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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.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Lynn's Comments: It was all I could do to stay in bed on Christmas morning. By 5 am, I'd be up and peeking around the hall corner at the gifts under tree. If my brother was awake, we'd stand there hand in hand in the living room, shivering more from excitement than the cold. We were allowed to open our stockings and nothing else. The waiting was awful and wonderful at the same time. I wondered how my folks could stay in bed on such an important morning. Christmas had taken such a long time to come, and now we were made to wait even longer. I made the same arrangement with Kate and Aaron. Stockings only until we were up and the coffee was made. I remember them pushing our bedroom door open to see if we were stirring. It was all they could do to let us sleep until 7. We didn't appreciate it at the time, but I now miss those busy, crazy sleep deprived Christmas mornings!

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".

Friday, February 11, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Bedtime--I mean the exact time our heads hit the pillow--was a contentious issue for my brother and me. Being two years older, I felt I should get at least an hour more of "up time". Mom thought otherwise. Because we had to share a room, it wasn't possible to put one over on him, either. Both Alan and I knew exactly what the other got or did or had and the competition for MORE was fierce. We fought constantly. If it wasn't over who got what, it was about who said what and when and the grating repetition of "It's not FAIR!" made my folks' heads spin. I remember being caught watching television from our vantage point in the hallway and my punishment was that I was sent to bed even earlier the next night. NO FAIR! I could never understand why an hour more was such a big deal. Why couldn't I watch one more show or do one more thing? Why did my parents insist that an eight o'clock bedtime was so important? WHY??!! Years later, I had children of my own. By eight o'clock, when I was at the end of my proverbial rope, I made eight o'clock the set bedtime--no arguments, please. It's interesting, isn't it, that we repeat familiar routines and much like the fish in the ocean we return to familiar waters, and we do it to assure the survival of the species.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Lynn's Comments: We didn't get a television until was twelve. Once the tube was in the house, I became hooked on classic movies and even soap operas. When it came to cartoons, I couldn't get enough, so with both parents working it was tempting to feign an illness and stay home. I was good at looking sick, but it didn't take Mom long to catch on. Every time I wheezed, coughed and begged to stay home, she did a thorough check up to make sure I wasn't pulling a fast one. If she caught me, the punishment might be no TV for a week - or worse! Still, the thrill of the game was there and I played it until boys became more interesting than television.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Mom worked full time at the jewelry shop on Lonsdale, but if either Alan or I was seriously down for the count, she'd drop everything and stay home. I was never closer to my mother than when I had a bad illness and she was there to take care of me. During the 50's we didn't get vaccines for the flu - we got the flu! The polio vaccine was newly available, diphtheria and whooping cough were also in decline, but mumps, measles, chicken pox and all kinds of other nasty bugs kept us in bed all too often. At these times, nothing was as soothing as having someone read to me. My mother read us wonderful stories from The Brothers Grimm to Rupert Bear, the Golden Books and Dickens. She read well, putting life and drama into everything. Sad to say that when my kids needed me at their bedsides, they preferred to watch television!

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!

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!!

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Lynn's Comments: These are the thoughts I had as I sat in church with my mother, listening to the Easter morning service. Our Anglican minister put a heavy focus on the death of Jesus and we were all made to feel responsible! "It's because of YOU that he died! You are all SINNERS!!! You nailed Him to the cross!" I was eight years old and I thought..."But, I wasn't there! I wasn't responsible! I wasn't even BORN yet!" Years later, when my children asked to know more about the Easter story, I tried to tell it in a way that they could understand - putting the blame on a time when people were unjustly condemned all the time. I think this helped to separate them from a tragedy that occurred two thousand years ago and allowed them to focus on the message, the meaning and what was achieved. This cartoon was done after Aaron and I had watched a movie together - I think it was "Ben Hur". He was so moved by the crucifixion that he wished he had been there to prevent it. It was an exceptional moment that we shared together and we talked about it for some time. This is one instance when I had an opportunity to talk about some really serious concepts with my son, and I hope used it well.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I remember being so distraught that I could break stuff. At the end of my rope, I'd scream and cry and flop down on the floor exhausted and empty and defeated. This was last week! Seriously, when you're too young to understand and too inexperienced to deal with life's situations, collapsing in tears is the only way to respond. We've all been there and despite the fact that you look like someone to avoid...this is usually the time when you need love and understanding more than anything else in the world!

