Welcome to the Funhouse!

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle

2010-08-13T12:29:00.000-04:00

If there is one thing I take seriously, it is recycling. When you've been brought up in a household of nine people, you are taught from early on that nothing gets wasted and almost everything gets reused.
Food scraps go into the compost for the vegetable garden, old cardboard boxes become toy castles, and old clothes make great cleaning rags.
When I moved to the big city, it seemed as though all that had changed. People threw out perfectly good appliances and furniture just because they were redecorating and the old stuff was taking up room. Fortunately, in the last few years, going green has become the latest rage. Everyone recycles to some extent, whether it's newspapers or just bottles. Blue boxes have sprouted up in every neighbourhood, even the ritzier ones, and suddenly urban gardening is in (to use up all that lovely compost!)
Since Hubby and I are doing some renovations to our house, I of course had to look for used articles that could be reused for our purposes. Why buy something brand-new, with built-in obsolescence, when a gently-used item will work?
That being said, living in an older building creates a few challenges. For instance, the bathroom medicine cabinet, which is mirrored, is an odd size that none of the stores seemed to carry. Then there was the matter of having to renovate the entire bathroom in order to install a larger (or smaller) cabinet because ceramic tiles needed to be cut or replaced.
After much hunting, I found a ready-to-assemble cabinet without mirrors which could be made to fit on the adjoining wall. The problem lay in finding a mirror which then could cover the area where the former cabinet was, so that no major retiling needed to be done. Well, again after much hunting, I tracked down a mirror at Ikea that would do if we framed it.
In the meantime, however, ever since I moved into the house, I've had my eye on the neighbourhood curbsides for materials thrown out after renovations. Since most of the townhouses are identical, it stands to reason that what fits in one would fit in another. Needless to say, after six years, nary a medicine cabinet had been discarded.
The day before I planned to buy the new mirror, I happened to spy what looked suspiciously like a medicine cabinet propped up against a neighbour's wall. What to do? Should I knock on their door and ask if they were planning to throw it out?
I decided that might be a bit bold, and the best plan would be to wait until the night before the trash was collected, nip down to the neighbour's curb, and check if the cabinet was there. So...just after dark, I slunk there, looked around carefully, and spied....a perfectly good medicine cabinet. Hefting its weight in my arms, I trotted off back to my house.
Now came the most important part---were the dimensions right?! Sure enough, with a bit of ingenious carpentry, it would fit exactly where the old cabinet was recessed into the wall.
After it was installed (by Hubby), I felt very proud of myself; not only had I saved myself some money, I had prevented another item going into a landfill, and to top it off, would be able to recycle some of the materials from the old cabinet!
It's all in a day's work for a veteran recycler!

You Know You're Dutch When...

2010-07-26T20:15:00.002-04:00

There is a saying that goes, "If you're not Dutch, you're not much!" Of course, it is only said by the Dutch...
With a nod to my own heritage, here is a list of what constitutes being truly Dutch (even if you were born outside the country!):

The temperature is so low in your house that two sweaters is a bare minimum if you want to be remotely warm.
You open the freezer and are excited to find a container of ice cream, only to open it and discover it's full of homemade soup or 'stamppot'.
You were green long before it was popular.
You love sauerkraut, especially when it is mixed with mashed potatoes and sliced Oktoberfest sausages.
You get a chocolate letter every year for Christmas.
You know that Gouda is the best cheese ever.
You have cousins who are over 6'4" and wear size 13 shoes.
You love the colour orange.
Your Oma had a calendar with everyone's birthdays and wedding anniversaries spelled out in capital letters. Bonus points if it hangs in the bathroom!
Sometimes you forget the English names for such things as living room, sugar, grandfather, and grandmother.
You have soup and open-faced sandwiches for Sunday lunch.
You have never met half the relatives at your family reunion.
Why recycle when you can just re-use!
You have at least one pair of wooden shoes in your house.
You make the bed in your hotel room.
When looking in the fridge, you never trust that the yogurt or margarine containers contain what the label says.
You have trouble shopping for hats... There should be at least two sizes: "One size fits all" and "Dutch".
All your aunties are bigger (and often tougher) than your uncles.

