Nerds R Us

NERD ALERT! YOURS TRULY HAVING A NERD MOMENT

I never thought of myself as a NERD until recently. It all started when our lab student Chelsea, lent me Season 1 and 2 of “The Big Bang Theory“, a TV series.

This show has just completed it’s third season. I can recall when it first aired. Seeing the title, I eagerly clicked on it, expecting a legitimate scientific documentary about the origins of our universe. (my favourite type of show). I was disappointed to see a Sit-Com format complete with canned laughter and quickly changed the channel. I didn’t give it a chance. Three years passed and now thanks to Chelsea, I am a newly converted fan of The Big Bang Theory. Apparently I am also a nerd. Actually, I’m middle aged nerd of the worst sort.

What does NERD stand for? I looked it up on Google and decided the best meaning is “National Establishment for Real Dorks”.

I can relate to many of the Big Bang Theory episodes, because from an early age, I shared the same interests and social blunders that the characters so brilliantly bring to life.

As a child I remember staying at my Grandparents’ house. There was a corner store a few blocks away with the usual sweet treats and soft drinks. There was also a display shelf of Comic books. My favourites were Superman, Batman, Flash, Wonderwoman and Atom. I wonder what happened to all those old comics? Nowadays they would fetch a good price on Ebay. As an adult, I began collecting SHI comics. The main character is a female Japanese warrior who practices Asian Martial Arts. Feminism and Globalization has even influenced the comic book industry.

I was introduced to Science Fiction on the Late Late Show. My cousin was staying over and we were supposed to be asleep, but being girls, we were too busy talking and giggling. All of a sudden we were startled by the eerie sounds coming from the living room. It was the Musical Score from the 1951 classic “The Day the Earth Stood Still”. We snuck out of bed and watched in fascination as the robot Gort came out of the spaceship. My dad was sprawled on the couch, fast asleep, unaware of our misdemeanor. I was hooked on Space and Science from that day on.

Then, in the mid-sixties, Star Trek made it’s debut. Every Friday night, my brother and I were glued to the TV for one hour. We loved to see Kirk and Spock and Bones exploring the Universe and meeting Alien life forms. Soon the Vulcan Mild Meld, the Vulcan Nerve Pinch and the Vulcan Death Grip became part of our everyday vernacular. Only true nerds know that The Vulcan Death Grip did not really exist. It was merely a ruse by Spock to trick the Romulans and fake the death of Captain Kirk, thereby saving his life. The very fact that Vulcans do not exist is a moot point.

I still enjoy the Star Trek reruns( including the Next Generation and Voyager Series) and plan to attend a convention someday. There is one every year in Las Vegas. I wonder which of my family members I can convince to accompany me. I won’t tell them that I plan to dress up as a female Klingon until it’s too late. (Thinking that my CD of Conversational Klingon will come in handy.)

Like Sheldon in the Big Bang Theory, I have a collection of Star Trek memorabilia. My favourite is a photo of Spock signed by Leonard Nimoy. I also have various trading cards and figures tucked away in the closet. How nerdy is that?

After Star Trek came Star Wars and all the other shows in the space fantasy genre. I sometimes tried to decide which I preferred: Star Trek or Star Wars. It’s like choosing between apples and oranges. They each have their own merit and should not be judged against each other. As long as it had a space theme, I liked it. I remember when my former husband insisted on going to see The Ghostbusters instead of The Last Starfighter. Ghosts are ok but the Stars win out every time in my book. No wonder he is now my X husband.

I’ve been fascinated by Astronomy from an early age. Carl Sagan and his “billions and billions of galaxies” sparked my imagination when his Cosmos series was aired in the 1980’s. Carl taught me the origin of the word “googol”. It was a term invented by the nine year old nephew of a mathematician to name a very large number: a 1 followed by 100 zeroes. Years later, Google has become a household word and one of the most successful search engines of all time. Yet, only the nerds among us realize the word’s beginnings.

I have always marvelled at the wonderful mystery of the universe and taught my children to be aware of it also. We often headed out to an open field, blankets and thermos in tow, to witness a meteor shower. I remembering showing them Halley’s Comet explaining how it only came back every 75 years.

On May 10, 1994 we witnessed an annular eclipse. The schools forced the students to stay indoors with the blinds drawn, but I chose to use this phenomenon as a teaching opportunity. We rigged up special viewing boxes and held them over our heads as we sat on the steps of our pool. If the neighbours previously questioned my insanity, they were now certain of it. I didn’t care. In true nerd-like fashion I explained what was happening but they remained unimpressed. Nevertheless, the event was an awesome experience. As the eclipse manifested, the sky darkened slightly and the birds became very agitated. We heard them twittering frantically in the treetops. As we looked down at the deck, we saw shadows formed into circular patterns like the rings left on a table by a dirty glass. We know that the earth is travelling through space but we rarely see such a vivid reminder of it. We all need to take the time to consider our spiritual and scientific place in the universe. It puts everything we do and dream of in perspective.

