Going Forward

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Visiting Rabbits

     Lisa’s feet are so cold they’ve gone numb, which has at least stopped the pins and needles from stabbing her, and almost keeps her from noticing how cold the rest of her is too. Lisa’s been following Dad and the dog that’s too stupid to notice the cold through this arctic forest for hours! Well, at least one anyway. Apparently rabbits are too smart to be out in the cold. Which is good, Dad assures her, they aren’t looking for the ones that are out, they’re looking for the rabbits that are in. Got a little visitor for them, Dad says. The visitor doesn’t stink so bad in the cold, that’s at least one good thing about being out here in this frozen wilderness, ‘cuz goodness knows that ferret stinks to high heaven the rest of the time.

     Mom says if the smell gets any worse the cage is coming outta the back porch and going back into the garden shed, worst deep freeze winter in twenty years or not. If Mom thinks the smell’s bad in the rest of the house, she should try it from Lisa’s room, right next to the back porch. But the overpowering funky stench isn’t even the worst of it. Lisa can hear that creepy critter out there all night long, chewing with those huge fangs of his on the wood of his cage. She knows it’s only a matter of time before he works his way right through the wall that separates them and she wakes up in the middle of the night with those evil little beady eyes staring at her from the foot of her bed while he gnaws on her toes.

     Only Dad never seems to mind the smell, he actually likes that stinky little varmint; he’s named it “Snoopy” and thinks it’s cute and funny. Then again, Dad like rabbit stew, too. He’s so weird. Wonder how bad it smells inside Dad’s jacket right now, where he carries the horrible little rat to keep it warm. Looks like a pile of snakes squirming in there as it runs free range over Dad’s arms and tummy, poking its head outta the zipper opening every now and again, making Dad look like he’s got a neck tumour with fur and buck teeth.

     Finally the stupid dog picks up a scent, and leads them to some tracks. They follow the tracks for what seems like forever, and then find a little hole, cleverly hidden in the snow. Dad scouts for another agonisingly long time until he finds the other one, about thirty feet away, they always leave an escape, he explained to Lisa last night at supper when he was telling her all about the “big adventure” he was taking her on today. Just as Dad planned, he stations Lisa at the escape hole, with the rough burlap sack held in her popsicle fingers, and the stupid dog for backup. Dad runs back to the first hole where he fishes around in his jacket until he finally catches the squirmy, writhing rodent, and sets him at the edge of the hole. Snoopy twitches his ugly nose a few times, circles the hole once, then disappears in a puff of powdery snow.

     For a minute Lisa’s not sure anything is gonna happen - but then it starts! She can feel as much as hear the commotion heading her way. The ground rumbles and shakes, the dog tenses, and Lisa holds the bag tight as she can to the ground, and just as the ruckus is just as about to reach her…. she lifts the bag up, just a little. Off like a shot, into the forest they go! Two brown bunnies, one smelly ferret, one barking dog and one shouting Dad. Who knew he could run that fast? He’s almost thirty for heaven’s sake.

     Wonder if a rabbit can out run a dog? She hopes so. Wonder if Dad can out run a ferret? She hopes not, ‘cuz then she’ll have to come up with a whole new plan to get rid of that smelly nightmare. Dad’s not likely to risk taking her on any more “big adventures” any time soon. Oh well. She wipes the snot-sicle off the end of her nose with the back of her frozen mitten. Might as well start following the tracks in the snow back towards home. Mom’ll make her some hot chocolate and help iron out a story about the bag slipping out of her cold fingers before Dad gets home. She’s doesn’t like rabbit stew either.

Planting Flowers

　

One of my short stories, this was published on CommuterLit.com last month

Planting Flowers

　

     Barb sighs, and straightens her stiff back. She gives the tub one more rinse for good measure, then shuts off the water and puts the shower head back in it’s cradle. She looks around the bathroom critically, thinks it couldn’t be any cleaner if it was run through an autoclave, and knows it won’t pass muster anyways. She closes her eyes and sighs again. A whole weekend. She needs a glass of wine.

     She checks the fridge over carefully as she takes out the Chardonnay. Looks good. Perfect in fact. She re-checks the fridge as she puts the bottle back after pouring a large glass. Then she opens the fridge again, removes the wine bottle, carries it out the back door and puts in the trunk of her car. It’ll be easier to deal with the cops if she has to than with teetotaller Mom.