In The Eye of the Beholder

2010-07-22T20:01:00.002-04:00

Earlier this week Hubby and I set off on a mission for used kitchen cabinets, little knowing that the ultimate reward would not be the cabinets, but something else entirely different.

We had made an appointment to view the items at an address in one of the most beautiful and old parts of the city. When I checked the coordinates of the address, I realized that it was a church, or rather its presbytery!
The church itself from the outside was very typical of the ecclesiastical architecture of the early 20th century--in this case, of the year 1901. The exterior was massive, built of stone with a barrel vault structure, and had numerous stained glass windows. But the real surprise lay within... Exquisitely carved Honduran walnut and Carrera marble, inlaid coloured marble scenes, as well as the largest intact fresco in North America, dazzled the eye and amazed beyond belief. Thirty years of labour by many artisans from Florence, Italy were needed to finish the interior restoration which was originally the dream of the local parish priest who, upon visiting Florence, admired the churches there so much that his dream was to recreate a little something of that in his own church.

The caretaker/historian/tour guide was only too happy to give us a private viewing and tell part of the story. It intrigued us so much that we have decided to take the official tour some time in the future.

Take a look at this small glimpse of what we saw...

frescoed ceiling and carved marble (Photo: Thierry Marcoux)

pipe organ and carved railings (Photo: Thierry Marcoux)

pipe organ (Photo: Thierry Marcoux)

streetside view of Eglise St-Leon (Photo:Fondation du patrimoine religieux du Québec - 2003)

McGee's Inn, Ottawa, Ontario

2010-07-17T20:33:00.002-04:00

memorabilia on second floor landing

third floor hallway next to our room

a very private screened porch just for our use

soothing and comfortable room

a writing desk tucked into a corner

view onto screened porch

stepping back in time

another view of the porch - even room for the kiddies!

Commonwealth and other memorabilia

History and Nostalgia

2010-07-14T20:39:00.003-04:00

With all that has been going on in our family within the last few months, my mind has increasingly turned to thoughts of family history. On my mother's side, a cousin has spent many years compiling an exhaustive genealogy, complete with old photos and stories. It has been a labour of love for him and we have all benefited from it.
On my father's side, a family tree has been created dating all the way back to the time of no surnames. Like so many others, people were named after their fathers, or where they lived, or what their occupations were. Being of Dutch ancestry, my ancestors go by names like deBoer (the farmer) and Bosch (from the bush).
Reading the family genealogies is a litany of recurring names that sound strange to North American ears--Auke, Sippe, Gretje, Trientje.
With all of that information available, you'd think I would know all that there was to know about my grandparents and great-grandparents. Not at all. While leafing through family papers in search of dog registration papers, I discovered a folder with newspaper clippings and letters from the World War II years and beyond.
One of my aunts had written a very moving letter on the occasion of my grandfather's funeral, which I had never seen or read. Feeling a bit like a voyeur, I could not help but peek.
I had always been told that my maternal grandfather had sheltered people from the cities in Holland that had been bombed during the war, such as Amsterdam. There were even two paintings of the ancestral home made by a grateful artist who had stayed with him and his family.
But what I discovered made me see my grandfather in a whole new light. The people he sheltered were not just city dwellers, they were Jewish... While everyone knows how dangerous that was during the war years, and while there were many such brave people in Europe who did exactly the same, I had never known this about my Pake. He was a gentle, unassuming, modest man who never trumpeted what he had done.
With tears streaming down my face, I mentally thanked him for the extremely brave and courageous feat of helping to save those who were hunted down and killed during the Holocaust. How many other families may not know how brave their parents and grandparents were?

