Thursday, May 15, 2008
Ain't it Grand?
Grand Auntie visited on the weekend; she and Grandma took The Bonnie Wee One for a little walk.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Poor Grampa
Hi, It's Nikki Dee here, and the way that my grampa dressed me this morning cracks me up.
The old guy didn't realize that he was putting a onesie on me until he pulled my jeans up. By then he was too flummoxed to be bothered fixing his mistake. Grampa hates onesies, but I have no idea why.
Anyhoo, for his sins I made him work very hard holding onto me while I spent some more quality time on the table.
The old guy didn't realize that he was putting a onesie on me until he pulled my jeans up. By then he was too flummoxed to be bothered fixing his mistake. Grampa hates onesies, but I have no idea why.
Anyhoo, for his sins I made him work very hard holding onto me while I spent some more quality time on the table.
Up and Down
This was the kid climbing up and down her little picnic table the other day. She had been doing this for some minutes before we started the video. I kept trying to make sure she didn't fall off the other side. BTW she's wearing my hat. Cute, eh?
Monday, May 12, 2008
Changing Times
For not the first time I felt badly this weekend when I walked into the grocery store. It was a largely due to the changing times.
The Sea Cadets had their tins out and were collecting donations from the store patrons. I was unable to help because I seldom carry cash — not in coinage anyhow. In Canada, if you don't have coins, by default and definition, you are not carrying any denomination less than five dollars. And that's too much to toss into an unexpected charity collect — for me anyway.
It's due to technology in my case because all I need to buy groceries is my cash (or debit) card, so I seldom carry coins. The result is that some charities, those who are stuck in old paradigms, lose out. On the other hand, I am fairly frequently asked if I'd like to donate a buck or two for this cause or that at a checkout. I seldom, if ever, refuse because it just gets added to my grocery or gas or whatever total, and my pocket book doesn't even seem to notice. Those charities win out in the new era of technology and cashlessness.
In another example, just recently, I had an email request to sponsor my nephew and nieces to participate in some sort of athon for the Canadian Cancer Society. The oddity is that they're in Korea. They're raising money way over there for the Cancer Society over here. Not only that, but all I had to do was to click a link in the email to take me to a page that made sponsoring and contributing easy. When I had pledged my donation, almost immediately, I was sent an official and printable income tax receipt by email. It was all done easily and painlessly.
But I still feel a little badly when I am unable to contribute to the kiddies by the doors of the grocery store. I used to be one of them after all.
The Sea Cadets had their tins out and were collecting donations from the store patrons. I was unable to help because I seldom carry cash — not in coinage anyhow. In Canada, if you don't have coins, by default and definition, you are not carrying any denomination less than five dollars. And that's too much to toss into an unexpected charity collect — for me anyway.
It's due to technology in my case because all I need to buy groceries is my cash (or debit) card, so I seldom carry coins. The result is that some charities, those who are stuck in old paradigms, lose out. On the other hand, I am fairly frequently asked if I'd like to donate a buck or two for this cause or that at a checkout. I seldom, if ever, refuse because it just gets added to my grocery or gas or whatever total, and my pocket book doesn't even seem to notice. Those charities win out in the new era of technology and cashlessness.
In another example, just recently, I had an email request to sponsor my nephew and nieces to participate in some sort of athon for the Canadian Cancer Society. The oddity is that they're in Korea. They're raising money way over there for the Cancer Society over here. Not only that, but all I had to do was to click a link in the email to take me to a page that made sponsoring and contributing easy. When I had pledged my donation, almost immediately, I was sent an official and printable income tax receipt by email. It was all done easily and painlessly.
But I still feel a little badly when I am unable to contribute to the kiddies by the doors of the grocery store. I used to be one of them after all.
Friday, May 09, 2008
Once Seems Not to be Enough
Twice in the past two weeks, I have used pot holders to carefully removed a covered dish from a hot.
Twice, I have put the pot holders down.
Twice, Cuppa has asked if the dish is hot enough or if it needs to go back in.
Twice, I have picked up the lid ... with bare hand.
Twice!
Twice, I have put the pot holders down.
Twice, Cuppa has asked if the dish is hot enough or if it needs to go back in.
Twice, I have picked up the lid ... with bare hand.
Twice!
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Speaking of Birds ...
Just yesterday, I said that I had only ever see robins hurtle themselves repeatedly into windows, and I stand by that statement. However, putting it in print like that reminded me of another bird that flew into a window and into our lives.
I was sitting in our family room maybe fifteen years ago when I seemed to partly hear and partly glimpse a tiny thud into our patio doors. I know that you can't actually see a thud, but something registered in my vision and about the time I heard some sort of splat against the glass. In a few seconds it dawned on me that it must have been a bird, and I lumbered out back to check on it. And it was indeed a tiny bird who seemed relatively unafraid of me, for he stayed near when the other birds (who had been trying to pick on the poor exotic creature) vamoosed.
