On Beauty
Listening to CBC's Writers & Company this afternoon, and I was lucky enough to catch Zadie Smith interviewed.

I am in love with her.
I now have to find both White Teeth and On Beauty.

She made some very interesting and true observations about life, family, and marriage.
Commenting on marriage, she stated that often people perceive love as something, at the end. Like it's a prize.
A windfall.
We search and search for it, and once we've found it... it's as though people see it in the same way as purchasing an appliance.
That it'll just work for you after you've got it.
When in reality, love is just the beginning of another long and hard road.
That it's hard work, not the "now everything will be just fine" idea that so many people have about it.
That marriage is a "leap of faith" and love being a "life long project".
It's true enough that sometimes love just isn't enough to stay and work at it...especially if you're the only one who's working.
"Rowing the boat with one oar, will find you going in circles", as they say.

Her whole comparison of people seeing others as minor characters in a personal movie, while in reality, we're all minor characters in someone else's movie...amused me.
Her remark about being brought to tears upon seeing beauty in the interactions of people, made me nod my head.
When she said that, I thought about how witnessing strangers connected by beauty restores my faith in the human spirit and condition.
It's those moments that to others mean nothing, but to you are profound.
For me, seeing a father interacting with and loving his child...restores my faith.
It's about personal experience, and how we connect the actions of others to ourselves.
It's about what keeps us going from day to day.

She talked about race, and how she has been ludicrously described as "too white" by many.
She remarked that it was a misguided insult that black people give to each other by equating "educated" with "white". That it was the wrong way for black people to differentiate themselves from white people.

I love her.

Here's a little taste of her on Gordon Coale Weblog...BTW, Zadie is a big fan of blogs too!

In other news,

I rented Born into Brothels, a documentary about the children of Calcutta's red light district.

So sad, but beautiful.
The children amazing, and old in spirit.

Seeing this documentary makes me want to go out and smack spoiled yuppie children more than I already do...and that is saying a lot.

If you're a suck like me, go out and get it.

That's all for now...

Sunday cLiCk Around
Mystic has started a meme and I couldn't resist.
For all of you who ask I will put a movie character or star to your personality as I see it.
Go ahead, put your name in my comments and see what I come up with.

I've posted the link to Found Photos before, but it's worth posting again. Whoever runs it doesn't update as often as they used to, but it's still a great site. Every photo has some strange little quirk in it.

For those of you who have been reading me for a long time, you know that I have this irrational dislike of tacky, pretentious, ego maniac, Puffy/P Diddy/Puff Daddy Combs and Snarkywood has done this hilarious cut up of him.

A Picture's Worth is a collection of photos with personal stories attached. The webmaster approached me last year and asked me to submit a photo and story. I did, but then I hung around and read some of the others and it's really a nice site. I'm glad that my story and photo were accepted and posted. Can you find my story?

Song Facts is a site that tells you little true facts about some of your favourite songs. Careful though, you can easily get stuck there for a long time.

For those of you who live in Toronto, and hate shopping as much as I do....this website will tell you about current sales in and around the city. It's come in pretty handy since I hate shopping, and this site helps cut down on the legwork on getting a deal.

chromasia is the site of David J. Nightingale. Another great photographer.

Retro Blog feeds my love of old photos and pictures from days gone by. Dream Moods helps to make me even more paranoid about my fucked up re-occurring dreams of losing/having my car stolen.

Since I'm thinking about changing our bedroom decor, Glidden has a colour visualizer, so that you don't have to stand around at Home Depot or Rona's paint section for hours.

Beware the lure of TETRIS

That's all for now, kids...

The Feminist Lie
I was reading the paper this morning while waiting for my car to be serviced, and in the business section there was an article (that is not on the Stars' website) about a British ad agency exec who has resigned after some comments made at a conference here in Toronto.
He was responding to a question regarding why women weren't more represented in the ad industry, he made some sort of comment referring to women taking time off to "suckle an infant" or something to that effect.
Everyone was outraged.
Furious.
Shocked and appalled.

But, really...just because people don't say it, doesn't mean they don't think it.
The great thing about the feminist movement is that it gave women a choice.
You can be a stay at home mom, or you can compete in the business world.
The lie is that they told us we could do both, or rather, we should do both.

It's not humanly possible.
You cannot be a good mother and be the CEO of some huge corporation.
There aren't enough hours in the day.
There isn't enough energy in the universe.
It's not possible to spread yourself that thin.