Down Memory Lane

2010-07-06T08:29:00.001-04:00

On Saturday, Hubby and I left behind the noise and grit of our city to head off to the noise and grit of another city. We were celebrating belatedly our wedding anniversary, and I had the brilliant thought that it would be so romantic to stay in a bed and breakfast overnight. Taking the advice of someone who had stayed at McGee's Inn in Ottawa last year, I took the plunge and booked a reservation for one night. My only regret now is that we could not stay a second or third or fourth night...

The B & B was on one of those streets lined with beautiful old homes dating back to the late 1800's--some brick Victorians, others made of stone. This one was built in 1883, with three stories of Victorian brick, twelve-foot ceilings, Tuscan columns, and some gorgeous antiques. It has taken the family who owns it seven full years to restore it to the state in which I saw it, and apparently it is still a work in progress.

The colour photo of Room #18 on the inn's website was what captivated me at first sight. Think pale green wallpaper, original wood mouldings, quilts, an antique desk and best of all, a private screened-in porch on which to relax or entertain guests. Call me nostalgic if you will, but let me enjoy a trip into the gentler past.

Breakfast was the cherry on top; with a choice of raspberry crepes with whipped cream, ham and cheese omelettes with farm sausages, or eggs Benedict with sausages, you could not go wrong. Everything was fresh and delicious and served by friendly waitresses who were glad to share the locations of attractions in Ottawa with us.

I really do hope that one day we will be able to return to enjoy it all over again--maybe on our second honeymoon!

McGee's Inn, Ottawa, Ontario Room #18

Happy 4th of July!

2010-07-04T09:02:00.003-04:00

Happy Birthday, Canada!

2010-07-01T21:24:00.005-04:00

Empty Houses

2010-06-30T19:30:00.007-04:00

The house is emptying bit by bit and now my footsteps seem to echo. My parents' house is being prepared to be sold since both Mom and Dad are no longer able to live there.

One of the most heartwrenching tasks is trying to place a value on family belongings. How do you put a price on memories and the everyday occurences that make up what we call home? You can't. So I drift from room to room, trying to analyze pieces through a stranger's eyes.

This table, where the kids ate during family celebrations, well, it's made of pine and much scarred. It is probably worth little at a garage sale, but to me its worth is infinitely higher. Another person sees only the worn finish and scratches, but I see my neices and nephews laughing and giggling and spilling juice.

That chair, with its torn brocade upholstery, is where the littlest one would seat at holiday meals, since all the other chairs were taken by bigger folks who would spill over its tiny seat.

In the end, I pretend that no one I ever loved had ever touched the piece, and then I am able to finish my task. The house will soon be empty but the memories will always be there...

Tornadoes and Other Disasters

2010-06-29T20:11:00.001-04:00

Have you ever seen a tornado up close? I haven't, but yesterday evening and today, I came as close to that as I'll ever get, except for one summer day when I was a kid (more about that later...).

Hubby and I were vegging on the couch in the living room, looking out the patio door from time to time. Suddenly the room became darker than usual--a rather eerie pink colour--and the trees appeared backlit. Their tops were swaying so violently that I was glad the big old maple tree in our neighbour's back yard had already been cut down. Just as suddenly as the wind began, it stopped. Now there was an ominous black cloud, almost like a shelf, that showed up in the sky. Moments later, there was another huge gust of wind.

It reminded me of the summer days many years ago when a tornado cut a swathe through the countryside near my parents' house. My father had been in the process of installing a picture window on the north wall of the house when a warning came over the radio that a tornado was on its way. He barely had time to find a large sheet of plywood before the wind began. We kids and Dad struggled mightily to hold the plywood in place, but before we even realized it, perhaps only minutes later, the tornado had passed by. I still remember the negative pressure literally bending that sheet inwards; it was the scariest moment of my life up till then. Afterwards, we learned that we had been very fortunate. Although an old shed had blown down, no living thing was hurt, unlike the many farmers north of us who saw dozens of cattle and pigs die under collapsed silos and barn roofs.

Today I witnessed a natural disaster of another kind, the kind that can tear apart families. I am hoping that, like the trees in our back yard, we can bend enough to survive the destructive winds....

