There was an amazing full moon the other night. We were coming home from a hockey game and it was so large that it reminded me of a Saskatchewan harvest moon. It was so big and bright and  unusual for this time of year that I momentarily thought it may be an apocalyptic event. I really need to start reading a new literary genre.

So, to back track a bit, I've always felt somewhat annoyed that I could never see The Man in the Moon. For a lot of years I thought it was just an expression, and then I thought that people meant this:

And then I realized that people actually saw a face in the moon. I looked and looked and tried to imagine where it could be, I squinted my eyes and tried to picture a mouth, or eyes  or a nose in the various shadows. I looked for something  like the Mars face....there were lots of photos of that, and it is pretty interesting:

 but I could never find a picture of what this elusive Man in the Moon looked like. And the years passed.....and I pretty much forgot, because seriously, how important is it, really?  

But with today's magic Google button, one can find anything. ANYTHING. Googling things just amuses me endlessly.  So after I was gazing at this huge moon the other night, I decided that if I can't see a face in THIS giant moon, then there is simply no face to see. And nothing was there, not even an eyebrow or a dimple. And I have a pretty spectacular imagination let me tell you. 

So I came in to Google this phenomena once and for all. I discovered there are two schools of thought.  One: it's The MAN in the Moon....a figure of a hunched over man...not just a face. And of course Two: it's a face. And you know what? They are both incredibly creepy.

That's probably why crazy people and animals go even crazier during a full moon....knowing that a celestial creature of massive creepiness is watching your every move.  I feel a bit unnerved even now, during the light of day.  So I'm glad I don't see it.  Instead of that, I'm going to subscribe to the idea that the moon is made of cheese. I mean really, who doesn't love cheese?

Diamonds Aren't my Bestfriend.

It seems like every book I've read lately has had something to do with weddings. Either the main character is reminiscing about a wedding, or going to one, or trying to stop one, or dreaming about having one, or is finding death and mayhem during one.That's all sort of funny because I've never, even as a little girl, wanted to have one myself.

The thought of the planning, the details, the minutia to pay attention to, making sure everything is perfect down to the last piece of ribbon, the stress, it all chills  my blood. And doing it because "it's traditional" chills my blood even more.

And to be a bride, to be the centre of attention simply freezes my blood. I was always a little odd that way. but having said that, I have to admit that I am somewhat obsessed with looking at wedding pictures and dresses that are sparkly and coloured, and cakes and decorations...I love going to weddings...I've just never wanted to be in one.

But almost more than all that, is the cost and the marketing ploys of The Ring. It's such a scam! Really! Well, wait, maybe "scam" is the wrong word, how about "con" or "You're being Duped."?

So many women want, or hope for, or desire a diamond ring. And so many men are sadly aware of the fact that they should spend approximately two month salary to acquire this bauble. Why? Because in the 1940's, an advertising agency on Madison Avenue came up with a marketing plan for De Beers that said so. Tradition? I think not. But kudos to the marketing team, they managed to convince men that the bigger the rock, the greater the testament to their financial success and also, the greater the love.

De Beers also marketed the idea that a "used" diamond is bad luck. Of course they did! They want each couple to buy a new ring.....it doesn't do them much good if you go out and buy an antique, or use a family heirloom.

It's competitive too. Don't tell me that you haven't seen a friends ring and silently critiqued it as too large, too small, too ugly, too zirconia. Of course you have, we all have. I hate that about me, that those thoughts sometimes appear in my mind without any warning, and I don't want them there.

And of course there is the human issues to deal with. Conflict, or more commonly; blood diamonds.De Beers claims that more than 70 countries now participate in the Kimberly Process, which, in a nutshell ensures that the diamonds exported are all conflict free, involving stringent regulations. They  claim that 99.8% ofdiamonds exported from these 70 countries are conflict free.
However, the United Nations has recently released reports that as many as $23 million dollars worth of diamonds have been smuggled out from Sierra Leone in containers certified as conflict free. There's obviously far more to these stories than I know, but the point is....why do people feel the need to own diamonds at all? Oh, right, because it's tradition. From the 1940's. By a team of Madison Avenue marketers, who laughed all the way to the bank.

Experts say that if you truly feel the need to own a diamond, ask your jeweler where their diamonds come from (Canada and Australia being great choices, although there are legitimate diamond mines in Africa) and ask them to guarantee in writing that the diamond you are purchasing is not a conflict diamond. Any reputable jeweler will accommodate your request...if not, go somewhere else. If you want a diamond, don't you at least want it to represent love and happiness as opposed to hatred and death?

But first, before you buy, ask yourself this and answer super quickly the first thing that pops into your head: "Why do I want a diamond?" I will bet you that the first thing you think of is something like "Diamonds symbolize getting married/love/weddings" "He Went to Jarrod" means he loves you, "Every Kiss Begins With Kay" symbolizes true love and happiness.  Phfffft.  If you really want a diamond, by all means, get a diamond. Follow the pack. But I hope you break away from the pack and follow your own trail.