The characters on the Big Bang Theory all have careers in Science but also appreciate Science Fiction. Even though science is based on hard facts and proven theory, we all need to leap into the realm of possibility. Everything begins with a thought. If we dream it we can build it. It’s no small accident that today’s cell phones bear a striking resemblance to Captain Kirk’s communicator. The idea came from Gene Roddenberry’s imagination and became reality four decades later.

Chelsea is just starting her career in Lab Technology as I am nearing the end of mine. And yet, the Nerd quotient bridges the gap between us. Thanks to Chelsea, I am now a self-proclaimed Nerd and proud of it. As Spock would say: “Live Long and Prosper”

　

Doing the Technology Two-Step

Doing the Technology Two Step

Technology began when the first caveman (or woman) picked up a rock and used it as a tool. All of his friends and family soon followed his example. Rocks were “in” and life was good. Then, someone had a better idea. They improved the rock tool by attaching it to a stick. The handle was born and life was better. I wonder what the older members of the clan thought of this new invention. However, since the life expectancy in the Stone Age was 21, this question is redundant.

Fast forward 35,000 years and we find ourselves in the present day. Our brains haven’t changed, but our tools bear little resemblance to those first inventions. Someone is always finding a better way to do things. Technological advances are like a runaway train and I am barely catching up to the caboose.

If it was up to me, we would probably still be living in caves with our rocks. I have never been mechanically inclined. I know there are many others who feel the same. That does not make it easier. The only way to escape modern technology is to live on a remote island without electricity. Ever since our ancestors started using tools, the rest of us have had to do the “Technology Two Step“. We need to keep learning the Dance, or get lost in the shuffle. Then without warning, someone changes the music! By the time we reach our 50’s we’ve done a lot of dancing. Some of us have been around the block more than a few times. Our feet ache. Our brains are not as receptive to new ideas. We’re technologically challenged.

I see how eager my 16 month old grandson is to learn and understand. His brain is like a sponge. Mine is like a brick. He is not intimidated by buttons. He happily presses each one with reckless abandon. He has even pressed the speed dial on the phone and called his great grandmother on the other side of the country. No problem! On the other hand, I guard my TV remote like a precious jewel. If one of my cats walks on it and (heaven forbid) pushes the wrong button, my TV suddenly goes loud and snowy and I have no idea how to get it back. I call the technical support line in a total panic and can just imagine what they are thinking on the other end of the phone. The worst part is, they always record the conversation to improve quality customer service. They probably use me as an example of how to handle a difficult customer in their training sessions.

Work in the lab has it’s own challenges. In the last ten years, I have had to learn 3 new computer systems. Each time was more difficult than the last. I told my co-workers to just shoot me if we ever need to learn another system. Remembering the fuss I made the last time, I’m sure they will gladly comply with my request.

I recently visited a Future Shop in Edmonton. I felt mildly uncomfortable surrounded by all the new shiny gadgets. I didn’t know what some of them were for, and I didn’t want to ask. The industry is advancing so quickly, anything we buy will be obsolete before we take it out of the box. There is always a newer version waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting consumer. I wonder what happens to all that obsolete equipment. My desk top computer is only 6 years old, but in techno years, it’s more like 60. It certainly acts like a 60 year old, creaking and groaning and moving slower every day. The powers that be (all those 20 and 30 year olds) keep inventing new programs and applications that require upgrades.

Our generation used to say “Never trust anyone over 30”. Now we can amend that to “ Never trust anyone under 30”. The old adage “Necessity is the mother of invention” has been changed to “Invention is the mother of necessity”. If we seriously think about it, the latter is very true. Those of us born in the 1950’s and earlier remember the days before the internet and cell phones. We happily lived our lives in a much simpler time. We never felt disadvantaged or backward. Those modern inventions created a need where there was none before.

Last week I switched to a new Satellite TV provider to save money. The technician who came to the house looked about 12 years old. Have you ever noticed how everyone looks younger as we age? The corollary to this is that everyone looks heavier as we lose weight. Of course I haven’t noticed that lately. It’s all in our perspective and the New Year’s Resolution is still in the works.

Anyway, this 12 year old (he was probably 35 but still young enough to be my son) with a tool belt and sturdy shoes proceeded to install my new HD receiver. I reminded him that I was also getting a new PSP, no, P2P, no, PMS….umm. I stammered and looked up to the ceiling, concentrating intently as if the mysterious letters were written up there.

