Have you ever noticed that some things just never change?  No matter how much time has passed, or however many times a home is moved to a different house, somethings just never change.

After moving from Ireland last year, all my cookbooks are still in Ireland waiting to be sent over.  And as I am doing more cooking and baking now that we live in Canada, I am a bit at a loss for them.  Mine had added recipes on the blank pages in the front and back of the books (Betty Crocker can cope with that I’m sure!) that I had gleaned over the years.  Mostly Mom’s recipes that I knew and loved from my child, teen, young adulthood.  The ones I learned to cook and bake from.  You know the ones your mom always used, you grew to love (or sometimes hate!) and learned almost instinctively to where you could almost make them from memory.  Well MY memory isn’t the best when it comes to ingredients for cooking and baking especially those recipes that Mom used.  And currently they are all in boxes waiting for the shipping company to collect them ~ in Ireland.

But thats okay because I can (and do!) always ring Mom for those recipes again.  And you know, when I do call for one of those beloved recipes I can say to my mother, “It’s in the green recipe box, in the (appropriate) section about three cards in.” or “It’s in the wooden recipe box round the middle.”  And Mom goes right to the box needed, gets out the desired recipe and recites it.

Right now I am taken down this memory lane as I troll through one of my Avon brochures and have come across a Hershey’s Kisses recipe Tin (I would post the link to the item, but I can’t find it!).  It happens to come with recipes in it, but I think the box looks pretty nifty and while I am pondering ordering it, I wonder if in 30 or so years will my daughters ring me up and say, “Mom, could you get me the recipe for Great-Granda’s scones? It’s in the Hershey’s box ….”

Any “good” Canadian will know what that means, at least according to UBC Engineer.

Since returning to Canada, and then returning to work, I have become an addict.  I am addicted to stopping at Tim Horton’s drive thru.  Extra large coffee two sugars, two milk, cinnamon raisin bagel with plain cream cheese, toasted.  I very well can justify this.  I have to drive in traffic and some mornings it can take upwards of 45 minutes to get to work (which, nearly any other time of day can take as little as 15 minutes), and that is a long time between coffees.  The Husband is addicted to cigarettes and spends far more a week on his smoking addiction than I do on my Timmy’s addiction.  So mine is the lesser of two evils, although I’m sure my butt would beg to differ and so would my pocket book, that also has to support the additional closet additions required because of the Timmy’s addiction.  But my whole purpose of telling you about this is what happened at my usual pit stop on my morning commute.

I will often check the length of the line up waiting at the drive through before actually joining it, and this morning I am about to pull up and I see an oddity … there was a man standing in the middle of the drive thru effectively stopping the next car from placing and therefore collecting an order.  Now I have only to surmise what happened before I arrived, but I can say that I really had to laugh.  Seriously, this Fella was making the car before him back up so he could go in front of them!  No I’ve heard of road rage and all that can accompany it, but “Drive Thru Rage”?  Really for all the effort that Fella went through, he could have let the person who queue jumped go first and then waited to take his turn and it all would have gone a bit smoother and caused a lot less lineup inside (that is where I went as I wasn’t waiting for that to play out and as it were it was faster for me to go inside and get my order than wait for them!) and no doubt avoided a higher blood pressure level everyone involved.  I mean really aren’t there BIGGER things to get worked up over?

Wow it has almost been a year since we moved.  In a few short weeks it will have been a year, BUT I am digressing. 

This weekend marks the first (of hopefully many!) May Long Weekend, which in its own way is a kinda huge Canadian Tradition.  May Long (aka May 2-4, Victoria Day Weekend) is the un-official start to the summer.  It is normally the turning point in the weather, which then haralds the gardening, camping, hiking, boating, many sportings seasons.  This was our first May Long.  Its wasn’t huge for us in any description, but still it was a sort of introduction.  Ireland has a May Bank Holiday weekend, but some how it just isn’t the same.  Its just a day off.  It doesn’t un-officially signal anything, and its almost guaranteed to rain.