My Mothers ring, mine & my Grandmothers.

My parents wedding photo & rings.

I must have been in a bad mood this day

(I just found this in my Draft folder, boy oh boy I'm slowly turning into "that" old lady...)

I was in the library today and on the new book bookshelf  I saw a copy of "50 Shades of Gray".
I knew from the getgo that I would hate this book and that is precisely why I've avoided it.

I didn't even want to pick it up. Anything that's is cutely called "mommy porn" pretty much makes my skin crawl. The whole "50 Shades phenomena" and all resulting jokes and cartoons just bug me, bug me to pieces!

And then, I wondered why so many things bug me. Things like Starbucks and their baristas (pfffft.....baristas,  even just saying that bugs me) Things like people who follow trends and think they are "walking to the beat of their own drummer" and also people who use that expression, they bug me too. And people who always agree with you, faaaak, that really bugs me. I mean, agree with me if you actually agree with me, but don't pretend. You think it isn't obvious?

Oh, lets see, what else? Those mothers you see downtown who have a misbehaving kid and they say, in that syrupy voice: "Now Cossette, we don't do that...we use our (insert latest fad-word) "inside voice" "gentle hands" "no touch eyes" whatever the word du jour is. Really moms? Why don't you just tell your kid "no" Even "No, that's not ours, don't touch" or "Shhhhh....don't yell inside."  The kid never listens anyhow.

There is nothing wrong with simply saying "no". You know damn well you say it at home. So stop being so smug in public. Dare I say it? Just discipline your kid and be done with it.

I stood there, in the library, thinking of things that bug me.

The SPCA commercials bug the living shit out of me, and then ruin the rest of my day.

Men that aren't wearing a jacket but have a scarf artfully tossed around their neck. Oh just stop it. Do you to know how stupid you look? You look as bad as those idiot kids with their jeans hanging down to their knees, none of you are "marching to your drummer", you're lemmings. Douchy lemmings I might add.

People that park crooked, you know, the ones who pull into a spot on an angle and take up two spots so that you won't door-ding their vehicle? I seriously want to ram into their vehicle. Or at least kick it on my way by.

Little kids that won't say hello when you see them on the street. That bugs me, but in a sad way.

Politicians.  My blood is boiling before I even finish typing that word.

So by now I've worked myself into quite a rage, and the sight of the "50 Shades" book is making me want to have a tantrum. so I leave the library with a crappy James Patterson book, which bugs me, although at least it wasn't Danielle Steele.

I probably should have found myself a Dr. Phil self help book because there is obviously something wrong with me.

The best souviner

So, you know how you sometimes look in a mirror and see a few new lines, a new wrinkle here, an extra crowsfoot there, a crease that wasn't a part of your face the last time you looked?  That's always a bit discouraging even though you firmly believe that a few new wrinkles are a part of who you are, and every wrinkle has a story. I do believe that, and you know what they say; something like "the alternative to getting wrinkles is being dead."  That's true, unless you start with the plastic surgery and that's just scary. Not for me! No one is ever going to put a scalpel to my face, or inject poison into my forehead. Or put ass fat into my lips...eeek!

I've lost my train of thought now. Wait.....ummmmm, oh yeah, when I look in the mirror and see my face getting older, I sometimes miss the "dewy glow of youth", but I also look into my own eyes (that's not as creepy as it sounds) and I see my mothers eyes. It sometimes rather shocks me, our eyes are the exact same colour, which, when you look closely is a green/hazel/gold sort of colour.  They used to be really vivid, and yeah, I'll say it, pretty striking too. I used to get lots of compliments on my eyes.Now that I'm older they look tired and, well, older. That's how I remember my mothers eyes. It kind of makes me sad.

However, I spend very little time looking in the mirror these days, so I don't see my eyes that often. Honestly, sometimes I don't look in the mirror for an entire day after my teeth are brushed. To expand on that statement, I brush my teeth as soon as I get up, and I always look in the mirror and think of my dad, who used to love Crest toothpaste (which is all I use) because he said it made him "foam like a mad dog." My mum was always telling him: "Oh for Gods sakes Brian, would you go wash your mouth off" as he growled down the hallway, foaming like....you got it, a mad dog.

But, I digress.  I don't look in the mirror often, but I do see my hands a thousand times a day. My hands look old. I don't wear mitts or gloves much, and thus my hands have a kind of  weathered look, I think they look older than they are. They are not nice looking hands, I don't have a fancy manicure and they are pretty "crinkly" as my little neighbour once told me. But I love my hands. I just love them!  They are my mothers hands and my grandmothers hands. I look at them and imagine the people they have touched, the tears they have dried, the foreheads they have smoothed and the shoulders they have hugged. The beloved dogs they have patted and scratched, as well as the ants and grasshoppers and worms they have gingerly cleaned from little boys pockets, not to mention all the disgusting things, you know, things like diapers and flu ridden kids, housetraining puppies and the like.
I am very tactile, I love to touch things and I've been reprimanded in museums more than once, so  there is also all of the ancient statues and paintings that these hands have reached out to put a finger on, quickly before the guards could see. The sands, and beaches and oceans they have dipped into. The unusual and foreign foods they have carried to my mouth...mmmmmm. The clear plexiglass window they placed a palm on, not able to feel the palm on the other side. The phone they clutched, as if the voice coming through could be absorbed into their sensitive finger tips and stored away inside.

