Your Car Insurance Company. What's Not to Love?

Image via Wikipedia 

Just kidding.

More likely you are horrified when you hear about never ending rate increases, the CEO Christmas bonuses and the profits they rake in year after year while we, the common people, work the ground with our bare and bloody hands trying to eke out a living in this cruel northern vale of tears.

(sob)

Anyway, after working the cruel ground with my bare and bloody hands yesterday, I happened upon a radio talk show quite by accident. It was about a court case in Waterloo where two people were accused of having faked major injuries after a minor car collision.

The insurance company smelled a rat, (or rats), and hired all kinds of lawyers, engineers, doctors, etc. to disprove the claim.

The upshot was that the judge found the couple guilty and they are being forced to repay the company $150,000.

Radio listeners proceeded to phone in with stories about their fellow Canadians ripping off insurance companies.

If the stories were true, and they sounded true, then I'm sad to tell you that there are some despicable people out there.

And insurance companies are apparently starting to mount a serious counter attack against fraudulent claims.

Great.


...I guess...


Call me a cynic but I think it is about as likely - even if they catch every liar and cheat in Ontario - that our car insurance rates will go down as it is that Dalton McGinty and the Liberals will win a majority government in the next Provincial election.


In other words - don't hold your breath.

News o' the Week

Image by Getty Images via @daylife

News o' the Week #1

Like all Canadians when I hear the words 'potash' and 'Saskatchewan' in the same sentence I start to quiver with excitement.

So it is understandable that the country has been in a tizzy recently because of the threat of a takeover of Saskatchewan's foreign owned Potash Corporation by a different foreign company.

I know I was riveted to the CBC.

This past week Prime Minister Stephen Harper finally deep sixed the plan.

We're particular about which foreign company owns our natural resources.


And okay, I admit it. I looked up 'potash' in the dictionary.


Potash: ... substances ... made from wood ashes and used in soap, fertilizers, etc.


Anyway, Saskatchewan has a lot of the stuff, enough to keep the national soap dispensers full for 4,000 years

News o'the Week #2

Prince William announced his engagement to Kate Middleton.

As a wedding gift Canada plans to give them a giant, Inuit hand carved, beaver shaped, soap dish made out of dried moose nuggets.

And a lifetime supply of potash.

The 3 Biggies

Image via Wikipedia

"Can I eat it? Can I have sex with it? Will it kill me?"

Our brains are constantly asking those three questions according to Susan Weinschenk, PhD, author of a blog called "100 Things You Should Know About People".

And she's right.

As a matter of fact a bizillion years ago those were the only questions the primitive reptilian part of our brains had to ask in order to survive and keep the species going.

But the 21st Century has made things a lot more complicated.

Every time your inner reptile answers yes to one of the above questions your post modern brain adds, 'but first consider this...'


Here's what I mean:


Inner Reptilian Brain: Can I Eat It?

Post Modern brain: Wait!   Does it have any trans fat? Low saturated fat? Any preservatives? Low sodium? Low cholesterol? Is it lean? How many calories? How many times did you go to the gym this week?


Inner Reptilian Brain: Can I have sex with it?

Post Modern Brain: Wait!  Is it married? Will it tell your husband, wife, partner? Is it HIV positive? Does it have AIDS, herpes or any other sexually transmitted diseases? Is it a psychopath? Is it a member of, or in any way connected to, the Taliban? Is it, or are you, likely to reproduce if you have sex with it?


Inner Reptilian Brain: Will It Kill Me?

Post Modern Brain: Wait!   Are you asking short term or long term? Is this a mugging? a fire? deep water? a fall? an explosion? an accident? Poison gas? Biological or nuclear warfare? Or is this cigarettes? alcohol? drugs? PCBs? carcinogens? pesticides? mercury, mad cow disease?


 Jeesh!

Well, today I'm here to give you the good news!

My friends, your Post Modern Brain will one day be replaced by your Retired Brain and the answers will be simple again.

