Author Archives: stripfix

Friday, February 11, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Bedtime--I mean the exact time our heads hit the pillow--was a contentious issue for my brother and me. Being two years older, I felt I should get at least an hour more of "up time". Mom thought otherwise. Because we had to share a room, it wasn't possible to put one over on him, either. Both Alan and I knew exactly what the other got or did or had and the competition for MORE was fierce. We fought constantly. If it wasn't over who got what, it was about who said what and when and the grating repetition of "It's not FAIR!" made my folks' heads spin. I remember being caught watching television from our vantage point in the hallway and my punishment was that I was sent to bed even earlier the next night. NO FAIR! I could never understand why an hour more was such a big deal. Why couldn't I watch one more show or do one more thing? Why did my parents insist that an eight o'clock bedtime was so important? WHY??!! Years later, I had children of my own. By eight o'clock, when I was at the end of my proverbial rope, I made eight o'clock the set bedtime--no arguments, please. It's interesting, isn't it, that we repeat familiar routines and much like the fish in the ocean we return to familiar waters, and we do it to assure the survival of the species.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The vacuum hose on the stairwell also provided my kids with a diversion. I taught them what to do! I mean, indoor activities that don't involve fast food and television are hard to come up with and usually require adult involvement. Rolling stuff down the vacuum tube is harmless and relatively noise free entertainment. I let them play with this set up whenever they couldn't play outside and anything that would roll down the pipe without clogging it was OK with me. I just drew the line at liquids and frozen peas.

Cleaning up at the end of the day was an easy price to pay for the peace it provided... besides, I knew what they were doing and where they were. The stairwell we used as kids went down into our basement. The one my kids played on sent everything into the living room. This made for some hide and seek thereafter and although I made a thorough search for marbles and the like, I kept finding residual rolling stock until the day we moved away.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When I was a kid, we had a dark maroon vacuum cleaner. My mother, having given in to anything "safe" that would keep us occupied, allowed my brother and me to roll marbles down the hose into the basement. We advanced from marbles to Plasticine "heads" which we chopped off Plasticine bodies on a guillotine made from Tinker Toys. Coins, buttons, stones and gumballs took the plunge and if recovery at the bottom didn't happen, we waited for an outpouring of angst from mother the next time she tried sucking chalk and cereal off the carpeting. The exhaust end of the vacuum was another source of entertainment. We tried to inflate balloons, kitchen gloves, and the bulb on the turkey baster--imaginary missiles we hoped to inflict on the neighborhood. Those were the days! Drawing images like this brings back some fine childhood memories and makes me wonder once again why our parents allowed Alan and I to progress into adulthood.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This year, I will be the same age as Charles Schulz was when I first met him. Cathy Guisewite ("Cathy") and I met "Sparky" Schulz in Washington. We teased him, singing "Will you still need me, will you still feed me--when I'm sixty four?" It was 1986. In 2011, it's my turn to be sixty four...and I'm looking at life through entirely different lenses! Sparky and I both enjoyed drawing the dogs in our strips. Snoopy was a magical fantasy character who could do almost anything, while Farley was just a regular mutt. These cartoon drawings were alive to us and eventually both Farley and Snoopy became frontrunners in our work. If they did not appear regularly, our readers would ask "why?" so it was important for us to invent ways to showcase them as often as possible. Farley allowed me to explore the goofy visual humor that a family pet provides. He was a pleasure to draw and when we had the opportunity to animate him, he was hilarious. Watching other artists "become" Farley as they made him scratch and roll, shake off dust, bark and run wildly in circles is something that makes me laugh every time I think about it. I am so grateful for my friendship with Sparky and for having known Bill Melendez, who animated Snoopy and all the Peanuts characters. I keep in touch with Judy Sladky, who is the magic behind Snoopy On Ice, and as a friend of Jeannie Schulz, Sparky's widow, I will soon be speaking at the Schulz Museum in Santa Rosa with Jan Eliot, who does "Stone Soup". This will connect me again to friends in the industry and remind me once more...that I'm a very "lucky dog!"