     She walks slowly through the small house with the glass in her hand, giving each room a final inspection. The place looks immaculate, and she’s proud of all her hard work. Barb is very handy, and very artistic, always working on some new project, or three, and she’s very grateful to Mom for instilling her with this vigour and enterprise. Her quaint little house and gardens are beautiful, the envy of the neighbours and her many friends. But there’s no keeping up with Mom, so Barb’s been working like a mad woman for the past two weeks getting everything in even more perfect form for this visit.

     At sixty-seven, Dorrie Stevens runs circles around people half her age. She operates a fifty-acre working farm with a century house that she renovates perpetually, teaches yoga, music, ESL and painting classes, conducts the church choir, volunteers at the seniors’ centre, the food bank, and the youth centre, takes care of her ninety-two year old mother, and is President of the Horticultural Society. And visits her daughter. For a whole weekend. Barb goes back out to the car and pours another glass of wine.

     The doorbell rings at 7 am, sharp. Not 6:56 or 7:02. Barb wonders if she stands on the porch and watches her watch with her finger poised over the bell. But Barb’s ready. Well, as ready as she ever will be.   
     She was up at 5, showered, cleaned the bathroom again, got her hair and makeup salon perfect, dressed in her best, tidied the bedroom and even scrubbed the kitchen floor, again, after breakfast.

     “Mom! How nice to see you!” Barb smiles widely and gives her Mom a big hug, which is returned twice over.

     “Hello, sweetheart! You look fabulous, dear! That shade of blonde washes you out a little, but what a darling cut. Pixie? I haven’t seen one of those in years, practical though I suppose.” Dorrie smiles brightly. “I see you finally got around to painting that old wicker porch set, what an interesting shade of yellow, but what on earth happened to your flower bed, dear?”

     Barb grimaces. Damn, how could I have forgotten to check that this morning! “Oh, it’s that darn little Nancy from next door. She loves to play in the dirt. Don’t worry about that, Mom, I’ll deal with it later.” Barb reinforces her smile. Her cheeks hurt. “Come on in, Mom, I’ve got your room all ready. I’m so sorry I couldn’t take the day off work, but we’ll have a nice visit for the rest of the weekend. Now I want you to just relax today. Take a book, sit on the back patio and put your feet up for a change.”

     “Oh, don’t worry about me, I’ll find plenty to keep myself amused, dear.” Dorrie chippers. “I know how busy things are for a teacher the last couple of weeks of school, I’m sure you’re swamped. Though back in my days we had to write out all those report cards by hand, but I’m sure even with computers and all those canned comments it’s still an enormous chore. Have you had breakfast yet?”

     “Yes, but why don’t I fix you something?” Barb’s smile is threatening to crack her face.

     “Don’t you bother at all dear, I’ll find myself something. You go and get yourself ready for work.”

     Barb forces her eyes to keep from rolling, decides to take the reprieve and retreats to her bedroom for a few moments to talk herself down. I can do this. When she re-appears a several minutes later, the coffee is brewing, the bacon she didn’t even have in the fridge is frying, and the orange juice is being squeezed.
     “Can I fix you a couple of eggs?” Dorrie is wearing an apron and wielding a spatula.

     “Thanks, Mom, but I had some granola earlier. I make my own, it’s all organic.” Did that sound defensive? It felt defensive.

     “Well, at least have some juice. I brought some oranges, nothing like fresh juice. Thin girls like you need to be careful to get your vitamins.”

     Let it go, Barb thinks as she takes the glass being held in front of her. Mercifully it’s time for her to leave. Mom sees her to the back door. “Now really, Mom, please just relax today. I’ll pick up some nice steaks to barbeque for dinner, so don’t fuss at all.”

     “Don’t give me another thought, dear. I brought fresh vegetables from my garden for a nice salad for dinner and I’ll get to that flower bed out front, right after I defrost the fridge.”

“Mom, really, I…” Barb grits her teeth. “I really appreciate that. Thank you.” She escapes, hoping the car radio will drowned out her screams on the drive to work.