The dialogue will go like this:


Inner Reptilian Brain: Can I Eat It?

Retired Brain: Is it chocolate?


 Inner Reptilian Brain: Can I have sex with it?

Retired Brain: A slice of Bavarian Triple Chiocolate Cake is orgasmic and less complicated.


Inner Reptilian Brain: Will It Kill Me?

Retired Brain: If it's chocolate, do you care?




Great news, eh?

And you don't even have to thank me for this information.


Just send chocolate!

***

The Staples of Life

Loose Teeth at the U.N.




Image via Wikipedia

United Nations Security Council Chamber


I was outside supervising the school playground one day many years ago. I spotted a young girl running towards me, waving her arms and shouting frantically.


"Teacher! Teacher!" she screamed.

"What is it? What's wrong?" my voice rose in alarm.

Quivering with excitement she gave me a bloody grin and squealed, "My loose is tooth!"



I think of her sometimes when I hear or read something confusing.


Recently I have been trying to make sense of the fact that for the first time, Canada did not get a seat on the UN's Security Council .

Every Canadian journalist that I have read has blamed somebody or some group, from Islamic extremists to Hilary Clinton to the Liberal Party to our main man himself, the Right Honourable Stephen Harper.

Each is adamant that he or she has the one and only correct explanation for the Security Council debacle.

And most think that Canadains should be ashamed.

For me, sitting here in North Pelham trying to figure out why we didn't get the seat is to get lost in a quagmire of 'loose is tooth', (confusing), journalism.


But in my fruitless search for an explanation I learned that Canada has a record to be proud of at the UN, often being the only country to take a stand and vote against repressive Islamic countries and their allies, (China, Russia, Cuba, Nicaragua and South Africa) .

UN Watch, a Geneva based non-governmental organization gave Canada the highest marks of all UN members for its work in the field of human rights.


I can hold my head up.  And so can you.


Even without a seat on the Security Council.

November Garden

"The gloomy month of November, when the people of England hang and drown themselves."

- Joseph Addison

Well that isn't much fun, is it?

 In Canada, we made our peace with winter long ago. Instead of what are evidently common British activities in late fall, Canadians go to Christmas bazaars!

I don't know about you, but I prefer the Canadian way.

Anyway, I was at a sale of Christmas crafts at a home in Niagara-on-the-Lake last week. It took place in a most enchanting and whimsical November garden. 

These are a few of the pictures I took.

"November always seemed to me the Norway of the year."

- Emily Dickinson

Jeesh!

Even the Americans have a thing against the eleventh month.

Anyway, too bad, so sad for Norway, but hey, Canada, gray skies and drizzle didn't make her think of us!

I suppose we are the Miss January of Emily Dickinson's calendar, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, okay?

"The acrid scents of autumn,

Reminiscent of slinking beasts, make me fear"

- D. H. Lawrence, Dolor of Autumn, 1916

It was quite startling to find a life size mare standing hidden and watchful in the brown November garden.

I approached the armoured creature with care and she kindly allowed me to take her picture.

"When I look into your eyes

I can see a love restrained

But darlin' when I hold you

Don't you know I feel the same

'Cause nothin' lasts forever

And we both know hearts can change

And it's hard to hold a candle

In the cold November rain."

- Guns N' Roses, November Rain

  I could feel his eyes on me long before I saw where he was standing.  Tall and about my age, I thought he was most attractive.

I tried to strike up a conversation, but he said not a word.

Me thinks he had a wooden heart.

 

See you Monday? 

(Or maybe Sunday night which is when I usually post Monday's blog, which I suppose technically mkes it my  Sunday night blog ... hmmmm.)

A Family Remembers

His Attestation Papers tell us he was born February 15, 1897 in New Haven Scotland. He immigrated to Canada as a child with his parents.

He was 18 years old on January 3, 1916 when he signed up with the Canadian Overseas Expeditionary Force.

His name was Alexander McKay.

