sunday: Browse The Strips

Sunday, October 20, 2013

Lynn's Comments: One of the children's books I loved best was about a family of rabbits who painted the woods with all the colours of the rainbow. In spring they painted the buds bright green, in the fall they painted the leaves different colours, and in winter, they painted the shadows on the snow. Even now, whenever I see long turquoise-grey shadows stretching across a snowy lane, I remember the illustrations in that book.

Sunday, October 27, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Like me, Aaron and Katie truly appreciate good costumes. Every year at Halloween, they just had to look in the costume box or make a suggestion, and we had a plan. We would all get into the spirit of making wearable art. There was nothing too complicated or too farfetched for us to make and, our kids had the best homemade outfits ever (if I do say so myself). We had a Sherlock Holmes hat, pipe, and cape, but the year this strip was done, Aaron didn't want to dress as Sherlock. I was insistent and said that all I had to do was make the jacket, but no deal. Instead, he painted himself green and went out as the Hulk. Left to mourn for Holmes, I did this series of strips in his honour.

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Penny candy was my childhood weakness. For a dime (my allowance), I could buy 30 jawbreakers or 5 liquorice pipes or 5 packages of Lik-m-Aid. Pop was 5 cents a bottle, and for a quarter the Dairy Queen made a cone too big to eat. My favourite things of all were the big 5 cent heart-shaped suckers which came out for Valentine's Day. I could work the whole thing into my mouth, unfazed by the numbness in my lips and laboured breathing. I was a candyholic. Halloween was the night of the big score--the candy rush and the fun of eating all the best stuff first. I could walk for hours even in the rain as long as porch lights were on. One neighbour used to give us money instead of candy, and when my mom told me I should save it, I thought she was crazy. Having a bit of cash meant another run to the corner store for more penny candy!

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Our first dog escaped the humiliation of being dressed up. Aaron was only a few months old when I sent our big Old English Sheep Dog, Farley, to live on a farm. Willy, our next dog, wasn't so lucky. Patient and easy going, Willy, a small black spaniel, succumbed to the creative energy of two kids with a full costume box. Willy put up with wigs, hats, pants, bras and footwear. He wore baby clothes and pirate gear. Without protest, he allowed himself to be transformed into whatever the kids conjured up, and I guess from a dog's perspective, this gentle abuse was a means to an end. When Willy was in full drag, he got what all pets yearn for: extra treats and loads of attention!

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Next to the sink in my laundry room is a small dish into which I throw the coins, paper clips, nails, and other flotsam that's sucked out of pockets during the washing-drying process. Right now, I have 75 cents in coins, one metal washer, a zipper pull, and a large green elastic band. I don't know why I don't throw out the garbage and spend the change, but there it sits. It's a harmless collection.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Lynn's Comments: Ours was an "English" household. My mom would often invite someone over for tea, and tea was served with a ritual of cubed sugar and freshly baked cakes. Kids had to be seen and not heard. If we wished to stay in the living room within reach of the desserts, we had to be patient, quiet, and still. This gave us ample time to research the guest's physical attributes and to think of suitable questions to ask later. Sometimes the questions came out before the guest's departure. I made some gaffes, but I don't remember saying anything punishable.

What I do remember is my mother telling me something she had once done. One of her mother's tea time guests was a stern, humourless woman who disapproved of children being within hearing distance of an adult conversation. My mom waited and watched in silence as the two women drank and gossiped. Eventually her mother acknowledged her presence and asked if there was anything she'd like to say. Surprised by the opportunity to speak, my mom turned to the haughty lady at the table and said, "You have a very pretty hat. It would look better if it had a smile under it."

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Lynn's Comments: There were times when I envied my dog: no bills to pay, no groceries to buy, just hang around and be loved. On the other hand, boredom, kibble twice a day and the lack of freedom must drag a guy down.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Lynn's Comments: When they first came out, answering machines were a new toy for everyone. Some folks were horrified by the thought of leaving a recorded message, while others became instant hosts of their own daily show. I loved the way folks said, "Hi, I'm not here right now." -- as if they had gone to that place on "the other side." It was hard to record it right the first time, so I found saying repeatedly that I wasn't there depressing. Kids enjoyed the anonymity and entertained themselves by irritating anyone who had this device, but eventually we all became accustomed to and dependent on the answering machine. Now we're adapting to much more sophisticated toys!

