Mexico Day 1

Sat Dec 17.  Off we head to Mexico! Well, not quite yet. First we have to fly to Vancouver and spend the night there. That's one of the annoying things about living in a small non-gateway city...you can never really get to "there" from "here" in a single bound. There's always an overnight somewhere, and if not an overnight, then a long wait.

In this case, since we were flying Air Canada, they give a free add-on from Cranbrook to either Calgary or Vancouver, but it's a "six of one, half dozen of the other" scenario. They want you to fly with them so they give the free add-on, but they don't want to actually let you have a free day anywhere so they make you take the flight that is closest in time to your next flight. In this case, we had to leave Cranbrook at 8:45 PM, the last flight of the day. We tried to get an earlier one so that we could spend a nice evening in Vancouver with the kids, but alas, Air Canada didn't quite have that much Christmas kindness running through their veins. My travel agent informed me that there were only the 2 seats left, so I had to make up my mind quickly.

Visions of Sugarplums....

So we arrived in Vancouver at about 10:30 PM, the flight was half empty, so that was a tiny bit of a bonus,(hmmm...so much for my travel agent telling me there were only 2 seats left, there were over 20 empty seats on this flight.) although the flight itself is only an hour and half. We took a taxi to Shane's house, had some homemade soup that he had made earlier, opened a few gifts and met the new dog, Sava, who is just as sweet as she seems to be in this picture. 

It was a speedy evening, already almost midnight, and we soon took the taxi back to our Airport hotel, we had decided that it would be easier for us to stay there and take the shuttle to the airport in morning rather than all 4 of us trying to shower and get ready in Shane's teeny, weeny house at the ungodly hour of 5:30 AM with 1 bathroom and 2 large and excited dogs.

Sadly, at the hotel I was informed that the free continental breakfast started at 6:30 AM and we had to catch the 6:00 AM shuttle. Again, I had tried to get a later flight via Air Canada, but "noooooo", they wouldn't  give me that little bit of Christmas Kindness so I had to use the little coffee pot in the room that always has stale, strong coffee and coffee mate instead of actual cream. Damn you Air Canada, for your pretend kindness in offering free add-ons. Are the "cons" worth the "pros"? I am thinking the answer to that is a resounding NO!



Better than nothing? Hard to say...

 Anyhow, the shuttle was on time, and off we headed to the airport. The plan was to get through the security and meet at our gate, and Glory Be, it worked and we all made it on time. That was my big fear...someone would sleep in or be involved in a traffic hold up, or realize that their passport was lost/expired/torn (because did you know that Mexico is notorious for turning tourists away if their passport is in bad shape? True story! A passport that may be raggedy from use, or have something spilled on it, or been through the wash a few times can (and often is) refused by the Mexican authorities. And, the airline that flew you there is responsible for getting you home again...so, tell me, why on God's green earth wouldn't a travel agent or airline website inform their customers of this??? However, I can take a deep breath and not concern myself about this since it all went well for us.

But still...be aware of this fact. It's one of those things that I just know I'm going to bring up in conversation again and again until people are sick to death of me, but, really, how can a travel agent not know this? And if she did know it, she should inform her clients. I was not overly thrilled with my TA, I won't mention names, but I will say she was a total stranger to me, not my usual one and no one that I had ever met before. So beware when booking last minute travel.

The flight from Vancouver to Toronto was excellent, Steven and I had an empty seat beside us, so we had lots of elbow room and space to stretch out.  It was 4 hours, but went quickly. We had to change planes in Toronto, but that went amazingly smoothly and the final 4 hour stretch to Cancun was also speedy. Watched a few movies, dozed a bit,  and before we knew it, we were in Cancun!

We found the area where the buses sit, ready to take you to your resort, and the fellows went to find a beer and I went to get on the bus and of course ended up on the wrong one, but that's not unusual for me. I quickly realized the error of my ways and scuttled over to where the rest of them were cranky at me for being in the wrong place,  at this time it was about 9:30 or 10:00, it was HOT and HUMID and we were all getting tired, so I wisely didn't say a word and we clambered on the shuttle and headed off to our hotel.  It was about 1:00 AM "our" time and it we had all been up since about 5 AM, so silence was by far the best policy right now.

The ride to the resort was about an hour, the check in was very speedy, as a matter of fact, so far on this trip all the line-ups and check ins and outs were strangely smooth. I wasn't sure if this was a lead up to something totally horrible, or if this is actually a better time to travel than I had thought. In any case, we made it to our rooms, dropped our luggage and went to the buffet for a snack.

At first glimpse of the resort I felt like I was in a 60's version of what the architects though the future would look like.  And after seeing the buffet (see story below) I fully expected to see someone running through the lobby screaming "It's peeeeeeople....Soylent Green is peeeeeople!" and being shot dead. You need to google "soylent green" if you don't get this reference.

Oh...hmmm....the buffet was huge, however almost every single thing was empty, or had a few dried bits of noodle, soggy veg, sad looking fruit and pieces of something that was apparently  a hamburger, but unlike one I had ever seen. I ate it gingerly and the taste was a bit off, not in a spoiled way, but just in an odd way.The staff was miserable and pretty much said that "no, they weren't going to be filling anything up", yet the place was supposed to be open for a few hours yet. There were a lot of other buses arriving and the place was filling up with cranky, tired and starving tourists. We ate what we could find, and I've actually forgotten  what it was that I did eat, but we decided ( or, I hoped) that a good nights sleep would put it all in perspective and that things would look yummy in the morning.