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Alan and I would sleep outside in the backyard every summer. We'd look forward to the adventure of being outdoors - forgetting the mosquitoes, which instantly filled the floorless space as soon as the thing was rigged. With blankets, food, transistor radio, toys and bedrolls, we more than filled the enclosure. We were lucky, as the bugs bit and we bickered, if we could last two nights.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Lynn's Comments: The thing that brought us indoors long before morning wasn't the wildlife but the bugs. Even now, the sound of mosquitoes whining around my head at night makes me crazy. When Mom finally allowed us to camp in the living room (the basement had spiders), camping became much more enjoyable. I don't think my mother could say the same!

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Lynn's Comments: It's strange how we slip from being careless and sloppy to fanatically clean. For years, I maintained a house so tidy you could enter any room and find every last thing in place. My lingerie was rolled, folded and colour coordinated, my linens were in perfect piles, my bathroom cabinets immaculate. Even if it was out of sight, my stuff was in order. Now that I live on my own, however, I have reentered the "who gives a ****" phase of life and I view my habitation much as I did as a kid of 10. I haven't made my bed since last week. My work has spilled into the dining room where I can easily get to it and if the dishes sit on the counter overnight...ehhh! I don't do laundry until I run out. I don't pick stuff up until I have to - and I can only describe this lack of decorum as liberating. The other day as I was leaving my bedroom comfortably littered, I distinctly heard my mother say "For heaven's sake stop living like a hermit and take care of this mess!" I thought about all the times I railed at my own kids for living in squalor and I sympathized with them. No matter how well you pick up after yourself, a place is going to deteriorate. I figure "what's the point?" So, like a kid, I only clean up if I have to. My incentive is company. Every time the mess gets to the point of no return, I invite friends for dinner. It's time again to shovel out, so...yesterday, I bought steak.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Lynn's Comments: This exchange is, word for word, from my own childhood. I knew if I said to my mom "do you think I'm some kind of servant?" she'd go completely off her nut. Why did I say it? I don't know. I have always enjoyed a punch line - even if it meant getting a punch in return! So, I said it and she swatted me and put me in my room. I hoped that when she saw this strip, she'd be vindicated... once more!

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Lynn's Comments: My parents had much less control over my brother and me than I had over my children. Mom and Dad both worked in our shop on Upper Lonsdale - a good half hour walk from home. Al and I were on our own a lot. We could do just about anything as long as dinner was ready by 6:00 and nothing in the house was busted or burning. I became the cook at about age 10 and Al just had to keep out of my way. Life was complicated. I knew what it was like to be "grown up" in my head and a kid in stature!

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I have been tempted to take something from a store and on two occasions I admit to having done so! It's such an easy thing to do, sometimes: no supervision, no cameras, nothing to stop you but your conscience. My conscience has stopped me from doing a lot of things. I'm grateful to have one - and whether it's a quality that's learned or a gift from birth, everyone must have one. I tried to make sure that my kids knew the difference between right and wrong but even with the most rigorous explanations, they still had to find out for themselves what it was like to deal with guilt and retribution.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Lynn's Comments: This strip brought in a lot of mail. People said they prayed for the safety and well being of their pets as much as they did for friends and family.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Lynn's Comments: Aaron had one excuse after another for not going to bed. It seemed as though he never slept. I would hear him late at night doing stuff in his room and I wondered when he'd get into a "normal" routine. Well, he's almost 40 now and he's still a night owl. It's not unusual for him to be up and working at 3:00 am!

