Cherry Pie & Whipped Cream

On Sunday I had cherry pie and whipped cream for breakfast!

Why is this important enough to write a blog post about?

Oh, my dear, wonderful friends and followers, what follows is a tale of woe!  A tale of gastronomic deficiency. Of a shortfall of flavor. A gluten-free, sugar-free spiral into a reactive hypoglycemic's worst nightmare!

Well, it's not really all as bad as that. I am being somewhat dramatic about it. It is, in fact, more a love story than anything, albeit the love story is not my own.

It all started two years ago... Well, that's not, strictly speaking, true. It really started about eight years ago when it was determined that my grandson has turret syndrome. In an effort not to succumb to any pressure to medicate him, my daughter explored dietary options as a way to help him. She, in turn, determined that a gluten-free/sugar-free diet was the way to go and, in all fairness, there was a sharp and positive change evident in his behavior after she implemented the change.

Fast forward to May 29, 2016 when she and I blended our lives and moved in together.

Even before I arrived, we both knew that food was going to be an issue. My philosophy when it comes to eating is simple: Eat what you enjoy and enjoy what you eat! I pay no attention whatsoever to all the freaky-deaky trends and unending debate about what is good for you and what is not and how anything affects anything. I'm a  consummate pasta-phile. I love pasta. I love chocolate. I love potato chips. I love bread and cheese and pizza and ice cream and pretty much everything that my beloved grandson isn't supposed to eat.

It's not that I'm not supportive. I see and acknowledge the benefit the gluten and sugar-free diet has provided for the lad. When he does eat gluten and sugar in any appreciable quantity he turns into what we have affectionately come to call a gluten asshole. (We don't say that to his face!) He becomes a surly, argumentative, uncooperative and crazy-making beast child. It's rather unpleasant. So I have a vested interest in ensuring that his intake of the Mr. Hyde food is as close to nil as possible. Thus, I hide my food as best I can.

I know, I know... You're probably thinking: Why don't you just change your diet? And my simple answer is: Because that crap tastes awful! And I don't enjoy the attacks of low blood sugar when they happen.

I did try going gluten-free some years ago. It was so... tasteless! Not to mention expensive! You need to take out a loan just to buy a loaf of decent-tasting gluten-free bread. You can, of course, settle for the normal gluten-free bread that tastes like granulated paste and is still ridiculously over-priced.

But let's not get caught up in that aspect of things. Judge me if you want. I'm a wheat junkie and we have managed - for the most part - to keep things relatively gluten and sugar-free for the kids. They still get lots of that kind of thing when they are at friends' houses and at school.

My daughter does 99% of the grocery shopping. We both know full well what I will come home with if that particular task is left up to me. Besides, she is the one with the vehicle and, while I have done it a time or two, schlepping home a week's worth of groceries on the bus is neither easy, nor particularly pleasant. Now that I have Luther Pen-draggin', my new trusty shopping cart on wheels, however, I may just take it on more often.

Again, I digress...

It's time to introduce the love story portion of this post.

Recently, my daughter has taken up with a delightful young man from Grand Prairie. This long-distance relationship, though new and fresh, appears to be unfolding in a positive direction. For purposes of privacy, I shall henceforth refer to my daughter's beau as Darth Vader.

If you are thinking this is a sobriquet of disapproval based on a negative interpretation of his personality, I assure you it is nothing of the sort. For Darth Vader is friendly, kind and possessive of great good humor. He is a self-proclaimed sci-fi/fantasy geek and the real reason I have chosen to refer to him as I have is that he is a member of the 501st Legion - Badlands Garrison and appears in the guise of the great Sith Lord himself.

This past weekend, Darth Vader graced our home with his esteemed presence. While visiting, he participated in the annual Pride Parade along with his fellow Legion members, sporting a rainbow breastplate that stood out in "proud" contrast to the basic black he normally wears.

He also went grocery shopping with my daughter!

My role in the grocery shopping duty is to unpack and put away the food when it has been brought home. It's kind of like Yule for me. Or an Ostara egg hunt. I get to rummage through the bags and discover the goodies that are hidden among the gluten and sugar-free stuff. It's usually just potato chips and normal pasta, but sometimes it's Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup and soda crackers. Or a ring of garlic sausage. Or a tempting wedge of Gouda!