This is how I felt before bed. I think I might have looked like this too....





Footprints.

Walking in the forest behind our house is always enjoyable. Well, mostly enjoyable. Sometimes it's like 20 below and it's not really enjoyable in the least. However, the other day when we went, there had been a skiff of snow and we were a bit further than usual so not only were there no other people around, no one had been there before us, at least no one of the human species.


















There was a little coyote who was scampering down the trail.


















There were birds walking around, probably ravens.








A deer, and this makes me chuckle a bit because she obviously slipped a little and I wonder if she had an "Oh nuts!" moment.








His and mine, the only people tracks around.

I've become a bit of a lazy blogger, ignoring this poor beast for weeks and weeks at a time. Today's blog isn't even original, but rather I am posting something I read earlier today.

It was an article about truth being stranger than fiction, and the writer (it was just on a forum somewhere, so I can't even give credit to whomever wrote it) was saying how if a movie had been made about WW2 (assuming there was no WW2 that is) it would have seemed improbable and ridiculous.

Let’s start with the bad guys. Battalions of stormtroopers dressed in all black, check. Secret police, check. Determination to brutally kill everyone who doesn’t look like them, check. Leader with a tiny villain mustache and a tendency to go into apoplectic rage when he doesn’t get his way, check. All this from a country that was ordinary, believable, and dare I say it sometimes even sympathetic in previous seasons.



So they invent a completely implausible superweapon that they’ve never mentioned until now. Apparently the Americans got some scientists together to invent it, only we never heard anything about it because it was “classified”. In two years, the scientists manage to invent a weapon a thousand times more powerful than anything anyone’s ever seen before – drawing from, of course, ancient mystical texts. Then they use the superweapon, blow up several Japanese cities easily, and the Japanese surrender. Convenient, isn’t it?

I love it! And the part about ancient, mystical texts is true, as crazy at that sounds. ('texts' as in books and manuscripts kiddies, not the techo/cell phone type of texts)

Just a small part:
This is from the ancient Hindu text the Mahabharata.




“Gurkha, flying a swift and powerful vimana [fast aircraft],
hurled a single projectile [rocket]
charged with the power of the Universe [nuclear device].
An incandescent column of smoke and flame,
as bright as ten thousand suns,
rose with all its splendour.

It was an unknown weapon,
an iron thunderbolt,
a gigantic messenger of death,
which reduced to ashes
the entire race.
The corpses were so burned as to be unrecognizable.
Hair and nails fell out;
Pottery broke without apparent cause,
and the birds turned white.
…After a few hours
all foodstuffs were infected…
…to escape from this fire
the soldiers threw themselves in streams
to wash themselves and their equipment.”

So today's moral is: Truth really is stranger than fiction.

6 Minutes

So, I was thinking, as we were walking today, how lucky we are to live where we can walk from our front door to "the bush" in only 6 minutes. Actually, we can walk there in about 4 minutes, but if you turn around you can still see houses, but if we walk another 2 minutes, well, you may as well be 100 miles in the bush.

Today we really bundled up, it was -15 and I was prepared to be cold and cranky, but there was no wind and the sun was out, it was surprisingly warm.
We were just at the 6 minute mark when Steven spotted this doe catching a few rays. Double click on the picture for more detail. Seriously, there isn't a sight that I find more beautiful than a deer in the snow. They always look so shocked to see someone, ears perked up and eyes wide open. She was chewing, and her jaw was moving sort of sideways, it was like she was talking out of the corner of her mouth, mobster style: "Pssst...don't move...humans at 3 o'clock..."

We walked a little further and saw a wasp nest in a tree. The funny thing about that is, we walk past this same tree at least 3 or 4 times a week all year, and we never spotted it at all. Odd. I was sure that the wasps were all either dead or hibernating, so I felt pretty confident that I could get close for a picture, and then I bravely poked at it with a stick...you know, just to say that I did.


Then Steven's artistic side came out and he left a "self portrait" on a tree. The resemblance is fairly accurate.

Anyhow, my point about all this is, I quit smoking just over 13 years ago, and I remember that it used to take 6 minutes to smoke a cigarette and I just thought it was an interesting comparison, all the 6 minute increments of time that I wasted smoking, and look what I can see and do now in that same amount of time. Another good reason to quit...look at what you might be missing1

?

I'm not sure why the post below has huge spaces between each paragraph. I edited, and fixed it all, but every time I hit "publish", it appears with all these spaces. One of those odd computer problems I guess.

A babbling 60's train of thought.

I love October. I'm not sure if it's because it's my birthday month, or what, but something about this month makes me feel all, don't know how to explain it, all...cozy and comfy.
My mom always used to say about October: "Shuffle, shuffle, move along...sing a sad October song." She said it as we walked through leaves, meaning that the leaves should be singing this sad song, the end of the line for them. I 'm not sure if she made it up, or if it was part of an old poem or song. When we walk in the woods at this time of year, and the leaves are yellow and red and orange, and crispy on the ground, I think of her, and murmur this as I walk.

Like a squirrel that instinctively gathers nuts for sustenence through the upcoming winter, I gather books. I haunt the second hand book stores, the wonderful annual Library Book sale in late September, use up the last of any gift certificates at the sale tables in Coles and pile them in my room, tantalizing to look at...knowing that I have reading materials to last me during the blowing, blizzardly winter weather.

