A Job at Burns

"I can pour my own ketchup, grandma!"

Rhiannon asked me if she could have a hot dog for a snack.

That reminded me that I used to work at Burns Meat Packing Plant after my first year of university, packing wieners.

That is where I learned to look for the tastiest product, snap off the ends and just eat the centre.

I don’t know how I heard about this job -- it was the midnight shift of women who skinned and packaged wieners. I was paid union wages -- $1.89 an hour – an absolute fortune. I worked from 11:30 pm until 7:30 am, and came home and slept for the day – out in the backyard in the sun – so I had the added benefit of a great tan. I thought I had the job of a lifetime.

"Too hot!.  I shall cool it down."

The money and summer sun were the good parts of the job.

There were some bad parts -- a foul stench around the factory to begin with, so bad that I took a deep breath before entering the unit where I worked.

Then Itried to hold my breath as long as possible, knowing that either I had to hold that breath until I died, or take the next breath which would be so foul that I would wish I had died.

I worked there for two summers: the first summer packing wieners and the second summer stapling boxes in the packing plant.

The first bite is always the best one.

Packing wieners included the paring knife skill of skinning 12 wieners, then laying them on a cellophane wrap over which I had to run a hot iron to seal the ends and then they were ready to be packed in boxes.

I was deft, nicking the top of the cellophane once, and then pulling on that end, letting the cellophane spiral down to the bottom of the wiener with one sharp tug.

The real trick of employment that summer was staying awake for the whole Sunday night shift, for I was never smart enough to get a full eight hours of rest on Sunday before my shift began. The rest of the days were fine.

I have no idea how I got a promotion to the boxing room the next year, a day shift – where three of us stood at machines that were operated by our feet, while our hands folded a box bottom, and then held the side of the box while it glided over the stapler, making my foot and my hands work in tandem to have the staples hit the right spot.

Two pieces in the left side of her cheek.
Now to pack in 2 pieces for the right side.

Even though I was the summer help, I used to see if I could go faster than the two women who worked there full time.

One day the Scottish woman took me aside in the lunch room and bawled me out.

“Don’t you do your crate of boxes faster than Agnes does hers. She is slowing down so that you will do all of the work. I will punish you if you do her work for her because she will let you. She is just lazy. We are not paid by how fast you go. We just have to do a certain amount of work altogether, and you are doing hers.”

I was the new kid on the block.

Rhiannon: Grandma? "Do you want to cook one for you? "
Arta: "No, I had plenty of them when I was 21."

I got another lesson, I didn’t process until years later.

To back up a bit, I had done my fair share of reading when I went babysitting for the Wards. The mom in that family had her collection of True Romance, Truth Love and True Confessions -- $.15 a copy, sometimes $.35 a copy.

More than I could afford, but I had read hers and make money baby-sitting at the same time. The titles were provocative: “I Couldn’t Forgive My Brother-in-Law”, “My Father Sold me”, “Marked by Scandal” or “I was a Teen-Aged Lesbian”. I chalked that last article up to being the dumbest thing I had ever read, and wondered who had ever dreams up that stuff. But here in the meat-packing plant I got my first real-life lesson for I tried to learn everyone’s name on the midnight shift and eat lunch beside them. I was taken aside and told not to go near the two women who wore black leather jackets to work and who lived with each other. That was the commandment.

I learned another lesson in that plant. A woman I liked, only a few years older than me, wore a simple gold band. I was getting married that year. We had no money. She wore a simple gold band. I thought I could go with a band like that for a wedding ring and I asked her about hers. She was a Catholic, married, but getting a divorce, in an era where there was no other way to get one than to wait for a 7 year separation period. “Marry in haste, repent in leisure,” she said to me.

I would have worked the rest of my life at Burns, the pay was so good. The second year I was making over $2.00 an hour, enough to pay my living expenses when I was in Edmonton at university. Doral paid my tuition and my books. Fees were low in those days. The government paid 80% of the tuition – the deal was, you had to matriculate with a 65% average and you could enter university. Not many women went. I didn’t like the sexist saying that made the men my age at the Institute laugh: 90% of the women in the world are beautiful and the other 10% go to university. I wondered who had collected that kind of data – but I didn’t wonder long enough to do any research on it, for what did I care.