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Lynn's Comments: We always had bubble lights on our tree when Alan and I were young. They were our favourite ornaments. We loved to play with them and take them apart. One Christmas, Alan was very sick. He had a high fever, and just to prove it, he put the glass tube from a bubble light in his mouth--and it bubbled! What a nifty thermometer! We thought Mom would be angry, but she wasn't. When you're feeling miserable on Christmas morning, anything that makes you smile is just fine.

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Lynn's Comments: I made good use of my own childhood experiences, and one of the things that plagued families of the 1950s was the need for parents to be right. It was, "Do as I say, not as I do," which never made a heck of a lot of sense to me. If Dad swore, swearing was cool. If Mom smoked, smoking was cool too. If what they told us didn't add up, we were quick to object, but the folks were always right--no matter how wrong they were. This was a hard facade to maintain. When I had kids of my own, I discovered that it was much easier to admit to a mistake than try and justify it.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Lynn's Comments: Living in a cold climate means having the kids indoors. I swore that television would not be my babysitter, that my offspring would have wholesome, educational, and creative pastimes. I encouraged them to read, draw, build things out of wood, clay, and paper. I bought board games--we played Scrabble, Monopoly, and Crazy Eights. I let them take apart the vacuum cleaner and roll marbles down the hose. I did everything I could think of to keep them entertained, and they, in turn, participated--as long as I played with them. The plan disintegrated if I decided to leave them and do something else, which is when they begged for television. So, I caved. I gave in. I set them up with food and water and turned on cartoons. I was able to work, clean, do laundry, and get stuff done, while my children bathed in the glow of the tube. I felt guilty, but at the same time --anything that saves a mom's sanity deserves a place in the home.

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Lynn's Comments: I took my kids to fast food joints. I knew the value of cheap, fast, and fried, and it had everything to do with convenience. Tiled floors and washable seating, disposable plates, cups, and cutlery offered respite from kitchen duties and the possibility of communicating with another adult (with kids the same age). It also meant my offspring would eat everything on their plates. It might not be with sustenance, but their stomachs would be full. I ushered my charges, unapologetically, into plastic indoor playgrounds. I ordered the specials, the biggies, and meals--which came with toys. I too ate with gusto, knowing that what I was doing was addictive, that I was introducing my children to substances I wanted them to avoid. Still, the positive outweighed the negative: an hour of freedom vs. a hassle at home. I plead guilty to falling for an easy solution to lunch.

I can't remember the last time I went to a fast food joint, but I know the time will come when I will fall off the wagon again. I look forward to sitting at one of those colourful plastic tables with burgers, onion rings, and a rot-gut pop while my granddaughter romps in the plastic kid-proof play area, her stomach full of fries. I'll count the useless calories in the grub that I'm eating and try not to feel guilty for enjoying every bite!

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Lynn's Comments: When I drew this strip, I weighed 130 lbs. I was in the best physical shape I'd ever been and I still felt chubby. Like most women, I was down on myself for not being shaped like the girls on the covers of magazines! No matter how hard I exercised or how much weight I lost, I'd never be able to achieve that model shape. The "ideal" was never going to be me.

I have been going through old photographs lately looking for things to put in our latest treasury book and I came across a rare photo of yours-truly in a bathing suit. The first thing I said to myself was, "Wow! I didn't look so bad after all!" Strange how your perception of self can change over the years.

And, no --you can't see the photo!

