FACE IT & stop defacing it!

Dirty, spoiled-rotten Hamiltonians, from what I’ve been seeing, have been doing this to their own beloved city, just as I witnessed, first-hand, at around 10:30 this morning. It began as one of those a.m.’s that I kinda like – the wet & gloomy kind, with a bit of Springtime tickling the air. I was waiting for the bus for maybe about 2 minutes, when city workers pulled up in a white City of Hamilton truck, and I couldn’t help but immediately notice how one of them was wearing dark glasses, like those kinds you see the guys in that movie, Men In Black, wearing. So, as I smiled to myself, faintly amused, I then focused on what they could possibly be up to.

They emerged from their vehicle, & looked at the refuse on the walks, including a variety of mucky stones, then began to gather something that looked like rakes, & I also noticed a few dark lake green (don’t know what else to call the colour, folks) garbage bags in the back of their truck.

My bus pulled up a few minutes later, and after I seated myself, while still thinking about this most awful job for these people at this time of year, & looking out of the window during the ride uptown, I could not help but notice (and to my dismay, I might add here), the vast amount of rubbish scattered haphazardly about on the walkways & in the gutters, then thought to myself, “how the heck are these 2 guys gonna pull off this job today, for such a long stretch of at least 20 to 30 blocks”?… or so it appeared to me.

Slapshot Lawn Rake (one of the greatest inventions known to humankind)

Wayelle (and wayil, because I ain’t prejudiced, I hope you know), don’t you all think it’s about time Hamiltonians put 1^st things 1^st…

as in,

get off of their mostly obese, lazy asses (I’m afraid to say, from what I’ve been seeing nowadays) and make a fresh start in picking up their own trash, when it’s mostly their fast-food wrappers we are finding ourselves faced with!? 

Heck, now I know why they call this rubbish refuse… because everyone seems to be refusing to clean up their own acts!

 

I also noticed an advertising sign at King & Emerald, with a Tim Horton’s slogan on it that is so bloody ironic with respect to what I’m talking about here, you’ve just got to there & take a look at it yourselves! I’m afraid you’re going to have to do the legwork as I don’t have uploading cords handy to show you my shots but I’ll flag some oldie-but-goodies down for you later. 

On a lighter note, before I say goodbye to blogging for the day, I’d just like to give the 5-star award to the mostly European-owned storefronts, buildings & public walkways out front of ’em, beginning immediately west of Wellington St. right up to King & James. It’s extremely impressive – good show, people!

A Woman Who Wore The Pants Quite Well

Never mind flying by the seat of your pants, folks! This lady I’m about to briefly tell you about takes on a whole new meaning where it concerns women wearing the pants, in my eyes.

I recently heard that Amelia Earhart’s remains were found on an island (I believe) almost 75 yrs after she mysteriously disappeared. Apparently a Canadian scientist is using DNA extracted from her personal belongings to determine that the place where they found them is definitely where Amelia had been left to rest  for almost a century now.  Earhart (pronounced AIR-hart) was born Jul 24, 1897 & went missing Jul 2, 1937. She was a noted American aviation pioneer & author. Earhart was the first lady to receive the U.S. Distinguished Flying Cross, awarded for becoming the first aviatrix to fly solo across the Atlantic. She set many other records, wrote best-selling books about her flying experiences and was instrumental in the formation of The Ninety-Nines, an organization for female pilots. Earhart joined the faculty of the world-famous Purdue University aviation department in 1935, as a visitor, to help counsel women on careers, as well as inspire others with her love for aviation. She was also a member of the National Woman’s Party, plus an early supporter of the Equal Rights Amendment.

Amelia Earhart - one of the most fiercely determined, daring & influential women in world history

 

 

NOTE: most of the info about Amelia that I have posted here (which I have somewhat reworded &/or edited) I have copied from the Wikipedia website… & thank-you for it, Jimmy Wales 🙂

Cut-Outs from the Sunday Sun

I’ve seen plenty of them, believe me… especially in guys’ garages. I, myself, like to read it all the way through while striving to find the best story that is most worthy of being snipped out & shared with people, such as this one I found from last Sunday’s Toronto Sunday Sun. FYI ~ I did remove the Sunday girl of the day – but only to cover up a horrid looking mark on someone’s door (haha).

Anyhoo, here is article I am typing out in full today to get some practise in data entry, seeing as how my capabilities still lie mostly there, for if I leave my arm flat-out on the table, I really have not much of a problem physically, so I best be making full use of my talents, wouldn’t you say?

HONOURING CANADIAN TROOPS IN LIFE, NOT IN DEATH

by Mercedes Stephenson

I will never forget the young Canadian medic who sat across from me in a light armoured vehicle (LAV) barely more than a year ago as we rumbled across the Afghan countryside.

He was “kitted out”, as soldiers say, like the Michelin man.

Every free inch of space on his torso was covered in medical supplies.

He was carrying so much stuff you could barely see his uniform on the top half of his body.

There was an important reason for every single item. A lifesaving reason.

