.  No point in getting wet or God forbid splashed by a semi on the highway or a speeding demon on some city street.   The chance of having lightning come in through the car window or sun roof is also not pretty, so better play it safe.  On the other hand, especially in cities, sometimes during a downpour, the water can't get away fast enough through the street drains and flooding occurs.  In low-lying areas, like underpasses, the water can get too deep within minutes.  In the past, as some of you may remember, this has caused serious consequences, including loss of life.  Maybe when approaching a situation like this, having even one window down would serve to be an escape route, if worse came to worse.  That's only my opinion though, just a thought that crossed my mind.  Why I got to always riding with the windows rolled up tightly, even when it's not raining, is mainly habit though, because as you know, it doesn't rain every day.

As you may have guessed, I am nothing if not practical and safety-conscious. My kids as they got older used to tease me when I reminded them about taking their raincoats, etc.  They used to say things to the effect that I wanted them to wear their space outfits and boots wherever they went, just as a cautionary measure....We would laugh together....To my mind, that was a perfectly normal request!  I think most mothers and fathers would agree.   :-)

In my defense though there are other valid reasons.  Obviously, the freezing cold of winter is a deterrant to rolled down windows.  Who wants to freeze their noses, ears or digits off just to get some fresh air...enough to last you all day at work in an office where there are no windows?  I guess not me.    But....there are days, even in winter when the temperature soars and the sun shines brightly....so why not roll down the windows and open the sun roof?  My excuse?   It never crossed my mind.  Don't get me wrong, I have been known to open the windows a crack in the dead of winter.


So now, it's been summer officially for a couple months, but in reality only for the last couple of weeks.   Why not roll the windows down and ride like the wind or even while parked?  Well.....what about vandals?  What about thieves?  What about blowing dirt and big dogs running loose?  I recently listened to directives for work that say you need to keep everything of any value out of sight in your vehicle.  Even loose change!  They said your garage door opener is an appealing target, because thieves steal it along with your car registration (from the glove box) and then go break into your house.  But let's be realistic.  There is NOT a boogey man under every bed!  In reality, 80% of people are wonderful and 20% are something else.  The odds of you getting affected by crime or randomness is pretty minimal, don't you think?....But then again, Karma can be fairly nasty.   Oh joy!  On the occasions when I have had the opportunity (basically out of necessity) to eat lunch in my car in an unsavoury neighbourhood,  I have tended to throw caution to the wind and roll down the windows anyway...especially if there's no one around.   Oh, and by the way....keep your heads up.  I'ts important to keep track of what's happening around you at all times.  Just a little more fodder :-)

What of these 20%?  Well....What about when you get to a stop sign or red light?  The other day I sat at a red light beside a carload (I mean, six or eight people in an old model, run down something).  They were enjoying their music blaring with all the windows rolled down :-)...  They were obviously "on" something and some had the typical facial features of fetal alcohol syndrome (poor souls).  They were happy as anything, and waving at me and giving me the thumbs up.  They obviously thought everyone would love their music as much as they did.   I smiled back and returned the thumbs up, all the while quaking in my boots with my foot itching to jump off the brake and floor the gas pedal!  I thought about it later....maybe I would benefit from being "on" something, but at the time, I was happy as anything to have my automatic door locks on, my windows rolled up and sun roof firmly secured.  There.

Letter to my dad

Dearest dad,

I'm writing you this letter for Father's Day, even though you've been gone from this world since December 26, 1992.  That's 20 years ago this year, and really hard to believe.  You were only 67 years old, so today you would be 87!  You would be happy to hear that my little sister is starting to look so much like you I can hardly believe it.  Maybe it's her new glasses and that she's turning 50 today.  You've missed so much since you left.  The most important of all are the additions to our big family.  We've added new husbands and wives, but especially all sorts of new children were born.  You have eight great grandchildren who have never had the pleasure of meeting you.  They are the apple of everyone's eye.  Luckily for all of us, you passed along your secrets of how to treat and love kids, because that's something you did so well and were known for.  I had someone tell me you were an "angel of a man", and she was certainly right.

