Playground, Not Required

It was a visit like no other, an out of the ordinary kind. Mom and dad had been walking the mall, at this northern wintry location, trying to find us. As I sat on the sofa like bench, waiting, I was suddenly attacked from behind. I turned to see the familiar - love bugs grabbing onto me from behind. Pictures with Santa Clause were done. It was now my turn with them. 

My little people, 5 and 2, had arrived, full of mischief and energy, to meet the day while pouncing upon me. Mom and dad were happy to see us. They had called us early that morning. Reinforcements, perhaps? This mall, rarely visited by us, was now up front and center, spanning a lot of real estate. What was next? 

My left ankle was 'ankling' for attention. How long could I last? Yet every other part of me was good to go. The older children had many errands to run.Walking entailed all of it. It was the holiday season. Could we satisfy the whole group while attending to the youngest among us? Of course we could. I had a plan. 

Mom and dad went on their way while baba, grandpa and the young'uns returned to the truck. A fun afternoon was coming - babysitting in the truck that brought us here. Their inclination to move and climb could not be contained. They were busy little boys. Off went their boots. If the truck became chilly, heat was but a switch away.There were two seats to occupy: a front passenger seat and a back seat one where I resided. Hopefully the experience or the experiment would be a success. “Off you go, my little ones” 

During the nearly 2 hours inside this small space, they sat, drew and occasionally moved to a better location. Mom had bought them a pad with 5 pointed markers and a pen. The youngest was on my lap in the back as he began to draw. I was intrigued by his handling of the fountain pen. He was a pro yet was only two. He talked about what he was doing. .... (Conversation=language which is the hallmark of critical thought, reading and learning.) He talked and talked. I listened, in earnest, posing question after question. 

Engaging both, intellectually, was the secret. I had to know what was inside those inquisitive very young minds. The flow, not the 'actual' words, mattered most. Engagement was crucial and practice makes perfect. And there was no playground in sight. They loved our circumstances and so did we. Suddenly, it was time to switch. Up they went, one to the front, next to grandpa, the other on my door step, my lap, for further conversation. The excitement was palpable.

A picture of grandpa had been drawn, by the older child, our front seat passenger, with an incredible eye for detail. While we spoke to each other, he suddenly got up  and climbed to the rear to face me and gave me hugs of the incredible kind. The love fest ensued, then it was back to work. “How many white cars are there in the parking lot?” I asked. “How many cars with 3 wheels are there?” Puzzled, the older boy said none. “Cars cannot move on 3. They would tip over.” “Yes, you're right. I hadn't thought of that” "But maybe you will invent a car that moves on 3 wheels". And on we went. The words rolled out.

We were enjoying the visit while mom and dad were busy doing necessary things.  Then they called. “No need to hurry back. We're fine”. And we were. The truck was awash in language, smiles and laughter. Even numbers managed their way into our world, huge numbers painted on the glass walls of each section of this busy northern retail outlet. “Where is the number two? I asked. "There it is," they pointed together. as they looked everywhere. "Is number one nearby" I asked? “Why are those numbers painted on the glass?" “Are there other numbers out there, too?” “Where are they?” "Are they sequential?" Please explain to me. "I do not understand." Time flew by.

They are smarter then we think; their body of knowledge, wider than we dare imagine. The words flowed, clear and sometimes creative. But they are listening. We created an imaginative environment. We were all validated that day. The boys had a good time and told us so. The best time ever they said. I agreed.

Upon their return, mom could see something magical had happened.We were smiling. A good time is a good time.  One on one is simply the best. No explanations needed.

Mr. Wiggles and the Missus

Ella was visiting. Her family was busy at a no-dogs-allowed event: the Santa Claus parade. Mr. Wiggles was excited. He knew. He just knew family of the four legged kind was coming to visit. He'd heard the call and knew the cast members involved. He was excited. Mall Cop, the ever-endearing, lovable, no nonsense kind of guy, was no longer here to supervise. Heaven had beckoned him, too.

The excitement was palpable for our Mr. Wiggles. A new way of being was upon us. Sally our late 14- year-old Labrador Retriever and Mall Cop, the Terrier professor had died this past summer. A brother to Ella and a sister to Mr. Wiggles. It was an emotional shock to all. We are still in mourning and struggling. I guess loving too easily and deeply has its down side.

Ella is coming into her own, realizing that Mr. Wiggles, the towering love mobile, is her part time companion now. There is no hiding that fact. She attempts to play with him. He, at 86 pounds; she, at 18. But she loves her running marathons so away she goes. We follow her. He doesn't mind. Glad for the company anytime.These two are the same age, born one day apart.

Wherever she trots, he follows. She must know what she is doing and where she is going 'cause he doesn't, never has really. He was always a part of four. Now two. The plan has changed. Oops, there was never a plan. Just follow that tree or not. Indoors, these two pets are in charge. Where would you like to rest? Each picks his/her own special spot. My opinion doesn't matter. Nor should it.

