It Must Be Nice to Be Little: Browse The Strips

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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."

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.

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!

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!!!"

Monday, February 14, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I have just returned from a dental appointment. It's fun to see that despite the many clinical innovations, some things never change. My hygienist talked pleasantly about her holidays as she scraped and prodded, trying not to say anything that required an answer...and later Peter, my dentist, did the same. Keeping your mouth open (rather than shut) is easy as long as the topic of conversation is middle of the road...but once a good volley of wit begins, the situation becomes a struggle. Living in Lynn Lake, where we knew virtually everyone, meant some social repartee. Patients expected their appointment would include both a check up and a check in - to what had transpired since their last visit. Everyone had a connection to us somehow, either through my parents-in-law or through Rod's early childhood, so it was hard to end a personal exchange and simply cut to the chase. My mother was one of our first large case patients. She required a load of bridgework and was, naturally, interested in the whole process. She had been given as much information as possible, but even with anesthetic swabs, and suction in her mouth, she was still asking questions. We did not have an assistant at the time, so I was the one handing the instruments back and forth. With family close at hand, Mom continued to talk until the Nitrous Oxide unit was strapped to her nose and turned on. Within, a minute or two she became quiet, mellow and relaxed. She breathed in the gas and exhaled a long, appreciative sigh. She had a goofy open-mouthed smile and her eyes twinkled as if she was half dreaming about something wonderful and far away. Over the next several hours, she said nothing and the work went well. I had never before seen my mother blitzed or blissed-out and when it was all over, I resolved to say little about how much she'd enjoyed her trip and how much we had loved the quiet!

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Aaron's "punch lines" were a gift. He would unwittingly change an expression or a turn of phrase that would then become part of For Better or For Worse. Kids say funny things all the time, but some are just prone to word play and Aaron trumped them all. There were times he would be "let off the hook" if his remarks got a laugh and I had to be careful not to encourage him too much or the discipline we managed to instill would go whizzing down the drain. Aaron wasn't the only one to add to the comic strip dialogue. Other family members did, too. The problem was that it wasn't always the funny remarks that wound up in the "funny papers." Sometimes the serious ones did, too. It wasn't uncommon for me to have a tense exchange with someone and after everything was resolved, I'd hear a threatening: "You'd better not put that in the strip!!"

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Lynn's Comments: In my life, I have purchased a goodly number of items which include operating instructions. I now know that it is not in us to read them. No. It's more important to try and figure out how the thing works or how to put it together than to waste time on "important information enclosed within". I think this is because we are all perfectly capable of operating, using, wearing, applying or cooking whatever it is without any advice from you, thanks very much. Last week, I bought an outdoor thermometer to attach to my kitchen window. It was a plastic ruler-like device with the image of a blue jay in the middle and a suction cup at each end. I took the thermometer out of the package, ditched the instructions, went outside and dutifully wiped the surface of the window clean. Any idiot knows you have to clean the "receiving surface" first. The only thing left to do was to center the thing where I wanted it to go and push! I placed the thermometer on the window, pushed it to engage the suction and SNAP! The damned thing broke in the middle...right through the beak of the blue jay. Bummed and babbling things I won't repeat, I went inside, pulled off the cups, tossed them into the what-not jar and fired the remains of the thermometer into the trash. A funk ensued. I whipped the instructions off the counter to see what, if anything, I could have done wrong. With a simple diagram and wording in both official languages the page clearly stated: Do not press thermometer in the middle. It will break. Press only on suction cups at either end. Hah! Stupid, dumb thermometer. I didn't like it anyway. The blue jay, for one thing, was corny and the whole thing looked cheap. I went back to the store and bought another one. A better one. And, this time, I read the instructions.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I confess. My kids had far too many toys. I wouldn't have called them spoiled, although I know they were...it's just that I love toys so much myself! The year that Rod and I were married, he moved into my house in Dundas. The garage was small and in order to make more room, we had to get rid of a few things - one of which was an original dime-operated Coke machine; a thing of beauty that my first husband had fought for, won and abandoned. Reluctant to let it go, we decided it would not be sold at a bargain price. Whoever wanted our Coke machine would have to make it worth our while. In those days nobody had much money, so when word of mouth brought us our only candidate, he was unable to give us more than 50 bucks. He was, however, an employee of Mattel - the big toy manufacturer and he threw into the pot an invitation to the annual Mattel staff Christmas sale! SOLD! The day we went to the big Mattel warehouse will forever live in memory. It was enormous. Barbie was still a big item as were all her pals. There were stuffed toys and baby toys and toys you could ride on, slide on and build. There were dolls and doll houses and tea sets and miniature kitchens and musical toys and child-sized furniture and you could have any of them in bulk and at prices we couldn't resist. Rod and I went crazy. We bought so many toys we could hardly stuff them into our small yellow Datsun. As we drove home, we regained our composure. The toy-fiend gratification gradually wore off and we wondered what we had done. We had one small boy to provide for, so what were we going to do with Barbie stuff? What were we going to do with everything we bought? We'd spent far more than the 50 bucks we got for the Coke machine! Without letting Aaron know that his parents had gone berserk, we hid our load in the attic. We gave away Mattel gifts at every opportunity. Everyone we knew who had a child received something from our stash. We were still giving stuff away as we moved to Lynn Lake and Katie received Barbies as soon as she knew the word "doll". I'm still a toy enthusiast. I love toy stores and an invitation once to the big toy fair in New York was toy heaven! I try not to buy anything. I don't need anything and in my house, I don't have space. Someday, however, should I ever become a "granny" I'll be shopping again for toys...but I won't be buying them for my grandchildren...I'll be buying them for ME!