We have all missed you sorely.  We took years to get over it, but as time wore on, we've come to terms and even though we think of you often, we've had to put one foot in front of the other and slowly get on with our lives.  The day of your funeral was the coldest day on record.   The wind blew, it stormed and it approached 50 below zero.  Seemed like you didn't want to leave either. Auntie Dianne had similiar weather, so I don't think she was really ready either...  There have been other losses of family and old friends, but we are comforted to know you are all together.  The loss of your teen-aged grandson, was especially hard.  You, him, Merton, and Auntie Dianne must make quite the merry bunch to add to all the other family and friends already there.  I'm a person who saves cards from funerals, and they are really beginning to pile up!

You know what I miss the most?  Sitting on the couch in the crook of your arm.  Probably watching some TV show like Bonanza.  Me playing with the hair on your forearms.  I miss you tucking me into bed at night when I was a little girl.  Every night without fail you would come in and talk to me and kiss me good night.  We always had big hugs. Those are memories that can never be taken away.  I miss your impromptu visits after I got married and moved away.  If you were in the vicinity, you would be at my house.  Being in the funeral business in those days, sometimes you set the neighbourhood all a-twitter by showing up driving the hearse.  Well after all, you might have had to make a trip to whereever I lived all in the line of work.  No point in missing the opportunity to visit your family if the chance arose.  You had no qualms about telling me my bathroom needed cleaning either.  There again,  I wasn't afraid to hand you the toilet brush and it wasn't beneath you to use it!  You would help me with whatever I needed, if only I asked. 

My own children grew up knowing their grandparents very well.  They loved you both as much as I did and loved going to your house for a visit.  As the years went by and they got older, the visits would sometimes be for weeks on end during the summer. Somehow, having them around seemed to make you and mom younger.  Sitting on your knee or letting them lay down for a nap with you made such a mark in their lives.  They loved going to the fair, the same as we did when we were kids.  You and mom always went and made sure they had lots of rides, games and candy floss.  We all loved going out to see you at the farm.  You often had pop and chocolate bars or some other treat for us when we showed up.  You would make time and be happy as anything to see us.

We loved to go with mom to take meals to the field during harvest.  You would be driving the combine and I can see you in your coveralls, jumping down and walking toward us to this day.  Mom would make big meals of meat and potatoes and the whole crew, including us and the hired men would eat voraciously. Sitting on the tail gate of the truck or just on the ground in the stubble beside the car was absolutely the best.  I didn't know the difference, but was told you were such a great farmer.  We got to ride on the combine for a short while with you if we wanted to.  I remember coming home from school one day and finding out that you broke one of your fingers.  You'd  caught your ring on the metal stairs coming down off the combine.  I don't believe you wore rings while working much after that.  I remember you being happy about the insurance you got for the broken finger though!  I remember you telling us about the wildlife you would encounter while combining into the wee hours of the morning.  Bears, coyotes, foxes, deer, moose they were thick at Hudson Bay near the newly broken land. 

I distinctly remember having a discussion with you about money.  Of course, I was going to university and thought I knew everything.  I think we were talking about who I should be dating and it would be nice if the person had money.  A sort of a philosophical conversation.  I was quite insensed and said, "dad, money isn't everything you know!"  I mean, who on earth would stoop to marrying someone for their money?  His answer was so succinct and to the point...."no, but it sure helps."  Those kinds of things have stuck with me. 

When we visited you in the hospital, your face would light up and you would be so happy.  I wish I would have stayed longer on each and every one of my visits.  I was always having to leave and get on the road...and you were always wanting me to stay longer....I wish now that I had made those visits last much longer than I did.

You were a practical joker and one of the things I still have as a reminder is a shoe box full of safety pins.  I guess I mentioned I need some once.  You wrote "To Jean Love Dad" in black jiffy marker on the top.  I think of you every time I see that box.  I have pictures of you, but not nearly enough.  I wish I had so many more, but there again, I don't.  If anybody has any pictures of my dad, I would absolutely love to have copies.   I think that's one of the best gifts you can give somebody...photos of their loved one that you might have sitting in your closet.  They really mean the world to someone.

