Sparrow's Journey

As they have done for the last few years, sparrows have chosen one of our hanging fuchsia plants in which to build their nest and get on with the business of life.

We don't know if it's the same pair of sparrows who return year after year, or if it's one of their offspring. They busily collected twigs and sticks, and for several days flew into and out of the plant.

Finally the nest was complete, and on May 10, the nest became a nursery.

The sparrows continued to fly into and out of the planter, usually approaching from underneath. On May19th we noticed the eggs had hatched. Mom and Dad sparrow were now busier than ever. Insects, worms, bird seeds – constantly feeding the little ones.

By May 24…

And the work of the providers continued. Back and forth, back and forth Mom and Dad sparrow flew to keep the hungry little birds fed. By May 29…

The babies had feathers! In less than a week they learned to fly, left the nest, and never came back.
At least we think they never came back. Maybe they returned at night and slept there. Maybe they just grew so big we didn't recognize them, couldn't tell them apart from their mom and dad or any other sparrow.

Baby birds don't stay small for long. We learned this one year when crows hatched some eggs in a nearby tree. Those babies cawed and cawed  all day, it seemed. I had the mistaken expectation that crow babies would be cute, at least for a little while.

But when I finally saw one that had fallen from the nest, I got a reality check. The baby was as big and ugly and temperamental as any full-size crow.

Well, that's nature. Hatch the eggs, feed them fast, throw them out of the nest. What birds do in two weeks takes humans 20 or more years  to accomplish with their young.

It's nice to know these birds feel safe enough to nest in our presence.  [The abundance of bird seed holders we have might also factor into their decision. A regular bird smorgasbord!]

– Cat

Cosmic conversations

He: I heard they shot a rocket into space the other day. Going to Mars? The moon?

Me: heading to the International Space Station with a load of supplies.

He: so, what kind of supplies?

Me: if I had to guess, I'd say food and toilet paper...

He: ha ha. Wonder what they'd do if they ran out of food.

Me: they'd have to eat each other.

He: what, like you eat my hand and I'll eat yours? Kind of impractical.

Well, at least one of us is sensible.




~

He: I heard they discovered a bunch of new planets...

Me: yeah. Far far away. They call them exoplanets.

He: and one of them could be another earth...

Me: lots of people on this earth are probably ready to pack up and leave. New planets to plunder. Too bad they are so far away. 39 light years.

Considering a light year is 9 trillion km, it'll probably take 500 years to get there.

[Apparently the current fastest spaceship would take more than 18,000 years to travel 1 ly. So my calculation's a bit off. A lot off, according to the link..]

space travel time

He: guess  they have to invent warp speed. Beam me up, Scotty...

Me:  who knows – maybe they already have and aren't telling anyone. I think they're also working on teleporters. The future is now.

And now I have his picture in my mind. Billionaire explorers land on new earth and find it's a beautiful unspoiled world inhabited by peaceful natives who take care of their planet. There will be a "take me to your leader" moment. And then the natives will be decimated. Oh, wait, didn't all this already happen?

He: maybe they learned their lesson...

Me: I have become a pessimist where earthlings are concerned.

And here's a cute lesson on our own solar system.







--Cat

I Remember Mama

Judy Hartwell  January 10, 1922 –  June 21, 2016

Mom would be 95 today.

Although it's been six months since her death, I still catch myself thinking did she see or hear about that, or I wonder what she'll say when I tell her this, about a news story, or showbiz gossip, things she was interested in. And then I remember ...

And I have many memories of Mom. A few highlights:

Whenever she sang those familiar German songs, all was right with the world.

Christmas Eve was a big event in our house. We would dress up in our finest clothes and line up, smallest to biggest. [the line got longer every two years!] When we heard a bell tinkling, we entered the living room and got our gifts. Pandemonium! And lots of fun. Turkey and potato salad for dinner. The one time of year we were allowed to drink Canada Dry Ginger Ale. And of course the delicious cookies and fruitcakes she made.

When I was nine, the second oldest of six, we moved into a new three-bedroom house. With Mom and Dad there were eight of us, sometimes nine when Granny came. One bathroom! But Mom made it work. We had our chores and the young ones were well-behaved. Though rambunctious at times.

