Randoms from the Rumpus Room

Lemme tell you something.  You don’t need no stinkin’ rodent to tell you that it’s going to be bloody cold until the end of March!  Saskatchewan needs to get its own groundhog and call him Cynical Cyril.  Cyril will not even bother coming out of his hole.  He’ll just roll over and flip the bird to all the media and onlookers.  Read the sign: “Welcome to Saskatchewan; where you’ll never get your early spring.” 
 
Don’t be fooled by this current mild spell, last week it was -34 in Saskatoon with a windchill making it feel like you were on the shores of the Beaufort Sea. And to add insult to injury there was an 85% possibility of precipitation.  Longest.Winter.Ever.

The teenagers don’t want to stay in the basement.  It’s freezing down there.  It reminds me of when I was a kid and my friends and I would never want to hang out in the freezing cold rumpus room.  People don't have rumpus rooms any more, do they?  Isn’t that a great word, Rumpus Room?  Several blogs ago, I wrote about some way back words used by the parentage of our generation, words like 'beauty parlour' and 'piss & vinegar'.  My friend-relative, Nicole, said I should have included Rumpus Room, and right then and there I decided it deserved a blog of its own.  (Just as an aside, I want to tell you the great joyous thing about having friend-relatives.  If they decide one day to ditch you as a friend, they are still obligated to hang out with you because they are family!  Isn’t that awesome?)

Anyway, at one time, no one dared build a house without designating one room in the basement as the Rumpus Room.  “You kids are creating a noisy, disturbed or disruptive commotion in my living room!  I will build you a separate room to create your rumpus in!”  

If I had a nickel for every time I heard my mom yelling at my brothers to, "Get downstairs to the Rumpus Room”, I would not be living in Saskatchewan right now.  In the 1970s, my parents decided to take on the project of decorating the rumpus room. The result was downright groovy.  The new carpet was a (non) luxurious deep red industrial number I liked to call “Hotel Hallway”.  They installed a black and red vinyl bar with matching black and red vinyl storage benches along the walls.  I’m not sure why they decided on storage benches because there was never anything in them except my brothers’ stinky boxing gloves. (I never actually saw my brothers using them but when you opened those benches; it was Hello Old Sweaty Boxing Gloves!).  The only other thing in the benches was an old game of monopoly with everything missing except Baltic Avenue, the race car and three hotels.  

My parents decided to order the "Sunset Dream" wallpaper from the Sears Catalogue which was very popular at the time.  It was less wallpaper really, and more like one huge picture panel that went on a Feature Wall--the big thing in the 70s.  It was supposed to feel like you could just walk right out of your basement and onto a beach in Fiji at sunset. 
 
Regardless, it was at this time that I learned the rule called Never Buy Wallpaper.  Problem was you needed a team of 40 giant people to actually adhere it to the wall all at once or it would bubble up all over, causing swear words to tumble out of the homeowner's mouth in an avalanche of frustration.  The bubble trouble happened on our feature wall; however my parents had a solution.  They purchased stick-on mirror tiles to go behind the groovy vinyl bar and they thought it would be helpful if they stuck the leftover mirrors in panels along the bubbled areas of the Sunset Dream.  This created a very unique style of decor, never copied to this day, as far as I am aware.

They also had enough Sunset Dream leftover to wrap around the telepost in our rumpus room.  Ah, there it was, basement reno complete.  No one ever went down there again.

All-Inclusive, no problem...

 Hey, lots of you know that I am involved with a music society based in Saskatoon.  We are very cool.  You can find out more about us here. Consequently, we've met a lot of fascinating musicians, who I like to call friends and we like to keep in touch via Facebook.  Several of our friends live in the musical mecca of Asheville.  That's right, I said Asheville, not Nashville.  It's in North Carolina, do yourself a favour and check it out. If you haven't heard the likes of Dehlia Low and Town Mountain, leave your rock and do so immediately. 

I need to take this opportunity to tease because according to Facebook, Ashevillians are not receiving the sort of winter they would like. Unseasonable warm temperatures have caused some of them to gripe about the spring-like conditions they are experiencing in January.  "This weather is disturbing." "I miss winter!"  "I agree! I want snow, not spring", they chorused. 
I replied that I had a fair amount of snow I was willing to part with, and we could decide on a price later.  This got me thinking that maybe I was missing out on a golden business opportunity.  What if we ran all-inclusive winter vacations to Saskatchewan?  Betcha we could haul in quite a few unsuspecting southerners who are looking for that authentic winter experience.