Friday, February 18, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I told you about this carving. I did buy it and it went down to the basement where it remained hidden and neglected for years. When Rod was looking at retirement hobbies and decided on model railroading, we made an "office" in the section of the basement where the freezer and the nuisance stuff was stored - and the carving surfaced again, to be sold at my mother-in-law's yard sale.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Lynn's Comments: In Hamilton Ontario where I once lived, there was a curio shop which carried some of the most wonderfully hideous treasures I have ever seen. There were gold painted plaster statues, gaudy lump-covered lamps, plastic chandeliers, mass-produced paintings of deer beside waterfalls and copious decorative dust collectors of all shapes and sizes. One day, I saw in the window a huge image of the Virgin Mary. She was plastic and spray painted with garish blues, pinks and gold. Her hands were down at her sides, the palms open to the onlooker and she stood in a wide, deep, ornate plastic basin. Around the edge of the basin were a number of small metal "jets". She was a fountain, about 3 feet high. The best part was that from inside the base, sprouting up from beneath her feet were hundreds of tiny fiber optic tubes which formed a sort of glittering nest from which she rose. I was mesmerized. I went inside and asked the proprietor if I could see the Virgin in action. He complied. A small switch on the fountain's side made the water pour in small arcs into the basin. The fiber optic twinkling "bush" revolved about the Virgin's body and "Ave Maria" played on a music box from somewhere inside. She was marvelous. He explained that she was one of a kind, but that I could purchase her if I wanted to. I wanted to. I wanted to take her home and show her to everyone. I also wanted to give her to the right person - but I didn't know anyone who would truly appreciate this objet d'art as much as I did. Friends of ours were getting married. They were good sports and for a few moments I thought about how they would react if I gave her to them as a gift. I imagined them opening her up and trying to thank me for something they would never have imagined getting. The thing is - I liked them too much to do this to them, so I passed. It was too bad. But, at $300.00 she was also too expensive and so I abandoned her to the store window, wishing I'd at least had a photograph. I do have a mental picture, however, which is undoubtedly better than owning her.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Lynn's Comments: We got a new fridge shortly after moving north. I ordered it from the Sears catalogue - which was the one stop shopping for everyone living in the "boonies". Everything came by train or truck and often took weeks to materialize. Clothing was always a risk - just because we all went to the same functions and were often caught wearing the same things. My new fridge was a beauty. I organized everything inside and put some colourful alphabet magnets on the door in preparation for the photos, notes and doodles I looked forward to hanging there. Kate, who was toddling and full of mischief, saw the magnets and before I could stop her, started to "scrub" them around, scratching the surface of my new fridge. I had only had it one day before it was "broken" in - and I was broken hearted. "Not sweating the small stuff" was hard sometimes!