Mom was a good cook. She always had our meals ready: breakfast, lunch, dinner. We ate healthy. Liver, spinach, tasty when she made it, not so much when I tried. Fridays were fish day. And Palatschinken, pan sized crepes filled with jam and rolled up, dusted with powdered sugar. Special treat! [The only other person? I ever heard say the word was the Count on Sesame Street!] I think about those weekly food shopping trips and shudder. As she had so much to look after besides groceries, it was convenient that  throughout the 50s so many things came to the door: milk, bread, dry cleaning. She kept track of everything, including the weekly $0.35 to the paperboy and the $1 donation every Sunday to the church.

She was what today they call a fashionista. She kept up with the latest styles–how I loved peeking through her closet. My school friends always commented on how good she looked. In the late 60s/early 70s she was more modern than me! [Miniskirts, hotpants, high boots…]

Once a week she would get her hair done. And every week a surprise for us. Would she be blonde? Redhead? Raven black? Once she came home with blue/green hair! It was for display, for her stylist. And I do believe she or her picture were on TV. One of those local noon hour shows on our Edmonton CFRN television station.

Mom always kept our brood together on vacation trips. She had a system. She kept track of the youngest child. Then the oldest kept track of the next youngest. And so on. The highlight of my life, at age 11, was our trip to California. Dad borrowed a small trailer from a friend. Li'l Loafer. And it was SMALL. Comfy for four? But Mom made it work. Six slept in the trailer, two, either Mom and Dad or my sister and I slept in the car. I remember the route we took, the cities we saw, how we all sang "California Here I Come" over and over.

Good thing there weren't seatbelt laws in those days. Dad and Mom were in the front seat, along with my older sister holding the youngest; I and my three younger brothers played, argued, read, and slept in the backseat.

Then there were carefree summer vacations spent at a cottage at Lake Eden. And once again, for eight people it was a SMALL cottage. Two bedrooms, kitchen, living room.  Outhouses strategically located. But for us it was the greatest place. Mom made it so.

In May 1965, Mom had her seventh child. Less than three months later we went to the lake as usual, and Mom wore her bikinis as usual, without any sign that she had just given birth!

In June of that year my sister got married and left home. So there were six of us again. A year later I married and left home. In 1967, Mom, Dad, and the five younger kids moved to British Columbia. Every few years we would visit them, always returning home saying, "We  have to move there one day."

That day came in July, 1980, when we packed all our belongings and moved to B.C. Mom, Dad, and my youngest brother were living on a lovely acreage in South Surrey. [The oldest of my brothers got married in 1973, the next oldest died in 1975, the next one lived in his own house, and my younger sister moved out in 1976.

Over the next 20 years Mom saw her family expand as everyone got married and had children: 17 grandchildren. Family get-togethers were fun and hectic. [And still the family grows – 11 great-grandchildren at last count. . .]

When my father died in 2001, I, my husband and son moved in with Mom in the big South Surrey house. It was 35 years since I last lived with her, and I worried that it might be awkward, for we had grown apart, separated by time and distance.

But how amazing to discover we had much in common. Starting with some TV programs that we both enjoyed. Every day we watched Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. We were both fond of Frasier and watched it together until its cancellation. We watched every figure skating competition on TV and became armchair critics of each skater's style and outfit. I found it curious that both of us had over the years watched almost every British mystery series on PBS  and CBC.  How we loved the original Sherlock Holmes shows, and of course our beloved Poirot. And, we even watched the same soap opera!

 

Mom kept scrupulous track of her finances. In that again I echoed her, having for years tracked bills and mortgages on spreadsheets, first by hand, then by computer. She did everything by hand, and didn't quite trust calculators–she did math on paper or in her head. Oddly, I've done the same.

She kept on top of the news and knew what was happening where and when in the world, and never failed to voice her opinion on world leaders, reality stars, or the mayor of Vancouver. She had a radio beside her bed tuned to an all-news channel. She never listened to anything else unless it was Strauss waltz music by André Rieu. 

Mom and I were both readers. She went through the morning newspaper from cover to cover, as did I. She read magazines and her weekly TV guide until her eyesight started failing and she needed a magnifying glass to make out the words.

