sunday: Browse The Strips

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Heaven was lying on our living room couch, eating and watching TV. With the old wood and coal furnace, our house was always cold and the warm spot on the couch was something my brother and I fought over. Yes, we fought over the warm spot! So, once ensconced on the sofa, I hated to remove myself and lose that precious bit of heat! If Dad was the one to order you off the couch, you might be able to beg a few more moments of repose. An order from Mom, meant immediate compliance. In this strip, John uses the "ferocious" method of kid-removal. I used it, too. When all else fails, we parents often resort to animal behaviour. I stopped at taking them by the scruff of their necks with my teeth, however!

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Lynn's Comments: My kids were born almost 5 years apart. When you have a little kid - one you can pick up and cart around...and one the size of a St. Bernard, the littlest always seems to get the most affection. Older kids sort of shrug off the hugs and wriggle out of cuddles, but they need them nonetheless. I guess the love wasn't being distributed evenly when Aaron asked this question and it really hit home. I put Katie down and gave him the biggest cuddle right then and there. A lesson well learned. He's almost 40, now and still not too big to hug!

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Katie was fascinated by the telephone and although she didn't catch on to the art of conversation right away, she enjoyed the fun of just hearing someone's voice coming from the receiver. With this in mind, she would sometimes climb onto a chair and press all the numbers. As long as she didn't raise the hand piece, I let her have fun...until we got billed for a call to Hong Kong!!! True story!

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Lynn's Comments: Like most kids, I believed that all the drudge work belonged to Mom...the repairs and the maintenance belonged to Dad and that I was there to be fed, clothed and endured. I hadn't ASKED to be born...and therefore I was a perpetual guest. Seems that my parents didn't order a princess when they brought me into the mix and I was soon expected to clean up my squalor, help with the dishes and generally make myself useful. I rebelled. I felt cruelly done by. I lay down on the floor and howled at the injustice of it all. Despite the hardship and the unfairness of it all - I do remember having a distinct sense of pride and satisfaction once a chore was done.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Lynn's Comments: I hate ironing. I am not alone here...I can hear a cry rising from the masses - men and women alike screaming "I HATE IRONING!!!" And so, I don't do it - unless I absolutely have to. This means hanging stuff in the bathroom as I take a shower, hoping the steam will do the trick. I buy clothes that can be stuffed in a suitcase and worn immediately. I buy clothes with stripes to camouflage the wrinkles. I get a friend to do it. Anything to keep myself from having to handle that spitting, hissing demon in my laundry room that always seems to have some crud in it. You know...that "scale" or whatever it is that will spit out of those little steam holes onto your cherished garment and stain it permanently with some brown smudge, right at the crotch or some other really visible place. I hate ironing. Having said that, however...if I could iron the wrinkles out of my face, I would definitely change my tune. I would embrace that miserable device and use it daily - singing its praises to the end of the earth! But this is not possible. There is no iron for the wrinkles on my countenance... the fabric of my face must remain as nature decrees. I am au natural, gracefully declining in my retirement, accepting wrinkles with confidence and dignity. I can't iron my face, but the irony (iron-y?) is....... those #**!*% spots come anyway!!!

