Elly: Browse The Strips

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Here is where I switched to another storyline. In order to keep the Connie and Ted arc going, I included this strip. I guess I should have stuck with hockey, but at the time I was into the politics of the game and not too keen on drawing the boys in the arena. What had happened was; Aaron had gone on a trip to the "playoffs" in Thompson. It was a long ride in a school bus and the team had to be billeted with families there. Because he was not one of the strongest players, he and several other boys sat on the side hardly getting to skate at all. When they returned one of the chaperones called to say that her son and Aaron had only skated for 30 seconds, during the whole time they were there! I was furious. I knew there was a tournament to win - but these were such young kids and such favouritism was so unfair. Together the other mother and I went to see the coach to find out, cordially, "what could be done". It was evident that the answer was "nothing". After that, our boys left the team, gave up their gear and skated for the fun of it. Parents worry about their kids getting hurt playing hockey. Not much is said about the emotional hurt of being left out of the game!

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Lynn's Comments: The story of Connie and her unhappy relationships, again, is my story. When I was single (the first time) I went through a few frustrating relationships. I had a wonderful friend, however - a woman I'd met at the university when I worked there as a medical artist. She was a bit younger than my mom and became my mentor and confidante. I was sitting in her kitchen after a particularly confusing date...wondering aloud if I should see this man again when Marjorie said; "you have to decide: ...are you in love or in need?" Good question. The answer hurt. I moved on.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Lynn's Comments: In order to tie up the hockey scenario, I wrote this. Game over. Subject closed. There were no sidewalks in town and my kids never did roller skate. This is when the town of Milborough began to evolve. Lynn Lake, where we actually lived, was a northern mining town of about 1200 people. The next community of Leaf Rapids was 60 miles away and Thompson Manitoba was 300 miles of dirt road south from there. We were isolated. Our small Cessna aircraft was a regular every day vehicle as much as it was a luxury. We needed it for work: Rod went into the native communities one week out of every month and my work took me out of town quite often, too. We had a good airport, but the "sked" (scheduled flight) was expensive and often inconvenient. Not many people could relate to the actual life we lived, and so houses, streets, bridges, and the business district where "John Patterson" had his dental office began to take shape in my head .... and therefore, in "the strip".

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Lynn's Comments: If Katie had a tricycle, I don't remember it. The town was so small, there were few sidewalks and I wouldn't have let her go too far on her own. This is really an image from my own childhood. My brother had a tricycle to which he was welded. He was on it constantly and because we didn't own a car, mom trundled us to the corner store - she and I on foot with Alan on his trike. I remember having to wait for him as he sat and watched bugs on the sidewalk or stopped to check out a parked car. It was maddening. Likewise, he would pedal like crazy down the hills and we'd have to run after him. Balancing groceries and hollering at the top of her lungs, Mom would fly at breakneck speed down to the stop sign where she'd put herself between Alan and the busy intersection ahead. It wasn't until I had kids of my own that I realized how many times we'd put Mom's life in danger as she tried to protect ours!

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Katie was fascinated by the telephone and although she didn't catch on to the art of conversation right away, she enjoyed the fun of just hearing someone's voice coming from the receiver. With this in mind, she would sometimes climb onto a chair and press all the numbers. As long as she didn't raise the hand piece, I let her have fun...until we got billed for a call to Hong Kong!!! True story!

Monday, November 15, 2010

Lynn's Comments: When Aaron was born, Farley the dog was well established as part of the family. Certainly my first introduction to "training" another living thing was the DOG, and from time to time, I clapped my hands and shouted "NO!" to both kid and canine. (I stopped at spraying the kid with water or using a choke chain). Aaron was crawling around the same time he was teething, so kibble and other Farley fare was readily available. When I discovered Aaron teething on a Milkbone and enjoying the grit on his gums, I happily allowed him to indulge. Milkbones, after all, didn't disintegrate into mush like other teething biscuits and it was cheap. The smell of it on the breath of both my charges didn't bother me in the least. Compared to some of the other odors emitted, this was "kissing sweet".

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Farley the dog - in real life - had come from champion stock and had a list of names a yard long (aside from the names I called him). For a while, my first spouse and I belonged to the Old English Sheepdog Owner's Association. We attended shows, meetings and picnics and I did the heading for the monthly newsletter. We thought about breeding Farley and happily chatted to members about all the caveats involved. He was a beauty. Unfortunately it was discovered that he had mild hip dysplasia and we had to make other plans. I often wonder how life would have changed had we become more involved with the serious business side of dog ownership!