Scissors, he explained, to cut through the tough fabric of uniforms to get to deadly wounds quickly; large tubes designed to be shovedf into collapsed and bleeding lungs after an IED inflicts the horrific injuries on a body; and tourniquets (never used in Canada but always in Afghanistan) to stop the bleeding from lost legs and arms.

Tourniquets swayed between us as we sat across from each other. They hung from a long metal beams running the length of the LAV, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

Literally as in-your-face reminder of the constant danger that lurks on these roads.

As he explained the purpose of each piece of equipment to me, it was clear his sophistacted and extensive medical knowledge would have made many a Canadian emergency room doctor jealous. This extraordinary young man had probably treat more traumatic injuries, and more severe injuries, than some ERs see.

Capable hands

It was frankly reassuring to be in the presence of such capable and healing hands knowing we were in such a high-risk situation. Solideriers love and protect their medics, and after spending time with this extraordinary young man, I could appreciate why on more than a cold intellectual level.

His emotional maturity and depth was humbling and moving. Sitting across from someone several years younger than tyou but more than a thousand times braver has a way of putting your own piddly accomplishments in perspective.

His intensivty, compassion and personal sense of responsiblity, tempered (PAUSE, I’m soooo tired because I’m speed-typing this for the very 1st stab in a long time – no pun intended here, folks) with his tremendous professionallism and street smarts, were an incredibla combination and we are fortunate to have it in abundance i Canadian troops.

When he recalled past victories and the agony of  defeat as he fought to save lives in the mud and blood, the realization I was sitting across from someone who absolutely deserved to be described as a hero was clear.

Like most heroes, he would tell you that he is not one. That he just did his job. That he wishes he could have done it better and saved more people. Because that’s what he told me.

Canadian medics don’t just save Canadian lives. They regularly rescue Afghan civilians and even treat injured Taliban on the battlefield.

Unmatched humanity

The moral fortitude of people fresh from battle able to treat a foe with a humanity they would never extend to our soldiers under the same conditions speaks volumes of the kind of people who wear our uniform.

A year ago, I sat in the back of a LAV with a group of fierce and determined Canadian soldiers from the Calgary Highlanders and Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry.

They risked their lives to protect mine. They put on the uniform to risk their lives to protect yours too – this entire country as a matter of act. Yet so rarely do we talk about the peo9ple prepared to lay their lives down for yours.

I azskwed a few of them that day for their opinion of media coverage of the war. They told me they were bothered by the focus on how people died, rather than how they lived. Many a Canadian soldier had saved a life in the day, before theirs was taken, yet it was never mentioned on the 11 p.m. news.

It is time this country honoured our soldiers by how they live and what they do – like that incredible young medic – not just the way they die.

(finito in 9 minutoes, with mega errors – but it’s worth publishing right away 😉

Das Schneeglöckchen

Hearty Snowbells via Expats in Italy

 

Ich wünsche dir die Lebenskraft dieser Blume, die sich von Kälte,
Eis und Schnee nicht unterkriegen läßt und zu ihrer Zeit blüht.
Jedes Werden in der Natur, im Menschen, in der Liebe, muß abwarten,
geduldig sein, bis seine Zeit zum Blühen kommt.

The first thing that gets into the Spring of things

Vanilla Crescents

 

This is a recipe (handwritten by my Austrian grandmother) for one of the most delicate, melt-in-your-mouth, heavenly cookies you will ever find on the face of the planet.

Omi's Vanilla Kipferl Rezept

When I found this not too long ago, pressed into one of my recipe books, I became very excited, because these treats are one of my all-time faves… and also my friends’ (now) as well.

Way back when I was a little kid, we used to grind the walnuts, after cracking them out of their shells, thru a very old-fashioned heavy-duty grinder, and roll the dough out on fine old cloths – which are still my preferred choice of working material (no pun intended).

The secret to perfect crescents is using a brand new non-stick baking pan & also a good tool to gently lift the cookies before cooling ON THE PAN & then gently folding the vanilla sugar & icing sugar mixture over them without breaking them. It is quite an art, & requires swift yet delicate strokes. People who don’t possess the knack or patience for making horseshoe types of shapes often just opt to making round thimble sizes or finger lengths with them, as shown in this example of these cute buttons made by a baker in our local market… but they don’t seem to come close in taste to my grandmother’s or mine, for that matter, now that I’ve developed the expertise to make them perfectly – and how I know this is by the way that everyone gobbles plates & plates of them up, without even thinking to save any or how many dozen they’ve consumed! They are truly addictive.

Similar market-purchased cookies

NOTE:

At the bottom of the cookie recipe above is

the ingredients for an excellent cake & the secret to a moist cake is beating the mixture for a long time.

 

Happy baking, everyone! Don’t forget to hide a few plates of them somewhere (hahaha).

Those of Us From Dysfunctional Families Who Pool Together

 

Thank-you, my GOOD friends, for rescuing me,
time & time again, from my never-ending ongoing plight
I’ve been having with my family.
I truly believe if they weren’t the root cause of dysfunctionality,
I would be a much better person right now.