“You mean PVR?” he asked. “YES!” I said, relieved. Now we were finally getting somewhere. All I know is that I will be able to freeze the action on my TV if I get interrupted during Grey’s Anatomy. I found out later that I can also record shows and then watch them later. Well, maybe everyone else can do that, but it will be a while before I can figure it out. I asked the 12 year old if there was an instruction manual to explain this PVR thing. He looked at me as if I forgot the alphabet and needed a refresher on my ABC’s.

As he gave me a quick tour on the workings of PVR my mind went blank. All I could think of was “I’ll never remember this!”

He said to press the pause button to halt the action.

“Pause? Where does it say pause?” I heard myself say as I put on my reading glasses and peered at the 100+ buttons on the new remote.

He looked at me as if I had sprouted a dunce cap on my head.

“It’s here” he said, pointing to the two little vertical lines. It’s the universal symbol for “pause”.

“Universal symbol? What universe is that? Probably a universe where everyone is under 30 years of age.” I kept these thoughts to myself, but I did say “Why don’t they include manuals for things like that?”

He was very polite but I suspect he secretly decided I was unstable and needed to be tranquilized.

I don’t get along with new technology. My natural inclination is to ignore the contraption for as long as I can and then slowly make eye contact. I learn how to use it eventually, but only after my procrastination has become an embarrassment even to myself. I once bought a new video camera because it was apparently “easy to use” and also because it was red, my favourite color. That poor thing sat in the box under my bed for 3 weeks. I just wasn’t psychologically ready to tackle it. I finally learned how to use it, but it was a painful process and even now, I still need to consult the instruction booklet every time.

The PVR and I are still in the early stages of our relationship. We’re slowly getting acquainted. I’m certain that we will get along eventually, one step or maybe two steps at a time.

"Seniors Are Special People"

A few weeks before Christmas, my friend and co-worker Paulette asked me to go on a day trip to see the “Singing Christmas Tree” in Edmonton. I decided to say yes, even though I had never heard of this event.

I looked it up on the Internet to see what it was all about. Apparently, it’s an annual Christmas Concert that includes singing, dancing and orchestra. There are approximately 200 performers, including the singers who stand on scaffolding surrounding a giant Christmas tree. It’s a Charity Event with the proceeds going to Santas Anonymous, an organization that provides toys to underprivileged children. They have been spreading the Holiday Spirit for 55 years.

It sounded like a worthy cause as well as a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. I didn’t realize that this day would be a turning point in my progression from middle age to the senior years.

On the day of the concert, we met at the Heritage Center parking lot. The mini bus was already warming up for the 2.5 hour drive to Edmonton. I glanced at the bus and did a double take. There, on the side of the bus, in large glaring letters was “Seniors are Special People.” Great. I was not only a Senior, I was Special too! And I was going to sit on that bus.

It was one of those moments we never forget. Like the time someone first called me “Ma’am” ( I was in my early 20’s at a gas station). Or the time I found my first grey hair (I was 27). And then, more recently, the time I learned I needed reading glasses( when my vision had always been perfect.). And now, I was going on the “Seniors are Special” Bus. Oh Joy!

I took a deep breath and stepped onto the bus with Paulette. 18 pairs of female eyes were on us, since we were the last to board. We noticed that there weren’t any double seats left.

I bravely asked if someone would be willing to give up their seat so Paulette and I could sit together. No one volunteered. Apparently “Seniors are Stubborn People“. I found a spot in the back row in the corner and settled in.

The women introduced themselves, since I was a newbie. I greeted Stella, Hilda, Doris, Marlene, Agnes and many more. All solid traditional names. Not a Tiffany, Brandy or Zoe in sight. They were curious about me and didn’t waste any time. “Are you married dear? Do you have any children? Do you work?” It was all done with genuine interest so I didn’t feel too awkward. They decided I was ok and accepted me into their group. They passed around bags of homemade cookies. Sometimes “Seniors are Sweet People”

There weren’t any cell phones or text messages in sight but we managed to amuse ourselves. Soon, we began to sing songs , play word games and draw pictures on the steamed up windows of the bus (no doubt from all that hot air). Which only proved that “Seniors are Spontaneous People”

The only man on board was our driver Bob. He was the husband of one of the women and at age 78, I was more than mildly concerned about his driving competence. Bob was wearing one of those multi-coloured sweaters Bill Cosby used to wear in the 1980’s and probably thought he was a fashionista.. I looked down at my red sweater with the cats embroidered on it and wondered if others thought the same thing about me. I promised myself to purge the relics from my closet and donate everything to charity. “Seniors sometimes wear Silly Things”

The woman who sat next to me confided all the details of her accident in 2002 and how her life was changed forever. I offered my genuine sympathies and support. Some “Seniors are Sad People”

The concert was 2 hours long with a 20 minute intermission. I was impressed with all the local talent and was amazed at the dedication of the volunteers. Everyone in the audience enjoyed the performance and showed their appreciation with the thunderous clapping afterwards. This was an excellent way to officially start the holiday season. The traditional christmas carols resonated long after we left the auditorium. I planned to make attending the “Singing Christmas Tree” a new family tradition. (my family does not know this yet). Sometimes “Seniors are Sneaky People”.