     Dorrie is hanging out the freshly laundered living room curtains on the clothes line when the back porch screen of the house next door opens, and a little blonde girl in shorts and a T-shirt comes out holding a popsicle in her chubby fist.

     Dorrie waves gaily. “Yoo-hoo, Nancy, dear.” The little girl looks around curiously, and then back at the lady. “I’m Dorrie, Barb’s mommy. It’s so nice to meet you. I understand you like flowers.” The little girl nods at her blankly.

     “Well, maybe you’d like to help me plant some?” The girl brightens. She nods happily and comes running over. The pair get gloves and trowels from Barb’s garage and head to the front yard. Dorrie patiently explains all the fine details of planting flowers, getting the girl to help her dig new holes and smooth the cool earth around the root-balls, tells her the name of all the flowers and points out the shape and form of each variety. She talks about the importance of balance and scale to her mesmerized, obedient audience, how each plant has it’s own peculiarities and requirements for light, nutrition and water. When the bed is finally transformed, Dorrie takes her little charge by the hand.

     “Well, doesn’t that look nice? Thank you for helping me, and now you can see how much work it is to put all those flowers back, can’t you?” The little girl nods seriously. “Good, time for a little treat then. Shall we have a tea party out on the back patio?”

     Dorrie brings a china tea pot filled with fresh squeezed lemonade and a plate of the sugar cookies that she baked that morning out to the patio table on a silver serving tray. The little girl is delighted, enthralled with her beautiful new fairy godmother who knows all about flowers, lets her have three cookies and drink from a real tea cup, and she’s sorry when her mother finally appears at the porch door to call her in.

     “Hello, you must be Barbara’s mother?” her mommy calls to the wonderful lady. “I hope my little one hasn’t been a bother?”

     “Oh, no, not at all, we’ve had a lovely time!” Dorrie waves back.

     “Well, thank you.” Mom says. “Barb’s invited us over for coffee after dinner, we’ll see you then. Come on in now, sweetie.” The little girl slips off her seat and gives Dorrie a shy, quick hug before she runs home. 
     Dorrie hums happily as she takes the tea things to the kitchen, and gets started on a lemon cake for the visit later.

     The first thing Barb sees pulling in the driveway of her house, is the restored, improved, flower garden. Oh, goodie.

     Dorrie is on the back patio, polishing silver and sipping lemonade. Barb knows it’s homemade, and is suddenly, actually, looking forward to a glass. And wishing she could add vodka.

     “Did you have a nice day, dear?” Dorrie asks as she pours.

     Barb sinks into the patio chair, and gratefully takes the glass. “It was fine, thanks Mom, but not nearly as productive as yours, I see.”

     Dorrie laughs lightly. “Well, I do think I’ve solved your problems with Nancy. I had her over this afternoon, and got her to help me replant the garden. We had a lovely chat about all the different varieties, and the importance of respecting other people’s property, and then we had lemonade and cookies as a nice positive reinforcement for all she had learned. Really, Barb, I’m surprised you hadn’t thought of applying a little child psychology to the situation yourself, but I’m sure you won’t have any more trouble with Nancy digging up the flowers.”

     Barb can’t help it. She leans her head back and laughs out loud, long and glorious. “Oh, Mom,” she finally manages, wiping the tears of mirth away with the back of her hand. “I’m so glad you had such a nice afternoon with Lisa. Nancy is her German Sheppard puppy.”

Happy New Year's

My resolution: to become smart enough to use my new phone!

Religious Freedom as Foreign Policy

     I wasn’t planning another post about religion quite so soon, I really don’t dwell on the topic that much, but this one I couldn’t help. The devil made me do it. Stephen Harper and his minions are planning on making policing religious freedom part of Canada’s foreign policy. They are introducing an Office of Religious Freedom, that will not report to parliament, within our Foreign Affairs Department, at a cost of twenty million tax dollars over four years, to safeguard religious minorities abroad. Sounds auspicious, right? So what could possibly be the problem?

     Well, the problems are many, and they start from the outset by not including all religions, thereby establishing a very exclusively invited group designed to promote Judo-Christian interests at the expense of others, a very disturbing establishment but not particularly surprising since like religions, Stepehen Harper's Cons are anything but inclusive.