And now I have my Kindle! I've been downloading the odd free book and many of the .99 ones, and "saving" them to read too...perfect during power outages because my Kindle Cover has a built in light. Oooh, I can curl up with a blanket in the dark and read to my hearts content. I am ready for the Apocalypse. Or winter. Or even a nuclear winter for that matter, which is my favorite type of book. Ahhh, synchronicity.

Speaking of nuclear winter, this makes me think of another favorite topic of mine. No, not nuclear war...well, actually, yeah, kinda that.

The 60's. I have such an obsession for the 60's. Maybe because I grew up then, my "formative" years were during the 60's, and it was such a churning and tumultuous decade. In the early 60's, the world was still naive, the wars were over, the future was bright, I really believe it was the last of the tranquil and unagitated times.

Then, on October 14, 1962 (October 14...my birthday...did you know that William the Conqueror invaded England on October 14th? The year 1066. My mom taught me to remember it this way: "In 1066, the Normans got their kicks" He was William of Normandy then. But, as they say, I digress)

So, an American U2 pilot flew a "regular" reconnaissance photo mission over Cuba, and to his, and the rest of the worlds horror, the pictures clearly showed Soviet missiles on Cuban soil. They were armed with nuclear warheads and aimed towards the US.

The next 13 days became the closest that the world has ever come to nuclear annihilation. I guess it was my parents generations 9/11. Not to compare the deaths of 9/11 to this, but to compare the feeling of terror imposed upon one nation by another. And the feeling of being helpless.I don't think that today's generation realizes how terrifying it really was.

We had air raid drills all day long. The sirens would suddenly shriek that ear shattering noise, "Duck & cover!" you'd hear the teachers yell, and children would drop to their knees, crouched under a desk, hands on the back of the neck, eyes closed...waiting, waiting, waiting for the roar of the bomb, and the bright flash of light that would basically mean the end of the world as we knew it. Was it a drill? Or was it real...we held our breath and waited....Can you imagine that happening in today's schools? Parents would surely sue for trauma caused to their sensitive child. Or they'd keep their children at home. But you know, this was our way, this was what we did. These drills had been going for for quite a few years prior, but now there was a real sense of urgency.

If we were at home when the sirens went, we'd have to grab our bag of stuff, which was at the front door and run to your assigned bunker. I vaguely recall ours being one of the plane hangers, but I'm sure it wasn't since the runway and the hangers would be what the bombs were heading towards. I should explain that we lived across the street from the runway. Outside our front door was our small yard, then the road, and then the base runway. My parents are gone now, so I can't ask them where it was we actually ran to. Our basement was stocked with canned water (yes boys and girls, canned water...there was no plastic bottled water back then) and canned goods.

The TV was always on... and even at my young age, I knew who JFK was, and I knew to be quiet when my parents watched him speak on TV.

"We have enough missiles to blow you up 30 times over."

~John F Kennedy, President of the United States.

"We have enough to blow you up only once, but that will be enough for us."
~Nikita Khrushchev, First Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union.

After the 13 days were over, after two weeks of intense and secret negotiations between the US and the Soviet Union, the Soviets agreed to remove their missiles from Cuba in exchange for a promise from the US not to invade Cuba. In addition, and in secret, the US agreed to remove their long standing missiles from an American airbase in Turkey. These were too close to the Soviet Union for their (the Soviet Unions) comfort.

*Whew* There. It was over, although the Cold War reigned for another 27 years before the Berlin Wall came down and the Cold War was officially over.

And then the following year, just over a year from the end of the Cuban Missile Crisis, came the end of Camelot. November 22, 1963. JFK shot in Dallas. I remember being sent home from school, not really sure what was happening and why all the grown-ups were crying. My mom explained to me that JFK had died, but I can't recall if she told me that he had been shot.

Don't let it be forgot, that once there was a spot,

for one brief shining moment

that was known as Camelot"

Those were two huge events in my life, and I was so young that they made a big impression upon me, I remember those days so clearly. Maybe that's why I have such an affinity for the 60's. And the movies! How could I forget about all the movies about the 60's!? My favorite genre...movies that take place in the 60's, usually a "coming of age" theme, jumping back and forth from "present day" to the 60's is a plus, and a voice-over is a huge plus. Some of the best?

-Stand by Me (of course, that must be #1 on everyone's list. If it isn't on your list, gee, I have my doubts about our friendship)

-Mermaids (Whoa...Cher and Winona Ryder? Can't beat that combo)

-A Perfect World

-Now and Then (that missed the 60's by a year...but that's close enough)

-Pleasantville

-The Outsiders (Pony Boy!)

-Cry Baby (Johnny Depp....)

-Hairspray.

-Ed Wood (kinda one of the worst movies ever made, but also one of my favorites)

-The Sandlot.

-Dirty Dancing (of course that goes without saying...)

-Peggy Sue Got Married.

-The Secret Life of Bees.

I could go on and on. I guess if I could be stuck in Time, I'd have to choose the 60's.

To sleep, perchance to dream....