I thought about all of the while watching that cute little thing in hot-dog heaven, eating her snack.

Arta

Good-bye, Ottawa

April 18, 2012 -- Ottawa Photo: Anne Marie

It was a perfect day on many counts.

The magnolia trees had come into flower.

The sun was shinning.

There was a chance to drive by on the way to the airport, so that I could take a look at all of this.

As well, Mary's colleague, Anne-Marie offered to meet us at the park on our way out of town, for a quick photo shoot.

She has an amazing eye for a getting amazing candids.

I can stand on a tree branch with my bare feet. Photo: Anne Marie

I did not know where to turn my own camera.

Butterflies were landing on the magnolias.

Soon the family forgot about taking pictures and were ducking under branches and pointing to where they could see yet another insect.

Bees were darting around the flowers.

Mary, Rhiannon and a hint of Annabelle

Good byes are always hard, but less so in this case, for I am going back there in August.

Still there were thanks to be given.

Today, Mary told me thank you for blogging so many of the family experiences and having them sound so good.

"Did I ever not tell the truth other there?" I asked.

Good bye Grandma, it was fun! Photo: Anne Marie

No, she had to agree -- I am a lot of things, and one of them is truthful.

Smell this magnolia, Rhiannon. Photo: Anne Marie

What is it that she would have wanted me to tell?

The day I made a mistake with the butter horns?

I had bread already in pans, but Mary had asked me to make at least one batch of butter horns before I left.

So I tackled those in tandem with the other cooking project.

I put the dough in the oven, an oven that was holding just a bit of heat for me, so I could jump start the butterhorn dough into rising faster than usual.

And I had a piece of plastic laying across the top of it.

Breathing in the scent of flowerings trees Photo: Anne Marie

In my rush to get the loaves into the oven to bake, I forgot about the butter horn dough rising in the oven, and so put on the dial to pre-heat to 350 degrees.

The moment when I remembered this mistake, was the moment when I could smell dough cooking and plastic melting, at the same time.

Can you tell I am still on crutches? Photo: Anne Marie

Now is this the kind of story Mary would rather have me tell out here?

The one about how hard it is to scrub half-baked dough out of a stainless steel bowl.

 Or would she like to me take a time-lapsed picture of me scrapping plastic off of the bowl with that tiny flat Richard's Tool that I use to scrap paint off of windows?

All this to say, that though a picture (like the ones in this post) can tell a thousand words, there are other thousands of words that are best left unsaid.

I have had the grace not to blog those words.

Arta

Orange Bread and Butter Horns

... the yeast begins to bubble in the bowl ...

Mary reported that at work her friend Tom asked her, "Does your mother like making bread?"

I had to think about that.

No.

I don't like making bread.

I would rather be reading. But what is a person to do if they arrive somewhere and the hosts have already bought two 10 kilogram bags of flour and a one pound package of yeast in anticipation of the warm smells that will come out of the oven when bread it made?

As well, Naomi has been looking forward to cinnamon buns.  And tonight when the Grade 7 girl next door came through the house, she asked for the recipe, "for the butter horns and for the cinnamon buns", she said, at which time her mouth went into a wide smile and her eyes sparkled.

If only I had known, she would have been by my side, learning how to roll them this week.

... orange icing read to be applied to the orange buns ...

To mix up the tasks so there wouldn't be so much boredom for me, a remembered that Fay Pitcher used to make delicious orange buns, so I began to zest the oranges in the house before allowing anyone to have one.

Draconian to others?

Yes.

But I wanted to see how that would taste in the a tradition rolled bun ... with orange icing on it.

Leo, Mary and I went wild.

The kids turned up their noses. Since my purpose here is not to make Leo and Mary happy, I have returned to making cinnamon buns. Oh, I did acquiesce to Mary's pleas for some butter horns tonight, but all that shows is that I have my own moments of weakness, due in part to the fact that I leave tomorrow.

One last time to fill the house with the aroma of fresh bread.

Arta

PS.  I didn't really use the following recipe.  But I did read it over before I began to make the Orange Buns, so I think that counts as using it.  But beware, for I was not as meticulous in my method as the writer below feels the need to be.