Monday, February 7, 2011

Lynn's Comments: For some reason, we lost a week of dailies. We looked in the archives, pulled out old negatives and checked the collection books--and still, six days out of this year were missing. After an exhaustive search, Kevin called and asked me to draw up a new week of dailies to fill in the space and keep the year's work on track. This is the week! I tried to do a series of spot gags that could be placed anywhere and ideas regarding kids vs. grown ups quickly came to mind. I introduced this by having Mike hog-tie Elizabeth (something I loved to do to my kids!) which meant he was bored and would soon be under the watchful eye of his mother. It was fun to do. I haven't had to produce new FBorFW material for a while, and I was surprised by how easy it was to get back into the routine. The trouble is--what used to take me a few hours now takes me a few days, and I was glad to have it "in the can" and off to the syndicate.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When my dad went to the dump, we always wondered if he'd bring home more than he left there. The North Vancouver dump was about 6 miles from home, then a circuitous drive down a long dirt road. Going there was as exciting as anything we ever did on a weekend and my brother and I would fight for the front seat when we saw the folks pitching stuff into the back end of the car. A great chain link fence ran around the "nuisance grounds" and the "dump man" would meet us at the gate. He'd roll his cigarette into the side of his mouth and ask what we were bringing in. Then he'd direct us to the appropriate space in the compound and Dad would steer the old green Volvo into position for the drop. After we'd made our deposit, we were free to check out the scattered offerings hoping to find some treasure. The smell of wet paper, burning fabric and decay was not too bad - considering the fact that stuff here was FREE, so we happily climbed over the rubble on our quest for the perfect thing to rescue and take home. Our shoes took a beating, but all for a good cause. The dump man was cool. He didn't have a uniform, but he had a sort of military air. He enjoyed his place of authority and the fact that dad brought him a beer now and then improved our chances of getting out with something big! The score I remember most was the goose-neck lamp that dad found. It was a sort of greeny-grey....brass, I think, and not too badly scarred from the fire. The cord and plug looked good and Pop figured this was just the thing to go on his workbench downstairs. Mom, of course, was unimpressed and quietly told me later that she expected it would be gone in a fortnight - if she had anything to do with it. Advance to the year they sold their house and moved to Hope. The lamp went too. When our parents passed away, there in the basement on Dad's workbench was the goose-neck lamp. It had followed them for 40 years and was now an heirloom. The trouble with heirlooms is...the heirs have to decide what to do with them. Alan and I thought about taking it to the dump, but we couldn't. Alan is retired from teaching, now and has a workshop in his basement. He makes one-of-a-kind kayaks. He has a nice workbench where he cuts the wood and copper, which he carefully sets into the sides of his kayaks... and, illuminating the workbench, is the goose-neck lamp. Going to the dump has lost its luster for us now, but our memory of Dad's "hunt for treasure" and the goose-neck lamp still remains!

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Lynn's Comments: They say that "normal" means different things to different people. For us, normal morphed from one reality into another as the kids grew and changed and became individuals. When they were little, reality was toys - everywhere. Later, it was friends - everywhere - and the sounds of sports, music and video games. Normal didn't become tidy and organized and quiet until they both moved out. Then, normal meant projects and travel and missing them. I went to visit friends of my daughter's recently. Brooke and Matthew have twin daughters, six months old. The girls are just starting to toddle and their small living room is strewn with blankets and toys. Brooke apologized for the mess. I said, "Don't worry, relax - I understand. You have two little kids! ...This is normal!!!"

Friday, February 4, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When I was about 14, my father's mother came to stay with us. My grandfather had died. She was recovering slowly and Dad thought it would be good for her to come and live with us for a while, since he and Mom worked full time at the jewelry store on Upper Lonsdale. Alan and I would have been "latchkey" kids by today's standards, but we were fine on our own. We had our routines. I made dinner and he stayed out of my way. When Grandma came, she upset the applecart by assuming my kitchen duties and my mother's role as well. She became another authority figure, which my brother and I really resented. To add insult to injury, she took my bedroom and I was given a corner in the unfinished basement - a space as famous for its spooks as it was for its spiders. After six long months, Grandma finally returned to Ontario. Al and I rejoiced and I did something I rarely ever did: I completely mucked out my bedroom. Even though she had gone, the essence of Grandma remained in the scent of her soap, her clothing and her dark-gummed dentures which she'd kept in a glass cup on my dresser. For some time, the smell of Grandma lingered in the halls and the living room. She was still there, even though we had the house to ourselves again. That incident was the memory behind this comic strip!