Up the Down Staircase

2010-06-22T21:08:00.007-04:00

Yesterday as I was thumbing through the latest woman's magazine that had arrived in the mail, I came across an article that could only have been written by a true optimist.

"Power up Lunch Hour!" trumpeted the headline. "Grab your co-workers and get healthy together!" Whoever wrote that must surely live in an alternate universe. This is what happened when a bunch of women at the office decided to get fit by walking during the lunch hour. Because one of the walkers was our receptionist, five precious moments were wasted trying to persuade her fill-in that we'd be back exactly at 1:00 pm, not a moment later, no sirree.

On the way out the door, I caught a whiff of freshly-brewed coffee wafting from the nearby cafe, and half my motivation left. The other two seemed to be oblivious to the irresistible urge that beckoned me. Well, it takes all kinds to make a world, don't it?!

The first leg of our walk was all downhill, thanks to strategic planning by the fittest of us, the one with the legs of steel. We tried in vain to keep up with her, but it was only a chance red light that saved us from the humiliation of tagging a block behind.

At the bottom of the hill...well, what have we here? Can you imagine that, a little ice cream shop?! What a coincidence! Needless to say, a restorative cone was called for. And then, next to the ice cream shop, a gardening store with all sorts of goodies. Ten minutes and a pair of ornamental metal hanging baskets later, we were on our way again back up the hill. Alas, the way back was ever so much longer than I remembered.
By this point, one of us was huffing, puffing, and complaining all at the same time so the baskets (did I mention they were metal?) changed hands a few times. The sun bore down cruelly on our office-pale bodies but we bravely soldiered on, and up the twelve stories to our office (those darn elevators are sooo slow) just in time to meet the boss who was wondering aloud how we had gotten lost for so long.

Take that, ladies' mags!! Real women do not read such trash!!!!

A Day for Fathers

2010-06-20T20:37:00.000-04:00

This week I had the great fortune to attend a performance of "Les Miserables" for the first time. The French novelist, Victor Hugo, was not one whose works were studied at the high school or university that I attended, but I was vaguely familiar with the plot of his most famous book.

Set in France in the 1830's, it tells the tragic tale of Jean Valjean, whose career as a petty thief was turned around by the kindness of another man, whom he repaid in turn by stealing silverware. Many years later, through fortune and hard work, Valjean has reinvented himself as an honest man, the respected mayor of a town and prosperous owner of a factory.

This is the period in French history when the poor (and they were the majority) lived from hand to mouth while the rich feasted and caroused to excess. The workers at Valjean's factory are able to support their families solely through the generosity of their employer, and it is their jobs that keep them from the poorhouse or worse. One of the workers, a young woman with an illegitimate daughter whose existence she's kept a secret, has her past revealed and so loses the only thing standing between her and an uncertain future--her position at the factory.
In order to keep her daughter fed and clothed, she is forced to turn to prostitution and eventually dies of illness and malnourishment. Before that tragic ending, though, Valjean is introduced into her life through a chance encounter. He takes pity on her and promises to take care of her daughter. He says he will the raise the girl, Cosette, as his own, and he spends the rest of his life keeping that promise.

There is much more to the story, but the part that resonated with me the most was Valjean's role as a father. Even though he never married, and had no other children, he took on a poor illegitimate child as his own. In true unselfishness, he even promised her future husband that he would stay out of her life to spare her the shame of a father with a criminal past.

What does that say to me? True fatherhood is not necessarily one of blood ties, and true fatherhood involves sacrifice. Even when Valjean's life was in danger, he did the very best he could for Cosette, risking everything that he had accomplished in order to keep her safe and happy. He is fictional, of course, the creation of a novelist, but there are many men like him.

Today let us salute true fathers, like Valjean, whether or not they are related to one by blood, for their unselfish love, their deep commitment to their families, and their dedication.

Here's to fathers!

2010-06-17T10:18:00.002-04:00

Vive la France!

