sunday: Browse The Strips

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Lynn's Comments: This is another strip that brought in the mail. "Never get sick on a weekend" could have been the title of a book as stories of interrupted sleep, well-meaning remedies, and all the things a mom still has to attend to despite fever and chills, came rolling in. No matter what I was going through, the letters I received told me I was far from alone!

Sunday, March 31, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Eldon Park was just down the lane from our house in Lynn Lake. It was a small space; room enough for a roundabout, a slide, and a three-seater swing set. The Kinsmen took care of the grounds and the equipment, and thanks to them, we had an Easter egg hunt each year. It was always a skirmish when the big kids got to the goodies first. Some parents helped the little kids, much to the annoyance of others, but we always managed to escape an altercation. I remember Katie standing by the fence upset because she couldn't find anything. To me, the eggs were visible everywhere, but when I squatted down to her level, I could see what the problem was. Everything was either too high or buried in the grass, which was too tall for her to see over. Sometimes, you really DO have to look at things from your child's point of view!

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Lynn's Comments: When I look at this now, I smile. I was not yet forty, but I could see myself aging. Every wrinkle was worrisome. The tiniest hint of an eye bag sent me looking for creams. We had been married for a few years and I was wearing some pretty tattered nightgowns. I didn't care much about looking good when I went to bed... as long as the face looked good in the morning.

Now that I'm 65, I have given up on the face, but I wear pretty nightgowns--I seem to be doing things in reverse!

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Ladies...is this not our best form of therapy?...We need each other more than we need Lycra, hair dye, and creams!

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Lynn's Comments: When I was a kid, a travelling salesman came to the door selling piano accordions. I'm not kidding. With every purchase, they threw in a year's worth of lessons. My mother, wanting me to play something (that wouldn't swallow half the living room and take ten years to pay off), actually considered buying one. Here was a piano-like instrument that was almost portable! I liked polkas and accordion music in general, but the cool factor was lacking. I declined. A real piano would have been great, but this was not the same! In desperation, she promised me that playing the accordion would increase my bust size. As a "budding" teen, this argument had merit, but the piano accordion still wasn't my thing.

Years later, when I was living in southern Ontario, I met some musicians from Newfoundland. Caught up in my love for east coast music, I bought myself a button accordion. This I learned to play not too badly and after awhile, it showed. I was indeed building up bulges where none had been--on my arms. I actually had pipes! I knew then that the old arm-pumping exercise to the cry of, "We must, we must, we must improve our bust!" was hogwash. The only sure way to enhance the unenhanceable, is through surgery! I still play my accordion, but only for sympathetic friends, and I don't really care about the bust line. I do have a word of advice, however, "Ladies, it's a fine instrument, but...never play an accordion in the nude!"

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Robert's Fine Jewellery was one of the flagship stores in Lynn Lake. It reminded me so much of my dad's store in North Vancouver, that I had to include it in the strip. Having grown up surrounded by giftware, jewellery, and trinkets, I was never too interested in owning any of it, but after I left home and had my ears pierced, things changed. I started to really appreciate jewellery, and once in awhile even though I felt guilty for doing so, I'd buy myself something small, something nice.

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Lynn's Comments: When this strip appeared, I had immediate responses from stargazers who told me that on that date in our time zone, the crescent would be going in the other direction. They were right. From this time on, I made sure I checked out the phases of the moon on our calendar before drawing a moon in the sky!

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Lynn's Comments: My husband had all kinds of models. He loved to make them just for the fun of figuring them out. He even built a model aircraft when we were on our honeymoon, so modelling was definitely in his blood. He could focus for hours, shaving off an infinitesimal piece of plastic here, fitting an impossibly tiny piece there. He had endless patience when it came to building complicated model ships, vehicles, and aircraft. Interestingly, he had much less patience with kids!

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Lynn's Comments: My father loved to dance. He would pick me up and dance with me until I fell asleep in his arms. He could sing so well and knew the words to so many songs that he never seemed to run out of waltzes or shanties or tunes from the bar. I remember the swoop of his body as he waltzed to the "Blue Danube" with theatrical panache. He could two-step and tango and polka and jive, and I melted into his shoulder with the rhythm and the warmth of his style.

Last November, my daughter, Katie, and her husband, Lane, presented me with my first grandchild. Laura is now almost two years old, and she loves to dance with me. I hold her the way my father held me. I sing the same songs, and I move with the same style. I thank him again and again for this memory and a gift that I'm now passing on.

