Category Archives: humour

THAT MIDDLE FINGER

I think my childhood may have been a tad lacking in some things but it was my Big Brother and my Best Friend who set me straight. Maybe my parents wouldn’t have agreed but how else was I to know about that middle finger?

I remembered the first time I saw it. I was learning to drive. Dad was my teacher. I actually got out of the mall parking lot and on the road in our ’64 Corvair. Needless to say, I was thrilled beyond words . Dad gained 20 white hairs and kept reminding himself I was the last off-spring to learn to drive and he could finally retire. At least, that’s what he always told us years later.

We were driving down this quiet residential street and Dad kept up a running commentary of “Stop sign coming, remember to stop” or “School zone, slow down” all the while his foot was tapping invisible brakes on his side.

I stopped, checked left, checked right and proceeded across. Immediately a raucous blare of someone’s horn jarred my concentration and a noisy Volks passed me with a finger sticking out, the middle finger.

Dad said, “Ignore that jerk. He had no right to pass as you were doing good. Make sure your door is locked.”

I thought back. What exactly did I do wrong? What did that finger mean? It clearly wasn’t friendly.

I showed my Big Brother when I got home and asked him what it meant.

“Don’t ever, ever do that finger thing to anyone and especially not in a car unless the windows are rolled up, the doors are locked and you drive away fast. It’s not a good thing to do unless you’re prepared to run.”

“But what does it mean?” I bugged him.

“It means bad things and even if you’re really angry, don’t do that middle finger thing. People–especially the wrong kind of people–find it insulting and fight-worthy.”

Big Brother explained it the best he could. I got the impression that males can do it ’cause they know how to fight and probably spoiling for a good fight. On the other hand, females aren’t supposed to be spoiling for any fight, so they’re not supposed to know this finger thing to get into trouble.

That was the explanation I got when I was sixteen.

I’m much older now. And I have arthritis in both hands. But it’s worse in my right hand. It affects my fingers, especially the middle finger that doesn’t fold down–it sticks up. The honest truth. I can’t make a decent fist without giving the finger.

“Why on earth would you want to make a fist?” asked my Best Friend.

“Well, you know–blood tests and stuff, they always ask you to make a fist.”

“Which hand is making the finger?” queried my BF.

“My right.”

“Well for Pete’s sake, it’s the left hand that would make any gesture out the driver’s window and all those fingers are good, right?”

“Yep.”

“Then stay away from using the right hand and it’s middle finger and you’ll be fine. Jeez for a minute there, you had me worried you got mixed up in the wrong crowd!”

“Do you realize that in my entire life so far, I’ve never used that middle finger wave and I’ve only seen it 3 times?”

“First of all, don’t ever wave that finger. Secondly, stay away from people who do. And thirdly, if you ever have to, make sure your windows are rolled up, the doors are locked and you drive away fast, ” my BF advised.

I forgot to ask how do you do the gesture if the windows are rolled up? Anyway, I’ve never had to give the unfriendly wave, so I guess I’m safe.

A Mother’s Day Walk

This fantastic grafitti is there no longer . Progress took over. But I loved seeing it when I took a walk a few months ago in a different direction and felt compelled to photograph it before it disappeared forever.

Reaching into my pocket, I reached for the first of my fortune cookies I had packed for a snack. Munching away, I read my fortune and laughed out loud. Destiny or Karma really knew how to gently scold . . . .

My fortune read: Do not despair. Embrace new changes.

Karma had perfect timing. . . .

The deep pink camellia petals was so picturesque as I ambled around the corner to the Library with my bag of books.

I was anxious to see what Anthony and his Creative Team did with their Spring display at my fave stop, Gardenworks–and they didn’t disappoint. This was an outstanding display a month or so ago–always filled with eye-catching displays, Gardenworks gives its creative staff free rein and customers truly appreciate the artistic creativity.