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Lynn's Comments: From time to time friends who didn't have children would come by for tea, to chat about whatever ladies chat about during their spare time. I didn't have much time to spare, so unless the topic was a "grabber" I'd find myself drifting off, eyes wide open, trying to digest something that wasn't being swallowed. My kids noticed this ability to daydream - especially when I was working - and would ask if they could have a beer or a raise in their allowance just to see if I was tuned in! Suffice it to say, it became embarrassing when I'd run into folks later and ask a question I should have known the answer to. Eventually they knew me well enough to expect the occasional lapse of memory!

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Like most kids, I believed that all the drudge work belonged to Mom...the repairs and the maintenance belonged to Dad and that I was there to be fed, clothed and endured. I hadn't ASKED to be born...and therefore I was a perpetual guest. Seems that my parents didn't order a princess when they brought me into the mix and I was soon expected to clean up my squalor, help with the dishes and generally make myself useful. I rebelled. I felt cruelly done by. I lay down on the floor and howled at the injustice of it all. Despite the hardship and the unfairness of it all - I do remember having a distinct sense of pride and satisfaction once a chore was done.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Aaron really did like his grade two teacher. Her name was Caroline Sadowska. She was smart and kind and strict. She stood up to the class clowns, the tricksters and the troublemakers and was always diplomatic in doing so. The school had suffered a fire and classes were being held temporarily in the Catholic Church basement... Aaron had been up to something and, exasperated, Miss Sadowska called me at home and asked me to meet her at the church, with Aaron in tow. I don't recall the misdeed or the sentence. I do remember thoroughly enjoying Miss Sadowska's methods of dealing with parents and kids and her infectious sense of humor. When our meeting was done and the culprit out of earshot, Carolyn and I agreed - in this small town, where people of like mind were sometimes hard to come by, we were destined to become great friends. "But, let's wait until he's in grade three" she said. "It would be hard to nail a kid whose mom was having coffee in my kitchen!" We waited and did become friends. Three years later Sheena Baker, another teacher of Aaron's, wrote a book called "There's a Worm in My Apple" and I illustrated it. The book's inception was due to my numerous interviews with her, at the school...regarding my son!

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Mrs. Hardacre, as I've said, was a teacher in my elementary school. Kids said she was "hard as nails and gave us acres of work" but I liked her. The teachers who were both strict and fair had my attention and I worked hard for them. Walnut trees grew all around the school and "conkers" was a game we all played with walnuts tied to strings. The object of the game was to whack your opponent's walnut and try to break it. This resulted in everything from bruised knuckles to chipped teeth. I'm sure it's outlawed today - or played with heavy gloves and face shields, but in the 1950s we took risks. To compare Mrs. Hardacre to a walnut would have been reasonable, I think...but inside, she was very good stuff!

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Aaron did play hockey for a few seasons. I enjoyed watching the games but wasn't one of the screamers. Some parents literally hollered themselves hoarse, while I quietly clapped and waved to the kids on the ice. I wasn't a passive observer, though. I got involved! One of the things I learned quickly was that junior hockey depends on the many volunteer hours required to coach, drive, billet, clothe and feed the teams. The job I enjoyed most was in the arena coffee shop, making hot dogs and burgers and serving coffee. It was fun to meet everyone, and it kept me busy. Sitting in the bleachers in a town where the winter temperatures went down to -50 Celsius could be chilling, and even though I spent my weekends in the coffee shop - I was warm!

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Lynn's Comments: The last time I wrote about being a "sports widow" we had numerous messages from women who shared Annie's point of view. If I had grown up in a home where televised sports were part of everyday life and was something we all enjoyed, perhaps I wouldn't be so sarcastic about the hours wasted on the couch watching a bunch of guys chase a ball. My folks were more into music and comedy. I have women friends who are addicted to baseball and hockey, too - but not me. I vented through Annie and put into words the thoughts I'd had when I, too, was wishing my spouse enjoyed more vertical activities.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Steve Nichols was a character who rarely appeared in FBorFW. As Annie's less-than-perfect spouse, he was to be gossiped about unseen. This is likely the first illustration I did of him. I never put this drawing into my resource files and soon forgot exactly how I'd drawn him! In the next illustration showing Steve, he looked quite different - sans moustache. Nobody ever mentioned this to me and I never noticed until now. Things like this convinced me to keep an accurate character file.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Lynn's Comments: I let my frustration overflow sometimes, sending a tsunami towards my kids. What I discovered was - kids can accept an apology. This wasn't something my folks did too often. An apology was considered a sign of weakness, I guess. For me, it was just plain honesty. When I was at the end of my rope, all I could do was to let the kids know I was human, was in error and was sorry. I think a sincere apology comes from strength, not weakness. Sometimes it's the hardest thing to do but the results, in the end, are wonderful!