I'm thrilled that Ella is here helping Mr. Wiggles adjust and acknowledge his place with others of his kind. His sister was his world and without her guidance now, he's not sure anymore. I try but Ella serves as the best reminder of who he is and where he fits in. Dogs are loving reminders of all things human. 

Ella, thank you for visiting and helping the memories come alive, again and again, reminding me of the gang of four. Come back soon. Please. I need you, too.

A Bad Parenting Fee?

We entered the restaurant with our group: 4 children, 5 and under, one day, many years ago. It was a treat, an experiment, perhaps. Could we do the impossible? They understood the requirements for success. If this visit failed, a simple sandwich at home would be the alternative, less stressful for the adults albeit much learning for the wee ones. Being a parent was my job not theirs. It was an easy do for me.

As the six of us ate, we were approached by a delightful senior citizen, amazed at the solitude on display at this long table in the Ponderosa. She remarked how well behaved they were as they ate their dinners. “Are they all yours?”, she asked. “No, just the boys", I replied. She was moved by the scene of quiet deportment. Courtesy, politeness and a big smile were the only requirements for admission here.

Today, some restaurants are considering a penalty of $50 to parents of unruly children. I rejoice at the suggestion then realize who is being penalized, really? And is the lesson being learned? Perhaps a reminder to the children to tone it down might be a better idea, initially, anyway. The prickly situation needs addressing, nonetheless. If ignored, what's next? Young children do not understand the concept of $50 for what they love to do normally. Let them unleash their high energy antics at home - where it belongs - not here.

Children are always being managed in a continuum of safety measures to protect them. Strict protocols are in place, regularly. (Save the word 'no' for the future when its use has immediate and significant potency. It's more fun then, too). While our progeny are out of control remind them of the plethora of recording devices available to showcase their behaviour to grandparents. The choices are limitless. A visit to the car to wait helps to re-establish the power structure and the need for quiet so easily forgotten in public. The benefits of solitude are in place now. Other's might be interested in knowing their talent to disrupt. Grandpa, grandma, a close family friend, perhaps? 

There are times when noisy children are expected. A restaurant is not the place! Turn it down now! Conversational skills will be practiced here, quietly and respectfully. Co-operation is a must! Our own children knew that eating out was a special treat, a privilege, a destination to be repeated, to those who deserved it. Even the babysitter can be used in a pinch. At no time was I ever held 'hostage'. I was in charge, anyway? I held power. I was the parent, after all. 

The rules of etiquette were in place.  Behaving properly in public was an expectation. Toy stores were no exception. Home was another jurisdiction where rules were relaxed and energy and imagination, explored. Children must be allowed to sing, dance, create and 'imagine' - but at home. In a restaurant their role was to dine, engage in conversation, while showing respect to the diners, farmers, animals, chefs and wait staff who have all toiled, skillfully, over time, to provide us this enjoyable dining event at a cost to mom and dad. Let us say "Thank you".

"Dear children, think quickly, how will this situation resolve itself. I will endeavor to wait. You have one minute to decide. Then it's my turn! Looking forward to the exercise."

It's My Spot

He moves to the spot when I leave. Upon my return I ask him to return to his spot. I need the light, I tell him. I am writing and reading. He understands. He alights from his spot and walks across the sofa. I laugh. This 85 pound yellow retriever knows the drill. Apparently, I don't. Momsey is left wondering. What is going on here? Who is in charge, anyway?

It happens all the time. I leave. He moves. Smart boy. A reasonable young pup of ten years. I watch as he walks across the sofa rather then jumping off to seat himself where it suits him. It is a love affair spanning 10 years. She used to do it but stayed where she landed. When the surgeries began, many years ago, the sofa was off limits to her. Her hind legs could not bear the strain of her sprinting off the sofa even after healing. Those days were gone. My heart aches for my precious girI. Oh, how I miss her and her cousin,  the diminutive yet stoic Sir Mall Cop.  

My big puppy pretends he is smaller than he is. He sleeps near mom or dad, on newly washed sofa pillows. The mini floor lamp is nearby. The neck pillow awaits atop the sofa arm, shielding him from the artificial light that happens only at night. I need this tower of light. He does not. He does not read though I do. A conversation about reading ensues. He understands.The sofa's faux fur cover keeps everything in place. 

The days of get down are over. How many times does puppy have to hear that? He's the boss and that's that. Shall I move, Big Face? I'll tell you when you must go, mom, but for now you can read. Thank you for asking.

Just Add Spinach

 

Every so often, I will buy that burger or foot long. I have this deep seated desire for something fast and loathsome. Something yummy and delicious. Since I'm the only cook? in my home, the lure of 'processed' food can sometimes be overwhelming till all sense and reason are gone, temporarily.

Anything we cook is considered processed to some degree. To downplay the horrid decision to 'eat out' I will add a salad to my offering - spinach for example. A sub is a favourite sandwich choice for me. No fries with that. I'll make my own. My air fryer allows me to tinker with potatoes in that crazy, healthy way.