Orange Sticky Buns

Ingredients

• 1/4 cup warm water (for dough)
• 2 1/4 tsp active dry yeast (for dough)
• 1/3 cup sugar (for dough)
• 3/4 cup milk (for dough)
• 4 tbsp unsalted butter, softened, plus 1 tbsp for greasing (for dough)
• 3 large egg yolks (for dough)
• 1 tbsp finely grated orange zest (for dough)
• 1 1/4 tsp salt (for dough)
• 4 cups Gold Medal unbleached, all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting (for dough)
• 1/2 cup packed light brown sugar (for filling)
• 1 tbsp ground cinnamon (for filling)
• 4 tbsp unsalted butter (for filling)
• zest from half an orange (for filling)
• 3/4 cup packed light brown sugar (for topping)
• 4 tbsp unsalted butter (for topping)
• 3 tbsp honey (for topping)
• 2 tbsp orange juice (for topping)
• 1/2 tsp orange zest (for topping)
• 1/2 cup pecan halves (for topping)

Directions

1.    In the bowl of a stand mixer, combine water, yeast and 1 tsp sugar. Whisk to combine and let sit 5 minutes, or until yeast mixture is foamy.

2.    Add to it milk, butter, remaining sugar, egg yolks, orange zest, salt and 3 cups flour. Mix on low speed with paddle attachment until just combined.

3.    Switch paddle attachment with dough hook and increase speed slightly, add the remaining 1 cup flour in increments. Once all flour has been added, increase speed to medium and knead about 5 minutes, or until dough is slightly sticky, smooth and elastic (add a little bit more flour if it’s really tacky until it’s at the right consistency).

4.    Remove dough from bowl and place in a large lightly greased bowl, cover it with plastic wrap and let rise until doubled, about 1 to 2 hours.

5.    Once dough has risen, punch down and place on a lightly floured counter top and let rise 20 minutes.

6.    In the meantime, make the filling — combine brown sugar and cinnamon in a bowl. Melt butter and keep separate.

7.    Roll out dough into a 12-by-18-inch rectangle. Brush with melted butter and sprinkle with brown sugar/cinnamon mixture. Sprinkle with orange zest. Starting from the long side, roll up dough into a tight cylinder. Place seam side-down on a flat surface and cut crosswise into 15 equal slices.

8.    Make the topping — in a small saucepan, combine butter, brown sugar, honey, orange juice and orange zest over low heat. Stir until butter and sugar are melted. Pour mixture into a greased 9-by-13-inch pan and sprinkle pecan halves on top.

9.    Place dough slices flat side-down on top of prepared topping, crowding them so they touch. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and place in refrigerator overnight to rise.

10. In the morning, preheat oven to 375 degrees F — remove buns from the refrigerator and let stand on counter top while oven preheats.

11. Bake buns until golden brown, about 30 minutes; immediately invert pan onto a baking sheet or serving tray. Let buns cool slightly and serve warm.

The Radio

... new orange artwork ... right centre border ...

When I was five my dad bought a brand new upright radio encased in a 3 feet tall wooden cabinet.

Maureen Beecher told me she can remember Charlie and Doral hovering over it all afternoon one day in May, 1945, the day that the Armistice was declared and World War II was over.

The radio provided a lot of entertainment for me.

There were soap operas in the afternoon and Lux Theatre at night – Lux, the soap that is 99 and 99/100th, pure as I can still hear the radio announcer intoning.

I was six when I scratched my name into the fine molding around the base of the radio.

I don’t remember doing that carving, but later when my dad would talk about giving things away, he would always say that I got the radio, for I had my name on it already.

.. good colour and the cracks in the bricks have been filled in ...

I was reminded of this on Sunday when I saw a lovely orange square added to Mary and Leo’s heath.  The artwork had been done with an orange felt pen.

 I went to Naomi and Xavier and said, “You know, I think Rhiannon has done some art work that might never come off and I think she is going to get in trouble.”

“No, that was me,” said Naomi, since she is truly candid and sincere, “and why am I going to get in trouble,” and of course the tears began to fall down her face.