He was 5'4" with a fair complexion, blue eyes and brown hair. He had a tattoo on his right forearm.

He was the only boy in a family of six kids. 

My grandmother's little brother.

He died during the battle of Arras near Vimy Ridge in 1917.

19 years old.

But his name has never been forgotten.

There has been an Alexander in every generation of my family since then.

The Weapon That Won the War in Europe

My father, age 18

The next time you find yourself caught in a foxhole, out of ammo and pinned down by Nazi machine gun fire you'd do well to remember the lesson of Canada's most secret weapon of WWII.

My father's infantry unit landed on Juno Beach on D Day + 1.

One day in 1944 he found himself trapped in a foxhole somewhere in France. He was with his best buddy, another kid from Maple Street in Merritton.

They'd been in the hole for days and the only things they could move were their bowels.

When they looked around for something to fight with, all they had were two shovels and a pile of the stuff that usually hits the fan.

Remember when you were in grade five, how the boys used to flick gross things at each other from the ends of their pencils?

It didn't take long for the intrepid young Canucks to substitute a shovel for a pencil and invent the 'The Great Canadian Stink Bomb'.

Eventually, thanks in part to the new weapon, they managed to scramble safely out of the foxhole.

Months later Hitler killed himself.

Rumour has it that he said it was because he just couldn't take any more shit from the Canadians.

Grave Faces III



Merritton, Ontario




This is the face I am most familiar with. He stands worn and weather beaten at the cenotaph in my hometown.

He is unusual because he is not on a pedestal. He stands almost at ground level, signifying to the working class men and women who gather around him on Remembrance Day that he is one of them - a son, father or a brother.

But his gaze is turned away from the people.

And he doesn't speak to the glory of war or to patriotism.

He simply represents the dead.

Port Dalhousie, Ontario

This young man came home.

The zoom lens on the camera has caught a pensive moment that the casual viewer from street level would not see.

As he places a wreath at the cenotaph is he wondering about fate? How it happened that he lived while others died? 

All we know for sure is that soon he will straighten his back and turn his face to the future.

This sculpture is not so much about mourning lives lost as it is about teaching us that life must go on.



Thorold, Ontario



This proud figure stands very high, so high it was almost impossible to get a view of his face.

The war never really ended for him, his work has continued.

He epitomizes the line in the national anthem, "Oh Canada, we stand on guard for thee".



Niagara Falls, Ontario



This soldier is also placed on a very high pedestal.

His helmet is off, he has taken a moment to remember his comrades.

We get the feeling however, that he thinks he will be able to rejoin the battle at any minute.

He does not yet understand that he is one of the fallen.



Welland, Ontario



This astonishing monument looms across Chippawa Park in Welland.

According to the plaque it was the last monument made in Canada commemorating World War 1. It was dedicated in 1939 on the day after World War II broke out.

The Canadian soldier is protecting a female figure from a terrible evil. His fighting stance tells us he will never give up, never retreat.

In 1939 the woman represented Great Britain and other European allies.

Today she represents Afghanistan.

***

Thank you to our veterans and thank you to the men and women who are in uniform serving our country today.

Some of the Greatest Canadians Were Americans

Statue of a Loyalist family at Hamilton City hall, Hamilton Ontario,
Photo from "The Loyalist" website

Canada's first veterans weren't Canadian, they were American.

Eh?

Well, after the French and English armies met in 1759 on the Plains of Abraham and the French were sent packing, the good folks who lived in Protestant New England were tickled pink.

Until the Brits sent them the bill.

Grumblings about things like taxation and representation grew into a full scale revolution. The problem for some of the locals was that the British Army was still a large presence in the colonies and many people who probably didn't care one way or the other about the king, did depend on the army for their livelihood.

But there was no sitting on the fence. New Englanders were forced to choose.

Those who figured the British Army was invincible and chose wrong soon found themselves in very deep doo doo.

'Tory parasites' as they were called were beaten, some were hanged. Their homes were looted and burned. Property and possessions confiscated. Women were not safe.