I don't read self help books. Maybe I should, but that's a whole different blog. I do, however, read excerpts from them in magazines, and one thing that I have always thought was a great idea was to have a pen and some paper right beside your bed so that you can jot things down in the middle of the night. They say, these self help people, that you can solve many problems this way, your inner self, during that deep REM sleep, gives you answers to your troubles. Pshaw, I don't believe that, because in my REM sleep, I am pretty sure that I have been solving all sort of world crisis's. Really. Pretty darn sure. I wake up, simply astounded at how simple it is to solve various world problems, from truly serious ones like famine to other less serious (but equally important) ones like how to make a better plastic bag that doesn't cut the circulation off in your wrist when you carry 2 or 3 at a time so that when you get across the parking lot to your vehicle, your fingers aren't curled up like a claw, and all numb. The thing is, when I wake up with these solutions, I repeat them to myself and I am always so sure that I'll remember them in the morning, that I don't bother to write them down. Of course, when morning arrives, there is nothing left in my brain but some fuzzy memory. So a few weeks ago, I decided "Enough. If I should die tomorrow, the world will have lost a plethora of simply fascinating information, all because I am too forgetful/lazy to grab a pen and paper and put them beside my bed." So I did. I gathered a nice pen, some pretty paper and set them on my nighttable. Each night as I woke up, breathless with my discoveries, I'd write them down and fall back asleep, secure in the knowledge that the worlds troubles will soon be gone. Or at least made easier.

Would you like to know the secrets of the Universe? The things that appear in my mind in the middle of the night, information from the Dream Gods?

This is what was written, one thing each night for 10 days.

1. Time Management. Save several valuable seconds. Can't miss, but did.

2. Life Insurance, fiancial planning and order a PPV movie.

3. If I were Prime Minister...Mother Nature vs Mother Earth.

4. Conversation of the old style, no rolling eyeballs.

5. Personal affront about recomending a good book. We don't read the same.

6. Why do you never see real hippies anymore?

7. I feel totally confident of my ability to shape destiny.

8. It's all about the tigers.

9. Change the light, not just the bulb.

10. If it's in the soup, it's ok for everyone.

So. There you go. Problem solved. Or not. Number 7 makes me think I might have a touch of megalomania, and number 9 is kind of Buddhist. As soon as I figure it all out, I'll let you know. I'm sure my dreams will show me the way.

Thanksgiving.

Every year about this time the same question arises. "What's the difference between Canadian Thanksgiving and the American one?"

I guess the main thing is the date. The Americans celebrate in November, and give thanks to the pilgrims who arrived in the 1600's and blew up a pig bladder and tossed it around while they waited for the women to try and stuff a turkey. They must have, why else would football and the Thanksgiving turkey dinner be so synonymous in the US?

Here in Canada, Thanksgiving takes place the second Monday in October. We all exchange the secret NHL handshake to celebrate the upcoming hockey season. And there is no mention of pilgrims.

The Americans have the famous Macy's Day Parade, complete with huge balloon creatures that collapse on unwary revellers, in turn sending them to the litigious lawyers, who are, of course, giving Thanks for this parade.

Canadians give a secret NHL handshake and rush off to Canadian Tire to see what's new in this years line of snow blowers, then head to Timmie's for some Timbits.

Americans travel from wherever they are, to be home for this feast. They sleep in airports, they stress for weeks about getting time off to go home, they hitch rides with complete strangers just so they can burst through the front door just as Father is sadly bemoaning the fact that one seat shall remain empty (I know this to be true, I see it on Hallmark Hall of Fame specials every year)

Canadians rejoice in the fact that it's a three day weekend and give a secret NHL handshake as they watch the final pre-season games. Some will even cheer "Go Leafs Go!", a sad and futile hope, but they hope nonetheless.

Americans have their turkey dinner on the Monday. I think it might be the law. There seems to be quite a frenzy of shopping and preparing and deciding if they should make Grandma's Traditional Stuffing or Aunt Ethel's Cranberry-Chestnut Stuffing or sometimes they even make an Oyster Stuffing! It's true!

There's no specific day in Canada to eat, any of the three days are equally as acceptable to have your turkey. And actually, a lot of people have ham. I think that might be punishable with jail time in the US. And by the way, it is stuffing, not dressing. You don't "dress" the turkey, you "stuff" it. And not with cornbread either.

And our Prime Minister doesn't "pardon" a turkey. Seriously, what the hell is that all about? "Ummm...ok, let's all get together and watch the President pardon a turkey, then we'll all go home and eat the other slaughtered ones." How does that even fit in with a holiday in which you eat turkey??

But, we all give thanks. And I give thanks (even though it's too early for Thanksgiving, even for a Canadian) that I live in a country where I can make fun of another country (and it's all tongue in cheek) and I don't have to worry about being tossed in prison over it. Oh Canada.

Things are only things.

"Everything in life is relative. I'm short compared to Shaq, yet I'm tall compared to a child. I'm old compared to a baby, but young compared to my dad. I'm a dunce compared to Einstein, yet fairly clever compared to most house pets. How we feel about our possessions is also relative. Relative to what? To the possessions of our friends, of course."
~David Chilton

Somebody broke into my son's home and stole some of his possessions. They weren't my possessions, but I was furious nonetheless. Livid! I sympathized with him, and then felt incredibly sad for him, then stomped around the house flinging curses into the air, sending the nastiest of vibes and evil thoughts to whomever the thief or thieves were. Let me tell ya, if any of my Irish blood has the power to curse, then these thieves are done for. Done for!