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The invention of the plastic container has given us the opportunity to save our leftovers until they are no longer a palatable alternative to fresh fare. At this very moment, I have three such containers waiting for consumption or compost...and since it's -20 degrees C outside, my guess is...I'm looking at guilt and garbage for at least one of them. Now that I think of it, I have several half finished jars of jam, an opened bottle of wine circa Sept. 2010, mustard that has no discernable label and a jar of beets I think I bought last spring. I also have fresh stuff I should deal with - and I will, today, most likely.... but as luck will have it...I've been invited out to lunch.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I am 10 lbs overweight. This is normal for me. I feel best, most confident and most comfortable when I am close to the weight I want to be...but I like eating, more than I like being 10 pounds less. So, I have my fat duds, my intermediate and my thin clothes in a closet that needs purging more than my fridge does. I have jackets with shoulder pads bigger than Napoleon's and pants that went out on the ark. I have sweaters my mom made for me and at least one caftan that's never been worn. Let me explain the caftan: it's from the Middle East somewhere, is lovely and can't be parted with. I'm saving it for the day when I no longer care about the 10 lbs, no longer have a size-optional wardrobe and am luxuriating in the comfort of food. I just hope my taste buds are the last of my five senses to go!

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This was my mother's argument. The suggestion that she and I had more efficient metaboli and were therefore able to retain more of the nutrients we consumed was supposed to make us feel OK about weight gain. My dad and my brother didn't have to think about this. They burned off everything they ate! We were fortunate, she said. If she and I were ever marooned on a desert island with a group of people and little food, we would outlive everyone who needed to eat more than we did. At the time, Gilligan's Island was a popular TV show, so this scenario was easy to imagine. The thought of my mother and I being the last survivors, however, made me less than grateful. We were two strong characters, always in competition, and this would have pit one of us against the other. If it came to "dog eat dog"... I'd rather have been the one on the skewer than the one doing the roasting!

Friday, February 25, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Katie was getting to be quite independent and was an easy kid to live with. My friend Marian across the street had her a lot of the time - having raised three boys, she loved having a little girl around and enjoyed looking after her. Aaron was in school, so I toyed with the thought of adding to the family. After some intense discussion, we decided that two was enough, but I still wanted the experience - so Annie, in the strip, got pregnant!

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Lynn's Comments: With this new element of interest to work with, I put myself right into Annie's shoes and examined all the thoughts I might have if the tables were turned. I would have been excited, happy, fearful and anxious all at once. Even with help close by, having another baby is a decision which changes everything and should be carefully planned, if possible. I also knew a lot about Annie; things the readers didn't know. I knew that she had her hands full and that her husband was serially unfaithful - something she suspected but didn't want to know. It was challenging to write about and draw people in an ordinary neighborhood, dealing with ordinary things. It made FBorFW come alive for me - and so much more interesting than if it had been static and everything had remained the same.

Monday, February 28, 2011

Lynn's Comments: After he'd grown out of them, I did hang on to Aaron's crib, playpen and high chair - with the hope that I'd use them again someday. When Katie came along, however, I had in-laws who loved to spoil her and a job that allowed us to be a little less cautious with our cash. She had new things - which, in a way, were less exciting than the things I'd bought on a shoestring and had fixed up myself! These I later sold or gave away when we moved north. I am not one to keep things - even if I think I might have a later use for them. I give stuff away or send it to the second hand shops and sometimes I'm sorry for having done so. When my kids were little, I gave their clothes to friends who promised to give them back to me later - but this never worked out. Either the clothes came back ruined or not at all. I gave away some beautiful things and am grateful for the photos I have of Kate and Aaron dressed in their best; an image that lasted for a few hours, if I was lucky. I did manage to keep their favorite baby blankets. They are lovingly stored in a cedar chest along with three quilts, which were made by hand by friends and are therefore priceless. Some things you have to keep...for no real reason at all!!

