Am I Out to Lunch?

When I was in Grade 9 our history that you was British History.  I became especially enthralled with the Tudor era and read a great deal on Henry VIII and his 6 wives.  We learned about the rules of wedlock through Henry’s machinations to get his divorce from Catherine of Aragon, his dead brother’s wife.

          So maybe I am a little old fashioned by I have a huge problem with The Young & Ridiculous’s latest story line with Victor, currently having an affair with his ex-daughter-in-law (twice over).  Granted, this is a stupid soap opera but seriously am I the only way completely repulsed by this type of story?  I understand that the sister soap The Bold & the Beautiful has had even more wildly incestuous relationships on the show. 

          I have boycotted Y&R several times in the past over storylines but I think I am going to have to call it quits for good this time.

A Spoonful of Sugar

Mom was reading over my shoulder yesterday and her next comment on the blog title “what about a spoonful of sugar”?

       Tonight Mom looks really tired, she had been doing all kinds of laundry, housekeeping, handholding and sitting in the sun to the point that she looked very bedraggled.  As she sat there on the sofa I said

“Mom, go to bed early tonight, you look tired.”

“It’s my hair, it drags me down.” And she pulled it up out of her eyes.  I couldn’t help but laugh and then I said “well, stop that now.”

But it is true that a woman never feels her best when her hair looks like a scarecrow’s.  I make it a rule to never look at myself once I’ve got my hair done to my satisfaction.  Do not look in a mirror for the rest of the day because if I don’t look as good as when I left the house I will be destroyed.  I will make bad decisions.  I will get cranky.  I will hang up on people.  So do not look in the mirror. And people, whatever you do, don’t tell me by word, look or deed that I am not looking my best.  I will be devastated! 

And calling all men – whatever you do, don’t be honest with your wife.  At all costs, avoid the subject of hair with your wife.  I know my father tiptoed around the subject as much as possible.  My mother hardly ever got mad, angry or upset, but we were all extremely careful around her when a party was in the offing. 

Hair is a sensitive topic in our house.

Right now I am not in the same room with my mother.  I talked about hair.

My bad.

Sunny Days

I woke up from a frightful nightmare and then I was reading my book on Nazi Germany with my morning coffee so I was a little anxious as I headed out for my walk this morning.  But the green crops, soft blue sky and the red farmhouse in the distance soon set me to rights.  As I walked along I began to de-stress, enjoying the crackling noise of the red winged blackbird as they tried to deter me from my path.  As I walked I looked at the happy hunting grounds, also known as the Catholic cemetery and thought about other graveyards I’ve visited over the years.  I thought about the red and white crispness of the cemetery at Læso and then I wandered into other matters.

          As often as we are told that I walk is good for a person, how often do we actually take that advice when we find ourselves stressed about something which we don’t have any control over anyway?  Less often than we should, would be my guess.  At bedtime last night I found myself irritated by something that I knew I could not control but instead of going out for a nice long walk before hitting the sack I lay there and tossed and turned for several hours before falling into a sleep that sent me into nightmareville. 

          Let that be a lesson to you, take the walk.  You’ll wake up refreshed and not so cranky!

Another Hot Topic

We were watching The View yesterday where one of the hot topics was whether it was right for the media to follow the plea of the victims of the Colorado shootings.  They are asking that the media not use the shooter’s name when reporting on the story as this is precisely what the shooter wants, to be famous.  It was quite a squabble at The View desk but in my family room we were in agreement, don’t use the name.  The name is already on record and if you need to know it (but why would you) you can always check it online.  Otherwise, why publicize the name?

       The other part of the discussion was whether Hollywood, movies or television have a responsibility in the spread of violence.  I think the answer is multi-faceted.  I don’t think any movie or television show is actually going to induce any sane person, or even insane person, to go out and start shooting people.  But I do think that the ever escalating display of violence, cursing, sexuality and so on has contributed to desensitizing people to the point that we actually crave seeing the most depraved sort of violence even on the news shows.  I will never forget the moment when I first realized what I was feeling when the Jeffrey Daumer story was first breaking.  As I realized that I was actually sitting on the edge of my seating wanting to hear gory details I had a mental shock, got up and turned off the television.  I walked around the house questioning what had just happened because this was not the person I really was.  At that time, rightly or wrongly, I felt that the news media had drawn me into this sensational story and was feeding a frenzy.  To this day I am shocked at my reaction, as brief as it lasted, and am on the watch for going down that dark path again.

