John: Browse The Strips

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.

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.

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!

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When the kids were small, the work involved often filled a day. By suppertime when laundry, cleaning, shopping and meals were done, I wondered where the time had gone. It wasn't until the dishes were done and the kids in bed that I could sit down - without guilt - and enjoy the paper. It's amazing how "invisible" a housekeeper's job is! For those who share the home and enjoy the fruits of "Mom's labor" things like clean clothes folded neatly in drawers, a tidy, sanitary refrigerator, vacuumed rugs, washed floors, swept and organized closets, prepared meals, answered mail, full toilet roll holders and all the other myriad details that go into running a home seem to occur like magic. If you don't see or take part in the process, you just accept it and expect it all to be done for you. In fact, unless something is NOT done, you don't notice it at all! This revelation came to me when I hired a housekeeper. My sweet lady would come one day every week. I'd leave things for Janet to do. After awhile, dusting and ironing and clean floors just "happened". Recycling was done, mats were shaken and shelves were wiped clean...and if I wasn't there to have a coffee with her and see her work for myself - I took my clean house for granted! Being a "housewife" is a full time job. Add parenting to this and you have an all- encompassing career - for which many of us apologize! I was lucky enough to have a job that allowed me to work at home. I had two jobs! Strips like this one were done to support all the smart, productive and caring moms I knew who were struggling to stay sane. These comic strip complaints also made me less resentful of my own responsibilities. It felt amazingly good to confide my feelings to an unseen community of friends...millions of them!!!

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.

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!!!"

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When a neighbor's dog barks incessantly, I can't stand it. I lie awake or pace about the house, getting more and more verklempt. I imagine myself doing unmentionable things to both neighbor and dog and so, when we acquired a pooch ourselves, he was not permitted to bark outside at the wind or whatever it is they bark at. The only thing Willy could not resist protecting us from was the snow plow. After a fierce attack of nonverbal abuse, it would recede from the driveway cowering as our small black spaniel ran after it as fast as he could. It was funny and the noise didn't last long. I have never been able to understand how folks can put up with their own dog's incessant barking - much less inflict the misery on others. I also find it hard to understand how a dog can bark for so long without going hoarse or passing out from lack of breath! I suspect the first query can be explained by suggesting that some pet owners are completely unfazed by the noise and don't give a frog's fart about anyone else in the neighborhood. But, what about the dog? I think I can understand why, but if anyone knows HOW they can bark for so long - please tell me. I'd like to understand...'cause, when it comes to pets and their owners, I sometimes have much more respect for the pet!

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Lynn's Comments: We had been such good friends, but my relationship with "Alice" was on the rocks. Having forgiven her spouse, she was embarrassed and hurt by my remarks. She also told her husband what I had said about him, so he too avoided my husband and me like the plague. Others, who had felt the same but had not expressed an opinion, still had her friendship; something I regretted having lost. A few years later, Alice's husband ran off with another conquest and this time, she let him go. There was no vindication for me, however. Painful lessons are well learned!

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Nobody seemed to notice the mess but me. Maybe that's because the messes were tidied up so fast. Maybe it's because I gave up nagging and just closed the doors to rooms that smelled of moist hockey gear and lunch scraps. People who share their home with a responsible matron soon learn that things eventually get washed, fixed, cleaned and organized...you just have to wait long enough. Oh, you might hear something or see a pair of shorts take flight, but patience has its rewards. What shocks the socks off me now is seeing my offspring's dwelling spaces and.... they're clean! Their quarters are tidy enough to pass a health inspection and I don't know when it happened. When did they start to notice laundry and dust and grime and clutter...and why did it take so long??? Did the discovery of dirt kick in with maturity? I don't know - but after all those years of picking up after them, I'm taking the credit. All of it.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This Sunday page was also done as a result of a television program. The National Film Board had started a sort of documentary on FBorFW and a crew had been sent to Lynn Lake to record the local "colour". One of the things we ladies did for fun was to attend different demonstrations in each others' homes. Small private sales events were as popular then as they are now. We went to Tupperware and candle sales, clothing shows, cooking and make up demonstrations - anything that would get us out of the house and into an adult environment. Booze was optional, but certainly helped augment the ambiance and the sales. For the sake of the Film Board, I agreed to host a makeup demonstration in my home. The process required the participants to allow their hair to be tied back so that a variety of goops and granules could be spread on our faces. This was not appreciated by some of the ladies who had never been on television and didn't want their debut to be mid toilette. After a bit of cajoling and a few drinks, we proceeded to give the NFB the inside scoop on the home facial demo...doing what we could to make this the highlight of the film. It took hours and many applications of facial stuff before we could call it quits. The ladies departed with grateful thanks from all involved and I promised them a copy of the video if it ever came to be. It did. The all-day makeup demonstration, with retakes, reasks, and redos, however, was reduced to less than two minutes of the film. In the end, no one complained. It was fun to do, but none of us really wanted to see the results. Some things are best left on the cutting room floor!

