Happy Halloween



It promises to be snowy for the trick-or-treaters here; it's comin down hard now, and 10-15 cms is forecast to hit by tomorrow. Verrrry scarrrry....

The Doll Carriage



When I was a little girl, I always had my arms full of dolls. I loved to dress them up and do their hair; and my mom would knit beautifully detailed clothing for them, including woolen undershirts and underpants, dresses, sweaters, pants, hats, coats, mittens, socks and scarves. If Mom left a clothespeg lyin around, I would find a way to turn it into a dolly and clothe it. Even our good-natured tabby cat wasn't safe: he would cheerfully purr while I swaddled him in layers of clothing, his tail hangin out of one of the panty leg-holes.

For my fifth or sixth birthday, my parents gave me a beautiful doll carriage that was loaded with features: the hood of the carriage could fold down, it had realistic springs and brakes, and the carriage itself could be converted into a stroller. I was in heaven, and I couldn't wait to show it off to my best friend, Barbie, who lived across the street and down a few houses.

The problem was that Mom was busy, and I was absolutely forbidden to cross the street without adult accompaniment. Barbie and I called at one another from opposing curbs, and finally I couldn't stand it any longer and I scurried over to her with my new prize. She admired it appropriately and then I thought I had better get my hiney back home before I got into trouble. I lowered my doll carriage onto the street behind a big Eatons or Sears delivery truck, when suddenly it backed up and squashed my carriage flat. I let out a shriek that brought half the neighbourhood outside to see what terrible tragedy had occurred.

The poor driver was hysterical. My mom brought him into the house and served him coffee, but he was too busy rockin back and forth with his head in his hands, sobbing, "I didn't see her; oh my God, I could have killed her; I didn't see her; I'm so sorry." The store had to send another driver over to take over his deliveries for the day so he could go home and recover.

I was hysterical, too, but not because I perceived any threat to myself. I was beside myself with grief over my ruined carriage, and with fear that I was really gonna get it from my parents.

I was surprised and hugely relieved when all I got were cuddles and coos. Daddy, especially, when he got home from work, wiped my tears away and said don't worry, little girl, we'll get you another carriage.

And they did. It was the same model, which must have been a large expenditure for my hard-working parents to make a second time. I was soothed. And I never crossed the street without permission again.

For years I pranced proudly up and down the sidewalk on our street, pushing my doll carriage, my little charges fully clothed and bundled under lace sheets and woollen blankets that Mom sewed especially for my carriage. Imagine the surprise felt by a nice lady, walkin home from the bus stop, who asked to see my "baby" and was greeted with the sight of a heavily clad tabby cat snuggled cozily with his head on the eyelet-trimmed pillow.


Each of my dolls had a name and a distinct personality and voice. Here I am with Tootsie and Pootsie (two PINK twin poodles, a gift from my big brother Frank), Honey Bee (she could be a bit naughty at times), Joy (my favourite and always a good girl), and Sandy (a little dog on wheels given to me by firefighters at the hall where my mom used to clean).

Walking on Clouds



Today Curtis and I got wonderful news from the oncological team at the CancerCare clinic: My most recent ct-scan shows no new tumors, and either no growth, or SHRINKAGE of the existing tumors. Given the tummy troubles that I have been having, we were greatly relieved to hear this. (It seems they are side effects of the treatment.)

I still have the snuffles and a nagging cough, but I am apparently responding to the antibiotics, as both my lungs are now clear.

We are both so grateful to the powers-that-be, as well as everyone who has prayed and sent best wishes our way.

Ugh



In the wee hours last Tuesday, I thought I had hurt my throat during a violent bout of vomiting. Unfortunately, it was the beginning of a cold....a bad one.