It would all begin at the airport where guests will be greeted enthusiastically and issued their winter gear; a snow suit (something old school that zips from the bottom of one pant leg all the way to the throat), a Co-op Feeds toque, and a pair of Kamiks two sizes too big, in order to accommodate at least two pair of wool socks.  We’ll hand them a double-double and the keys to their rental pickup so they can experience the joy of winter driving…in Saskatoon.   Guests can choose from any of the following amazing packages:

The ‘It’s Snow Wonder’ Package
You’ll experience Saskatchewan winter just like a local, as you become the Snow Angel for a whole city block.  Grab a shovel and start clearing!  Unfortunately, there won’t be time to check into your hotel first, the City is watching! Won’t this be fun?  Too bad you didn’t upgrade to the Snow Blower package! 

The Ski-doo Rally Package
We’ll make the trek to Anywhere, SK for their annual community snowmobile rally.  Guests will be placed on the back of various snowmobiles, given their own flask of Cherry Whiskey and taught to hang on for dear life.  They will end the night with a complimentary bowl of chili and a bottle of Pil at the community hall.  Purchasing an arm’s length of 50/50 tickets is not mandatory, but it is encouraged.  We don’t want to be seen as cheap visitors, now do we? 

The Minor Hockey Game Package

We’ll spend the night in Anywhere at one of the well-appointed small town hotels available to us.  We’ll attend a Minor Hockey League tournament.  Guests will receive a complimentary rink burger and will be encouraged to try and eat it with their mitts on.  Witness a real ‘Hockey Mom’ in action as she berates the ref and her husband starts a fist fight in the stands.  Guests will be given a pair of skates and be asked to scrape the ice at intermission. 

The Culinary Package

We'll spend time in a real Saskatchewan kitchen and use all the seasonal ingredients available to us…potatoes, canola oil and the last jar of beet pickles.  Oh yeah, and some lentils.  Maybe you know what to do with them, because we don’t. 

The Curling Package

Guests will be introduced to the fast-paced world of curling.  They will be given 4 rye & cokes, a broom and a pair of shoes with a piece of Crazy Carpet attached to the bottom of one sole.  They must sign a waiver preventing them from asking too many questions.

If this interests any of you folks south of the border, now is a good time to come.  With the windchill factored in, the last two days have been close to -40 degrees Celsius.  Lucky for you, that's easy to understand, as it's equivalent to -40 Farenheit and yes, you read that right. 

Advice from the Attention Deficit Housekeeper

Happy New Year, Saskatoon.  2012 and all its garbage has been brought out to the curb and we have a brand new bin for 2013!  I hope we fill it with glorious things.

Speaking of bins, you may remember back when I wrote about my attention deficit housekeeping.  If I was a resolution-making person, I would probably be concentrating my efforts on making my house cleaner and more organized.  I should scrub more things with a stiff brush.  I should make a paste of baking soda and something else (vinegar?) more often.  I should fashion more nifty caddies out of recycled milk jugs.  I should find new uses for duct tape and chapstick.  I should clean the toilet using fizzy denture tablets on a frequent basis.  Well, you know what they say…don’t should on yourself.

I read all those helpful hints columns where people send in their burning questions and I marvel that someone actually has the answers to these things.  I have years of experience running a household, but I certainly shouldn’t be writing household solutions advice columns; they’d end up looking something like this:

Q: How can I get a streak-free shine on my granite counter tops?

 A: Everybody loves a sparkling counter top. I like to use my sleeve.  Remember, you only have to do this when company is imminent.  Don't waste it on your family.  They don't care.

Q: There is a smell coming from my basement.  How can I get rid of it?

A: That smell is coming from your teenagers.  There is no way that I know of, other than adoption, to get rid of it.  It should begin to dissipate between ages 18 and 22; however some people don't notice a difference until age 30.  It depends how comfortable your basement is and how much sugary cereal you keep in your pantry.  In the meantime, try Febreeze or a combination of broccoli and Brussels sprouts.

Q: How can I get my family to participate in the household chores?

A: Most people agree that getting kids involved with chores as early as possible teaches them valuable life lessons.  Most people also agree that doing this is the equivalent of attempting to eat soup with a toothpick.  The conversation in my house goes something like this:

            Me: “Kids, I need someone to sweep and someone to vacuum.” 
            Kids: “Who’s coming over?”
            (Kids then wait the Appropriate Amount of Time and disappear down the stairs.  Unaware, husband approaches.)
            Me:  “Hon, can you do the sweeping and vacuuming?”
            Him:  “Why are you ruining my life?”