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Lynn's Comments: It doesn't take long before your kids learn how to work the system. I watched my kids, still too young walk to the store by themselves, figure out how to walk all over us! With superior size and - perhaps - intelligence, we think we are always miles ahead of them - and are often stunned to find that we're running to catch up!

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Tootie Arbuckle babysat for my brother and me. She lived next door and I thought she was cool because she had the preserved fetus of a calf in a jar on her bedside table. She also had chickens and frogs on which she would perform experiments. She fed the chickens coloured grain to see if they would lay coloured eggs and she found out that frogs ate each other as readily as they ate flies. She showed us how dragonfly larvae chewed up tadpoles, and helped us boil a dead raccoon to get the bones for science class. Tootie was from a tough family and was made of solid stuff. Nonetheless, Alan and I gave her a run for her money when she babysat. It was important for us to know our sitters' soft spots, what buttons to push, where we could get her down. It's no wonder that our folks had a hard time finding people hardy enough to suffer through an evening with "the Ridgway kids" but Tootie tried. She was strong and she needed the money. I remember her asking my parents exactly where they would be and when they'd be home and looking at us as if to say "try anything and you're toast!" One evening after the folks had gone to their place of reprieve, Alan and I started our reign of terror. Tootie tried to get the upper hand but gave up and went to the phone. "Are you calling our dad?" (Our dad was a notorious softie.) "No" she said "I'm calling MINE!" Within minutes, George Arbuckle, a short, stocky man with a very short fuse, came in the kitchen door and slammed it shut. He worked in the shipyards and took "no guff from nobody". He cruised around us, slapping his fist into the palm of his hand and soon had the two of us cowering in our beds with the threat of a pounding as security. The next morning, my folks said that Tootie's report had been favorable, that we had been "as good as gold" and from now on Tootie would be our regular sitter. I don't think they ever found out about Mr. Arbuckle's influence on our behavior and we never again pushed his daughter that far!

Monday, March 28, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The relationship between Ted and Connie (with Uncle Phil in there for added angst) was my first attempt to write a story about people outside the immediate family. I really had no idea where this relationship was going! I thought about them getting married, what Lawrence's relationship to the not-too-fatherly Ted would be like, and I let things between them just "happen". It was an exercise. I fumbled with the dialogue and futzed about with the Pattersons' involvement and simply hoped for the best.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Lynn's Comments: One thing you can do in the comics is allow the audience to read a character's' thoughts. In a soap opera, people will often talk aloud to themselves: "Alice will never have Desmond! No! I'll make sure that he knows about her sleazy affair with his half-brother, Fred! ...blah, blah, blah." It was so useful to write everything in thought balloons and have the facial expressions say the rest. Here I used the name of a friend who had started a busy flight service in Northern Manitoba - CALM Air was Carl Arnold Lawrence Morberg's "baby" and he ran it well. His family and friends called him as soon as they saw his name in the paper - and he was able to reconnect with folks he hadn't seen in years!

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When we drove out of "the bush" to Winnipeg, it was an hour to Leaf Rapids on a paved highway. Then we travelled for three hours to Thompson on a narrow dirt trucking route that wound through glacial eskers over muskeg and sparse patches of shrunken black spruce trees, which looked like they had been pulled backwards through a knot hole. There were no buildings or facilities of any kind. Rocks and scrub willows at the side of road provided no privacy at all, should nature call. The good thing was that we rarely saw another vehicle, but you had to keep to the right anyway, because travelers drove so fast they'd be in front of you in an instant. After Thompson, it was another 14 hours to Winnipeg on a rural road, so you can see why traffic was rather awe-inspiring. I even forgot what it was like to have traffic signals and the thought of rush hour made us laugh. In Lynn Lake, everyone but the miners walked to work - and "rush hour" was a line up at the pub!