I haven't had a cold for about 2 1/2 years, since before I had to quit teaching. But this one's tryin to make up for that by bein particularly miserable. By Sunday night I began to suspect that my left lung was involved, so as a precaution, I went to see my GP on Monday (yesterday). Sure enough, some fluid in my lung. I'm on penicillin now, which makes my already over-active bowels very unhappy; but hopefully, I will kick the infection in the next few days.

Curtis worries over me and babies me so much, it's scandalous. It's just a cold, I tell him; but it seems that my immune system is low, so I do look and sound pretty pathetic. I'm using a very effective cough suppresant that doesn't taste like death; it is helping greatly to keep my hacking at a minimum.

A word of advice: You could probably make a tidy profit if you invested in Kleenex stock right about now.....

NOW Do You Believe Me?



When I tell people that my city has some of the worst drivers on the planet, I am sometimes accused of exaggerating. Or I'm told, oh no, it's much worse in big cities like DC or Chicago. Well, the photo above was taken recently on a downtown Winnipeg street.

And can you believe the chick behind the wheel is smiling?

Case closed.

Recipe for an ellen



dough:
Take 1 happy spirit and place 2 twinkling stars into its eyes. Sprinkle with 1 1/2 cups of freckles, and top with 1 handful of duck fluff.

filling:
Stir vigourously until frothy: a few buckets of tears. Mix in evenly: 1 huge dollop of humour until the tears evaporate. Add 25 years of dedicated teaching and a few tons of love. Blend in the support of 3 cups of friends, 1000 prayers and the love of dozens of pets. Stuff filling into spirit and allow to rise.

topping:
Top with 1 happy marriage and as much hope as the spirit can possibly hold.

Cook at various temperatures for 52 years and counting.

serve with:
1 loving hillbilly

My Evolution as a School Marm



When I was a little girl, I excelled in all aspects of school: academics, theatre, choir, recess (I was REALLY good at recess), sports and games (although not what you would describe as athletic, I was willing and adept at play). I showed early tendencies towards leadership, and was a confident public speaker. An imaginative child, I often partook in role play, including playin school with my easel chalkboard.



As a young teen I was big for my age, and that led me to feel awkward and less confident. The "mean girls," sensing my insecurities, circled like hungry sharks and tormented me with petty cruelties. This damaged my social status, but never interfered with my academics, where I continued to succeed. My greatest strengths quickly emerged as being in the Arts, for math and chemistry bored me to distraction. I have never been a person to do well at what I find tedious.



During my school years, the education system was very big on testing: IQ tests, DAT (Differential Aptitude Test), musical aptitude tests, etc. I scored well on all of them, which was actually to my detriment in high school....

On the basis of these tests, particularly the DAT test, students were called into the guidance office for individual career counselling. I waited anxiously for my turn, for I was in a quandary as to what I should be "when I grew up." When all the interviews were completed and I had not been called, I went into the counselling office to investigate. There I was told that, my scores were so consistently high, that I could be "whatever I wanted to be." Period. Thanks a lot.



Oh, not that I hadn't been given ad hoc advice throughout the years...When you were a smart little girl back in the day, you were always steered into one of two professions: nursing or teaching. I knew I didn't want to be a nurse; bedpans and festering wounds were not my cup of tea; besides, I knew I would get far too emotionally invested in patients and that would destroy me. As for teaching, I guess I just resisted the notion out of a kind of rebelliousness. Always respectful and obedient, there was a part of me that didn't want to be a teacher just because everyone said I should; and so I balked at the idea.

And so I floundered. After graduating from high school, I decided to just enjoy the heck out of my university experience. And I did: I selected Arts courses purely out of interest, which resulted in a double major in English and Philosophy/Religious Studies. I LOVED doing the research, the note-taking, the organizing and the drafting; HATED doing the final drafts, because by then, for me, the academic exercise was over. I made the Deans Honour List every year, and my English profs urged me to take Honours English. I was flattered, but realized it was time to take something more "bankable," a course of study that would actually get me a paying job....