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Lynn's Comments: We got Farley as a puppy in the fall. The first snow was so much fun. Like any baby, he was thrilled to play in it and would bounce into a snowdrift--right up to his ears. The ravine behind our house was quite steep, and in winter, we had no choice but to slide down if we wanted to walk along the creek at the bottom. Farley watched my husband and me slide down the hill on our toboggan, and with a little coaxing, he stepped forward, sat down, and slid all the way down, too. It was so funny, we laughed till we cried. All that winter, he would slide down the hill. We photographed him and made our friends watch. Summer came, and the following winter, we thought Farley would carry on sliding. He didn't. He had no interest at all in getting his seat wet and clogged with snow. I can't say that I blame him. We, at least, had protection! I guess it goes to show you that even dogs grow up and become sensible.

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Lynn's Comments: This strip made me laugh today. How funny it seems to have worried about looking older then. Right now, I'd give my left eye bag for a smooth neck and a waistline!

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Lynn's Comments: The snow in Vancouver was rarely the right consistency for making snowmen, but when it was, every kid (and lots of parents) would be outside rolling and packing, and making the most of the best construction material there was. As long as a project was in progress, we were oblivious to wet knees, frozen mitts, and running noses. I remember my dad out there with a shovel making the best forts and the biggest sculptures. One week, the local paper featured a page of photographs of the most outstanding snowmen in North Vancouver -- and despite competitive efforts in every neighbourhood, the snowman that received the most comment was done by a three year old!

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Lynn's Comments: My mom used to put my hair into what she called "bunches." She would pull my hair so tight, my eyes watered and the elastics made my head ache. When I had a daughter, I decided I wouldn't force anything like this on her, but I did want to learn how to do French braids. Kate wouldn't let me practice. No matter how I approached the subject, she was uninterested, until I offered to PAY her to let me braid her hair. Eventually this didn't work, and I gave up. I figured that I'd never see my girl with her thick, dark tresses in a hairstyle I loved. Until one day, she appeared with a perfect set of French braids, neatly tied together with a white bow. She had done them herself!

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Lynn's Comments: Our small wartime house on Fifth Street had a wood and coal furnace. Warm air was forced through grates in the floor, and these grates were used for everything from drying socks to warming up Plasticine. Plasticine was (and still is) a superb modelling material with which we played endlessly. Heating the house was costly, so our home was often quite cold. We would play on the floor near one of the floor grates, and the smell of warming Plasticine is something I can still recall. I also remember scraping the melted stuff off the floors and the grates when we'd forgotten to remove it.

In our elementary school, we had those large water-filled metal heaters, shaped like a row of packaged hot dogs. Having used the heating system at home for melting stuff, I was intrigued by the possibilities presented by these heaters! At one end, there was an L-shaped valve, which had a small indentation on the top. This tiny valve was very hot, and interestingly, a wax crayon fit into the indentation perfectly. Within a few days, the classroom heaters had a rainbow of melted wax on one end, and an APB was put out for the guilty party. Due to my already colourful reputation, I was detained posthaste and sent to the principal's office. Another memory I have is of scraping melted crayon off the heaters at school, a punishment to fit the crime!

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Lynn's Comments: The breakfast in bed scenario is always shown in cartoons as a parent in bed and the kids delivering a messy meal. I wanted to turn it around and have the kids messing up their own space. I thought this was more often the case.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Lynn's Comments: Another real incident--but I was the one who made the hole in the track pants and my mother was the one who couldn't imagine how it had happened!

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Lynn's Comments: The real story behind this strip was quite different from what you see here. It began with a dream. I was on a dock on Bowen Island waiting for the ferry to arrive. It came in with a rush of water and a hiss from the engines, and when it pulled in, the hull hit the wooden pilings and the waves pushed it up and down against them, making an awful, rhythmic scraping sound. This became so loud, it woke me up. There I was in bed, with my arm around my husband, and he was snoring --with the same rhythmic, grating sound!

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Lynn's Comments: I was taught to sew at a very early age. As soon as I could manage a needle and thread, I was darning socks and patching trousers. One of the first "grown-up" gifts I received was a sewing box of my own--into which my mother had put all of the things I would need, including a thimble, which was just my size. I kept the sewing case until it fell apart, and up until a few years ago, I still had the tiny scissors my grandmother used for cutting thread. Sewing has always been something I've enjoyed--as long as I didn't have to follow a pattern or make something fit!