No idea passed her mind that her parents might not want that there.

... the end of the hearth with a dull orange that compliments the brighter colour ...

At least she picked a colour that blends in with the bricks on the end of the ledge.

That is one bonus.

I wonder if Naomi gets the whole house, or just the fireplace when Leo and Mary get old.  Either would be another bonus.

Arta

A Simple Home Evening

"see p 46 for Loran runs for the jack knife"

Tonight for Family Home Evening, we ate ice-cream and read from Doral Pilling's Oral History:

1. Amanda and the poisoned oats (p 19)

2. Pinching the teacher (p 29)

3. First fight with Ivan (p 47)

4. Preseason duck hunting  (p 48)

5. The White horse (p 63 )

6. Loran runs for the jack knife under the Mexican hat (p. 46 )

Amazing, isn't it, that most of the readers of this blog will know all of these family stories.

Now Naomi and Xavier know the stories, though they don't think in the same way that their ancestors did, so there was some explaining to do. As well, the bowls of ice-cream were only medium and not large.  We are loosing some of the family mo-jo.

It is a good thing the stories are written down, so that I don't embellish them, since they are quite good as they are.  Still, I find myself adding choice words that Doral edited out of the story.

Second paragraph starts, "Three fellows went hunting
for pheasants with Frank at Brooks. 
There was a place that seemed an extra good prospect ....

Mary spent extra time after the story, for she had to explain the kindest way to take care of an old and faithful horse who could not make it through the winter.  Naomi loves horses and exegesis and a little hermeneutics didn't hurt so that she could find some closure in the tale.

I copied down the page numbers of some of the story favorites for I am finding I can't remember which ones I have read to which grandchildren, now -- but I can check them off in the index, which may help me for the next time I am here.

I find Mary's copy of Doral's memoirs, irritating, for they are bound backwards, so I am always opening the book upside down.  If it hadn't been me who gave them to her, I would complain about that.

And a big whoops to me for I forgot to tell what happened at the end of Family Home Evening.  Mary, warmed to the occasion, asked her children if they had ever seen two hairs fight.  Yes!  Two hairs fight. 

They had not and so we went to the kitchen to observe this amazing phenomenon.  If you have not seen it, please say so in the comment box of this blog and someone will show you this amazing feet, which must be seen in person to be believed.

Arta

La Traviata Highlights

My highlight of an afternoon at the opera was sitting beside a six year old grand daughter who was seeing her first opera.

She wiggled, she twisted, she squirmed, she hung over the arm rest of her chair, she ate her candy, she drank her slurpee, but that might have been more of a comment about the neon green cast on her fractured leg, than a comment on the opera.

We had parked her wheelchair at the bottom of the stairs of the movie theatre, lining it up beside the walker that was there from an older patron who was in one of the front seats. We had chosen to see the screen from the back of the theatre, so Leo carried her high and gave her the end seat of our row.

Naomi can’t read English yet. I would whisper some of the information to her from the subtitles. She watched quietly and listened, those large brown eyes glued on the screen and her hair falling down her shoulders. In the list of top three favorite moments of a day, this would be one of mine.

As well, I loved the opera. I had misgivings about its modern setting for I like the opulent costuming and elegant staging of more traditional operas. But the modern production by Willy Decker has so many avaunt-guarde twists, that a person might just forget to listen to the music and get caught up in choreography, the costuming and the lighting design.

“I don’t know if it was by accident or design,” said Leo, “but did you see the visuals of the hands of the clock repeated in the hands of the chorus as they leaned over the top of the set, all of those arms reaching down, and then the shadows of those arms being magnified, some of the shadows being cast half way down the wall.”

I agreed with Leo. That visual was a stunning one.

And how about that simple red dress, the hem of which rolled and floated as Violetta danced at lavish parties. The only other costuming for her was a simple egg-shell coloured silk slip, a metaphor for the simplicity of her real life, when her party mask was off. And having that red dress swinging from the hips of a male figure during the bull-fighting sequence – what a fantastic way to press questions of gender and role on the audience. And then to have the dress on the next traviata figure and have her carried away on the clock to the next party? – how did Farmer, Gussman, Toelstede and Decker collaborate to make all of that work with dance, light, set and costume design.