Everyone works with someone who is absent often because of her kids.
Or needs to leave early because of her kids.
Truth of the matter is... no matter what the human rights commission tells you.
No matter what feminists tell you...no corporation wants an unreliable person in charge.
They want someone who will devote their time and life to the job.
Women with children can't do that.
Not unless you're running a business in an industry that caters to children, where bosses are likely to be more tolerant and flexible. But, unfortunately...if you're in a field that employs predominantly women, you won't be paid as well.

That's a fact.

So let's not drop our briefcases and get our baby wipes in a knot.
Just because no one will say it out loud, doesn't mean that the Grand Fromages of business don't prefer childless women.

Let's not react like this kind of thinking is absurd and unheard of.
Let's be kinder to ourselves and choose one or the other.
Because honey... you can't be perfect at both.

Do Anything for Love…

I know I’m behind the times in talking about Pam Coburn, and her “soulmate” romance with Joseph Carnavale, an employee who reported directly to her at the city of Toronto’s municipal and licensing standards department.

"office romances are an increasing fact of life in the tweny first century, with women increasingly in senior positions in the work force, and with people working long hours."

Says Pam in her official statement to the press.( Read the whole thing here, if you’re so inclined)
Pam…I think I can call her that now that I know personal and intimate details of her life…who is divorced, was defending her decision to cavort with the married Carnavale in her statement.
The reason I bring this up now is because I saw her interviewed on CBC Newsworld on Sunday and I saw in her face, her body language, and in her responses how much she regretted her stupid actions in the name of some office dick.
She says they never had sex, but do you believe her?

I don’t.

I wonder what drives people who have worked hard to get into their positions of power to do stupid things to sabotage themselves.
I mean, it’s not like she lost a job at a McDonald’s drive through.

Have women finally made it so far up the corporate ladder that they have earned that midlife crisis that corporate men are so famous for?
Or do they get so comfortable in their positions that they feel that the rules and protocols of their jobs don’t apply to them?
Especially when you have a job that could land you on the front pages of the newspaper if you fuck up.
And what about Joseph?
How about his wife?
His children?
How about Pam’s kids?
When people do these things, they just don’t think about how they affect others.
Poor kids and wife, bitch slapped by the actions of a self-serving and weak husband or mother.

I don’t feel sorry for Pam or Joseph.
I feel sorry for the people who love them.

P.S., Thanks to all of you for your good wishes yesterday...I really appreciate it...still walkin' the line with you...tanks Got.

Sunday Click Around

The image is from The Labelman. Vintage crate labels. Very nice. It's too bad that most companies don't bother with lovely labels anymore.
Pity.

Are you like me and wonder how Michael Jackson ended up with white kids? I think we can safely say that Mike has a number of issues. Not living in the same world as the rest of us is only one of them.

I saw a Special K commercial featuring Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley. Remember him? I always thought his voice sounded like he sang from his sinuses, but hey...he was wildly popular.
Ever wonder what happened to him?
Wonder no more.
While we're on the topic of 80's balladeers, Check out Paul Young.

While clicking around, I found Boogie: A Photographer. He's amazing, and disturbing, and wonderful. He's got a great section on Balkan Gypsies.
While we're on the Balkans, I see through peoples personal photographs that democracy is finally reaching Balkan partiers. This bunch could have been hanging out with the editors of Vice Magazine.

I love Swapatorium. I admire the industriousness of people who will get up early to go to estate sales and garage sales to find wonderful things.
I also admire the sprawling space they must have to store these items.

I, at times get this wacky idea that I would like to start checking out estate sales, and garage sales...and then I realize that I'd have to get up at the crack of dawn, and probably have to drive really far, and then I am inclined to go on these...how you say?...military shake downs.. GI Parties, if you will, which involves going through every closet and crawl space in the house, and throwing lots of shit out.
Mind you, about six months later...I go looking for that thing that sat in the crawlspace for a decade unused and unneeded, until I threw it out.
So clearly, estate sales and garage sales as a hobby is out of the question for me.

And, last but not least...I think that CBC Sunday programming for television was better while they were on strike.
What does that say?
I wouldn't miss it if CBC television went off the air. I would miss CBC radio though...a lot.

The Great Thing About Skipping Thanksgiving...



Is that you get to go away.
The Mister and I skipped the stress of Thanksgiving this year and went to Montreal and Quebec City. We stayed at La vie de château in Montreal, and then did a day trip to Quebec City.