In the meantime, I volunteered at Children's Hospital, at a facility for severely mentally challenged kids, at a day camp for the YWCA. I held numerous summertime and part-time jobs, almost all of them for the provincial and city parks and recreation departments. I taught arts and crafts to children and mentally challenged adults, I taught macrame to adults, I was a playground leader and camp counsellor, I ran teen drop-in centres, I was a community centre supervisor (the first female one in the city, as a matter of fact - don't doubt for a second that those rink rats made me run the gauntlet, whew). I babysat.



Then it occurred to me: DUH! Who was I kidding? What I did best, and what I loved most, was workin with kids. Teaching. And so I succumbed, overstepped my stubbornness, and picked up a minor in History so that I could pursue a Certificate in Secondary Education.

I loathed the babyish and laborious assignments we were given, but I adored student teaching. No longer was I a struggling outcast in school; I was at the helm, steering, conducting, setting the tone. I felt liberated, empowered. I loved the students, especially the shy, clumsy, uncertain ones. The classroom was where I belonged.

I quickly found employment and immersed myself in all aspects of student activity, carefully avoiding staff-centered committees and meetings (where I always tended to be a bit of a brat). It took me a while to adjust to the advent of computers; and even though I spent noon hours teachin kids with bag lunches how to use the PowerPoint program for presentations when it first came out, I never caught up to my students' computer skills, which far outstripped my own. Ah, the Smart Board! What an ingenious invention. Now I could show my kids three different interpretive readings of the same speech from Othello, without having to wheel in and cable up three TV and VCR carts, side-by-side. Brilliant!



I embraced innovative learning tools like my last school's new computer lab. How else could I expand the universes of a roomful of teenagers within seconds, by showing them samples of Pop Art culture? Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstien were literally at their fingertips. Teaching was getting more and more exciting, and I was riding the crest of a technological wave. Who knew how far beyond the blackboard I would grow?

I miss it so. I miss it all. I ache for it, dream about it almost nightly. Twenty-five years just wasn't enough. I wanted more. Ah, well. Such is life.



Postscript: I'm reading Frank McCourt's Teacher Man, an engaging narrative about his 30 years as a New York City high school English teacher. A must-read for anyone who has ever been, loved, or known a teacher. I adore Mr. McCourt, as a writer and as a teacher. Perhaps because he, like me, is a story-teller, who, against the advice of his older and more experienced colleagues, shared snippets of his life history with his students. I suppose we admire what resembles us, and so my ego is showing.

A Good Weekend - Edited and Photos Added Since Originally Posted



It was a weekend of good food, good company, and good bargains. We got a Gortex winter coat for Curtis at a very good price; lots of good quality, marked-down clothing for both of us; a new 6 qt crock pot with carrying case for only 20 bucks; a beautiful wrought-iron wall sconce for our livingroom;



colognes and toiletries; Halloween decorations and candy (lots of eyeballs and fingers and gross stuff made of chocolate and peanut butter, yum);


The table runner, glass candle with pumpkins, turkey tealight holder and candy were all Fargo purchases.


Here's a close-up of the turkey, which I just LOVE.

a display model (reduced in price, of course) Humminbird fishfinder; fishing gear; a great toy, real cheap, to donate to the Christmas Cheer Board; and more. We happily fessed up and paid $34 in taxes on our overage at the border, as we saved ourselves many more dollars than that on our purchases.

I wasn't able to order any of the wonderful Mexican food at Paradiso's, but I filled up on a burger and fries; we also ate at Outback's, where everyone enjoyed what they ordered; as well as at IHop, where Curtis and I dove into our stuffed strawberry Belgian waffles, mmmmm. And, OF COURSE, we brought home several boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, oh yeahhhhhh.

We celebrated Curtis' and our friend Kevin's birthdays, but I'll let Curtis blog about how I goofed up, resulting in a lot of laughs. Just another in a lifetime of blonde moments....