Fearing for their lives, many Loyalists rode north to the British outpost at Fort Niagara. 

Once there they joined Colonel John Butler.

Butler's Rangers engaged in raids and skirmishes against the Continental Army and gained a fearsome reputation.

Eventually the war ended, but not well for the good guys.

How sad when the Loyalists realized they couldn't go home.

How daunting it must have been when Fort Niagara was handed over to the Americans and the first settlers crossed the Niagara River into the wilderness that was Canada.

But not only did the Loyalists build a country, some of them, like my ancestor Francis Weaver* who fought with Butler's Rangers at age 14, lived long enough to take up arms against their former countrymen again in 1812.

The new 'Canadians' refused to be driven from their homes again.

In 1814 the Americans retreated to their side of the Niagara River where they have stayed ever since.

A veteran from the War of 1812.
Note the silver maple leaf
and Canadian flag. 

We honour the Loyalist veterans this Remembrance Day.

 *Francis Weaver died of injuries sustained during the War of 1812 but many of his descendants still live in this area. 

Here Are The News*



Have I got some news for you!



If no news is good news, then some news is bad news, right?

Not necessarily.  Some news is irritating, some is boring, some is silly but on occasion some news we get is heart warming.  Read on.


Canada (irritating)

We heard a lot about Khadar the teen terrorist last week. He killed an American soldier when he was 15. Dicey on many levels.

He's a Canadian.

He's an Islamic terrorist.

He was underage.

If we take him back then the Americans won't have to execute a foreigner who was a boy when he committed his crimes.

But do we want him?

I keep hoping that maybe he'll have a St. Paul on the road to Damascus experience.

Sigh.

Anyway, it took a while but I've come to the conclusion that the decision to bring him home was the right one.

He is our responsibility.


Ontario (boring)

Provincially, last week's chitchat among the columnists I follow seemed to be about how badly the Liberals are going to lose the next election.

Ho hum.

It isn't the first time that has been said and, (yawn), it isn't going to be the last.


Niagara (silly)

On the local level, the uproar was about Calgary's (free, online), mandatory ice rink behaviour class for parents who have enrolled little Johnny or Judy Canuck in minor league hockey.

Will it come to Ontario?

Is it necessary in Niagara?

Personally, I think it's a good idea.

Show people that the civilized response to a bad call by the ref is not whacking him over the head with a hockey stick.

I don't know if it would change anything down at the old arena, having idiot parents at hockey games is a proud Canadian tradition.

But it can't hurt anything either.


North Pelham

The best news this week was neighbourhood news.

My next door neighbour lost her husband a few weeks ago. It was a long, difficult struggle and his death left her drained physically, financially and emotionally.

She called me yesterday to tell me that her husband's old timer's hockey team turned up at her place Saturday morning and spent hours doing all of her yard work. The guys even moved heavy things she couldn't manage.

She sounded so much better.



Kinda makes you forget Omar Khadar, politics and abusive hockey parents, eh?


Nice way to start a new month.




* Edith Josie, reporter from Old Crow, Yukon to the Whitehorse Star, Whitehorse, Yukon 

Boo! It's Me

It's me, with my blog review and upadates for October - from pumpkins squares to Mrs. Russell Williams...

X RATED PUMPKIN SQUARES

What can you say about pumpkin, chocolate, and Antonio Banderas all being in one place?

Answer: YUM!



SEX, DRUGS BUT NO ROCK AND ROLL

Prostitution is legal in Canada, but all of the stuff that goes on around the sex trade is illegal, i.e., soliciting, running a brothel, etc.

Evidently most Canadians think that 'the oldest profession' should be legalized and regulated.

Unfortunately the decision which should have come at the end of October has been postponed.

No decision will be announced until the end of November.



GROWLS FROM A CYNIC

Right.

Like anything I say is going to change the insurance industry.

Moving on...