Even 10 year old Xavier got the idea that Dr. Grenvil, was a metaphor, not only for life, but more importantly, death, as he walked slowly along the stage and sat at foot of the clock, or even as he embraced Violetta, about to die.

I can’t give too much praise to a production that lets a child understand what is going on, and also embeds such complicated themes for adults to think about in the same scenes.

Were any of the rest of you at the opera.

I know it was Zachary’s baptism yesterday, so that event trumped the Met for them yesterday. But I do want to say something about the playful floral decorations – picked up on the couch covers, the sleeping robes and the ceiling – having Violetta almost disappear into them as she was singing about her 3 months of happiness in the country. I loved the chorus – all dressed the same, and functioning as part guests, mid-night revelers, even as a bull. Magnificent.

Here’s hoping I can see the La Traviata Encore.

Arta
One showing was not enough.

Arta

The Brooks Kids at La Traviata

...getting the opera treats ready, a bag for each act...

Leo and I both had our misgivings about taking the kids to the opera so we set out in different ways to prepare them for La Traviata yesterday.

Leo brought out a Christmas gift to him from Pat and Mark dated 1996 – 100 Great Operas: Act-By-Act Synopses by Henry W. Simon.

Not everyone has that volume in the home library. He also gathered together some “best of the operas” CD’s and played them. As well, we had gone to utube to look at some clips from old LaTraviata operas.

Mary prepared our snacks. I tried to help but her kids don’t like all sugars. My mini-Cadbury crème eggs and caramel filled kisses were rejected. But Leo had lucked out with the half price candy at the Candy Barn and he knows it is the peeps and the jelly sours that his kids go for.

A happy sweet moment with 3 big bags of candy packed!

So we packed our zip lock snack bags in the morning, carefully labelling each one by name and subtitling the bag with the act that it was to be eaten in.

Rhiannon participated, packing her bags, though she was going to the babysitters, while the rest of us went to the opera.

 She even bagged up candy for Elijah, the little boy she would be playing with, as well as his one-year old sister.

Mary made the mother’s mistake of looking at the bag and taking half of it out when Rhiannon wasn’t looking.

Unfortuately Rhiannon knows the difference between the cup full and the cup half full.

"Where did my candy go?  This bag was right full?"
I weally, weally, weally want my candy back.

Her meltdown occurred just as we were leaving for the opera, and being unwilling to lay the body of a screaming child on the doorstep of a baby sitter, Mary stayed home with her instead and did income-taxes.

The kids and I had read the plot synopsis many times and talked about words like cameliia and courtesan, and the concepts of the insults and family honour.

The idea of the insult of throwing money at another person, something Alfredo does to Violetta in the second act, was foreign to them, so on the drive to the theatre we talked more about insults: ignoring someone who is talking to you, throwing money at people, offering them a hand gesture.

“What is a hand gesture?”, said Naomi from the back seat of the van.

“It looks like this,” said Xavier, and he clenched his fist and pointed his finger down toward the floor of the car.

“Usually the finger is pointed upwards,” I corrected him.

“But I didn’t really want to do it, just to give her an idea of how it is done,” he replied.

We talked a little bit about swearing at people as an insult, but Aunt Catherine has been teaching Hebe that saying forbidden words at people is more of a reflection on your character than on theirs. So we took it out of the list of possible insults and I thought to myself, learning  how to handle family swear words should be a conversation to be had another day.

As we approached the theatre I said, “Look, Leo, an arm gesture.” A woman had her window rolled down and her arm was flailing out the window and her jaw was moving at a quick speed.

“Yes,” Leo replied, “I am going the wrong way down a one-way lane in this mall parking lot.”

“Well, I didn't notice this was one-way, either.  We can add that arm gesture to our list of insults. Thank you to her for that.”

There is something about sitting in the IMAX beside a 10 year old and a six year old that feels like a miracle to me. We watch the patrons taking their seats in the New York Metropolitan Opera house, the camera scanning their way over the 4 balconies, and across the magnificent ceiling. The camera pans the stalls – there is a curly headed boy in a white shirt and a well-tailored suit sitting beside his family and I thrill to think ... I am them. I get to sit here for 3 hours with Leo and his kids and soak in Verdi’s melodies with all of the amazing visuals that go along with opera.