This was our room.
Apparently, every room has a theme. Our room's theme was "Afro-Carib".
The painting above the bed is of a woman from Martinique.





Breakfast in the beautiful dining room was included, and it was a lovely spread of fruit, croissants, various breads, ham, cheese, coffee and orange juice, along with fresh crêpes prepared by our host. A wonderful atmosphere with 1930's and 1940's jazz playing to compliment the Art Deco feel of the decor.
If you look carefully, you can see him in the mirror of the dining room.





Our host Jogues was charismatic, and jovial.
He willingly gave us the history of the house.
It being the house of Mdme Voyer a work shoe tycoon, and society woman.
The house was built at the turn of the century to be a smaller replica of The Canadian Club on Ste Catherines Street of which Mdme Voyer was a member. Jogues and his wife Domenique bought it and restored in in 1998.
They did a great job.
When I took this shot, I said: "Say cheese!" and Jogues said, "SEX!" instead...oh, those Frenchmen!





After breakfast on Sunday morning, we drove up to Quebec City.
Pictured on the hill is Fairmont Le Chateau Frontenac. A high falutin' hotel overlooking the St. Lawrence.





Here's the route we took to get there...and the view when we got there:




We went to Le musée de la civilisation and The Mister was roughed up by Sherlock Holmes and Detective Columbo who were there to promote the Autopsy Exhibit.


I had dragged The Mister in soley to see "Concours Vie de tsar". Because the giant Babushka nesting egg in front of the museum drew me to it like a 'ho to shiny things.
You gotta love them Russians. Always tellin' you what to do.
Uja's Quick Russian Joke:
"In Russia, there are two channels...channel 1 which plays propoganda, and channel 2, which shows a guy telling you to turn back to channel 1"
Badda Bum.





Quebec City is very beautiful, and old.
Everyone there is friendly, and thinks they are a comediens, or Canadians oui? ...although, that guy is probably from Ontario.








On the way out of Quebec City, a nice person who was sent by God, told us that we had a bubble in our tire, just before we got on the highway to go back to Montreal. We spent an hour and a half at Canadian Tire getting it fixed.
It's amazing that I can stop a non-English speaker, and simply say "Canadian Tire", and they start with the pointing and giving of directions. We found one very quickly.
We were back on the road in no time.




The Mister and I had a great time doing a lot of other great things while we were in Quebec. Too many things to bore you with here.
But, I'm glad we gave the stress of Thanksgiving a miss this year and did something for ourselves.
Just the two of us.
For a change.

Mama Answers... special k asked: OK, Mama. I've been 'let go' from three jobs in the past three months. I'm a good worker, I play nice with others, and no one who's fired me has ever been able to give me a good reason for kicking my ass to the curb. Am I chronically unemployable? Am I just bad at picking places to work? Or, is everyone who chooses to employ me a jackass? Eh, samtimes dees tinks heppen. Mebee, iz yu no choozink da rite place. Mebee yu in too mach rash to fine da jab an nat lookink aroun to see if yu gonna like vorking der. I don no. Is nat easy vorkink mid da people. Yu gonna fin sametink. Don vorry.

Canadian Mark asked: Hi Mama. I have to quit smoking, but my will power seems to be lacking. I don't do chewing gum, and most pharmeceutical aids cost as much, if not more than the smokes themselves do. Since one of my reasons for quitting is "unaffordability", that option is out for me as well. What could you suggest that might help me quit this filthy, disgusting, and way too expensive habit? I read dis artikle an dey sey smokink iz vorse den da heroin to kvit. I use to smoke, bah I stap. I jas decide, an I stap. Mebee yu need to go to da Doktor. Or jas decide slowly to kvit. Tell yuself yu jas gonna kvit for van manths. Tek da maney every day yu vas gonna spen an da tsigarets an put it in da Teem Hortons ken...an see hou mach yu gonna save. An den ven yu tek da tsigaret to smoke, yu gonna see hou YAK tis taste. Mebee yu no gonna vanna any more.

Hi, Mama, What are the most important things to teach little girls as they grow up? My goddaughters are 10 and 12 and I'll be visiting them shortly. Since you did a pretty good job with Radmila, I thought I'd ask you this... Teach dem da respect. Mek shur dey no dey no cheap. Mek shur dey undestend dat ven da voman mek da decision for hair life, sametimes yu kent chenge dis..an den yu life iz mizerable. Men, dey gadda 9 lives, like da kets. If dey decide to go...dey ken make a hole nu life mid da nu family and don look bek. Da voman, she kent do dis. Tis is vai da voman hes to tink harder vadda dey gonna do. Dey heva da bebies...tis is da most important jab. Dey hev to mek shur. Da voman, she tek ker of da life. Tis is big responsebility. Very valuable. Tis is vai, da voman mast respect herself...from da beginning.