CONFESSIONS OF A WITCH IN THE PUBLIC SCHOOL SYSTEM

A set of Christian parents accused me of promoting witchcraft one year when I was teaching grade six.

What a lot of hocus pocus.



THANKSGIVING DAY

It was nice to have a chance to say thanks.



HEADLESS IN SEATTLE

This was the first of my 'Scary Things' blogs.

I heard this urban myth about the headless boyfriend at the same time I heard the one about the couple that went parking in the town where the one handed murderer was on the loose.

Remember that one?

When they got home they found a hook hanging from the door handle.

Funny now. Scary at 14.



A DIFFERENT KIND OF SCARY

'On the Beach'.

This 1959 end-of-the-world movie still chills me.



BRA BURNERS ON THE LOOSE

"Why Do We Fund These Bra Burners" was the dumbest headline that I'd seen in ages.

The writer was angry because a group of female separatists in Quebec are partially funded by our tax dollars and they refuse to condemn the Islamic veil. (I know, I know, making the connection is a stretch).

So let's ignore the separatist thing for now and talk religion.

We need to be very careful about the whole issue of Muslim head garb.

If some Muslim women are oppressed, it isn't because of the hats they wear.

Freedom is an important part of being a Canadian.

November is a good month to remember that.




A COLD AND CLAMMY DREAD

The last 'scary things' blog.

I didn't dare reread "The Haunting of Hill House" but I did find a little about the author.

Shirley Jackson actually called herself a witch and cast spells now and again.

She also lived in a big, happy house full of kids where she ate too much, drank too much, smoked too much and died young from, you guessed it - too much.



FLATTENNED

More tales from the crypt about me and GM and the spy car.

Speaking of the spy car it is almost time for snow tires.

You should see the poor thing in her winter attire, (ouch).

The car is small and the tires big. I feel as if I'm roaring around North Pelham in one of those monster trucks.



MRS. RUSSELL WILLIAMS

This was the hardest blog to write this month.

I still don't know if I did the right thing.

I say things to myself like, "What if Mary Elizabeth Harriman reads your blog and throws herself into the Ottawa River? Won't you feel sorry then?"

Well if she does I will feel sorry. Really sorry.

That's why I don't know if I was right to blog about her.

My other problem about the blog is that I usually support women and two of my readers took me to task for not understanding that she is an abused woman.


Is she?


She is the only one who knows for sure and she isn't talking. 

The other two women in this horrific story can't talk.



AUTUMN THOUGHTS

I really enjoyed putting this one together although Picassa wasn't working and it was a struggle to download the pictures.

Thanks, Monika, for my favourite comment of the month. 

(Not that I didn't like the others.  I love comments, the good the bad and the ugly!)

A friend might be thousands of miles away but she is always kept in the cockles of your heart.

Okay, I have to look it up...

Cockle: the innermost part of one's heart or feelings.

Exactly!

***

See everybody in November!

***

Note: 

Oct. 30th is my bloggiversary. (I didn't coin the term I read it in someone else's blog.)

My NP Journal is one year old!

Autumn Thoughts



"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower."

- Albert Camus

It doesn't seem to me that there are as many oak trees as there were when I was a child.

In my memory, they shade every sidewalk.

Walking to school in the fall was prettier and way more fun than walking politely past rose gardens in spring.

"You can't hide your true colours as you approach the autumn of your life."

-Anonymous

If only my soul looked like this! 

Or my hair.

 

"I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the

landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter.

Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show."

- Andrew Wyeth

Americans like the painter Andrew Wyeth, may feel reassured that something lies beneath the autumn path, some hope of spring.

In January, Canadians, who have a million miles of tundra hugging their backsides, aren't so sure.

"Come said the wind to

the leaves one day,

Come o're the meadows

and we will play.

Put on your dresses

scarlet and gold,

For summer is gone

and the days grow cold."

- A Children's Song of the 1880's

They surely do.

 

So buckle your seat belts eveybody, we're sliding into November!