When I described the incident and the bird to my colleague, Dave, the next day, he identified it as a zebra finch. He went on to tell me that it was a pet bird, a bird normally kept indoors in a cage. As it turned out, he was quite correct in that but most incorrect when he also informed me that these birds have a beautiful song. You see, led by Cuppa we captured the bird that day and kept him for three years, but in order to prevent the narrative from getting too long, I'll forego describing the capture for now.
We called him Beaker because zebra finches have a colourful and distinct beak. We later also called him Beeper because that was the only sound he ever made. If zebra finches can sing beautiful melodies as Dave claimed, we sure didn't hear any in the three years that he lived with us. All we heard was a lot of beeping.
The beeping didn't just come from Beaker but also Squeaker, the avian friend that we soon purchased for The Beaks. They were cute birds. We called them the Beepin Buddies and/or Brothers of the Beak and/or Friends of the Feather.
Squeaker died after about two years with us, and shortly thereafter we discovered that Beaker was a girl because we found an egg in the cage. Imagine that! After two years together, a bird near death impregnated his friend. They say that people's evolutionary impetus around death (the death of others, of course — I assume) is to have sex (ie death is at hand, make babies), and maybe it is so with birds as well.
Regardless of whether that is so or not, Beaker stayed with us for another year after Squeaker's departure, but we took her to my mothers' for her to mind once when we were away. Mom put the cage outside on a fine summer day, and when she came out, the cage had been tipped over and Beaker was hopping around. Mom lunged for Beaker who flew off in startled fear, and we never saw her again.
No doubt that's how we found Beaker in the first place, or rather how she found us. She left her previous house as a result of a similar accident, stayed with us for three years, and then was lost.
I felt badly, for this little bird was ill equipped for life in the wild, and I really doubt that she would have been lucky enough to be rescued again. I hope that she had three good years with us and that it wasn't too hard for her in the end.
I still feel bad when I think upon it. She was a cute little being who deserved better.
I was sitting in our family room maybe fifteen years ago when I seemed to partly hear and partly glimpse a tiny thud into our patio doors. I know that you can't actually see a thud, but something registered in my vision and about the time I heard some sort of splat against the glass. In a few seconds it dawned on me that it must have been a bird, and I lumbered out back to check on it. And it was indeed a tiny bird who seemed relatively unafraid of me, for he stayed near when the other birds (who had been trying to pick on the poor exotic creature) vamoosed.
When I described the incident and the bird to my colleague, Dave, the next day, he identified it as a zebra finch. He went on to tell me that it was a pet bird, a bird normally kept indoors in a cage. As it turned out, he was quite correct in that but most incorrect when he also informed me that these birds have a beautiful song. You see, led by Cuppa we captured the bird that day and kept him for three years, but in order to prevent the narrative from getting too long, I'll forego describing the capture for now.
We called him Beaker because zebra finches have a colourful and distinct beak. We later also called him Beeper because that was the only sound he ever made. If zebra finches can sing beautiful melodies as Dave claimed, we sure didn't hear any in the three years that he lived with us. All we heard was a lot of beeping.
The beeping didn't just come from Beaker but also Squeaker, the avian friend that we soon purchased for The Beaks. They were cute birds. We called them the Beepin Buddies and/or Brothers of the Beak and/or Friends of the Feather.
Squeaker died after about two years with us, and shortly thereafter we discovered that Beaker was a girl because we found an egg in the cage. Imagine that! After two years together, a bird near death impregnated his friend. They say that people's evolutionary impetus around death (the death of others, of course — I assume) is to have sex (ie death is at hand, make babies), and maybe it is so with birds as well.
Regardless of whether that is so or not, Beaker stayed with us for another year after Squeaker's departure, but we took her to my mothers' for her to mind once when we were away. Mom put the cage outside on a fine summer day, and when she came out, the cage had been tipped over and Beaker was hopping around. Mom lunged for Beaker who flew off in startled fear, and we never saw her again.
No doubt that's how we found Beaker in the first place, or rather how she found us. She left her previous house as a result of a similar accident, stayed with us for three years, and then was lost.
I felt badly, for this little bird was ill equipped for life in the wild, and I really doubt that she would have been lucky enough to be rescued again. I hope that she had three good years with us and that it wasn't too hard for her in the end.
I still feel bad when I think upon it. She was a cute little being who deserved better.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Inspiration
Third post of the day, but I need to introduce some of you to Pam at Mind Trips. This woman is an inspiration. I am tempted to say that she suffers from ALS, but that wouldn't be correct, for her life is about joy, not suffering. Somehow, this talented woman still finds a way to do wonderful Photoshop work, and she writes great poetry too, like the one in today's post. Pam doesn't post often, but if she's not on your list, I think you owe it to yourself to read today's post if nothing else: an inspiring post by an inspiring woman.
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