Music Sooths the Soul

I was once asked if you had to choose which one you could live without, your sight or your hearing, what would you choose? I would have to grudgingly say my sight and I say grudgingly because without music I don't think the world would be as bright for me. But at least I wouldn't be bumping into more walls than usual.

I don't remember not listening to music. My sister was 10 years older than me so I cut my teeth on the Beatles, Rolling Stones and other giants of the 60s. My mother was of the big band era so I was also exposed to Glenn Miller and others. And, because of Bugs Bunny and Ed Sullivan I was exposed to Vivaldi, Pacini and other opera composers. I may accidentally sing Kill the Wabbit while listening to the Ride of the Valkyries, but at least I know it's Wagner! I went to sleep with the radio on, it was a constant in my life.

In my day you didn't have stereos in your room, or headphones, you were stuck listening to what your parents listened to at home and in the car. I didn't get a stereo in my room until senior year. You waited until the parents were out and then you blasted the house with your rock music until you saw the car in the driveway. Even when I had a stereo I had to listen with headphones because of that "eternal racket" as my father would say.

Oh but do I remember listening to stereo records on my headphones to classics like Dark Side of the Moon and Procol Harem's Live album. The first time the alarm when off in DSOTM I almost jumped out of my skin...wasn't expecting it. And the scream in Pink Floyd's Careful with that Axe, Eugene on the Ummagumma album. Another skin jumper.

Then there was the funnier times. I bought the National Lampoon's Lemmings album after hearing it at a friend's house. I was listening to it without the headphone because the family was downstairs. I had forgotten about the part where the MC screams, "We're in the NY Times, the "fucking" NY Times!" Of course that was right when my stepmum came up the stairs.

Speaking of Lemmings. So many times music has been the touchstone of my life. Listening the Lemmings in David Noel's basement with Nancy McKay. I wanted to go out and buy that album when I heard David had died. And pretending to like the Ohio Players because a guy I liked listened to them. I still remember the songs but not the guy. Listening to Peter Frampton when I was living in Toronto the summer of '77. Rushing home on a Saturday night to see Queen on the Midnight Special. And the Midnight Special, the most amazing show on TV.

All the concerts I can remember, and some that I can't remember. They were all wonderful times. Queen, Supertramp, Boston, Alice Cooper, Stevie Wonder, Styx, The Knack, the list goes on and on of wonderful concerts.

For me life would be dull without music.

Screaming Secret Writer

I have tried over the years to write a blog but I’ve been unsuccessful and it bugs me. See, inside of me is a writer screaming all these ideas, but unfortunately the screaming only happens in the car while I’m driving. Then what happens when I get home? Blankness, pure blankness. For the life of me, I cannot remember one witty line, and I know they were witty because I was cracking up in the car. I was brilliant and clever, and full of insightful knowledge. When I get home, all I can think about is “is there pudding in the fridge?” Most times I guess I’m so glad to be in the door, my sanctuary from the mean outside world that I think my brain just dumps. So right now, I really have nothing to say. Nothing about politics, my animals, work, my family…nothing…nadda…zilch. I guess I’ll go to bed. But I will guarantee in the morning I’m going to be absolutely fabulous—until I get to work and sit in front of my computer.  

The New Year

Ah, the coming new year. Time to reflect, time to make plans, time to make resolutions, and time to break every single one of them. I don’t  know why we go through all that soul-searching and agony of trying to remake ourselves in one night. As if we can undo years of habits in one fell swoop.

 

I have some pretty bad habits that I’d like to address, but for once, I’m not going to get all philosophical and think I can fix years of  habits in one month. But I will lay them out and see what I can do with them. And I'm only doing two, no need to get all heady.

 

1. Be better organized in the morning. Too often I end up buying lunch because I don’t have time in the morning to make breakfast or lunch. So often breakfast is the same thing, yogurt and berries when I get to work, and then I have to buy my lunch. It’s becoming too expensive and I eat too much when I buy it.
2. Lose weight. Now this isn’t some “gee I’d like to be the same weight I was in high school”…ain’t going to happen. But my weight is a major part in controlling my diabetes, and stopping the pain in my knees and back. I don’t have to lose a lot but I’ve been up and down so often that I’d like to maintain my weight anywhere but where it is.

 

So that’s about it. 2013 wasn’t a bad year. I had some fun, I had some lows, but I have to say the year tipped more towards the fun side.

 

Every Christmas I buy an ornament or two that represents what I’ve done this year. Some years I’m wracking my brain to find one thing. This year I bought four ornaments. So yes, it was a good year.

 

Hopefully in 2014 I’ll buy six ornaments!   

Jellyfish Clouds

It’s funny how things that pop into your head as questions get answered the next day. I was looking at these strange clouds yesterday. They looked like jellyfish because they had hanging tendrils under them. I had never seen clouds do that. Then the next morning I was watching the news and the meteorologist was talking about the same thing. She even said they look like jelly fish.

 Speaking of meteorologist, what do you call the female ones if they aren’t meteorologists? Some of them don’t have the degree. We call the men weathermen but what do they call the women? Back in the dark ages they called them weathergirls. Apparently back in the day, women who had the same job as men weren’t allowed to grow up. I’ve never thought of that.

Anyway, I digress. So I looked up the jellyfish clouds and this is what I learned today on Weather.com (you know I didn’t write this stuff).

They are called altocumulus castellanus. When warm, moist air rises, the invisible water vapor eventually cools and condenses into tiny water droplets on particles called condensation nuclei. As the process continues, water droplets further accumulate upwards, creating visible heaps in the sky known to us as white, fluffy clouds.

However, in the case of jellyfish clouds, the warm, moist air can only rise so high in the atmosphere before it gets stuck. The moist air encounters an area of much drier air, which causes the moisture to evaporate at a faster rate than it can condense. Essentially, the cloud vaporizes at this height of the atmosphere, thereby stunting the cloud's growth and producing the "dome" portion of the jellyfish cloud.

At the same time, water droplets within the cloud are becoming too heavy to remain suspended in the air. As gravity pulls the water droplets toward the ground, they encounter yet another layer of dry air and evaporate before they can strike the surface of the earth. This phenomenon, known as virga, produces the tendril-like streaks in the sky below the altocumulus dome.

Jellyfish clouds develop during fair weather days, when there is enough moisture in the air to produce clouds but not enough for them to grow large or to produce rain.

So now you know.

Thanksgiving

Yesterday was Thanksgiving in the US. After all these years, this Canadian kid can’t get used to Thanksgiving in November.

We had a wonderful dinner with the family. Only one of the boys was missing due to work, but two had to go to work after dinner, so we had it early. And that is the reason for this blog today. I have two that work in retail and one that works at a retirement home. Obviously, the one who works at the retirement home is needed, but did the retail stores have to be open on Thanksgiving Day?

There’s been a lot of debate on that issue this year on the social media sights. People are complaining that we’ve become too commercial and that family should be together on Thanksgiving. Of course, people have been complaining for years that Christmas has become too commercial. I think even back in Dicken’s day they were complaining. Has there ever been a time that Christmas wasn’t commercial? I think we all hark back to days that never existed—the rose-coloured glasses of Christmas past. At least in my lifetime Christmas has been very commercial. Shoot, I bet about the only time it wasn’t commercial was the first one in Bethlehem!

There are always the ones that say Christmas isn’t about the presents, that we should stop buying and enjoy the season for what it should be. Now my first thought is, “What would their reaction be to a tree with no presents under it?” I remember one Christmas that I spent away from home. I was living with some friends of my boyfriend. They bought me one token present. It was the most miserable Christmas of my life.