My drink of choice is usually Chinese tea with lemon - even with pizza as a selection. I'm bad but not that bad. It is a 'course' correction, so to speak. Plain healthy tea with lemon cannot be beat. There is oolong, white, jasmine, green, to name a few. 

I've always maintained that a withdrawal from my health account must be matched with a deposit to it during the same eating period. Add lots of extra leafy greens to that Big Mac or footlong. We can dramatically alter the health quotient of that sandwich, burger or bowl, just to be sure. The addition of leafy greens, sprouts or just plain spinach does make a difference when the kitchen is a mess and cooking is just not in my repertoire that evening.

Dining out is a big step when eating dinner. When I factor in the cost of the food, the minus factor of my labour (there is no cost there) the elimination of tax and tip on the whole meal, the cost of eating at home is the biggest deal of all. Then there is the app, the great extender. The lure to 'tap' into its power is enduring, a panacea. Will eating ever stop? Of course we have the reward aspect of dining out now. Receiving points to buy the food we just finished eating is the hook. Never have to cook again, maybe.

When I think of the can of soup, I consider that departure very seriously. The choices are few for me. If glucose-fructose is present, I'm outta here. Additives not considered food are simply not considered. The liver deserves better, much better! Adding carrots, celery, onions, garlic - the powerful foursome- along with the can of soup in the pot can dramatically change the nutrient profile quickly while reducing the salt per serving. 

Chop the spinach, or snip it with other leafy greens to augment your health account. It is sort of like eating out but without the added cost and wasted time. Adding water allows for more soup to  magically appear. Nice touch.

We have it in us to try and save the money we might need for that million dollar starter home someday. But I digress. Spinach, anyone?

 

 

A Dangerous One

A quiet one can be a dangerous one, the restaurant owner remarked. Yes, I thought. When dining experiences are less than expected, telling the owner was the only responsible option - once upon a time. Today, however, the internet's power, if used in this complaint initiative, can have long lasting effects upon an unsuspecting restaurant. Jobs are at stake as would be the needs of a whole community. 

I had just finished telling this very friendly entrepreneur how delicious the fish and chips were. A golden touch, lightly done, was all that was required for heavenly fish and chips. Coleslaw, its sidekick, is a most delicious accompaniment, a cold crunchy side kick that cannot be beat. Fish needs only a light touch please while giving fries their special treatment - blanched once then deep fried, lightly, for that final glow. 

The power of the net is overwhelming. Let the personal touch be the kind tool to correct a dining error. It is easy to overcook, forget those special touches, in any meal. Gentle, gentle, all the way, should be our calling card. 

Having made years worth of dinners, pies, cookies and tarts, I know how easily 'food' mistakes are made. There was the chocolate milk episode that nearly made an appearance in mashed potatoes, one Christmas day, years ago. Baking soda - 10x - the amount for the recipe of chocolate cupcakes made it into a 'double' recipe. It was winter. The boys were very young. Could I fool them? I had made a white frosting and thought eating the treats, frosted, outside, would make the bitter taste disappear. What was I thinking? Out they went!.....

Recently.... small red potatoes were cooking on the stove in a small pot in a few inches of water. The timer buzzed but I did not hear it. As time passed, the pleasant aroma of baked potatoes pierced the air. I wondered. I was not baking potatoes. In that moment I imagined a fire. Instead, a cloud of steam rose above the small pot in the kitchen. Burnt potatoes. I rescued most of it. Not bad, I thought. We ate them. The taste was delicious. Any more burnt potatoes? he asked. Sorry, not today. The other day we had them again. The experimental aspect of this 'new recipe' was gone. This time, I burnt the tiny red potatoes cautiously and deliberately, on lower heat, with a bit of oil to safeguard the pot and potatoes.  A new recipe was born, a new kind of mistake and management approves.

 

He's Gone to Join Her

He lived a full life like his cousin, 'Sally', my 'daughter' . Eventually the struggle to live was more than he or his family could bear. This  precious terrier mix, Mall Cop, the professor, left us on August 27, a sunny day, with warm summer breezes and life all around. Four grandsons, 6 and under, along with their uncle, were the pallbearers for that final goodbye.

We mourn them, love them and are agonized by their passing. In my small childlike mind, I wonder does it really have to happen? Can't they live a little longer, to appease us, their parents? Lives are too short, anyway. Lives of pets are  painfully shorter. In a physical sense the speed of life is times seven. That precious time is simply too short, a painful awareness of the unfairness of it all. 

My Sally, our 65 pound bundle of love, excitement and energy gave us much even when surgeries and recovery dictated otherwise. She was our make work project. Her passing this past July cast a pall upon the summer. Then weeks later her cousin, “Mall Cop” joined her in doggie heaven. It was sorrowful, oh so painfully hard. A large chunk of my life disappeared, just like that!