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Back to hockey! These were busy times, but the early morning practices, the struggle with uniforms and the expense were all worth it. I am such a supporter of children's team sports. It's great exercise, wonderful experience and parents must participate. You can't take a very young hockey player and leave him or her to play without Mom and Dad in the stands! They have to see you cheering for them, encouraging them. I remember watching the kids whose parents would just drop them at the rink and come back later. Perhaps they really didn't have time to stay, but the look on their children's faces as they scanned the bleachers, looking for someone to work hard for - someone besides the coach - was sad. Perhaps they did well in the long run, but it's my guess that the kids who excelled at hockey (and everything else!), were the ones whose parents stayed to watch them play.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The boys' locker room at the arena was always a frenzy of small, eager players trying to do as much as they could by themselves. Someone, however, always needed help with something! It was "sissy" to have Mom there, tying laces and securing helmets. One perhaps was cool enough to be part of the process, but in general, it was a "no-mom zone". The men who coached junior hockey were such patient, caring and hard working guys. Even the ones who were not fathers yet had what it takes to be great role models to a busy group of small boys all needing approval, security and support. When the coach tied laces he did it in a way that said "Anything you need, man, just let me know!" There was nothing to be ashamed of in needing help with something, no matter how small. These kind gestures made a big impression and I'm grateful to this day for the people who take on the challenge of coaching junior hockey!

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The parents who screamed at their kids (as if, by merely making noise, they could influence a shot or even the outcome of a game) made our lives miserable. Some of these folks we knew. They were shopkeepers, community leaders, patients and acquaintances in town - so it was impossible to say anything harsh to them for fear of starting an incident in front of everyone else. These people became entirely different when they watched a game. It was as if this was their own private event onto which they projected everything from personal prowess to family pride. They shouted insults at their children, at other people's' children, at the coaches and at each other. And, for what?! I could never figure it out. In the end, the result was a sad and demoralized child and many frustrated parents. Rules of good sportsmanship aren't just for the players. They're for the audience as well!

Friday, March 4, 2011

Lynn's Comments: No matter how fast he was skating or how complex the play, Aaron knew where I was in the stands. He knew I'd be there watching everything he did - at least I tried to watch it all. I was one of a tight knit group of hockey moms who always sat in the same place. We always wore the same parkas; a huddled little throng, trying to keep warm with blankets, body heat and bad arena coffee. In Lynn Lake, your parka was a sort of signature. Like waddling mounds of fabric huffing wads of steam out the top, we were part of the northern landscape. My parka was blue with a wolf fur hood and a decorative band of green around the bottom. My friend Nancy had a green parka; June's was magenta. You could tell who was who by the way they walked and what they wore. Those parkas kept us from freezing to the bleachers as we dutifully watched our boys skate their hearts out - for the team and for us. I never looked forward to the 6 am practices, but I'll always be glad I was there.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Nobody likes to lose. On the days when Aaron and his mates were smarting from a lost game, we'd commiserate with hot chocolate and a talk about "next time". There was always another game to look forward to and more reason to put your heart into practice. "After all," we'd say, "if you won every time, it wouldn't be fun anymore! The great thing about competition is the fact that only one team can win and the other must congratulate them honestly. Then, you work hard to see if you can outsmart and out skate them the next time. Losing is an opportunity! You get to learn about generosity, good sportsmanship and honor." The lecture about winning and losing is pretty much the same everywhere and it applies to every sport and if you're lucky, your child will listen, understand and be comforted. Then, once the hugs and the words of consolation are done... you'll tuck them into bed with a hug and tell them you're proud of them for doing their very best. As you kiss them good night, you know that you've said the right thing at the right time....even though they cry out miserably as you leave them: "But, Mom!!! IT'S NO FAIR!!!"

Monday, March 7, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This was my abrupt way of storytelling. In the early 80's I was still learning how to make my 30 seconds a day morph into a story. I wanted there to be a rift between Connie and Ted, partly because I thought he was a schmuck, and just to keep things interesting. Had I been doing this segment today, I would have told their story in detail.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The way I saw it...Ted lived with an overbearing mother. The arrangement worked well for him as she did his laundry, made his meals and also made most of his decisions. There would never be a woman good enough for her son and she saw to it that Connie was a reject, even before the relationship got off the ground. In my head I knew what had happened and how the breakup had taken place, but I never told the story to the readers. At the time, I thought I could get away with such instant info, but it's hard for an audience to buy into something they haven't witnessed for themselves. It was a "learn as you go" situation and I eventually became a better writer.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When you are married and in your 30s, your intimate circle of friends tends to be married couples, too. With the complexities of cohabitation come inevitable clashes and you often find yourselves consoling and commiserating with one another. I learned the hard way to not tell a woman friend what I really thought of her husband. My friend "Alice" was married to a fellow I thought was a genuine cad! When he left her for another woman, I told her so - and said she was better off without him. Six months later, she and her husband reconciled and I was out of the picture. It's safer to console without criticism!