***

Mrs. Russell Williams

"...wickedness is not something that replaces the goodness of a man, it is the staining ...of an innocence...

The Symbolism of Evil, Paul Racoeur, Beacon Press, 1967

 

A terrible criminal case came to a close this week in Canada. A high ranking, respected military officer, one who had evidently piloted the Queen around the country, was arrested and confessed to the rape, torture and murder of two young women. He assaulted and stalked other women and girls, some as young as nine.

He was sentenced to life in prison, twenty-five years without parole.



I saw one sickening image of Russell Williams posing in the undergarments of one of his victims. He was a stomach-turning parody of a woman.

It made me wonder where the real woman in his life is.

She did not attend the trial.

I must tell you, some things aren't sitting well with me about Mary Elizabeth Harriman, (aka Mrs. Russell Williams). She is now the sole owner of their $700,000 home in Ottawa, has a cottage in Tweed and she has returned to her high powered job. (Rosie DiManno, Toronto Star, Oct. 22, 2009, The Enigma of Mrs. Russell Williams)


What was she doing when he was out committing his unspeakable deeds? If his trophies were in bags that were strewn about the house, why didn't she notice?

Why isn't she being held accountable?



What am I missing here?

Flattened

The spy car.  Notice the colour of the other vehicles.



Yesterday, the spy car had a flat tire.

It came with a lifetime supply, (its lifetime not mine), of GM roadside assistance so I called the toll free number.

A machine picked up. " Welcome to GM Roadside Assistance. Do you need assistance with a GM product or with a ..."

WHAT?

I was phoning GM Roadside assistance wasn't I? What else could they possibly help me with?

"Push '1' if you need assistance for a GM product. Push '2' if you need help with a ...."

Hoping I wasn't giving up an offer to have one of GM's accountants find tax loopholes for me, I hit number 1 on the key pad.

The same voice said, "Thank-you. Please enter the last six digits of your VIN number."

My VIN number?

Where on earth was the spy car's VIN number? I looked around frantically wondering if other people actually know these things. I spotted a long number on the card I was holding.

I took a chance and entered the last six digits.

The line connected and a real person answered.



"Hello, my name is She-who-knows-cars. How may I help you?"

"Oh hi," I imploded with relief, "I've got a flat tire."

She-who-knows-cars said, "Do you have a spare tire, Ma'm?"

I had no idea if I had a spare tire.

"Welllll, it's a 2009 ... I must have a spare tire?"

My voice rose because I was really asking She-who-knows-cars if she knew if I had a spare tire.

She didn't tell me.



"What colour is your vehicle, Ma'm."

"What do you mean what colour is my vehicle? It's a spy car and Judging by the number of cars that are the same colour as mine in every parking lot in Canada it's the only colour you guys have!"

Okay, after I got home that's what I imagined myself saying.  What I really said was, "Wellllll, it isn't white. It's beige, I guess. No wait, maybe a cream colour. No, I think it is actually kind of a bland colour."

She accepted that. I guess 'bland' is a GM car colour.

They aren't proud.

Anymore.



She-who-knows-cars said, "What is your licence plate number, Ma'm."

This was going from bad to worse. Remember when you were a kid and you learned to spell 'geography' by memorizing 'George Eton's Old Grandmother Rode A Pig Home Yesterday?

That's right. My licence plate starts with All Zebras Yell Viciously. Which is a great gimmick if you are writing it down but not so good if you are telling someone.

"Welllll, it's...," (I had to pause while I pictured the first word), "A..."

"Yes?"

(Another pause while I pictured the second word), "Z..."

She made me get out of the car and look at the licence plate.



Then she said, "What city are you in?" (Probably hoping I was somewhere far away from her.)

I, however, was totally happy that I finally knew the answer to something.

"I'm in St. Catharines!" I said triumphantly. "I'm at the Museum."

If She-who-knows-cars had been a little friendlier I would have told her about the cool doll house my friend Linda had catalogued that day, but sadly we weren't bonding.