Hey Mama, I own a few guns, I used to compete with them but since the birth of our daughter I rarely have time to visit the range these days. Recently a few family members have made suggestions that it's time to get rid of the guns altogether, implying that our daughter may find them and play with them resulting in a tragic accident. I take firearms safety very seriously, they are well locked up and I think a burglar would have difficulty getting to them (in fact that's what the locks are designed to prevent), not to mention an infant. Am I wrong? Eh, da life is alveys changink. Vee alveys giving ap tinks ven odde tinks bekam more important. I don like da gans. Bah yu mast no vat yu doink. Vat yu vife sai?

Katja says: Mama, I want to know how you stay so GLAMOUROUS! you look divino! Hahahahah. Ja, she tol me I'm da Zsa Zsa...Hahahah. Tis is ok. Ve from Vojvodina.

Hi Mama. Long time reader, 1st time asking question. Have really enjoyed this site. I am 3rd generation Serbian women wishing to salvage some of her heritage. I keep getting dead ends. Any advice? Thank you. Amanda Marie Ah...turd generashon? Hou det heppen? Jao, hou da time go! Ven vee kam, dey was nat too many Serbian peopl here. I tink nou yu ken tek da course in da Serbian. Do det, an den yu gonna meet nu friends hoo are Serbian too. Bah, yu are Kanadian. Hou you mean da "dead ends?"

There she is folks.

Straight Jacket.

Today I am wearing a jacket that The Mister hates.
He didn't want me to buy it, and this morning I heard endlessly about how ugly it is, and how it'll be out of style in 5 minutes, and how it's hideous, and "how can you wear that thing?".
I like this jacket.
Help me out here people...



On another note...
On this miserable and wet day, I went about running errands this morning and as I was unloading my car from the passenger side, a middle aged Rastafarian man passed, and smiled.

I smiled back and said "Good morning...Oh, I mean afternoon".
He stopped, and turned around to face me and said:
"It doesn't matter whether you say morning or afternoon, it matters that we graciously greet one another. Have a wonderful day!".

He smiled and continued on his way.

I like that.

Bias Anti Bias
I’ve been in this field for a long time.

I’ve seen educational fads come and go.
Terms change.
I've been around long enough to see labels be re-labeled..and syndromes pulled out of a hat, only to be stuffed back in and pulled back out later called something completely different.

LD was evolved into Global Developmental Delay, and now that label is changing as well.

“Crippled” went from “handicapped”, to “disabled”, to “people with exceptionalities”, to “special needs”, to “differently abled”.

My point is that things are always changing according to the perceptions and the linguistics of people who have the power to change things.
Sometimes I feel as though the Grand Poobahs of Social Service are constantly struggling to find new "initiatives" to justify thier jobs and create new ones so that they can appoint steering committees while they fly by the seats of their pants straight to the public trough.
I know it sounds cynical, but where there are new and well intended intiatives, there are those all too ready to find a way to take advantage (and not in a good way).
Often, those who stand to benefit most from these programs don't qualify.

In my previous post when I said that we had human rights'ed and politically corrected ourselves into a corner, one of the things I was referring to was that often human rights are, in peoples minds confused with individual preferences.
For example, while I have no right to present Christianity to students, I have free reign to present other religions or alternative lifestyles to them.
That's hypocrisy.
I know some of you are saying "well, there are Catholic schools.."..well, not all Christians are Catholic... I advocate equal time for all faiths in the public school system.
Not the exclusion of one simply because Catholics are representn' in a big way.

I once went to an Anti-Bias Workshop that focused so much on the differences between people of other cultures and traditions that it served to separate and compartmentalize rather than bring people together.
More focus was put on semantics than on the greater problems that separate people.
Spending hours concentrating on minute things like the importance of multicultural paint in the classroom, and the difference between referring to traditional clothing as "dress" instead of "costume", seemed silly and trite to me.

When The Misters family and mine met, it was a grand effort in finding the similarities in our cultures that brought them together, not the seeking out of the differences.
Is the stress on differences bringing us together?
Or is it separating us?

I'm a firm believer in multiculturalism.
But, can we look at positive similarities to bring us together instead of simply focusing on language and overpriced educational products labelled "multicultural", pushed by intellectuals who have in many cases never been front line workers during their entire careers?