So you can imagine the joy I felt when I reached into a bag and pulled out a cherry pie and a can of whipped cream! The heavens opened up and the angels trumpeted the advent of this rare and much coveted treat and I knew, with absolute certainty, that this was love. Not love for pie and whipped cream; love between my daughter and a Sith Lord.

Yes, I took advantage of the opportunity to tease my daughter a little by declaring my approval of this relationship based on my getting cherry pie and whipped cream! But the true source of my happiness is seeing the happiness that my daughter and Darth Vader are bringing into each other's life.

The cherry pie and whipped cream are just a delicious bonus for me.  Best breakfast I've had in a while!

Four Times a Chime at 4:44: Twice

So... I'm taking a course on blogging for profit and the first thing the instructor instructed was to turn off all notifications on all devices and unfollow (not unfriend) everyone and everything on every social media platform. I was dubious, but she's the expert, right!? It took a good deal of time. She assured me that the the lack of distractions would help me be more productive.

Yesterday, I was so distracted by the lack of distractions I was unable to focus on the next instruction and have no idea what that is even though I watched the video twice. And then I was just annoyed at how aware I was of the lack of pings and dings and vibrations that indicate someone has shared something that they think might be of interest to the world.

Determined to get through this disconnection phase and become super productive, I steadfastly returned my focus - over and over - to being productive. I did a little writing. I did a little painting. I did the dishes. I went for a walk. I listened to music. I read a couple of chapters in my book. I puttered. I watched the second lesson video for my course. Then I watched it again. I watched The Staircase. I watched an episode of Midsomer Murders. I watched a movie and ate cherry pie with whip cream! (which will be the topic of my next blog post!) And then I went to bed.

My normal routine when I retire for the night is to read for a while and then meditate. My intention is to end my day focusing on good things, fun things, happy things, anything that isn't/wasn't a "problem" during the day. Since I don't have a partner not to go to bed mad at, I try to go to bed not mad at the rest of the world. (Ha-ha.) Last night my normal routine unfolded quite normally and I drifted off to sleep around midnight.

All was going well. I was sleeping, which was the goal at the time, so I think that is a reasonable assumption to make. I recall dreaming, but not the dream itself. As far as I know, the night was progressing perfectly and I was contentedly resting up, getting ready for my first truly full day of being super productive.

At 4:44 a.m. a faint, yet pleasant chime split the cone of silent sleep I was ensconced within with the force of a bomb and I was launched from my peaceful slumber like I was being shot from a canon. The sensation was visceral (god, I love that word!). I felt like I was being hurled through space and time from the edge of an event horizon back to this space and this time. Heart racing, sweat beading and with a white-knuckle grip on the sheets, I met consciousness in a similar fashion to the way a car moving at full speed meets a brick wall.

My first thought was that I had been dreaming. I released the sheets and reached for my phone, noting the time and collapsing back onto my pillow. "Okay, that was weird," I thought and may even have said out loud. And then I heard the faint, yet pleasant chime again.

It was not coming from my phone. How could it? I had turned off all auditory notifications as per my instructors instructions. It was coming from... Everywhere!

Straining to hear it again and to identify a more precise point of origin, I laid still, barely breathing, tense and focused. The hum of the fan gently rumbling in the corner filled the entire airspace. Beyond that, there was no noise whatsoever.

As time is wont to do, it passed. My muscles relaxed and my vigilance waned as the blissful oblivion of sleep reclaimed me. I remember rolling over to adopt my go-to sleep position, a semi-fetal, right-knee-bent-left-leg-straight-hands-tucked-under-my-cheek left-side repose.

I'm not sure how one knows how long one has slept other than to note the time difference between falling asleep and waking up again, but, if I were to estimate, I would say that I slept for about an hour before... you guessed it!... that faint, yet pleasant chime woke me up again.

This time was not such a shocking and violent return to consciousness. My eyes popped open and I tuned my awareness to my surroundings. The sound of rain falling blended with the hum of the fan, but otherwise there was only the quite of the night.

(Cue the theme from The Twilight Zone, for this is where my tale turns truly strange....)

I reached for my phone to check the time.

It was 4:44 a.m.

Was this just a dream? Did I even actually wake up the first time? My left brain wants to declare it a strange and slightly disturbing dream and put paid to the whole incident. If not for the intriguing, and as of yet unexplained, repetition of the faint, yet pleasant chime sounding for a fourth and final time after I abandoned any notion of going back to sleep and was in kitchen pouring my first coffee of the day, I might accept that.