       This is what happened to me, which probably seems like a very tame story; but it does illustrate how easily a person can be desensitized to something awful.  Think of a century ago when women were sheltered to the point of not actually going to the cemetery to bury their loved ones.  Now we see all kinds of ghastly things on television, from poor beaten animals, to children without arms or legs lying with flies covering their faces – and those are only commercials!  Is it any wonder we are building generations of individuals with little feeling for humanity?

       We have choices, we can turn off the television and we can refuse to go the movies that are violent.  And educate our children to have the same kind of value and respect to human kind.

What About Pepper?

My mother was looking over my shoulder and noticed the title of my blog and her comment was “what about pepper?”  There are moments when she is just like a mischievous little kid, like when she asked “is it gone” and then crossed her eyes in an attempt to check her nose for the blood spot.  Yesterday we had made an agreement that we would walk after supper but both of us forgot about it.  She remembered it as she lay in bed but she could hear me snoring away and thought she would be merciful and let me continue sleeping.  Thank you mother!

       My mother will frequently revert to stories about her youth and once in a while a new one will crop up that I either haven’t heard before or had forgotten about.  The other day she told a story about her sister that I hadn’t heard before.  She said that her father asked which of them was the strongest and got them started being aggressive with each other but my mother knew what he was up to and let her sister win.  She said “I’m not a fighter” which is an understatement!

       Last night her grandson came for a visit and made the comment that his grandmother is the sweetest, kindest person he has ever known.  I’m surprised that Mom didn’t burst into tears, as she is not used to compliments.  We are more of a teasing kind of family, where we trade off insults, such as me calling her “high maintenance” when she asks for the tiniest thing.  I know she knows that I’m kidding her but I supposed it would be nice to give her a kudo once in a while. 

       I gave her the night off; she is watching Coronation Street while I did the dishes and I told her “I hope I remember how” as I haven’t done a dish since she moved in.  And I say this without blushing. Mom takes pride in doing the dishes immediately after a meal even though I tell her once per day is enough, especially when her hands are getting so rough.  I suspect that having them in the hot water must help with her arthritis so I don’t argue too long with her.

       Animals love her and will invariably choose her to mooch off before anyone else in the room.  Today Dexter came over and looked up with those little brown eyes “walk please, walk please, now, now, now” and Mom couldn’t resist despite already having gone for a walk with me.  Out came the leash and Dexter pranced off with her for his afternoon constitutional.  I watched in amusement as Mom tried to keep up with this tiny little Yorkshire terrier.  What a picture, I wondered which was more loyal, the dog or the good wife?

The Foibles of Elderly Ones

Yesterday I noted on my Facebook page that my mother walked into my office with a large blob of blood on the top of her nose which she got from vigorously washing her face.  We laughed but rather grimly as the idea of wounding one’s self by the simple morning convention of washing and brushing is a little scary.  Since Mom moved in with me three months ago I have certainly had a much closer look at what aging does to a person.  There is a difference between visiting a parent in their own home and seeing them every day, from morning to night.

       What I see is a once lively and energetic woman walking at a much slower pace, slightly hunched (and yet she is not diagnosed with osteoporosis, which I find a little troubling) and frequently with the pain of advanced rheumatoid arthritis causing her to moan.  She has trouble opening up her various bottles of pills, which in itself is rather eye-opening as there are at least 8 different containers of pills that she has to take.  She even has trouble lifting a pitcher of water to put into the coffee kettle, and yet she gallantly goes on with the day, preparing breakfast, washing dishes, taking out the vacuum cleaner and tidying up the rooms.  She opens the freezer to decide what we should have for dinner and in the late afternoon she leans on over the sink as she peels the potatoes with her gnarled old hands.

       This is my dear mother, a woman who never complains, never asks for anything and is always ready to help as much as she can.  Yesterday while I was painting the bathroom she felt so bad for me having to climb up and down the ladder because I didn’t want to disturb her.  I could see she was having more pain than usual so I wanted her to rest and not stand there handing up paper towels and such.  And she was apologizing to me!  I asked Mom this morning if her mother also had rheumatiz and the answer was daunting “Yes, and Far too”.  My legacy on that side of the family does not bode well. 