Talk about a souvenir....who needs fridge magnets and T-shirts? These hands have touched the places where emperors slept, and touched the places where my babies slept.  Touched the rough, red soil in a small African village and patted the deep brown earth around the petunias in my front yard.

Touched my mothers face the last time I said goodby to her, and held my fathers hand the last time I said goodby to him.  So why on earth would I look at my hands and be sad at the shape they are in? These hands are who I am, I look at them daily and marvel at the places they have been, and the stories they could tell. They say that the your fingertips are the most sensitive part of your body, I wonder if they retain memories too? Wouldn't that be something? If they could talk? Hmmm..maybe just as well that they can't. I think my hands are the ultimate secret keeper.

Can you imagine being able to travel anywhere you want, on a whim? Any time? Any place?

That’s something I dream of, that’s actually how I fall asleep….planning holidays and travel adventures…..so much better than counting sheep.

During the day I gaze at the jet streams that criss cross the skies above my house, and I try to imagine someone up there looking down at my little area of the world as I look up at them. I wonder where they are going, what they are thinking, are they excited? Having fun? Nervous? Scared?Although, I think most people on a plane are busy trying to get their share of the armrest, get comfy in that little area that you call your own...sort of your own mini-home away from home...you try to organize your spot, set your things up...your book, your  bottle of water, your pillow and blanket,  making room for whatever kind of dinner you may be lucky enough (or not)  to receive. 

And even though I have been lucky enough to have travelled at lot, and I am in the midst of planning a trip to Peru (T minus 107 days!) I still get travel envy when someone else is going somewhere. 

Science or nature?

Yesterday as we were leaving the house to go walking, a gentle gust of wind blew little snow flakes at me, little silvery looking flakes. I figured they had blown off the roof, or maybe off the trees in the yard.

But as we continued to walk, I noticed that these little flakes were falling from the sky, even though the sky was clear and blue...not a cloud in sight. It was most unusual, especially when I noticed that they were so small and so fine that when they landed on my coat they were nearly invisible. They were smooth and flat, they actually reminded me of minuscule shards of glass.When we walked towards the sun it was like walking into a cloud of silver glitter. Glitter! I love glitter and shimmery, shiny, sparkly things. Silver glitter makes me shiver with delight.

When we turned around, with our back to the sun, you couldn't see a single flake. Turn and look at the sun...clouds of glitter! Glitter! I walked up the street getting dizzy, turning from sun to no sun, sun to no sun, glitter, no glitter, glitter, no glitter. It was very dreamlike. Although that was probably from the dizziness of spinning. It felt like this:

I doubt it looked like that, but that was exactly how it felt!
And then we saw an old man walking towards us, he caught my eye and grinned, so I knew he has been enjoying the sparkles as well. I made a feeble sort of gesture towards the sun and he  pointed up and said: "It's just like walking through diamonds isn't it?"

Our walk took longer than our usual hour, basically because I was so busy looking and spinning and turning, but it was just spectacular. When we got home, I went straight to Google to find out what this phenomena was all about....I Googled: "glitter falling from the sky" and there were lots of hits (is that the term?..."hits"?) but they were mostly about actual glitter that you buy and then throw in the air at parties and what not. And other things like magical jewels falling from the sky in India, sillyness.

I then Googled "snow crystals" and all those hits were educational and scientific, websites that end in ".edu". Well, that's just boring and no fun at all. I don't even want to know those explanations. Pffft...science is depressing.

So I just decided that every now and then someone wants to surprise us. It could be Odin or Zeus or Jupiter...all gods of the sky. Maybe Tane-rore, he is the Maori god of the shimmering air! The Greeks had the god Chaos, he was the god of "nothingness from which all else sprang" There was certainly nothing there, these sparkles came from nowhere. Also, Chaos is the god of the lower atmosphere. I think it was him. Unless it was Theia, goddess of the "clear, blue sky".  Hey, what about Horagalles, god of the weather?

Maybe it was a combination, a party of the Gods. A competition, so to speak. And I got to watch. Lucky, lucky me.

Two Sides

One of my Dads favorite things to say to me, when I was young and full of myself, was "There are two sides to every story". Sometimes he'd change it up a bit, depending on what my opinionated rant was, to things like: "It takes two to tango" and "the truth is never pure and rarely simple" and of course the ever popular "whats good for the goose is good for the gander"

So I learned at a young age that there are indeed two sides to every story, but the older I get, the harder it is to decide what side is the right side. Or even if there is  a right side. And often there isn't.