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Goodbyes are always hard for kids. Perhaps it's because they are focused on today; they don't think so much about the future. Even tomorrow is too far away! As adults we are aware of how fast time flies and how quickly the next event will take place - often long before we're prepared for it. My father's family came from Ontario one time to visit us in North Vancouver. I remember playing with cousins I hardly knew. We were just figuring out the pecking order when they had to leave - and their departure was "forever". We cried as if we'd never see each other again - and in truth, that was just about the case! Living so far away, our relationship was then by phone and greeting card. We didn't reunite and become friends until Alan and I left home and moved back to Ontario. Saying goodbye is easier now with email and Skype, but still...there's nothing like being within hugging distance of friends and family.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Now that I have adult children, I can well understand our parents' constant reference to the past. In retrospect my own children were adorable, bright, funny and respectful. Most of the time. Set well into the recesses of aging memory are the times we would gladly have drop kicked them off a bridge and rejoiced in the sound of the SPLASH below! If I work at it, I can remember being so angry that I was completely out of control. Only escape, a heart to heart with a good friend and time would stem the rage, let me see the bright side and eventually cool me down. There is much to be said for having passed through the parenting phase and into senior citizenship. I have paid my dues and am enjoying the company of two children I'm proud to see productively out on their own. I consider them my equals - even though I remind them to eat well and keep warm and I call them "Beans and A.J."

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Lynn's Comments: To continue with the family monikers: Rod and his younger brother, Ralph, were often called "Walph and Woddy" by their dad. It was what they used to call each other when they were kids and Tom still loved the sound of it. My brother Alan and I were "Alsy and Lindy". I was perhaps eight when I began to hate my nickname. I refused to come if someone called me Lindy and eventually my parents gave in and called me Lynn. These names weren't nearly as irritating as the names we called each other. My brother and I had nicknames that continue to this day - and I won't repeat them. We enjoy an affectionate and peaceful relationship and I don't want that to change!

Monday, January 31, 2011

Lynn's Comments: We moved to northern Manitoba shortly after Rod graduated from University. He had degrees in broadcast technology, science and dentistry and the folks there who had known him since he was a toddler called him "Roddy". His mom would put a scarf around his neck if he was going out without one, or would tell him to put on warmer socks. He wondered aloud when they were going to consider him an adult, even though "Dr. J. R. Johnston" was on the door of his clinic, and he was married and had two kids. I found the familiarity endearing, but I was many miles away from North Vancouver, where I was still "The Ridgway girl" and Merv and Ursie's daughter.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Sobie's Bakery in Lynn Lake was one of the highlights of the town. Mr. and Mrs. Sobie would be up long before sunrise to get the bread out for the day and you could pick up the scent all the way from the post office. Spice cake was my personal favorite, but their doughnuts came in an easy second. Sobie's was the only bakery for hundreds of miles around. Folks from Leaf Rapids (a 60 mile wilderness drive south) would come all the way to LL just to shop at Sobie's. We didn't realize what a gem we had until we moved away. Nobody could decorate with icing like Mrs Sobie. Nobody except perhaps grandma Ruth made better buns. For every occasion, it seemed, people would order a spice cake. I looked forward to these huge, moist desserts covered with cream cheese icing, decorated with colored artwork - ornate dedications and piped with flowers around the edge. Some, however, got tired of them and when my friend Nancy Lawn moved to Edmonton she said "At least I don't ever have to eat another Sobie's spice cake!" A year or so later, we decided to fly out west to visit the Lawns in their new home. As a joke, I had Mrs. Sobie make up a big spice cake with double the icing and as ornate as possible. When we arrived at the airport, Nancy spied the Sobie's box right away. "That's not a spice cake!" she shouted. "Ahhh!" I said "I thought you might need one". "Have you any idea how much I've MISSED those things?" she cried, opening the box and nicking a finger full of icing. When we got to her house, she immediately put the cake out of sight telling us we couldn't have any. "It's OURS," she said. "You can have Sobie's spice cake any time...you live right there!" I think I gave the Sobie family the original of this cartoon. I don't think I ever told them how much I missed their bakery, but I hope they remember me as fondly as I remember them.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I think I told you that Ruth and Tom lived just a few blocks away from us. We were constantly going from house to house - but we were always aware of each other's need for privacy. We rarely entered without knocking. We respected each other's possessions, refrigerators and personal space. Because of this, we remained loving relatives and great friends until they passed away - long after we moved from northern Manitoba. I was very lucky to have had them in my life and for this I'll always be grateful.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I did bring home a seashell from Barbados. It sits on my bathroom windowsill today as a reminder of the several trips we made to the same pretty hotel. I know it's a good shell because the edge is fine, transparent and slightly wavy. The man who sold it to me explained that conch shells are often too delicate to survive the recovery. They chip easily and the locals remove the roughness by filing away the edge of the shell, making it smooth and even. This one is perfect! I have several shells - and all of them have a story. Some are from Florida, some belonged to my grandmother and one of them I found when I was in my teens while walking along the beach at Deep Cove. Each one has a different sound when you listen and I've often thought it was a meaningful coincidence that shells are shaped like the human ear.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Lynn's Comments: No matter how open-minded you are, no matter how cooperative the relationship, there is always a sort of competition between mom and caregiver. Ruth's parenting style was something I admired and respected, but it was different! When I came home, I wanted to resume my role as the alpha female! After two weeks in her care, Aaron and Katie were now doing things Ruth's way and it took some time before they returned to the nest I had built. Ruth had given them a new routine and some new rules. I felt as though I could be replaced and I voiced this thought in FBorFW. Seeing this in pen and ink was like writing a letter to myself. It cleared my head. It made things better. Sometimes the strip provided an outlet that was healing and healthy for all of us!