Puleez.

"I Can't Take This Shit Anymore!"
He Said Mistakenly.

When I was twenty, I couldn't imagine myself as fourty.
Frankly, I didn't think I'd live this long.
Fourty was old.

Now, I see things differently.
I wouldn't be twenty now for all the kobasa in Poland.
For truly, youth is wasted on the young.
The pain of youth molds our character and Mama used to say that the face you have at fourty, is the face you've earned.

There are older people who look bitter and then there are those who look sweet.
I imagine it depends on your outlook on life.
Are you a fixer or destroyer?
I've said before here that I believe that people, through their personal pain become either "fixers" who work to make their lives and the lives of others better.
Or, they become "destroyers" who are so bitter and angry with their own lot, that they work to make others miserable to prove their personal points...intentionally, or unintentionally.

In the end, it doesn't really matter does it?
We perceive what we perceive, and we do what we do.
"INAT", a word that doesn't exist in English, meaning:
"Whatever the consequences" is something that most of us subscribe to.

Who said that courage is not being fearless, but acting in the face of fear?
But, what is the act, but what we perceive to be right?

Adventures of Woolgatherers

On occasion, The Mister will lure me into one of those mens shops.
You know the kind...technical gadgets, stereo systems, invisible speaker systems, big screen TVs and the like.
I walk around behind him while he oohs and ahhs, and he asks me things like: "Do you hear the difference?" from one speaker to the next.
I nod appreciatively, but truth be told...as long as I hear something with no crackling or interference, I'm ok with it.
The Mister obviously has hearing like a Gambian Epauleted Fruit Bat, and can hear sounds, and hisses that I am totally oblivious to.

Anyhow,
We were walking through one of these stores, him walking ahead...and me doing an imitation of him in a Nine West Outlet, when the salesman walks over and asks if he can help us obviously thinking we're considering a big screen TV.
The Mister says, "Oh, we're just looking.." and I say, "It's not happening".

As we're walking out of the store, we hear him say...
"Oh..it will. It will..."

That made me laugh.

Will You Still Need Me, Will You Still Feed Me...When I'm 64?

This morning at the coffee shop, I was stood behind a woman and her very elderly mother.
They ordered, collected their coffee and cinnamon twists, and the daughter gently and lovingly helped her mother to a table.
They sat and the daugther dotingly prepared everything for the elderly lady. Opening her cup for her, unwrapping her pastry...it was lovely to watch.
Recently, someone asked me how I was going to manage getting older with no biological children of my own.

This is a good question, I guess.
A question that came to my mind as I watched this woman and her mother this morning.
But then, there is no guarantee that a child will take care of an aged parent anymore, is there?
Through programs that I have participated in, I have seen enough of the aged who have plenty of children, yet are still virtually abandoned in Seniors Homes, with only little children involved in intergenerational programs visiting them regularly.

It's sad and heartbreaking.

Parental abuse is on the rise, I hear.
This is something I cannot get my head around.
Regardless of how angry and hurt you are about your childhood, could you beat your parent?
How could you?

When you get old, can you give up?
Just give up life?

I think you can.

Reci: "Zbogom"
Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we?
What feels like a hundred years ago, I left Toronto to pursue some sort of fantasy art life in NYC.
Everything was going swimmingly for the first little while.
My friends over there were spending time and taking me out...I had a sublet on E14th and 1st, on the top floor of a five flight walk up.
But then, eventually...my friends went back to their normal lives and I was left to fend for myself for company.
For anyone who has moved away from home, you know that making friends can sometimes be difficult. Especially when you're not really working anywhere, per se.

One day, I was wandering around alone getting my bearings, I was homesick and lonely. For many years while growing up in Toronto, I went to great lengths to be Canadian.
I didn't like my mother speaking Serbian in public to me, I refused to listen to traditional music and made fun of it.
But, when I passed The Dubrovnik Restaurant at W20th and Avenue of the Americas, I couldn't resist the pull of something familiar.
I went in and sat at the bar and ordered a Turska Kafa.
I sat and listened to people talking and joking in a language that was familiar and was overwhelmed with a feeling of comfort.
Like home.
The lady behind the bar came over and started to chat with me.
Sanka and I talked for a long time.
Turns out that she was the wife of the owner "Ziggy".
Sanka offered me a job waitressing on weekends, and I took it.