I read an article the other day about a married couple, senior citizens, who went South for the winter and prior to going they applied for (and were accepted) for travel health insurance. As fate would have it, they both ended up in the hospital in the US and were flown home, and submitted their claims to their insurance company.

Long story short, they were denied. Even longer story short, it was considered fraud since they they had both answered a question wrong on their insurance application. His was "Do you suffer any bowel conditions" and he answered no. Apparently, however, in the 1960's, he was diagnosed with IBS and had not had a flare up in 50 years (50 years!) even though he does take a daily pill to prevent flare ups. He assumed (oh yeah....another of my dads platitudes...we all know the one about "assume") he had assumed that since he hadn't had a problem in 50 years that he did not suffer from a bowel condition. And besides, he ended up in the hospital from a heart problem.

Her error was "Have you been treated for a heart condition in the last 12  months". She assumed (here we go again...) that they meant in the 12 months from when she was going to be in the States, not 12 months prior to the day she was filling this out. She had been treated 10 months earlier for a heart problem, but she ended up in the hospital for a kidney problem.

So they were denied, and they now face bills of over $100,000 each.

The two sides are tough. One side says "It was a honest mistake, and it"s not like they were treated for the conditions they said they didn't have...if they had answered "yes" to those questions, they might have paid more for their premium, but they still would have ended up in the hospital, but with coverage"

The other side says "Oh come on....when your"re diagnosed with a condition and you take a pill a day for 50 years to prevent flare ups of that condition, how can you possibly say you don't have that condition?" And for her. "What part of "the prior 12 months" makes you think that they don't actually mean 12 months??"

I'm just so glad I don't have to make that choice. But it makes me doubt the sincerity of the insurance company, how long did it take them to delve back 50 years?

I think about that kind of thing a lot, but luckily it's only theoretical to me,  the type of thing that I can discuss with friends, and listen to other opinions and maybe get a fresh outlook on. Doesnt affect me personally (knock wood, that is.)



I'm just in the process of filling out forms for our health insurance, and reading this article has made me think I had better fill them out very carefully indeed. Now that Steven has officially retired, we need to fill out different forms, one came in the mail today. We need to register with a different part of Pacific Blue Cross, and they sent a form. However, the form says "this does not register you, please register first" with a phone number. I phoned them, of course there is a robot on the other end, and the first thing they want is your registration number.

I've been down this telephone game road before, and I think there is only one side to this story, and it probably isn't mine.

night shots

Just a little experiment with night shots with the new camera.

There are so many reasons why these years are better than years in the past.....major things,  like better medicine, better safety features in vehicles, better working conditions and so on.

There are worse things too, also major, you know, things like pollution, crime and whatnot.

But its the little,small things that make me smile and make me happy that someone thought of them.

Things like the screw-off cap on the large cartons of juice...no more of the bendy/foldy spout. Man...how I hated that..especially when sometimes it wouldn't fold in and out properly and you'd then have to try and slide a knife in the seal, and it would always cut the carton in the wrong spot so that that juice would come in in four streams, two of which would invariably go on the floor.

And the plastic push-in spout on the smaller juice cartons...whoa....so much better than trying to pull up the corner of the carton and cut that heavy, waxy cardboard into a proper sized spout. And you know how that always worked....you'd have a firm grip on the carton, and the minute you cut the cardboard corner, the air would escape, your hand would squeeze the box and no matter how hard you tried, again, juice all over the place. No wonder my kids hardly ever had juice. It was far too stressful

 Christmas treats include the edible; homemade chips and homemade salsa, as well as the wearable...holiday socks from my friend, she buys me a pair every year.

Another year.....I don't make resolutions, but I did sort of make a decision. I decided to write something in my blog every single day. I sat down with my new and beloved ipad and wrote a short, but wildly entertaining missive for today, January 1st.

And it would not "publish".  There were odd error messages, and then the "publish" button just vanished. I was pretty annoyed because you know how it is when you write something and then lose it....it's like the fish that got away...you know, it just gets more and more brilliant as you try to recreate it. *sigh*

So,I decided that once a week would be plenty. Surely I can find something to share with you once a week, and surely I can find the time to turn on the desktop computer and have a blog that works.

But I decided to try the ipad one more time, so far I can still see the "publish" button, so here we go....

The other day I was tying my shoes and I got to thinking. Shoelaces seem to be stronger than they used to be. I can't even recall the last time I was tying a shoe and the lace broke. It was always when you were in a hurry, and as you gave that final tug, the lace snapped and often the side of your hand would snap back and smack you in the face. If you were really young, you'd get a sinking, almost afraid feeling and moan out loud: "Oh nooooooo......moooooom, my shoelace broke....." It was almost worth crying over.  If you were older, you'd simpy swear: "faaaak. My faaaaking shoelace broke. Fak."

Then you'd have to hastily unlace it a bit, usually through a few holes so that you'd have enough lace to tie a quick knot and then re-thread it, and man, nothing was worse than when you held your breath and gave it a hesitant and gentle tug, and poof, it didn't hold, and you had to start all over. Or, you had to run out with it not fixed properly and your shoe would be flapping off your foot as you did that limping sort of  gallop to catch up with your friends.

