John: Browse The Strips

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Lynn's Comments: My kids negotiated their bedtime, as did my brother and I. With the passion and forethought of seasoned debaters, we plied our folks with every possible reason, suggestion and excuse for why we should stay up longer, always to no avail. Now it was my turn to set the rules. Aaron was especially keen to see us give in. It was the challenge that made his entreaties a ritual. By the time dinner ended, he was devising yet another way to add a few more seconds to the deadline of eight o'clock and the ruses began with disappearance. Not one to be unnoticed, he would slip unto the basement to do "stuff" or head outside and down the lane where he'd melt into the network of sheds, fences and open back doors. This was particularly frustrating in summer when the sun went down around midnight and there seemed to be no reason to hit the sack in broad daylight. Bringing him home hollering "no fair" when neighbors were outside washing their cars and chatting over coffee seemed, well,... no fair! Still, a tired kid is not something you want to mess with in the morning, so we placed quilts on the windows, begged the older kids to play elsewhere and hoped the dogs would quit barking long enough for blessed somnolence to kick in. Aaron is almost 40 now. He's still a night owl and often hits the sack well after two a.m. He's convinced me that this is his natural rhythm, that he was never meant to go to bed at eight. Even as a kid, he tells me, he was awake until late into the night and that I should have let him stay up until he was tired. Perhaps he's right. But he was a kid then, and parents have their rules - some of which are meant to save their own sanity!!

Friday, April 22, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Tootie, our teenaged neighbor next door, had chickens which she raised as pets...and for experimentation. One spring, after corn soaked in food colouring failed to colour the eggs, she dyed the chicks instead. Like tiny wind-up toys, blue, pink, green and orange balls of fluff ran about the wire enclosure. Alan and I were thrilled with them and were at the coop every day until the colour wore off and their stubbly brown adult feathers started to grow in. One day, Tootie let us watch a hen lay an egg. We were both fascinated and appalled. "Is THAT where they come from?" we asked. It was our first introduction to the mystery of birth and we were keen to know more. Unwilling to tell us too much too soon, our parents explained that this was where birds came from - and as far as we were concerned, that was information enough. This was one truth that really was stranger than fiction!

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Colouring eggs was one of the best things about Easter. Mom would boil up eggs, soak them briefly in vinegar to erode the shells and then set out dishes of dye for us to dip them in. The dye kit came with a small metal wand, looped at one end to hold an egg. If you were careful, you could dip one end of the egg in dye, turn it over and dip the other end in a different colour. Not one to do things without a flourish, Mom helped us draw on the eggs with white wax crayon which resisted the dye and left our doodles and designs the colour of the shell. We applied stickers and feathers and plastic eyeballs to our coloured eggs and when we were done, they were put in the fridge until Easter night, when the Easter bunny would hide them, along with chocolate and candy eggs as well. In the morning, after the hunt, we'd put them in the "bunny box". Already in the bunny box was a chocolate bunny for each of us, which we'd eat before breakfast - ears first. Alan and I found out where the eggs had come from (as demonstrated by Tootie's chickens) but this was no longer an issue. The magic and the fantasy always returned with flying colours!

Monday, April 25, 2011

Lynn's Comments: In 1973, Alan moved into my small house in Dundas and settled into the garage, which I'd tried to make as habitable as possible. Aaron, sensing a kindred spirit, was immediately on Al's lap and I could see I was immediately outnumbered. Over the years Alan came to visit often but this was the one time, after a deadly sibling rivalry, we arranged to try cohabitation once more. He moved what little he had into the garage and, as they say, we lived for awhile in "interesting times". I had also sublet Aaron's room to a geologist friend who was working on her master's thesis and who had offered to help pay the rent. The dynamics of the three of us under the same roof with a baby made us all get to know each other perhaps a little too well!

Friday, April 29, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Now, we shift back in time to when Alan lived in my garage. As a musician, his schedule was 24 hours on call. If he had a "gig" somewhere, he might come home around two in the morning, all enthused after a night of jazz or rock or whatever had been "going down". Trumpet players are often like freelance artists. You join a group that's looking for a horn player, practice for awhile and blend in. Al had regular performances, too. He played classical and Baroque and when he wasn't playing for an event, he practiced. It wasn't unusual after a performance for him to practice in the garage well into the morning hours, and if I asked him to lower the sound, he used his mouthpiece. This made a Donald Duck kind of "kwakking" sound - which was fine if you were awake and sensible, not so cool at the bewitching hour. We had a number of tense discussions about this and I think I won. I don't remember. You lose some of your faculties with the lack of sleep.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Lynn's Comments: During the mid 70's when Alan wound up living in my garage, the quest for a cheap, clean apartment was ongoing. Everything from distance to parking to price thwarted his efforts and then there was the noise. Where could one practice the trumpet at midnight or two a.m. without being thrown out by heavyweights in the local Tenants' Rights Association? Despite his dreary existence in my garage, it provided him with cheap digs, a place to practice and a clear shot at the fridge, which was just inside the door. I wondered how long it would be before he found a more desirable location, all too aware that for now, at least... he had a pretty good deal!

