Diane Stringam Tolley's Blog: On the Border, page 87

Navigating by Nose

Navigate this!
(Taken from Blarney Castle. Just after I kissed the famous stone.)In Canada, we have The Dominion Land Survey.
And my husband has 'iron boogers'. These two are connected.Maybe I should explain . . .
First:
My husband's favourite program on TV was the Tim Allen show, Home Improvement.
In one episode, Neighbour Wilson told Tim that men are actually endowed with minute bits of metal in their noses that aid in navigation.
Tim, putting his twist on it, called them 'iron boogers'.
A term that my husby whole-heartedly embraced and endorsed.
Then:
When Canada was first being mapped/documented, it was divided into a perfect grid.
Or maybe an imperfect grid, but a grid, just the same.
We were raised in an area where the roads were straight and regular and one mile apart.
If one road was blocked, you could find 113 other ways to get where you wanted to go.
It was a perfect system.
People growing up in that environment developed an unerring sense of direction.
Thus, my husby.
See the connection?
Moving on . . .
We were traveling in Ireland.
Have you ever heard it said that there is no green quite like the green of the Emerald Isle?
It's true.
But I digress . . .
We had just driven into town and were looking for our bed and breakfast.
Our map only covered the specifics of reaching said town, not the particulars of what to do when we got there.
There was a woman walking down the street.
Grant pulled over and we asked her how to reach Thus-and-So Bed and Breakfast.
These are her exact words, "Oh that one. It's rather difficult to describe. You need to go up that hill (pointing) and turn right. There is a hotel there and they can direct you further."
We thanked her and did as she directed.
Except for the 'turn right' part.
My husby turned left.
At which time, I gave up.
He drove around for a total of thirty seconds, then pulled over to the side of the street. "Why don't we just stop here?" he said.
I looked out of the window and gasped.
Thus-and-So B&B. Right there.
In front of us.
I turned to stare at him.
He merely tapped his nose and looked at me significantly.
From then on, I used the map merely to get us to the next town, then tossed it into the back seat.
Grant was much better at finding our destination when he wasn't hampered by such distractions as maps.
Old Iron Boogers.
Old Iron Boogers.

A Little Bug-y

The theme for this Poetry Monday is BUGS.
Ewwww...
I'm afraid I've done a bit of cheating today, owing to the fact that I spent a large slice of last week visiting doctors so they can hem and haw over my torn retina.
So, a little poem of mine,
Then my favourite 'Bug' poem.
Me and my one good eye thank you for reading...and listening!

It pro-bab-ly won't come to you as much of a surprise,I don't like bugs, don't care their colours or their many eyes,That is one reason Canada's the place that I call home,The bugs are less and smaller here and less inclined to roam,I do not find them in the cupboards, or upon my bed,Don't find them crawling on the ceiling, don't take show'rs with dread.My Son in Law is similar for his aversion, too,When we were all on holiday, he caused a ballyhoo,When his small daughter was affrighted by a centipede,Whose many legs and six-inch length crossed the floor with speed.Grabbing up a garbage pail, he beat that bug full sore,T’was certain that it’d never threaten hisgirl anymore.But I heard every ‘thump’ and must admit, it caused me glee,Good thing he lives in Canada. With small bugs…just like me!

P.S. Don't ever threaten one of his kids...
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,With poetry, we all besoughtTo try to make the week beginWith pleasant thoughts,Perhaps a grin?So all of us, together, weHave crafted poems for you to see.And now you’ve read what we have wrought . . .Did we help?Or did we not?
Ready for more?JennyCharlotteMimi
Now, the expert . . .