Many funny moments involving my group of four were written about. Dogs are loving, precious and so funny. On one particular day, years ago, Ella, our mini schnauzer, sister of Mall Cop, was glumped by a skunk. Mall Cop was inside at that time wondering what the fuss was all about. He was not going to allow another bath. He'd had one the other day. The story was written that day, too important not to. Many valuable lessons for us all.To this day, I read "the invisible cloud came running" often. It is comical, even after death, of one who just watched that day but, sadly, is no longer here to comment. His wit was a part of his unique style. He and I had a special bond whenever we were together. We shared the sofa often. Occasionally, the only seat for me was on the floor. That was fine. They were comfortable. I was happy.

Then there was "16 legs in the kitchen", an event so comical that I had to write about it, also. As I sliced the fruit and cucumbers for their afternoon snack, one day, a herd of 'puppies' marching single file, was seen and heard walking, military fashion, into the kitchen. It was time to eat, they demanded. They had waited long enough. They followed me into the next room to snack, with precision, calm and focus. It was my daily duty to them, a love story to the end. I ache for my 'Mall Cop' and 'Sally'. I loved them so.

His Soft 'Friends'!

“He specializes in soft friends", my husband remarked. Those sweet words spoke volumes to me as we drove home from the veterinarian. Our yellow retriever lay in the back, having seen the dental doctor for the second time in a year. Sadly, he would face another round of re-absorption extractions in a few weeks. Oh. My.

A month ago, Eddy's forever companion, his 14-year-old sister, our precious girl, died. We all mourn her passing, each in our own painful way. Even crying has its own special time and reason. I cried because it filled a need. My heart was hurting so. While the emptiness filled our home, Eddy knew something was different. This giant 80 pounds of love was o.k. to walk hither, thither and yon with his teddy, filling his own void in his 10 year habit of carrying toys and being with her. She had been his life coach and now he was alone in this new animal kingdom, a different kind of world now, inhabited by humans.

Upon our return home, that afternoon, he was led into the garage. He stood by the door leading into the house, whimpering softly, for reasons only understood by him. What could he want? As the door opened, in he went, like a man on a mission, the mission being yet another soft comforting friend, this time a soft large pink chickadee. Of course, I thought. The other soft friends were busy, I assumed. One teddy, not soft or easily carried, was of the likeness of the Donald. It was simply watching from afar on the step. Our little guy knew what he was doing. We simply stayed out of his way. That was our job.

Whenever he joined dad in the dining room, Eddy would run to his spot and lie down. Sometimes, friends would accompany him. In this special meeting room, I could see his rabbit, the “Donald”, the turtle, the doughnut, and yummy "cake". Other acquaintances were simply hiding.

His menagerie means alot to him. The other room - where he and she had slept - attested to that as well. Soft friends seemed to blanket the room, a place filled with meaning and love. Dogs' lives were here - on the sofa, on the floor or in their beds. I would join them, from time to time, a place for meditation and love all around. They were my world. He is now. Others will join us in the future. Hopefully.

I feel at peace always gazing into their eyes. The eyes tell a story. I would probably be at home at the zoo, cleaning up after the lions, tigers and elephants. I wonder what their soft friends would be? A human perhaps? Chomp. Chomp.

Driver Distraction

She came past me at a dizzying pace. As I waited at the intersection for the red light to change she suddenly appeared. With her phone in her right hand she attempted to make her left turn, missing me by inches. The law says no, you can't do that. She thought, otherwise.

It is amazing how important everything seems to be - in the car. A crisis every moment, attached to every conceivable aspect of our lives. Remember this. If we can access our bedroom, fridge, house, doorbell, safety deposit box, financial records with the click of our finger, then so can they. Ease of use does have a down side.

Recently, as I drove the posted speed along the newly designed road, suddenly I was faced with yet another traffic misdirection. The driver had stopped, began to turn into traffic and moved into the lane where I happened to be. A quick turn on my part had avoided yet another near miss. 

Are we being distracted, while driving, by the collection of high tech gadgets on the dashboard, designed to help us get from A to B? Are we forgetting, momentarily, where we are sitting? It is not the living room, coffee shop or grocery line check-up. It is front and center in the driver's seat of a movable weapon called a car. Stop the smiling. It's not funny.

There is nothing to smile about when driving. The job you are performing is serious. One wrong move can injure or kill another human being. Even sitting in the driveway in the car, waiting to go,  can be dangerous. Do we know where the grandchildren or the family dogs are? Are we counting? On a leash or not? There needs to be serious counting protocols in place at all times. ... Then there is the realization that we have missed our exit. This does not give us license to correct the mistake with that all time favourite: the U-turn.There are fatal consequences to short cuts. Let us never forget.

Diary of a Senior

Our precious 14-year-old retriever, died on the 18^th. Quietly. Life had been become a struggle. It was time to go. She gave me the signal. Sally would have been 15 in September. 

Grief is painful. (I had suggested to her that my goal was to get her to 20 - in 6 years, our little secret). By noon that fateful day, she would not open her eyes or eat. Food was of no interest to her in any form. She had other plans or should I say God did. I will miss her terribly.