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Lynn's Comments: I hate ironing. I am not alone here...I can hear a cry rising from the masses - men and women alike screaming "I HATE IRONING!!!" And so, I don't do it - unless I absolutely have to. This means hanging stuff in the bathroom as I take a shower, hoping the steam will do the trick. I buy clothes that can be stuffed in a suitcase and worn immediately. I buy clothes with stripes to camouflage the wrinkles. I get a friend to do it. Anything to keep myself from having to handle that spitting, hissing demon in my laundry room that always seems to have some crud in it. You know...that "scale" or whatever it is that will spit out of those little steam holes onto your cherished garment and stain it permanently with some brown smudge, right at the crotch or some other really visible place. I hate ironing. Having said that, however...if I could iron the wrinkles out of my face, I would definitely change my tune. I would embrace that miserable device and use it daily - singing its praises to the end of the earth! But this is not possible. There is no iron for the wrinkles on my countenance... the fabric of my face must remain as nature decrees. I am au natural, gracefully declining in my retirement, accepting wrinkles with confidence and dignity. I can't iron my face, but the irony (iron-y?) is....... those #**!*% spots come anyway!!!

Monday, November 29, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Across the lane from us lived the Klotz family. Liz was one of the neighbors I often had coffee with. She and her husband Tony had 3 adopted kids and fostered others, so their house was a busy, welcome retreat from the studio. When I put their name on Mike's hockey jersey, I waited for them to see it in the paper - but others saw it first and called to tell Liz. She was delighted, but wondered if this meant that her husband's small auto repair shop now had to sponsor a local team! From Liz I leaned how to let the small stuff go, to let kids enjoy the freedom to play without noticing the mess of toys and clutter. When it was -40 degrees outside, our homes became playgrounds and trying to keep up with the chaos was nearly impossible. Every mom became a block parent as we took turns being hostess to visiting kids and a support system for each other.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Because we lived in such a bitter climate, warm clothing was a necessity. Gloves in particular had to be worn and accounted for. It didn't take long for hands and faces to freeze as kids forgot the temperature when they played outside. My mom-in-law, Ruth, kept a supply of extra gloves and I did too. Kids who were not wearing gloves, for some reason, would go home with a warm pair from our house. We lived halfway between the school and the end of town, so ours was the bathroom and the warming post for kids who needed to stop on the way home. I well remember trying to stuff rubbery, limp little fingers into tight gloves and from this I think the mitten was invented!

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Watching junior hockey was fun. These little players went as fast as they could with as much determination and energy as an NHL champ, undeterred by their wobbly legs and restricting gear. Close to the ice, they fell and landed in furious heaps, unscathed and ready to go for a goal. All around us, parents who were bent on winning shouted advice and admonishments in a roar that would wake the dead. The rink was a frigid metal building. The small row of heating elements above the bleachers did little more than keep us from freezing to our seats, but the energy kept us cheering for all the kids. Being a team would have to wait until they could manage to get from one end of the rink to the other without falling or forgetting what position they were meant to play. This is when hockey was fun and the kids came home exhausted and filled with pride for having done their very best.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Lynn's Comments: The Hudson's Bay store in Lynn Lake carried everything. In order to get to the grocery section, you had to go past the clothing and the toys - which were a magnet. Standing at the same height as the display shelves, Aaron would be nose to nose with a car or an action figure and his pleadings encouraged Kate to whine for a present as well. It was therefore a planned purchase dependent on the behavior of the supplicants and, much as I hate to admit it - a genuine bribe. "If you're not good, then, no toy!" Fortunately, at this age the value of the reward was not as important as the acquisition of something new and I could get away with something small, cheap and disposable. I often wonder what bribes cost today!