It was hard to decide which direction I should explore as I was just beginning to use my new cell-phone camera again. I opted for a stroll along the Avenue to check for photo ops. AND as usual I found a few. . .this beautiful dogwood tree in bloom. . .

These gorgeous eye-catching towering plants called Towering Jewel, was newly installed in the centre of the Village.

Before I knew it, the camera and my feet took me through the Village and on a street I knew well. It had my fave house–a house I always felt should have a writer’s den in the tower.

There’s my den–just below the green pointy roof. . .

At least, that’s what I always think whenever I pass. . .

This beautiful Guardian of a consignment store found a new home immediately. I thought he looked quite comfortable in the midst of all the other treasures. And I’m so glad I snapped a photo when I did. . . .

This is one of the many artwork displayed along the Avenue–a family of foxes, enjoying the view.

I had to make a rest-stop and this was cleverly drawn on the inside of the door–such a cheeky looking cat and I’m sure, a cheeky artist!

Homeward bound, I marveled how life goes on–with or without you. It felt good to discover new things and rather disconcerting how progress can destroy the familiar. Reaching into my pocket, I unwrapped the last of my fortune cookies that I had brought along for a snack. Reading my last fortune, I had to laugh–Destiny or Karma really knew how to make a mere mortal laugh. . . . .How did she know?. . . .

IChanges brings positive vibes–embrace them.

I must say, Karma did recognize my mood at the beginning of my walk, but at the end–on the home stretch–I was feeling much more positive. Mother Nature, artists and things can change a person’s mood very quickly. and for the better. It was a fun walk and I had some great photos. .

I hope my Readers did too. . . . .Embrace your day with a smile—that’s Me, not the fortune cookie!

Telephone Robotics

Hubby and I detest AI with a passion. Hubby detests them because it upsets me so much that my baking suffers.

As for me, I do understand that AI can help sort out the mundane and lets a real person carry on with their real work, whatever that is. But in this 21st Century, why aren’t robots programmed better?

My phone company prides itself on “Customer Satisfaction.” I always visualized happy humans chatting with clients who had problems but these happy humans always knew the solution.

Really? To get to Customer Service and reach that “satisfaction” level, a human client has to first navigate past a Robot.

Robot: Hello–How may I help you today? Do you require “Home” or “Business?”

Me: Home please

Robot: Would you require assistance for Telephone, Internet or Cable?

Me: Telephone

Robot: What is the problem?

Me: Dead phone

Robot: Could you repeat that please? I do not understand.

Me: Phone has no connection.

Robot: I do not understand. Please repeat in simpler words.

Me: Phone. Died.

Robot: How may I help you?

Me: Need a real person

Robot: Please repeat

Me: Agent NOW

Robot: Sorry. Do you want Home or Business?

Me: AGENT

Robot: Perhaps I can help. What is your problem?

Me: AGENT ASAP

Robot: Please repeat

Me: AGENT YOU DUMBASS!

Robot: I believe you requested an agent. Is that for “Live Chat” or a call-back?

Me: CHAT YOU BLOCKHEAD!

Robot: I’m sorry. I do not understand. Please repeat.

(A heavy sigh from me . . .) Me: CHAT

Recently Hubby and I moved into the 21st Century with the installation of fibre optics and available Wifi in our home. The latest tuggle with AI was a message we discovered on the phone screen. We had a voice message. No problem. We accessed the voice mail with our usual access code. But we were stymied when a robot insisted on a second password to actually retrieve our message. Hubby and I looked at each other. Did we ever have a second password to hear our messages? Never.

This meant another call to our phone service. However, this time we chose the landline route and got into the right queue without the aid of a robot. Forty-five minutes later, we talked to a real human who understood our problem immediately. She set us up with access to our voice mail and with the option of changing the temporary password later to one we preferred.

By this time I was beginning to worry just how urgent this message was. If it turned out to be a marketing ploy, I was ready to stomp on the troublemaking message recorder and its artificial innards.