SunBEAMS

Catching Sunbeams The afternoon sun spilled through the living room window like golden honey.Making the air glow and creating a cozy pool of warm delicious-ness.I watched my three-year-old granddaughter, her face alight, white-blonde hair a shining halo about her, as she tried to capture the floating dust-motes in the beam of light.“Gramma, look!” she said excitedly. “They’re dancing!”And suddenly, I was remembering another time.And another little girl . . .I had just graduated from Nursery. The place, in our church, of food, toys, warm hugs, and sitting on the floor. Also the room in the basement. With the least amount of windows.My fellow three-years-olds and I had been guided upstairs and into the sunlit chapel. Then given the gi-normous (expressive/made-up word) front pew to sit on.Don’t get me wrong, we were used to those pews.But normally we sat on them with our parents/families.Suddenly that great expanse was ours. Alone.We were ‘big kids’ now.  My classmates alternated between sliding about on the polished, golden oak surface and staring at the women in charge of this meeting.I was seated furthest from those women. And nearest the tall window next to our pew.The late afternoon sunshine was streaming through.On me.For a while, that was amazing enough.Then, I discovered that there were floating . . . things . . . in that golden beam of light.Things that danced and swirled about when I waved my hand.Things that gently, but effectively, eluded capture. No matter how quickly I moved. Or how hard I tried.While the rest of the kids in the room sang or listened to stories, I concentrated on the little ‘floaties’ so tantalizingly close and so difficult to actually grasp.Suddenly, the girl seated next to me slid to her feet. I looked around, startled. Our little group was following Auntie Grace and filing out of the room. I glanced one last time at my golden beam of magic and reluctantly followed.We were led to a tiny classroom that opened directly off the chapel.And set down on chairs.Real, our-size chairs.Auntie Grace smiled at us and welcomed us warmly.Then she said something I’ll never forget. “Diane was playing in the sunbeam during opening exercises.”I stared at her. Was I going to get into trouble?She looked at me and smiled again. “Diane, that’s what you are! That’s what this class is! Sunbeams! You’re not in Nursery any more. You’re all Sunbeams now!”I blinked at her, not quite certain what she was telling us.But I never have forgotten.

Mimi

Here is my Mimi,             Who wears a bikiniIt’s painted, there's nothing at all can be done.Over that, in a pair             I put pink underwear,(You have to admit that they're cute and they're fun.)
                                                So now my sweet Mimi in her pinkish bikini                                                Has pink underwear Always found in a pair.
I think she’ll look pert             In a white undershirtThat I dig out from under the bed.Then what would look better             Than a warm and soft sweaterIn a pattern that’s yellow and red.
                                                Now look at Mimi, her covered bikini.                                                Still with underwear That is there in a pair,                                                And her white undershirt that made her look pert,                                                Till I hunted to get her a warm and soft sweater.
Now what would be sweet?            Why, some socks for her feetAnd I think these bright green ones will fit,Then to cover her knees I need pants, I’ll try these: They’re a truly remarkable shade of scar-let.
                                                Oh my little Mimi, somewhere isher bikini,                                                And then pink underwear, Always there in a pair.                                                And likewise her pert, little white undershirt.                                                Now she’s put together with a cuddly sweater,                                                And some awfully sweet, bright green socks for her feet                                                And where are her knees? Under pants, if you please.
Now what’s left to do?             Why a jacket of blue,Yes! I found it right here on the door.And some shoes that don’t match            Notice, one has a patch,They were under the chair on the floor.
                                                Wow, look at Mimi, not a trace of bikini,                                                Can't see underwear Even though it's a pair.                                                Or a peek of the white undershirt which is pert,                                                And now see her better, bright-colored, warm sweater,                                                And even her sweet, green, sock-covered small feet,                                                And those pants, if you please, that hide both of her knees,                                                Are all covered - It’s true! - by her jacket of blue,                                                And the shoe with the patch and the mate that won’t match.
Now with infinite care,             I will cover her hairWith a hat so amazingly cute,That it matches her clothes            From her head to her toes,While just nicely completing her suit.
                                                Now she’s finished, my Mimi, with no sign of bikini,                                                Beneath pink underwear, That is there, in a pair.                                                Also hidden’s her pert, Nice and white undershirt,                                                And her very much better, Cuddly soft, knitted sweater,                                                And also the sweet, bright green socks on her feet,                                                And her tiny, cute knees, still in pants, if you please,                                                With her jacket of blue, and her shoes that aren’t true,                                                And a hat, (it is said), like a crown for her head.
But what did Mom say?            Let’s go swimming today?Why, the two of us better get set.We must start right away,            There’s no time for delay,I can’t wait till we’re both getting wet!
                                                So off with the hat. Make it sail, just like that,                                                And the jacket of blue, it can hit the wall, too.                                                 Then her shoes, so mismatched, will be quickly dispatched,                                                And now we see knees as her pants hit the breeze,                                                And discover her feet as her socks meet the street.                                                 Soon we’re going to be wetter, so let’s ditch the sweater,                                                Then toss with our might, the pert undershirt, white,                                                And follow it there, with the underwear pair,                                                Till I just have my Mimi, in her pinkish bikini.                                                WHERE’S MY SNORKEL?!