Her 10-year-old companion knows why Sally is not here. He had stopped running with her, engaging with her and being too close to her. Occasionally noses would meet. She was fragile, he knew, but he was there, that ever watchful eye over his sister who was four years old when they met and became her brother.

In the final weeks of her life everything that made sense was done to get her up and going. Even though my goals for her were out of step with reality, optimism reigns in this house of puppies. It must. My feelings did not matter. Her struggles did. I had cooked everything worth eating for her daily confusing  dietary routine. I never knew and neither did she. 

The best in dry/wet food available was here to entice her to eat. I conferred with our local pet store. Any secret to get a dog eating? Cancer had returned on her back. I referred to it as a living broach. She's had a tumour removed from her leg years ago. Time, I guess, had run out. A soft like shoulder harness became her newest accessory designed to make her life and mine easier for those nighttime/daytime trips outside.

I see the things that were above and beyond. Canned food had become front and center yet their nutrient value fell short of my expectations. In the 70's, glucose-fructose was an ingredient in dog food. Why? 

Feeding our pets from the table seemed alright back then, but not now. I'm not sure. One brand I fed my girl, a top one in the industry, recommended feeding her, a former 70 pound dynamo, 6 cans a day to maintain current weight. The lunacy of it all.  Six cans a day? Really? How exhausting is that?Obviously, nutrition was not a priority. Or did the company not understand nutrient value. Were we slowly killing our pets back then?

The pet food scandal of 2007 had melamine dressed up as protein, a basic ingredient for canned pet food. They died those dogs and cats served up as guinea pigs. How could they? That was the last time I trusted anyone with our pet's dietary protocols. I digress. But food is medicine, even in a dog's world. 

My girl is gone and I miss her terribly but this distress has happened before. Sally was #7 plus my cat Tia #6, a 16 years old, when she left us. I took Tia's death especially hard, after all, cats/kittens are disposable commodities from birth, it seems. They're dumpster material, garbage and always free to a good home? 

My Tia was a few weeks old when I found her in frigid -40 weather (wind chill factor) where the snow  squeaked, that early Monday morning. Tia's gig lasting 16 years alongside my other 'daughter' and Sally's late brother was comforting, loving, energizing and simply funny. Their stories coloured my world with laughter and meaning. I loved them all. I mourn them too. Good bye, my sweets. I will love you all, forever and always.

My Gorilla Girl and Boy

 

She is trying. Her appetite is a challenge, nowadays. She is 14, soon to be 15, in her canine world. Many things are interfering with her health. Momsey is here to help. The gorilla diet has arrived!

The top ten animals who kill. I was intrigued by the #1 choice on this program on the Discovery channel. It was the moose. Where was the gorilla, I wondered. At #5, it was not the worst that the animal kingdom had to offer. As I watched, I was shocked to see that this mammal was a vegetarian, a 300 hundred pound creature of pure muscle. Wow, I thought. Leave them alone. Do not look at them. They will toy with with you but generally not harm you. Three hundred pounds of pure muscle. Really! Could my girl become a gorilla?

Sally's appetite has waivered. Could she become a gorilla at this stage of life? Her special diet was special no more. It was simply one of the guys in her repertoire of foods she would eat. All bets were off. Honest Kitchen came to live with us permanently. This minimally processed human grade food had been endorsed by the Medical Medium, the world famous food guy. She liked its texture and flavour. 

Celery and cucumber juice would soon be returning. Our retriever and her brother had eaten celery, carrot and cucumbers for years, in their natural 'skin' in years gone by. A change of pace was coming. Same players just a different profile. I must try for her sake.

Today she ate apple slices. Where have you been she must have thought? I never give up. Selected fruits and vegetables have always occupied special status in our pets' life. Yesterday she adored apple sauce. The apple slices had been missing for weeks. Interest had waned or was it something else. Happy to see the change. Never give up.

Cantaloup, honey dew melon were hits until they weren't. She loved them today.Watermelon was a hit yesterday. Fresh, crunchy and juicy. Who doesn't love watermelon? Thank you watermelon growers. So much is owed to those who grow our food. Thank you. Thank you. She loves what has always been. Sally needs an appetite realignment. That is all.

A Gift to Me!

I called to say hello. Just to say hello. (We had seen them yesterday.) Then it happened. Out of the blue came the voice of my precious grandchild, 'Nelson'. (By the end of May, there will be 7 grandchildren: 4 boys and 3 girls, six and under, all future hugging targets.) Today-June 2- we have those seven.

“Are you coming over tomorrow”?, Nelson remarked. “You want us over again, I asked?” “Yes”, he said. We had just seen this little tyke, his 6 year old brother and newborn sister yesterday. I thought he'd be tired of us old people by now. He caught me off guard. I assured him we would try to visit very soon.