Leo buys the kids slurpees at the first intermission, which is a good thing. I don’t know that the last two acts run in tandem until the announcer says, “We will know listen to Acts 2 and 3. The change between the two acts was cleverly choreographed – the chorus walked off the stage backwards, taking small steps backward until they had all left the stage through the one open door to the set. They walked while the overture to the third act was playing, making a seamless transition between the two acts. Dr.Grenvil walked forward in the same direction as they were walking backward, and it looked as though he was pushing them back into the world of life and preparing an empty space in which Violetta would sing her last arias for us.

The encore is on on the 28th of April, well worth the time and effort it takes to get there.

Postscript for the historically curious: In the cemetery of Montmartre, directly below the white church of the Sacre Coeur, tourists still visit the grave of Marie Duplessis, the original traviata (or misguided girl). She died Feb 2, 1846 just 19 days after achieving her 22nd birthday. Among her numerous lovers during her last years had been Alexandre Dumas fils and Franz Liszt.

Naomi and Xavier's Top Traviata Moments

Sculpture above the Proscenium Arch
New York Met / Gold Curtain
Photo credit: Wikipedia

Opera Highlights

5 Highlights from La Traviata for Naomi

1.      Eating the candy at the opera, a zip-lock bag in my lap at each act.
2.      I liked Violetta’s dancing in the first act.
3.      I liked the sculpture that is above the stage at the New York Met.
4.      I liked the scene in the second act, where the party goers are making fun of Violetta, where the man has on a dress.
5.      Grandma and I agreed to give a small poke to each other when we heard the theme of the opera.  I got to poke her first.

5 Highlights from La Traviatta from Xavier

1.      The gambling scene where the clock turned into a roulette table
2.      The scene where Alfredo threw his gambling earnings at Violetta.
3.      The country scene when Violetta and Alfredo were playing hide and seek in their new home.
4.      When Violetta said she was going to get well at the end of the opera, and then she died.
5.      When Alfredo meets Violetta for the first time and she is saying, no I can’t marry you and he is saying, I have been longing for your company for a year.

La Traviata

La Traviatta

Hello,

We get to hear La Traviatta this Saturday ... in Ottawa at The Met: Live in HD.

So far, Xavier, Naomi and I are going.

Here is the review from the NY Times.

Here is the link for the plot from Wikipedia.

And a utube link that is fun.

On other opera news, Mary said says there is a great TVOKIDS link on the web for kids who want to know about opera.

Try it out.

Arta

Maple Taffy Ice Cream Log -- 50% off

Coaticook: Maple Taff Ice Cream Log

"Do you want to know why this was on sale?", Mary asked me just as we were ready to close down for the evening.

"OK.  I will bite.  Why."

She took the lid off of the tray

The log was no longer on the tray, but stuck to the top of the carton.

Alright.  Maybe this was not our best buy of the day.

But it was 50% off. 

Fifty per cent off and 100 % of it upside down on the top of the clear plastic that was to protect its structure, not stick to it.

Arta

Modern Art

I just want a picture of my artwork ... not of my face!

This morning is the first day that everyone has gone out the door to their respective locations.

Leo had walked Xavier and Naomi to school.

Rhiannon was waiting for her turn to be taken to daycare.

Mary was taking her lunch out of the fridge. 

I asked her if she was going to give her salad to a homeless man, as she did last week when she went down the street a few blocks to buy a salad for lunch.

"OK.  I will peak out just a little."

"It is not that I didn't want it," she said.  "He just asked me for food and he looked like he needed it more than I did."

Rhiannon was wanting me to see her art work. And she wanted me to take a picture of it -- just the artwork, not her face.

This masterpiece was created with crayons, a white board and a hair dryer. She and I were trying to figure out where we could hang it in her room.

"Can you stand on one foot like this?"

At that point she wanted to show me her balancing act.

Balancing is tricky at this house.

Naomi is trying to do it on one leg, while swinging the other florescent green casted leg.

I try to keep my balance by leaping over the dog's leash as she circles my feet.