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Lynn's Comments: For children, the coming of Christmas is an endless wait. The ads, the lights and the music make them plead for the time to go faster. For mothers, there are never enough hours in the day. Living in a small, isolated community meant that we all knew and relied on each other for everything from babysitting to compassion to the proverbial cup of sugar. Without speaking, moms of toddlers knew from the angle of a smile or the nod of a head, how another mom's day was going. We shared, laughed with and supported each other as pageants, bake sales and community center events kept us thoroughly immersed in the holiday spirit. Christmas in Lynn Lake was as rich as any I have known - mostly because we were all so close. There was little class distinction here. Nobody was better than anybody else and if they thought they were, they became lonely pretty fast! Many of the down-to-earth punch lines in the strip came directly from the down-to-earth friends I had in Lynn Lake.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Lynn's Comments: My dad, reading the paper while relaxing on the couch, is a classic image. Mom always read at the table where she could spread the sheets out evenly; Dad preferred to hold them up to the light. The snap and crackle of him flipping to the next page is a sound I can still hear clearly, recorded in some archive buried deep within my private mental files. It was nice to sit, warm against his side, and read the news with him. My knees on the cushions, my shoulder against his, we'd read together in silence. I learned to read at his fast pace and when it came to the "funny pages" we studied together the panels, the pranks, the precision that made us smile. Mom on the other hand did not like us to read over her shoulder. It bothered her to share what must have been a rare private time and, this, of course, offered me the opportunity to ruffle her feathers. I would climb the rung on her chair and read, with my chin on her arm until I could sense a sort of vibration...an electric exchange that happens between mom and kid that says "that's all I can take!" I knew I was pushing her buttons - the trick was to escape before she blew. Funny isn't it how little things drive folks crazy. My dad loved the company, my mom wanted to be left alone. Both of them loved to read, however - which impressed me greatly. I love to read now, because it meant so much to them.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Aaron's remark that his teacher had "no sense of human" became the punch line for this strip. In reality, his teachers were the best, but like his mother, I'm afraid, he managed to push them to their limit. The thing about Aaron was that he was funny. Even if he was completely in the wrong he retained a certain aura of acceptance, and tales of what he had done lately were part of the staff room chatter. He enjoyed school and did well in the things he was interested in, but otherwise he daydreamed, fooled around and got into trouble. I could understand. This was the way I drifted through elementary school, too. The class clown who was constantly told how well I could do if I could only settle down and learn!

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Knowing the teachers personally made parent-teacher interviews less stressful. Still, I always prepared myself for the same admonishments: Aaron was too easily distracted, he was too much of an entertainer, and in order to learn he had to be part of the audience. Math was never his favorite subject and I could sympathize there. His grandfather tried to give him remedial lessons, as did his grandma, who had been an elementary school teacher. Still, he found it hard to concentrate and would rebel. This had been my problem, too. At parent-teacher interviews, I knew that every time his teachers explained their concerns, it could easily have been my own teachers talking to my parents about me!

Friday, December 10, 2010

Lynn's Comments: I had some wonderful, insightful and compassionate teachers. The dialogue you see here is almost word for word from a conversation I had with Mr. Stibbs in grade four. He told me that yes, he did pick on me and yes, he did single me out in the class - and that he did so because he knew I could do better. He explained that it took a lot of his time and energy to put me in my place and he did so because I was worth it. I think he was the first to put a harness on the unruly kid that I was and he did so by letting me know - in a strict but very fair way, that he had respect for my intelligence and therefore so should I.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Lynn's Comments: It was a long time before I realized I could actually enjoy learning, if only I could just let my teachers do their job. First I had to test them and see what their limits were. I had to make them angry and see how they handled their anger before I let them in. If they were fair and honest and strong, I learned. If they fell into the trap; if they screamed or threw stuff, or had favorites or didn't come through with a promise, I became their worst nightmare and twice I was removed to other classes. Teachers see more of their charges than the parents do and I think I was looking for as much discipline as they could give me. Looking back, I have some apologies to make... and so very much to thank them for.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Lynn's Comments: My mother did not like surprises...or so she said. Gift giving was always a challenge for me because she was effusive, no matter what the gift was, so it was hard to tell whether I'd made the right choice or not. Mom was an excellent seamstress. She could make anything - even patterns from scratch. I was working at Woodwards in Vancouver, making a salary for the first time, so Dad and I decided to pool our resources and get her a Bernina sewing machine for her birthday. It was the latest thing. It could make designs and buttonholes without a template and you could use several colours of thread at once. It was expensive, however, and Dad worried that she'd be angry with us for spending so much when we could hardly afford it. He had to tell her our plan. Naturally, she said "Absolutely not!" She wouldn't have us spending wantonly on something she could well do without. So...we got her a jewelry box instead. When she opened her gift, we could tell that Mom was bitterly disappointed. "What's the matter?" Dad asked- genuinely surprised by her reaction. Pressing a hanky to her eyes, she cried, "I thought I was getting a new sewing machine!!" Go figure. Gift giving was always an awkward time in our family. Any time we did it right - it was a surprise!