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Lynn's Comments: There was a time I'd go into a house like this--where the people took scattered toys, dog hair, and mangled furniture for granted. I'd step over Tinker Toys and half eaten sandwiches wondering how in the world they could live like that! I'd see crusts on tabletops and a sink full of dishes, and I'd think to myself, "How can she stand to live in a house that isn't clean, tidy, and well organized?!!" ... Then I had kids.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Lynn's Comments: Mom was a master at repairing things. She could glue and sand and paint and varnish almost anything so that the crack, chip, or missing piece was restored. This meant that anything broken at the store that was salvageable, made it's way home. We had, therefore, a plethora of pots, vases, statuettes, and collectible objects strategically placed about the house. At the time, smoking was fashionable. On every table, armchair, and bookshelf was an ashtray with a butt in every one. Dusting the china and cleaning the ashtrays was often my job, and when I got to be a teenager, I swore that when I had a place of my own, it would have no bric-a-brac or dust-collecting junk anywhere. That was then. I now have my share of detritus but it's all in cabinets and there are no ashtrays!

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Lynn's Comments: We had owned a small aircraft ever since Aaron was 4 years old, so he was no stranger to flying. With floats in the summer and skis in the winter, our Cessna 185 was like a flying carpet--which could take us anywhere we wished to go. We all loved to fly, and even the bumpiest trips were fun.

Friday, July 5, 2013

Lynn's Comments: After about the age of 7, Aaron never admitted to being attached to his teddy bear. At the age of 18, however, when he left home for Vancouver in search of work, he called from his small, sparse apartment and said in a small voice... "Uh, Mom? Could you, um send me my...teddy?" I didn't say anything. I didn't laugh. I sent him the teddy his grandmother had lovingly made, knowing it was something he loved and needed. It sits on his dresser to this day. Aaron turned 40 this year!

Saturday, July 6, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Alan might kill me for this, but as a little kid, he DID carry around a blanket. Actually, it was my blue chenille bedspread, which he inherited when the corners became twisted and grey. When it started to rot, Mom cut it up into smaller pieces so he'd have even more corners to chew on. By the time these pieces deteriorated, he was old enough to go to Beaver camp (junior Scouts in Canada), and Dad suggested he have a ceremonial blankie burning in the fireplace. Alan stuffed his remaining blankies into a shoebox. Dad put lighter fluid over the contents, made a hole in the lid, pulled out a wick of blankie, and the solemn ceremony took place. Al, with sadness and stoicism, sat and watched the box burn to ashes as Dad sat beside him with his arm around his shoulder. It was a coming of age for my brother and a time when Dad proved, beyond a doubt, that he understood kids better than anybody we knew!

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Like Michael, I wanted my room to remain in a constant state of upheaval when I was a kid. The mess was a sign of independence, a statement that marked my room as mine. Commands to clean it up were greeted with indifference. Even if I was forced to comply, the state of "tidy" might have only lasted a day. I could never see the reason why a room had to be kept in order if nobody saw it but me. A kid needs solid reasons, and the threat of punishment wasn't reason enough!

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Lynn's Comments: As a kid, I had a talent for making insults. This "gift" could be quite a threat. Woe to the child who had a name that rhymed with something funny or initials that spelled a word. If I was suffering at the hands of a bully, I'd go into my repertoire of insults and "win." When I began to change from kid to teenager, however, I became a butterball, and if somebody called me "fatso," I'd crumble. What goes 'round, comes 'round!

Sunday, May 24, 2015

Lynn's Comments: Counting to three is a joke. Really. When kids hear you count to three, they, naturally, watch to see what comes afterwards. DUHHHH--We bozo adults are then left to find some nebulous consequence. This is such a dumb thing to instigate. So, why is it that we all do it? --All of us! All the time!!!