       “But” I said “Dad didn’t have arthritis.”

       “He had pain too” she replied “but he didn’t’ say how much,”  And we were both quiet as we recalled my father’s secretiveness about his illnesses.

       In the evening as we watch television I have a good view of my mother and I will often see her not looking at the show.  Instead she is looking out the window, or at the floor, and I feel disturbed, wondering if she is in la-la land or if she is just bored with the show.

       “Mum, do you have your ears in?”  My way of asking her if she has her hearing aid on.

       “Ya ya.” She says and goes back to watching the show.

       “Are you bored, should we change the channel.”

       “No, no, it’s okay, I was just thinking about  . . .” and she will go on to tell me what she was thinking about, usually not related to the show at all.  While I’m relieved that she was indeed thinking about something I am also wondering if this is a sign of Alzheimer’s.  It’s really quite an experience to live with a person that is growing older.  It’s not a chore, in fact it is a real perk to have my mother with me, but at the same time I find myself worrying about all sorts of things I never thought about before.  Caring for the elderly is a much bigger responsibility than I ever thought possible. 

       And my mother isn’t really elderly.  She’s my mom.

Stay-cation

Another staycation is happening this week but I hope after today the worst of the work is over and done with.  I’ve finally painted the bathroom and only hope I can walk and use my arm tomorrow!

       My idea this year has been to stay home and enjoy the home that I’ve worked so hard to buy and fix up to a close way of how it should be when I retire.  In a way, I am also practicing what it will be like when I retire, trying to figure out how I should be spending my time other than cutting grass, clipping trees and bushes, cutting grass, weeding the flowers, cutting grass.  You get the picture.  I have a lot of grass.  I contemplate having sheep or goats, just to cut down on the cutting, but that opens up a whole new can of worms.

       But back to the main event, interpreting what retirement might be like.  First and foremost would be contemplating frugality, or the need for conserving savings which can be a death trap to actually doing things.  Once I overcome this fear of elder poverty then I start to think about the things I wish to do.  A little travel is still tempting, with trips overseas in the early years and then to warmer climes as the old bones start to give.  This is the only expensive item on the bucket list.

       Dedicated writing should keep me occupied for part of each day and then the rest of the day would be frolic time.  Frolicking would include visiting or calling friends, gardening, exercise, painting and photography.  My mother is still of the opinion that it is way too early for me to live such a lifestyle but I am getting closer to the point of proving her wrong.

       I have just begun a new Thomas H. Cook “The Quest for Anna Klein” which is narrated by an elderly gentleman.  Some of his observations on life are a little disturbing and make me question the pattern of one’s life.  After all, what is better, to have lived a life of adventure and mistakes, or to have lived sheltered and quiet?  When I look out at my green garden, with the trees gently swaying in the early morning breeze, I think there is nothing better than a tranquil life.  When I even attempt to think about hustle and bustle the picture that comes to mind is crowds, noise, dishevelment and I shudder.  No, I don’t think that I am cut out for high adventure despite youthful fantasies.

       I must be getting old.

A Bit of Family History

I finally had my family history (as originally set out by my cousin Magda, once removed) retrieved from my old computer.  Magda was my mother’s double first cousin, (two brothers married two sisters).  I’d like to share a bit of my translation of her story, something I have been sweating over for several years:

The ”Rønnest” name does not come from a property or estate, such as the name ”Haaber” (another family name) but rather from a little fishing village south of Bangsbostrand which is mentioned in 1636 together with Fladstrand, and Bangsbostrand.  This village was a very poor place populated mostly with fishermen and farm workers (who did not own their own land).  Much of the population moved away to Flade Sogn (Flade is another county) especially during the Swedish War (circa 1600).  Later when the country chose to standardize surnames and obliterate the use of “datter” (daughter) for the females (e.g., men whose father’s name was Neils used the last name Neilsen while the daughters used the name Neilsdatter) our great grandmother’s family chose the name Rønnest [as did the Abildgaards].

The Rønnests of days gone by were some very hard characters indeed, whose fists were loose and ready to crack the heads at the drop of a hat – they stood firm (and maybe too readily) on their “rights”.  More on this attribute a little later when discussing Ane Kirsten Rønnest (our great-grandmother on Mor’s side).