Our first May Long consisted of Wee Blonde Child losing a stablizer on her bike (which is very entertaining to watch her peddle!); getting some sage advice about financing a new truck; me getting a slight sunburn (and a tongue lashing from my mother for getting one and why wasn’t I wearing sunblock ….); gardening (even if I STILL didn’t get the strawberries in); The Husband sorting out his fishing tackle; the first afternoon spent at the Lake playing, sunning and fishing, and Healthy Weighty Wee Man literally catching himself in the fishing net in the lake; and ended with the selling of our 1992 Ford Tempo.

Now the pictures….

Our childminder (The Supervisor’s Daughter) took it up on her self to take the Monsters to Calgary Zoo.  Yes, of course she asked and everything, but it was her idea!  Oldest Large Child had a Professional Developement Day at school, and the weather was supposed to be nice, so she thought what the heck, might as well!  After some consideration, and a few histerical thoughts!, I figured that if TSD felt up to taking all three to the Zoo, then we might as well give it a go! 

So at 7am I was joined in bed by Wee Blonde Child and then Oldest Large Child and then the questions started … “can we get  up now? Can we get dressed for the Zoo now?  Can we go to the Zoo now? When will (TSD) get here?  Are we going with (TSD) to the Zoo? Can we get dressed now?  Can we go now?”  By the time it was actually time to go, I was ready to not let them go because I was more than done with all the questions while trying to get breakfast, packed lunch, clothes, entrance fees, Healthy Weighty Wee Man restraints, train fares and myself sorted.  Before we left and I dropped them all off at the C-Train station, I gave my camera to The Supervisor’s Daughter to take pictures throughout the day.

At about 4:30pm, I collected all of them at the local train station and was surprised by the verbal diarrhea that was spewing forth from OLC’s mouth!  They saw …… the baby gorilla, and it was her first birthday and they “saw the, you know, giraffes”, and then the sting rays and the elephant ( and she provided the name which I can’t remember) and then they had lunch and they couldn’thavethe juice boxes because they were still frozen and could they have them now? and the baby koala’s were so cute and there was a baby and and and and…. at which time I think she was interupted by WBC …. who I’m told slept the entire trip on the train.

The only thing I am angry about for their day out was that when I up loaded the pictures from my camera, only four of the 20 or sopictures taken, loaded to my compter.  We have our uploader set to delete the flash card after the pictures are uploaded, and me trusting technology, proceeded to click the upload button, watch the upload start AND WALKED AWAY!  The worst part is that the best pictures were lost!  Yeh.  Don’t go there.  So here are the four that did load.

I have several very faithful readers (Ha-lo UBC Engineer!) that will often then comment to me either in person, on Facebook, or via email.  But I just want to let you all know tht you can leave a comment without a Xanga account, and I welcome them!  How can I know what you like, approve of, or want to see more?  Not that I am going to regulate my posts in such a manner, because this is after all my blog and not yours.  But still I might be feeling generous…. you just never know….

because I can’t give all the ladies a flower for being great people not to mention a maternal influence.  May you have a blessed day.

I think I need to rethink my friends list.  The in my life and lives very close to me friends list.  And maybe those I add to my Facebook friends list.  There are a couple very valid reasons for this strain of thought and it has been sifting through my conscious now and again, enough that I feel the need to post.

All too often I on Facebook lately I see the status updates of people that are making snide comments to another person.  And I have to say  …. Uhhhhh  …. Huuulllooooo …. WE ARE NOT IN JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL ANYMORE PEOPLE!  Even the few who are in highschool that are on my Facebook list (nieces and nephews!) don’t even talk like the supposed adults do!  Get over it!  Grow a set and pick up the phone and tell the person that is pissing you off, that they have pissed you off!  And if they don’t answer the phone, leave a message telling them what you rang to tell them!  And if your the person that is doing the pissing off action, suck it that you were told, and correct your actions.  But really if you’re on my friends list I really don’t want to see “why don’t you answer your phone?”.  Because I had to go to the toilet and just sat down when you rang and then I had to referee a fight between two siblings and then supper had to be made and the kitchen cleaned and children bathed and … and… and …