Christmas is about a lot of things: the birth of Christ; giving gifts; receiving gifts; enjoying the season; loving each other, etc. People zero in on the commercialism and forget that it’s part of the whole package. Yes, I love finding the perfect present; yes, I love going to midnight mass; yes, I love watching the kids open their present; no I hate the snow (had to throw that in).  

Also, since I have two children in retail I’m rather glad of the commercialism because they have jobs!! Both were unemployed for a long time because people were not spending and companies were downsizing. We shouldn’t go into debt, but retailers would go out of business and the country would crumble with Christmas shopping. So even though it cut into my holidays I was rather glad it was because of work.

But, should the stores be open for Thanksgiving. I say no. Give us one day to stop, and take a breath, before the madness of the holidays. Although I have to say I was tempted by the 30% off all items at Michael’s and thought of going there late last night. But after eating all that ham and fixings, I was too full to move out of the chair LOL.

The Horrors of Being in a Hospital

I lived on Keating Drive when I was four and six years old. The year between we moved to Boynton Beach. Mom was a nurse and had herniated her neck, lifting a patient I think, and was having difficulty finding work so we moved to Boynton Beach. Before we moved she had met Rene, my future step-father. A person that I would grow to dislike very immensely over the years.

When we were in Boynton I started kindergarten. The only thing I remember about Boynton was careening down a hill on roller skates (apparently I survived) and graduating from kindergarten. I remember that vividly because I wore a white cap and gown. It was quite the ceremony. That was also the year that Kennedy was assassinated but I don't remember anything about that. I guess at five you just don't notice how parents are reacting around you.

I thought for years that mom "married" Rene when were in Boynton. They were going to a wedding or something like that and mom was dressed up in a cream suit with a nice matching hat. Somehow I thought going to a wedding was the same as getting married. So until I was in my early 20s I thought they married in 1963. What I didn't know was that my dad would not give my mother a divorce until 1968 when he met my future step-mother Lena. I discovered the truth when I was helping mom with her citizenship papers and saw her wedding certificate. Mom was a bit chagrined when I called her on it. Which makes me think that they did tell everyone that they eloped. A lot of hints though fell into place. I remember I asked her once why she was called Mrs. Durnford at work and she gave me this cock and bull story that it was a hassle to change her nursing license. But at 9 years old I bought it. I guess they figured since dad was in another country and no one in Florida knew her past they could act like a married couple and no one would know. Pretty risky for 1963!

In 1964 we moved back to the house on Keating Drive. Mom's neck was better after surgery and she was able to find work. That was the year my world fell apart.

When I was 6 1/2 I started having strange medical issues. My temperature would shoot up to dangerous levels for no reason. Mom would take me to the doctor and they treated her like a hysterical mother, not the nurse that she was. Doctors were so sexist towards nurses in those days. This went on for months. I don't remember too many of the details but at one point I was delirious from high temperatures and thought there were snakes slithering up the wall. To this day I'm terrified of snakes.

Then one day mom noticed I was limping and asked me why? I replied innocently that is was because of the "bumps." I was at the age where I could dress and bathe myself so mom hadn't seen me naked for some time. She look at my groin area and there were these three large hard bumps on my upper left thigh. I was booked into the hospital right away.

To be a child in a hospital in those days was a horrid place to be. The doctors and nurses did not explain anything to kids so I was terrified all the time. I was in a Catholic hospital and even thought they were nice to me, the nuns in their long, black habits were scary to a kid who had never seen a one before.

The first few weeks I was in isolation because no one knew what was wrong with me. At one point they thought I may have a contagious disease and then they thought I had leukemia. My sister was in Canada and flew down because everyone thought I wasn't going to make it. She told me years later she overheard the doctors mention leukemia and didn't know what it was. She looked it up and read that it was an incurable cancer (at the time). That must have been an agonizing time for her because we were, and still are, so close.

This was the type of horror I went through. The doctors decided to biopsy the bumps. Well, they weren't solid bumps as everyone thought (no ultrasound in those days) and when they cut into them all hell broke loose. This is gross, but blood and puss sprayed everyone like a volcano. They were all panicking and I was screaming my lungs off. No one had thought to give me any type of sedative so I was quite awake and terrified out of my mind. To make matters worse, even though she was a nurse, they wouldn't let my mother in the room so I very much alone among all these strangers all covered up in surgical gear.

For the next few weeks I had these 3 gaping holes in my upper thigh while all the poison drained out of my leg. They figured I had blood poisoning in my leg from a cat scratch or mosquito bite. (I really grew to hate that song Cat Scratch Fever when it came out.) Every day when they changed the bandages they had to clean the tape off the raw skin with alcohol and I would scream my head off. Now they have tape that doesn't stick to the skin and leave a residue. Mom said it was the most horrid thing for a mother to go through as she could hear me scream from all the way down the hall. Again, they wouldn't let her in the room when this was happening.

I spent my seventh birthday in the hospital with family around me in gowns and masks. I also had to learn how to walk again since I was bedridden for so long. I remember one night I had to go to the bathroom and there was a woman outside the hall mopping the floor. I called to her that I need to get up (there were no call buttons in those days). She either ignored me or didn't hear me so I tried to get out of bed myself and fell. Somehow I half crawled to the bathroom and back. All in all it was a horrid experience and I had nightmares about it well into my early teens.

I'm glad that doctors and nurses explain more to children when they're in the hospital now, not like in my day.

Keating Drive 1962

When I was four years old we lived in a subdivision called Town Hall Homes in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida on a street called Keating Drive. Town Hall Homes was way out in the boonies; it was one of the first neighbourhoods created from reclaimed swampland. There were canals between the houses and urban rumor was that they were gator infested.

I find it funny that I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday but I can remember living on Keating Drive in the early 60s. The only place to hang out was a convenience store at the top of the street. For some strange reason, we had a police station at the top of the street with one police officer working there. It’s not like the neighbourhood was a hotbed of teenage gangland. During a hurricane, a big tree fell on the station to the joy of all the local teenagers. I’m not sure if this is an accurate memory, but it swear his name was Bubba and he was a rather large person. I may be channeling the sheriff from Smokey and the Bandit.

Once, my sister had a party while mom was at work and he showed up at the house to break up the party. I was supposed to be spending the night next door, but I snuck over and was partying with the big kids when the cops came. I was dancing to a song called Mash Potato! Mom was not happy, especially when she saw the cool-aid on the ceiling. Can’t remember how long my sister was grounded for that one.

It was a fun place to grow up for a four year old, you could play on the street and run wild because there was nothing else but suburbia. It probably wasn’t as fun for my teenage sister, no stores, everyone knowing your business, and the beach too far away. I used to run around with my neighbour, Cindy Miles. All my life I’ve had friends with the same name as me and they were all blondes…how strange.

There was this girl that lived at the top of the street who was only popular with the teenagers in the summer because she had a pool and absent parents. She was a bit of a sad case, she was home alone a lot because her mom was in a sanitarium and her father was a traveling salesman. I feel a little guilty that we only liked her because of her pool. Once my sister and I snuck out in the middle of the night and jumped in her pool. Apparently we weren’t as quiet as we thought and suddenly the lights came on in the house. We scrambled out of the pool but before running away away, my sister looked in the window and was spotted by the girl. We thought for sure that we were sunk. The next morning, out of curiosity, we walked past her house and the police officer was in her driveway asking her questions. Since no one turned around and yelled “that’s them!” we decided to walk over and ask what happened, and this is the story she told us:

I was soundly sleeping and was suddenly woken up by a loud crash from outside in patio. I looked out the window and this big black n----r was looking in at the same time. He was just on the other side of the glass, I was scared for my life! He was trying to get into the house, rattling the doors and banging on the window and then he suddenly ran away.

