home: Browse The Strips

Friday, March 18, 2011

Lynn's Comments: One of my neighbours easily deduced her expanding condition when she began to lose weight. Seems that every time she had a bun in the oven, she became so nauseous she couldn't eat and had to take supplements. During the first trimester, she went down 4 sizes - which was OK, as she was a healthy size to begin with. Not me. As soon as pregnancy happened to this corpus (not so delecti), mild nausea was accompanied by a ferocious appetite. I craved everything and ate everything and appeared to be "term" at 6 months. I was so wide, I sat sideways on the shower seat. My mom in law threatened to lock the fridge. I think I gained 50 pounds with Katie and then it took me 9 more months to work it off! It's strange how obsessed we can be about weight and body image. Even though she was sick so often, I envied my neighbour her ability to maintain her curves when she was pregnant- and she, on the other hand, would have given anything to be ME!

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Katie wasn't the performer I made her (as Elizabeth) out to be. It was Aaron who could have earned an academy award for drama. It wasn't unusual for him to collapse onto the floor with gut-wrenching heartbreaking sobs as he faced the job of putting his Lego back in its box or picking up his shoes. From friends, I learned about an amazing secondary use for the egg timer. Rather than fight with my son, I'd show him the number of time-out minutes on the timer. The scene would go something like this: "NOOOO! I WON'T DO ITTTT!!! AAAAUGHHHHHHHH!!!!" and I'd say "You know what, Aaron, perhaps a little time out would be a good thing". I'd turn the timer to 5 minutes and show him the dial. "AAAAAAAAAAuuuuGGGHHHHH...NO FAIRRR!" Me: "OK, let's add another 5 minutes." Him: "WWWWAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!YOURE MEAN! I WONT DOOOOIIIITTT!" Me: (calmly) "Let's make that 15 minutes". (This is so much easier than fighting!) And so it went. One day, he racked up a full half hour and went wailing off to do penance. I thought I could still hear him crying, but it was an odd sound and the door to his room was shut. Then, I saw a strange red blob of something at the bottom of the door. It was moving. He had wedged his lips under the door and was howling through his squashed lips which moved like two wet worms. He was determined I should hear him cry! Yes, Aaron got the prize for dramatics and extra points as well for making me laugh 'til I cried!

Monday, March 21, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Katie loved toothpaste and heaven knows we had access to lots of it. One morning, I was making the beds and she was playing in her room. Between the two rooms was our upstairs communal privy - a place which held endless fascination for both kids. What with a tub for water sports and a porcelain receptacle - guaranteed to "disappear" stuff - the bathroom was, hands down, the room of choice for indoor recreation. Above the sink our hard-to-reach medicine cabinet was filled with forbidden fruit and although it wasn't locked, it took some jungle athletics to reach it and a strong pull to get it open. Believing she was dressing up dolls, I continued to putter until "mom's 6th sense" kicked in. I decided to check on my youngest offspring. Katie, having opened the biff- cabinet drawers like a staircase, had achieved the countertop plateau and was trying to open the medicine cabinet. This wasn't the only thing I discovered. An entire tube of toothpaste had been squeezed onto virtually every surface of the room and she was on a mission to find more. I removed her from the scene of the grime, called my mom-in-law and spent the rest of the day cleaning out the can. Every cloud has a silver lining, they say - and the good thing about this event was... the bathroom smelled great for weeks afterwards!

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Katie was not only adept at scaling cabinetry, she was able to conceal the collateral damage which ensued. After finding parts of a figurine, carefully hidden under the couch, I asked her why she hadn't told me she'd broken something; why hadn't she been honest? She looked at me as if I was crazy! I mean, why come out with a confession immediately when you could defer a tongue-lashing until, well...perhaps forever? I had to admit to myself that her reasoning did make sense, but I still wanted my kids to respect my property and ME! After a long heart to heart talk she agreed that she should really tell mom when she'd done something wrong...but until she went away to university, I found evidence here and there of small unreported infringements. I now look forward to the day she has kids of her own. I'm going to give her some china!