I thought the concert was the highlight of the day, but the real excitement came on our trip home. There was a conflict of opinion on the best route to take. Everyone has their preferred way of getting out of the city and everyone thinks that their way is the best. I sat in my back seat in the corner and watched the scene unfold.

Women were arguing in the aisles, arms waving. One stood next to the driver and gave directions. Another shouted “No, that’s not the way! Turn around!” Another could be heard shouting, “Let the driver decide”. “Just let the driver decide how he wants to go home” These "Seniors are Serious People"

We went a few kilometres down the road and then made a U-turn. Lucky for us, the driver, age 78 and nearly deaf had learned to tune out female voices. He had been doing that very same thing for the past 50 years of his marriage and it never failed. He plugged along quietly and drove on the dark and snowy country roads , slow and steady and sure. This “Senior was Smart.”

The conversations lulled and everyone nodded off for the remainder of the trip. I guess all the excitement tired them out and so: “Seniors are Sleepy People too”.

And me? I’m slowly getting used to this new designation, but for now I’ll refer to myself as “Senior-Lite”

Cruise "out of" Control

The Little Gringo and his Mama

My family and I just came back from a Christmas Cruise to the Mexican Riviera. The Ship was a floating city with 2600 passengers and approximately 1200 crew members. It was 288 meters long and weighed about 116,000 tons. The mantra of the Princess Cruise line is “Escape Completely” and that is exactly what we did.

We were at the Edmonton airport at 440am (groan) to catch the flight to Seattle. From there we boarded another plane to Los Angeles. My grandson Nicholas adjusted very well to flying. In fact, he became a perpetual motion machine, climbing from one of our laps to the next and fidgeting with everything in site. He learned how to raise and lower the window shades, how to unhook the tray and turn on the overhead lights. He did this 20 times in a row with a concentrated effort. His energy was boundless.

It was raining when we arrived, but nothing could dampen our spirits. We lined up with hundreds of other passengers and were entered into the ship’s passenger list. They ushered us along, processed our papers and took our picture. By the time we got to our cabins, it was past 4 pm, almost 12 hours since our departure. What we really needed was a nap, but we had barely opened our suitcases, when the alarm sounded for the Muster Station drill. We were marched down to the 7^th deck and were instructed on how to put on a life jacket and handle an emergency I thought of the Titanic and how many lives could have been saved if such a system had been in place.

Then the cruise officially began. What followed was seven days and nights of continuous revelry, feasting, drinking, self indulgences and entertainment. There was something for everyone, from Bingo to Art Auctions; Ceramics at Sea to Line Dancing; Interdenominational Church Services to Casinos ; Movies to Live Stage Shows. I was familiar with the floor plan, since it was identical to the ship on my last cruise. Even the lounges and decks had the same name. This was reassuring, since I tend to get disoriented very easily. Turn me around once in a mall and I won’t find the exit.

The food was never ending. We were like Tolkien’s Hobbits, indulging in first breakfast, second breakfast, mid-morning snack, lunch, afternoon tea, early supper and finally a formal dinner at one of the 5 star restaurants. Every night I promised myself never to eat again and every morning, all bets were off! Our waistlines expanded exponentially and we thanked God for Spandex and stretch leggings.

We were curious about how all this glorious food was prepared, so we attended a demonstration by the head Chef. His passion for cooking and fine cuisine was clearly evident as he made a few entrees and desserts for his appreciative audience. Then we had a tour of the well stocked galley. It was stainless steel from wall to wall and very well organized.

We followed the route of the of the original Love Boat Show and almost expected Captain Stubing and his cohorts to appear at any moment, but the only stars we saw were the ones in the night sky.

The passenger list included people of every age group. Families, couples and singles mingled effortlessly, congregating at the Buffet and swimming pools on the Lido Deck. The atmosphere was casual and friendly and everyone seemed to be having a great time.

The crew and support staff made us feel very welcome and did everything they could to ensure our comfort and well being. Nicholas was fussed over and given special treats such as chocolates and cookies. He always had a small box of cereal to nibble on and left a trail of Fruit Loops all over the ship. He soon learned how to charm the other passengers with that “come hither” look. He was at his best in the elevators, making eye contact with the ladies and they always responded with smiles and attention.