My sister and I just looked at each other and beat a hasty retreat, laughing all the way home. She doesn't even have dark hair!

I sure did like living on Keating Drive.

Me and Cindy Miles

The Experiment is Over

As many of you know, I gave up my TV last January…eight long months ago. Well the grand experiment is over and hallelujah! So what did I learn? That I really enjoyed watching TV and I missed it; it’s not all that evil if viewed in moderation; reading puts me to sleep; and, it creates quality time.

I will admit that I was watching way too much junk before I pulled the plug. I was slowly creeping into the dirge of modern TV—reality shows. It started with The Great Race, which isn’t that bad of a show, but then I caught myself watching Dancing with the Stars, and horrors-of-all-horrors I was getting drawn into Keeping up with the Kardashians. Who are those people, and why are they famous?? And how can you become famous because you have a big butt? I must admit that I still have a warm spot in my heart for the original TV reality subject, Ozzie Osborn but that’s only because you just don’t expect to see the Prince of Darkness picking up dog poop. But they should have stopped after that show was over so we wouldn’t be subjected to Billy the Exterminator. I think people watch that show to see if he's going to make it to the next one since he's a really bad exterminator. I also became terribly attached to the Deepest Catch people, and mourned with the rest of the viewers when Captain Phil passed away. Shows like that are interesting, but so much of it is just junk TV.

I thought that when I pulled the plug that I would read more. I do read a lot but I missed those days back east when a good book and roaring fire were the best ways to spend a cold rainy day. Only, I discovered, in Southern California when you curl up on the couch on a nice sunny day you fall asleep. I have yet to sit and read a book cover-to-cover since I’ve moved here. I also thought that I would be more productive, that TV viewing was cutting into more important things, like finishing my wedding photo album. Nope, didn't happen...I just cruised the internet more and my wedding album is still not done. (I think after 14 years I should just give it up.) I did notice that my knitting time went down which I didn't like. I like to knit and I usually knitted when I watch TV. 

I wasn’t completely without TV, I had Netflix on my computer but I would watch it only when I was doing something else like beading, or folding clothes. It was nice to watch a lot of British and other shows that I didn’t get with my cable. But, it wasn’t a comfortable way to watch TV, and I was watching it alone, Bruce was usually out in the garage on his computer. If there was a movie that we wanted to watch together it was awkward for him to perch on the edge of the bed, much more comfortable on the couch in the living room. Bottom line, we weren’t spending a lot of quality time together in the house. There were certain shows that we always watch together, like NCIS, and we had a Sunday morning routine of eating our breakfast while watching Paul James' gardening show. Who knew that the TV created quality time? Figures though, now that we have the TV back he’s going to start on the 3 a.m. shift at work.

So, we have a TV again. Not just a TV, a 42” HD flat screen. Another reason that we got rid of the TV was the cost. Our cable bill had gotten out of control and we were going on a frugal streak. (It all started when I read that Mother Earth article about saving money on grocery bills by canning.) Between the digital DVR cable box, so we could watch hockey (games on the east coast were over by the time we got home from work), and the money we had to fork out for the hockey games, our monthly bill was way over $100 and I thought that was just ridiculous. Since we’re still on a frugal kick, I bought the TV used with my $500 10-year bonus from work. It’s 3 years old and originally at $1700 TV that I basically got for free. We also upgraded our DVD to blu ray, again another free item because we used the money from a garage sale to pay for it and we got satellite TV which is way cheaper than cable and the hockey package was only $45 (compared to over $200/yr with cable). Now that’s a deal!

I can’t wait to see Lawrence of Arabia on the wide-screen in blu ray. Now if I could only figure out how to use the remote. 

The Dark Side of Middle Age

So tomorrow is my birthday, I'm going to be a whole whopping 53. Holy hell, how did that happen? It seemed like yesterday that I was getting married and celebrating my 40th. Now that birthday didn't seem all that bad, and I didn't run for the hills when I turned 50. But 53, now that's different. I've hit that hump that will slide me into 55. And what's so special about 55 you ask? It means that I'm officially on the dark side of middle age. People are living longer so there was an outside chance that I could live to 100 so turning 50 was still within the middle age bracket. Okay, I'm stretching it a bit because most people don't live to 100 but who knows, between now and then, doctors may discover that Botox applied directly to the brain may extend life a few years (which means Cher could live to 200). But, now I have to face reality, I doubt that I'm going to live to 110 so I am officially on the dark side of middle age. Not that life is over, my 60(mumble)-year-old sister can attest to that. You know, the sister that's exactly 10 years and 4 months older than me, just in case you confused her with the other sister that I don't have. And that is what makes me feel younger than the dark side of middle age—knowing that no matter what, Catherine will always be older than me!!

The Drama of Owning Turtles

Lately we've been through the trials and tribulations of owning turtles. Our large turtle, Chomper, has had a rough year. She got out of our penned-off area next to the pond and was savaged by our three dogs. About $1,000 later she's better but still suffers the scars of her battle (she gave as good as she got). Her shell is slowly recovering. Turtles are little tanks, it takes a lot to damage them, and they recover very slowly. But, I think she's blind now or has diminished eyesight. So we hand-feed her veggies and fish. She likes being handled so that's not an issue, but it's sad to see her bump around in the pond. She's a trooper though and I don't think it really bothers her that much. The up-side is she doesn't have a hankering to wonder around anymore to lay her eggs. We find them periodically in the filter so she's just laying them in the water. Seems strange that she'd lay eggs that are unfertilized but I guess they must.

Our other turtle, "the little one" is a little more skittish around us since we've only had her for a year. Bryant found her in the pond and brought her home. Must have been quite a surprise for her, but she's a good companion for Chomper and she no longer has to hunt for her food. They like to sun themselves together, or sometimes the little one sits on her back. She's about four times smaller than Chomper so they look like Mutt and Jeff together. 

A few night ago, we got quite the shock. I was fast asleep, it being 4 a.m., and suddenly was woken by the sound of a big splash. I ran outside thinking one of the dogs fell into the pond, and there was a raccoon in the pond fishing for our turtles! He quickly jumped out and ran for the fence when he saw me. I grabbed my glasses and flashlight and searched the pond. I saw Chomper but couldn't see the little one. Oh Lord, did I panic, I started crying and caterwauling which woke Bruce up. I ran to the fence and could see the raccoon on the other side. I kept picturing that damn raccoon ripping off the head of my poor turtle and was beside myself with grief and anger at that damn raccoon. In all the years we've lived here, none of the neighbourhood raccoon have dared come into our yard because of the dogs.  

Then I looked in the pond again and there she was! She had been hiding between the ramp and the platform. I was so happy and started crying again from the shear joy that she was still alive. Thank goodness Bruce installed a timer on the waterfall pump last month to turn if off at night or else I wouldn't have heard the splash. And thank goodness it was summer and I had the sliding glass door open.   

And where were my wonderful watch dogs? Fast asleep. 

The Soul of Quilts

I am a beginning quilter, having gotten hooked on the art by a dear friend Kay. It is an addiction, one of many crafting ones I have, sad to say. Kay and I have gone to a few quilting shows and have seen some amazing quilts that would take your breath away. The quilts today are more than something to keep you warm; they are works of art incorporate items other than fabric such as metal and wood.