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!

Friday, March 25, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Among other things, my mom worked as a calligrapher for my grandfather - a philatelist who dealt in rare stamps and forgeries. Her tools consisted of the finest brushes and pens with needle sharp points. I was fascinated, watching her do the beautiful handwritten text that went with each "cover". There were times, if I was good, when she would patiently sit and teach me the art of fine lettering. Everyone in our family was encouraged to write well. Handwriting, my parents said, was something which not only allowed you to communicate in a beautiful, intelligent way, but held in its uniqueness a key to your identity. I loved to write. I enjoyed the process of putting words onto paper and when I was told to write lines after school, I didn't mind, really. It gave me a chance to show off! If I was told to write: "I will not talk in class" 100 times, I'd go down the foolscap with the "I" first. IIIIIIIIIIIII wwwwwwww iiiiiiiii lllllll and so on. Sometimes, I'd swerve the vertical lines of lettering out to make waves and patterns in an effort to seriously tick off the teacher who was also doing penance, just by having to be there. Sometimes I'd print it all in capitals or write each line in a different colour. I just loved to write. I loved to write lessons and poems and copy the stuff on the board. I loved it when we could finally use ball-point pens. I continued to learn calligraphy and when Dad got a part time job with a sign company, I practiced lettering along with him, using poster paint with chisel-tipped brushes on newspaper, the columns making easy lines to follow. Where am I taking this? Well, it's funny, that with all my graphic equipment and all my hours of writing practice, I was still being nagged - a month after Christmas - to write my thank you letters!!!

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!

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.

Friday, April 1, 2011

Lynn's Comments: For me, making meals was one of the most challenging jobs on earth. A repast must be colourful and attractive enough to provoke interest, flavourful and aromatic enough to invite ingestion and healthy enough to support life. The local grocery stores (we had two) supplied fresh meat, but fresh veggies were another matter. I remember fighting over a wrinkled green pepper in Perepeluk's just so we could experience the taste! Aaron was not a fan of mushrooms, but if I could lay my hands on a fresh pack of mushies, by jove we were gonna eat them - and I wasn't making a fungus-free meal for HIM! He had, however, a tongue that could locate and isolate a mushroom in any mix and he'd ring his plate with rejects faster than a dog spits out pills! Today, of course, his palate has matured. He is an omnivore who, living in Vancouver, enjoys the best of vegetarian cuisine. I've watched him eat mushrooms many times... and it surprises me still that he does so - on purpose!

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!

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Lynn's Comments: I don't know how many times I sat alone after some frustrating bout with the kids, wishing I had "done it better". It's hard to do something better if you're doing it for the first time - and considering how many firsts there are in parenting, you're bound to make a few mistakes along the way. Books, professionals, friends and family can advise you, but in the end this is your responsibility, your environment, your rules - and everyone has to learn to get along. My philosophy is: no matter how much your child looks like you or Uncle Max or sounds like Dad or walks like great aunt Beulah...he or she is a stranger in your home. You have to accord the same respect and consideration to your children as you would to a stranger - and with this as a guide, they should (by the time they're 20)...do the same for you! Even so, I made some awful errors. I shouted, I cried, I fought and I did things that weren't fair. The thing is; kids are resilient and understanding and an apology goes a long way! I remember some tearful times when I had to admit I had not handled something well and I told my children I was truly sorry. Noisy and fanciful, naive and full of mischief, children are still people. They know what's fair and what's not. They can detect a lie; they can sniff out insincerity and they appreciate an apology as much as anyone else. I have apologized many times to my children and they have apologized to me. It's not an easy thing to do - but the hugs, the comfort and the love that comes afterwards, make this humble sign of respect well worthwhile.

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.

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.

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!

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!!"