Mom was sleeping with her newborn baby upon our arrival the day before. Raising children is a 'lifelong' labour of love. My recent visit began with dinosaurs in the driveway and what to do about them if we had a school bus parked there. These monsters of history had been compared, in size, to a school bus. These home schooled children had to know what to do if these creatures tried to enter the house. Every answer given was met by yet another question from me their grandmother. Children's verbal ability -at any age- is a incredible look into the future of these burgeoning adult human beings. What they know is a must for me, always has been. I'm always learning. I felt honoured that 'Nelson' wanted us to return, so quickly. I was caught off guard. 

My "What's new?" question is a never ending story for us. I want to know everything that they want to tell me. Children can be ignored when life gets busy. Grandparents can help be that other human toy at the ready. Tell me what you love. Tell me what you know. What have you been doing? What is your favourite colour or food today? 

Language is the cornerstone of human development. It begins at the beginning. Nelson's sister, a four-month-old, is smiling and talking while making us laugh.  I am intrigued by her. The imagination runs rampant. I can hardly wait to hear more. These little people belong to me. How fortunate I am that our children gave us the gift. I am anxious to hear where their 'words' take them. Dinosaurs are here to stay. Dragons are front and center in another home. My. My. Tell me more!

I want our grandchildren -all 7 of them - to count on me being there when life gets tough. Another set of eyes and ears can only help because in the midst of their thoughts, hugs will be there. See you soon my children.

He's Here Again Today!

He arrived late morning. The 5 year-old dynamo would be with me -baba- till dad picked him up later that day. There was a treasure trove of fun things to do, including school work, for this home-schooled child. He was beyond his years in all the markers used to assess little children, the easiest people to teach. 

Little children and I mesh well. Did that indicate I was a child, too? Probably. As a child, I enjoyed being around older people. Nowadays, as a grandmother, I enjoy little people. The rules are simple- follow them my sweet. Discipline is not my game. It belongs to mom and dad. My job is to follow their rules where you are concerned, dear boy. 

'Oscar' loves sports, numbers, rhyming words, running and dogs. Today we have 4 - mine and his with us. The ten-year-old retriever is running with Oscar, never letting up unless Oscar does, around the fenced area with a large cage inside. I watch them all. It is my job to keep both groups of excitable creatures from fighting or anything else that might surface. Time to go indoors for printing and reading. He recently turned five.

As an old lady I am ready for anything. My rules tell the story. Living in the country can be a dangerous place, I remind my precious 5-year-old. Nothing is completely safe, anywhere, I continue. He understands. Trees and bushes abound. I begin picking up the twigs, large branches and other fallen 'debris' lying around

Wind has played havoc with the outdoor playground, recently. I need to remove the fallen stock from the ground. The unsightly green mess really bothers me. Always has. But now an idea comes to mind. “Would you like to clean this small area, my child, for $5.00,? He smiles - as he often does- and asks for $10.00” “Sorry” I reply. “The job is not worth ten”'. Good try, I thought. “Do the rest of the area nearby and you'll get $10.00” He agrees, happily. We work together as I show him that some jobs take two or more people to finish. Soon he stops. “I'm tired”. “Well that is unfortunate, I remark. No pay for a job half done”, I say. He smiles and begins again to finish. 

The crisp ten dollar bill grabs his attention. Into his special bank account the money will go when dad arrives. Oscar's entrepreneurial spirit says it all. He's happy to be here, running with the dogs, running out of breath and watching a Disney animal special about Lilly the gorilla. He wants to move, learn and eat salmon. Easy to love and easy to please. His delightful hugs are the price of admission into baba's world. He's sold. And so am I.

Commercials' Hold Over Us Today

Commercials have become king, competing with the shows they underwrite, both in time and cost. Television needs to pay for what we watch. That is understandable. Thank goodness, however, we have PVR, the mute button and of course, the off switch when we've simply had enough.

A new twist on commercials, nowadays, has the networks appearing on the screen, at the bottom, inconspicuously, while the show is in progress as if to say to us “ Your private viewing time does not matter, to us, anymore!” Mustn't forget the product. It is forgotten, however, by an disgruntled viewer. Having just watched several minutes of your advertised product, I am not amused to see it plastered on the screen, again, reminding me to buy it or subscribe to it. The product code entices us, non-stop, to buy without thought.

Time is the enemy to advertisers - not us. Click. See how quickly the money disappears. Why did I do that? The screen aids in our destruction. Buy now. Do not think about it, they hope! Our future has this daily message as we watch. Will there be anything left to support us and our dreams? Is our health going to matter then? How soon will our down fall happen? We now have online betting. Emptying our bank accounts never looked so good - to them. A scary scenario, I'd say!!

Life is about commercials yet we have an added burden - that of personal stories of the on air hosts. The prize is the invited on-air guest. Irrelevant information of the hosts is of no consequence to me. My own life is too boring to contemplate. Birthday and birth announcements, cake included, are inappropriate, on air tools. Where is the information you dispel? Useless banter is useless. We did not ask! If every second - on air - is a costly enterprise, then stop wasting precious our time and those of the invited guest. Fluff is irrelevant; real news is not.The invited guests should reign, each and every time!