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Lynn's Comments: We had one of those large, overstuffed, comfy couches in our living room - the kind that's hard to get out of. It was second hand and nicely broken in - so it didn't matter if the kids took off the cushions to make a fort or rode the back like a pony. When Rod came home from work, that couch was waiting and he would flop down on it for a short rest before dinner. Naturally, the kids saw this as an invitation to flop down on Dad. The couch could nicely support all three and the coffee table was used for the overflow. It was always funny to see the kids so eager to tell Dad everything as soon as he came in the door, but after dinner when he'd recovered from his day...they'd be off on another mission.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I have a hard time accepting compliments. As kids, we used sarcasm so often, it was hard sometimes to tell a sincere compliment from a jab. It was easier to let compliments slide than to take them seriously. I also have a hard time accepting gifts and feel I should give back double just to make sure I've been fair! I guess there are worse things to worry about, and fortunately I have a daughter I can go to for constructive criticism. She's usually quite positive - and that's a real compliment!

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Lynn's Comments: My kids always cried for MOM when they were sick. I tried not to call for mine! My mom had always wanted a career in medicine, so heaven help you if you felt under the weather. She had a remedy for everything. We went to bed wearing diapers pinned to our chests, spread with hot mustard. With towels over our heads, we breathed fumes from a bowl full of boiling water and camphor. We drank hot milk and rum, gagged on malt extract and cod liver oil, and when she was really stumped, there was always the dreaded enema! The good part, however, was that she really cared.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Lynn's Comments: With Aaron in school and Katie in daycare, we were exposed to whatever was going around. Having the whole family grounded with some barking, feverish, miserable illness was par for the course. At least I didn't have to work outside the home. This was when my mother's penchant for home remedies was re-inflicted on my own progeny. I didn't resort to mustard plasters, but I did the Vapo Rub and the vaporizer and I used thermometers in both ends. Fortunately, the hospital was walking distance away and at least once a week we saw the doctors socially. We managed to pull through whatever came down the pipe (as they say) which makes me realize how lucky we are to be living today and not in the middle ages. If you didn't die then from the illness, you were likely to croak from the cure!

Friday, April 8, 2011

Lynn's Comments: There's no such thing as the whole family "coming down with" something - because one of us is always "UP"! As chief bottle washer, I remember cooking and carrying, flushing, wiping and running up and down the stairs, even though I belonged in the sack too. Funny thing, though; even if I'd had the luxury of live-in help I'd still have wanted to take care of everyone. I'd still have made soup, taken temperatures, wiped foreheads and watched them 'til they slept. Perhaps this is why I like hospitals. I actually like the smell and the bustle and the constant state of "need". I enjoy being with nurses and doctors and learning as much as I can about what makes us "tick". I have never minded being a patient and, some day if I'm ever too feeble to live on my own I won't resent being "put away!!" Maybe I'm practical or perhaps I'm just looking forward to being taken care of - guilt free!

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Every woman I know has the ability to tough it out, even when they're sick. If someone needs you, the strength is there. You don't think twice, you just do what needs to be done. It's second nature. I had a dear friend whose husband was terribly ill. She looked after him night and day and when he was finally able to go back to work, she checked herself into the hospital and had surgery. She'd been suffering with a cyst on her ovary and hadn't let the pain register until her other fears were over. People will say they have never done anything outstanding, courageous or worthy of note, but examples of selflessness like this happen every day...and it makes the word "giving" really mean something.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Neither one of us was adept at fixing things, although we tried. In the north, if there were no spare parts, you had to wait for something to come in the mail or hope there was a similar machine at the dump. My kitchen appliances were that peculiar shade of yellow they called "Harvest Gold"... but it was closer to the colour of cottage cheese, well past the expiry date - which describes the appliances as well. My stove had one of those ceramic tops - a source of interest and considerable invention. Not only did we try cooking directly on it, but I found that I could repair paperback books by running the spine quickly across the cooking surface to melt the glue holding the pages in and voila- no loose pages! The oven was often used to dry wet winter boots - something you only forgot about once. The memory of hot felt and scorched rubber still comes to mind. Our washer and dryer worked overtime, as did the rest of our appliances, and eventually we had to decide whether to repair or remove whatever broke down. Because the future of the town was so uncertain, buying anything new meant that you might be removing it soon after it was put in. This made "duct tape and bailing twine" the preferred method of repair. I remember being quite miffed that the machinery at the clinic was always in top working order, but then again I could wait - and "patients is a virtue!!"

Friday, April 15, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This strip covers the sensitive topic of gossip. When is talking about someone a caring gesture and when is it mean? I confess that I am much better at keeping a secret now than when I was in my 30s. I was always aware of my friends' feelings and their right to privacy, but from time to time, the juiciness factor overshadowed my judgment and I'd tell. The spilling of the beans is always prefaced by "I don't want to be a gossip - and don't tell her I told you" but from time to time, the leak was discovered and the result was a real test of our friendship. I learned to say I was sorry, and I was. I regained their confidence and in return, I found out what they'd been saying about ME!