"What street is the Museum on?"

"What street is the Museum on?" I repeated like an idiot.

I could see the street from the parking lot.

I drive from North Pelham to the Museum every week.

But I had no idea of the name of the street.

I turned around and looked at the canal.

"Wellllll, I don't know about a street name but it's at lock 3. Lock 3 of the Welland Canal!" I said as if the Museum could only be reached by ocean liner.

I nodded enthusiastically into the phone. Maybe there was still a chance we could be friends. I was dying to tell somebody about the doll house.

She disconnected for a second.

"All right Ma'm," she said when she returned, "We'll have someone there in about 45 minutes. Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

There it was again. GM offering their crooked accountants.

I have standards.

And I was mad she wasn't going to give me the time to talk about the doll house.

"No thank you," I said coldly.



The tow truck came within 15 minutes and the driver said that 'I' had a slow leak.

I pondered this while he filled the tire. 

He told me to go to a garage.



As I pulled into the tire and battery shop I thought to myself, "Well that wasn't too bad. It was free and now I know everything I need to know about how to get a flat tire fixed.

I drove onto the lot and then stepped out of the spy car with a smile.

I was a woman in charge of her own life. Knowledgeable about the ways of the road, automotively informed, vehicley literate.

Nothing could stop me now.



"I'll need your wheel key," said the mechanic.

"MY WHAT?"



 

                                                                                

Jeesh.

A Cold and Clammy Dread

Cover via Amazon

Lonely young woman, haunted house, repressed sexuality...

Did I get that when I was twelve?

I must have sensed it because "The Haunting of Hill House" by Shirley Jackson, scared the hormones right out of me.  I'm sure it is the reason that I didn't reach puberty till I was forty.

It so terrified me that after I finished it I became afraid of the book itself. It sat on the bottom of my closet and to this day I have no idea what happened to it.

Probably returned itself to the library.

Jeesh.

Anyway, feeling brave I took myself off to the library this week and actually found the book still there. The hard cover version is bluish-gray.  It sits so unobtrusively on the shelf that I missed it the first time I looked.

It is classified as a "psychological ghost story".

I didn't know that when I was a kid. And it wouldn't have meant anything to me anyway. When I picked it up I probably thought it was just another 'Nancy Drew Investigates the Haunted Mansion' type book.

But it wasn't Nancy Drew and I got so sucked into the story I couldn't stop myself from reading it. I mean when she gets into bed and feels the hand ...

Let's just say it was years before I could put my own hands under the covers.



A best seller in its day, it has been largely forgotten, pushed aside by sexier writers such as Steven King and Dean Koontz.

But if you are looking for an old-fashioned scare this Hallowe'en, one that leaves you with 'a lingering clammy dread', (reviewer Laura Miller), it's down at the library waiting patiently...

just for you...


Bwa ha ha!

Bra Burners on the Loose in Canada

"QWF, (Quebec Women's Federation), is always in a hurry to denounce cleavage or a mini skirt worn by an emancipated and free woman, while refusing to condemn a truly evil tool of submission as the veil, niqab or the burka."

Eric Duhaime, freelance writer, St. Catharines Standard, Oct. 14, 2010


Believe it or not, this was written under the heading, "Why Are We Funding These Bra Burners?"

Bra Burners.

I didn't know whether to be happy or frightened when I read that old put down. Happy because it means that somewhere out there women are speaking out and frightened because it means that the retaliation has begun.

Not that I've heard anyone sink that low in a few years.

Anyway, Mr. Duhaime is angry that the QWF gets some of its funding from the Status of Women, (our tax dollars at work), supports Quebec separation and is against the War in Afghanistan.

If that is true, I'm not happy with them either.

But I believe he is treading on dangerous ground when he says the QWF is not supporting Muslim women because it refuses to condemn the veil.

Common sense should tell us that faces should not be veiled in courts, airport security zones, polling booths, or in legal photos taken for identification purposes, i.e., license, health care.