Many of the homes in Bangsbostrand, Rønnest (and even Læsø) were built from the flotsam of shipwrecks.  Legally the debris was supposed to be turned in to the “beach auction” and could then be legally purchased, but of course many a time it was likely that this debris disappeared in the dark of the night.   In the years between 1700 and 1810 the exostemce of those days, particularly on the coast, was so pathetic that we today cannot begin to fathom the conditions.

Rønnests figured in every single arrears paper that was read up every year in the lord’s roll for owing the King’s taxes and fines for thievery and stealing the shipwrecked goods (foundered wreckage).  It didn’t ease things that the priest (or the church) also wanted his portion of the taxes.  He had rights to wheat (korn), lamb, geese, fish and so forth.  As example, in 1739 Pastor Nicolaj Esbach of Flade had arrears at the district court (Herredstinget).  Most of the fishermen owed for 7-8 years between 30,000 and 40,000 fish.  He got his rights in the court but it is uncertain that he ever actually received the taxes from the fishermen.

There was so much poverty in those times with no help from government or church and so families assisted each other with the children when they were orphaned.  Fishermen and sailors remarried quickly because they couldn’t go fishing and also care for their children.  In 1800 the conditions were still hard for our forefathers, the Rønnests and Haabers that fished, and ditto for our Læsø family.

Reality Check

When I was young I could go into fights of fancy at a moment’s notice or no notice at all. These days I find I can still wander off into la la land simply by contemplating how to spend the 6/49 winnings.  More often than not however I have my feet firmly on the ground which can be a real inhibitor to creativity.  I picked up a book entitled The Creative Life in the hopes of getting a little direction on how to get my imagination back on track only to be disappointed by a narrative about a play.  Not what I was expecting or hoping for.  The older I get and the more authors I note with more than one book to their name, the more respectful I become.

       So now the reality check comes in, the one where I forgive myself for not being creative enough.  Even as I write I am watching the clock on the computer count down to 4:30 a.m. and I am still in pajamas and not finished my daily blog.  I have to clean up, get dressed and be out the door before 5 a.m. to get to the unreserved parking by 5:40 at the latest or I will be in danger of not having a parking spot.  Then I slug away at my job until 3:45 when I take an overcrowded train back to the parking, drive another 40 minutes home where I embrace my mother who has thankfully prepared supper for us after which I flop on the couch to decompress by watching the Young and Ridiculous.  After supper I go out and cut some grass, pull some weeds or haul away some dead branches.  There’s always something to do in the garden and if I don’t keep up it will become a jungle.  I try not to look at the back 40 which has become a jungle.  By 8 a.m. I am ready for bed where I will do a crossword or Sudoku and then read for a few minutes before I konk out.  If I was a dedicated creative writer I would instead be composing the ultimate novel, wouldn’t I?

       People do.  That’s the thing.  People stay up until midnight and still get up at 5 or 6 a.m. but I am not one of those people.  I cannot survive on less than 7 hours sleep and my reality is that I can comfort myself with the fact that I am well balanced, well rested and calm most of the time.  Reality check, I am a dabbler but mostly I can have some fun with it.

       So there.

Up a Tree

I just read a hilarious article in the latest O magazine wherein Leslie Larson becomes addicted to Ancestry.com.  While I laughed I was yet grim as I recognized the signs in myself while plowing through the Danish State Archives and the Danish Demographic Database.  Anyone with a hint of the Genealogy Whisperer in them will know the signs of a DNA addict.  Just saying the words “my grandparent” can be a warning sign and a sure clue is “my great grandmother”.  At that point, you are done for.

       There is something exciting about recognizing a family name in a database and I will never forget the first thrill of recognizing the siblings of my grandfather. Yes, yes, yes, now I am on to them.  Imagine the discovery of my long lost great grandmother’s name (Caroline Sofie).  I broke into a sweat when I saw Tante Olga’s extended name (Olga Julie Elisabeth) and Tante Katinka (Katinka Maria).  I vibrated when I found Kathinka on the ship Indirekte’s manifest leaving Aalborg for St. Paul in 1904.  Could that be our Katinka?  This said she was unmarried so it may be doubtful as my information was that she was already married when she departed for America.  Hmmm  But how many Katinka’s could there be with our last name heading off from our home city to St. Paul, Minnesota in the close timeframe.  Surely none.  Family history must be erroneous . . . told to young people who didn’t have the facts straight?