Was it a notification on someone else's device? There are four other people in the house and they all have phones. Again, in lieu of the dream theory, my left brain likes this explanation. Our ears are designed to not only hear sounds, but to determine from which direction they are coming, though. The faint, yet pleasant chime I heard in the wee hours came from no discernible direction. Like some cosmic surround-sound system the chime came from everywhere all at once.

I have purposely described it as faint because it was not loud. But it was clear and it was, as I have also described it, really pleasant. Comforting. It was neither a bell nor a gong. Chime is the closest word I can find to recount what I heard, but I cannot recall hearing a sound exactly like it ever before.

I have been, however, compelled to re-follow everyone on every social media platform and to re-instate some of the audible notifications (though not all) on my devices and am in the productive (?) process of getting that crossed off its priority position on my to-do list. (Hmmmm... Prioritizing tasks might be the subject of the second lesson...) I shall return to that after I complete this missive. My productivity will just have to be fit in around the potential distractions they may present.

I have been internally debating whether or not to explore the metaphysical/esoteric connotations that could be subscribed to in relation to this (sorry, I can't resist) case. Particularly those surrounding the meaning of 444 as a sign from the Universe. But I think I will leave all that to your own imaginations as I allow this to filter and become fully processed in my own mind. I think I prefer to wallow in the mystery of it. It was oddly uplifting (except for the hurtling through space and time and meeting consciousness so abruptly part) and has left me feeling somewhat contented and feeling inwardly peaceful. It seems prudent to just go with that for now.

Besides, there is cherry pie and whip cream for breakfast!

Blessings, Everyone.

Pissed off and happy to be so

WARNING: strong language.  (In other words there is a lot of swearing in this post and if you read on and still choose to be offended... Well, damn. Sucks to be you.)

It's been over a year since I've posted anything here. Sheesh!  Where does the time go? Where does the motivation, the inspiration and the desire go?

Well, it seems that it gets bottled up until it explodes in a fit of pique!

Today I exploded in frustration and anger and resentment and all sorts of other horrid things. In short, I lost my shit!

While I tend to lose that on a regular basis, it's most often a case of quickly passing irritation at something and blows over in a relatively short amount of time. I swear and stomp about a bit. Then I move on.

Today was different, though. Today I thoroughly and completely lost my shit. Told the Universe to fuck right off, I did! There really isn't any finer point to put on that.

Two hours of shit-losing, Universe fuck-off-telling, exploding.

Through the tears and the fears, and a good deal of spittle spraying, I raged on, hurtling every perceived injustice I could think of having befallen me back at the world. Scared the bejesus out of the dogs, each of which sat wide-eyed and shivering in their kennels or cowering under the bed as the verbal storm I let loose pelleted the house with expletives that would make a sailor blush. It wasn't pretty by any means. But it was kind of cathartic.

The reason for the shit storm was simple. I felt myself capitulating to the wishes of others once again. And it pissed me off.

Oh, it's pissed me off  before. And there have been other equally loud and dog-scaring shit storms as a result. They have all passed as did this one.

But how many times do I have to beat myself up about my propensity to give in and give up before I decide, with finality, to stop doing this to myself? How many?

I could hear Dr. Phil asking, "How's that working for ya?" (Meaning the giving in and giving up? Not the fits of pique.)

Well, it hasn't. I have given up every single dream I have ever dreamed because 1) someone else didn't think it would work; or 2) someone else said it was too risky and they didn't want to have to bale me out when it failed; or 3) someone else thought that everyone else would think I'm weird or think that they were weird for supporting me; or 4) someone else was afraid they wouldn't get what they wanted; or 5) someone else had a plan for themselves and figured that I should be more supportive...

Wait! What!?

I moved to Edmonton with the thrilling and (I thought) focused intention, after all the years - nay, decades! - of trying and failing to make my dreams come true due to some misplaced ideology that dictated keeping the peace in order to belong and be accepted as a pathway to happiness, of finally carving out the life that I have longed for for as long as I can remember.  I was going to write and paint and do Tarot readings. I was going to have a garden and go to events and meet amazing people and do amazing things. While some of that has indeed unfolded, I still keep allowing myself to be dragged back into that fearful place of doing what I don't want to do so that I don't let anyone else down while I watch my dreams crumble like stale crackers and get crushed into the carpet of forgotten bliss under the heavy boots of my own stupid weakness.