We participated in some shore excursions. Christmas Day was spent on a Pirate Ship in Puerto Vallarta. The pirates entertained us with sword fights and encouraged our participation in singing and dancing. Dolphins swam alongside the boat and we even saw a few whales. Then we were piled into smaller boats and taken to a remote island with a private beach. I imagined myself as a castaway or a captive as I stumbled and struggled in and out of the crafts. Three Mexicans dressed as pirates held on to me and I kept hearing “I’ve got you Mama!”. Somehow I landed on the beach, a little embarrassed at my undignified descent. I sat at the water’s edge and let the waves push me along. Later I found sand in the most unmentionable places.

Nicky was afraid of the crashing waves, but we found a quiet lagoon where he played in the sand. We found tiny hermit crabs at the water’s edge. Life is everywhere if you know where to look. I had planned to do a bit of snorkelling on the reef, but this activity was cancelled due to the recent bloom of jelly fish. Their populations have increased worldwide, partly due to the rising ocean temperatures. Another stark reminder of the changes happening to our planet.

Our next day was in Mazatlan. The boys went Deep Sea Fishing and we girls decided to shop till we dropped. For a $10 cab fare we were taken to the prime tourist area of town. I practiced my bargaining techniques and was able to purchase quite a few trinkets for under $80. My daughter was in full bargaining mode, as she set her jaw, pursed her lips in a disinterested pout and scanned the shelves. When she made a selection, she invariably offered less than 50% of the list price and then started to leave the store. The negotiations continued until an agreeable price was achieved. It was the “Classic Kostelnik Manoeuvre“. My dad would be so proud! Dannielle was hesitant at first, but soon gained confidence as she watched us. By the end of the day she was a full fledged bartering diva, quibbling over pesos like a seasoned veteran.

The last shore excursion was at Cabo San Lucas on the southern tip of the Baja Peninsula. We took a bus tour through the desert landscape. The guide explained the history of the area and some of the ongoing efforts to preserve this fragile ecosystem. We visited Todos Santos and ate lunch at the original Hotel California, immortalized by the Eagle’s song of the same name. We ate Tamales steamed in corn husks, a tortilla, salsa, refried beans and guacamole. All this was washed down with Corona beer and a lime twist. I ignored the possibility of a gout flare-up and eased my thirst with that refreshing brew. We should not live in fear of what might happen. The time to live and enjoy is now! Savour every moment as I savoured that beer.

Back on the “Mother ship” I must confess we played a few rounds of bingo. I usually avoid the 3 B’s ( Bingo, Bowling and Bars), but my defences tumbled by the lure of easy money and available drinks. Thank God they don’t have bowling! (they have practically everything else). I might have gone for the trifecta! Everyone kept reminding us that we’ll never see these people again and to let our inhibitions fly. What they forgot to mention is that we’ll probably end up in embarrassing poses on Facebook for all the world to see. As we prepared to leave on the last day, I saw myself on the big screen in the theatre, dancing in the conga line with a silly grin on my face. That day on the pirate ship had come back to haunt me. Next, I had visions of myself in an “Old Girls Gone Wild” video, or even worse, “Grammie Goes Gaga over Ganga”. Heaven help us.

It may sound glamorous to work on a cruise ship but quite the opposite is true. The staff work very long hours and sometimes spend months at sea, away from their loved ones. Realizing this, I made a promise to myself to be more appreciative of my own job. We can all find things to complain about, but it is much better to cultivate an attitude of gratefulness.

The last day was spent preparing to disembark and enjoying those precious rays of the warm tropical sun. Our seven day cruise was in it’s final stages.

The temperature was -27C when we arrived home, a brutal reintroduction to our Alberta winter. I took a deep breath and reminded myself to be grateful.

And now I am back at work, settling into my old routine and dreaming of my next adventure…..Costa Rica anyone?

Remembering Christmas Past

Our Family Gathering Christmas 2007

Although steeped in tradition and celebrated for 2000 years, Christmas has evolved along with our Western Culture.

In days gone by, it was primarily a Religious Holiday to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. In pre-Christian times, ancient societies celebrated the Winter Solstice marking the end of the darkest days of winter and welcoming the New Year. Today there is more emphasis on Santa Claus, gift giving and feasting. The common denominator is that we gather together with our friends and family to enjoy each other’s company and celebrate life.

Many of us still love the traditional Christmas Carols. Nothing can convey the solemnity and mystery of the Nativity as “Silent Night“ Some songs, however, have become outdated. Does anyone know what a “Figgy Pudding” is? It must be some sort of dessert made with figs, but no one I know has ever made a figgy pudding, much less eaten one.