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Lynn's Comments: My dad, reading the paper while relaxing on the couch, is a classic image. Mom always read at the table where she could spread the sheets out evenly; Dad preferred to hold them up to the light. The snap and crackle of him flipping to the next page is a sound I can still hear clearly, recorded in some archive buried deep within my private mental files. It was nice to sit, warm against his side, and read the news with him. My knees on the cushions, my shoulder against his, we'd read together in silence. I learned to read at his fast pace and when it came to the "funny pages" we studied together the panels, the pranks, the precision that made us smile. Mom on the other hand did not like us to read over her shoulder. It bothered her to share what must have been a rare private time and, this, of course, offered me the opportunity to ruffle her feathers. I would climb the rung on her chair and read, with my chin on her arm until I could sense a sort of vibration...an electric exchange that happens between mom and kid that says "that's all I can take!" I knew I was pushing her buttons - the trick was to escape before she blew. Funny isn't it how little things drive folks crazy. My dad loved the company, my mom wanted to be left alone. Both of them loved to read, however - which impressed me greatly. I love to read now, because it meant so much to them.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Lynn's Comments: My mother did not like surprises...or so she said. Gift giving was always a challenge for me because she was effusive, no matter what the gift was, so it was hard to tell whether I'd made the right choice or not. Mom was an excellent seamstress. She could make anything - even patterns from scratch. I was working at Woodwards in Vancouver, making a salary for the first time, so Dad and I decided to pool our resources and get her a Bernina sewing machine for her birthday. It was the latest thing. It could make designs and buttonholes without a template and you could use several colours of thread at once. It was expensive, however, and Dad worried that she'd be angry with us for spending so much when we could hardly afford it. He had to tell her our plan. Naturally, she said "Absolutely not!" She wouldn't have us spending wantonly on something she could well do without. So...we got her a jewelry box instead. When she opened her gift, we could tell that Mom was bitterly disappointed. "What's the matter?" Dad asked- genuinely surprised by her reaction. Pressing a hanky to her eyes, she cried, "I thought I was getting a new sewing machine!!" Go figure. Gift giving was always an awkward time in our family. Any time we did it right - it was a surprise!

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Lynn's Comments: My dad made up words to stories and songs all the time: "When shepherds washed their socks by night", "We three Kings of orient are trying to smoke a rubber cigar" and "round John virgin" were all part of our holiday hymns. Naturally, when I read to my brother, it behooved me (a good word at reindeer time) to change the words. Part of the game was in our having memorized the book or song sheet, so a funny alteration was a challenge and something of an expectation. Every so often I will see a youngster reading from memory, hardly looking at the words and these scenes come back to me. Thank goodness for memories.... and Christmas memories are some of the best!

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Lynn's Comments: The Lynn Lake theatre was an easy walk from the house. If one of us took the kids to a movie, the other could have a few hours to catch up. One of my favorite things to do is to "organize"! I love to throw things out and often regret having done so. The alternative, though, is to have too much stuff! What a luxurious problem to have. One day while the kids were out, I did go through their things. I gave much of what I thought was forgotten and ready to recycle to the church for the annual bake and rummage sale. This event was always well attended. I took Katie and Aaron with me to enjoy the tea and the treasure hunt, forgetting there would be a number of their things in the sale. They immediately identified their own toys and I dutifully bought back the things they weren't ready to part with! I learned to ask first, and to let them choose what to give away and what to save!

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When I did this, Katie was well into the language learning curve and her baby talk was a lot of fun. For years, well after her move into adult vocabulary, we used her words ourselves, not wanting to lose the charm and the memory. "Blaffoon" was "bathroom", "puffermink" was "peppermint" and "bleffus" was "breakfast". These were all part of our vocabulary until she went to university! It was hard not to perpetuate the errors. Talking baby talk to our offspring was not our style, and yet we loved the sounds and the new words they invented as they learned how to communicate. It was interesting to see how a newfound ability with language made for nonstop talking. You can't wait for them to be able to tell you what they're thinking ... and, later - you're wishing they'd be QUIET!!! The dialogue in this strip went exactly as written, except that I kept the punch line to myself!

Sunday, January 9, 2011

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

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Katie was an attractive little kid and I fell into the "momtrap" of wanting her to look as cute as possible at all times. I had the adorable outfits, the velvet dresses, hats, scarves and mittens that matched her "girlie" snowsuits. I combed her hair just so and awaited the gooey compliments that come while showing off a preened and perfect princess. Kate, however wanted nothing to do with looking cute. Being comfortable was far more important. So was wearing what she darned well wanted to wear! She was determined and stubborn and it was abundantly clear by the time she was three, that what she wore would be a compromise. The red hat was actually a patterned toque and I would have drawn it that way, except that the pattern was too hard to draw and too hard to colour!