2010-06-16T20:59:00.001-04:00

Perhaps it's the weather to blame for my longing for sun, sun and more sun. A month-long vacation in the south of France would be just the cure for my early summer blues, but since that neither fits with my schedule nor my budget, the next best thing is a dip into a few of my favourite books.

"A Year in Provence"--doesn't the title make you think of sun-drenched vineyards, baguettes, and olive oil? Mmmmmm. The author, Peter Mayle, who began his career in advertising and travel writing, fell in love with Provence and took the plunge into buying an old rather decrepit chateau. The trials and tribulations of his first year dealing with tardy workmen, the infamous mistral, and lack of central heating will make you laugh and shake your head in recognition. Despite it all, he truly loved the French countryside, its people, and its food--aah, especially the food. Sumptuous details of wonderful dishes he ate, along with their preparation, and an almost visual description will make any epicure reach for the nearest French cookbook, and make plans for a garden in the summer.

These are just a few of his adventures that I have read and reread:

A Year in Provence (1991)
Toujours Provence (1992)
French Lessons: Adventures with Knife, Fork and Corkscrew (2002)
A Good Year (2005)

Give yourself a summer treat and pick up one of these to read on rainy days. Have a great vacation!!

Memories

2010-06-16T19:51:00.001-04:00

There is a scarlet thread, like Rahab's cord, that leads, not to freedom but rather to the days of our childhood. Call it what you will, it has more to do with memories than reality. Following it brings back kodachrome photos of endless sunny days at the beach, happy holiday meals, and adventurous road trips. Those memories, as we age, keep the same brilliance and clarity as they did when we were decades younger.

Even when events happen that tarnish the remembered ones, we cling to them like childhood treasures--a favourite doll, or a toy, perhaps. And that is not wrong.
Reminiscences are what sustain us and envelop us as warmly as an old blanket. Without them, the often harsh reality of life would wear us down and crush our spirits.

Now that my father is aging, a victim of his own mind's failings, I especially hold onto those glimpses of the past with him as a vibrant man. Perhaps that is what he sees, too. If he does, then we are still bound by that scarlet cord...

Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind

2010-06-14T13:03:00.001-04:00

Serendipity....it's one of the reasons why life can be so surprising and wonderful. Of course, to be prepared for serendipity to strike you, you need to be open to new experiences and people, even if they are beyond the usual ones.

Let me give you an example. This past weekend I had been out, running errands, so when my stomach reminded me around 1:30 pm that it needed attention, I stopped at a little restaurant in the shopping mall. It was one of those that is more like a kiosk surrounded by streams of shoppers and concrete. As usual, I ordered a coffee and a light lunch, and as usual, I sat alone to people-watch.

Halfway through my panini, an older gentleman caught my eye and walked over to the table. It was obvious he had been shopping; there were bags in his hands. My first thought was that he had a favour to ask. Normally, I would have tried to keep the conversation short since he was a stranger. After all, what do you say to a complete stranger?!

There was no need to worry--he immediately launched into a conversation by asking me what my favourite flower was. Intrigued to have met a fellow gardener, I answered, "Peonies and lilacs". That is when the surprise began. Instead of comparing the relative merits of compost, he said, "Those are both lovely flowers, all right, but the most beautiful of all is a woman."

Oh no, I thought to myself, an aging Lothario... But he genuinely only seemed to want to spread happiness and went on to tell me of how he often stopped couples with the same question, leaving the wife smiling and pleased, and the husband looking at her in a new light.

We chatted for a bit more about gardening and gladioli and then we each went our own way. I was smiling inside--instead of having to fend off rude pushy strangers, I'd had a very pleasant conversation with an friendly eighty-five-year-old man. I'd like to think that he too went away with a new spring in his step.

And that is the joy of serendipity....

2010-06-11T20:09:00.001-04:00

Quiet! Elves at Work...

2010-06-11T20:08:00.000-04:00

Practically everyone at the Funhouse wears more than one hat and has more than one title. For example, Esteemed Co-Worker has been designated the official flower arrangement cleaner-upper. Every Friday, you know that she has done her job by the trail of discarded blooms and the faint odour of algae-green water.