Today is National Pink Day.
Let's celebrate!
Karen of Baking In A Tornado: Celebrate Pink with Pineapple Raspberry Sheet Cake
Dawn of Spatulas On Parade: Celebrate Pink with A Pink No Churn Ice Cream
Tamara of Par-time working Hockey Mom: Pink is the new Black

Stepping Forward

The first day of grade one, she’d been excited for a week,But now the day was here and she was feeling rather bleak,Her mama knelt beside her and she kissed the little cheek,“Just step forward, dear, you’ll find the wonders that you seek!”
Her first time on the stage, again was frightened as could be,Again, her mama hugged her tight, said,”Darling look at me!”“You’ve practiced all your lines, you know them to the ‘nth’ degree,“So just step forward, dear, and your success, I’ll guarantee!”
A few years on, once more she has to face a great unknown,Marriage to her love and for the first time, leaving home,Her mama smiled and took her hand and said, “My girl, you’re grown,“So just step forward, dear. Be glad! You’ll never be alone.”
The years have passed, some good, some bad, and always, when there’s fear,She hears her mama’s voice a’whispering softly in her ear,“When there’s nowhere else to go, and you simply can’t stay here,“Just step forward, dear, you’ll find your problems disappear.”
And now there’s a pandemic. Fear for all around her there,She sees the ones who act with thought and those who simply glare,She’s frightened. Sudden hears her mom say, “Darling, let them stare.“And just step forward, dear. But wear a mask and be aware!”
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,With Poetry, we all besought,To try to make the week begin With pleasant thoughts,Perhaps a grin?So all of us, together, weHave crafted poems for you to see.And now you’ve read what we have wrought…Did we help? Or did we not? Jenny Charlotte Mimi
From Baili and I, we’ve our topic today,Pandemic, disturbing in ev-er-y way!Next week (I think I’ll need a hug)Cause we’ll all be discussing ‘Bugs’!

Happy Fathers...Day

Today is Father's Day.A little tribute to the most special father in my life... My HeroFor most of his career, my Husby has worked for the Culture department in our province.
He enjoys it.
Building museums.
Refurbishing older exhibits.
It has been a constant adventure.
But he learned, as a civil servant, that gratitude was an accepted part of the job and very, very rarely expressed.
Case in point . . .
He and his team had been refitting an interpretive center.
They had been at it for three years.
Their job was finally drawing to a close.
Which allowed the center to open.
Ironic but true.
A grand gala was planned for the opening night.
With speeches by pertinent politicians.
And food.
Myself and our three younger children made the trip and were seated in the audience, happily anticipating hearing from our husby/father.
The evening wore on.
Speeches by many, many people. None of whom had even stepped foot in the building until that night.
Then, finally, just at the end of the evening, the MC announced my Husby.
The man who had organized and directed the entire operation.
The whole three years.
I was so proud of him.
He had worked hard, spending weeks and weeks on a project that took him far from home and family.
And he had done well.
I glanced around. I was surrounded by evidence of his careful, thoughtful, precise planning and execution.
We were now seated in a world-class center with the best and most advanced displays found anywhere.
The crowd had clapped politely as he stepped to the podium. Most of them had no idea of the part he had played.
But his family did.
My daughter suddenly whispered, "Come on! Let's do it!"
My children and I surged to our feet, cheering and clapping wildly.
The rest of the audience stared at us in stunned silence for a moment.
Then the smiles began.
And the applause.
No one else got up, but everyone there knew that this man was special. Deserving of what little praise we could give him.
He smiled at us, then, in his usual calm fashion said, "I have no idea who those people are."
Then, "And I didn't have to pay them much to do that!"
Much laughter and the tone of the entire evening was changed completely.
Later, one of the people with whom he had worked closely stopped me.
"We were so happy when your family did that," she said. "We would all have joined you, if we weren't already standing at the back!"
Dads get very little recognition for good deeds done in this life.My daughter's advice? 'Let's do it!'