Last Saturday I went to a funeral for a coworker, Mollie Fielder, and she was a quilter. At her funeral were numerous quilts she had made over the years on display and they were beautiful. I hadn't quilted in the past few months, and as I sat there thinking about Mollie, I started designing a quilted item in my head. I also decided that after the funeral I would go to a quilt exhibit they were having at a local museum as sort of a homage to Mollie. The exhibit was a collection of African-American quilts called Bold Expressions:

The exhibition showcases more than fifty quilts made throughout the American South between 1910 and the 1970s. Stunning color combinations and distinctively free patterns epitomize an artistic vision that is unique to the American folk art tradition. African American quilts, made entirely by women, are celebrated for their bold improvisation and modern take on traditional quilting patterns, such as the House Top or Log Cabin, Star of Bethlehem and Pine Burr. Many of the quilts are made from materials that were readily available to the makers, including flour sacks, old blue jeans and work clothes and fabric remnants. This early form of recycling and reuse was a necessity that became the foundation for unique expression. The exhibition will also explore a variety of construction techniques and quilting.[http://www.mingei.org/exhibitions/details/900]

When I first saw the exhibit I was a bit disappointed. Remember, up to this point the only other exhibits I’d seen were those exquisite art quilts. These quilts were quite the opposite; they were uneven, unmatched, lumpy, bumpy and well used. It looked like the fabric itself was well used before it became part of the quilt. They were defiantly folk art which I am not a fan of.

Then I took a second look at them, up close and with different eyes. I realized that the fabric was indicative of the time period. You saw what everyone was wearing at the time, it was a sampling of the history of fabric right down to the all polyester quilt from the 70s (did we really wear that God-awful material in those colours).

And then it hit me. These quilts were the history of these families. There was Uncle George’s very bright Hawaiian shirt he bought on leave during the war, and Aunt Mabel’s best church dress that she outgrew, and Grandpa’s overalls that couldn't take one more patch. These quilts were made from clothes that were no longer wearable. They were functional and yet there was the soul of the whole family lovingly sewn together to keep them warm. They were truly pieces of art.

So excuse me, I need to end this blog and go sew a quilt.

Vancouver

Like most Canadians the events in Vancouver horrified me. The riots seemed so...well...so un-Canadian for a lack of better description. It's just not our way to participate in civil disobedience. I remember a comment that the late Peter Jennings made about the respect that Canadians had for institutions. He was telling the story of when he and his young son were in Toronto to watch the World Series. The Blue Jays had just won the series for the first time and everyone was pouring out into the street after the game in a jubilant mood. I'm guessing that many of them probably had a few beers under their belt besides being pumped up from the win. He said there was a lone police officer directing traffic and when he blew his whistle, and put his hand up to stop the crowd from crossing the street, they stopped and waited—hundreds of people. One lone police officer had that power because they respected it.

I think it's more telling of a city’s personality not by the initial action but by the people's reaction. From what I've read, these hoodlums were going to riot whether the Canucks won or lost. They had an agenda and it had nothing to do with hockey. People are not even sure if they were Vancouverites or why they felt they needed to riot.

What I do know is that ordinary people reacted properly and got up early the next morning with brooms and shovels and showed up en masse to clean up downtown. These are the true Vancouverites. Those who couldn't help brought donuts to the workers repairing broken windows. One thing you can say about Canadians, we love our donuts! And in the true Canadian fashion, many wrote words of apology on the boarded up storefront windows. (I think apologizing is our second favourite sport.)

And they're fighting back to save their city's reputation. Through Twitter and Facebook, people are posting pictures of the riots so the police can identify the perpetrators. Excuse me, but what idiot gets himself photographed while rioting? And some of them are posting their own photo and bragging about their escapades on Facebook. Now they just deserve to be arrested for being stupid!

With a the negative publicity that has come out of this, I hope that the people's reaction will show how wonderful the true "Vancouverites" are and what a beautiful city it is, not just for the scenery but because of the people that live there.

Update on the Grand Experiment

So how is the grand experiment of turning off the TV going? It’s hard to judge at this time but I want to say that I’m progressing a bit. I’m not as productive as I would like to be but that’s because I’ve been suffering with a terrible winter cough—again—so it’s been dragging me down. (All you Northerners are probably laughing at me saying the world winter.)

The other problem is that I think I’ve substituted one addiction with another as I’m reading a lot more than I used to. I’ve always been a book worm but now I find, because of the new Nook, that I’m reading when I should be balancing the cheque book and other miserable tasks. So I’m still procrastinating but with a much more intelligent past time. Or so I think. I did used to watch a lot of documentaries whereas I’m mostly reading fiction. There’s a fine line here and I’m not sure if I crossed it.

So what have I done? I started stripping down Bruce’s dresser to match the one we did six years ago. Needless to say, Bruce is finishing that job. I did get all the paint off it but since I seemed to be taking too long, Bruce is rightly getting annoyed with his clothes being in two drawers on the floor, and took over the job. Check that task off! I did clean out my bead drawers in anticipation of making some jewelry. That was last weekend and I haven’t made any yet. But I will! This weekend was a bust because I had to take a nap on Saturday after I went and took photos at the cemetery (I’m cataloging our local cemetery for www.findagrave.com.) and I went grocery shopping today. Seriously, this cough tires me out and I can only do one thing at a time. But I am getting better, slowly, very slowly.

I haven’t turned off the TV completely. There are a few shows that I can’t live without and I watch them over the internet and I have noticed that my attention span is getting shorter. I started watching some shows on Hulu and couldn’t finish them because I was getting antsy. That’s a good sign. Then there are the others that I just can’t do anything else while I’m watching, like “Who Do You Think You Are.” I love that show. I met someone at the cemetery that just started working on her family history because of that show. As a genealogist that excites me and I just had to talk her ear off!

Sometime though, I just don’t know what to do with myself. I sit at the kitchen table and just stare out the window. Because, honestly, there are some times that I just want to veg out and I can’t. I can read but I end up falling asleep after awhile. What I have caught myself doing during those times is going online to Facebook and I mean going on a lot.

I don’t know how to balance myself between doing something and keeping busy and doing nothing. It’s seems to be all or nothing with me. I had all these high ideas of what I was going to do with all my free time and all I end up doing is chatting with people on Facebook. I think I’ve substituted one bad habit with another.

But did I? First, the people that I’m chatting with are my relatives that live far away. I love talking to my great-nieces and hearing what’s going on in their lives so far away. I didn’t have that connection before Facebook. Yes, I spent an hour chatting with my nephew the other day instead of cleaning off my pigsty of a desk but that moment was exactly that…a moment…that was spontaneous and a good conversation with an amazing young man. That, my friend, is priceless and, I think, I good use of my time. So my desk is still a mess, and I’ve not repotted all my plants, and my bookshelf is caving in from all the dust. That’s not what matters in life, family, friends, and living life is.

It's Only a Name

My sister Catherine writes a very nice blog about being a baby-boomer http://observationsofababy-boomer.blogspot.com/and after reading a few of her stories it got me thinking about my generation’s name or, lack thereof.

The date range for boomers is 1947 to about 1966, give or take a few years. So technically, I too, am a boomer—and yet I’m not. All the history of the boomers is just a squelch off for me, about a ten year squelch. I don’t remember the Beatles on Ed Sullivan as I was six and probably in bed at the time. Vietnam was something that happened to someone else’s older brother. I definitely missed out on the hippy movement since I wasn’t allowed to stay up past 8 p.m. I knew that something important happened when MLK Jr. and the Kennedys were assassinated because the adults around me were upset but I didn’t really know why at the time. I didn’t know about the riots, sit-ins and other disturbances of the 60s because I wasn’t allowed to watch the news. I was at the age where I was told to leave the room if anything “adult” happened.