Dad, your shop was always as neat as a pin.  You could fix most things, and even though it might take you awhile to figure it out, you would be successful in the end.  I remember your set of funny-looking open drawers that were full of screws, nuts, bolts, nails, and you name it.  You had them all sorted out  in this really orderly fashion.  You were a big game hunter and kept us fed with moose meat most years.  We often had company staying at the farm and many of them came to Hudson Bay to hunt big game.  Your shop was the place you hung the meat.  When I think of all the buildings on that farm....all the equipment....all the land...I wonder how you had any time for yourself.  I used to wonder how come you'd go to bed right after supper in seeding and harvest and be up by 5:00 a.m.  I thought you were crazy.  I remember you asking me why I didn't go to bed earlier.  Well, I was a teenager and I thought it was cool to stay up until 11pm and then sleep in..  (Mom made sure I did my quota of housework and cooking...lucky for me or I would be useless in the house today).  Now I know why you had to do that. 

I remember you saying things to me like I might lay an egg if I kept laughing.  You teased us kids and laughed and when we got mad or pouted you'd say "bad old dad"...I remember you saying things like, "oh yeah, wear out the old stuff first".  You meant, we were asking you to do something we were perfectly capable of doing ourselves.

I still think you had some mid-Victorian values and ideas though.  You were ultra conservative about many things.  Now I understand why, but at the time when I was a teenager, I wanted to talk openly about everything including the birds and the bees.  You put mom up to that.  I guess I'm mid-Victorian too, because when she tried to have "the talk" with me, I said  she didn't have to because I already knew "everything"....even though I really knew nothing.  I think my face was flaming red for three days after.  Neither you nor I were quite ready for the sixties I guess!  You dad, had a knack for knowing what to do or say when I really needed someone.  After a tiff with my boyfriend, you came out and sat on the step with me in the dark and told me one thing.  You said, and I will never, ever forget this...  "No boy is ever going to love you the way I do."  I said, "I know dad."   It made me cry, but turns out, you were right.

Dad, I always loved listening to you sing.  You sang so much when I think of it. You'd be working away and just singing...mostly songs off the radio, I guess. You whistled too.  You were a good dancer and took us to all the community hall dances.  I just don't know what ever happened to  events that were so much fun for the whole family.  Dad, you would come in from the field and for entertainment would take the whole family for a drive around the country looking at the crops.  We loved those intimate family times.  We'd stop and get out and walk  a little ways into the field, imitating your  every move.  You brushed  your hands over the heads of the barley, waved your hands through the grain, and so did we.  You cracked the heads of the wheat open and ate the grain inside...so did we.  We'd watch the sun as it started to set.  You were one helluva driver when you were looking at the crops though...even I remember that.  Even so, you drove thousands of miles on combines, tractors and trucks and when I realized I couldn't see well at night to drive, it was you that I handed the wheel to.  It was you who let my son drive with you to the lake, when I was such a basket case around a brand new driver.  You were on morphine by this time, and I said you were so brave because you were under the influence.  You would have done it regardless, but I'm a teaser too.

Dad, you were so handsome.  Your hair was never out of place and you always liked your clothes pressed, even if they were for out working in the field and riding on the tractor.  I so wish you were still here, but I would never have wanted you to continue on with the pain and suffering you were going through.  I just always wanted to have you with me and I always will.  I carry you in my heart and soul forever.  Your are as much a part of me as I am of you.  Until we meet again, my dearest dad.

Did I tell you the one about....