That hasn't happened to me in a long, long time.

Do you think they make better quality shoelaces these days? Why would that be? Everything else, and I mean everything is made cheaper and crappier nowadays. Other than shoelaces it seems. Is there a shoelace cartel that we don't know about? A shoelace mafia?

Or maybe I just don't have the upper arm strength that I used to. Who knew there would be a benefit to that? My shoelaces now last forever.

Traveller or Tourist?

 I am going to Peru. It's been on my bucket list since before I knew what a bucket list was. I'm pretty excited.

Someone made a comment along the lines of "We will be travellers, not tourists." And I really wanted to say something, but we are meeting in Lima as a group, and we'll be travelling a lot of the time together, so I certainly don't want to alienate myself from the group already. But this is my take on that sentence:

"Are you a traveller or a tourist?" I just don't buy into this argument. I think those words are  a distinction used by pretentious people to make themselves seem superior to others. As far as the locals of anywhere are concerned, it doesn't matter how long you have been on the road or what your mindset is, if you're not local....you're a tourist.

The definition of tourist is "Someone who travels for pleasure". The definition of traveller is "A person who changes location.". Same thing in the long run.

When you arrive somewhere, you are a tourist, no matter how long it took you to get there, or how you got there. Everyone has the right to arrive at their destination as they wish...be it by helicopter or chicken bus.

Staying in a cheap hostel, drinking local beer on the roof at night and eating local food from a street vendor with other people, be they local or from another place, does not make you any less a tourist...you are still someone visiting from another country. If your pillow is in a hut in a back alley or in a Hilton Hotel, you are still a tourist.

It's how travel is experienced that counts, it's what each of us gains from our own adventure that counts. Who is to say that what you enjoy needs to be the same as what I enjoy? Do you really think that locals care why we are there? Whether we are there for spiritualistic reasons, or materialistic reasons? If we want to shop at local markets or big name stores?  See famous sights or discover an unknown street?  They don't care....however you spend your time or money, you are still a visitor...a tourist...in someone else's country.

The important thing is to enjoy yourself, and to respect the place you are visiting. Enjoy their culture and see the sights you want to see.

So please, don't tell me that your adventure was better than mine or anyone else's because you are a "traveller, not a tourist". Once we leave our house, we are all the same.

This argument needs to die.

There was a blue moon on Friday. Some people said it was on Thursday since it was actually at its very fullest in the wee hours of the morning, so depending on what you read, it was either Thursday night or Friday. Astronomers said Friday.

But, regardless (I always want to say "irregardless" because it's just so wrong that it amuses me) a blue moon is a special night, nine times more powerful than a regular full moon. It only occurs about every two and half years, and to happen on a clear summer night on the last day of the month is even rarer.

It's the most positive time for  charging, or infusing, or empowering crystals, quartz, and silver. It's energy can be summoned for protection, wisdom and love.

So I took advantage of this and I set out my silver necklace with some of Gypsy's ashes in it, under the moonbeams on Thursday night. The moon shines directly on my sundeck.

The following morning, I wore the necklace and went for a walk in the forest, following the trails that we most commonly took when I used to walk her. It was a hot, hot morning and as I walked I concentrated as hard as I could on her spirit as I held the necklace....I imagined her running through the bushes, chasing squirrels, digging frantically for gophers, and looking at me with those beautiful pitty eyes. The air had that hot, dry grass of August smell, and I breathed as deeply as I could, trying to inhale as much of that scent as I could, and I imagined the essence of her seeping into the necklace. 

The moon was still faintly visible, the pale white daytime moon, so imagined that there was still good energy in the air.

Then I went for lunch with a friend who is one of the strongest, most positive and happy people that I know. That lunch  table had nothing but good vibes! I spent the rest of the day thinking happy and positive thoughts, staying clear of negativity, watching no news, all the while wearing Miss Gypsy.

All this story telling does have a point, and I'll get to it soon, but I feel like this background info is a crucial part of the story.

That night was the "real" full moon, even though it had been full during the day, now it was visible  and not a cloud in the sky, so the moonbeams were so bright that they lit up the table where I set the necklace. I wrapped it around a pine cone that I had brought home from the forest years ago, when Gypsy was still here.

And that was that. This morning, Saturday September 1st, I put it on (slept terribly all night long, worried that crows would steal it during the night) and off I went, back to the bush.

Now, you know, I don't think it matters what a person believes, as far as a greater power goes, as long as you actually believe. I'm not going to get caught up in the semantics of religion here, suffice it to say I have my own beliefs, as I'm sure you have yours too. As the saying goes, "your beliefs don't make you a better person, your behavior does." And this is my story.

I'm walking the trail, knowing that my talisman is as powerful as it's ever going to be. The forest is quiet and still. So still. Not a blade of grass is moving, not a leaf on a tree is stirring. Not the tiniest breath of air is moving. I'm concentrating on receiving a sign....any sign....any proof.