Ziggy was a character if there ever was one.
Vitalis smeared hair, a gold eye tooth, a horseshoe pinky ring, and a suit...always a suit with pointy shoes.
Pravi "fraijer".
Above one of the booth seats was a painting of Ziggy, sitting in a boat off the coast of Dubrovnik, on the waves of the Adriatic with a fanned out deck of cards in one hand, and a pair of dice in the other.

This may sound like I'm making fun of Ziggy, but I'm not.
He and his wife were two of the kindest people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.
He was a proud American with a thick accent.
He often challenged us with questions like:
"Eef da Amerika hev da var veet YU, an vitch side yu gonna fight?"
And then we would all laugh at what a ridiculous idea that was!

LOL....HAHHAHAHAH!

Ziggy called me "Mala" (little one) the whole time I worked there.
Perhaps he just couldn't remember my name, but it was sweet just the same.

The Dubrovnik Restaurant was as diverse as the former YU was.
Employed at that restaurant there were Serbs, Croats, Bosnian Muslims, Italians, and Puerto Ricans.
I used to sit sometimes in the dark booth at the back with all the other waiters, and they would talk about "back home", and politics..often shouting at each other one minute and hugging each other the next.
The Dubrovnik is where Guido, the maitre d' introduced me to Espresso with lemon peel around the rim and then dropped into the cup...trying to convince me that this was better than Turska Kafa.

My time at The Dubrovnik taught me a lot about myself.
It's not there anymore, and hasn' t been there for a long time.
But, I think about Sanka and Ziggy from time to time.

No matter how far you run....there you are.

Mama's Take on Football

"Eh, I don no vai dey hev to fight for van ball...da CFL hev enough maney to buy everybady a ball!"

You have to love her.
Really, you do.

So, The Mister and I spent the weekend in the Poconos.
(Yes Kat, I too was surprised that there was NO "K" in Poconos)
It’s a beautiful place.
While we’re talking, I’d like to point out some differences between PA and Ontario.
You can smoke in places that you haven’t been able to smoke in Ontario for over a decade.


No.
Really.

I was shocked to see cigarettes being sold in Pharmacies!
Not happening here in Ontario.
In fact, pretty soon it'll be illegal to smoke in your own home or car here in Ontario.
I imagine that eventually there will be Tobacco houses where smokers will have to go if they want to smoke.
Like the Opium Dens of days gone by, in the basements of shady establishments...anyhow, that's another post.

Also, we saw a lot of couples with small children who looked very close together in age (the children, I mean...not the adults).
Every couple seemed to have a minimum of 3 children.
The parents were looking perpetually pissed off, and the children were perpetually running wild.
It was actually kind of entertaining.

Anyhow….
We stayed at The Shawnee Inn. Looks nice, huh?

The Mister booked a room on the net.
No fears of this since we found a fab bed and breakfast in Montreal this way a few years ago.
Well, we stayed in a room like the one pictured.
A real throwback to the 1970’s with the décor, no?

Now, The Mister is a little quirky when it comes to things, and he didn’t imagine Lucy and Ricky beds when he was booking the room.

This pissed him off.
The fact that this room wasn’t located in the main building pissed him off too.
See, the website is misleading.
When they do the bookings, they don’t tell you that there’s “The Big House” (as we got to calling it) and then there’s the “Slave Quarters” which is a little motel like structure far, far away from “The Big House”, named The Delaware somethingerother that smelled like a $65CD Bobcageon Motel room for $160AD.
Here’s the kicker…it cost just as much to stay in “The Big House”
This mightily pissed off The Mister, who was already pissed off.

So, we took the looooong walk up to “The Big House” to speak with the Manager on Duty.
Who was very apologetic and nice and suggested we speak with the Grand Fromage the next day.
The Shawnee Inn is a beautiful old building that has been in operation as a golf resort since 1912.
It's really pretty impressive.




There was a beautiful old elevator obviously from the 1920’s or so with a brass grill.



The view from The Big House was breathtakingly beautiful.


The view from The Slave Quarters, was not worth photographing.
It overlooked the 14th hole.

We took a drive over to Bushkill Falls where we took a steep hike to see the falls.

Very beautiful.

On the way back, while driving through Lackawanna or Cheektowaga, we passed a replica of the famous photo of workmen eating lunch on a beam during the construction of Rockefeller Center in NYC Remember that photo by Lewis Wickes Hine?


The hotel it was in front of was a little cheesy and overdone, but I really liked how they did that though.