Hubby and I held our collective breaths while we made it through each successful step–tapped our usual coded access to the voice-mail; punched in our new secondary code to retrieve and finally hear our voice-mail.

A robotic voice announced: “Welcome to your new voice mail. I am the robot who will guide you through the easy steps of this tutorial to set up your new system. It will take only a few minutes of your time. Let’s begin by. . .

Welcomed to AI, whether you want it or not. It’s like waking up to a sci-fi where the robots have finally taken over the planet.

Searching for the Perfect Home

Feeling in a frivolous mood and what better way to express this. . . .to all the little girls who believe in fairies, elves and gnomes. . . .

Searching for a home is universal–whether for fairies, elves, gnomes or humans. It is the same requirements: location, location, location. And the price has to be reasonable.

If brand new, the right tree in the perfect location has to be selected and must answer the many questions asked by the potential buyer,

Is the entrance (hole) facing the right direction? Is it high enough for an excellent view? Would the architect be able to design a 3-bdrm/2-bath plus a small attachment for Grampa?

Or perhaps a penthouse with its private ladder access might appeal . . . .?

Then there are all the other choices available. Did the buyer want a fixer-upper? A handyman’s special? Or maybe just a fresh coat of paint? What about landscaping? A basement suite?

Or maybe a nice ready-to-move-in home—–complete with nicely painted steps and door, a tiny table and is that a mailbox to the left. . .?

And there’s always that very secluded stone mansion in the woods . . . . .

Add a handy-dandy “Beware of Gnomes” sign to ensure no trespassers come through the woods uninvited. . . . .

See, those Tiny Folks are just like us when it comes to house-hunting. . . . .

BUT when that perfect home is found, then the “Welcome” mat is the first thing to show “this is finally HOME!”

FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW

A brand new year always make me think of a fresh snowfall. It’s Day 5 of the new 2023, but I like to view my year as an unblemished canvas, free of footprints so far. It would be unthinkable to have anything marring the progress of a new beginning. However, this is real Life and Fate has a habit of intervening when least expected. And footprints tend to tread in unexpected places.

As the Holiday Season winds down, I started a search for frivolous, not-serious, fun facts that will put any thoughts of war, climate-change, Covid and other sobering thoughts aside for the moment.

The first gem was how to eat a croissant properly. I had never thought one way or the other how to tackle a flaky croissant. After all, flaky crumbs aside, devouring a freshly baked almond or chocolate croissant–even a plain one–warm from the oven, usually results in crumbs on your lap and on your plate. Well apparently, there is a protocol, written by Clarice Knelly, here is the link: https://www.msn.com/en-ca/travel/tripideas/how-to-eat-a-croissant-without-making-a-huge-mess/ar-AA15E2v7?ocid=msedgdhp&pc=U531&cvid=b50d7b75e7354b98d15af3da3f023b8b

Have you ever wondered what Astronauts nibble and nosh on up there in their space jammies? Me too. Guess what? According to the following link, heat resistant Hershey chocolates made a trip to the space station. Why “heat resistant?” Because silly–no one wants melted chocolates on their clean space suits. Here’s the link to “The Time Hershey’s Chocolate Went To The Moon.” https://www.msn.com/en-ca/foodanddrink/foodnews/the-time-hershey-s-chocolate-went-to-the-moon/ar-AA15C3LZ?ocid=msedgdhp&pc=U531&cvid=b50d7b75e7354b98d15af3da3f023b8b

I really love what people throw out on the Internet. Who hasn’t enjoyed unwrapping a Terry’s Orange Chocolate Ball? It is such a novelty to unwrap the orange foil, gently tap the round ball of chocolate and watch the ball fan out with chocolate slices. You’ll have to watch this brief video to see there is a purpose to a piece of the packaging—who would have thought? https://www.msn.com/en-ca/foodanddrink/foodnews/sorry-what-the-packaging-on-a-terry-s-chocolate-has-a-hidden-use/ar-AA15XMaa?ocid=msedgdhp&pc=U531&cvid=50eaebe7cb6349ce8bbb6a7f0fe18532