Then I calmed down somewhat and was thankful that the dogs were OK, and that no one was home at the time, and that it was his empty house (other than the dogs) and not one of the older folks who live nearby...it didn't turn out to be one of those horrible home invasions that have such tragic endings. Not that I am forgiving or feeling sad for the thieves, who are probably drug addicted and brain addled. On the contrary...I hope they rot in Hell.

But he will be able to replace most of the stolen goods, and the things that cannot be replaced, like my father's watch, which wasn't even valuable, at least not in a monetary sense, well, that's where "everything is relative" comes in. Maybe not even that so much as "the power of perspective."

Sometimes nothing is better for a case of the blues than a dose of perspective.
I was proud that my son, while most assuredly being pretty pissed, was also of the mindset that: "Life goes on" and "My dogs are OK". I'm not so sure that I would have such a good attitude. (as a matter of fact, I know that I don't. Every time I think about it, I can feel my blood pressure rise and that vein in my neck start to throb.) So, the following is really a reminder for me.

"Frustrated that your HD TV isn't there and you have to use a more normal one? Remind yourself that more than nine hundred million people across the globe don't have access to safe drinking water.

Annoyed that you don't have stainless steel appliances? Keep in mind that one in six people go to bed hungry every night.

Is it really a big deal that you can't locate a high-speed wireless connection? Remind yourself that more than a billion people don't even have electricity.

Our pets, our pets, for Heaven's sake, live more comfortably than half of the world's population.

We obsess so much about what we don't have that it affects our ability to enjoy what we do have.

~David Chilton.

And when I think about it, forcing the thoughts to the back of my mind of how I'd like to punish the people who had the nerve to come into my son's home, touch his belongings and take my father's watch, I think of my father, who was so very casual about belongings. His favorite saying was "Don't cry over spilled milk." He would have been just so grateful that no one was hurt, and he actually would have been a little horrified at me for being concerned about "stuff."

So I'll take a deep breath, remind myself that what goes around, comes around and be pleased that my father lives on in my son, no matter who has his possessions.

But I still hope the bastards rot.

So, you know, I always thought I'd be a perfect contestant for Survivor. It's like I've been practising my whole life. I think what started my determination to outlive any catastrophe was the book "My Side of the Mountain" by Jean Craighead George. I read it when I was about 12.

The book follows Sam Gribley, a 13 year old boy from New York City, who chooses to reject urban life, and runs away to his great grandfather's old abandoned farmland in the Catskill mountains to live off the wilderness. He brings with him a penknife, a ball of cord, some flint and steel, 40 dollars he earned from selling newspapers in the busy streets of New York, and the knowledge he gathered reading books about survival.
When he finally gets to the Catskill Mountains, he slowly begins learning the practical aspects of wilderness life, applying the things he read while preparing. He perfects the best ways to fish, starts to orient himself, and learns to forage. He burns and chops out a hollow in a huge hemlock tree to serve as a shelter. He hunts, lays traps, and manages to capture and tame a baby peregrine falcon who he names Frightful, who helps him catch small animals.

I was spellbound and spent that summer trying to find somewhere to hide out and imitate Sam's life. Not an easy chore when you live in the flattest part of Saskatchewan, and you're not allowed out after dark.

Then my Mum introduced me to the books of Euell Gibbons, which I devoured (that's a pun ,if you recognize the author) . I didn't try to run away anymore, but instead I spent my days foraging off of the land, just like Euell taught me. I'd boil up a mess of greens, mostly dandelions and large pieces of crabgrass since there isn't a lot of wild greenery in central Saskabush. I found bulrushes in the local swamp though, that was a treat, and I'd haul them home, dripping and slimy, and grind the roots to make flour, and slice the young cattail tops to fry up. The stalk can be used like an onion. Just think! You can make a batter to coat the cattail in, and flavour it with the onion-y stalk. A whole meal that has 12 times the Vitamin C of an orange. And rose hips for dessert! It was all edible, but I have to admit, really rather disgusting. I'm sure at this point my parents would rather I live outside in a hollow tree, like my idol Sam. I think I recall my Dad even mentioning that, after another "meal" of some ungodly concoction.

Then, to make matter worse, my Mum bought me "The Whole Earth Catalogue", which taught me even more! How to make wool, how to weave, how to make candles and infuse them with scent from wild flowers, how to build a snow shelter, a raft, a tree house, how to cure a cold and how to await water rescue, how to build a fire. In other words...how to survive. You know, after the nuclear holocaust when we all have to start over again.

I didn't get into eating ants and grasshoppers, but, if I had to, I could. I know how to get water from a fish (remember this..it could save your life...eat the eyeballs)

So there I was, wearin' my cool poncho, wearin' my beaded leather moccasins (which I could have made myself, knowing how to skin a deer and chew the hide...thanks Whole Earth Catalogue) My hair was long and parted in the middle, a headband finished the look. Yup, I was a Child of the Universe.

Then I graduated to other post apocalyptic books that also taught about survival. Stephen King's "The Stand" (unedited version only please) Neville Shute's "The Beach", Robert McCammon's "Swan Song" and Edward Silberstain's "Abandoned". Normally I never read a book twice, but these four? I've read them time and time again.

Stuck in some quicksand? Give me a call. Need to build a travois to haul your friend out of the bush, that is, after you've set his broken leg? Just dial my number. Need to boil some water over the fire but you don't have a pot? (and no, it's not a coconut shell) Give me ring...I'll fill ya in.