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Our family home in North Vancouver was designed so that a kid could run from the kitchen to the hall, around to the living room and back into the kitchen again. This made for an excellent track and field event, should it be raining, and it usually was. Mom was long suffering, stoic and understanding. She let my brother and me blow off steam while she stewed silently, knowing that kids need the exercise. She drew the line at our jumping on the furniture though and her admonishments were almost always the same: "This is a house, not a playground!", "I am sick, sore, fed up and tired!" and of course, Dad's fave: "Are you cruising for a bruising?" Alan and I could almost mouth the words as they were spoken - but heaven help you if you were caught! When my own kids took to racing around the house, I heard myself saying the same things my mom said to us - and a new understanding between my mom and I erased some of the wall that had separated us for so long. I knew that my kids had memorized my litany of commands and I knew how she felt. At long last, my mom was vindicated! Some day... it will be MY turn!

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Sobie's Bakery in Lynn Lake was one of the highlights of the town. Mr. and Mrs. Sobie would be up long before sunrise to get the bread out for the day and you could pick up the scent all the way from the post office. Spice cake was my personal favorite, but their doughnuts came in an easy second. Sobie's was the only bakery for hundreds of miles around. Folks from Leaf Rapids (a 60 mile wilderness drive south) would come all the way to LL just to shop at Sobie's. We didn't realize what a gem we had until we moved away. Nobody could decorate with icing like Mrs Sobie. Nobody except perhaps grandma Ruth made better buns. For every occasion, it seemed, people would order a spice cake. I looked forward to these huge, moist desserts covered with cream cheese icing, decorated with colored artwork - ornate dedications and piped with flowers around the edge. Some, however, got tired of them and when my friend Nancy Lawn moved to Edmonton she said "At least I don't ever have to eat another Sobie's spice cake!" A year or so later, we decided to fly out west to visit the Lawns in their new home. As a joke, I had Mrs. Sobie make up a big spice cake with double the icing and as ornate as possible. When we arrived at the airport, Nancy spied the Sobie's box right away. "That's not a spice cake!" she shouted. "Ahhh!" I said "I thought you might need one". "Have you any idea how much I've MISSED those things?" she cried, opening the box and nicking a finger full of icing. When we got to her house, she immediately put the cake out of sight telling us we couldn't have any. "It's OURS," she said. "You can have Sobie's spice cake any time...you live right there!" I think I gave the Sobie family the original of this cartoon. I don't think I ever told them how much I missed their bakery, but I hope they remember me as fondly as I remember them.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Lynn's Comments: When my dad went to the dump, we always wondered if he'd bring home more than he left there. The North Vancouver dump was about 6 miles from home, then a circuitous drive down a long dirt road. Going there was as exciting as anything we ever did on a weekend and my brother and I would fight for the front seat when we saw the folks pitching stuff into the back end of the car. A great chain link fence ran around the "nuisance grounds" and the "dump man" would meet us at the gate. He'd roll his cigarette into the side of his mouth and ask what we were bringing in. Then he'd direct us to the appropriate space in the compound and Dad would steer the old green Volvo into position for the drop. After we'd made our deposit, we were free to check out the scattered offerings hoping to find some treasure. The smell of wet paper, burning fabric and decay was not too bad - considering the fact that stuff here was FREE, so we happily climbed over the rubble on our quest for the perfect thing to rescue and take home. Our shoes took a beating, but all for a good cause. The dump man was cool. He didn't have a uniform, but he had a sort of military air. He enjoyed his place of authority and the fact that dad brought him a beer now and then improved our chances of getting out with something big! The score I remember most was the goose-neck lamp that dad found. It was a sort of greeny-grey....brass, I think, and not too badly scarred from the fire. The cord and plug looked good and Pop figured this was just the thing to go on his workbench downstairs. Mom, of course, was unimpressed and quietly told me later that she expected it would be gone in a fortnight - if she had anything to do with it. Advance to the year they sold their house and moved to Hope. The lamp went too. When our parents passed away, there in the basement on Dad's workbench was the goose-neck lamp. It had followed them for 40 years and was now an heirloom. The trouble with heirlooms is...the heirs have to decide what to do with them. Alan and I thought about taking it to the dump, but we couldn't. Alan is retired from teaching, now and has a workshop in his basement. He makes one-of-a-kind kayaks. He has a nice workbench where he cuts the wood and copper, which he carefully sets into the sides of his kayaks... and, illuminating the workbench, is the goose-neck lamp. Going to the dump has lost its luster for us now, but our memory of Dad's "hunt for treasure" and the goose-neck lamp still remains!