Well, a grand time was had by all...school tomorrow, and I'm off to bed...sob!

I was visiting Katja and she led me to this short story by Bosnian writer Alexsandar Hemon. Although his writing style is a little frenzied and fragmented for me, he reminded me of many things in this short.

He describes his relationship in pre YU wars Sarajevo, with a poet and drinking partner nicknamed “Dedo” (Grandpa), and meeting him many years later in the U.S.

“He turned to me in a snap, as if I had just woken him up, and he did not smile. He didn't recognize me, of course. It was a painful moment, as the past was rendered both imaginary and false, as though I had never lived or loved. Even so, I introduced myself, told him how we used to drink together at the Writers' Home; how he used to sing beautifully; how often I had remembered those times. He still couldn't recall me. I proceeded with flattery: I had read everything he'd ever written; I admired him and, as a fellow-Bosnian, I was so proud of him—I had no doubt that a Nobel Prize was around the corner. He liked all that, and nodded along, but I still did not exist in his memory. I told him, finally, that he used to think I was a conductor. "Dirigent!" he exclaimed, smiling at last, and here I emerged into the light. "

This passage reminds me that memory is selective.
Some people loom so large for us, influence us, inspire us, screw us up, make us bitter and angry, while we have no impact on them whatsoever...and vice versa.

I have been told on occasion of things that were very important to other people that supposedly, I was deeply responsible for (good and bad) and I have absolutely NO recollection of what they remember in detail.
There are people who have come into my life that I connected such importance to, that I meant absolutely nothing to..and probably wouldn't remember me if we met again.

Our memories, and the things that we connect importance to are so very different, and I suppose we only choose to remember the things that gave us an actualization or affected us in some life altering way.
Good or bad.
I cannot count how many times I have relayed a memory to someone, only to be greeted with the blank stare of non-recollection.

Which immediately makes me doubt my own memory, but then I realize that we all have our own selective memories.

There are certain things I’ve done in my past that I would love memories of to stop sneaking up on me late at night. Those being the big ones that I acknowledge…never mind compounding them with things that other people have connected importance to that I am unaware of.

Forget some of the bad so that we can live with ourselves.
Forget some of the good so that we don’t get too swollen with our own importance.

Maybe this is really a blessing in the end.

How Important is Your Name to You?

For some people, their names are really, really important to them.

They go out of their way to spell their names in an out of the ordinary way, just so that they can be different. Maybe spend a little more time discussing their name…because they’ll have to spell it for you, and then you can discuss how unusual it is, or whatever.

Being someone with a name that you’ll never find on those little license plates that you can stick up on your bedroom door, or on pencils or cups at the dollar store…I’m used to having to spell my name, and then discuss how unusual it is…and being asked what nationality it derives from.

Frankly, I could live without it.

I was very ready to take on The Misters surname when we got married, just so that I could stop spelling my name when people asked for it.
About 10 minutes ago, the courier guy came in and asked for my name, (which isn’t really Radmila, in case you didn’t know) and I said it, and he thought I said something else, and I didn’t correct him.

Then, I thought about how I do that a lot.
I have one of those names that is unusual (to Canadian ears, but quite common in Slavic countries).
With the change of one letter it can be transformed into at least 5 other names.
Some of these other names are more commonly heard of than others.
Some are actually nicer than my own name.
Sometimes people will go months saying my name incorrectly, and I won’t say anything.

For me, whether I correct you or not will depend on how important you are, or might be in my circle of life.
If you’re a business associate, I’ll correct you.
If you’re a Cashier I’ll never see again, I won’t.

Some people are very particular about their names, adding double letters where they aren’t necessary.
Apostrophes in place of letters…silent letters that serve no purpose but to confuse anyone who wants to give them a Birthday or Christmas card.
And they’ll get righteously pissed if someone spells it wrong.

Personally, I have enough stress in my life without adding to it with trivial shit.
The way I look at it, I could have been named anything.
In fact, the first elementary school teacher I had changed my name completely, simply because she didn’t know how to pronounce it.
I went through my entire school life with a name that wasn’t even legally mine.
Ok..that pissed me off as an adult because that had more to do with not accepting immigrants than it did anything else. But, as a kid...I just wanted to fit in, and even though the name was hideous, I didn't complain.

These days, everyone wants to be different.
Sometimes, you can be so different, that you end up being the same.

Let's Talk About God, Baby...