My point being....I am ready for Survivor! I've been ready since 1974. It's a shame that Canadians can't apply. I'd be a shoe in. I'd wax those young folks in a freakin' heartbeat. I would rock!

Just one thing though, there would have to be no spiders there. And I'd have to at least be able to put on a bit of eyeliner and mascara in the morning, after I shower. And, you know, I'd have to have just a small cup of coffee as well. And I need good tissues to clean my glasses, I get really pissy when they're all smudged and blurry. And I couldn't sleep cuddled up to a stranger who snores and farts, so you know, a little hut of my own would be good. I'd make it myself. I have a wonky knee, so I can't really run, so I'll tend the fire while the rest of you compete, I'm not competitive at all. And I like to sleep in a bit in the morning too. I'm older, so I doubt that anyone will have a problem with that. So, what the hell Jeff Probst? When's my interview?

I'm no Martha.

I am no Martha Stewart, and nor would I want to be. I sure admire her though, indeed I do. I read her magazine every month, although I get it from the library, a fact which I'm pretty sure would put me on her shit list. Not that she would ever say "shit list", or even admit to having one.

I have had some success with some of her crafts and some of her really simple recipes, but so many of her recipes tend to have ingredients that I not only don't have in the house, some of them I have never heard of before. I mean seriously, have you ever heard of "lovage" or "muhammara" or "ajwan seed"? Have you? Really? I don't believe you.

I've heard of pomegranate and I've heard of molasses, but I've never heard of "pomegranate molasses". Lately I've heard mention of "za'atar", but I certainly don't know what it is, and I know damn well I don't have any in my cupboard.

I often buy my spices at the Dollar Store (Shhh...don't tell Martha that) If I went in there and asked for some "ajwan seed", I bet they'd call the RCMP. If I asked for "lovage", they'd direct me to the Adult Store. If I asked for "muhammara", they'd probably think I was just clearing my throat. So, it's not really much use trying any of Martha's fancier recipes. Besides, I have a few tried and true things that I make when friends come over. Everyone has a few recipes that they have perfected over the years, and you always know that this particular meal will be a rousing sucess. I think people even look forward to coming over and having the same thing.

But. *sigh*

Today, I read this in her magazine: "I keep records of all meals served so that if I have the same houseguests twice, I don't serve them the same thing more than once--unless, of course, they beg to have their favorite dish again."

What can I say? I'll just never be able to compete with Martha Stewart.

The picture in the below post looks much nicer when you double click in it, and then read the short poem.

'Tis evening on the moorland free, the starlit wave is still.

Home is the sailor from the sea,

The hunter from the hill.

~A.E. Houseman.

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My Grandpa is WHO?

I always thought my Grandpa looked a lot like Clark Gable. Hair swept to the side with a bit of Brylcreem, ("a little dab'll do ya"), ears that stick out a bit; poor Clark, such a ladies man, but oh, those ears...., that shadow under his lower lip, those bushy eyebrows...yup, my Grandpa looked a lot like ol' Clark. Funny, I have sticky-out ears, bushy eyebrows and a shadow under my lip too. Wait...you don't think....naah, couldn't be...could it? Could my Grandfather possibly be....Clark Gable??? My heart is going all pinball-wizardy...let's figure this out.

Well, one was born in 1900 and one in 1901, but birth certificates are easy to fudge, especially if it's only by a year. They both served in WW2, hhmmmm...both gone from home at the same time......

My Grandpa was away from home a lot, he worked in Detroit, in the auto industry, for years. Or did he? Was he actually in Hollywood, making movies, having children with famous Hollywood starlets? Saying he worked in Detroit would have been a wonderful excuse for having American money. And probably that's where he learned to be so cool. My Grandpa was a hep cat, the bee's knees and 23 skidoo to you too.

Hey! My Grandpa was a Freemason and so was Clark Gable...coincidence? I'm thinking not.

Clark's ethnicity was Irish, and my Grandpa was so incredibly proud of our Irish heritage, I guess because it was something that he could openly share, as opposed to having to hide his true identity.

And speaking of identity, did you know that the "Clark" in Clark Kent was inspired by Clark Gable? Hmm? A man hiding his "true" identity. Well, it's pretty darn apparent to me what's going on here.

Clark Gable died in 1960, but he had a closed casket. I wonder why? No one in Hollywood had closed caskets back then, it just wasn't done? Is it because ....he wasn't really in there?

In 1960, I was already born, and my Grandpa was devoted to me, obviously he couldn't be in Hollywood making movies, and watch me grow up me at the same time, so I think it's pretty evident that he faked his death, left Hollywood behind and came to finish out his days in Victoria.

He would have been 111 years old today. One Hundred and Eleven!

I will now thank you to know me as Shannon Kelly Gable Smitna, and for those of you who think I am foolish, well , "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

Jimmie Rodgers - English Country Garden

It's sort of strange how something so technologically futuristic can bring a person so close to their past. Of course I mean computers; and more so, what they contain, and the most amazing (to me) are Google and Youtube. If you are anywhere near my age, you might want to play this YouTube video while you read this, and it might bring back memories for you too. And if you're young, with small children of your own, well, maybe it might make a nice change from The Wiggles, or Barney, or whatever is trendy these days.