In 2004 Mom sold the old acreage and purchased a new one several blocks away. Her "dream house" she called it, and was so happy and proud to live there. We moved with her, and enjoyed the larger space, the beautiful yard, the quiet neighbourhood. We had such good times there together.

But in 2010, after nine years with us, she decided that at 88 it was time for her to move to an assisted living facility. We purchased the house from her, and though it was ours, it took us a long time to get over calling it Mom's house. [Even now, we call the bedroom she used "Mom's room."]

She had a lovely suite at Whitecliff, and I believe she was happy there. Once a week we picked her up and went to IHOP for dinner [a habit we had gotten into when we first moved in with her]. There we could catch up on what we thought about world events, our soap opera, what our kids were up to, gossip about our waiter, who we had come to know quite well, or the world travels of the lady who trimmed our toenails.

What a sharp mind and terrific memory she had. She told us many tales of her childhood and youth, about a world so different from ours. It was easy to see her as a sassy teenager and bold young woman. Come to think of it, she was still sassy and bold till near the end. 

In early 2016 Mom suffered a health episode from which she never fully recovered, and on June 21 she passed from life.

But the memories live on. As does the music. For you Mom, with love, from Cathrine:

Mixed-media

Commercials:

American TV commercials for prescription drugs are interesting and terrifying. FDA regulations demand when a named product is touted for a certain condition it must include  ALL possible side effects.

I think this is a good thing. For Americans. Because their pharmaceutical industry is HUGE. 

I don't mean to belittle those drug companies as what I'm sure they are doing is aimed at helping people. [And of course, making lots of money.]

But that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun with the subject.

These drugs invariably have names that include an X, Y or Z and may go something like this:

ZYGGYX can alleviate that aggravating pain in the neck you get from coworkers, neighbours, relatives, collection agencies, the late pizza delivery guy, your dog pooping on the kitchen floor.

WARNING: possible side effects include dizziness, sobriety, sleepiness, awareness, blurry vision, 20/20 vision, depression, happiness, hirsuteness, baldness, stupidity, intelligence.

DO NOT TAKE: if you have a heartbeat or no heartbeat, or, if a woman, if you have zero or more children, or plan to  have children at a future time. If you are a man, simply do not take. Do not even open a bottle. Best not to watch the commercial.

Not to be taken by anyone under or over 50. Not to be administered to animals, fish, or vegetables.

Oh, and do not operate machinery. Or drive.

I think that's a pretty thorough list.  

Wouldn't it be nice to have medicine that doesn't cause any side effects at all?



 
Other commercials:

There are those where sound is enough. You really don't need the visuals.

"Oh Steve, oh Steve, oh Steve..."  Makes me smile. What's it for again? Or that resonant truck-driver-he-man-cowboy voice, "Guts, Glory, Ram." No mistaking that product.

Other commercials have no voice, don't need a voice, but they're easy on the eyes. Matthew McConaughey and those Lincoln commercials. I can picture him saying, "Alright alright alright."


There is also a commercial that catches the attention of children and pets.

In the family room, the two year old child was lining up little cars [her latest fascination] and the dog was  chewing on a doggy toothbrush. Both ignored the TV.

Then a commercial came on, a take-out coffee cup with sexy legs and long eyelashes dancing the tango with a moustachioed pink doughnut. Child and dog both popped to attention and watched. I wondered what was going through their minds at the time.

The commentary  spoken by a voice with a bad accent announced: "Bad breath isn't sexy, fresh breath is." Didn't mean anything to either of them.






TV series:

Murdoch Mysteries – CBC

This was Mom's favourite show. It premiered in 2008 and she watched it faithfully every time it was on. I never watched myself but thought I'd now give it a try. Reruns were on almost continually and I probably could've started  with the 2008 season. But marathon watching  more than 150 one-hour episodes seemed a little daunting, so I began with 2013. [still working my way through early 2016].

Setting is Toronto at the turn of the 19th century. Think Bones meets CSI in 1900. Detective Murdoch is a bit stiff and straightlaced, but has an impressive, inventive mind. His wife, medical examiner Dr. Julia Ogden is more free-spirited and feminist, and also impressive.

The show is well-made, true to its times, involving real history of the day. It also brings in guest characters who lived then: Houdini, Thomas Edison, young Winston Churchill, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Wilfrid Laurier....