So, what were we—the children born in the later end of the 1950s? I also read that we were part of the MTV Generation or Gen X but that doesn’t quite fit either since I was in my early 20s when MTV started. (Quick, what was the first song played on MTV? Answer: Video Killed the Radio Star. That I do remember.) My generation was in the middle of everything and nothing. We’re the Jan to the Boomer Marsha and Gen X Cindy; forever jealous of Marsha, Marsha, Marsha and tired of cute Cindy.

There are a couple of titles I could think of:

Generation Hand-Me-Down. Most of us tended to be the baby of the brood with three or four siblings ahead of us so, we got a lot of hand-me-downs or leftovers. We didn’t have the Beetles, instead we had Ringo and the All Star Band, Wings, and John and Yoko. Jim, Janis, and Jimmy were all gone before we had the chance to discover them. They got Camelot we got Nixon. They got Ozzie and Harriet, we got divorcing parents.

Or, better still, we could be called Generation Reap; as in reap-all-the-rewards-of-the-hard-working-boomers.

When I started high school I took a woodshop class. My sister commented at the time she wished she had that option when she was in high school. Instead, she had to take secretarial classes. For women, my generation was the first to start having options. I may have been the only girl in that woodshop but I was there by the Grace of God and the entire bra-burning older sister society before me!

The boomers had to fight for all their rights and then we came in and—just did it. We were the first generation that didn’t have to worry about unwanted pregnancies. This is a fact: The pill was unavailable to single women until 1972. It had been made available to married women about five years earlier but the single boomer sisterhood were denied the pill until they were in their 20s. Imagine that, a prescription regulated by your marital status! No wonder they were all pissed. The pill became available to me right when I discovered boys. How convenient.

The boomers certainly led the fight for wage equality, reproductive rights, the women’s movement, etc., but it was a long haul and many of these rights were not established until the boomers were in their late 20s and 30s. My generation just waltzed into it right out of high school after the boomers had done all the hard work. I worked in a “man’s world” in the Navy, slinging cargo and driving boats. The women before me were forced into secretary roles and were forced out if they got pregnant, whereas I had more options on the type of job I wanted and whether I wanted to stay if I got pregnant. I really didn’t have to deal with sexual harassment or the old boy’s network.

Parenting styles were definitely much more lax than with the boomer. I think our parents were just too exhausted to care what we did or too dazed after trying to raise the boomers through the 60s, after all they were the ones pushing the boundaries. And, being older, our parents slept sounder and didn’t hear us going out the window. But most of all, we didn’t have younger sisters who squealed on us when we went out the window…sorry Catherine.

We definitely were more hedonistic. We were right in the middle of the sexual revolution of the 70s. Because there wasn’t a threat of pregnancy women were questioning the double-standards of the day and having sex on their own terms. No, waiting for whatever numbered date it was that you were supposed to do this, or that; no rules, no trying to “catch” a guy. Of course the generation before has sex, probably lots of it, and in their teens as well; but there was always the threat of getting a “reputation” over their heads. My generation didn’t really care about reputations and to the horror of my mother; we called the boys on the phone if we wanted to go out on a date. Many of us didn’t get married until we were older, unlike our boomer sisters who married out of high school, so that whole “saving it for marriage” wasn’t really working for us. Ours was the one-night-stand generation and we loved it.

It wasn’t all rosy. Yes there was LSD and other heavy drugs in the 60s, most boomers in college only smoked weed. But my generation did more than pot and at an earlier age. Drugs like mescaline, speed, black beauties, and quaaludes were rampant in high schools in the 70s and very much out in the open. We paid for all the drug use and promiscuity with the AIDS epidemic in the 80s.

And don’t look to us for fashion sense. We were the first idiots to break our necks on platform shoes, (both men and women) and 30” wide bell bottoms. And yes, we invented the hip huggers I’m sorry to say. We all looked like pimps and hookers all decked out in 100% polyester.

But the best thing we invented—good guitar riffed, drum bashing Rock & Roll. All the good classic rock was created in the 70s. Bands that started in the 60s like Led Zep, The Stones, The Who all hit their peak in the 70s. We’re the generation of kick-ass Southern rockers like Lynyrd Skynyrd; hard rockers like AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Aerosmith and Deep Purple. We had bands like Boston, Supertramp, and ELO; funk musicians, Sly and the Family Stones, Ohio Players, and Earth, Wind and Fire. Then there were the glitter, glam and freaky rockers like Kiss, Elton John, Queen (we miss you Freddie), David Bowie and Alice Cooper. And when we got tired of it all, we stripped it down and invented New Wave and Punk.

So why in God’s name could a generation who came up with such amazing music also invent Disco?

Ode to My Cats

I friend of mine recently lost his beloved dog (RIP Bojo you were quite the character) and it started me thinking about all the animals I’ve loved over the years. My friend told me that he only lasted a few days before he got another dog, and he received a little grief from friends who thought it was too soon. Too soon? I don’t think so. I think the grieving process is harder and longer when you walk into an empty house day after day after years of being welcomed by a wagging tail or, in the case of cats, a demanding meow to feed them. When I was in my teens we had cats and I don’t think we lasted more than a week after losing a cat when one just mysteriously shows up. Someone would come home with a new kitty under their arm. I’d come home from school and there it was! No one really discussed getting another cat but it was a bit of a joke to see who cave in first. These were two of my favourite cats during my teens:

First there was Dusty or Rusty; I can’t remember what name stuck. My stepbrother Phil brought him home. He was a red tabby and I think we called him Dusty but dad liked to call him Rusty. So he went by Dusty/Rusty all his life. He was a bit of a tomcat, a little aloof but always there in the kitchen where dad liked to sit all day when he was off the ship. (He worked two weeks on and one week off). Dad used to pretend that he didn’t really care for cats but for some reason Dusty/Rusty was always at his feet while he sat there drinking coffee. One day I figured out why. I left the room but hung around behind the door and I dad started talking to him. He would croon to the cat, “That’s my Rusty, daddy’s little son-of-a-bitch,” and Dusty/Rusty would roll around purring oblivious to dad’s words. I quickly dove into my bedroom before dad heard my hysteric laughing.

Then there was the Queen of Sheba, our Burmese. She originally lived a cousin and her husband who had two other cats. One day my stepmother and I went to visit them and the minute we sat down, Sheba jumped off the TV and sat on my lap. They were very surprised because Sheba was naturally aloof and spent most of her day on top of the TV. We weren’t home more than 5 minutes before the phone rang; it was my cousin asking us if we would like to come back and pick up the cat. We had just lost Dusty/Rusty a week before. We were over there in a flash and Sheba became part of our lives for a long time. Apparently she was a one-cat-per-house cat aka The Queen of Sheba who liked to rule her domain because she sure took over our house. It’s funny but I always say when you’re getting a cat, it’s not you who picks the cat, it’s the cat that picks you.

Sheba was very vocal, much like Siamese, and a good chaperone much to my dismay. It was her habit to sit between me and a current beau any time we were down in the basement watching TV. I think my stepmother taught her to do that. She had this funny habit though; she would lie on her back in front of the fridge with her legs sticking out in a very un-lady like manner. She loved laying on the kitchen carpet (yes it was the 70s) and the heat coming from the fridge.

So when is the right time to get another animal? When you feel its right, even if it’s the next day, the next week, the next year; it depends on the person. But there are a lot of animals at the shelter that are just waiting for a good home and I think it’s a good way to honour the love you had with your deceased pet to pass it on to another deserving one and be damned the people that pooh-pooh your decision.