Sunday, August 11, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Rod spent every minute he could in his treasured workshop. He could make or repair almost anything. Even though he was usually very careful, there were times when he did go to the clinic with a bandage or two! This always gave his patients a laugh and inspired me to do this strip.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Now that I am dogless, I find dog breath hard to take. When I had Farley, his breath came with warm licks, and his enquiring sniffs were more than welcome. Even so, there were times when I couldn't stomach the smell. Once, when Farley ate my chives, I was overwhelmed by his breath, but there was one time that was much worse; I was standing at my kitchen window watching him happily lying on the warm driveway, chewing something he'd found with obvious relish. He chewed with that look of ecstasy, the look children have when they're eating ice cream, that blissful satisfaction that comes with flavour and fun and mouth-watering fulfillment. He'd toss his head back, reposition his prize, and chew again. He was happy. Eventually, my curiosity got to me and I went out to see what succulent something he was chewing on. I couldn't believe my eyes. The object he was blissfully savouring was a flat, well-rotted, dried-out toad. To Farley, it was dog jerky. To me, it was horrible. I would have shown the true source of Farley's halitosis, but really, it was too gross for publication! [Eventually this gag did make an appearance, with Edgar doing the dirty deed.]

Sunday, August 25, 2013

Lynn's Comments: So many times I ran around my neighbourhood with a finger or a plastic gun, pointing at friends and crying, "BANG! You're dead!" It was exciting. It was fun. We heard the headline news and listened to our parents. Dad had been in the war, but nothing they said made a difference. We were on a mission to win something. We didn't know what. There was no real sense to it, nobody explained why we were fighting or what death meant. We were just caught up in the thrill and the energy and the noise and the fun. Later, as a cartoonist, I saw a striking similarity to a child's attitude and what really happens in a war.

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Lynn's Comments: In parenting magazines, I read about "you messages." This is when someone turns a situation around and puts the pressure on YOU. We were taught that "you messages" were not good disciplinary tools and should not be employed when having a heart-to-heart conversation. Rather than say, "You made me angry today," a parent should say, "I felt angry today, and we need to talk." I practiced this as much as possible, but the art of defusing a situation by not putting guilt onto the other person failed to precipitate down to the offspring. Things that I could not possibly be responsible for suddenly became my fault. This candy wrapper incident enlightened me to the fact that my kids were as good at game playing with words as we were!

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Lynn's Comments: The other day I watched a young mother guiding her son around the grocery store. She was letting him do all the shopping. She asked him what ingredients he would buy if he was going to make chili and what would make a nice salad. The child was about four years old and right into the project. This was a shopping trip just for him. He had to think about what he was buying and why. He was told about the cost, how one kind of bathroom tissue might be a better value for the family than another. He made decisions about desserts and treats and whether one kind of bread would be more nutritious than another. I was so impressed with this young woman's insight, patience, and ingenuity that I had to compliment her. She just said, "He was interested, so I thought it was time." As I watched her continue to the checkout counter, I wished I'd had her good sense when I was shepherding my little ones!

Sunday, September 29, 2013

Lynn's Comments: This strip makes me laugh, now. When I drew it, I was YOUNG. At this stage of my life, I have earned the right (and the wrinkles) to complain!

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Allowing Aaron to stay home while I went shopping was a privilege for both of us. He was a responsible kid, and his grandparents lived next door. As far as I know, he didn't get into any mischief, but I was always on my guard. All I had to do was remember what my brother and I did when given the run of the house.

For years Mom and Dad worked in our small jewellery shop on upper Lonsdale in North Vancouver. It took twenty minutes for them to walk home, so we could gauge almost to the minute when the front door handle would turn. It was my job to get dinner on and Al's job to stay out of my way. Sometimes, dinner was a snap, and I'd take off on my bike until the folks arrived. During these times of freedom, Al (aged 13 or 14 at the time) emptied Dad's gin, substituting the missing booze with water. He ate whatever candy was hidden and smoked Dad's cigarettes. I thought he'd be in for it, but he never got caught.

I explored every drawer and every crevice in our house looking for treasure or secrets or hidden birthday gifts. I tried on my mother's underwear and used her perfume. I made crank phone calls and listened in to the party line. (This was a forbidden indiscretion, but I saw Mom do it as well.) I ate stuff and danced on the sofa and felt the freedom I longed for. Freedom then was having the house to myself.

It was with these memories in mind that I looked for evidence of similar lawlessness when Aaron was left alone. I never saw a thing. Obviously, he was as good at covering his tracks as we were!

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Again, a Sunday strip that didn't have to be invented. Word for word, this was real dialogue, and I wrote it down on a paper towel in the kitchen. I never seemed to have a notebook available. There was one in my bedside table for ideas that came in the night, but during the day, I had to grab whatever scrap of paper I could find. I learned quickly to capture an idea as soon as I could. My chequebook, which was always in my purse (before credit cards), was filled with punch lines, fast sketches, and ideas for future strips. Trying to remember these things later was impossible, and if I let a good one get away, I'd be miserable! This exchange made for a cathartic cartoon and saved my son, once again, from the wrath of Mom.