Q: Can buying in bulk save me time and money?

A: Well, in theory, yes.  Let’s talk about reality though.  You’ll spend time making a very large grocery list, leave for the store and forget it on the kitchen counter, along with the grocery bags and the coin thingy for the shopping cart.  You’ll buy everything you can remember on your list, come home and then immediately return to the grocery store because you have no milk and nothing to make dinner with.

So, I have one prediction to make for 2013:  The year will end much the same as it began.  Chaotic, with a family full of good intentions, stumbling toward greatness.  I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

It's a Brand New Year!

 
Well here we are, 2013.  Doesn't that seem crazy?  Think back to when you were a kid and someone mentioned the year 2013.  It seemed impossible, like we'd all be wearing tin foil outfits and living on Mars by now. 

I think we are at an in-between phase of celebrating New Years Eve.  After the busy Christmas season, the thought of putting on itchy pantyhose and a little black dress that I will freeze in and going somewhere noisy cannot compete with the thought of putting on my sweats and reading a book.  Yes, Dull Dora, I know, but Dora needs her down time.  

I was trying to remember how we celebrated when we were kids, but the whole Christmas season is blurred together, so New Years didn't really stand out.  I remember one year having those cracker things to open up.  Somehow, I thought it was going to be more exciting than pulling a tissue paper crown and a green plastic ring out of a toilet paper tube, but hey, these are the things we do.

My parents often went to the New Years Eve dance in town.  It was called a Dine & Dance and it was all very exciting because they always had a live "Orchestra".  That's what bands were known as in those days.  In fact, my Dad still wonders why no one has orchestras at their wedding anymore, it's all 'them damn tapes and their boom, boom, boom'.  He's hilarious.  The orchestra was usually the Gold Tops, our community band.  I would give a lot to be able to hear them again.

Party favours were handed out at these New Years dances and apparently, my parents didn't have the presence of mind at 3:00 a.m. or whenever they would make it home to put the party favours elsewhere but on the kitchen table.  I'm pretty sure it wasn't their plan to be woken up a few hours later when the kids got up and found the stash of noisemakers. TWEEEET! HONK!  CLACKETY-CLACKETY-CLACK!  One kid would inevitably try on one of the plastic hats, snap their throat with the cheap elastic and start wailing.  Good times.

The apple does not fall far from the tree, because I remember bringing these things home from the New Years dances we went to thinking how much our kids would love them and not giving any thought to what TIME they would love them!  "Oh those crazy kids found the tooters!  Kill me now." 

New Years dances are definitely not my thing.  I learned that after the first few I went to.  Awkward from start to end, they were.  I would spend the whole night with a skillful eye on whose whiskey-induced advances I had to avoid after the countdown.  Then everyone stood in a circle and pretended to know the words to Auld Lang Syne.  Ach.  No thanks.

 Even house parties are iffy to someone who has personal space issues like me.  At 11:58 you'll see me quietly slip away to the bathroom and remain conspicuously absent at the stroke of midnight until all the drunken hugging and kissing has ceased.  It seems totally alien to me to greet someone with a 'Hey, how are ya' at the start of the evening and suddenly at midnight you are locked in an clumsy embrace??  Are you supposed to let them kiss you on the cheek?  What if you turn the wrong way and bang heads?  No wonder people drink, that's a lot of pressure to get the choreography right!  They shouldn't call it New Years Eve, they should call it the Grade 8 dance.  The people who know me and get me accept my offer of a High Five to ring in a healthy and prosperous new year.  I love the people who know me and get me.


Seriously though, I'm less of a curmudgeon than I seem.  I have high hopes for 2013.  I'm happy to turn the calendar page.  It represents opportunity.  2012 has offered me much and for that I must be grateful.  2012 has shown me that a heart can break but with love, begin to mend again. Thank you for reading this little blog of mine.  I wish you health and joy in 2013.    

Tracy takes the Fruitcake...

Joe Morgan

A really weird thing happened to me today.  After all these years, I never thought I’d see the day.  I ate fruitcake…and I liked it.  I haven’t tried it since I was a kid and thereafter would not go near the stuff.  It was packed full of awful things, like raisins, currents and those big hunks of odd green and red cherries.  And candied peel.  Ew.  Why would you candy something you’re supposed to throw away?   