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Lynn's Comments: It was with some experience and in talking to friends that I put this thought on paper: Strange how someone can seem to reject you without a second thought, then feel as though they still had some kind of "ownership" when they see you with someone else!

Friday, May 13, 2011

Lynn's Comments: We talk about "the one that got away" and somewhere in all our lives, there's a "what if" love. What if I had married my grade 12 sweetheart? What if I'd given that guy at the university a second chance? There are so many what ifs, and yet the choices we made at the time were for a reason. Here, Ted is confronted by his inability to make a commitment. The story will eventually end without his ever having had a strong, long term relationship. He, for one, will always be wondering "what if?"

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This is a scenario straight from my past. My dad used a blade razor for years, until electric shavers became efficient and more popular. In fact, he sold them at the store, which had become a sort of high end gift shop by the time I was in my teens. I think it was a "Ronco" shaver which came home first. We had one small, communal bathroom so nothing was secret, sacred or safe! When Dad left the new shaver on the sink, it was only a matter of hours before Alan and I were shaving ourselves, each other and the carpet in the hall. I remember taking it apart and tapping the debris into the sink. Dad was never as miffed as Mom was by the things we did. Stuff always got tided up (by Mom) and besides, there were other shavers at the store to bring home and try. Dad could fix anything and when the Ronco jammed, he'd find a way to get it humming again. Ladies' shavers were introduced soon after the men's became popular, but Mom refused to have one. She preferred a blade on her legs, she said and would never use an electric one. We put this down to her great practicality until, one day when she thought she was alone in the house... I saw her shaving her chin with Dad's!

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Every time my brother went off to do a show or escort a lady to dinner, I was a bit jealous, and very curious. If I had rented my garage to a stranger, I would have left well enough alone – but because this was my brother, I had to know what was going on and with whom he was going! He was pretty good-natured about my prying. I believed I was the one with no life and all the responsibility and there were times that he thought so, too.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When I read the strips which ask serious questions...I realize there were serious answers left unsaid.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When we accept the role of mom, we become a nurse, a psychologist, a short order cook, a laundress and an alarm clock. Our day seems to belong to everyone else. Everything has its schedule and coordinating lunches, school activities and the general business of living leaves little time in the morning for extras. There's no time to spend on make up and hair spray - we are our basic selves. I was miffed one time to be told that I used to look GOOD in the morning! This is another strip that says out loud what I was thinking.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Here is a scenario that would play out many times in my housewifely career: you make easy meals which cover all the food groups, you leave them in the fridge to be accessed by the troops and without a second thought, they bypass your well organized and clearly labeled containers...and eat junk. On your return from wherever it is you went, you then find your freshly prepared grub reduced to dried, moldering leftovers - having never seen plate nor palate. So, you say the next time you fly the coop, there will be no meal preparation in advance and the troops can fend for themselves. I tried this once and the response was "What? You didn't MAKE us anything?" You can't win - which is why the freezer is such a good invention.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This is one of the "put-down" punchlines that so often got me into trouble. Readers would ask why John was so unsupportive; why I made him look so mean. My husband wouldn't say something like this...but, for some reason, I did these things without really thinking about it. Some day, maybe I'll figure it all out.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Like most dogs tall enough to reach the porcelain receptacle, Farley enjoyed a "fresh" cool swig from the commode. The sound of his lapping was intensified by the shape of the bowl, so the "slorping, galooping" effects were as entertaining as he was. What I did object to was the trail of water that poured from his hairy mug when he left the bathroom. I was more concerned about cleaning up after him than I was about his choice of water sources. I kept the biff pretty clean and besides - dogs chew on every disgusting thing they can find anyway. I tried to keep the toilet seat down, but living with men rather thwarts any success there. The trail of post-refreshment liquid really got me down, but I lived with it for the love of Farley. The head-bashing incident belongs to a friend who told me that her three year old son decided to take matters into his own hands after hearing his mom complain about this same problem. She was shocked to find him smacking the family pooch on the noggin as he drank from the toilet. She gave her son a lecture about abusing animals and sent him to his room for a time out. Later she confessed that despite her son's unkind behaviour...the dog had been cured of a bad habit. In other words, he had "put a lid on it"!

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Being at home when your spouse is with friends is usually a time to relax and enjoy the solitude. During my first marriage I was left at home too often, however, and the feeling of unrest is easy to recall. I remember wondering where he was, what he was doing and with whom he was doing it. In this strip, I turned the scenario around. Here it's the GUY who's left out and wondering if "something" is going on!

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The good thing about having two characters together in a situation like this is that the dialogue can be much more fun. You can be more creative when there are two takes on a subject. A glowering last statement is much more effective if it's delivered to an individual and not to an empty space.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Lynn's Comments: During my first marriage, I spent a lot of time at night listening for our car to come down the driveway. I knew instinctively the sound of the engine and the pattern the headlights made on the walls. I'd feel guilty for being mistrustful, but then again, my husband was doing things I'd never do to him and his excuses never seemed to resolve things. This scene was easy to do and it felt good to write about it.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Before the onset of menopause, my feet were always cold. I wore long cotton nightgowns and slept with my socks on (still do!) I don't think I pulled this trick too many times, but the idea was funny and the drawing was fun! Any opportunity to show a character hollering with a mouth wide open like this made my day!