Tackling serious subjects and usually adding comic touches, the show is enjoyable to watch.



 
Movie:

The Hateful Eight

written and directed by Quentin Tarantino

[oh, oh, I still haven't gotten over Reservoir Dogs]

Yes, it's a vile, violent movie, with an excess of blood and killing, and filled with, yeah, hateful characters.

Starts pretty tame, characters are quite talky, but I soon felt there was something deeper going on. Most of the hateful, save two or three, were not who they said they were. And after watching more killings, what seemed hundreds of gallons of blood, I realized this was more comedy than tragedy. A parody, even farce.

I summarize it this way: two bounty hunters, a badass female prisoner, a possible sheriff, a Mexican, an Englishman, an old Civil War general, a couple of gunslingers –  are holed up in a bar during a nasty blizzard. All distrust and hate each other. And then there is a twist to the story…

In the end I concluded it was brilliant.



 
Earworm of the day: protest song from 1969. I think America needs another Woodstock.




-Cat

John and Cat's Excellent Adventure

Maybe yesterday was Friday the 13th in disguise.

Part One:

We had supper at IHOP and were leaving to go home.
It was cold out, so  John started the van, got the heater going.
Locked me into my spot, put my seatbelt on, closed the door.

By the time he walked around to his door, the automatic locks kicked in.
He did not have an extra key so he couldn't get in, I was strapped in so tight I could not reach the unlock button, the handle to open the door, or even the tab to unroll the window.

He called BCAA.
It would take 15 or more minutes to get help.
Called our son who said he'd get there fast as he could – he had a little one to bundle up.
I was getting warmer inside, John was getting colder outside.

I was getting very hot. [couldn't reach the controls.]
He was looking for a rock to break the window.
Luckily son arrived with the extra key and saved us.

Lesson learned – never start your vehicle unless you have an extra key or leave something open, don't strap the passenger in until ready to go.


Part Two: [mostly John's adventure]

I was safe at home and John had gone to visit some friends. I got a phone call about 10.
Call display showed, "Incoming Call."
Thinking it was a telemarketer, I picked up, ready to hang up again.

But it was a Constable from the Burnaby RCMP. She asked to speak to John.
Now any late-night call from the RCMP could be either a hoax or bad news.
I told her he wasn't home yet, what was this about?
"He was involved in an accident earlier. Just want to talk to him."

After calling him to find out what was happening, he said to give her his cell number.
When he got home he told me the story of his "adventure."

He was driving to the city on a two lane highway, everyone going about 70. It expanded to three lanes. Cars in each lane, big semi in the slow lane.
He was in the middle lane, traffic ahead traffic behind, traffic on each side.

The car in the fast lane veered into his lane, almost colliding. He veered into the slow lane, the semi veered to the shoulder.

The car that tarted this came to a stop. John stopped too, walked to the driver's side, knocked on the window. Girl of about 18 or 19 driving. Lighted cell phone on the seat beside her.
He told her she almost killed, not only herself, but at least six other people. Was she on her cell at the time, is that why it happened?

She told him to f--- off, gave him the finger, drove off.
He made a note of her license plate, and continued on his way.

At one point he was ahead of her, and she in turn got his license number, for she lodged a complaint with the RCMP that this was a road rage incident. Hence the call from the Constable.

John explained to the Constable what happened, the driver's age, the cell phone, etc. Constable was surprised as the complaint had come from a woman in her 50s. She was going to look into it.

We figured the girl was driving her mother's car, probably got scared that she was in trouble, so told her mother about this bad old guy yelling at her, possibly threatening her, who knows what she said. So mother decided to take care of it.

If the girl is driving around town like a maniac, mother fixing things is not helpful.
I hope we hear the outcome of this incident.

Thank goodness Friday the 18th is over!

--

I heard this the other day. Oh the good old bad days...


        


--Cat

Brain scan

Good news! I read that as we get older and have those senior moments, brain farts, whatever you want to call the blank space that sometimes follows the questions, "do you remember..." or "who's sang..." we should not jump to the conclusion that senility is around the corner.