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Lynn's Comments: In this part of the north, the temperature often went below -40 degrees Celsius (same as -40 Fahrenheit!) With a wind chill, it was even colder. Your face would freeze within minutes and breathing was difficult. A hooded parka was a must - the fur trim essential. It was dangerous to fly on these days, as metal stress was a factor to consider and any mechanical problems were exacerbated by the cold. The fog assured us that the air had warmed enough for takeoff, but the ceiling had to be within landing specs or we'd be returned to Winnipeg. With a good landing system in Lynn Lake and pilots well on the ball, we arrived in one piece, glad to be home, anxious to see the kids and dying for Ruth's coffee and fresh baking.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The trip home was a tense one. Our flight was delayed and foggy January conditions made me nervous. I was often more comfortable in our own plane. We could choose not to fly if the weather was bad. Our charter took us back to Winnipeg, but we now had to wait for two more scheduled flights: a small jet to Thompson and the Twin Otter to Lynn Lake. I was never able to show in the strip the reality of our northern lifestyle. I imagined the Pattersons living outside the city of Toronto with all the luxuries of big city living - while Rod and I managed the intricacies of getting into and out of an isolated community of 2000 people. In our plane, a Cessna 185, I often flew part of the way. It felt good to be in control. In a commercial aircraft, I had the feeling that I was helping - even if I was just staring at the wing!

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Our family home in North Vancouver was designed so that a kid could run from the kitchen to the hall, around to the living room and back into the kitchen again. This made for an excellent track and field event, should it be raining, and it usually was. Mom was long suffering, stoic and understanding. She let my brother and me blow off steam while she stewed silently, knowing that kids need the exercise. She drew the line at our jumping on the furniture though and her admonishments were almost always the same: "This is a house, not a playground!", "I am sick, sore, fed up and tired!" and of course, Dad's fave: "Are you cruising for a bruising?" Alan and I could almost mouth the words as they were spoken - but heaven help you if you were caught! When my own kids took to racing around the house, I heard myself saying the same things my mom said to us - and a new understanding between my mom and I erased some of the wall that had separated us for so long. I knew that my kids had memorized my litany of commands and I knew how she felt. At long last, my mom was vindicated! Some day... it will be MY turn!

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This really was part of a conversation we had with one of the hotel staff. Rudy had been particularly sweet and we looked forward to seeing him every day. It was as if we had been staying at his house, so naturally we wanted to reciprocate. We asked him if he'd ever been to Canada, thinking we could give him a great tour should he decide to explore our turf, but after seeing us in our parkas and hearing about the weather back home...this was his response. It was interesting to me to find out that few people leave the island for a holiday. Seems that travel is too expensive and besides...if you're living in paradise - what's the point?!