ABC

Chris. Taste is everything . . .1953 BD (Before Diane). My parents were traveling and had made a stop in a small town for lunch.
At a tiny hotel restaurant.
They perused (real word) the menu and made selections for themselves and their -then- three children.
They made their order.
And waited.
Suddenly, Mom noticed that my elder sister, Chris, age four or so was chewing happily on something.
She watched her, suspiciously, for a few moments.
Finally, "Chris, what are you chewing?"
My sister looked up at Mom and said, "Gum."
"Oh."
Mom thought about it for a moment.
"Wait a minute. You're chewing on gum?"
"Umm-hmm," Chris said, still chewing.
"I didn't give you any gum." Mom turned to Dad. "Did you give her some gum?"
He shook his head and pulled Jerry out of the sugar bowl. "Enough sugar, son."
"Well, where on earth did she get gum?"
"Why don't you ask her?" Dad said. "Jerry, leave the salt and pepper alone."
Mom turned to Chris. "Honey, where did you get the gum?"
Chris slid the wad in her mouth to one side and said, "Here, Mom!"
She pointed . . . under . . . the table.
"There's lots more! You want some?"

Well-Aged

Okay. This story is about urine specimens.Ick.
Those who are faint of heart or easily queasy, stop now.
Stop.
I told you to stop.
You don't listen, do you?!
You asked for it  . . .
In today's world, when a doctor requires a urine specimen, he sends his patient to the 'lab'.
See. Handy and dandy.And supplies said patient with a handy, dandy little container.
Complete with antiseptic wipes.
This wasn't always the case. 
Let me tell you about it . . .
My parents had been shopping.
I should probably mention, here, that in the 50s, no one ever locked their cars.This is important.
Moving on . . .
Dad was helping Mom into the car.
A short distance away, a woman was also getting into her car.
A very obviously pregnant woman.
She opened the door. Then gasped and leaned against her car.
Dad hurried over. “Are you all right?”
Then he realized that she was laughing. Really laughing.
“Are you all right?” he asked again.
The woman straightened and wiped her eyes. Then she pointed at the car seat. “The . . . the bottle!” she gasped. Then went into another peal of laughter.
By this time, Mom had joined them.
She and Dad looked at each other and Dad shrugged.
Must be a pregnancy thing.
Finally, the woman calmed somewhat and again, wiped her eyes. She looked at my parents. “I'm on my way to my doctor,” she said.
Okay . . .
She looked back into her car and cleared her throat. “I was supposed to bring in a urine sample.” She pointed into her car. “I left it there.”
My parents glanced at the empty car seat.
The woman looked at them again. “The only empty bottle I could find was a whisky bottle,” she said.
Ah.“You left a urine sample in a whisky bottle on the front seat of your car?” 
Not a drink for the faint of heart.Dad was catching on fast.
The woman nodded.
“And someone stole it?”
Again she nodded. “They must have.”
Dad started to laugh.
He ushered Mom back to their car and helped her in. Then he got into the car and sat back, still laughing.
“What's so funny?” Mom asked.
“Well, all I can think about is how the thief will discover his mistake!” Dad said. “What if it was some kids! Can't you see it? ”
“This is whisky? What on earth is all the fuss is about!”