Monday, April 11, 2011

Lynn's Comments: After I was divorced for the first time (wow, I never thought I'd be saying something like that) I lived in my small house in Dundas, learning how to raise a baby on my own. Aaron and I survived on my freelance artwork until I got a job doing graphics for a packaging firm in Hamilton. Money was tight and when my brother said he was moving to town and wanted to stay with me, I saw it as an opportunity for companionship, some help around the house and perhaps some extra cash. Alan was and still is a professional musician - a trumpet player. At the time, he was looking for work as an electrician while he scoped out possibilities in the Ontario music scene. I figured it would be an interesting time - if we had grown past the need to bicker!

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Aaron was too young to know what was happening and I had already given away poor Farley the dog (Farley was jealous of the baby and was beginning to get rough with him). My brother was coming to stay and I had to find space. My house was a tiny two bedroom bungalow with no basement, so the plan was for Alan to live in the garage. It wasn't a great space, but it was winterized and the doors could be boarded over. I moved my car outside, cleaned and organized and made the garage as habitable as possible. It was going to be an experiment and we both hoped it would work out well.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Lynn's Comments: My brother's love life, at the time, was not complicated. In fact I think he was on the loose and happy to be free! He was leaving Vancouver and moving to Ontario, which overshadowed everything else. Later, when I wrote stories for FBorFW, I mixed up all kinds of things. Memories were used as resources and characters came from both my imagination and reality. Connie did not exist. Her character was based on someone real, but had morphed considerably. Her crush on Elly's brother, Phil, was just a fun idea and good fodder for the strip. I had no plans for where this relationship would lead - I let the story go where it wanted to go. In fact, Connie's loneliness came wholly from my own experience as a single mother - everything she said came from some painful places I needed to visit again.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Lynn's Comments: To go over the cast again: Connie lived across the street from Elly Patterson and Anne lived next door. Elly had a close personal relationship with both of these imaginary women - because all three were ME! Through Anne, I could explore the life I led as a woman whose husband had numerous affairs. It's easier to believe the excuses than to deal with the truth. Through Connie I relived my life as a single parent. Both characters had things to say, and it felt good to say them. In contrast, Elly's role in the strip was to play the humdrum, easygoing, happy housewife in between. Looking back at it now, I see this was something else I imagined!!

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!

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Back to live theatre. Both my son and I have "standup" in our genes. When it comes to storytelling, wild explanations, excuses and jokes, you can count on both of us to give it our improvised all. I recall sending Aaron to school when he was on death's doorstep. As he grudgingly dressed for school, I could tell he was wondering how I had uncovered his scam. He had hidden the hot water bottle well enough that it couldn't be connected to the high temperature he had, but I still sent him packing. How did I know? First of all, he played it too well. I detected a rehearsal. Second? The tap in the bathroom was still hot to the touch. The "heat the thermometer" trick was an old one...and had also been one of mine!

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!!

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Lynn's Comments: My parents loved fantasy. When it came to things like tooth fairies and Santa and the Easter bunny, they went all out. At Easter, our tradition was the "bunny box". Dad would find a cardboard box at the store that was the right size and depth. He would cut it so that one long side was high, the other long side low and the two short ends were cut in an "S" shape to form a fancy display container. We would then decorate this with crepe paper, ribbons and anything else we thought would entice the "E.B." to leave us something special. It didn't matter if there was a dubious side to the story of a magic rabbit - the lure of chocolate and perhaps a small gift was enough to keep this tradition alive for years.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Lynn's Comments: My folks were ingenious at keeping the fantasy going. Both could concoct stories that kept us wide-eyed and gullible. Dad reasoned that rabbits were everywhere, but never seen - which was true. They certainly did a number on our garden. My mother, though eager to teach us everything about science and nature, went far beyond the old "as long as you believe, he exists" thing and asked us to prove the Easter Bunny did NOT exist...which, until we were at the skeptical age of eight, was pretty hard to do. The fact was that it was fun to believe and it was fun to prepare and there was always the fear that if the spell were broken, we'd have no chocolate at all!

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!

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.

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!