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Lynn's Comments: My brother and I fought over trivia; my kids fought over stupid things, too. Whether it’s caused by boredom or the need to establish territory, fighting between siblings seems to be unavoidable. My mother would say, “You two are LOOKING for an excuse to fight!” And we were.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Lynn's Comments: This is another gift from the horse’s mouth. Any time I got my husband into a clothing store, it was a special occasion. He hated to think about his attire. As long as he was comfortable, he didn’t much care about his image! He’d buy a year’s worth of clothing in one shot. The salesman would make sure that ties went with shirts, socks matched trousers, and that everything fit accordingly. Dressing him for a special occasion was much easier when there was a plan of attack. Still there were lapses, and this exact exchange took place before a dinner we had to attend.

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Lynn's Comments: Mrs. Baird was a background character who was meant to be put aside once Farley came into the family (her hobby was breeding Old English sheepdogs). To tie in with this, I also did a few strips about her being a friendly neighbour. I guess her short appearance struck a chord with some readers who asked to see her more often. In this Sunday page, I have her working in her greenhouse and talking to Michael--in a way that enabled me to say more about her personality and her past.

If Mrs. Baird was based on anyone at all, it would have been the ladies who lived across the street from us when I was growing up in North Vancouver. They were sisters, the "Miss Stewarts." They taught kindergarten and piano and were endlessly patient with me. I made a habit of going to their home uninvited and was rarely told that they had no time. When I needed an extra hug or another grown-up opinion, I headed for the Miss Stewarts' house and twisted the ringer on the front door to be let in.

Not long ago, I was in North Vancouver and I went for a nostalgic walk down Fifth Street. Their old wood frame house is still there, though mine is now a condo complex. A notice was on their fence to say the house and the one next door would soon be condos as well. I'm glad I got to see it one more time. There have been many unforgettable folks in my life, and these two ladies are certainly among them!

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Lynn's Comments: I got my first real burn from my curling iron. I was in a hurry; it flew out of my hand, and stupidly, I tried to catch it. I had to wear a bandage on my hand for two weeks. The pain and the inconvenience made me aware of how dangerous these things can be, so when my kids were around, I was extra careful with it. I made sure they knew it could be dangerous, that it was not a toy and should never be played with. I was certain that my lecture was well heeded until the day I noticed my curling iron had been put away "differently." When I examined it, I saw nylon and some other substance melted to the barrel. I never found out what my kids had been doing with it or what they had destroyed, which reminds me: Now that they are adults, they tell me stories of "what really happened" when I wasn't looking--I'll have to ask about the curling iron!!

Sunday, May 4, 2014

Lynn's Comments: Aside from getting out the message that chaos always happened when I needed to think, I did owe a letter to my aunt Bessie. This was a way to tell her I was thinking about her and get some work out at the same time. Unfortunately, Bessie never read the paper the day this was released, but I did write the letter I owed her!

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Lynn's Comments: Behind closed doors, I had a dopey, mommy-to-doggie vocabulary, which I shared with Farley alone. I even had a song I sang to him, and later, I made up a song for Willy, our small black spaniel. While openly criticizing other pooch-parents for talking baby talk to their canine family members, I was doing the very same thing. My dogs appreciated it. This was a language we shared in the privacy of my home. This Sunday page allowed readers into our secret world. I believed that the sheer stupidity of what Elly was saying would be taken as "made-up cartoon dialogue," but not so. I received several letters from readers telling me they used the exact same words of endearment!

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Lynn's Comments: This cartoon was done specifically as a message to my son. Word for word, grimace for groan, I expressed my outrage in the most visible and lasting way possible. When the strip appeared in the Toronto Star, I showed it to him hoping that he would be shocked into changing his evil ways. I said that millions of people had read it and now knew about the way he treated his laundry--and ME! Aaron read the dialogue thoroughly and said, "I get the gag, Ma, but what's your point?"