I also think the rule applies to people too and they shouldn't get grief from friends either. That's why widows/widowers with a good marriage tend to get remarried quickly. They have too much love just sitting there to give to a deserving person and it feel alien not to share when you did it for the majority of your adult life.

I Watched a TV show!

This weekend was very eventful. Saturday I went to a bridal shower for a co-worker that started at noon. I got up, had coffee, went on the internet for awhile, took a shower, went to the mall to pick up a present and arrived exactly at noon. I was home around 4 p.m., exhausted from all the talking and coughing and coughing and coughing, so I took a nap until 7 p.m. Later I read for awhile and took it easy. I'm reading Anne of Green Gables. One of those great Canadian literature that I've never read. I have a whole list of books like that. Naturally when it came time to go to sleep I couldn't because of the nap. As much as I like naps they totally messes up my sleep routine. So there I was until 2 a.m. reading, planning and writing a seven page letter to my aunt. The dark chocolate bar I ate probably didn't help with the sleeping issue as well.

What did I plan? Well, I've managed to redecorate my whole house in my mind. I just have to get it down on paper now. Our house is in a bit of a flux right these days. Ever since Bryant came back home with his dog Lexie it's been that way. She is part pit and a puppy when she arrived at our house. Cute thing but a terrible chewer. In a mater of months she destroyed our 12 ft. sectional couch, leather easy chair and all the pillows. How a dog could eat a whole couch is beyond me. It looked like it should have been on someone's porch in the Ozarks! So for now I have a couch and chair that I found on Craig's list that don't really match and no coffee table. I don't really like having company over because the house just looks sad. The type of furniture you have when you're in your first apartment not when you're established in your 50s. Bruce and I decided that we're not going to redecorate until she's gone and that could be awhile since Bryant is still in school. She's a lovely dog, a little neurotic, but cute and seriously the couch and chairs are only stuff that can be replaced. It's no different than having your house torn apart by four rambunctious growing boys. When you have kids and dogs things will be broken. Our carpet is also pretty trashed after raising four boys and 3 dogs. I don't think it will ever be beige again.

I also not been all that thrilled lately with our light blue walls. They're just too bland for me and I'm just tired of blue. I may go green or natural colours because I want to do the house all in mission style. I like the clean lines and art deco accessories these days. A long ways from the cluttered Victoria look I had in the 90s. Those rose sponge-painted walls with flowered borders. Yuck. So, I'm going to get a design book started, take some photos of things I see and have it all planned out for the day I can start. It will take me a long time to redecorate because I really want to gut the whole house when the boys move out and make our house a little couple's retreat. I'm looking forward to an empty nest. We were empty-nesters for about 4 months before the boys moved back in and it was so blissful. No dirty dishes in the kitchen all the time, no strange locker room smells coming from their bedrooms. Just the joy of being able to walk around your house in your underwear again...pure bliss.

I would have liked to have slept in this morning but my cat had other ideas. Princess was gracious though, after waking me at 6:30 a.m. for her breakfast and morning walk out in the back yard (she likes to just make the rounds while the dogs are still sleeping) she did let me go back to sleep until 9 a.m. I got up, made coffee, sat on the computer for awhile writing my blog, had breakfast and got two loads of laundry going. That's a first for me because I have a bad habit of doing laundry late and hurrying to try and get it put away before I could go to bed which naturally made me hyper and I would have trouble sleeping Sunday nights and feel trashed Monday morning. It's so easy for me to get insomnia.

Later I uploaded some photos to findagrave.com that I took at a local cemetery. I've been slowly photo cataloging all the stones at the San Marcos cemetery. It's a hobby of mine—I love cemeteries. Can't wait to go up to the famous ones in Hollywood one of these days with my girlfriend Kay. She's as nutty as me over graves. I was going to go over and take more photos while I was shopping but I forgot the stupid memory card!

Then I ran out to the craft store—had a 25% off coupon burning a hole in my pocket—and then over to Walmart to pick up curtain's for Bryant's room. By that time I was very tired from not getting enough sleep overnight but if I took a nap I'd be toast. So I sat down at the computer and watched Desperate Housewives and Brother's & Sisters while I cleaned off the desk and painted these little wooden initials (CDB) I bought at Michael's for my cube at work.

It was nice getting a little TV in but I kept myself busy while I did it. In the past, if I had bought a little project to do, it would have sat around for weeks before I got around to it. Today I worked on it the same day I bought them. I think that's progress.

Book Review: Princess Alice

I just finished reading an interesting, but definitely highly edited, book on Princess Alice of Hesse. The book consisted of a series of letters to her mother written almost on a daily basis. The book was published after she passed away from Diphtheria at the age of 35.

Princess Alice was the third child and second daughter to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. More importantly, she was the mother of Alexandra, who married the Czar of Russia Nicholas, and it was through Alice that hemophilia was passed onto that family. As most know, that was one of the reasons for the downfall and death of the Russian Imperial family during the Russian Revolution. She is also the maternal grandmother of Prince Philip husband of Queen Elizabeth II. Queen Victoria had pledged that her children would only marry for love and not politics, just as she did, so Alice was allowed to marry the impoverished minor German Prince Louis of Hesse, heir to the Grand Duchy of Hesse (the present day Darmstadt area).

Her married life started under a cloud when her father died a few months before the wedding (described as more of a funeral than a wedding) and her life wasn’t much better over the years. Hesse was involved in a lot of the wars started by Bismarck during the unification of Germany so her husband was away a lot and she was always fearing for his life. She was terribly homesick and was never accepted by the German people because of her English ways. Also, Hesse was a poor duchy so she was always complaining of money in her letters and the smallness of her house.

Her marriage was a love match until the death of her son Frederick, who suffered from hemophilia, and died from internal bleeding after a fall from an open window at the age of 2 and a half. Both of her sons were running around the room and while she was chasing after one the other was out of her sight for a few moments and fell out the window. A terrible ordeal for any mother to go through and she never got over the loss. After that she and her husband drifted apart and she suffered from terrible vague pains, weakness, migraines, etc. probably due to depression and the stress of being “the mother of her country” as she described it. In 1874 her whole family, children and husband, contacted diphtheria and she nursed them all through it. One child, Marie, died and she suffered from the stress of not being able to tell the her husband and children of the death of the favourite. When she did finally tell her son of the loss he became so upset that she broke the cardinal rule and kissed him on the brow. A few days later she contracted the disease and died, coincidently on the anniversary of her father’s death.

I say that the book was highly edited because the only letters printed were happy ones full of devotion to her mother and memories of her father. More than her other siblings, she was totally devastated by the death of her father and she, like her mother, had a morbid interest in death and mourning. Every death that happened to her servants, friends and family, which considering it was almost every royal house in Europe left her “prostrated on the couch for days with grief.” She regularly sent letters to her mother on the anniversary of her grandmother’s and father’s death and the tone was just as fresh as the first year they were mourning.

What’s not published is the hurtful letters that her mother sent back in later years. Queen Victoria was very jealous of Alice’s marriage because it was a happy one and she was a widow. She also hated the fact that Alice was always trying to cheer her up when she was perfectly happy to wallow in her widow’s misery. She also did not like Alice’s constant comments on her lack of money. Although they sure took a lot of trips!

She was not an easy mother to have in the first place. She begrudged each of her daughter’s marriages because they were leaving her. Some of her younger daughters had to fight her to get married as she thought it was their duty to stay a spinster and take care of her. It’s well known that she disliked Bertie because she blamed him for Prince Albert’s death and his frivolous lifestyle and yet, she would never give him any duties to counteract the lifestyle that she despised.