Friday, January 21, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Sunsets here in Canada have incredible charm - but when you're on a beach in the tropics, preferably after a couple of coconut coolers, the early evening sky can inspire love songs, paintings and poetry. The sound of tiny green frogs tweeting in the trees, the sway of the palm trees, the shushhhh of the waves...fine, soft sand cushioning your toes.... (you can tell I'm writing this in January) make the Caribbean a place like none other. We honestly couldn't believe we were there. At home, it was -20 degrees and here it was perfect body temperature. We had brought our parkas down to Barbados - having no one to store them for us in Winnipeg - and one day, just for fun, we decided to wear them on the beach. Standing on the hot sand in our boots and winter parkas, with the fur hoods low over our faces, we were quite a sight. Even the hotel staff took pictures! They had never before seen such clothing and it gave them an idea of the weather we lived in and why we were so glad to be there!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Needless to say, my spouse did not see the artistic merit in the work I presented to him and asked that it be put somewhere "reasonable". The carving remained in our basement until we moved from Manitoba to Ontario - and I remember the lady who bought it at my mom-in-law's yard sale saying "how can you get rid of this - it's beautiful!" Goes to show you... that art is in the eye of the beholder.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The markets in Bridgetown are a complex jumble of colourful stalls, filled to the brim with baskets and clothing and goods of all kinds. The problem is that the vendors all seem to carry the same things and so it becomes a choice of who to buy from, based on the friendliness of the vendor and the appearance of the stall. The vendors are all friendly, so your time in the market is spent wandering up and down the busy, narrow passageways just looking and enjoying everything. I was surprised to find a woodworker who had taken a number of discarded planks and had carved intricate local scenes on them. His was the only booth in which there was something original and new, so I started a conversation with him. He told me about his home and his family and he asked about mine. After awhile, I felt rather obligated to support him and his work so I decided to buy a carving. The one I liked best was about 1.5 feet wide and 3 feet high. He wrapped it in newspaper, we shook hands like old chums and I lugged it back to the hotel.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Just outside the hotel entrance, there was a bus stop. I was told that I could either wait for the city bus or jump on one of the local transports. The local transportation was not much more than a half-ton truck with an open back into which people literally ran after and jumped into. Since it was a sort of private arrangement, the "bus" was not allowed to stop. When it did come barreling down the road, the other would-be passengers already knew to start running. Needless to say I was not ready to attempt this new and challenging style of travel and waited for the city bus, which was full of school children. I enjoyed standing at the back, admiring their uniforms and the many colourful ways in which the girls had their hair done: so many barrettes, so many different kinds of braids. It was worth the wait, for sure.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When I go somewhere new, I want to see as much as I can. I want to take tours, ride the local buses, check out the markets and explore. Rod was content to relax on the beach and didn't mind if I went off on my own. The Tamarind Cove was an intimate little hotel. We had met some interesting folks on the beach and in the dining room - which often required that we share a table with other guests. I soon connected with a couple of eager shoppers wanting to go to adventuring. We collected our hats, strapped on our sandals and set out for Bridgetown.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Katie was an attractive little kid and I fell into the "momtrap" of wanting her to look as cute as possible at all times. I had the adorable outfits, the velvet dresses, hats, scarves and mittens that matched her "girlie" snowsuits. I combed her hair just so and awaited the gooey compliments that come while showing off a preened and perfect princess. Kate, however wanted nothing to do with looking cute. Being comfortable was far more important. So was wearing what she darned well wanted to wear! She was determined and stubborn and it was abundantly clear by the time she was three, that what she wore would be a compromise. The red hat was actually a patterned toque and I would have drawn it that way, except that the pattern was too hard to draw and too hard to colour!

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Lynn's Comments: On the beach just outside the gate to our hotel, a young woman and her mother had set up a dress stand. They made and sold all kinds of dresses, many of which were baby-sized and beautiful. The young woman had a little daughter whose name was Samantha. It wasn't a common name at the time, and I thought it was so pretty. She was about the same age as Katie. I'd watch her and compare the two. I bought two dresses - one for me and one for Katie. It was an opportunity to talk to another mother and to play with her daughter who had the sweetest smile. Her hair was full of barrettes and her eyes sparkled with mischief. I wondered how the two little girls would get along. For months I had looked forward to being without my children, but it only took a couple of days to make me miss them more than I could say.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Lynn's Comments: During our first few days alone - sans the kids - we were surprisingly quiet. We were so used to our conversations being about children that when it came to other subjects, we hardly knew where to begin. Talking about "ME" and "YOU" feels almost selfish when so much of what parents do is for others. It took a few days to get past the need to talk about the kids, and even then it was hard.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Sunburns were part of the summer experience when I was young. North Vancouver rarely became too hot for comfort so a clear, cloudless day when you could lie on a blanket on a dry back yard lawn was heaven. A tan at that time was important. People buttered themselves up; they glistened with oil and worked hard to move straps and waistbands so as to cover every exposable inch possible. We spent hours forcing colour to rise to the surface of our melanin challenged hides. On the beach at English Bay, we all listened to the same radio station and every 15 minutes, the DJ's on CFUN would tell us to roll over. You would then see everyone down the whole length of the beach, like frying sausages, roll at the same time. This was supposed to prevent sunburn - but it never did. Many a night I went to bed after a cool bath, with cold cream covering my seared and sorry skin. Afterwards, I'd peel like a banana and vow never to do it again. HAH! I'm older and wiser now and my pallor is preferable. It's interesting, isn't it. Despite warnings and proof that the sun can do more damage that we ever imagined, folks willingly... still get burned.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Lynn's Comments: We had been living in northern Manitoba, where the winter sun rises around 10 in the morning and sets around 4 in the afternoon. We were all pale faces; the only colour being the inevitable frostbite which reddened our cheeks and made our noses peel. The thought of spending a day on a sandy beach under a warm tropical sun overrode my common sense and inevitably I spent the first few days in agony. What was to have been a second honeymoon became "Don't touch me!" and this drawing was received by my spouse with little humour.