Air time is a costly moment. The personal stories of the hosts who present the hour long programs become intrusions into the viewing audience's time. Our time is important, too. The airing of a segment near the end with 5 seconds left is an affront to the dignity of the invited guest and the audience watching. Is that gimmick an enticement for us to stay till the end? Do it once, shame on you. Do it twice or thrice, shame on me. I'll simply go elsewhere for entertainment. The choice is endless and commercials are not king. Life is too short to waste. 

Momsey's Newest Fashion Statement!

I had relinquished control over those decades old winter boots. Name brand and all. They were done.. A new kid in town had arrived. 

Last year, I had bought a couple of pairs of boots but had given up on finding any that were truly comfortable and quick to put on in whenever our 14-year-old pup had to go out quickly. Challenging mobile issues were now a part of her life, a much slower paced one.

One pair of boots had been bought online, another pair from TSC. I kept looking. Comfort is everything. This newer pair was perfect. I needed them for the outdoor supervision of our two retrievers. Material and looks meant nothing. The issue of a weak ankle and wide food needed to be addressed for walking, running and sliding.

An issue with our septic tank weeks after the purchase created a new dilemma for me. I did not want to wear these new 'pen' boots in this outdoor area now requiring attention and repair. We were facing a problem of untold proportions. I did not want to ruin these new winter boots. I had looked too long and spent enough money in the interim. Where were those decades old boots I had been wearing previously? There had been a hole at the back of one boot making snow, slush and sleet gain easy entry inside. Cold and wet would result. Could duck tape be the answer? Why not, I surmised? I wasn't heading to the fashion runway. 

A new fashion statement came into being. Black crinkle patent duct tape had solved my problem while making these old boots fashion worthy.. How could that be? My husband's discovery had made life simple. I was falling in love with these decades old boots by simply attaching a patch of shiny black duct tape to the back of the boot with the hole. Could another patch be used to augment the style of the other one? 

I began to think duct tape for an old pink raincoat I loved. Could this magical tape be strategically placed to make this coat wearable again? Had I discarded this coat? Parts of the jacket were fine while one spot had a gaping opening making sewing impossible. Was it feasible to fix this much loved garment with duct tape in an appropriate colour? So many questions. We'll just have to see. ..

Re-imagining Potato Salad

To help out with food recently, I thought of the summer favourite: potato salad. Its appearance on the summer barbecue scene had me wondering, why not now, in the dead of winter?

Potato salad is a limitless concoction. Yummy yummy. It is a recipe that can unfold, time after time, as newer trends appear. Diets for many have changed. Eliminating meat (eggs), certain types of mayonnaise and altering the way it is made has made potato salad a yummy 'newcomer'.

Originally, I made the famous salad with mayonnaise and lots of eggs. Lots of protein, I thought. Then the word dairy came to mean ' not in my best interest'. My family enjoyed its place during the summer. As time passed, diet preferences began to influence the ingredients used. So I adapted. I changed the ingredients while thinning out the dressing. Dressing should never be the centerpiece of any salad, anyway. Recently, I had an epiphany. Everything changed. My family raved. .. 

I thought of Dr. Stephen Gundry, cardiologist, author of the Plant Paradox. It all began to make sense to me. Potatoes began to taste better with deeper flavour penetration and nutrient retention when cooked 'under pressure'. The plant doctor has pointed out the folly of eating certain plants that may play havoc with our heart and health. He refers to these harmful things - seeds- as lectins. (He has implicated ADHD in these lectins.) 

The pressure cooker eliminates the harmful lectins, making foods healthier when pressure cooked! The high interior temperatures  makes those foods safer to eat.  (If I buy non-organic potatoes are they healthier now? I would think so. Discard the peels, however.)  I add bay leaves to augment flavour further. Peeling the potatoes happens afterwords as the peels protect the potatoes from becoming soggy. Cutting should be avoided whenever possible. But I have done it, on occasion, nonetheless.

I do not own the newest combo pressure cooker. I am on my third one since first being introduced to this former 'dangerous' appliance from the early 70's when it was made of aluminum. My second one was made from stainless steel until its demise from over work. My third one followed, was made of stainless steel, is still with me today being used over and over again to make chicken soup and other foods in a bowl. Potato salad is now at the top of my list

Making potato salad starts with my current pressure cooker.  Desserts stand no chance with me! The dressing is a healthy mix of lemon juice - no vinegar here - with salt and pepper added, shaken not stirred, with olive and avocado oils - subject to change.This rich topping binds it all. (No eggs or mayonnaise used) A few tablespoons gingerly applied inside the bowl allows for the slow penetrating oil to lightly coat the potatoes before finely chopped vegetables are added. I use green onions, celery and finely grated carrots. Other vegetables can be added. Red pepper will be next; dill, perhaps. The more colorful the better. Mix gently, using two forks, to avoid 'bleeding' of the finely grated carrots. Salad might still be warm. Refrigerate immediately.