Did I tell you the one about one time when I was working on a hospital ward as a nurse?  I wore no cap that day, but  was wearing a white uniform dress.  I was covering over the lunch hour for another nurse's patient.  He was an elderly male who was dying in a room across from the desk and had family members with him.  I knew even though my own assignment was crazy busy, that I still needed to check on him. I had been told he wouldn't be living very many more hours, since mottling of his lower extremities was present and he was having regular apneic spells.  I walked into the room, only to find the sun streaming in through the window enveloping him and the entire bed.  It was one of those times where you can see the lit-up dust particles floating in the air, if you know what I mean.  I didn't speak, just quietly tip-toed in.  He heard me I guess and turned his head toward me.  All of sudden, he smiled and cried out in wonderment, "an angel!" You may not believe this, but he died right then and there. I stood for a minute, rooted to the spot, thinking he had mistaken me for an angel because of my white uniform and blonde hair.  Then I wondered if I didn't have someone walking beside me from another world or dimension that he could see and I couldn't.  I guess I will never know.  I walked up to his bedside still in shock, took out my stethoscope and listened for a heartbeat.  There was none.  I was astounded and of course, it was something I will never forget.

Another late evening, after dark, when the hallways were vacant and the visitors had gone home, a lady patient I was caring for started telling me she had just had her deceased relatives come to visit her.  She was ecstatic and described to me in fairly vivid detail who all she talked to.  Although I held her hands and marvelled right along with her at the excitement of it all, the whole idea rattled me.  I talked it over with my nursing partner and we both had seen enough TV shows to know it could mean something ominous.   Even though everything about her had been normal for the entire day, we decided she would bear close watching.  I called her doctor as a safeguard and told him what had happened.  Sure enough, as the night progressed, her vital signs became more and more erratic to the point that I did indeed have to carry out the orders the doctor had given, should she take a turn for the worst.  I had told him of her odd circumstances and to my relief he had no misgivings or qualms that my suspicions were not correct.  He did not argue whatsoever or make me feel like I was blowing her condition out of proportion.   If he hadn't listened to me, I think she would have headed somewhere else besides earth on that night.  It was uncanny. 

Quite a long time later, I sat with my aunt as she struggled to pass away.  I had arrived at the hospital back home as her family member and not as a nurse.  Some of my family had been to see her in the afternoon and she was talking and laughing.  It was supper time when I got there and the minute I walked into the room, I recognized the signs.  She had the distinctive breathing pattern associated with dying....the death rattle.  She was no longer conscious.  I stayed with her during the night, since she and my uncle had no children of their own.  He was terribly unwell himself and the kindly hospital powers that be allowed him to be admitted into the bed next to her.  He slept off and on and worried about her all night.  She was turned and attended to by the nurses regularly during those long hours.  She was working really hard with her breathing and it was a sad thing to watch.  Come lunch time the next day, my Mom and I talked my uncle into leaving the room to go eat some lunch downstairs in the cafeteria.  When we returned, there was the tell-tale light I had seen before surrounding her and the hospital bed she lay in.  There were the shining dust particles floating through the air.  She never regained consciousness, but within minutes of our return, she gave her last breath, along with a sound that was almost like an exclamation of relief as a final noise.  My uncle was devastated and immediately showed the one and only display of anger I had ever seen on him.  He was standing up, holding onto his walker. He picked the walker up and slammed it down on the floor and asked, "why did I go down for lunch?"  Awwhh...it was such a sad day. 

I know from other experiences with those who are dying that they seem to develop a sixth sense or something.  They sometimes wait until family leaves the room, or hang on for longer than seems humanly possible while they wait for a certain loved one to arrive.  Unfinished human interaction and touch needs to be attended to before they can go it seems.  Although I have always heard, "when it's your time, it's your time"...I do wonder...are things really as random as we think?  Unexplainable happenings always give all of us pause to wonder about the very nature of life's miracles.

Friends

Friends....over a lifetime we all make a multitude of friends and acquaintances.  Some come into our lives and stay, but others are like the revolving door.  Some keep resurfacing, because just when you wonder if you'll ever see them again, there they are.  Some are there when you need them, some aren't. You are there for some and for others you aren't.  Some friends you might not have talked to in years, yet when you do reconnect it's like you've never been apart.  You know each other's every nuance, every smirk, every frown.  You and your friend both know when to talk, but also when to listen.  You and your friend have  been the shoulder to cry on the and the one who has done the crying.