"I only have one foot!"

We are wondering if anyone else is practising balancing?

Or skipping?

Or practising hop scoth ... for we are sure that spring is on its way.

Arta

The Best Part of My Walk

Today you will hear the best part of my walk -- it was 2 hours long, it took me through the graveyard which I studied carefully, then down to Loblaws, and back home.  I was taking deep breaths by the time I arrived home and felt invigorated.

The worst part of my walk was coming back up the stairs to the kitchen after taking off my scarf and coat.

Yes! I know how to go through a garbage and identify the contents
... last of the fluffy white bread is...
...on the left-hand side of the overturned blue styrofoam container...
...brown bag was used to sweat roasted red peppers last night...
...black styrofoam is from Portobello mushrooms fried last night ....

There -- Gryphon had been into the garbage and attacked the last loaf of bread, bringing it down from the counter to the floor and munching on it until there was only a sacrament sized piece left.

Then he found his way to the garbage under the sink and scattered it everywhere.

I have been warned by Mary, not to leave anything close to the edge of the table or the counters. And indeed, last night, as I sat at the table alone, he slid up to it and his long tongue was out, trying to get at her steak.

I yelled at him. Today I didn't yell. I just took my picture, then swept up, following closely with my mop and then came to type to all of you to remind every reader that all  have to be smarted than the dog they are trying to train.

Fortunately, a beagle is a very dumb dog, so I don't have to raise my IQ much higher to be smarter than him.

Or?

Do I?

Arta

My Walk in Aylmer

PARC commemoratif

Symmes Landing.

That is what Aylmer, P.Q. used to be called.

I found this out when I stopped at a small park, one donated by Symmes to be the centre of town, the gathering place for all.

Land donated to be the town square was a widespread custom when Symmes Landing was a place to stop off  if you were boating down the Ottawa Valley.

... house on the perimeter of the park ...

Symmes also donated land for the Roman Catholic, United and Anglican churches. How is that for pretty well assuring one’s place in heaven.  Nice to cover most of the bases.

I am trying to walk every day.

Really walk.

... quaint balony with white wicker chairs

Yesterday, when I was taking these pictures, the weather treated me to rain, sleet, hail, wind and sun ... all within the space of less than an hour. To keep up my pace and to miss the precipitation, I walked for a while in the mall, but it isn’t the same as strolling along the streets and trying to get acquainted with  the city by the street names, for example.

 ... a good place to read or write ...

Or by looking at the houses that still surround the town square and wondering which of them are still originals, if any.

I did walk along Thomas Street a couple of days ago, and on doing an internet search found out that Symmes named some of the streets after his 10 children, Thomas being one of them.

That was fun.

Yours for more walking,

Arta

A Child's Garden of Crafts

 ... a child's delight ... a rheim of Easter coloured paper...
... and felts to go with them ...

This is the house of games and crafts. One box of games is called is Making Paper Boats. How cool is that! There is a clear basket of origami paper, another for glue and scissors, and then coloured paper, paper pads, ribbon, a child’s garden of crafts to be one.

As well there is a bag of balloons and a bump to blow them up so that the thin long coloured tubes can be shaped into animals and then decorated with felt pens. Naomi is adept at this task and can twist off the ends of the balloons so that the air doesn’t escape.

 ... gathering together today's balloon projects ...

I never really thought about what happens when there are lots of tools for crafts and lots of kids around who like to do them.

I didn’t know that too many crafts can bring out the evil in a mother.

For example, I saw Mary gathering up balloon animals late at night.

“Don’t worry, I am not going to take your picture. I just want to show your sisters how loaded your arms are from today’s ballooning. Where are you going to store them?”

She paused long enough for me to get a shot.

 ... there is an evil pin lurking between Mary's thumb and forefinger ...

Then I found her in the kitchen with a pin, breaking the balloons, hiding the remnants of them deep in the garbage so that no one would know that by night she disposes of what the kids make in the day time.

No room in the inn to store each day's collection of craft work.

Now, why didn’t I think of that!