It's odd. I have often been told by others that they think I am strong. Well, if strong means that I keep letting myself down, I don't want to be strong. Strong completely and totally sucks. Fuck strong. Fuck nice. Fuck polite. Fuck all that mamby-pamby boulder snot! I'm not strong! I'm wrong!

I'm wrong for giving in and giving up. I'm wrong for taking the easy path. I'm wrong for settling for crappy jobs with crappy wages and crappy rules. I'm wrong for settling for less than I deserve, which is to do and be and have everything I want. And I want to be a Tarot Reader, an artist and a writer. I want an amazing house filled with cool and amazing things. I want a relationship with a fantastic guy who loves me for who I am and not for who he thinks I should be. I don't give a damn about fame or even about (vast) fortune (well, maybe a little vast...). I just want to be ME! I just want to be the creative being that I know I AM.

I want to listen to old time rock 'n' roll. I want to dance. I want to wear tie-dye skirts and put flowers in my hair. I want to revel in the gloriousness of ME! Because I am glorious. I am bloody, freakin' spectacular! And I'm not going to dim my light or tow the line or bow down to the status quo. Why the hell should I?

It's the 21st century, for crying out loud. And still people are writing resumes and clocking in and selling out to the corporate gods. Be professional. Don't rock the boat...

Guess what!? The damn boat needs to be rocked! Hell, it needs to be flipped over and sunk to the bottom of this bloody ocean of insanity. You know what professional means? It means being controlled by a freaking paycheck and the corporate freaking asshole that signs it.

You should read my journal entry for today. It starts out: I give up! (That's how defeated I felt this morning.)

Ha!  I don't give up. I won't give up. I deserve the best of everything. As does everyone. And that doesn't mean doing shit that makes me anything less than outrageously happy.

Joseph Campbell advised us to: Follow your bliss.

Follow it!? No! I'm going to envelope myself in it until it consumes me!

Does this mean I won't do the dishes or sweep the floor or pay my bills? Not at all. While these things can be tiresome, they are also wonderful blessings. Dishes mean I have good food to eat. Sweeping the floor means I have a damn floor to dance on! Bills mean that I have electricity and heat and a roof over my head. I am grateful for all these things and I am happy to show my appreciation for them through the exchange of digits. Yes, I want more digits than the bills ask for in appreciation and I deserve more digits than I'm currently accumulating. There is more than enough for everyone and I intend to get my share.

And when it makes me happy to do so, I will share my share, because I know that I can always get more.

But I won't give up my dreams. EVER AGAIN! I won't trade my bliss for anything. I won't settle. I won't be a drone in this world. 'Cause that just sounds boring. And I'm not boring.

I won't sell my "skills" to make someone else rich. I won't punch a time clock or check my schedule or wear a uniform. I won't drink from the soul-sucking fountain of indifference just to make ends meet.

Image borrowed from : 
https://www.ericsturtevant.com/products/tambourines-and-elephants

Come with me and look out my back door where tambourines and elephants are playin' in the band! And let magic (and maybe a little mayhem) bring nothing but bliss our way.

Blessings, Everyone!

Only Time Will Tell

In the wee hours of the night, a strange thing happened. An hour disappeared.

It just vanished as time shifted from two to three a.m. with abrupt finality. Most of us were sleeping when it happened. We didn't even notice that an hour of our precious rest was stolen from us.

Some of us, fully aware and duly warned, adjusted our clocks before we went to bed. Others figured it out after waking up and realizing that something was wrong. While our electronic devices adjusted automatically, our clocks did not. The incongruity confused some people. Others reprogrammed digital time pieces and manually turned analogue clocks ahead to match the rest of the world. Some grumbled and complained. Others took it in stride. Regardless of any confusion or disapproval, life went on and the missing hour remained missing.

Daylight Saving Time (Yes, it is singular! We are not banking any daylight through this process.) has been in practice for 109 years in Canada. First implemented in July, 1908 in Port Arthur (now Thunder Bay), Ontario, the trend across the country took some time to develop. In April, 1914, Saskatchewan adopted DST and Manitoba followed suit in April, 1916. Eventually, all of the provinces and territories got on board and DST became a thing.

Daylight Saving Time was designed to make better use of daylight. Farmers, for example, had more daylight later in the day for harvesting crops. It kind of made sense and DST was enacted primarily during the harvest season.