This potato salad is a hit with my oldest grandson. “It” disappears within minutes of arriving. At a recent birthday visit, this precious six-year-old told me, “I loved it”. Really? A meal in a bowl. Thank you my dear sweet boy! That's all I needed to hear.

Never Give Up! Ever!

Our 14-year-old canine manages to test the limits of endurance and life. After injuring herself during a short marathon in snow, uphill, with her 5 year old human cousin, Sally required treatments to address the swelling, inflammation and other hidden issues. She could barely stand, walk or eat easily. A harness with its rear end attachment helped restore her strength, once again. She is a miracle in a retriever's guise. If I dare complain to her, she will simply ignore me. Good for her!

The snow has arrived in this winter location. She loves the outside walk and the challenge it presents. Though Sally has mobility issues, walking is a must nonetheless. I want to stay indoors myself but she needs what she needs. All dogs do! The rear end handle helps her outdoor 'play' have meaning. To those companies who make these contraptions so our pets can walk and heal, I salute and honour you.

Lifting 70 pounds of puppy is a mean feat for this old lady. But I must keep fit if her life has meaning. One cannot exist without the other.

When the snow falls, walking can be difficult so I use my special shovel to create fresh pathways. Each new snow fall buries the walkways created before. Every new pathway is akin to a maize or labyrinth making their brains work a bit harder at this new way home. Brains that are challenged retain the knowledge and spirit of the past. New ways of playing create new memories thus encouraging our seniors - both animal and human - to figure it out all over again in a new way. 

It is my job to address her exercise regimen outdoors. The inside ones cannot be changed as walls are permanent. When she hears me chopping or slicing Sally gets up to 'look'. Movement is good in all its forms as is the interest she shows. Tumeric is an integral part of her diet, thus keeping her brain clear, ready for the next intrusion into her life. No time for pity here. I have work to do. And so does she, the darling in my life.

Being a Grandmother

Being a grandmother is a special role. Though I had one while growing up, she never bothered with any of us. She was too important in her own mind. Four of her girls were my aunts, incredible women I loved. Intolerance was the name of her game. She disliked my dad and my mom, her daughter. Her grandchildren were collateral damage, I guess. I did not waiver. Family strife was not my game. Time would be wasted. It belonged elsewhere.

As a grandmother since 2017, I am learning. It is an unusual fun-loving role, one that fills me with love, fun AND AMAZING PEOPLE: 5 LITTLE ONES UNDER THE AGE OF SIX - for now! As often as possible, I engage in conversation with my grandchildren - 4 boys, a one-year-old girl and soon-to-be three little girls by May. Our newest heir is just under 2 months old.

I remember being asked to come and play with O, our second oldest, recently. I was honoured that a little boy wanted to play with an old lady. My philosophy: ask questions and let them lead. They must lead at some point so why not learn with me and begin the process? Words such as show me, tell me and help me learn makes leaders of them all. 

Giving little ones the attention they need and deserve focuses on teaching them who is in charge with their best interests at heart: mom and dad. Baba is second tier; mom and dad, first.

Canine Kidney Disease, Reversable?

She has kidney disease, our  active 14 year old canine pup. Though a protein restricted diet is her new health protocol, I am not accustomed to waiting and hoping for the best. I simply use what has been given me: my mind- to change outcomes, if possible, based upon common sense.

Sally's output, on the frozen ground, is an obvious clue to her health status. Colour is too. Snow helps with its white colour backdrop letting us all know what is clean and what has transpired with our pup. We love her dearly. But pills and such are not going to rule her day and ours. Diet is medicine. We all know that.

Miracles are beginning to happen. Her urine is a soft yellow now, an obvious sign of recovery, temporary or long term. I'm not sure which. She is fed a 'raw' diet of produce, allowable for dogs. I must watch out for all those oxalates so have begun my study of the contraindications of some foods she has been given so as to make sure they benefit her health. Green is out, sort of, while it is a favourable choice for our Mr. Wiggles. Vitamin K, the blood clotting factor, is found in many green foods. Another thing to consider. Back and forth, I go! She needs to go out!!

She pulled a muscle or whatever it is that has impaired her mobility. Running marathons, even short ones, with her four-year-old human cousin, might have caused this latest injury. A harness, worn full time now, helps with walking. Another piece of this puzzle has been added to assist with her getting up from  a resting position. The toughest part of this journey is using the two steps to go outside. Lifting her is a tough road till we find a ramp to make life easy. I have decided that building this accessory over the concrete steps will be the decision that makes sense. Her brother, now ten, might need help in the future. At over 80 pounds, he will test my strength, I'm certain of that. Must stay strong!

Recent tests to determine the status of Sally's kidneys make me happy. Low protein is not the only part of the health puzzle. Berries, apples, cucumbers-peeled a bit and sliced and other miracle foods help to round out the diet my precious old girl needs as she advances to 15. I can hardly wait.