I saved this gem for last. Wouldn’t you love to impress family and friends by “sabering” the top off a bottle of bubbly. Click on this very helpful link. . .and apparently a sword/saber isn’t necessary. https://msn,com/en-ca/health/wellness/how-to-saber-a-bottle-of-champagne-using-a-sword-spoon-or-even-a-watch/ar-AA15GzKr?ocid=msedgdhp&pc=U531&cvid=50eaebe7cb6349ceBbbb6a7f0fe18532

Hopefully, I’ve plunged us into 2023 with smiles and a bucket of useful information. After all, not everyone knows how to eat a croissant properly or sabering off the top of a bottle of bubbly. . . . .

CHRISTMAS IS. . . . .

“Christmas isn’t a season, it’s a feeling.” Edna Ferber

“Maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store, maybe Christmas perhaps means a little bit more.” Dr. Seuss

Christmas is a gathering of family and friends; the comfort and warmth of home and hearth; the sharing of the joy and pleasures of the Holiday Season. It is the sound of excited children and laughter; the special smells of pine trees, roasting turkeys, the spicy scent of mince tarts and gingerbread; colorful holly and chrysanthemums including boisterous renditions of familiar carols are all part of the Holiday scene.

It is a kaleidoscope of Christmases past and new Christmas memories of ones yet to come.

Thank you for following my blog. I have been fortunate meeting new friends who have discovered me as well as the encouragement of old friends whose humorous and observant comments are always welcome.

One of my Christmas cards said exactly what I feel: “May this Christmas warm your heart with Hope and light your World with Love.”

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE. MAY 2023 BE A YEAR OF HAPPINESS, GOOD HEALTH AND YOUR YEAR TO SHINE AND PROSPER. . . .

LESS IS MORE. . .OR MAYBE NOT

Since the Covid isolation tentatively ended, I’ve noticed friends and family have looked more well-rounded, if you get my drift. Perhaps social interactions–pre-Covid–were often linked to group exercise and snacks, so the enforced self-isolation still linked to snacks, but without the closeness of social activities.

I have a theory about myself. There were no mini-donuts because the weekly Farmers’ Markets, the Arts and Crafts shows, the Collectible Car shows and all the other stuff that brings on the mini-donut carts were all cancelled for 2 long years. I should have been cured of mini-donuts and should have emerged, at least svelte, even if I was still short.

It didn’t work that way–at least, my Fairy Godmother didn’t make it happen.

You know that old saying, “If one addiction flies out the window, another will fly in”?

Well, I discovered a cookie that was so disgustingly healthy, that I can’t believe Hubby and I are devouring them. These cookies are dairy-free, gluten-free and vegan. AND, it shouldn’t have been delicious, but it was.

On one of my long walks, I had stopped to buy some fresh fruit and a bag of Rebel’s Peanut Butter cookies. The Chocolate Chip, the Cashew Butter and the Triple Chocolate with Walnuts slots were empty. There was a bag of White Chocolate with Macadamia Nuts left as well as a couple of bags of Cranberry Oatmeal, but I snagged the last bag of Peanut Butter and eternally grateful that I did. The taste buds were happily saturated with that real peanut butter flavour. And, the cookies were healthy.

Hubby tried one and declared it “O-kay,” which is equivalent to my enthusiastic “a Keeper!”

I tried to remember which store along which route that I got these scrumptious cookies from. None of the stores I returned to had any and no one recognized the brand-name.

I resorted to logical thinking. Selling a cookie that was dairy-free, gluten-free and vegan to boot would need a specific market, so I tackled the organic markets next. The first one I checked carried the Rebel brand but they were waiting for their next shipment that had been delayed by transportation problems. Having the bakery on the Mainland and living on an Island had its drawbacks. But being a resourceful person, motivated by the craving of having my cookie now, I remembered there was a second outlet enroute home. At that store, the new shipment had already been delivered so I got my bags of Peanut Butter, Chocolate Chip and Triple Chocolate with Walnuts.

