John: Browse The Strips

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Telling Aaron we were going on a trip without him wasn't easy. He wanted to go everywhere, see everything - he didn't want to be left out. Staying at home with strict but fair grandparents didn't sound like a swell time and objections wouldn't get him anywhere. We wanted take him, but we needed time out, time off- we needed to be kid free! When the temperature slipped below -30, I had gone down to the local travel agent and had asked him to recommend a warm refuge. We checked out the brochures on Barbados. I chose a hotel because the name sounded nice and on the spot I had booked everything. Before we went anywhere, however, I had to work ahead so that the strip would run smoothly and I'd have enough lead time to get back into it again when I got home. To do this, I'd check out the return date then work weekends and evenings until I had 6 extra weeks of FBorFW done past that date. Travelling, therefore, meant long hours of writing and drawing beforehand, and barking at kids in an airport wasn't going to be part of the scene. We looked forward to the adventure and to the reward of sitting on a warm beach with a cold drink and nothing to do but enjoy. We looked forward to it, we deserved it, but we felt guilty all the same. Aaron made us feel guilty for going... which meant, of course, that things were normal.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Again, there was no "Ted" in our community. This character was entirely fiction. Here, John has beer with his colleague in an upscale shop on the street below their clinics. In the strip, the world is fictional. John and Ted are working in a cosmopolitan environment with 4-6 storey buildings around them and a large parking lot on the corner. In reality, our clinic was above Perepeluk's Grocery and the only coffee shop you might go to schmooze in was "Wong's Cafe" across the street. The old wooden booths and the coffee counter with the worn round stools welcomed you like a 50s movie set. The smell of egg rolls, wonton and fried rice filled the down in your parka and would linger there for hours, "poofing" out whiffs of Wong's. As for New years' resolutions, I don't remember making too many - either for myself or anyone else. I learned long before my kids were born that resolutions, though well intended, rarely come about. Our philosophy then was to do what you could, hope for the best and to laugh at the things we couldn't change. This we did. We shared laughter with good friends - as often as possible.

Friday, December 31, 2010

Lynn's Comments: When they were young like this, the kids never really got into the swing of New Year's Eve. Other than being able to dig into the dregs and leftovers from the night before, it was just another day. They would look about, wondering what was new? What was different about the first of January? For the adults, on the other hand - in a town where ANY reason to party meant a full house on a moment's notice - New Year's Eve was the night of nights. You needed no preparation, really. If you had heat, a working loo and some furniture you were golden. Food happened and beer was just a short walk away from the pharmacy. We raided each other's fridges and cooked on each other's stoves. We borrowed each other's music and made our own. We all knew each other so well, there wasn't the slow process of "getting things under way". We simply carried on from one get together to the next, bringing the gossip, gaffes and groceries with us. In the small mining town of Lynn Lake, New Year's Eve meant a great time would be had by all, and the change in the date meant we had all made it through another year - together. In a small town, family means "everyone".

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Lynn's Comments: We were both exhausted. The thought of warm weather and a sandy beach was too far away to focus on. First we had to get there. Having no one to leave our outer clothing with, we took with us our parkas, gloves, scarves and big winter boots. We could have boarded the plane in lighter fare - (there was a heater on board) but living in the north teaches you to be prepared for survival. If anything caused our plane to set down in the bush, we'd be dead without winter gear. The trip was a pleasure. We had forgotten what kid-free travelling was like. We didn't have to warm up the plane or prepare a lunch or bring toys or the potty...we just had ourselves to think about. Even though we had to slug suitcases and wait in line and sit for hours, it all seemed like such a luxury!

Friday, January 7, 2011

Lynn's Comments: We arrived in Barbados at the same time as several other aircraft. The customs and immigration area was at a standstill. Long lines of visitors stood patiently waiting, but there seemed to be no movement at all. The heat was unbearable. Some of the older people felt faint. Others fanned themselves furiously with their passports and a few were ready to mutiny on the spot. Nothing had gone wrong until now and we wondered how such a busy airport could be in such an impossible mess! When we came home I did this comic strip. A few days after it was published, I got a letter from the department of tourism in Barbados! They had seen the strip in the local paper and were embarrassed to see their airport problem broadcast to papers all over North America and beyond! I was assured that tourist entry control was being quickly reorganized and that I would never encounter this problem again! I don't know if FBorFW can take credit for the modern, efficient and air conditioned space they have now - but I'll say that it did and have fun with it!!