Diva stocks the candy supplies at the front reception desk and waters the collection of flowers and plants on Sir Gnome's balcony. Co-Worker #2 cleans up the mess left behind in the kitchen by certain unnamed parties, brews the morning coffee, and prepares for the Friday bagel feast.

As the newest member, I have the lowly task of substitute fill-in. On the days that Co-Worker #2 is off shopping, and Esteemed Co-Worker has not yet arrived, I set out the cream cheese, jams, plates, knives and all the other paraphernalia that bagels seem to require. The coffee pot is set to go, too.

There is only one member of the Funhouse to whom no little jobs have been assigned. For the longest time, I thought she had escaped entirely. Now I realize that she has a very important task--co-ordinating all of our movements like a choreographer so that the Gnome never actually sees any of the menial jobs being performed. Like magic, all is clean and ready with no disagreeable little people around....

Just call us the shoemaker's elves!

The Circle of Life

2010-06-09T21:19:00.000-04:00

Some people have called the years between forty and fifty the sandwich years--the years where you can find yourself caring for both children (or grandchildren) and parents at the same time. Since my daughter has long since grown up, and is a mother herself twice over, I thought the endless nights of worry and broken sleep were gone for good.

But life is strange that way; when you are expecting a slow pitch, along comes a curveball. Around four years ago, my father began complaining of headaches and dizziness. That was just the beginning. Soon he could no longer enjoy his hobbies--puttering around the house, doing small reno jobs, and learning about the exciting new world of computing. Then bit by bit, small pieces of his memories fell away. First it was how to run software, then how to read and understand instructions, and finally how to write his name. I discovered, to my great shock, that my father who had always loved learning more than anything else in life, had Alzheimer's disease--one of the most devastating long-term conditions that a person and his family could deal with.

It steals your loved one's memories, his health, his personality, and eventually even his very life. But first it cruelly leaves the sufferer aware of what is happening within his brain while the tangles and plaques of Alzheimer's stealthily invade every grey cell.

So here we are, some four years later, and Dad is no longer living at the place he's called home for so many years. A nursing home, albeit a beautiful and caring one, is where I visit him now. Sometimes during the endless nights I long for those sleepless hours with a new baby again....

Downtown Denizens

2010-06-07T20:40:00.001-04:00

Just in case someone has not yet realized it, the Funhouse is located smack in the middle of a very large city. That means downtown... and everything that downtown stands for!

Just walking to and from the train station to the office every morning and evening, there are several characters I see regularly. One is a woman I call the Purple Pansy, because she is tall, and invariably dressed in purple. Some days it is lilac, other days it is violet, but so far always purple. I am sure she is a very nice lady, but she obviously has a thing for the colour purple!

Another fixture is the fellow who sits on the stone steps of a large office building and begs for spare change. Well, he doesn't actually beg. He just patiently sits there, day after day, with his empty Tim Horton's coffee cup in front of him. I don't think I've ever seen him without a book or a paper. When it gets really cold or rainy, he disappears for a while, but resurfaces once the weather becomes warmer.

Then there is the homeless fellow, somewhat younger than the man on the steps, who always dresses in business-like attire--a dress shirt, sports jacket and pants, a very battered briefcase, and sneakers.

Like many of the homeless people on the streets, he is obviously mentally ill. Sometimes he talks to himself and other times he harangues passersby. Sometimes people hand him coins but most folks look the other way.

My favourite denizen is a young woman who is somewhat of a fashion maven. Every day she wears a different ensemble, complete with Manolo Blahniks! There is no need to check out the fashion mags, just watch her from day to day and you'll get a very good idea of the latest trends.

If I ever need to change jobs, and move to one that isn't downtown, I will definitely miss the people most of all....

Dreaming of the Country

2010-06-03T19:31:00.001-04:00

It has been my dream for a very long time to move out to the country. Perhaps it's the lure of a simpler life that draws me, or the thought of fresh breezes instead of waves of exhaust fumes.