Friday, June 17, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Our childhood home on Fifth and Lonsdale in North Vancouver was where all the neighborhood kids seemed to congregate. When our sprinkler was on, it meant food, fun and a bathroom if you remembered to use it! My folks were tolerant and welcoming and everyone took their generosity for granted. They rarely complained, however - they wanted to be able to look out the window and know where we were!

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Father's Day has always been one of the more challenging Sunday comics to produce. We never really made too much of it when I was a kid and later, when my two were small, it was a day when the best "present" was to let Dad spend the day in his workshop! Still, it's a day that puts the spotlight on dads and children, no matter what the marital dynamics are - which is a good thing. We need more Father's Days and Mother's Days, if you ask me. Heaven knows- there's nothing more rewarding than being recognized and appreciated for doing a difficult job well!

Monday, June 20, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Aaron was a baby when Farley roamed the house. Because he was my dog and I was used to him, I didn't panic when he'd sidle to the jolly jumper and remove Aaron's lunch from his face with his big, wet tongue. When I see a dog licking a baby's face today, I cringe. Perhaps that's because I no longer have either one!

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This was based on a scenario which once kept my neighbours, Marg and Kenny, up all night. Their small dog "Pixie" took off for parts unknown and Marg was so upset, she had to be sedated. Meanwhile, police, firemen, neighbors and family combed the area without success. Pixie later appeared on her own. She had been under the porch, too afraid to come out with all the crying and commotion going on.

Friday, June 24, 2011

Lynn's Comments: My brother was not living with me at the same time Farley did. This was all part of the creative process. Having the dog, the brother, two kids and a husband all under one roof appealed to me as a cartoonist. Had I really shared my space with this lot, I think I would have been the one to run away from home!

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This is a situation where a really bad and insensitive "joke" can be nicely covered up by putting it within the strip, not completing the sentence and using a friendlier punch line!

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I loved slapstick movies. Good animated cartoons kept me glued to the screen at the Odeon Theatre every Saturday afternoon. One of the most overrated gag ideas has always been the "slip on a banana peel". This pratfall was something my brother and I tried unsuccessfully to recreate many times. You need: a ripe peel, a slippery linoleum floor and a bozo who doesn't look where he's going. All three are hard to put in the same place at the same time without deliberate and calculated effort. Unsuccessful with the surprise attack, we tried the stunt on each other, our buddies and our dad. (Mom would have whacked the both of us for doing something so stupid, so she was out of the scene altogether.) We never did recreate the wonderful slip, slide and landing that was so funny in the theatre. It was therefore important, once I had the freedom of a comic strip at hand, to complete this elusive gag in the newspapers and fulfil a lifelong quest.

Monday, June 27, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Farley the dog was a lot of work. Not only did he bring every manner of grime into the house, he was a constant source of hair. There was hair everywhere; soft, fine, fly-away hair. Even though I vacuumed the house several times a week, balls of grey tangled fluff would blow across the room if you opened a window or a door. He was lovely to look at, but owning him was a full time job!

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Here it is; the truth about Farley and the family car. When I did travel with canine, I put a metal barrier between the hatch back compartment and the rest of the vehicle. This meant that baby and I could inhabit the space safely and without dander. The one time I left Farley in the car sans restrictions, he not only covered the windows with spittle, he jumped on the doorframe and locked himself inside.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Lynn's Comments: A friend of ours played the bagpipes, and I asked if he'd show me how they worked. After dinner one evening, he and I went to the church yard to practice. After about half an hour of my trying to get the bag inflated and the chanter to play, we gave up. Next day, I was stopped by a neighbour who asked if I'd heard the "squalling in the church yard last night"! She was sure some animal had been caught and strangled and had almost called the cops.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Lynn's Comments: In 1974, after my first divorce, I dated a psychiatrist. One of his standby pieces of advice was to NOT think about serious things after midnight. This, he said, was a twilight zone where emotional fatigue and the onset of dreaming make sensible, rational thought all but impossible. He said it was best not go to bed angry, but at the same time, the chances of problem solving when you're tired are slim. The "twilight zone" thing has stayed with me since then and I have given others this same advice. The problem is...your problems all seem to surface when you're relaxed, have the day's chores behind you and the kids are asleep. Sometimes you HAVE to talk things over when you and your partner are in bed, because in today's busy household there are few other opportunities! So, despite the warning from my sweet psychiatrist, I would open up after dark and talk about whatever it was that was bothering me. Fortunately the broaching of sensitive topics never resulted in late night fisticuffs. My husband, sedated by the sound of my voice, happily slept right through it!

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Lynn's Comments: We didn't have a bonfire in the backyard, but we did have deck chairs, flashlights and food. Dad played the guitar. He knew every camp and military ditty by heart and at this tender age, my brother and I thought he was absolutely wonderful. He was!