And then there is the famous line, “Don we now our gay apparel” which today has totally different connotations, and certainly not what the composer originally intended to say!

I have many happy memories of past Christmases and would like to share some of them with you.

As a child, Christmas always began with the annual trip to Hudson‘s Department Store in Detroit. I remember standing in line for hours, waiting to see Santa’s Village and sit on the knee of Santa himself. The village consisted of miniature robotic Elves posed in various settings with lots of mini lights and fake snow. It was hot and crowded, but we forgot about all those discomforts when we walked through that wondrous fairyland, our eyes wide with amazement.

In the weeks leading up to the big day, we sometimes participated in Christmas pageants at church and the Teutonia Club. This is the German Club in Windsor Ontario. Everyone was dressed in their finery as songs were sung, German verses were recited and St. Nick arrived. It was a production line as the children were brought up on stage, starting with the youngest. I remember the noise and chaos in the large hall as we waited our turn. Now, years later, I appreciate all the work and expense that was involved.

Because we didn’t have a fireplace, I was concerned about poor Santa. I was worried that he would climb down the chimney and end up in the furnace. My mother reassured me that he had a special key to the front door. Only then could I sleep in peaceful slumber. Santa was safe.

We upheld the traditions of our forefathers in Europe. Christmas Eve was a day of fasting so we ate fish instead of meat. My dad was the chief cook that day as he made the Fish Paprikash. It was a delicious fish soup made with fresh Carp ,onions, tomato juice and wine. My maternal grandmother was in charge of making the homemade noodles. She kneaded the dough and then rolled it out on a board. It was then cut into strips about 3” or 8 cm. wide. The strips were then lightly floured to prevent sticking and stacked one on top of the other. I still remember her skilful cutting, as she quickly sliced through the strips with a sharp knife, miraculously avoiding her fingertips.

We gathered around the table, said a prayer and enjoyed the soup. Fresh cut onions and roe (fish eggs) were sometimes added to the bowl and were considered a delicacy. It was the poor man’s version of caviar but we didn’t mind. After the soup, we each got a portion of the boiled fish and some potatoes. Carp is full of tiny bones and it required some skill and patience to avoid them. Not everyone appreciated this meal and my mother usually cooked some other seafood such as shrimp and scallops to tempt their discriminating palates.

We were well sated as we gathered in the living room. The tree was aglow with lights and ornaments. Our favourites were the little red bell and the birds that attached to the branch with a clip.

We were all eager to open our gifts (it was our custom to open gifts on Christmas Eve), but first we had to sing three Christmas Carols for our parents and grandparents. We tried to contain our excitement but soon tore off the wrappings of each gift with greedy delight. The entire living room was knee deep in wrapping paper in a matter of minutes.

Cookies and chocolates were offered but we were too full to eat.

Soon 12 am approached and we drove to church for Midnight Mass. St. Michael’s Church was resplendent in it’s holiday décor. Two huge white poinsettias flanked the altar and a pair of long slim trees covered in lights stood on each side. To the right was a large nativity scene; a manger with all the figurines nestled in straw and baby Jesus in the center. We celebrated Mass, the Choir sang our praise to the heavens and our Christmas was complete.

The next day as other families were just getting up for Christmas morning, we lingered in our pj’s and played with our new toys.

Christmas Dinner was always a turkey with all the trimmings at my maternal Grandparents’ house. The entire family gathered there, including aunts, uncles and cousins. Since the dining room was a bit small, the children ate in the TV room. After the meaI, the men stayed at the table and played cards. Cigarettes were not yet considered unhealthy and soon big clouds of smoke filled the room as they played for kernels of corn. 10 kernels of corn = 1 cent. It wasn’t exactly high stakes poker, but the games remained lively as they called out their trump cards and pounded them on the table. Meanwhile, the women sat in the living room and chatted about this and that. The children were left up to their own devices to find amusement. We sometimes played board games such as Monopoly and Parcheesi.

We also paid a visit to our Paternal Grandparents. My Oma offered us her crescent cookies filled with plum jam and sprinkled with fruit sugar. Her specialty was a Spritz cookie pronounced “Gex” ( I’m not sure of the correct spelling). Opa always had stories to share and the discussions that followed gave everyone an opportunity to contribute their own perspectives.

I was in Fort Lauderdale for Christmas 1968. It was very strange to see the colored lights strung on palm trees and Santa figures perched on green lawns. My friend and her grandparents were very gracious, but I missed my family terribly.