Sunday, February 13, 2011

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

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Lynn's Comments: My mother used to nag me constantly! Seems there was always something better to do than play or draw or watch television. The way I saw it, my room was my room and if I had to climb over a Vesuvius of moldering junk to find the bed I slept in, then that was my problem. Clean and ironed clothing was not a priority, nor was washing behind bodily protuberances. I longed for the day when I could do what I wanted to do, eat what and when I wanted to, have my own space, my own money and my own rules. That didn't happen until I was 20 and married for the first time. Then, I amazed even myself. I became a stickler for cleanliness. My apartment was spotless. Clothes were immaculate, ironed and sorted into their exact compartments. The bed was made, the carpets lint free and the kitchen was a neat, organized workspace. It wasn't until I had children that I realized what a degenerate slob I had once been. Hovering over my son as he miserably shoveled the crud out of his bedroom, I could hear myself nagging...with the same tone of voice, using the same language my mother used. Time and time again I promised myself I would not turn into my mother and here I was saying the same darned things - with the same predictable response. Years have flown by. Both of my children have homes of their own and it amazes me to see that they live in clean and tidy environments. I guess, in the end, nagging pays off. My mother, had she lived to see this day, would have been both proud and vindicated!

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!!!

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!

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Lynn's Comments: During the 80's there was a Canadian television "reality" type show called "Thrill of a Lifetime". A young woman from Montreal had written to the producers to say that her thrill of a lifetime would to be to appear as a character in For Better or For Worse. I thought it was a fun idea and agreed to participate. The TV crew contacted me and asked if it would be possible for her to visit me at home and to watch me draw the comic strip in which she appeared. This was OK, too! Monique was a librarian, and so a scenario involving the local community library was concocted. Travelling all the way to Lynn Lake Manitoba was quite a hike from Montreal and when she arrived with camera crew in tow, she was exhausted, nervous and wired. She was to come to the door, wait for me to open it and then the two of us had to be surprised and happy to see each other. This we did many times! Finally, they allowed us to hug and laugh and enjoy the fun of connecting for the first time. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting this sweet, enthusiastic young woman. With her ready smile, thick hair and glasses, she made a fine cartoon character! She stayed for the day, I drew the strip, we had dinner together and she left the following morning. We promised to keep in touch - which we did for awhile. I later met her for dinner in Montreal, but our time together was interrupted and I regret not being able to get to know her better. So, you have the real story behind this strip...and, Monique, if you're still in Montreal, I'd love to hear from you and find out what you've been doing after all these years!

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!

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!

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.

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!!"

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, May 1, 2011

Lynn's Comments: My mother made Katie a white stuffed bunny, which became her favorite toy. It went everywhere with her. Because it was so important, "Bunny" became a target for her older brother who'd hide, throw or otherwise mistreat it just to get a rise out of Kate. Fortunately, Bunny was well made and survived everything from the bathtub to the sandbox to travelling all over the continent. Still, I worried that he'd somehow disappear and asked my mom to make a spare, just in case. Mom made two more bunnies - a boy and a girl. She made outfits for both and eventually all three bunnies were essential to Kate's day. We still have these. Tattered and worn from washing and play, they are family treasures. They were made from scraps and cost nothing, but they're worth far more than I can say!

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Lynn's Comments: Word for word this is a true exchange. Aaron and his friend Roy were allowed to go down to "Fergy's", the local corner store, pool hall and hang-out - and Fergy's motto "buy or bye-bye" meant that they wouldn't be there long. Fergy made his money on pop and penny candy and despite the difficulty in getting fresh produce into the north, the licorice was always fresh. Licorice, ginger and chocolate are my favorite diet-breakers and the kids knew I'd shell out a few bucks if I they'd be sure to return with "the goods". It's funny, this thing about licorice. It was my grandfather's favorite, my mother's favorite and Charles Schulz liked it too. I took him a bag of licorice allsorts when he was in the hospital and he lit up with a smile. This is what we munched on as we spoke for the last time. He died not long afterwards and every time I see licorice allsorts, I think of him.

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!

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.

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"!