Fed. And Organized

Mr. OrganizedDad was a veterinarian.
The only one for several counties.
Well . . . If you didn't count Dr. Brewster, the animal inspector at the Coutts border crossing.
Let me start again . . .
Dad was a veterinarian.As well as a purebred Polled Hereford breeder.
And always had an office somewhere in our home.
There were the inevitable examination counters.
And a fridge holding such things as penicillin, bottles of 5-way or 8-way or black-leg or rabies vaccines.
And other stuff that I couldn't pronounce.
I should mention, here, that Dad knew what each bottle did.
Probably important for a veterinarian to know.
He also had several large filing cabinets standing about the room.
Full of . . . files.
Dad knew exactly where everything could be found in his office.
He was very organized.
One day, he was working on the registration forms for his new crop of calves.
A time-consuming task that only he could do.
I sauntered in.Yes. Just like in the old west.
Sauntering on . . .
Daddy looked up from his desk.
“Diane, could you look in that file cabinet over there,” he pointed with his pen, “and get me the 'G' file?”
I turned to the indicated cabinet and pulled open the appropriate drawer. “This one?”
“Yes. Just the 'G' file, please.”
I started to work my way through the alphabet.
There was a large space partway through. I jumped to that.
'J' as it turned out.
“Daddy, did you know that you have a large bag of ju-jubes in your filing cabinet?”
“Yes.”
“Filed under 'J'?”
He looked at me. “Where else would they go?”
Where indeed.
I continued my search.
Huh. Chips under 'C'.
Also chocolate.
I finally found the 'G' file and, pulling it out, handed it to my father.
But then I turned back to the cabinet.
Way too interested to stop now.
“Dad, you have Oreo cookies under 'O'.”
Dad looked up. “Is that where they are?!” he said. “I kept looking for them under 'C'.”
Yep. Filing cabinets and organization.And snack time.
They go together.

Pea-d

Who does that?I mean, seriously, who?Maybe I should explain…Jared was a prince. A real, bonafide prince. The ‘son of a real king and queen’ sort of prince.I know it probably sounds awesome, and for many years, it was.But recently, it had become, well, a pain.Stay with me, children, I shall tell all.
Jared had ‘come of age’, which, in normal you-and-me speak means he was old enough to get serious about finding The One.*cue romantic music…Now if it was us, we’d probably design a heart-stopping page in the ‘Swinging Singles’ or, depending on our age, maybe the ‘Sagging Singles’.Or get a cute puppy and appear at the park.
Jared didn’t have those options. I mean, there really isn’t a dating site for the ‘Stately Singles’ or whatever it would be called.Nope.Jared was stuck with the girls his parents managed to find among their Rolodex of royal friends.Most of whom he’d known since childhood.Can we just say none appealed and leave it at that?
He searched.Oh, my yes, he searched. Austria, Italy, France and the many and varied countries of continental Africa elicited no one who even remotely appealed.He even put on his galoshes and winter coat and huffed and puffed his way across Canada. And we all know just how attractive those Canadian girls can be!Ahem . . .
But still no one seemed to strike that spark. Or if they did, they couldn’t prove they were ‘royal’.Yep. Jared was in a pickle.One evening, as he and his parents stood on one of the myriad balconies bedeck-ing their palace, enjoying the awesome lightning display accompanying a Hollywoodish rainstorm, there was a knock at their royal door.
Jared and his parents frowned.“Maybe it’s a princess come to look for me for a change!” Jared said.They all laughed.Just then their Major Domo, Domo, came to the balcony entrance.“A young lady has been caught in the storm,” he said. “She says she’s a princess and seeks shelter.”“But of course!” the queen said quickly.
“Bring her in!” the king added as he ushered his family inside.Domo disappeared.“Wouldn’t it be something if she turned out to be amazing?” Jared asked.“And a real bonafide princess,” his mother added.“Yeah. That.”Just then a young lady appeared in the doorway, with Domo behind her.“Here she is, your majesties,” he said, bowing.
She was a rather sodden young lady, whose long, red hair hung in dripping hanks down what looked to be a formerly-pristine, decidedly expensive crystal-beaded dress.She sank into a deep (and shivering) curtsey. “Your Majesties,” she said. Then she gave a massive sneeze. “Oh, excuse me!” She dabbed at her nose with the back of one dripping wrist.
“Oh, my dear, you must be frozen!” the queen declared, rushing forward. “Domo!” she waved a hand. “Prepare a bath in the Red Room and fetch some dry garments!”The man bowed and left.“Come, dear,” the queen went on. “Let us get you clean and warm!”The girl stretched quivering, blue lips in a semblance of a smile.
“I am so sorry to come here alone and unannounced. But my carriage shed a wheel at the bottom of your drive and my driver sent me on to keep me warm and safe.” She looked down and smiled a little half-smile. “It wasn’t raining then.”“Well, never you mind,” the queen said. “Let’s get you warm and comfy!”
She put her arm about the shivering girl and steered her toward the doorway. “Now, tell me, my dear,” the queen said as they stepped out into the hall. “Domo was saying something about you being a . . .”Their voices faded. “…princess?” the king finished the queen’s sentence. He looked at his son a moment. Then grinned.
Jared was staring at the doorway where the girl (and his mother) had disappeared.“Son?” his father said.Jared blinked. “Is there really a silly rule that says I have to marry a princess?” he asked.The king laughed. “I’m afraid so. Why else would you have been charging all over the globe these past few months?”“Why, indeed.”
I don’t know about you, but I think I’m seeing a whole love-at-first-sight sort of . . . thing.Who’s with me?Meanwhile, down in the Red Room’s dressing room… The dressing room of the Red Room? The big room’s little room? Oh, never mind. …the girl was happily (and modestly) soaking in a tub of hot, soapy water.