According to the great Dr Oz, the older we get the more information our brain has to absorb. This means our brain is crammed with memories, facts, trivia, etc. and it simply takes longer to sort through and fetch the answer. This is why we wake up in the middle of the night with the answer to, "where did I leave my keys?"

This got us talking.  Brains should come equipped with a scanner. Better yet – a search engine. We could Google the question and within seconds answers will pop up. Why, we could be a living smart phone!

There would be limitless applications. I'm sure Apple is working on this right now. 

I can't wait

– Cat

The Runaway Spider

Last night, I saw a big spider [well not BIG big, but big enough] stroll across the bed.

I said to my husband, "Spider!"

He grabbed a Kleenex. I took my eye off the spider for just a second and the darn thing jumped off the bed. We looked for him/her but he/she had disappeared.

When it comes to tracking invasive insects, my husband is not one to throw in the towel, or Kleenex in this case. He leaves no stone, or piece of furniture, unturned until he catches his quarry.

Aha! He spotted it, pounced, and mushed it. The spider  had been nearly invisible, sitting on top of a dark blue cloth. Neat camouflage. Smart spider. [Must've been a she.] 

But then, it just sat there, probably eyes closed, legs hiding its head. [I was now convinced it was a he.]

No matter. RIP little spider. [He was no longer big after being squished.]

We knew from previous encounters with spiders that they have a keen sense of hearing. This one had heard me call his name, that's why he went running, hoping to hide from the... humans? Big people? We probably looked like King Kong to him.

Well, how would he know what to call us? He wouldn't even know that he was a spider. That's our name for him. In his tiny little mind maybe he thought he was a god, creating fancy intricate webs to snare lesser creatures and gobble them up.

All we humans can do is spin fancy webs in our minds. 

And once in a while humans do something magical. [Could've done without the advertising, though.]


 

-- Cat

potpourri

From the ridiculous to the sublime---


Who says channel surfing doesn't stretch the muscles? Well, the mind muscles anyway.

Looking for a movie the other night I happened upon one titled  Cooties.

I heard that word used in various contexts over the years. Nothing good. I read the movie details and thought, "Yikes!"

Children at an elementary school are infected with cooties and become flesh-eating zombies.

I didn't watch the movie as I've outgrown zombie flicks. But I looked for a trailer:


 

As I said, "Yikes."



And sometimes there is nothing on. Or so it would seem.

By chance we started watching a movie titled Minuscule: Valley of Lost Ants
Cute story, the ants are animated, the setting is real, the plight of the ants is involving.
So involving we sat there and watched it till after three in the morning. Yes, we could've recorded it for later viewing, but sometimes you just need to see how the story ends. Now, instead of later. 






And now for a couple of poignant, lovely music videos.
I love the worldwide inclusion of this first one:





And this one written in 1971. Thirty-five years ago! Has anything changed since then?



–  

--Cat

Small silliness

Thought of the day-------

Dwarfs who didn't make the cut:

Slimy, Sleazy, Sloppy, Scuzzy, Screwy, Stinky and Dreck

– Cat  [bowing]

Wintergatan

Wintergatan – (English: "The Milky Way") is a Swedish folktronica band.

Folktronica,  - a blend between folk music and electronica. 

Wintergatan - Marble Machine (music instrument using 2000 marbles)







--  

--Cat

Poop bank

I've heard of blood banks, sperm banks, eye banks... but poop banks?


A small article in a small newspaper caught my attention. After reading it, I thought it might be a hoax. [Kind of like a load of bullshit]

But I googled it and found enough information to believe it's true.

The newspaper article stated poop banks were begun in the Netherlands to combat the serious and hard to fight infection c.difficile, usually contracted when the patient has undergone strong doses of antibiotics. [The antibiotics muck up the intestinal flora, resulting in severe diarrhea.]

A cure is a direct transplant of healthy feces. Hence the need for a poop bank.

Yeah, this is a crappy subject, and it raises all kinds of interesting questions. Which I won't go into right now.

Other countries, including Canada, have begun their own poop banks. Of course, in America donors get paid.[No comment except I bet their poop banks are flourishing.] And there they are called stool banks.

It won't be long before poop, stool, and feces are no longer associated with the name of these banks. I mean, where is the dignity?