I am not upset anymore now, or am I even sad.
I am happy I have people who care about me & love me.
All I know is that I have tons of love to give & I’m giving it…
to those who matter to me & who need it badly.
Again, I thank every single one of you friends
who have gone out of your way to help me.
Life goes on

What goes around will come around.
I’ve worked my ass off for nothing all these years & paid my dues.
Now I’m clean…
the worst thing I’ve done in my eyes is mistreat my husband.
We have patched things up.
How about the rest of you dickwads?
STOP picking on me & straighten out your own acts!

I am in pain every day, plus my right arm is very weak,
from being stabbed down to the bone almost…
about 1 mm away from losing all feeling,
yet I do way more than a lot of people who are 100% healthy.
Go figure & go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut.
I’m done with pissants.

It’s funny (actually it’s not),
how I had every friend in the world
when I was making almost 50 geez a year.
Go figure (no pun intended)

 

Silly Lawsuits

I just gotta laugh, after reading another one of MSN’s silly headlines, Pay Up – Weirdest Lawsuits Ever, because I’m remembering the time I worked for lawyers way back when, & a woman could hardly wait for her cheque to arrive, after launching a court battle against her boyfriend for running over her toe. After pestering me several times for days on end with phone-calls, inquiring about her pay-out, she arrived immediately when I told her it finally arrived (and within minutes, I might add here), to pick it up. When I handed her the envelope, she then more or less announced to me (as her & I were the only ones present in the office), “NOW I CAN BUY A CASE OF BEER”.

How Canadian can it get, folks?

Why A Husband Might Never Come Back When He Goes For An Ice Cream

 

The already frustrated bitch of a wife takes bad days home with her

He may have left the cap off the toothpaste or the toilet seat down

 

These are more or less the same reasons why I broke up with my last boyfriend & it’s not because I scolded him either, but rather did everything in my power to make him happy, just like my ex-partner of 12 years tried his best to do for me, and if I may add here, the only husband who ever allowed me the right to exercise my freedom of choice, honoured me, accepted my individualism, paid attention to me (& my endeavours outside of the bedroom), protected my best interests, & helped me to succeed in life – which, in fact, I did more throughout that relationship than I ever have in my adulthood.

I hope this teaches ALL of the friends I’ve come to know in my lifetime a very worthwhile lesson. If I can learn the hard way & teach others how damaging & destructive emotional & verbal abuse is to not only a relationship but most importantly to a person’s health & self-esteem, then I truly believe I’m all growed up now… finally! WHEW!!!

Timeless Yet Timely

 

I often think about history repeating itself, to no avail, & when I was restless the other night (even though I was tired from labouring), I picked up a favourite Margaret Atwood novel that was written in 1983 – almost 3 decades ago, and when I read the following 2 pages, I was struck with another profound realization that my suspicions are correct with regards to how slow humanity is really progressing, as opposed to science:

     She collects her camera, just in case, and Dr. Minnow ushers her to his car. It’s a maroon Fiat with an ominous dent in the left fender. When Rennie is strapped in, Dr. Minnow turns to her with a grin that verges on slyness. “There are things more useful for you to see,” he says. “We will go there first”.

     They drive, alarmingly fast, along the main street, away from the bankers’ end. The road ceases to be mostly paved and becomes mostly unpaved; now they’re in the market. The signs are still up here and there but the orange-crate platforms are gone.

     Dr. Minnow hasn’t slowed down as much as Rennie thinks he ought to. People stare at them, some smile, Dr. Minnow has rolled down his window and is waving. Voices call to him, he answers, everyone seems to know who he is.

     Palms press flat against the windshield. “We for you,” someone shouts. “The fish live!”

     Rennie’s beginning to be worried. The crowd around the car is too thick, it’s blocking the car, not all these people are smiling.  Dr. Minnow honks his horn and revs the engine and they move forward.

     “You didn’t tell me you were still in politics,” Rennie says.

     “Everyone is in politics, my friend,” says Dr. Minnow, “All the time. Not like the sweet Canadians.”

They turn uphill, away from the centre of the town. Rennie grips the edge of the seat, her hands sweating, as they careen along the road, barely two lanes and switchbacked up a steep hill. She looks at the ocean, which is below them now, too far below. The view is spectacular.

They bump at a forty-give degree angle trough an arched stone gateway. “Fort Industry”, says Dr. Minnow. “Very historical, built by the English. You will want to take some pictures.” There’s a field of sorts, rutted partially dried mud with a little grass growing on it, and a number of tents, not tents really, pieces of canvas held up by poles.  Dr. Minnow parks the car on the near side of the tents and gets out, so Rennie gets out too.

Even outside there’s a smell of bodies, of latrines and lime and decaying food. There are mattresses under the canvas roofs, most without sheets. Clothing is piled on the beds and hangs from ropes running from pole to pole. Between the tents are cooking fires; the ground around them is littered with utensils, pots, tin plates, pans. The people here are mostly women and young children. The children play in the mud around the tents, the women sit in the shade in their cotton dresses, talking together and paring vegatables.

     “They from the hurricane,” says Dr. Minnow softly. “The government have the money to rebuild their houses, the sweet Canadians send it to them. Only it has not yet happened, you understand.”