At the same time, the queen was directing a vast army of servants in the placement of 40 mattresses atop the Red Room’s bed. The bed in the Red Room? Belonging to the Red Room?Why am I having so much trouble with this?Did Twain have this kind of distress? Or Dr. Seuss? I think not.Moving on...
Unbeknownst (Oooh! Good word!) to the pile-ers, the queen had first placed a small, ordinary pea under the bottom mattress before the ‘pile-ing’ began. A pea that was now covered by, not 1, but 41 mattresses!I know. Weird, right.I guess she had her reasons.Maybe she wanted to pre-pea the bed? *snort*Sorry about that.I digress…
When the girl emerged from her bath all warm, glowing and with her hair newly cleaned and arranged, the queen gasped.Even in borrowed nightclothes, she truly was beautiful.Some people are like that. “Daphne, your bed is ready,” the queen said, patting the pile of mattresses.Oh, right. I forgot. The girl had told the queen her name.
Daphne blinked, but obligingly climbed the ladder to the top, then snuggled down into the soft blankets.“Have a good sleep, Dear,” the queen whispered.But Daphne was already there.The next morning, a smiling (and totally rested and happy) young face appeared at the breakfast table.“Good morning, everyone!” Daphne sang out cheerfully.People do that in stories.
The king, queen and Jared looked up and smiled. The king and Jared rose to their feet and Jared reached for her arm.“Oh Daphne, my sweet girl, it’s so nice to see your bright smiling face at our breakfast table!” the queen said graciously. She patted the chair beside her. “Please, dear. Come and sit next to me!”
Jared led her over and released her arm.Daphne sank into the proffered chair.The queen smiled and pressed Daphne’s hand. “Now my dear, tell us how you slept. Every detail!”Daphne smiled back. “Like a dream,” she said happily. “I can’t remember when I’ve slept so well.”The queen blinked and frowned slightly. “Oh. Really? Well that is…wonderful.”
“Yes. I think I could happily sleep on a stack of mattresses for the rest of my life!” Daphne said.“Oh. Well, I’m not quite sure . . .” began the queen.“How we’ve missed meeting you all this time,” Jared broke in. He smiled warmly at the girl. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship!”
Okay, yes you’ve heard something like that before.Go with me on this…Well what did you think? That placing a pea under 40+ mattresses was going to make a bit of difference? I mean, I’ve slept like a baby (or like a teenager because we all know babies don’t sleep) with a tree root under my camping mattress.
Jared and Daphne were soon an ‘item’.Then quickly moved from there to ‘affianced’.The queen confided to Jared the whole '40 mattresses and a pea' story the evening before his wedding day.When he asked her why she merely shrugged. “Mother always told me that a true princess should be as delicate—and bruise-able—as a rose petal.”
“Well that’s stupid,” Jared said. “How could she withstand the rigours of life?”You’re probably wondering what rigours a princess/future queen would have to withstand?All I have to say is: childbirth...And you know what? It wasn’t important if she was a ‘real’ princess or not because to Jared, she was hisprincess.And that’s all that mattered.
Word Counters is a word challenge.Each of us happy participants donates a number.Which is then distributed by our intrepid leader, Karen, to someone else.My number this month was: 59It was submitted by my good friend Mimi Thank you, my friend!Now go and see what the others have created!
Baking In A TornadoSpatulas on ParadeMessymimi’s Meanderings