     And then we could add to that a complete failure to recognise what we as a species, never mind a nation, should be policing is universal human rights, rights which have been adopted by the United Nations and agreed to by Canada to include the right of all humanity to freedom of speech and belief, the freedom from war and from want and the right to equal recognition under the law. Rights that are frequently in direct conflict with religions.

     And then we could take into account that protecting minority religions that conflict with state sponsored religions from things like imprisonment, rape, torture and even death, ignores the fact that these self same state sponsored religions often imprison, rape, torture and kill their own adherents.

Recognising in our Foreign Policy that religion constitutes the guiding principle of many of the world’s governments is essential. So is recognising that 90 - 95 percent of the conflict in the world is caused by religion. But equating religious freedom with democratic freedom and societal well being encourages an association of church and state, and that is precisely the opposite direction mankind should be moving in, in order to ensure a greater global reverence for human rights.

     What the human race really needs isn’t religious freedom, it’s freedom FROM religion, so that no one, anywhere, is subject to the tenants of another’s beliefs. That would be the ultimate fulfillment of the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights Article 29 (2) [that] in the exercise of his rights and freedoms everyone shall be subject only to such limitations as are determined by law solely for the purpose of securing due recognition and respect for the rights and freedoms of others.

     Canada as a country, and Canadians individually need to understand the impact religions have on the world and be vigilant guarding human rights from them, but this overt display of political pandering and personal beliefs that the Cons are putting forth on our behalf to the world reveal nothing but a national policy of religious intolerance and ignorance. But then, as last fall’s (Sept 27 - Oct 1, 2010) survey by the Pew Research Centre clearly demonstrates, the more knowledge people have about religion, the less likely they are to adhere to one.

In honour of all major religions observing the winter solstice under whatever guise, I’ll leave the indoctrination of children being a horrific violation of UN UDHR Article 20 (2) for another time. But it will come.

Pear and Cheddar Pie

My non-traditional xmas pie for a non-traditional xmas dinner with my quirky family.

Pear and Cheddar Pie

crust:
1 1/2 c flour
1 1/2 tsp sugar
3/4 tsp salt
1/2 c light vegetable oil
3 tbsp cold milk
Sift dry ingredients in 9" pie plate.  Whisk oil and mik together until creamy, pour over dry ingredients and mix well.  Press into shape.

filling:
4 large, ripe pears
1/3 c sugar
1 tbsp cornstarch
pinch nutmeg
pinch salt
Mix well, pour into crust.

topping:
1 c grated sharp cheddar
1/2 c flour
1/4 c butter
1/4 c sugar
1/2 tsp salt
Combine ingredients until crumbly, sprinkle over filling.

Bake at 425 for 25 - 35 min, until crust is golden and cheese is melted.  Best served warm.


I'm sure even Christopher Hitchens would have approved.  A fond farewell to one of my favourite athiest curmudgeons. Hope the scotch is great wherever you are.

Dinner Conversation

Dinner conversation this past weekend:

“Did you hear they think they found that God particle?”

“You know they don’t really mean God, right?”

“Ever the atheist. Why don’t you believe in God anyway?”

“You mean why don’t I believe in the god you believe in.”

“Semantics.”

“Not really. Technically speaking you’re an atheist too. You don’t believe in Zeus, Odin, Amun-Ra, the gods of the Incas, the Aztecs, the Aboriginals of the western plains, or the tribes of Papua New Guinea. I’ve just added one more god to the long list of gods you don’t believe in.”

“Then why do you celebrate Christmas?”

“Who doesn’t like feasting, drinking, getting presents and a paid day off work?”

“You’re usurping the birth of Christ for your own gratification.”

“The date was adopted from the Feast of Saturnalia to make Romans more accepting of the new political regime. The trees and lights were stolen from pagan traditions.”

“You’re just anti-Christian.”

“I’m anti-religious.”

“People have a right to their own beliefs.”

“People are welcome to believe the moon is made of green cheese if they want to. But if they start teaching it in schools, making laws based on it, and enforcing it as social mores, I have the right to object.”

“Society needs to be based on a code of morality and decency.”

“You aren’t really going to equate morality and decency with religion, are you? I have to have the sitter home by midnight.”

“Let’s order specialty coffees.”

“And some of that chocolate cheesecake.”