Hey, you didn’t think I was going to miss out on the chocolate ones, did you? I had checked the list of ingredients and all the chocolate was dark and the chocolate chips were real dark chocolate and not carob. Hubby and I unanimously voted that these were all “keepers.” The best part is I know where to get more when the cookie jar is empty. . . without turning my oven on.

HOTDOGS AND MINI-DONUTS

I think it’s because an American, Joey Chestnut, won his 15th Nathan Hot Dog eating contest that I even contemplated the thought of having a hot dog for lunch. After all, anyone who can successfully defend his dubious title “Hot Dog King” by gulping down 63 of them of them in 10 minutes—that’s buns and weiners—deserves to have little ol’ me eating at least one. However, Mr. Chestnut must be slipping a tad as last year, he woofed down 76 of them dogs.

But another short article caught my eye , as it too mentioned Joey Chestnut. This time Canadians in Regina, Saskatchewan would be the lucky ones to see Joey in action. He was going to compete in the “Celebrity Mini-Donut” contest in August. Competitors would have to be very good to beat Joey’s world record of chomping down 220 mini-donuts in 8 minutes.

My brain tried to figure out how anyone could possibly force that many mini donuts down their gullet without spewing them back out. My other question was why anyone would want to do that—speed eating specific foods in x number of minutes.

I think everyone is a bit competitive. Back in his youthful days, my neighbour Big Al would recall the good times he and his bowling buddies had every Tuesday night. The “Alley Cats” would compete to see who would end up with the most strikes that night and then celebrated by attempting to outdrink Sweeney Muldoon with pitchers of beer. Sweeney was built like a beer barrel and had the ability to hold his beers. It was a weekly challenge when Sweeney happily guzzled all the free beer he could while each of his competitors fell like 10 pins

We probably all grew up being competitive in various degrees. My hairdresser’s twins, Charlie and Arlie were born competitive. I remember when a very pregnant Liz would suddenly wince when she was clipping my hair.

“Oh no, you didn’t clip a finger did you?

“No, one of the twins just kicked me and the other one kicked back even harder!” See, it starts in the womb.

But back to Joey Chestnut. Who is he and why does he do what he does? Good ol’ Google blabbed everything—at least the juicy bits. . . .

Joey Chestnut is 38 years old, 6 feet tall and when competing, his weight hovers between 225 to 240 pounds. He started competing in 2005 when he gulped down 12 pounds of deep-fried asparagus spears in 10 minutes, beating out his competitors. Major League Eating, an organization that arranges eating competitions ranked Joey as the world’s best eater.

Joey’s diet is not a healthy one but it certainly is a diverse one. A few of his world championships includes devouring 7.61 pounds of buffalo chicken wings in 12 minutes; swallowing 141 hard-boiled eggs in 8 minutes; bolting down 55 glazed donuts in 8 minutes; gulping 390 shrimp wontons in 8 minutes; consuming 121 Twinkies in 6 minutes; shoving down 47 grilled cheese sandwiches in 10 minutes and chomping 32 Big Mac sandwiches in 38 minutes.

I didn’t want to know how he trained for each event and I definitely didn’t want to view any YouTube videos of what he looked like galloping through the competitions. I just know it wasn’t a pretty sight.

“The Sun” reported that , as a professional speed eater, Joey supposedly makes $500,000 annually—a very small portion from the eating contests with most from endorsing various products and brands. One of his past endorsements was for Pepto Bismol. Joey also has his own brand of condiments.

I salute this 38 year old for staying off the bread-lines and finding his own niche in this amazing world we live in. But looking over Joey’s list of unhealthy successes, I hope he switches to another vocation in the near future. It would be nice to think of Joey enjoying his success while he is still young and relatively healthy.

As for me, sharing my bag of hot mini-donuts dipped in cinnamon sugar was a lot more fun to savour and took much longer than 8 minutes to eat a baker’s dozen.