My Mother used to sing lots of songs to me when I was little, and a lot of them were songs that she learned from her Mother. That was what we often did for entertainment we sang, we read, we walked and played. We didn't have a TV for years and years (and when we did, it was a small B&W and we only got CBC, but that's a whole different time and place)

I remember my mum singing while she cleaned the house, singing while she made dinner, singing when she made the beds and dusted. I have no idea if her voice was any good, but to a child, a Mothers singing is always perfect. Hmmm...my voice is simply terrible, I can't hold a note worth beans. I wonder what my kids remember of my singing?

Mum would sing while going downstairs to use the old wringer washer, I'd have to stand back because we all knew the stories of someone getting an arm torn off because they stood too close to the wringer.

She'd sing while hanging the clothes on the line, I can still hear that "snap" as she shook out the pillowcases before hanging them . I'd play with the clothespins, which isn't as much of a poverty thing as it sounds, the old wooden pins made perfect clothespin dolls, every little girl had clothespin dolls.

My dad made me a child size ironing board and I'd iron along with my mum. I can still hear the "psssst" of the spray starch, and the sizzle that the iron would make as it hit the damp clothes. Not my iron, mine wasn't real. Things were different back then, but I didn't have to iron at 5 years old!

It sounds pretty old fashioned and gender biased, but it wasn't a bad thing, not then. A women didn't have to work, but she could if she wanted. My mum was a photographer in the Airforce, and she retired to stay at home and raise me. She loved taking care of my Dad and me, and being a housewife. And I'm not going to say "homemaker"...that was a term no one had even heard of back then, and there was no shame in being a housewife at all.

My parents were pretty modern for those times. I'd get toy trucks and toy guns for Christmas, as well as Barbies. I'd go to "work" with my Dad on weekends and he taught me about carpentry and how to use tools. My Dad would do dishes and laundry, and these were things that most men just didn't do back then. Again, it wasn't a bad thing, it was just the way things were.

And he sang too. His favorite song, or at least the one I recall hearing him sing the most was "They Called the Wind Mariah..." My mums  was "An English Country Garden".

I had long forgotten the words to both songs, and not that many years ago I'd be feeling pretty sad about it...knowing that the words and the tune were long gone. BUT, the whole point of this post is to shout out the joys of Google and Youtube. Seriously, you can enter a few words of whatever you're thinking of, and "voila!" Chances are really, really good that whatever you are looking for will be but a mouseclick or two away. I just am always amazed. My mum never used, or even saw, a home computer, and to think that something she could not even visualize would bring her back to me, is truly like a little technological miracle.

It makes me wonder what good things are yet to be invented, things that I can't even imagine, will bring me closer to my kids, when I'm gone.

Every day is a surprise.

It's true, every day really is a surprise. When I get up in the morning, the first thing I do is open the blind on the bedroom window, and I have that half a second of anticipation as to what might be out there...snow? rain? grey clouds? blue sky? I look out into our backyard and over the fence into the neighbours back yard, will I see the neighbours shovelling? mowing? having a morning cup of coffee? Will their dog, Chinook, hear the blind and look back at me, head tilted sideways in curiosity? What I see will sometimes have an effect on the rest of my day...you know, will I change plans because of the weather? Will I go for a walk in the forest, or do laps at the arena? Whatever my choices are, they usually aren't very life-changing.

However, you just don't know what the day will bring as the sun moves through the sky...from moment to moment something might happen that will change your life, either for good or for bad, and in a way, it's sort of frightening, not knowing what choice to make. Even simple things like when I'm walking in the bush, I come to many forks in the path and sometimes I take one without even thinking, other times I wonder which way to go.... I always end up back at home anyhow, but what if I come across a nasty dog that attacks me, or a cougar, or I trip and snap an ankle and no one knows where I am? How do you know which choice to make? And does it matter? Would something equally bad happen if you choose the other path? Or something equally good?

Or, does it even matter what you choose? Is the choice is made for you. Karma? Fate? Destiny? The Will of God?

Two of my friends woke up one day this summer, I'm sure they both looked out their window and had no idea that on this day, their lives would change.

One friend bought a lottery ticket and won $500, 000! A half a million bucks!

The other friend said "Have fun" or something equally inane to her 20 year old son as he went out, and on his way home that night, he was in an accident and died instantly.

Both of my friends are, as far as I know, equally decent and good people. So what's it all about? Who made that choice?

~There are the waves and there is the wind, seen and unseen forces. Everyone has these same elements in their lives, the seen and unseen, karma and free will. ~Kuan

Sweet bird.

People always say you never see baby crows, and I always wondered why that was, because it's true...you just never do see baby crows. But to my surprise, here is one right before my eyes. Double click on the picture to see his downy feathers, and his nervous eyes. He sat on that fence for close to an hour and a half, and I managed to get closer and closer. I'm thinking his crow-folks told him to wait while they were off looking for whatever it is that crows look for, old french fries and other bits of tasty refuse.

It made me think of "Sing a song of Sixpence, pocket full of rye...4 & 20 blackbirds baked in a pie." Lately I've picked blueberries and made a pie, picked rosehips and made a loaf, I wonder how long it would take me to gather up 23 more blackbirds?

Really?

There is a public library not too far from Shane's place. I always check out libraries when I'm in other places, it's like checking out grocery stores and Mc Donalds...you can get a "feel" of the locality by going places that the locals go. A lot of people sniff that supercilious sniff and say "McDonalds? I'd never go to a McDonalds while on holidays...I'm a traveller...not a tourist." Pfft, pshaw to those folks...other countries have the most amazing McDonalds ever, plus they usually have clean bathrooms. Paris...have a beer with your burger, Patras....have Greek salad and souvlaki, Italy...the best gelato ever. Don't be a travel snob...if all the locals eat at a McDonalds, then...well, it's not really a tourist trap is it? Besides, 'traveller" "tourist"...you say potato....