But for the rest of the time, probably 99% of her day, how a woman dresses is not the business of the Canadian Government.

In that, I support the QWF.

Image via Wikipedia

A Different Kind of Scary

Cover of On the Beach

I f you are the type of person who would be more frightened by seeing someone in your backyard in a hazmat suit than you would be by someone with a crazed look and a chainsaw, then you may want to check out the old 1959 movie, "On the Beach", this Hallowe'en.

It is set in Australia after a nuclear conflict between the U.S. and Russia. The radiation fallout has killed everyone else and the Aussies know it is only a few months until they too will die.

As the movie opens people are living like there's no tomorrow because there isn't.

As luck would have it, the American submarine that has the handsomest man in the world as captain, (Gregory Peck), wasn't nuked. It docks in Melbourne and of course Captain Gregory meets a beautiful woman, (Ava Gardner), and they fall in love.

While the doomed romance unfolds, the Australian government is busy issuing suicide pills to families.

This is not a feel good movie.

But then the impossible happens. Morse code messages start coming from somewhere on the west coast of the U.S. They are gibberish but Gregory Peck and his band of not so merry men have to investigate. Gregory and Ava say their gut wrenching farewell and the submarine departs.

I'm not going to tell you what they find when they reach North America.



Did I mention this is NOT a feel good movie with a happy ending?



If you like old movies and scary end-of-the-world flicks, this might be the thing for you on Hallowe'en night.




On the Beach, 1959
Directed by Stanley Kramer
Based on the novel with the same name written by Neville Shute

Headless in Seattle

 

Image via Wikipedia

The murder of Thomas a Becket

   


Over the next week or so, In honour of Hallowe'en I'm going to look back at a few of the things that have scared me at some point in my life.   Here is a story that I heard at a sleep over when I was in grade eight.  

It might be familiar to you, too.



 "A murderer was terrorizing a town. 

But a girl and her boyfriend didn't care.  They went parking in a dark lane one night anyway.  

After awhile they heard something so the boy  told the girl to get under a blanket and hide on the floor of the car while he  went out to investigate. Before he left  he told her that he would knock three times when he wanted to get back in the car. 

She waited a long time.  

Finally she heard tap...tap...tap...  She crawled out from under the blanket and saw her boyfriend's head stuck on the car's aerial. The wind was knocking it against the car window."

Yikes!

I don't think I slept for weeks after I heard that one.

And more than four decades later I still find it a disturbing story - as much for what it leaves out as for what it tells us.

I mean, I'd like to know what happened next.  Did the girl actually jump into the driver's seat and speed off with her boyfriend's head still impaled or did she spend the night huddled under the blanket listening to the killer rattle the door handles?

Yikes again!

As a cautionary tale for young teenage girls this one works. 


My inner fourteen year old girl will never go parking with a boy again!

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Thanksgiving Day

Image via Wikipedia

Our Parliament buildings are a symbol of our democratic system of government.

I'm thankful that that we are free to express ourselves politically, artistically and spiritually.

I'm thankful for the Canadian men and women who have fought for freedom. I am thankful for those who are in a war zone at this time. I am especially grateful to those who have given their lives.

These names can be found on the walkway that leads to the memorial at the Fonthill Legion.

When there is an emergency in North Pelham the men from the Fire Station #3 arrive before anyone else. Through snow and ice storms and in the dead of night they are there when we need them.

I'm thankful for the men and women who work in fire departments and I'm especially thankful for those who are volunteers.

I'm thankful to the police officer who responded when my car skidded on an icy road early one morning and I went spinning into a ditch.  I'm thankful to the police officers who came to the school when we had children in crisis.

I'm thankful knowing that if I  need them, they will be there.

The faces of angels.

These are four of the workers who helped care for my mom in her terrible struggle with Alzheimer's. I asked them to stand as representatives of all the people who care for and love the elderly and the dying.

I am truly thankful for all health care providers.

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Have a wonderful Thanksgiving Day, everyone!