Monday, December 13, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Driving to a destination which requires a map means that yours truly is more than likely to miss an important turn off or happily follow the wrong signs. To avoid this misery, I have always given myself time to "get lost". This allows frustration to melt into a sort of \"adventurous" state of mind, wherein I explore my surroundings, take note of where I went wrong and promise myself I'll remember the next time. With two small kids in the back seat, wondering if we're "there yet" and teasing each other to make time go faster, I could hardly afford to get angry. I think now about all the technical devices available to keep one on track and I marvel. What would I have accomplished if I'd had a GPS? What would life on the road have been like if an ingeniously mounted, vehicle-friendly television screen had quietly entertained my offspring with programs of their choice? One thing I do know is that I would never have enjoyed the thrill of the chase and the excitement of seeing the correct corridor disappear beneath an overpass, taking me in the opposite direction! I would never have figured out for myself how to get from A to B - and isn't this all part of success? Why take the easy way when the wrong way can lead to something new? I ask myself. And I'm still waiting for the answer!

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Lynn's Comments: The airport in Lynn Lake was walking distance from the town. Every flight went over the houses and after awhile you could tell if it was a Twin Otter, the scheduled flight, or someone coming in for a fishing trip. Our Cessna 185 had a particular hum and this changed when the floats were removed and the skis added. I always knew when Rod was home from the villages up north. I would bundle up the kids and be at the airport to pick him up before he landed. As I recall, my parents only made the long journey once to see us. Aaron knew them both well, having spent time alone with them at their cottage in Hope, BC, but to Katie they were strangers. The joy of our reunion at the small outpost airport was lost on Kate, who hid behind my legs and maintained a wary reserve until they had settled into the house. It was Christmas and the fun of the season soon took over. I can still see her on my dad's knee singing and playing, now aware that she was with family.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Lynn's Comments: We wait so long to hear our children speak in clear, concise sentences. We correct their grammar, teach them the meanings of new words and how to incorporate them into their vocabulary. We rejoice in their learning - and then... we want them to shut up!!! By the time he was five, Aaron was reading well and speaking like an adult. I loved the baby talk, but my goal was to see him go as far as he could with the language and to enjoy its use. Katie too loved to learn and the hope was that with good communication, we would all be able to understand each other better. With the advent of language came the flood. Every movie was dissected and rehashed, every accomplishment, every thought, dream or accusation was gone over again and again. In short, there was non-stop talking. The trick was to pick up enough of the garble to prove you'd been listening and also to filter through the flow for the important stuff like: "the upstairs toilet is overflowing 'cause there's a sock in it." Interesting, isn't it, that when kids become teenagers and the need for real communication arises ...they don't want to say a thing!

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Lynn's Comments: In this scenario it’s Elly’s father-in-law who unplugs the toilet, but this story really belongs to my dad. My grandparents lived in West Vancouver. Before we had a car, the trip was made by bus and it took the better part of a morning to get there. My grandfather (Mom’s dad) was a severe man, used to giving orders and making demands. Because my dad’s family was not as high in the British caste system as he was, Gramps treated my father with disdain, often calling him by his last name. “Ridgway! Do this! Ridgway! Do that!”

My dad was hurt and offended. He was gentle soul, however and always tried to avoid conflict. He kept his feelings to himself until the day we arrived to a distraught Gramps and an impossibly plugged privy. Dad was pretty good at fixing things and was soon pressed into finding out what had caused the system to back up. Dad stood before the offending bowl, scratching his head. Gramps, desperate to resolve the problem, offered to pay Dad to fix it. Dad looked at my grandfather and said “I will unplug your toilet if you will call me by my first name.” With some effort, Gramps agreed to do so and the waters flowed once more. Amazing, isn’t it, that the price gramps had to pay was simple courtesy.