I stop every few minutes, listening for a crack or rustle in the bush. Actually, I always hear noises, generally the wind blowing, or a squirrel dropping a pinecone, or running along a branch. Sometimes I hear a tiny "snap" as a deer steps on a branch. Sometimes I even hear large bangs and crashes as someone elses dog runs out of the underbrush, tongue lolling and eyes sparkling as it sees me, hoping for pats or treats and leaving generous dollops of slobber on my pants.

Today, however was just so silent. Every few minutes I give the two tone whistle that Shane used when he called her, but I can't whistle very loudly, so I also gave the horsey sort of click that I used to call her. Stop dead...listen...nothing. A few more times....nothing.

I'm wondering what to say if I see someone, if they hear me calling a dog. I can't really say I'm looking for a sign from beyond, nor do I want to pretend I have a real dog in the woods, but luckily I see no one, so it's a moot worry.

About half way through the walk I'm on a part of the path that was Gypsy's least favorite. There is a fork in the path, one way goes home and she always wanted to go that way and when I kept going straight she would slump down and look dejected and thump along behind me, you could just hear her heaving a huge sigh of resignation. Such a drama queen.

Now I hear a crackle in the bush. I stop and hear it again. I want to turn and look, but if it's a squirrel, I'll be so disappointed. But if I keep going, and don't turn, then I can pretend it was her, but I'll never know. And I'll always regret not turning. But if I turn, and it's nothing, I'll wish I had just kept going. Ack! What to do?

I turn.

 I see a squirrel run out of the underbrush. I can almost taste the disappointment. I bite my lip. The squirrel looks and me and I look at it. It's holding a pinecone in its little paws, so sweet. Then it drops the pinecone and scampers about two feet up the tree, chattering loudly....scolding me for startling it I assume.

Then, and I swear on my mother's grave, I swear on my children's lives, the grasses beside the path start to move and I see a "whoosh" or a ripple of movement from the path to the tree, the grasses move as if something is dashing towards the tree. It lasts only a second or two...it lasts as long as...well, as long as it would take a small dog to dash from beside my legs to the base of the tree.

My heart sort of stopped. I stood as still as I could. There is not another leaf or grass or hair on my head that is moving. There is not the slightest bit of breeze anywhere...the world is still.

And I start to cry.

I can't believe how long it's been since I've written anything...oh, it's just been so hot and even though I like the heat more now than I used to, it still just wears me out.

But today's weather is quite cool compared to the last month or and as things cross my mind, instead of filing them away for future consideration, I've been feeling more and more like jotting them down. 

Something I've been thinking about is security at airports. I went to Victoria a few weeks ago, and I was "randomly chosen" at the Cranbrook airport to be searched.

I had feared that I was in trouble for bringing a 4 ounce container into a 3 ounce world, but it was apparently was a genuine random search since nothing was confiscated.

 Our small airport doesn't have the scanner, so my choices were either right there, in front of everyone, or behind a curtain. I didn't really want to know what was behind Curtain #1, does someone sit back there all day, waiting for his chosen one? To me it was a simple case of "the devil you know", and the woman who said she would check me right there seemed grandma-ish and friendly. 

Plus, I didn't really want anyone to see me being led away....

So, it was nothing, she ran the wand all over me, patted me down, took an extreme interest in my shoes, the whole thing took less than 3 minutes. Not a big deal. Not like being searched in Amsterdam....that's another story for another day.

I'm sure they are trained in how to do the pat-down, I mean, I'm sure they do it the same way to everyone, regardless of the airport, so it made me wonder why people get so upset and irate and consider it to be so invasive. And in bigger airports you can chose the scanner. And people get upset about that too, which makes me say "Really? After 9/11 and shoe bombers and underwear bombers and people with box cutters in their pockets, you want to complain about the fact that security is tight?  You'd rather just chance it? Tell ya what, why don't we have two types of flights, one where anybody can get on, and one where there are random checks...I'll bet my flights have more passengers than yours."

I mean, yes, people still get through the check points with contraband, and there will still be hijackings and bombings, but I think that because that statement is true, it proves that we probably need those security measures.

And please...don't tell me that you're uncomfortable with your child being scanned....whoever is looking at the X-ray (for lack of whatever they call it...the picture) didn't take that job for any perverse reason...they don't see your child in person;  they are in a different area totally; the face is blurred out; they see this X-ray picture of your kid for approximately TWO seconds,  and they see far more adults than children.

Its likea slightly fuzzy negative.

Any sicko who wants a thrill  is going to see way more at a public beach or a swimming pool rather than sitting in a booth for 8 hours hoping that today is the day that a child is pulled aside and that they will get a 2 second glimpse of some bones . I mean, I know that people want to protect their kids, but its a new world out there...not everyone is wanting to view your child...lighten up. If you are truly that afraid of an airport scanner tech looking at your child, then you may as well wrap that kid up in blankets and store them away.

you walk in, you stand two seconds, you walk out.