Strangely, DST created the illusion of longer days, a misconception that lingers even today. The stolen hour does not (however paradoxically), in and of itself, lengthen the daylight hours; it merely shifts them forward. So if the sun rose at 7 a.m. and set at 6 p.m. the day before DST commenced, it will rise at 8 a.m. and set at 7 p.m. the day DST begins (plus a couple of minutes on either end). The time shift has nothing whatsoever to do with the lengthening of the daylight hours. That is a result of the tilt of the Earth's axis in conjunction with its rotation and position in orbit around the sun. DST does NOT add any extra hours of daylight to the day. The days do lengthen here in the Northern hemisphere as the year progresses because the North Pole is tilted toward the sun. Daylight Saving Time allows the sun to set an hour later than it would if DST were not in effect. That's all.

The other misconception that pervades is that the hour that goes missing in the middle of the night is stolen. It's not! It's only borrowed. It will be returned to us in the fall when we revert to Standard Time. In the wee hours of the first Sunday in November an hour will repeat itself, sunrise and sunset will seem to occur an hour earlier. Time, as it is depicted by the numbers on our clocks, will shift. (The space/time continuum will remain unaffected.)

Daylight Saving Time has, however, been lengthened over the years. While it used to start at the end of April and end at the beginning of October, it now starts closer to the beginning of March and ends at the beginning of November. The reason for this is that it is believed that it helps conserve energy. Less electricity , it is theorized, is required for lighting purposes because of DST over the duration of its implementation. Farmers continue to benefit as well, I would imagine.

The popularity of DST is waning. Every year there is more and more kerfuffle over whether or not it is necessary. Indeed, this relatively minor shift of the numbers on clock faces does have an impact. When we spring ahead in March, people are late for work for a day or two until the adjustment is made. On the other hand, people working the night shift get paid for an hour of work that does not exist. In the fall, the opposite happens: people show up early and those working nights work (and get paid for) an extra hour to compensate. And the debate as to whether or not DST needs to be abolished continues to rage - at least for a few weeks prior to the twice yearly changes.

I'm not sure what the fuss is all about. I know that in a day or two I will adjust to it. There are, it seems to me, bigger and more important things to be making a fuss over in this world. At the same time, if DST were to go the way of the dinosaur, I don't think I would be overly upset about it. No more, at any rate, than I am by the fact that I crawled out of bed an "hour later" than I normally do and, therefore, was not ready on time to catch the bus this morning. It's not the end of the world!

What baffles me is that some people don't seem to connect the start of DST to the end of DST. It's like the time changes are two separate and unrelated events that happen with no apparent correlation to one another. A post that showed up on my Facebook news feed today stated that "The government takes away an hour in the middle of the night." I was somewhat stunned when I read that. Granted, DST is legislated in the areas in which it is practiced. But to say the government takes an hour away from us in the middle of the night just sounds like a deep, dark conspiracy theory. OMG! The government is stealing time from us! Whatever will we do!?

To be fair, the person who posted that statement did so in jest and was taking a humorous poke at the mindset of people who are truly incensed by the apparent loss of time that occurs (for convenience!) in the wee hours. The fact that the weather in the area where he lives was inclement this morning was the real culprit in inciting his displeasure, but there are people who will latch onto this notion of the government stealing time from us and run with it like a sharp pair of scissors through the halls of conspiratorially twisted imagination.

As for me, I am going to let the adjustment happen while I look forward to the bright evenings of spring and summer. If DST is discontinued where I live, I will adjust to that too. Change is a good thing, but I wonder what impact changing to not changing might bring about...

Only time will tell!

A Lesson in Manifesting

This manifesting business is... Well, it's big business. I am almost convinced that the best way to manifest is to write a book or create a video on manifesting and sell it. There are a seemingly endless number of books, websites, blogs, podcasts, video blogs and DVDs dedicated to the fine art of manifesting. Everywhere you look, someone is peddling advice on how to make your dreams come true.

Hmmm...

I see this as a good sign. Though not long ago I was incensed by the idea of all these people selling their own "method" for manifesting. My inner capitalist, so very nearly starved to death by my ironically greedy inner socialist, finally gathered enough oomph to smack me upside the head hard enough to make me see a different perspective. Making money is good! Making money is even okay.

But this is not what I want to share today. My ideas and beliefs about money aside, manifesting is taking the world by storm and demanding that people wake up and know that they are, indeed, allowed to prosper.