And then we can reserve the words poop, crap, and shit to the banks that store [and steal] our money.

–Cat

The Clock Radio – A Saga

Who would've thought a clock radio could cause such problems?

Some background: we've been using the same clock radio for about 30+ years. Worked fine for most of its life. Old-fashioned in its simplicity. A round dial for the volume, a round dial to find the station. Buttons for setting the time and setting the alarm. Pull a small tab forward and you're loaded for bear (in a manner of speaking). When the alarm goes off hit the stop button or, more often, the snooze.

Five or so years ago the clock radio began showing signs of its age. It still worked, but sometimes to get sound instead of static we had to lift one end and drop it, I guess to shake up the internals. Worked like that for a couple of years.

But as time zipped on, we felt  we should get a new clock radio. So we did. Fell for the flash and hype – this one shone the time on the ceiling.

Huh. Never did get that feature to work. The clock was user-unfriendly, difficult to set up. For us it simply did not work.

So, back to old lift and drop. It worked for about another year. Then it got crabby. Like an old woman, my husband said. Hah. More like an old geezer, I said.

After a two day power outage, there were times we couldn't set the time. Even after dropping it several times. The clock worked, the radio worked, although a bit staticky, the alarm worked. Just couldn't set the proper time.

So, we bought another new one. Sleek, stylish, sounded great. It even allowed you to set two alarms. Now this might be nice for some people. But we only wanted one alarm. And though it worked to wake us up at the time we wanted, it also, twelve hours later, alarmed us again. Not fine, even if we were home and could turn it off. Definitely not fine if nobody was home.

We tried to turn the second alarm feature off. The instructions were in six languages, and something must've been lost in translation because we could not figure out how to fix the problem.

Back to the crabby geezer. I guess after a rest he was ready for a last hurrah. Worked for a time, but very grouchy. And then finally it retired.

We bought another one. This one was surely made by aliens on another planet. To get anything to work we had to hold down one unmarked button and at the same time punch another unmarked one until we came to the required setting. None of the buttons stated what they were for – time, alarm, volume, etc. We had to refer to the picture and the instructions to discover what was what.

Well, that was a bust, and we no longer had crabby geezer to revive.

So I hunted for a simple clock radio, one that you don't need a degree in technology to use. And I found the exact one that I wanted at Amazon. A nice little box, control buttons on top, easy to set, nice big numbers to brighten or dim. Sounded great, worked great.

Until...

We usually don't set the alarm unless we need it to get up at a certain time. Well last night was just such a time. We needed to set it to get up early this morning. But – the big bright numbers were gone, the face was completely blank.  Plugging it in and out did start it. Neither did pushing all the buttons.

What on earth? Broken already. What a piece of crap!

We resorted to reading the instructions. And there was the answer. The clock is equipped with a backup battery that keeps the time settings if the power goes out. However, if the power is out and the battery goes dead, the clock face vanishes. A four day power outage
a few weeks ago caused the damage. Not helped by a power outlet that had kicked out.

Trying to find the battery was an adventure. It was tucked in to a little hole underneath a tab. The battery had to be wiggled out of the hole.

We needed another battery. Not one of those AA or AAA. Noooo. One of those that's the size of a quarter and probably costs twenty-five dollars.

No time today to get it, so without a clock radio again.

And now that I think of it, why can't we just use a radio-less clock? It's not like we sit there and listen to music. At the most three minutes, between snooze and turning it off.

Thinking more about it, I want to get one of those old-time windup alarms. The kind with the round face and an old-fashioned dial clock, bells on top, legs on the bottom. The kind with no lights, no music, no buzzer, no degree needed to use. Set the time and the alarm, wind it up. Loud shrill ring. No snooze button. Just wake up.

Update: we now have an old-fashioned alarm as shown above. This is our backup.

– Cat

Goodbye David Bowie

Tribute to David Bowie





-- Cat

Random thoughts at the end of the year

So another year ends...

Good bye 2015. I don't think too many will miss you.

I won't write about the high points or low points of 2015. Most people already know what they are. And I find as time goes on that I'm getting more cynical about – well pretty much everything.