Alice was the caregiver of the family and was very interested in nursing. She set up numerous hospital and schools for women in Hesse. She took care of Victoria’s mother and her father on their deathbeds and took care of her bereaved mother after both incidents. She tended to her brother Bertie, later King Edward VII, when he almost died from typhoid, the same illness that took his father. This caused another rift between her and Victoria as the Queen felt that Bertie’s wife The Princess of Wales should have gotten the praise for nursing him instead of Alice.

The Queen’s cruelty is very obvious in this reply to a letter written two months after Frederick’s death. The Queen was focused on her son Prince Alfred's engagement to the Grand Duchess Marie of Russia (which turned into a disastrous marriage due to Maria’s haughtiness). The Tsar had refused to present his daughter for pre-marriage inspection in England, and instead invited the Queen to meet the family in Germany. Alice supported the suggestion and on the same day that she wrote to the Queen about missing her son, "I am glad you have a little coloured picture of my darling. I feel lower and sadder than ever and miss him so much, so continually..." the Queen coldly wrote to her grieving daughter, "You have entirely taken the Russian side, and I do not think, dear child, that you should tell me...what I ought to do." Not a mention of her dead grandson. Alice once complained to her husband over a letter Victoria had sent that "made me cry with anger...I wish I were dead and it probably will not be too long before I give Mama that pleasure." And yet, all her letters to her mother were full of loving and caring comments.

What I find interesting about reading old letters is how much things have changed and how much they hadn’t. She was a devoted mother who didn’t believe that her children should be seen and not heard and they were a large part of her life. She was one of the few royals who breastfeed, which did not sit well with her mother, and spent a large part of the day playing with them.

What I find odd is the amount of traveling the royals did. Everywhere that Alice went there were other relatives there to visit with. It appears that the Victorians were constantly at one bath or another drinking the waters for their health and it seems like they were always unhealthy. Many of her letters went into great detail of her ailments which were probably due to the cold, damp houses she lived in and the restrictive clothing they were all forced to wear. Her chief complaint was suffering from the heat. I think I’d have issues too if I had to wear a layers of clothing and a corset all day! But what also amazes me is the amount of activity they did in those restrictive clothing. To get to the baths was not easy. They had to go over the Alps in rickety coaches for days. Other times they were hiking for hours in the Alps in long dresses and parasols. I can’t do that with just wearing a t-shirt and shorts!

Another thing that fascinates me about the royals during this time period at the end of the 1800s is how they could separate family from politics. The complaints were always about the people not the head of the country. Prior to World War I there were a lot of minor but bloody wars in Europe. Bismarck was making war on the minor duchies in his quest to unify Germany and France, Austria and Germany were constantly at each other’s throats. England’s wars were mainly in the colonies at the time but she got involved in a few in Europe. So many times, siblings and cousins were fighting each other on opposite sides of a war. When Prussia went to war with Austria, Hesse sided with Austria. Alice’s sister was married to the Crown Prince of Prussia at the time and yet, there were loving letter sent back and forth between the sisters and family information passed through their mother. Alice blamed Bismarck, not her sister’s in-laws for the fighting. After the war the sisters visited each other as if nothing happened and Alice was on very good terms with Vicky’s in-laws, the King and Queen of Prussia. Although Alice was a bit upset when Vicky visited the site where many Hessian soldiers were killed soon after the war to lay a wreath for the Prussian victory. Later, Alice’s husband was an officer in the Prussian army and had no problem being under Prussian rule when he became the Grand Duke. The same with their Russian relations, Victoria didn’t trust the Russians and yet Alice’s husband was the nephew of the Empress of Russia. Alice made a few scathing comments about the Russian troops during a war they were involved in but did not connect the dots to her relatives. It was always the people. They also didn’t trust the French but Victoria was good friends with Emperor Napoleon II and let him and his wife live out their exile in England at her expense.

In all it was a very interesting book to read because it showed how, even though they were royals who lived more than a century ago, their lives was not that much different than ours in that they worried about their children, husband and other routine things. What was different was the amount of death they had to deal with because there was no antibiotics even the flu could kill someone and they had to deal with diseases we don’t see any more like scarlet fever and typhoid. It wasn’t uncommon for a family to lose a few children over the years. I’m glad that we don’t have to deal with that anymore.