So, armed with a variety of systems, I recently decided to put one of them to the test. In her book, Your Invisible Power, Genevieve Behrend advocates for visualizing. Her method is quite simple and follows the basic tenets of other manifesting manifestos: think it, see it, feel it, be grateful for it (even before it takes form) and watch it happen. She cites an example of having manifested $20,000.00 simply by visualizing herself counting 20 one thousand dollar bills every morning for several minutes. While she does not give the details of how this money actually made it into her coffers, she insists that it happened and so, suspending disbelief, I decided to visualize something similar for myself.

I set an amount that I wanted to manifest - $5000.00. I closed my eyes and imagined counting the money using one hundred dollar bills (I don't think that Canada has a $1000.00 note, but I intend to confirm that). All was going well. For a while.

I kinda got bored with counting the 50 bills over and over and decided to divide the stack and shuffle them like a deck of cards instead. It seemed to me that I already knew that there was $5000.00 in my hands; playing with them sounded way more fun. In my imagination, shuffling 50 one hundred dollar bills was quite easy. I had equated it to shuffling cards, thus eliminating the floppiness of real notes. My visualization continued satisfactorily. I kept it up for about ten minutes and repeated the exercise twice daily for several days.

Now the thing that all manifesting gurus make sure to state is that there is an undetermined time delay. Some say it will take a few days for things to start happening. You have to give the Universe time to get things rolling.  And then you have to watch for the signs that guide you to the right actions that you must take in order to get what you want. Fair enough. I mean not even I expected $5000.00 to drop out of the sky into my lap. (Though it sure would be nice!)

The days passed and turned into weeks. I didn't seem to be getting any signs from the Universe, but I chose to give it the benefit of any doubt, realizing that the Universe was probably just waiting for me to notice the next "shiny object" of my desires and forget about the five grand. I determined to stay the course, though, and I stuck to visualizing myself shuffling 50 one hundred dollar bills like a deck of cards.

Meanwhile, back in real life, arrangements were made to have my daughter and her boyfriend over for a visit. We decided to play crib. In preparation for their arrival I retrieved the crib board and cards from the closet and set them out. When my guests arrived and we had settled around the table to begin the game, my daughter took the cards out of their case and laid them on the table to be cut for first crib. My daughter won the cut and so the game began.

It wasn't until it was my turn to deal that I noticed that the card backs were printed with the image of one hundred dollar bills!

Pretty much exactly like I had been visualizing for days, I was shuffling one hundred dollar bills.  Just like a deck of cards!

I had to laugh. It seemed that the Universe either has a grand sense of humour, or it is extremely literal. Either way, the notion of clarity that is also carefully included in manifesting instructions is now being given its due attention.

* * * * *

In the process of writing this blog post, I decided to research the Canadian one thousand dollar bill. It seems that "Pinkies," as they are called due to the pinkish-purply colour they are printed in, were withdrawn from circulation in 2000. The reason they were discontinued is because they were primarily used in criminal activity. Criminals preferred the higher denominations because they made moving money around easier. A million dollars in $1000.00 notes weighs only one kilogram as opposed to a million dollars in $100.00 notes, which weighs ten kilograms. There are, however, nearly one million (946,043 to be precise) $1000.00 bills still out there somewhere. It is believed that these notes continue to circulate primarily among the criminal element, being used to pay off debts between those of that ilk with very few ever bleeding out into general circulation. I would suppose, as well, that wear and tear will further deplete the numbers as they are not meant to last forever anyway. You can read more about the Canadian $1000.00 bill here.  

There are still a few of these babies left! The Canadian $1000.00
bill remains the highest denomination of legal tender in the
Western world. 

Buy & Sell on Facebook

Buy and Sell pages on Facebook

This is how it works:

You post an item for sale.

17 people respond, three of whom ask if the item that you just posted is still available and one person says they will take it.

(Meanwhile two other people have PM’d you at the exact same time – one has questions like: What colour is it?, which is clear in the accompanying photo on the post; and the other one wants your address for pick up.)

You reply to the two people saying that someone is ahead of them.

You  reply to the person who said they would take it on the post.

You go do something else for a while.

The person who said they would take it does not respond, so you PM them to see if they are still interested.

You go do something else for a while.

The person who said they would take it does not respond.

You reply to the first person that PM’d you and ask if they are still interested and two days later they say they are going to pass.

You move on to the next person that PM’d you and they don’t respond.

A week has passed so you respond to the next person on the list in the posting and they don’t respond.

You repeat steps the previous two steps with the same result a few more times.

Insanity begins to set in.

You consider throwing the item in the garbage just to get rid of it.