After all the time I spent bitterly complaining about the Christmas gift that never goes away, I am horrified to have to eat my words… along with another slice of fruitcake…because it’s not that bad!  I must be getting old.  Soon, hot water will be my beverage of choice.  “No thanks, no eggnog for me, just some hot water if you have.”

Come to think of it, Christmas was a time where we ate weird things in my family, and I looked forward to most of them.  Now I said most of them.  Mincemeat and tomato aspic were and still are off limits. (Seriously?  Tomato jello??  Do NOT eat that, whatever you do.  It’s a trick.) 

Our traditions were somewhat unique as well.  Maybe it comes from being half French and half Ukrainian, I’m not sure, but when Christmas Eve rolled around there was stuff on the table that my friends never talked about having.  It would start with snacks like smoked oysters, and pickled herring  but then…thrill of thrills, we’d get to open the BOXED CHOCOLATES!!  Could there be anything more exciting than being one of the first to choose from the Pot of Gold?  Usually you’d find the box a week after Christmas with one or two lone orange creams rattling around inside. You knew they were orange creams for sure because someone had poked the bottoms to check.  Even in the throes of post-holiday sugar withdrawal, no one would be desperate enough to eat them.  Just like the dish of Satin Mix hard candies that my grandma would have on her counter til Easter.

Christmas Eve supper was in keeping with our version of the French tradition of Le Réveillon.  Along with the tourtiere, there was usually a stew of pork hocks, yes feet. Throw in a few perogies and cabbage rolls and the Ukrainian side was balanced out. We were so stuffed that we had good reason to refuse dessert (fruitcake). 

Midnight mass was the epicentre of our Christmas celebration, as we always sang in the choir.  But because we would basically be up all night, our parents made us have a nap in the evening.  A nap. Imagine. There was no time more exciting than Christmas Eve in our house.  It was the day I’d waited for all year.  I had diligently circled all the items I couldn’t live without from the dog-eared pages of the Sears Christmas Wish Book and there they (maybe) were! Right there under the tree!  Would it be Walking Wendy (creepy doll)?  Lite Brite?  A chemistry set?  Aunts, uncles and cousins were everywhere, there were sugary treats in every corner of the house and they wanted me to what???  Have a nap?!!  

Well, Christmas has changed since we were kids, and has most certainly changed for us this year.  For the first time in my life, I will not be celebrating Christmas at my childhood home, but in my own home.  We will be with family and we will create new traditions.  It’s still all about food and the people you love, isn’t it? What more can we ask for?  

Whatever belief or creed you hold, whatever religion you observe, I would like to wish you joy in the season.  I think we all share a common belief that in whatever way we celebrate, we are celebrating hope.  For me, Christmas is not complete until my eyes fill with tears as I hear the opening strains of ‘O Holy Night'.  This song, to me, is one of the most beautiful ever composed.

  Fall on your knees

 O hear the angel voices

O night, divine

O night, o night divine.

Merry Christmas.

Doctor, Doctor, Gimme the News

I honestly don't know where the time has gone.  It is December for God's Sake!!  As some of you know, I have chosen not to renew my contract at Senioritaville and have hung out my own shingle as Office180 running administrative contracts out of my home office.  Yes, that's my dreadfully boring side.  I love being at home talking to myself all the live-long day.  It suits me just fine.  I do miss my seniors though; they gave me no end of amusement and they were genuinely sad to see me go.  Christmas time was especially fun but there's only so many boxes of chocolates covered cherries I can re-gift, you know what I'm saying? 

I'll be going back for the Christmas dinner, which is always great.  I hope no one breaks a hip this year as we try to be the first table to dash to the microphone to sing, We Three Kings so we're chosen as first to go in the buffet lineup.

So I've got some transition time to get a few things done.  Turns out there's more than a few things I have put off.  I had to make a list of the lists I had to make.

There are things I tend to avoid, mostly invasive things like dentists, optometrists and the basement storage room.  I also had to call my doctor's office to renew a prescription, and the receptionist made a huge deal out of the fact that I hadn't had a physical for over a year and a half. Oops.  Well it's not like you come out of those things going, "Wow, that was fun!  Can't wait to do it again. Let's pencil me in for the next one right now, shall we?" 

The whole approach to checking your complete physical health has not changed a bit in the last 25 years.  Pee in a cup and pass it through the little door of shame, get your arm squeezed off by the blood pressure thing and get your finger poked even though you just had what felt like half your blood volume removed to check for everything from soup to nuts: 

 "Finger, please."
"Oh, but I just did full bloodwork earlier this...OW!!"
"Ok, dear, you'll have to remove all your clothes, but use this paper napkin to keep yourself warm and comfortable during the interminable wait.  The doctor will be here shortly."   