It took a couple of hours for me to unpack, remove tags and put away all our loot, while Curtis laboured hard at puttin away our patio furniture for the winter. Temperatures have suddenly cooled, and there's a 100% chance of wet snow for tomorrow, so it's time to start the hibernation process.

The cats are happy to have us home again, and we're glad to cuddle their fuzzy lil faces. It's fun to get away, but there really is no place like home.

Update: I may just have to reconsider that last sentence, since it SNOWED like a maniac here this afternoon. Here's a shot of our front lawn:


Good thing Curtis put the patio furniture into storage yesterday....

To My Canadian Friends



Happy Thanksgiving weekend.

I'm goin to AMERICA tomorrow for a couple of days to stuff my gourd with such delights as chimichanga and Krispy Kremes. For this I am truly grateful.

Mired in Red Tape


Change "Enid" to "ellen" and this cartoon sums it all up.

Curtis and I are very fortunate in that we have drug plans, through our places of employment, that reimburse us for our prescription purchases, and a portion of our eyewear needs. Up until our most recent submission, we've never had any problems. But some cubicle dweller at a local conglomerate that shall remain nameless, but whose initials are GWL, has decided to quibble over every detail this time, to the point where I am getting to know a certain "Tim" far better than I care to....

First of all, our claim for Curtis' new eyeglasses: As it turns out, Wal-Mart Optical has a unique billing system, one with a small attachment that I discarded because I have never before been required to include the Visa stub; however, with this bill you have to, or else there's insufficient evidence that you have paid for your purchase in full. A special trip to Wal-Mart proved fruitless, as they are "unable" to furnish us with a duplicate copy. (Our sales clerk should have told us that, we were informed.) However, the clerk gave us a card with a number that the agent could call for a verbal verification, and we left, me feeling soundly scolded for having lost the crucial piece of paper, which I "must never ever do." Suitably chagrined, I called "Lisa" to confess my error and give her the telephone number of the optical shop.

Round two: our claim for the 20% of my prescriptions not covered by my plan....I had dutifully submitted photocopies of my prescription receipts, a claim form signed by Curtis, and a printout of the amount that had been tendered to me by my insurance company. However, I was telephoned by "Tim" and informed that the latter was missing. KNOWING that I had enclosed it in the envelope along with everything else, I nevertheless obediently reprinted the document so that Curtis could fax it from his workplace. Well, apparently, when the page printed out, it cut off the right hand column with the total paid out; so I had to change the page format to landscape because apparently Tim is unable, or not allowed to, calculate what 20% of $120.20 is. Curtis will fax again tomorrow.

Do you ever get the feeling that insurance companies deliberately act as obtusely as possible, in the hopes that John or Jane Q Public will give up in despair or out of lethargy, and they can use the surplus funds for coffee and doughnuts? HAH! They don't know who they're dealin with: I'm entitled to my $24.04, and I'm darn well gonna get it, no matter how many forms, phone calls or faxes it takes.

So there.

Feels So Good to Feel Better


Of course, it helps to have a broad shoulder to lean on.

What a great weekend! It started with watchin the geese land at Oak Hammock Marsh on Friday evening, continued with a delicious buffet lunch at the casino (and a few bucks lost at the keno games, oh well), improved even more with a lovely fall supper of turkey and all the trimmings at our church Saturday evening, then climaxed with a productive day of yardwork after church today in balmy 79-degree weather. This afternoon my friend and former colleague, Kim, dropped by for a visit with a beautiful red zippered vest for my birthday. Fits me perfectly. We enjoyed an ice tea and a long chat; then after Kim departed, Curtis and I finished up our fall clean-up outside and I made a new recipe that turned out very well: peaches n cream chicken, which I served with jasmine rice and stir-fry vegies, and carrot cake for dessert.

The best part of all this? I've eaten more the last two days than I have the past two weeks, and no problems.

I've said this before, but I will never again take feeling well for granted. Thank you, Lord.