I guess what it's all about is the fact that you don't have to fly. You can drive, take a train, bus, or you can stay home. if you want to fly...you pay the price, literally and figuratively.

U.S. of A. Yay and Nay.

First of all, let me say, I have a lot of American friends whom I adore. As well as friends from other countries. All of us discuss our various governemnts and we all complain. I don't think any of us has a government to be proud of, except perhaps Sweden, Denmark, Finland and the like. The rest of us put up with crap and corruption, lies and laziness, dolts and dumbasses.

One of the things I like best about going to the States is going to the grocery stores. For a country so similar to ours, I cannot  believe the wonderful things they stock on their shelves! Things I just never see around here...new and exciting cereals, packaged foods that I've never heard of, canned goods that boggle my mind, and the prices....whoa...the prices.....



Soup varieties I've never seen!



GIANT jars af Vlasic for $1.98. We pay $6.00 for half this size.

I could spend hours wandering through the aisles. I saw pickled watermelon rind, I saw powdered goat milk, I saw canned crawfish and brown tomatoes called "kumatos". I saw gold and silver spray "paint" that you actually spray on your food. I wonder if that makes your poop sparkle?

We get bothered by mosquitos up here, and we can buy all sorts of mosquito and bug repellent, but I've never seen this before, damn pesky birds:

And outside the store, I almost bought one of these:

I don't know why this came out sideways.  Boo.

But some of the "freedoms" allowed in the USA, I think go too far.
We went to The Black Sheep, which is a sporting goods/hunting/camping place. Steven buys almost all his hunting stuff here, the people are great and the prices are rock bottom. Cheaper than anywhere else, and they have three huge stores, one with the hunting/camping gear, from guns and knives and fishing supplies...everything you could need for the outdoors, one with clothes for the aforementioned sports, and a liquidation place.In other words, its not some rinky-dink Mom & Pop place.

So, I'm wandering around and I see some posters. I thought for a second they were Justin Beiber, and I wondered why he  would be here. Then I realized it was someone else, but I didnt recognize who, perhaps a hunting icon? I wandered over, and to my shock, I realized it wasn't a poster, but a target. A target of a kid. A kid in a hoodie.
A target of a kid in a hoodie that you are supposed to practice shooting at.
Really? Really?
There were actually 2, they were attatched and you got them both for .99. The second one had the prime kill zones, so you'd know where to shoot.
Seriously? I honestly felt my stomach lurch.
I thought to myself "No one is going to believe this." So I picked one up and went to the till. The clerk was a young girl, maybe late teens, early twenties and and when I said "Is this a shooting target?" She smiled and said "Yeah, crazy hey? We can hardly keep them in stock, especially after that whole Treyvan thing. We also had zombies and President Obama." and she happily rang up my purchase.

Zombies...OK, whatever. But this?

I'm actually at a loss for words.

Clean up your mess.

 I have a good idea.

You know how ICBC, or whatever car insurance place you deal with, will either pay to have your vehicle fixed after an accident, or it will pay you out if your vehicle is non-fixable?

Well, I think that the person responsible should have to clean up the mess before they get their money.

Another car went off the road up by where we walk, and all the glass and metal pieces are strewn all over. And you know its going to stay there forever, literally, since it's all nonbiodegradable.

So, before you get your car fixed, or your money...you should have to clean it up. Oh, but you're in the hospital? That's OK, we'll hang on to your money until you''re better. Oh, but you'll never be able to walk or bend over again? That's OK, pay someone else to do it, and then you'll get your money. We'll even deduct it from what you're getting, just to help you out. Oh...you died? Still OK, before your estate or family gets the money, they can pay someone to clean it up. Not your fault at all? Hey...that happens, some accidents are really no-fault. But, you know what? Life sucks, be a decent member of the human race and clean it up anyway.

As I was standing there, spouting my words of wisdom, Steven was gathering up some of the sharper metal pieces as this is a prime dog walking area. I confess, I took home nothing, but tomorrow I'll bring a sturdy bag and gather some of the mess. People that live in glass houses.....

How smart?

So, we got a letter from BC Hydro the other day, saying that we will soon be getting a new Smart Meter. And that got me thinking about some of the articles I've seen but have not really paid much attention to, about said Smart Meters, so I did a bit of googling and browsing, and I have a few concerns.

First, it isn't very easy to find good, reliable, unbiased pros and cons. I found a lot of proponents and a lot of opponents. I'd read the articles of the people who were for the Smart Meters and find myself nodding and agreeing, then I'd read the against articles and I'd find myself siding with them. I read and read until my head was spinning with both information and misinformation.

 If they were genuinely going to save money, I'd be all for it, but from what I can see, that just ain't gonna happen. The installation of them will be, and this is according to government figures......$930 million...yes, million dollars. I can't wrap my mind around that kind of money. How long will it take to recoup that?

 I'd be curious as to who has the contract to supply these meters to the government.