Arta

Reading in English

As we were sitting at the table this morning, Naomi dropped her spoon and since it was on the other side of the wheelchair from where I was sitting and there was no access to that side of the wheel chair from my side of the table, I asked Rhiannon to pick the spoon up.

She said no.

I said fine. I will pick it up, but the next time you ask me to do something, I will say no to you. Having just put away her strawberry smoothie only second before, since she didn’t want any more if it, I added to my sentence, “like when you want the rest of your strawberry smoothie, I will have to say no”.

"I want my smoothie ... and I won't pick up that spoon."

At that exact moment Rhiannon wanted the smoothie right way. Of course, at that moment, Mary called from work to hear Rhiannon wailing for her smoothie in the background.

Well, that trouble between Rhiannon and I got sorted out when I saw a pencil underneath the table. I asked Rhiannon to pick it up and put it in the pencil box, and then I would be able to say yes to something she wanted. No one was happier to pick up the pencil, nor to get back the smoothie, which she had rejected less than five minutes beforehand.

Then Naomi and I went back to reading English books, a task we had just begun. I thought she had a big problem, since she just kept saying Da, Da, to the word Dan. We got that sorted out when she told me she has never read English, she can’t read English, and why am I making her read English books.

 O.K.

Da is a good way to say Dan, if you are speaking in French. I jump started her into the world of reading English by showing her how to pronounce Dan ... when we read in English and we began to read the first of the nine Itty Bitty Phoenix Readers that Mary had given to me the night before.

Two books to read and then she would get to watch T.V.

Reading in French is still more fun .. so far.

At the end of the second book, I added in one more task: finish off the book right to the end, by reading only one of the columns of Vocabulary words at the end of the book. She began to cry. I saw two big tears fall from her cheeks and glisten on the tabletop. I was reminded of my dad saying to small children who were crying, I will give you a nickel for every tear you can catch in a cup. I told Naomi about this. Then I saw her getting out of her wheelchair. Wait Naomi. You can’t walk around in that cast, I said. Your parents will kill me if I let you do that. Well, she replied, I am going to get a cup to catch the tears in.

Oh, I will get the cup for you, I said. I returned with a dry green one – no use paying for moisture left over from a cup that has not yet dried. She caught a tear, laughed, and now has gone off to watch a few episodes of Bugs Bunny.

Score for Naomi: 10/10 for reading two of the Phoenix Readers in English in what her Grandmother is now calling Home School.

Score for Arta: 0/10 for adding in the last task of looking at the vocabulary words– such a boring task if I want her to love reading in English.

Arta

Rue Principale

... the bench that first caught my eye ...

April 2, 2012

I had an hour and a half to walk this morning to walk.

It was 8 am and I wondered if I could make it down to the lake.

I probably could have done the trip in the time allotted, if I had not had my camera in hand.

The walk to the shopping centre on Rue Principale is only a fifteen minute stroll.

 Bench Waves (though not water waves)
Carin Cuccane, Ondes, 2000

Rue Principale?

I wonder if people call it that?

Main Street?

High Street.

As I was growing up that street that held high commerce was called 8th Avenue.

Bench Flute
Flute de Banc, Rita Rodrigue. 2001

I began to categorize buildings as I walked: churches, restaurants, hotels, -- trying to learn their names.

Of course, I was looking for what it is that makes this more than a Canadian province – looking for that touch of je ne sais quoi?

Bench: Urban Tripod
Tripode Urbaine, 2000, Christine Marcotte

After all, there is something interesting about a United Church that also advertizes The Potters Church service to be held at 8 pm Sunday evening.

I wonder if it is a different congregation that meets in that church. Or is it a group of folks who like to work with mud?

Or even, through my mind goes an old Biblical phrase, having to do with the word, potters, so I come home and look that up on the internet.

Yes ... “and they conferred together and with the money bought the Potter's Field as a burial place for strangers”.

But I read a little further in the definitions and there is also a Potter's Field Bible Study Group.  This is what it must mean in this context.

Strange how all of those Biblical phrases come back to one on an early morning walk.

The Photographer?
... she casts a long shadow ...

As you can see, one of the things that stood out for me this morning was the number of benches in the form of art work along the high street.


You may enjoy the art of the benches as well, if you ever come to Aylmer.

Arta