I do have some observations to share:

– Gallup poll results for the most admired man in the world in 2015:

1.  Barack Obama 

2. (Tie) Pope Francis/Donald Trump

Now those two would make great dancing partners, wouldn't they? One is so good, the other is so bad.

I just said "Huh?"

And I could go into my opinion about this, but it doesn't matter, it won't make a difference, and no one cares.

But I will say: Pope Francis – you rock!



– Now how about that Miss Universe Farce,  Comedy, Gong Show, Pageant?

I have no comments. But I do question the relevance. I mean, what difference does it make to the world [using the word Universe is kind of a stretch] if someone from one country is declared the prettiest, most talented, smartest  of them all? 

After all, quoting our Canadian leader – "because it's 2015!" 

And I think in the interests of equality, there should be a Mr. Universe  contest. Not like those old body-builder or weightlifting ones, but a contest where a man chosen from each country in the universe  world  parades around in a tuxedo, a speedo, and says a few things about world peace and homeless children ...

Never happen.






– Nothing important, nothing earth shattering, just talking the other day about that old phrase, "Every Tom, Dick and Harry."

This has been around since 17th or 18th century, depending on which source one looks at.

Got me thinking... I do know a Tom. But I don't know any Dicks, [well, maybe I do]. And I don't personally know any Harrys. Well, everyone knows Prince Harry and maybe Dirty Harry, Harry Potter, Harry Houdini...

Like I said, nothing important there.



– A few personal items that recently occurred:

At four in the morning of Christmas day, son's dog Roxy had to make an emergency trip to the dog hospital.

Not too many open at four in the morning on Christmas day, but luckily there was one in Langley, well staffed, even, and they were able to fix what ailed her.

And on December 29th, just after 11:30 p.m., while I was working on my computer I heard the sound of a thousand thunderclaps,  a noise I can only describe as huge. Like a big truck crashing into my house [except it didn't move] or an airplane took out the next block of homes, or an asteroid hit the earth.

I did not equate the noise with an earthquake until my son came upstairs and said that's what it was. Nothing moved in my office, nothing swayed or fell off the shelves [and my bookshelves are top-heavy]. There were no flickers of power, the Internet stayed on...

But yes, a 4.8 or 4.9 earthquake struck Vancouver Island a few kilometres northeast of Victoria. And of course today everyone's talking about the big one coming, how we are overdue for it. This type of talk occurs after every shaker in the area.

If there's one thing we can't prevent its earthquakes, so it'll come when it comes. Let's not wring our hands as we wait for it to happen.


– One more thing. The year 2016, when whittled down to its universal number is the number 9. Numerologists state that 9 is the end of a cycle and often marks the completion of things.

Guess we won't know what is completed until it happens.

So Happy New Year, happy 2016 to everyone!

– Cat

Merry Christmas

Santa Claus wears a Red Suit. He must be a communist. And a beard and  long hair, Must be a pacifist. What's in that pipe that he's smoking?

--Arlo Guthrie Aren’t we forgetting the true meaning of this day - the birth of Santa? --Bart Simpson (Matt Groening)   There are three stages of man: he believes in Santa Claus; he does not believe in Santa Claus; he is Santa Claus. --Bob Phillips The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live. -- George Carlin   Christmas Shopping In the old days, it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it 'Christmas' and went to church; the Jews called it 'Hanukka' and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and drank. People passing each other on the street would say 'Merry Christmas!' or 'Happy Hanukka!' or (to the atheists) 'Look out for the wall!' --Dave Barry When we recall Christmas past we usually find that the simplest things, not the great occasions, give off the greatest glow of happiness.” --Bob Hope     Have a good one! – Cat

Some nonsense

What yogurt do you want, my husband asked this morning.  There's a pear, a coconut, and a vanilla.

Hey that would make a great joke: a pear, a coconut, and a vanilla, walked into a bar. . . .

And now I'm trying to figure out a way of making it funny.

– Cat

On the eve of election day ...

On the eve of Canada's election day, we are helped to keep things in perspective by the wise words of those who came before.

Political quotes by writers, philosophers, leaders, comedians, politicians...


Those who are too smart to engage in politics are punished by being governed by those who are dumber
--Plato

In our age there is no such thing as ‘keeping out of politics.’ All issues are political issues, and politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, hatred and schizophrenia.
--George Orwell.