But, here's the thing, apparently, in a nutshell, this is how the system is supposed to work: it tracks the high period of usage and the low period, and you pay more if you use more during the high period. You pay less if you use less. So if everyone runs their dishwasher, for example, between 5 and 7 PM, the amount of electricity being used is high, thus you will pay more.

So, what? I'm supposed to run my dishwasher at 8PM when no one else is? Makes sense, except won't everyone do that? Then that makes 8PM the 'bad' time. Should I set my alarm and get up at 3AM and run it then, and maybe throw in a quick load of laundry? Why don't we do that? Oh, because most people use electricity when they do, for valid reasons, like cooking dinner at dinner time, and getting up to go to work in the morning , and getting the kids off to school. That's why.

Or maybe 'they' can set it up like watering your yard, even numbered houses can use their dishwashers and washers and dryers on even numbered days.

 And what about huge electricity consumers, like the air conditioner? We're all gonna be using that at the same time...man, that smart meter is gonna be whirlin' and BC Hydro will be just agrinnin'....maybe that's their whole plan? Because, come on, you KNOW that they would not be spending $930,000,000 if they were not going to be making beaucoup dollars. I mean, really, let's be serious.

The BC Public Interest Advocacy Centre says that the smart meter will increase our Hydro bills by about 8.3%. Hydro then gave these tips on how to reduce your bill:

1. Change how you use your air conditioner, turn it off when you're not home, set it to 77, use a ceiling or portable fan as they use much less electricity.

2. Don't run your pool pump all the time.

3. Don't operate your appliances at peak hours, and maybe purchase Energy Star efficient ones.

4.Cook efficiently, (ie) put more than one dish in the oven at a time and freeze one for later use, use an electric frying pan instead of a burner or oven.

5. Replace your light bulbs with CFL's.

6. Turn off electric devices when not in use.

And so on.... These are all excellent ideas and we should all try to incorporate them in our daily lives, but hey, BC Hydro....how about we continue to do this, as most of us already are, and you DON'T install the new meters and you just continue to bill us as you already are? Because you don't seem to have a problem with sending out those bills and collecting our money, and raising your prices.

But what really made me think twice were all the articles (and there were many, many, many) written by BC Hydro officials and government officials touting the safety of the new meters, since the main concern seems to be the amount of radiation that they emit.

There are a number of prominent doctors, scientists, members of the World Health Organization, members of various governments who claim that the smart meters are not safe. There are an equal number who claim that they are. There seems to be just as many who say that there have not been enough studies done to decide either way. We havent lived with smart meters in our homes for long enough, or in neighbourhoods where there are hundreds of them emitting their small bits a radiation.

 And that, my friends, to me, is the deciding factor. "Not enough studies done." Let's just take a quick look at a few things that our government, the FDA, the WHO and other groups have told us were safe, shall we? Bear in  mind that all of these were supposed to be perfectly safe/good for us.

1. Thalidomide.  No further words needed.

2. Cigarettes. My parents each used to get a carton with their paychecks, as a bonus, from the government. My parents are now dead. Cancer. In their lungs.

3. Something as innocuous as living beneath a power line. Who would have ever thought that could be a health hazard to your children?

4. Aspartame...approved by the FDA as a "healthy alternative" to sugar.

5. fen-phen.. Better than being fat, but being fat is better than being dead.

6. Bisphenol A in baby bottles.

7. Mercury fillings.

8. Silicone breast implants. And what's with this anyhow....banned and withdrawn in 1992, yet back on the market in 2006?

9.DDT. Agent Orange. Again, no words needed. But if you google Agent Orange birth defects and look at images, I guarantee you'll cry, and if you ever trust anything the government says again, you're a fool.

10. Lead paint. How many babies do you think chewed on the rails of their cribs that were painted in lead based paint? But that's OK, the government told us it was safe.

11. Here's a big one...asbestos.

12. Glow in the dark watch dials.  I had one, and I'll bet you or your parents did too. Read the book "Radium Halos" by Shelly Stout. They were female factory workers who died of radiation poisoning from painting watch dials with supposedly safe glow in the dark paint. An estimated 4000 women were hired by large corporations in both the US and Canadian factories to paint the watch dials and hands. The US company was a defence contractor, supplying glow in the dark watches to the military. We all know the secrets the military tried to keep.

    We don't really know how many women died of radiation poisoning...and do you know why? Because the deaths of the women were attributed to syphilis, to smear their reputation so that the ones who did insist that the paint was causing their deaths and illnesses would not be believed. And why were the deaths attributed to syphilis? At the urging of the companies and the government.  Doctors and dentists were urged to destroy information. Sounds a bit far-fetched and ludicuous, I know, but its true. There was litigation and court cases, and the end result was a huge factor in the establishment of labour standards and occupational hazard laws.

But, guess what? That happened in 1928 and raduim paint was used in watch making until the 1960's. Why? Because the government said it was safe.


And this is a tiny, minuscule, small list of all the things that we were once told were safe for ourselves and our families.

Its not that I think the governments/industries/huge corporations are necessarily lying...but the thing is, they don't know for sure...they have never known for sure....so why take a chance?