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The room we had was 35A. This was one of the rare times that I really did a chronicle of our personal goings-on! The hotel was a lovely little retreat called "Tamarind Cove". The beach was secluded and the water warm. I grew up next to the ocean, but had never seen this kind of blue before. Rich, pale turquoise ribbons stretched from left to right as far as we could see. Darker blends of greenish blue reflected the clearest sky. The deck chairs beckoned and the first drinks were free. We settled easily into this glorious retreat, wishing that time would stand still.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Lynn's Comments: As in any profession, there are days when everything is a hassle and nothing goes right. In the dental clinic, this was "one of those days". With the job I had, the great thing about living with a dentist was the stories that came home. Cartoons about life in the clinic were often based on real events and real people. Fortunately for me, these folks never recognized themselves...which is where funny faces and funny names came in. Both Rod and I had stressful jobs and constant deadlines, which might have contributed to more stress at home, had we not had a good sense of humor and the refuge of his mother's house nearby. We were also relieved from hour-long city commutes, traffic jams and circuitous trips to the daycare. The clinic was an easy walk away, which made storytelling easier. It was all too close to home to forget!

Monday, January 10, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I have never worn a bikini. Even in my 20s I was far too self conscious. In the strip, however, I could wear what I liked. Elly's shape constantly fluctuated. Bulges grew, angles sharpened, postures slouched and straightened as the moods dictated. On the beach, it did occur to me that folks didn't much care what they wore - getting as much sun as possible was more important than esthetics. Some of our fellow guests, bleached and bulbous, lay happily out in the open, oblivious to those who smiled at the sight of them. But what difference did it make? We'd never see each other again, so why not enjoy? Maybe I should have tried on a bikini after all!

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Ever seen one of those conveyor-belt style toasters? The kind they have at breakfast buffets? You fire a slice of bread onto a moving belt, and by the time you've plopped a wad of scrambled eggs onto your plate, the bread has moved past a heating element and has reappeared as toast. This is an efficient and practical way to manage a hungry crowd of people, all bent on getting what they want, when they want it. Going to Barbados rather reminded me of the conveyor belt toaster. White folks get off the planes, head for the beach and return to the airport tanned and toasted. Not much different than a breakfast buffet. Strange, isn't it, that many of us (white folks) equate a tanned skin with health, style and attractiveness...and yet we've maligned and criticized for centuries folks who are born with a natural tan! Makes me wonder.... how can we be so stupid and so smug at the same time?!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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?!

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!

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!

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!!!"

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!

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.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Lynn's Comments: If I can't sleep, I will often turn the radio on to the CBC. The droning of interviews, the endless ardent and erudite guests--from the Netherlands at night to the UK in the morning--send me into a haze unequalled since high school. When a lecture was lengthy and the room was warm, I slept easily sitting in a hard wooden desk with my head on a textbook. I didn't mean to drift off. I don't now. In fact, I'm a very good listener and I care! It's just that sometimes I can't concentrate on or absorb what's being said and then, the sound of the speaker becomes like the hum of an aircraft engine and I just fly away. I guess the good thing about this is; I can detect the same somnolence in others. I have learned to recognize the glazed eyes the controlled expression and the stifled yawn and I know that it's time for a break or a change of subject. I see it, I recognize the feeling and I relate to the individual...I just hate it, however, if they've been sitting there, listening to ME!

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The taboo subject of weight was hardly ever brought up in our house. The question "do I look fat in this?" was incendiary. Even at my most svelte, I still considered myself sofa-sized. With a comic strip to get out and personal baggage to exploit therein, I often drew Elly large-nosed, slumped over and bottom heavy. It was OK to do this. As long as I was critical of myself, the household ambience remained stable. Should someone ELSE deliver the blow, however - even as a joke, I was instantly rushed back in time to my moody adolescence when image was everything and a full length mirror dangerous to one's health. When Rod saw this strip, he announced; "That's not funny!" Sometimes the truth is stronger than friction. Later, when I no longer used fanciful images of flying objects, I explained to curious readers that this was how I felt at the time, and not something I actually did! Now, at the ripening age of 63, I'm no longer as obsessed with my waistline as I was then. I've gone beyond wanting to look like one of those angular sylphs in the catalogues. I'm comfortable with the way I am. I'm at ease with the woman within. I'm able to look at myself objectively and positively with confidence and cool. But ...should anyone joke about my wrinkles... WATCH OUT!!!!