                   Yes, a whole thread of the fabric of family history may be undone by digging into something without confirmation.  And there is the temptation to fly down the wrong path because the attractiveness of a more glamorous ancestor awaits down path A when all true evidence points to path B.  At the end of the day, I am a realist and I want the true facts, ma’am, the true facts.  And so I still pursue the hidden path, determined to find that great, great grandfather, the Colonel.

       Happy hunting.

Surviving Calgary Stampede

Now that the 100^th Calgary Stampede is over (for me in any event) I can focus on getting back to my writing.  It has been a week of hot and humid weather, hellish C-train rides that were made worse by over crowding (and while I heroically bit my tongue my mind was seething with rage when individuals got on with their screaming babies and baby carriages between 4:00 and 6:00 p.m. Seriously, could they not leave either at 3 or after 6 and so leave the train for working stiffs?) but I survived without getting into a scrap with anyone. 

       A couple of weeks ago as my mother and I were taking a drive into Calgary we got into a “discussion” regarding the rights and wrongs of seniors getting on the bus during rush hour.  I was of the opinion that they have no business getting on the bus during rush hour while my mother thought they had the right to get on the bus whenever they want.  We argued for about 30 minutes at the end of which my mother caved in when she finally realized that we are obliged to stand up for a senior once they are on the bus.  Then I graciously conceded that of course they have a “right” to get on the bus whenever but it is really rude and disrespectful to the working people to get on at quitting time.  We are tired and only too grateful to sit down if possible.  Having to surrender up a seat to seniors is unfair.  I know these days it doesn’t happen very often.  I’ve seen men studiously look out the window, at their nails, navel, shoes, what have you.  Anywhere but at a senior or pregnant woman.  I’ve seen men almost knock down a person to get to a seat first.

       So when I re-think my question of the other day “would Canadians really be rude and crazed and desperate to the point of knocking people down and stealing food in a crisis situation” I have to ask myself why did I ever doubt it?  I think the truth is simply that it is too horrible to believe that in real life our neighbours, friends, colleagues, strangers, would be ruthless in their efforts to survive.  It is really quite creepy to think about and yet these are the types of movies I really like to watch.

       So what kind of survivor are you?

Heat Wave

Remember Linda Rondstadt’s song Heat Wave?  That song is going through my head this morning.

Not that I want to complain at all but I am just a little surprised that a mere 24 degrees is bringing me to my knees.  I remember the days when I was fine until about 35.

The observation of what we can or cannot endure is interesting as our tolerance seems to alter quite a lot as we get older.  Certainly our bodies change and physically our tolerance goes down, but on the other hand, our minds seem to either become very elastic (or desensitized) or we go the other way and become very rigid.  Sometimes a little of both.

Watching the old “Upstairs, Downstairs” series we saw the episode of the German spy who also had homosexual tendencies and the characters alluded to him as a “pervert”.  In the new series “Downton Abbey” there is also a homosexual episode but it is referred to in politically correct terms, or rather, it is simply taken as a de rigueur part of television without comment.  Audiences today accept so much more than the audiences of WWII when the censor board in Hollywood had a quota on swear words.

So many changes in our lifetime requires great flexibility of mind from simple utility items (a telephone to a cellphone) to new mores (having children without benefit of marriage) to worshipping the sun, to going in a sunbed, to slathering sunscreen and wearing a hat to avoid the sun (golly, that’s almost reverting back to the languorous days of antebellum Georgia).  Trying to keep pace with the politically correct “new thing” certainly can cause the acrobatics of the mind.

We were fanning ourselves as we watched “Contagious” and I wondered again if the population would really be so feral when survival was at stake.  I have a hard time wrapping my mind around Canadians going so primitive but I suppose it could and would happen.  It’s rather disconcerting to think about and makes a person question whether or not she would like to survive such a terrible world.  What do you think?

Sanne and the Two-Step

This morning I am feeling muscles that I haven’t felt in years.  There’s an interesting muscle that runs up the side of your leg which is currently screeching “ouch” every time I take a step.  And who knew there were muscles at the waist line?  I’ve always had shoulder tension but now I have a nice little twitch in my neck and along my upper arms I notice a sort of rubber band zing.  All this because of a little dancing!

       Yes, we were learning country dancing yesterday as part of our Stampede Team building event.  We certainly looked the part in our lovely new western shirts, the ladies in black and the gents in white, so coordinated.  Until we got on the dance floor. 