On Christmas Eve 1972 my Uncle Adam passed away suddenly. He had been suffering from stomach cancer and the chemo treatments proved too much for his heart. We were all devastated. My grandparents never put up a tree after that year. Each Christmas was a painful reminder of this tragedy, but life goes on as it must.

As everything changes. so did our Christmases. We got married and merged our traditions with those of our spouses and their families. As we raised our own families, we formed new traditions while honouring the old.

One of the most memorable Christmases was at my parent’s home in the mid-1980’s. My siblings, cousins and their families were all there. My dad slipped out quietly and soon we heard a knock at the door and a lot of Ho-Ho-Ho’s. It was Santa Claus come to deliver his gifts! The kids were all jumping for joy as they gathered around Santa. If they suspected my dad, no one said anything to ruin the magic. It was one of the best Christmases we ever had and one of my dad’s finest moments.

Now as our lives continue, the next generation is gathering for the Holidays. It is our turn to create memories for our kids and grandkids. Many things have changed, but many things remain the same. The Spirit of Christmas is alive and well in the love we share with family and friends. Love is the eternal bond that brings us all together. Love has always been there since that very First Noel.

Merry Christmas Everybody!

Adventures in Plumbing

We take the modern conveniences of indoor plumbing for granted. In fact, next to electricity, we scarcely give it a thought. Unless we are on a rugged camping trip, we expect hot and cold water, drains that drain and a toilet that flushes whenever we need it.

We have all experienced that foolish feeling when trying to flick on the lights, even though we are aware that there is a power outage. It’s just automatic. We don’t care why it works or how it works or where it came from. We just use it. Period.

This morning, the strangest thing happened as I was getting ready for work. The lid from a small plastic bottle of lotion flew out of my hands and landed right in the drain of my bathroom sink. It landed top side up, just to make it more interesting. It was a perfect fit. It completely plugged the sink. I stared at it, dumbfounded. What are the odds?

I had visions of my bathroom sink being an attraction at the carnival and me shouting: “Get the cap into the drain; win a stuffed animal; 3 tries for $1” I don’t think anyone could do it even if they tried. But here was the lid, finding its’ way into the drain without any help. There must have been some gremlins at work, or that cap had serious suicidal tendencies.

I brushed my teeth in the guest bathroom, while thinking of ways to dislodge the cap. I thought about it all day. I talked about it to co-workers and patients. I was obsessed. That cap became Moby Dick to my Captain Ahab.

First I tried wedging two slim steak knives on either side and lifting up, but the knives kept slipping. Then I remembered “Red Green” and his Duct Tape. I attached tape to the lid and pulled up. No luck. It did not have a large enough surface area to adhere properly.

Then my vacuum cleaner was brought out. Let it be known that my vacuum and I have a hide and seek policy. It hides and I try not to seek it. (I hate vacuuming). But this was an emergency. I placed the hose above the cap and turned on the motor. It sucked and strained. I changed attachments and tried again. The cap rose slightly but sank back down as soon as I removed the hose. The toilet plunger had the same result.

I tried using a corkscrew, but the cap was made of hard plastic and not as easily penetrated as a wine cork.

Next came a manual drill, a relic from my dad’s wood shop. I held it upright, turning the knob as the bit rotated into the cap. But the cap had other plans. It turned with the bit and refused to cooperate. I could feel the frustration building.

Calling a plumber was always an option, but it was the weekend and the cost was a deterrent. That and the fact that I really wanted to do it myself. I wanted, no needed to prove to myself that I can and I shall prevail over that cap.

In the midst of all this bravado, the cap was still embedded in the sink, quietly taunting me, firm, resolute, impenetrable. I imagined smashing it to bits, but there was a possibility of damaging the sink so I resisted.

I felt like Scarlet O’Hara in that scene where she raised her arm up in the air, vowing never to be hungry again. Only in my reality, the foe was not the Union Army. It was a small white plastic cap, mocking me in it’s refusal to budge. But I was determined.  I would not be defeated! I would not give up!

It was time to bring out the big guns: glue gun that is. I melted some glue onto a circular piece of wood ½” in diameter and attached it to the cap. I burned my fingertips on the hot glue and silken strands cascaded all over the sink like spider’s webs. I waited for the glue to harden, eyes gleaming, counting the minutes in breathless anticipation. My victory was near. Or so I thought. The elusive lid must have been wet or oily since the glue failed to stick. Drat!

The fates move in mysterious ways. I was in the process of decorating our Lab-X Ray department for Christmas and while searching for supplies on my workbench, my eyes fell upon an old soldering gun. I used that tool to melt holes into plastic pots for additional air circulation for growing orchids. In a flash of inspiration, I decided to melt a hole into that cap and then use a crochet hook to pull it up.

