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“Keep Your Knees Dirty”

I had an epiphany today, and not a wonderful one either. It was actually a bit disappointing, to tell the truth.

My Philosophy: If you have enough nice big perennials, the weeds won’t have any room to grow!

I was outdoors this morning, working up a flowerbed, and as I spaded, pulled out stray grass and weeds, and worked up the dirt, it dawned on me that I really hate gardening. Continue reading ““Keep Your Knees Dirty””

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Holding Hands Across the King-size Bed.

A funny thing has happened to my daughter’s children. It would appear that they’ve fallen in love with their great-grandparents. The older I get, the more I realize how unique it is that these kids should even know their great-grandparents, let alone have more than a passing interest in them. At the same time, my heart breaks with those who have lost their own parents, and I feel a certain amount of guilt that I still have both of mine.

I was acquainted with two of my great-grandmothers. They were both nice women whom I saw occasionally, but that’s it. I only recall them as onlookers at the edge of family events, and I seldom spoke to them directly, unless prompted. It would never have occurred to me to snuggle up beside them on the sofa, nor would I have wanted to spend time with them on my own, without my parents around. That’s why I’m both surprised and delighted by the fact that my grandchildren love to see my parents — their great-grandparents — whom they call Grandpa and Grandma. (We’re Pop and Nan.) Continue reading “Holding Hands Across the King-size Bed.”

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Skip Was My Favourite.

No cage now, Stella. You can relax in front of the fire.

I have a dog named Stella. She’s a lovely little thing — a seven pound Maltese rescue from a puppy mill — and I’m happy to have saved her from a life of pumping out puppies for a ruthless breeder. As special as Stella is though, my favourite will always be my first dog, good old Skip. However, to be entirely honest, I have to tell you that Skip was actually my second dog, the first having had a very brief existence. Continue reading “Skip Was My Favourite.”

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Peanut Butter Problems

You’d be forgiven for thinking that these are the usual clear plastic peanut butter jars.

I wonder if I’m the only person with their knickers in a knot over Kraft’s decision to stop making family size peanut butter jars out of clear plastic?

If you don’t buy this size or brand, you’d never notice the change. They blend right in with the myriad choices on the shelves, (See Help! TMI, posted several weeks ago) and unless you opened the lid and dipped in, you’d be none the wiser. Look at the picture. See what I mean? The two jars sitting here both appear to be full, right? Wrong. Continue reading “Peanut Butter Problems”

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To market, to market …

Not long ago I got thinking about the time when my grandparents had a stand at the St. Lawrence Market in Toronto. It was a mysterious, far-away place to me, where truckloads of produce, loaded up the evening before, magically disappeared.

When I was seven or eight, Granny allowed me to go with her and Granddad to the market for the first time. In those days, the north market was a vast building with soaring ceilings and drafts everywhere. Granny kept a little kerosene stove behind their stand for warmth, and I’m happy to have that little heater now.

Continue reading “To market, to market …”
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All in together, girls; such fine weather girls …

When we have typical early spring weather — bright, beautiful sunshine with a sharp, clear breeze — it makes me think of the games we used to play at school when the snow was finally gone and the weather started to warm up. One sure sign of spring in our schoolyard was skipping ropes.

The school provided long, heavy, woven cotton ropes that were just right for skipping as a group. The rope would start turning and we’d begin chanting, “All .. all .. all ..” continuing until everyone except the two turners had “jumped in”, and then we began the rhyme.

This is the kind of skipping ropes we used.

All in together, girls, such fine weather, girls;

When we call your birthday, please run out!

January, February, March …

and each person would exit on their birthday. The game lasted until December — or until someone’s foot caught on the rope. Continue reading “All in together, girls; such fine weather girls …”