       The dance instructors (world champions) had us lined up against each other just like a football scrimmage (as though I knew what that was) but happily we had no mishaps.  I was considerably alarmed however when I discovered that we were not learning line dancing.  Instead, we were to learn the two-step, twirls and all.  I feared broken legs, arms, or worse.  The concern was not of my partners but  because I knew I did not have a country twanginess in any part of my body and the poor gentlemen were endangering themselves.  There were only 10 ladies to 25 gents so we got double workouts (no wonder I can barely walk this morning) but it was Sadie Hawkins Day all over again as the instructor instructed us to go “grab your partner”.  10 determined women sached across the floor while the men looked over their shoulders for an escape route.  Unfortunately for them, the only exit was through to the kitchens and two bartenders stood guard there.  No way out. 

       They smiled then and bravely took on the one, two, three, five; one, two, three, five, back and forth across the floor, released us and we grabbed the second partner and did it all over again.  Needless to say I was dripping with sweat after the first round.  I looked at my watch.  2:05.  I still had one hour and 55 minutes to go.  Would it ever end?  Oh no, now we are going to twirl.  This does not bode well.  However, surprisingly now, the gents were really getting into it.  They had been told “this is your space”, just like Dancing with the Stars, and suddenly we had a firm hand guiding us along the floor.  Was I actually doing it right?  It seemed to me that for a fleeting moment I actually had the full tempo but then whoosh, I got excited and made a misstep and we were back to cautiously counting (one, two, three, five).

       Three o’clock.  Time for a drink.  Where’s my nice little terry hanky from Japan to wipe away all the sweat dripping from my brow?  Oh don’t I look like an appealing little partner.  Envision Sandra Bullock in her worst moments and still she would be charming.  Not so Sanne. I looked like a ripe tomato about to explode.  I pitied my partner and certainly understood if they wanted to look at their feet instead of me. 

       But here’s the thing, from the get-go there was laughter around the room and throughout the lessons everyone was smiling and having a good time.  Not a complaint, only the normal deprecating that “they were no good at it”.  When I took my breather and watched, they were so very good at it! 

       What a team!

Backup the Backup

You’ve probably seen the latest series of bathroll commercials where the husband is lectured on “backing up the backup”.  This morning as I experience the thrill of having my computer back I am thinking the same thought “backup the backup” as I would really cry if I could not retrieve all my hard work because of a computer failure.  While my tech was finishing the install yesterday I questioned him on the advisability of switching to a Mac but his thought was that whether I had a PC or a Mac the chances of the computer lasting beyond the 3 year “life” was about equal.  Is it any wonder that the owners of Microsoft and Apple are some of the wealthiest men on the planet?  They have a guaranteed market every 3 years or so for a product that is in excess of $500.  My parents bought a television set in 1957 which we had in top working condition for over 40 years despite more than 15 moves across this country.  When we finally got rid of the set it was still working and we gave it to a used furniture store.

       We “can’t” make a computer to last longer than equipment made back in the 50’s?  I just want a computer to do my word processing, store my pictures and occasionally go on the internet to look up Wikipedia and a few stories.  I am not a gamer or an internet junkie.  I’m not asking for much, just that a piece of equipment should last longer than 3 years given that it cost over $1,000.  I’m sure I’m not alone in this thought.

       Please Mr. Gates, Mr. Job, et al, give us a break.

Heat of the Summer

Back in Business

All Things Technical

High winds were a'blowin' last night and I think my computer has crashed, again.

I hate all things mechanical, electrical, technical . . . powerless

Turning to my pen and waxing poetic.

Meat & Potatoes

For almost as long as I can remember my mother’s early morning question has been “what shall I make for supper?”  We usually had meat and potatoes for supper as that is what she was raised on (no rice or spaghetti in her world).  Ground beef, pork chops, chicken, fish sticks were the staples.  Roast on Sunday.  Golash on occasion.  Steak rarely because it was both expensive and we kids didn’t like it.  I still don’t care for steak.

       But now my mother is in a dilemma because she has been watching programs about how creatures are raised up which exposes the extreme cruelty of the poor chickens and pigs.  She hasn’t been able to eat chicken for several years and it is borderline for the pork.  Chatting over dinner the other night I asked her whether people in Denmark typically had meat every night.