The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary.
--H. L. Mencken.

Reader, suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.
--Mark Twain

A politician needs the ability to foretell what is going to happen tomorrow, next week, next month, and next year. And to have the ability afterwards to explain why it didn't happen
--Winston Churchill

Since a politician never believes what he says, he is quite surprised to be taken at his word
--Charles De Gaulle

Now I know what a statesman is; he's a dead politician. We need more statesmen
--Bob Edwards

Too bad that all the people who know how to run the country are busy driving taxicabs and cutting hair.
--George Burns

In politics stupidity is not a handicap.
--Napoleon Bonaparte

–Cat

Reality TV to the extreme

I was scrolling through the  guide on my television, just to see what was on.

Surprised that there was a show called America's Worst Cocks.

The show could have been about birds [it was after all on the food  network] but I didn't pause to check.

However, that did not stop me from wondering:
– what kind of selection process did the producers use?
– were there auditions?
– was this like a survivor show, where someone gets voted off the island each week?
– or, maybe it was like The Voice or Idol, where judges  choose the worst? What kind of talent would be involved here?

The title actually was America's Worst Cooks.

Really though, would anybody care who was the worst cook?  Can't imagine being the person to determine this – they'd have to taste awful meals. What fun is that?

I guess we can just file this under time to get your eyes checked.

– Cat

Hunt for extraterrestrial life

I love this.

From CBC news:

Billionaire Yuri Milner, Stephen Hawking back $100M hunt for extraterrestrial life. Breakthrough Listen will search for radio signals that could indicate intelligent life.

Russian tech entrepreneur Yuri Milner and renowned physicist Stephen Hawking are pushing the search for extraterrestrial life into higher gear. The pair said Monday the $100 million "Breakthrough Initiatives" program funded by Milner will harness computer power as never before in a search of the heavens.

I guess the time is right. If there is intelligent life out there, in any way shape or form, I would like to find out in my lifetime. Perhaps so would the billionaire and the physicist.

Okay, I have this dumb idea that there will be a spaceship call the Minnow. Aboard it there will be a captain, a billionaire [with or without his wife], a physicist, maybe a movie star or two, surely a reporter, say a paparazzi type, and a goofball we could call Gilligan. They could head out on a 300 billion mile cruise and crash land on a planet, and spend the next ten years trying to return to earth. This dumb idea of mine could become a movie, or even a TV series. Whether this will be comedy or drama is too soon to tell.

Okay, I digress.  Easily.

But don't think I'm taking this "listening for space sounds" lightly. I'm not. I sincerely hope there is someone out there, someone brave and good who may be sending out signals from their end to see if there is other life in the universe.

Of course since I heard this I can't get a certain sound out of my head:

  


On the other hand, what if humans, humanoids, aliens, robots, and freaks want universal dominion and take the "meet and greet" to the next level? I recall the Cold War. In the freezing void of space, we could call it the Ice War.

  

And, speaking of movies and theoretical alien planets, I can't fail to mention the brave voyagers on the Starship Enterprise. Yeah, the original series was my favorite. The mission statement: Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise. Its 5-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.
 
  

 People said I had my head in the clouds. Not true. My head is in the stars.

– Cat

The Rise of the Machines

So, the future is now. All those books and movies about machines going on a rampage will be proven prophetic.

Apparently a robot at a German Volkswagen assembly plant killed a worker. The robot's job was to move car parts around. These big robots are usually confined by steel cages so that they don't have any contact with humans. How did this robot get out of his cage so he could strike the worker in the chest and crush him? 

Officials claim this "accident" was caused by human error, not by a vengeful robot.

Sure. Blame the victim. Dumb humans will get fired; clever robot lurches away unscathed.

This is the first such murder that we hear about. There may have been more in the past that those-who-think-they-are-in-charge kept under wraps to keep the robots from rioting.

But count on it. This is only the beginning.

Within the next few years this same plant will be using smaller robots that will not be in steel cages and will work alongside humans on the assembly lines. Whoa! Then it'll be open season. Bad enough they're stealing jobs.


And if anyone thinks worker robots are benign and helpful to man, and those books and movies were only shock fiction and could never come true, all I can say is – remember 1984?

– Cat