MEN AND CARS

Several Readers have requested this blast from the past as they remembered how much their little boys loved their cars when they were toddlers and still love their cars as adults.

I’ve often been baffled by men and their cars. Don’t get me wrong —I adore any male who knows how to handle an ornery car. That takes talent and artistry and a confident craftsman to deal with automotive problems. I’ve seen calm, gentle men go into shock-mode when confronted with the family car—battered and scraped from the war-zone of a shopping mall parking lot.

Me? I just want my car to take me from Point A to Point B without any hassles. And yes, returned safely too, without any new battle scars from careless shopping carts.

I have seen baby boys grasp their teddy bears and their tiny cars. It’s hard to say if the tiny cars take precedence over Teddy but you can bet your accelerator that the cars play a large part in their genetics.

My stepson has always been attracted to cars. Ever since I knew him as a sixteen year old car junkie, he always had his head under the hood and his hands near the engine, dealing with some doohickey that didn’t sound right, while his girlfriend obligingly stepped on the gas pedal for him. When my grandson was barely old enough to cling to the coffee table, he had a tiny toy car in his hand, making that sound like an engine revving up as he circled around the table. I remembered that because our table still has the grooves his tiny car made as he laughed and made car noises.

I am convinced that all baby boys have a genetic gene labeled “cars/trucks.” Little girls aren’t born with this gene even though they do learn about cars from their dads and/or brothers. But little boys are definitely born with the car/truck gene.

At Home Depot, I’ve seen those shopping carts with the miniature cars attached to the front. While little girls ride like princesses, little boys as young as 14-months, instinctively turn the steering wheel, push buttons , pull levers and honk the horn. See, it’s in their genetics.

Two blocks from our condo, there’s a huge construction site on the corner. A little guy, not quite 2 years old, was totally mesmerized by the huge bull-dozer tearing up the corner lot and tossing huge shovelfuls of dirt into the back of a waiting dump-truck. He had such a gleeful expression on his face by simply watching the action across the street. I’ve seen that same expression on a 4-year old who watched the fire-truck pull into the library parking lot. When the fireman noticed the little tyke’s fascination, he asked the little boy if he would like to come and sit beside him. I have never seen a little face beam so joyfully.

Try this on any 6-months old baby boy—hold a toy car in one hand and a soft stuffy in the other. Watch which one his eyes travel to first, At least 90% of the time, he’ll reach for the toy car. Congratulations–you have probably activated his car/truck gene and set the wheels in motion. Darn it, how can you not love a dedicated male and his car?

A SPRINGTIME JAUNT AROUND MY NEIGHBOURHOOD

When I start my early morning jaunts around my neighbourhood, I often have no idea where my route will take me. I follow my adventurous feet and discover corners and areas I never knew existed. A cedar chip path, off a residential street, led me through a grove of trees. Who would have known this existed except for the locals who lived close by?

With this pandemic heading into its second summer, people have tended to their homes and gardens with much more attention. Some neighbourhood streets have undergone transformations that brings a cheerful ambiance to their area. One street had talented artists who painted utility poles to show that Life doesn’t stop because of a virus.

Some homes are unique in creating spaces with a welcoming hospitality. . . . . .

Some homes choose to have unusual ornaments mysteriously hidden behind the foliage or in plain view.

Others choose to have an eye-catching entrance to their home.

Palm trees always make an impressive entrance and Victoria can certainly boast of palm trees popping up here and there. After all, we are the Banana Belt of Canada, especially in the winters and springs.

My feet are now on the final hill and homeward bound. The magnificent magnolias, in their creamy whites and pale pinks unfurl their petals in the various gardens I pass. But, it’s the stunning deep pinks of the small magnolia trees outside the grocer, that captures my attention.

Almost home and a few specially crafted “free lending libraries” are spotted along the route.

Down a sunny path and I’m finally home—another fun walk to Nowhere. . . . . . . .