       “We did.  Or fish. We had a lot of fish.”

       “But what about your neighbours, did they have meat all the time?”

       “We had two courses every night, my father insisted on it.”

       “But about the meat . . .”  I brought her back to the main point as I attempted to tell her that if people are to have meat every day then they do have to do efficient farming although I am naturally neither of the opinion that it needs to be such intense farming nor is it necessary for people to have meat every day.

     So what did you have for dinner.

       We agreed we could understand how people are moving towards vegetarianism since the idea of consuming the poor animals can be quite disturbing.  But more seriously, it is a concern to wonder what exactly you are consuming along with the meat (or other food products for that matter).

For What It's Worth

It’s time to weigh in on a few topics.  Let’s start with our health care system, the one they tell us is spiralling out of control.  The other day my brother-in-law was not feeling very well and finally he caved in and went to the emergency at our local hospital.  They suspected appendix but because it took them all day to determine this all the surgeons, anesthesiologists and other care givers had departed at 4 p.m.  Therefore they had to take him by ambulance to Calgary for the surgery which still couldn’t take place until the following morning.  Snip, snap, done.  They told him he could leave the same afternoon.  Meanwhile their Yorkshire terrier has eaten a steak bone from Smugglers, got his own little belly ache and he stayed at the vet clinic for 3 days for tender loving care.

       What’s the difference?  The vet clinic can bill to their heart’s content but the hospital can’t.  Never mind that we pay taxes, not to mention paying health care fees for 5 decades but somehow we are not given the same care that a pet would get.  I’m waiting for them to allow a bullet to put us out of our misery because we “cost the system too much money”.  Just who determines what is too much is a little scary since we are supposed to be a democratic nation with freely elected representatives of our interests.  I don’t know about everyone else who goes to the polls but my interest in electing a government is to ensure that we live in the most civilized and socially responsible country possible.

       Ah, so the catch is what does it cost.  B.S. – the catch is, what is the priority of the elected government?  I do not want to hear that the priority is to reduce the deficit.  I want to hear, rather, that the priority is the well being of its people, and that this can be achieved by Responsible Spending.  The difference, my friends, is where the priority lies.  A government whose jargon consists of repeated use of the phrases “cost cutting” “cost measures” “deficit reduction” “reduced spending” is not the government for a country whose wealth is apparent but has been slanted to such a degree that we are in danger of having more than 50% of the population live as pseudo-slaves.

       The other day I caught the tale end of a story about the pensions which our MP’s receive.  That little snippet advised us that they do not contribute into their plans at all – something must have changed in the 6 months since we were advised that they contribute $5.80 while the taxpayer contributes “$23.30 for every buck” (I take that to mean $135.14 if I am reading the story correctly).  It’s enough to make you sick – but you can’t get sick because you aren’t allowed to go into the hospital anymore.

       Catch 22.

Book Reviews

I miss my book club which is currently on a sabbatical because now I cannot discuss my thoughts on the various books I’ve been reading.  So my blogging fans are in for it today!  (Plus I’m cooling down from over exerting myself playing lumberjack).

       Lately I read Geraldine Brooks “March” and “Caleb’s Crossing” back to back.  I loved these books as much as her previous 2 books “Year of Wonders” and “People of the Book”.  I particularly liked Year of Wonders and Caleb’s Crossing as I felt as though I were in the 17^th century with the characters.  The author is meticulous in her research and seems to submerse herself in the era as few current writers seem to be able to do.  Caleb’s Crossing is based on a true story of one of the first native Americans to graduate from Harvard.  While I was aware that there was a concentrated effort at evangelizing the natives I had no idea that there was an effort to have them educated to the level of a college education.  Not surprisingly there was a lot of exploitation in the endeavour.  I enjoyed the various aspects of this book and recommend it as a good read whether you like history or not.

       I am a big fan of Thomas H. Cook as well.  His mysteries are always suspenseful and I read on with trepidation as I await the surprise ending.  I first discovered Cook when I picked up a copy of The Chatham School Affair which was really a surprise ending for me.  I think I have read every one of his books and I always feel nervous yet satisfied upon reading them.  Currently reading “The Last Talk with Lola Faye” and half way through I still am not prepared for what may be revealed.  Cook also co-authored “Taken” which is one of my favorite mini-series and introduced Dakota Fanning to audiences.

       What are you reading this summer?