A little voice inside my head said: “I’ll get you my pretty sink; and your little cap too!” I wondered when I turned into the Wicked Witch of the West but no matter. There was a battle to be waged!

I heated up the tool and easily melted a hole into the cap. Then with my crochet hooks spread out like surgeon’s tools, I selected the proper size. Into the opening it went and up popped the cap. The entire process took 5 minutes. Everything is easy when you know how.

Success at last! The drain was free! I danced around the bathroom, cap in hand like Gollum when he found the Ring.

The lessons to be learned from this are as follows:

1.Never give up when you have a goal in mind.

2. Conventional problems can be solved in unconventional ways.

3. Avoid little bottles with plastic caps unless you have extraction tools.

And in conclusion: Duct Tape may be the handyman’s secret weapon, but a middle aged woman with a crochet hook can conquer the world!

In Memory of Zeus

In Memory of Zeus

Last Saturday, we said farewell to a dear friend. Our beloved Doberman, Zeus had to be euthanized.

It started about 2 months ago when we noticed a lump on his hip. It was surgically removed, but proved to be a malignancy. In a relatively short time, more tumors appeared. He grew weaker as the disease progressed. It was very difficult to see him succumb to this deadly disease and even harder to make the decision to end his suffering.

Zeus was true to his breed possessing intelligence, courage, loyalty and gentleness. He was part King Doberman and stood slightly taller than the standard. With his slim physique, sleek coat and long legs, he was sometimes mistaken for a Greyhound.

Zeus was born on April 6, 2002. As a youngster, he exhibited all the routine puppy habits, chewing everything in site. On his first visit to Oma’s, he ate her freshly planted Pansies. He was not the most popular fellow in her books.

In true Doberman fashion, he was aloof with strangers, but to those he considered part of his pack, he never lost that puppy innocence and playfulness. I was proud to be part of his inner circle. When my son Mark was housebound with a knee injury, he and Zeus formed a lifelong bond. To the end of his days, Mark was the most important person in his life. When Mark was away at work, Zeus would throw back his head and howl sorrowfully, as he waited for his master to return.

Zeus was a terrific guard dog. No one dared to venture onto the property once they heard his ferocious bark. Little did they know that he never bit anyone in his life. Apparently, biting was not in his job description. (this endeared him to us even more). Ever on alert, he immediately sprang into action if we asked “who’s there?” He would scan the entire yard, looking for trespassers with an intensity only a Doberman could create.

We never mastered the art of walking him with a leash. It always appeared that he was walking us, and our shoulders were practically getting dislocated. Even with a choke chain, he seldom lessened his vigorous tugs.

When Mark was in Europe, I had the privledge of keeping Zeus for 6 weeks. We went for daily hikes on the nature trails. Since there was often no one else around, I let him run off leash to his heart’s content. He ran like a gazelle, up and down the trails, delirious with happiness. Every once in a while he would bound off into the underbrush. There would be some loud barks, a few yelps and soon after, he would reappear on the path, his muzzle full of sharp porcupine quills. He always looked startled and slightly embarrassed, like the cat who ate the canary. He avoided eye contact with me as if he admitted his guilt.

Even though he had a canine’s superior sense of smell, Zeus often clashed with Skunks. It happened once, late at night as Mark and family were ready to drive back home to Edmonton. Picture 3 of us in the bathroom, with an 85 lb Dobie in the tub, doused with tomato juice, jumping up and down, shower curtain tearing, tomato juice everywhere except on the dog. My house smelled like a skunk den for a week.

Zeus also had a knack for getting into the garbage, especially when his people were gone for a few hours. Our patience was tested to the limit, coming home to the mess. On one occasion Zeus hit the jackpot. I had a roast beef defrosting in the sink. Taking advantage of his height, he reached in and easily grabbed the meat. I assumed that he ate the entire thing in a gluttonous frenzy, since I never found that roast. He was sneaky and knew when to seize an opportunity. An entire box of Girl Guide cookies also suffered the same fate.

He loved to do tricks for small treats. I taught him to SIT, STAY, SPEAK, LIE DOWN, ROLL OVER, and SHAKE A PAW. Anything for a treat. He sometimes ran out of the yard and enjoyed the exhilaration of freedom for a few minutes. The only way I could convince him to come back was to hold up a cat as a “treat” The cat was not amused but that trick worked every time. Zeus didn’t mind cats, but cats minded him. He couldn’t resist the chase, but he was such a gentle soul, he would never hurt them.

Ah Zeus. He was our loyal companion, our furry friend and our protector. He was a member of our family and a part of our life. We will never forget him.

　

REST IN PEACE SWEET ZEUS

WE WILL MISS YOU