I'll start this entry off by letting you know that I'm not that keen on organized religion.
I believe in God, but I don't believe in the rituals that man connects to God.
I think that the Bible is an incredible book of lessons, but I don't take it literally.
I do not fast when I'm supposed to.
As Uja says every time it's time to fast, "sin does not go into the mouth, but comes out".
I don't believe in man designed rites.

That said, The Mister and I were talking about someone we know who has joined a religion with a lot of rules to follow, and we got to talking about the contradictions of some people who claim to be following "Gods word".
Specifically because the person we were discussing is one of the most pretentious and contradictory people we know.
I'll say honestly, that in my experience, some of the meanest, most unforgiving people I've ever met were regular churchgoers.
Which makes me think that churchgoing for them is like insurance.
As long as I show my face, repent, or confess...I can start again.

Tabula rasa.

The Mister and I were discussing how some people revel in the rules of their religion, making it appear that they are so pious, while looking down their noses at others as though the ordinance of their religion gives them some sort of superiority over people who do not follow the same doctrine. Meanwhile, subscribing to very different and more relaxed and forgiving principles for themselves.
Almost as though not eating certain things, not going certain places, and being in the house by a certain time allows them some sort of slack in the more important aspects of being a decent person.

Why is that?
I'm confused as to how someone can claim to love God, yet be so mean and unforgiving to others.
I wish this person good luck on their recent conversion...with one thought I heard many years ago to ponder:

Sitting in a church makes you a Christian, like sitting in a garage makes you a Cadillac.

Love, Unconditionally.

Is there such a thing as unconditional love?
I hear this phrase being flung around a lot.

This morning while I was at the gym, I was watching The View on one of the overhead TV’s.
They were interviewing Madonna, and obviously, after six years of marriage…she’s an expert on relationships.
We are in desperate need of her opinion on marriage.

She must have referred to “unconditional love” eight or nine times.
I’m not familiar with unconditional love.
Yes, I know that my mother is supposed to love me “unconditionally”, but all of my life I had conditions on how much she would tolerate from me for her love.
She had lots of conditions.
It was me living up to most of those conditions that stopped me from becoming a miscreant.
She used to tell me that if she didn’t have these conditions, it would actually show that she didn’t care about me, much less love me.

How unconditional is the love that Karla Homolka’s or Jeffrey Dahmer’s parents have for them?
In the case of Karla Homolka, how do you as a parent feel the same way about a daughter that murdered another one of your children?
I cannot be convinced that her relationship with her parents is not damaged irreparably.
If a loving relationship still exists at all.
So, how unconditional is it if people say they love you “unconditionally”, but you don’t feel loved?
People have been fired by their parents for certainly less than killing a sibling.

That’s parental love which is probably the closest thing to unconditional that we’re going to get, if it exists at all.

How about marital love?
Certainly there are conditions there…otherwise divorce wouldn’t exist.
What is unconditional love of a spouse?
Certainly allowing someone to beat you, and abuse you could be construed unconditional love in some people’s eyes. Spouses allowing each other to have sex with others has been described as unconditional love simply on the notion that not being possessive of your spouse equals “unconditional” love. Allowing a spouse to gamble, drink, your family’s savings away…is that unconditional love?

People toss this “unconditional love” phrase around in a very cavalier way.
I don’t believe in it.
All love requires a certain amount of condition and sacrifice.
I know no one who loves and lives with another person who hasn’t modified their way of living to compliment or compromise with their chosen partner.
There is a limit to what we will tolerate from another person whom we claim to love “unconditionally”.
I’ll wager that Madge wouldn’t call her love for her husband “unconditional” if a woman showed up on her doorstep with his baby in her arms.

I officially hate that phrase.

My mother asked me to change the message on her call answer service.
I called her to ask for her password, but she wasn't home.
This was her message:
"Ahhhh, ahhhh, ok...tis is (her number), I'm nat home. Ehh...ahhh...leave da message. I gonna kall yu bek" and then just before it beeps, in Serbian, "Tis vas no goot. I screwed up."

Laugh?
I thought I'd die.

So, when she called me back and I got her password, I changed the message.
I then went into her calls to see if she got my message.
I picked up this message from a speed talking Serbian friend of hers:
First, she recites a cute Serbian limerick like poem using my mothers name, and then, "Change your message. Just say, 'Leev da message, I gonna kall you bek, dets all!', you don't need to say anything else. Finished." She goes on to tell her some other things and then ubruptly hangs up.
I wish there was a way to put her message on a wav file and post it here.
It's freakin' hilarious.
I could listen to her friend all day.