The important thing about being a friend is that you care for the other person and you know they care about you.  You truly care about what happens to them and their family and likewise for them about you.  You feel this deep underlying sense of respect for the person and it is returned with full force.  Often a friend, at least from my point of view, is someone that you can learn from and vice versa.  I like to look at a friend and find one or more qualities that I can aspire to.  Some are excellent cooks, others awesome housekeepers or stupendous mothers or fathers.  Some are fabulous drivers, strong of character, wise in the ways of the world, smart with their money, brilliant with numbers, and role models in all sorts of ways. Some are fabulous dressers with fancy shoes, purses, jackets and outfits to die for.  Some have their houses decorated to the nines and it takes your breath away.  Just when you can't bear the look of anything around your house or any of the clothes in your closet, you get a boost by even a short visit with a friend.  Some friends are nothing like that, because their forte is personality, and their house may be lying in rack and ruin and their wardrobe is frumpy and made up of hand-me-downs or garage sale items.  These friends really give me inspiration.   I just want to rush home and clean my house and be happy with the clothes I've got.  I see that they've found great outfits even at bargain prices and it makes me love garage sales all the more!

Sometimes the shape  of a friend's body can serve as an inspiration to me.  If I'm feeling fat (trust me, I have NEVER felt too thin), I'm motivated by an overweight friend.  I'm also influenced directly by a friend that is svelte and sleek.  Whether the friend is overweight or has the figure of a model, each makes me want to do something better to improve my look.  I get a whole new lease on life to get back to exercising, eating right and trying to look a little more stylish.  Hairdos have the same effect.  If I'm growing my hair out (I have very fine, dirty blonde hair) I will realize I look like a scrag when I see a friend who is letting her's grow out if it makes her look unkempt.  Presto, it's off to the hairdresser for me.  If I see a friend with a chic new cut, it makes me want to improve my look too.  You see, friends can hold alot of power over our self image and we can do the same for them. 

If you have achieved something in your life that others can aspire to, that quality will be shining through.  That quality is something  I would like to see you bottle, metaphorically speaking, and share with others, especially me.  I, for one,  would dearly love for you to show me how you reached that certain lofty goal...like becoming that seamstress or quilter.  How did you learn how to build that lovely house or plant that exquisite garden?  Where did you get the ideas for all your award-winning parties and your flamboyant personality that everyone is drawn to?  Teach me, because I love to be enlightened, and I'm certainly not unique in this trait.  After all, I'm all about living in the light and shedding any form of darkness (except for sleeping and enjoying the end of the day).  I think most people are like this....always striving to find the good. 

Friends who have found their way in life may be envied by others, but their real friends only look at them and feel inspired.  Seeing your friend succeed in their career or build and maintain a profound and devout sense of spirituality and/or religion gives others strength...especially  friends.  Seeing young mothers caring devotedly for their children, while juggling everything else in life motivates everyone around them, but especially their friends and support groups.

They say we make very few 'true friends' in our lifetime, yet we have hundreds of acquaintances.  I find it harder to be the friend who reaches out and makes the call.  I may be thinking of the person, but get wound up in my own life.  Contrary to my behaviour, my true friends continue to call me, to come and visit and to make me feel like a worthwhile person.  I'm sorry to say that I take friendships for granted, yet they continue on, year after year, no questions asked.  The old adage, 'we can choose our friends, but we can't choose our relatives' was said tongue in cheek, but some of our best and truest friends may indeed be our relatives!

Who gets your brand of humour?  Likely your family and friends. Laughter is the best medicine and who better to do it with than friends, true friends, acquaintances, family and long lost relatives.   Even the guy at the grocery store, the taxi driver, or the man who knocks on your door can appreciate a friend.  Cherish all friends, both old and new... Make a friend.  Have a laugh and bring some joy and light into the world.