We all know what shortly means.

I wait and wait and grow more anxious as the minutes tick by.  It is clear to me that the reason the doctor is not coming in is that he has a medical team reviewing my chart.  They are trying to find a way to tell me I have Ebola, the only case ever discovered in North America.  Or hantavirus due to the mouse poop I swept up in the shed this summer at the lake (I knew it!).  I immediately begin planning my dramatic farewell vacation but can't concentrate on the details because I'm freezing. How many Airmiles will it take to get me to the equator?

Finally, desperate to take my mind off the impending news, I reach over to grab the only magazine in the place, Canadian Cycling, and there is a knock on the door.  There is also an audible rip as my paper napkin has reached it's maximum stretch. I guess I won't be consulting the Gift Guide for every Cyclist on my list after all.

"So Mrs......"
"Lalonde"
"Yes!  Lalonde.  So today we're doing a ...."
"Physical." (The fact that I am wearing a sheet made of kleenex instead of my long johns should be an indicator.)
"Yes! Physical.  Ok, just lie back on the table here and relax."
"Relax.  Of course, I've been relaxing this whole time.  Very relaxing in here. Not sterile at all... I love what you've done with the throat swabs."   

Turns out that all is well and only thing wrong is that I'm low on Vitamin D.  You know what that means!  A prescription for getting the hell out of Siberia.  Take me to the sun, Baby!

On Parking Lots and Ticket Slots

So it seems we have turned the usual corner here in Saskatchewan.  Our futile complaints about the early winter have given way to grudging acceptance and after much reluctance we’ve all adjusted to the terrible winter driving conditions.  I’m quite proud of the fact that I screeched in before the Snow Deadline and had winter tires put on.  Now the sensible Mom-car is even more sensible in its new winter kicks.  I can confidently resume my job as a reluctant Taxi Driver whose territory is "All over Hell's Half Acre". 

Speaking of driving (endlessly), it would seem that everywhere I need to go lately is outfitted with a parking lot.  Hospitals, malls, airports, you name it, they all have that one thing in common: The dreaded automated ticket machine at the exit. 
The concept is simple.  Pay for your ticket at the machine inside before you leave (after said machine spits it out the first 8 times. “Stripe down, you idiot!”), and out you go.  Yeah right…Who made these machines? The people laughing their heads off, that’s who.  It is clear once you pull up to these little beasts that it is not simply a case of opening your window and placing the ticket in the little slot.  N-O.  I’ve found that it always shakes down the same way:

First, with your foot on the brake, you try to reach over and insert the ticket but the evil machine is too far away. So then you must sigh heavily and remove your seatbelt.  Of course, you still can’t reach it.  You must then swear loudly, put your car in park and try it again.  Fail.  You now must kneel with one knee on the window ledge placing your opposite foot on the chest of your passenger in order to gain enough leverage to manoeuver the ticket into the slot.  Dazed and confused by the whole process, you then need to gather the presence of mind to get back into driving position so you can gun it to make it under the very temporarily raised arm. 
If you find yourself in the unfortunate position of trying to leave the Saskatoon Airport parking lot; good luck to you, my friend. The machine is about half a city block back from the arm.  I suggest blasting the soundtrack to Top Gun on your car stereo and flooring it.

I know what you’re saying, ‘Why don’t you just go to the kiosk?’  Some people have the luxury of driving up to the kiosk and dealing with an actual human being, not the parking machine from hell.  These people are special, they have something called Cash.  Cash is coin and paper currency; something I have not seen since my children began attending elementary school.  All the Cash in the house from that moment on went to things called Book Orders and Hot Lunch Days and Teacher’s Gifts. 

Mrs. Neat-as-a-Pin has Cash and always seems to be in front of me in the lineup to leave the parking lot.  She shares a laugh with the kiosk attendant as he raises the arm for her.  She is in no hurry.  She has no melting ice cream or sullen teenagers in her back seat. No, she refastens her seatbelt, zips her wallet closed, has a sip of Evian and re-applies her lipstick.  Only then does she put the car in gear and drive under the arm.  No fear has she of the arm coming down on the roof of her Buick.  No sir.  She has All the Time in the World to exit.

Alas, I should be grateful that I still have the kids with me in the car.  Soon, I will give them the rest of my Cash, they will buy their own cars, and I will have All the Time in the World too.  I don’t look forward to that…Drive safe everyone!