I just finished reading an interesting, but definitely highly edited, book on Princess Alice of Hesse. The book consisted of a series of letters to her mother written almost on a daily basis. The book was published after she passed away from Diphtheria at the age of 35.
Princess Alice was the third child and second daughter to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. More importantly, she was the mother of Alexandra, who married the Czar of Russia Nicholas, and it was through Alice that hemophilia was passed onto that family. As most know, that was one of the reasons for the downfall and death of the Russian Imperial family during the Russian Revolution. She is also the maternal grandmother of Prince Philip husband of Queen Elizabeth II. Queen Victoria had pledged that her children would only marry for love and not politics, just as she did, so Alice was allowed to marry the impoverished minor German Prince Louis of Hesse, heir to the Grand Duchy of Hesse (the present day Darmstadt area).
Her married life started under a cloud when her father died a few months before the wedding (described as more of a funeral than a wedding) and her life wasn’t much better over the years. Hesse was involved in a lot of the wars started by Bismarck during the unification of Germany so her husband was away a lot and she was always fearing for his life. She was terribly homesick and was never accepted by the German people because of her English ways. Also, Hesse was a poor duchy so she was always complaining of money in her letters and the smallness of her house.
Her marriage was a love match until the death of her son Frederick, who suffered from hemophilia, and died from internal bleeding after a fall from an open window at the age of 2 and a half. Both of her sons were running around the room and while she was chasing after one the other was out of her sight for a few moments and fell out the window. A terrible ordeal for any mother to go through and she never got over the loss. After that she and her husband drifted apart and she suffered from terrible vague pains, weakness, migraines, etc. probably due to depression and the stress of being “the mother of her country” as she described it. In 1874 her whole family, children and husband, contacted diphtheria and she nursed them all through it. One child, Marie, died and she suffered from the stress of not being able to tell the her husband and children of the death of the favourite. When she did finally tell her son of the loss he became so upset that she broke the cardinal rule and kissed him on the brow. A few days later she contracted the disease and died, coincidently on the anniversary of her father’s death.
I say that the book was highly edited because the only letters printed were happy ones full of devotion to her mother and memories of her father. More than her other siblings, she was totally devastated by the death of her father and she, like her mother, had a morbid interest in death and mourning. Every death that happened to her servants, friends and family, which considering it was almost every royal house in Europe left her “prostrated on the couch for days with grief.” She regularly sent letters to her mother on the anniversary of her grandmother’s and father’s death and the tone was just as fresh as the first year they were mourning.
What’s not published is the hurtful letters that her mother sent back in later years. Queen Victoria was very jealous of Alice’s marriage because it was a happy one and she was a widow. She also hated the fact that Alice was always trying to cheer her up when she was perfectly happy to wallow in her widow’s misery. She also did not like Alice’s constant comments on her lack of money. Although they sure took a lot of trips!
She was not an easy mother to have in the first place. She begrudged each of her daughter’s marriages because they were leaving her. Some of her younger daughters had to fight her to get married as she thought it was their duty to stay a spinster and take care of her. It’s well known that she disliked Bertie because she blamed him for Prince Albert’s death and his frivolous lifestyle and yet, she would never give him any duties to counteract the lifestyle that she despised.
Alice was the caregiver of the family and was very interested in nursing. She set up numerous hospital and schools for women in Hesse. She took care of Victoria’s mother and her father on their deathbeds and took care of her bereaved mother after both incidents. She tended to her brother Bertie, later King Edward VII, when he almost died from typhoid, the same illness that took his father. This caused another rift between her and Victoria as the Queen felt that Bertie’s wife The Princess of Wales should have gotten the praise for nursing him instead of Alice.
The Queen’s cruelty is very obvious in this reply to a letter written two months after Frederick’s death. The Queen was focused on her son Prince Alfred's engagement to the Grand Duchess Marie of Russia (which turned into a disastrous marriage due to Maria’s haughtiness). The Tsar had refused to present his daughter for pre-marriage inspection in England, and instead invited the Queen to meet the family in Germany. Alice supported the suggestion and on the same day that she wrote to the Queen about missing her son, "I am glad you have a little coloured picture of my darling. I feel lower and sadder than ever and miss him so much, so continually..." the Queen coldly wrote to her grieving daughter, "You have entirely taken the Russian side, and I do not think, dear child, that you should tell me...what I ought to do." Not a mention of her dead grandson. Alice once complained to her husband over a letter Victoria had sent that "made me cry with anger...I wish I were dead and it probably will not be too long before I give Mama that pleasure." And yet, all her letters to her mother were full of loving and caring comments.
What I find interesting about reading old letters is how much things have changed and how much they hadn’t. She was a devoted mother who didn’t believe that her children should be seen and not heard and they were a large part of her life. She was one of the few royals who breastfeed, which did not sit well with her mother, and spent a large part of the day playing with them.
What I find odd is the amount of traveling the royals did. Everywhere that Alice went there were other relatives there to visit with. It appears that the Victorians were constantly at one bath or another drinking the waters for their health and it seems like they were always unhealthy. Many of her letters went into great detail of her ailments which were probably due to the cold, damp houses she lived in and the restrictive clothing they were all forced to wear. Her chief complaint was suffering from the heat. I think I’d have issues too if I had to wear a layers of clothing and a corset all day! But what also amazes me is the amount of activity they did in those restrictive clothing. To get to the baths was not easy. They had to go over the Alps in rickety coaches for days. Other times they were hiking for hours in the Alps in long dresses and parasols. I can’t do that with just wearing a t-shirt and shorts!
Another thing that fascinates me about the royals during this time period at the end of the 1800s is how they could separate family from politics. The complaints were always about the people not the head of the country. Prior to World War I there were a lot of minor but bloody wars in Europe. Bismarck was making war on the minor duchies in his quest to unify Germany and France, Austria and Germany were constantly at each other’s throats. England’s wars were mainly in the colonies at the time but she got involved in a few in Europe. So many times, siblings and cousins were fighting each other on opposite sides of a war. When Prussia went to war with Austria, Hesse sided with Austria. Alice’s sister was married to the Crown Prince of Prussia at the time and yet, there were loving letter sent back and forth between the sisters and family information passed through their mother. Alice blamed Bismarck, not her sister’s in-laws for the fighting. After the war the sisters visited each other as if nothing happened and Alice was on very good terms with Vicky’s in-laws, the King and Queen of Prussia. Although Alice was a bit upset when Vicky visited the site where many Hessian soldiers were killed soon after the war to lay a wreath for the Prussian victory. Later, Alice’s husband was an officer in the Prussian army and had no problem being under Prussian rule when he became the Grand Duke. The same with their Russian relations, Victoria didn’t trust the Russians and yet Alice’s husband was the nephew of the Empress of Russia. Alice made a few scathing comments about the Russian troops during a war they were involved in but did not connect the dots to her relatives. It was always the people. They also didn’t trust the French but Victoria was good friends with Emperor Napoleon II and let him and his wife live out their exile in England at her expense.
In all it was a very interesting book to read because it showed how, even though they were royals who lived more than a century ago, their lives was not that much different than ours in that they worried about their children, husband and other routine things. What was different was the amount of death they had to deal with because there was no antibiotics even the flu could kill someone and they had to deal with diseases we don’t see any more like scarlet fever and typhoid. It wasn’t uncommon for a family to lose a few children over the years. I’m glad that we don’t have to deal with that anymore.

No Alex?

Under the new regimen I was naturally going to change my morning route. In the past, as I mentioned before, it was turn on the TV, get the coffee, sit for 15 minutes and watch the news while sipping my coffee. So, this morning I got up, turned on the computer, got my coffee, made oatmeal and then took a quick shower so I could enjoy my coffee and breakfast while it was hot. Then I was going to blow dry my hair, get dressed, make lunch and head out the door. Well it was more like, turn on the computer, get coffee, take a quick shower so I could enjoy my coffee while it was hot, eat my oatmeal while I read my Facebook account and then ohshitwhathappenedtothetime
rungetdressedgrabpotpieoutofthefreezerandrunoutofthehouse
withwethair. Apparently I need to do the Facebook thing last after I’ve gotten dressed and made lunch. Good thing for the frozen pot pie because I ran out of the house without my wallet.

So now I’m home and it’s getting close to 7:30 p.m. and I may go through Jeopardy! withdrawal. I don’t know what to do with myself between 7:30 and 8 p.m. I’ve been watching Jeopardy! since it started. I used to watch the older version when I was little. It’s a part of my life. No rolling of the eyes when the contestants blow a perfectly logical and easy Final Jeopardy? No Alex Trebek? I’m not sure I’m going to be able to handle this one.

We’ll see.

The Grand Experiment

And so the great experiment begins...

In a moment of madness I decided to cancel our cable. That's right NO TV, cold turkey. Originally I called the cable company to cut back on some channel that we don't watch and then suddenly there I was telling the man, "You know what, get rid of it all." What was I thinking? Well, let's see how long the Branecki family lasts before we crack. So, I will be documenting these next few weeks, months, or possibly just days of being without a TV.

It's my belief that we don't become more active in the summer because of the warmer weather and longer days. This is San Diego, it's always warm. No, it's because there's nothing but reruns on TV. It forces us to get out, read a book, interact with others; in other words, get a life.

I want to break the Pavlovian response to automatically schedule my life around a little black box. How often have I thought "Oh, I'll sew tomorrow because NCIS is on tonight." Exactly how much of our lives do we schedule around a TV? We practically salivate every fall over the new shows and lament the demise of the ones we loved that were cancelled. We believe that the bachelor will find true love in a few weeks and we made "The Situation" a multi-millionaire!!

It's not a complete break—I'm not that crazy. There are still shows you can watch on the Internet. But what I want to break is that mindless need to turn on the TV the minute I'm in the door or waking up. What happened to those younger days when I got ready for work or school while listening to great music? I didn't grow up with a TV in my room but I did have a good stereo. Listening to music started your day on an upbeat note. You were bopping around the room while you were getting dressed.

So how was the first day? Not bad. I have a new Nook so I'm reading more anyway. Bruce is in the garage watch wood turning videos on his computer—no change there. It was strange not to turn on the TV when I walked in the door. I didn't realize how much of a habit it was until I stopped doing it.

I actually did turn on the TV this morning before I realized what I had done. It's my morning routine: turn on the TV on my way into the bathroom, grab my housecoat, go get coffee and then sit for 15 minutes watching the news. Don't know why, because the morning news was pretty well the same news I watched at 10 p.m. before I went to bed. I have to admit that I'm a news junkie so that's going to be a hard adjustment. But, I can always listen to NPR in my car on the way to work. It's better news anyway.

The TV does look strange just sitting there, all dark and broody. It's like having a big black hole in the wall. Maybe I'll put a plant in front of it.

I will miss the educational shows on the History Channel but they may be available on the Internet. The difference being that I will set time aside to watch something that I'm truly interested in instead of mindlessly watching anything. Either that or I'm going to go start raving mad.

Stay tuned!