But really come on just send the person an FB email, write on their wall, leave a voice message …. but really …. “why don’t you answer your phone?”  or  “I hate that b*tch I hate that b*tch I hate that b*tch” come on!  Ugh.  Am I any better for posting this here?  Yes because this is MY PAGE!  I am not inflicting this on you unless you want to read.  Its not going to show up on any news feed, unless you have subscribed, and it is certainly not entirely vague.  But still, MY SPACE not one for everyone of your hundreds of friends to see!  You know why?  I’ve got a set that’s why!  Besides, during a conversation at lunch today, most other people feel the same too!  Look, if you’re not going to come right out and say, “Hey Candice why are you avoiding me?”  then shut it and deal.

Now, how do you have a friend if you don’t like their children.  I have a couple fraintances (more  than an acquaintance but not really a friend) that I know and I really do not like their children.  So I must really not like them either now that I think about it, because if their children are extensions of themselves and I really don’t like the children, then I must not like them.  I seriously have not come across some children so spoiled and rude!  Really it is to the point I will make an excuse to avoid a play date because I do not need my children learning such behaviour or being shown that such behaviour is acceptable!  And I don’t want to invite such behaviour in to my house…..

I know how to edit my friends list on Facebook, now to delicately edit it in real life.  Hmmmm “good luck with that!”

Yeh. 

 Its raining. 

The same drenching, soak-you-to-your-bones rain that Ireland has.  I’m okay with it … for now.  I know that when it stops an hour later the ground and surroundings will be dry.  At least I don’t have to water my hanging baskets.  They’re gonna be a hassle to take in tonight though.

HOW COULD YOU? By Jim Willis, 2001

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was “bad,” you’d shake your finger at me and ask “How could you?” – but then you’d relent and roll me over for a belly rub.

My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect.

We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because “ice cream is bad for dogs” you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and then you fell in love.

She, now your wife, was not a “dog person” – still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate.

Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a “prisoner of love.” As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch – because your touch was now so infrequent – and I would’ve defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.

There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered “yes” and changed the subject. I had gone from being “your dog” to “just a dog,” and you resented every expenditure on my behalf. Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You’ve made the right decision for your “family,” but there was a time when I was your only family.

I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said “I know you will find a good home for her.” They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with “papers.” You had to pry your son’s fingers loose from my collar as he screamed “No, Daddy! Please don’t let them take my dog!” And I worried for him and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life.

You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked “How could he?”

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind – that this was all a bad dream … or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.

I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days.

As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighed heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured “How could you?”

Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she said “I’m so sorry.” She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn’t be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself – a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my “How could you?” was not directed at her. It was directed at you, my Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.

Jim Willis of Grand Rapids, Michigan incredibly took out a $7000 full page ad in the paper to present this essay to the people of his community. A Note from the Author: If “How Could You?” brought tears to your eyes as you read it, as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the millions of formerly owned pets who die each year in America’s shelters.

Anyone is welcome to distribute the essay for a non-commercial purpose, as long as it is properly attributed with the copyright notice.

Please use it to help educate, on your websites, in newsletters, on animal shelter and vet office bulletin boards. I appreciate receiving copies of newsletters which reprint “How Could You?” or “The Animals’ Savior,” sent to me at the last postal address below.

Tell the public that the decision to add a pet to the family is an important one for life, that animals deserve our love and sensible care, that finding another appropriate home for your animal is your responsibility and any local humane society or animal welfare league can offer you good advice, and that all life is precious. Please do your part to stop the killing, and encourage all spay & neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals.

If you are a member of an animal welfare organization, I encourage you to participate in the Spay/Neuter Billboard Campaign from ISAR (International Society for Animal Rights); for more information, please visit: http://www.i-s-a-r.com

Thank you,

Jim Willis

Director, The Tiergarten Sanctuary Trust, accredited member of The American Sanctuary Association, and Program Coordinator, International Society for Animal Rights. e-mail: jwillis@bellatlantic.net