I grew up in a rural area, but when I moved away to the "big city" for school, I vowed I would never return. Now, after too many years of fighting traffic, noise, and pollution every day, the country beckons insistently.

In my mind's eye, I can even picture exactly what my future home will be like--a modest house on a large wooded lot with room for a small pond. At least this part of my dream is reality; Hubby and I actually own an acreage out in the country with everything a homesteader could want. There is abundant water from a natural spring, trees of every kind, and best of all, a fruit orchard!

When we visit on summer weekends, it is perfectly idyllic. We cook and dine al fresco, keep ourselves busy with outdoor chores, and when that pales, retire to our hammocks. There we gently sway between green grass and blue sky, under the dappled shade of leafy trees. A breeze always seems to blow, even on the hottest of summer days. No worry bothers us there, and no haste quickens our steps. We work, eat and sleep to the rhythms of nature.

This is my dream and one day it will come true...

Dreaming of the Country

2010-06-02T21:53:00.002-04:00

An Ordinary Day

2010-06-01T20:39:00.002-04:00

At the dinner table, I imagine most working couple's conversations are along these lines:

He: Please pass the salt, dear.

She: Sure! Oh, by the way, how was your day at the office?

He: Well, not too bad. I worked on three contracts, and had tons of phone calls and emails to return, but I did manage to get out at lunchtime to a great new restaurant.

Not so with Funhouse workers and their spouses! For instance, DH enquired one suppertime how my day had gone.

DH: How was your day at the office?

CG: Well, pretty much the same as always. It started off with a bang (literally!). The receptionist's car was rear-ended this morning on the way to work. After deciding it was safe to continue, and signing a waiver for the emergency personnel, she arrived just a couple of hours late. By lunchtime, she had concluded that she had whiplash, and drove herself off to the doctor's office. Meanwhile, the boss had arrived. He took off his jacket and hung it up as usual on the back of his office door, revealing...wait for it...a fluorescent lime green shirt with coordinating tie! All day the glow followed him wherever he went. Then one of his sidekicks decided it was a good time to throw a hissy fit, which he promptly did, raising blood pressure everywhere, until at last he departed midafternoon, long sighs of relief following him.

So...how was your day?!!

Gnomes, not Knobs

2010-05-31T19:55:00.003-04:00

   In every office, there is at least one person who believes the entire world revolves around him or her and everyone else is there to serve. If he says, "Jump!", the correct answer is, "How high?"

   Being a gnome, however, I have great difficulty with this. For one thing, my legs are just too short. Secondly, the whole concept is foreign. In the gnome world, every gnome is equal to another; there are leaders, but they cannot and do not lead autocratically. For this reason, gnomes have never started any wars or led any revolutions.

   Perhaps I ought to remind the office "king" that life would be ever so much kinder and gentler if he just followed the gnome rules...

   Long live gnomes!!

New Directions

2010-05-30T20:35:00.006-04:00

   The cubicle gnome is tiring of the frenetic pace of her life, and is about to trade in the townhouse in the city for a loghouse in the country. Well, maybe not a loghouse, more of a three-bedroom bungalow. Just call me the roaming gnome!

   To be honest, my new direction is still in the planning stage. It'll be a three year journey, with a lot of learning along the way. Despite being brought up in the country on a hobby farm, there are many things that the gnome has to learn.

   As told to me by a veteran of the country, here are some important lessons:

Lesson #1: The front end of a cow is a chewing machine; the back end emits the final product.

Lesson #2: Always check for spiders and mice before using the outhouse.

Lesson #3: Water does not just magically flow from taps--conserve it or else you'll be bathing in the cow pond.

Lesson #4: Chickens are easy to raise, and eating fresh eggs is marvellous, but having fried chicken for dinner means some dirty work is involved.

Lesson #5: Give up on the idea of sweet-smelling meadows in the spring--think more along the lines of cows, sheep, chickens, etc.

   Now it's off to hit the books for more lessons on homesteading... TTYL