Anyhow, that got me totally off track. What I wanted to comment on, was the fact that this library was kind of tattered looking, and didn't seem very busy. Can you possibly wonder why? Could it be because to get in the door you have to pass by a larger than life sculpture of a pig being strangled by a huge snake? With little dead piglets scattered about? And if you look up, there is a large vulture type of creature looming over you. Really? Who gave this idea a thumbs up?

September!

What a phenomenal day. It's funny how the last 3 weeks of August were so deathly hot, it was close to 100F every day, and that's highly unusual for around here. People were struggling to walk, sweat dripping down the backs of necks, faces red from both sunburn and exhaustion, dogs lay in the driveway and barely lifted their heads to watch us walk by, certainly not enough energy to bark, ...phew....not liking that heat.

Overnight...August 31, it rains. It's like Mother Nature took at look at our calender and decided to go along with it, the weather turned cool and crisp, I saw a few leaves fall off trees and the forest was spectacular. The air was so clean and fresh, the rain drops glittered like (dare I use the old cliche?) diamonds on the leaves. The smell of a damp forest trail just can't even be explained, but if I could bottle it, the forest wouldn't be safe from the perfumeries trying to compete with me.

It was still early when I went walking, I like how this picture shows the sun on the hills on the left, but the shadow is still on the right. It was not silent, but the sounds were forest sounds, chickadees, tanagers, blackbirds and even crows were all singing and calling, it was a cacophony to enjoy. Even the squirrels were scavenging in the tree tops, i thought at first it was raindrops coming down, but it was just the squirrels dropping pine cones, not sure if it was on purpose or just by mistake.

A sure sign of the end of summer is the bright red rosehips. My Mother always told me that they were chock full of vitamin C and would keep scurvy away. I tend to think that I eat enough oranges to not have to worry about scurvy, but none-the-less, good to know. As a matter of fact, I picked a bag full and came home to make rosehip loaf. It's in the oven right now, so I'll post a picture of it after it's done. I made rosehip tea one year, and it was revolting, so I hope this isn't as bad because it took me hours to seed them...a rosehip is smaller than a cherry, and chock full of little seeds. Of course the seeds are probably the healthy part, but I have heard that, while they won't hurt you, the seeds have tiny little hairs on them that can irritate and cause "itchy bottom syndrome" And that I do not need. And nor do you, so if you ever cook with a rosehip, remove the seeds. Thank you Euell Gibbons.

Perfect size!

I'm not a huge ice cream fan, but every now and then I like a taste, as long as it isn't vanilla. Steven loooves ice cream, but only vanilla. What to do...what to do? If I buy a flavour I like, it will sit forever, if I buy a flavour he likes, which is only vanilla, then I sadly get none on the rare occasion when I want some. And I'm sure it ruins his vanilla moment when I just scowl as he tries to enjoy.

Haagen Daz to the rescue! Sweet and tiny containers of delectable flavours at a mere $2.00 each. And as a bonus, the little container is plastic with a snap on lid, perfect for leftover, well, it's small, so I don't know what would fit there, 14 leftover peas or a mouthful of spaghetti I suppose. Who said technology was failing us? Not me!

Yikes!

We (and by "we", I mostly mean "me") would love to live on the Oregon Coast, or any coast actually, but Cannon Beach was my favorite town. Very touristy in most areas, but that's OK, I like touristy-type shops and attractions. We looked (and by "we", once again I mostly mean "me") for houses for sale, and sadly for us , all those homes were priced well beyond our means. This sweet cottage, no bigger than what you see here, about 900 sq feet and still about 3 blocks from the water, was over half a million dollars. Ouch. Double click to see that price for yourself.

We are slowly working our way up the Coast, towards home. I always hate that feeling of returning home after a holiday, Post Holiday Blues. But...we still had a few fun days left to go. We drove to Tillamook, which is pronounced Tilla-muck and went to the cheese factory. Mmmmmm...cheese...Whenever we are in the States we buy Tillamook cheese, you can't get it in Canada as far as I know,I've never seen it for sale. It's so inexpensive, and SO good. This was actually one of the things we were really looking forward to.

The factory was amazing, it's a self guided tour so you can take your time, and the best part is when you first come in, there is a buffet of cheeses! yes, an actual buffet with many, many delectable types of cheese. The buffet line ends up (where else?) but in the gift shop where everyone was greedily grabbing the many varieties of cheese, some which aren't sold in stores anywhere. (Hmmm...just like all those late night TV commercials) We bought a few 4-packs of flavoured cheeses which contained a garlic white cheddar, a smoked black pepper white cheddar, a garlic chili pepper cheddar and a smoked medium cheddar. Each was was simply delicious, the garlic chili pepper was my personal favorite, really spicy with a garlic tang. The whole pack was only $18.00. At home, one of the packs would be about $7.99.

And if that wasn't enough gastronomic joy, they also make ice-cream there too, and there were samples of that as well, so we had cheese and more cheese, and the ice cream as well. All for free. Oh Tillamook, how I love thee.

Just scrabblin' around in the tide pools on a lovely summer morning. Just me and the birds...