You let a few days pass and then bump the post.

17 people respond, three of whom ask if the item that you just posted is still available and one person who says they will take it.

You pour yourself a drink and repeat the 4th through 11th steps

You get a text from your daughter saying that someone is going to come and pick up the item.

You pour yourself another drink and run around like a mad person tidying up before they arrive.

They do not arrive.

But your house is tidy and you’re a little tipsy, so you go play Candy Crush.

You notice a PM from someone inquiring about the item and you reply, but you’re still tipsy and you don’t notice that auto-correct has inserted a somewhat suggestive word and hit send anyway.

The person does not respond.

Another week goes by and you consider bumping the post again, but fear holds you back.

You get a PM from someone wondering why you didn’t respond and you go back through all the threads looking for the missed message.

You don’t find it, but you’re ready for another drink.

You respond with apologies and assure them that the item is still available and ask if they want to come look at it.

They do not respond.

The item mocks you from where it is sitting.  By the door.  In the way. 

A drink is now definitely in order and you pour yourself a stiff one.

You put the item away somewhere where it is not in the way, but is also not easily accessible and resolve to accept that it is just not going to sell. (You can’t bring yourself to throw it away.)

The doorbell rings.

You sigh because you don’t know who it is and the house is not tidy.

You answer the door.

A smiling, happy person with a tidy house announces that they are there to pick up the item.

Your eye starts to twitch.

You dig the item out, apologize for your messy house, take the money, realizing that you made about $1/hour after all the time you spent trying to sell it,  and thank the smiling, happy person with the tidy house.

You delete the post on the Buy and Sell.

You join alcoholics anonymous.  

A Bad Experience Chapter Two

Last week I wrote about a bad experience I had with a corporation.  The experience was frustrating, to say the least.

The essence of the experience is that said corporation was supposed to complete a task on my behalf, but did not.  In the process of trying to sort it out and get the task completed, things got heated - primarily due to a specific representative of the corporation denying that he (or the corporation) was in any way accountable.

Eventually, the task did get completed.  Well, almost.  I now have to deal with extra charges because the task was not done on time and I don't know how much those charges will be, because another corporation is involved and they don't seem to be able to tell me anything.

Sigh...

The task was performed in a less direct way than originally anticipated.  Let's just say we took the scenic route and dealt with the basic part of the task by manipulating the data a bit and arranging its disbursement in a manner that was more involved on my part than it needed to have been.

And while that was happening, somewhere in the deep mechanisms of the corporate structure, someone got the original memo and completed the task as well.

Now had the specific representative bothered to call the deep mechanisms to see what happened to the original memo, he might have been told - and thus been able to reassure me! - that the memo was circulating through the system and was, indeed, heading in the general direction of its intended and desired destination, which was to complete the task on my behalf.   But he didn't.  He chose to finagle a different solution in the pursuit of pleasing me, a disgruntled and dissatisfied customer.

Wow!

When I discovered that the task had been completed twice, I felt something in my brain snap!  I actually felt it.  Snap!  This was un-bloody-believable.

So I called the call centre... Mostly because I am still quite unable to talk to the specific representative who screwed everything up in the first place... and suffered through the painful process of getting connected to a real person.  (I won't elaborate on that any further.  See A Rant About a Bad Experience for more details... If you dare.)  Once connected, I tried to explain what happened AND remain calm about it while I did.

The man that answered the call was very helpful, very patient and a bit thick.  It took several attempts to map out the events leading up to the duplication of the task.  But he eventually understood what happened and told me that he would have it rectified as soon as possible.  This time I was not given a specific timeline for the pending taskectomy.  And I didn't ask.  I couldn't.

Remember that little snap I mentioned earlier?

Well, right about the moment that he told me that he would rectify the situation, a second, bigger snap... more like a BOOM... occurred.  It was like a small bomb went off in my head and I burst into maniacal laughter.

I couldn't control myself.  I tried!  Believe me, I tried.  But, after weeks of getting the run around and having heard that before,  nothing could stop the waves of hysterical laughter and while I gasped my thanks between guffaws and tears poured down my cheeks and I rolled around on my bed, this poor guy, I'm sure, was contemplating a new career!   Perhaps something that did not involve answering telephones.  Training dolphins, maybe.  Just anything that doesn't require having to deal with wackadoos like me.

When they play the recording of this call for training purposes, I envision a mass submission of resignations and an influx of frightened souls at the unemployment line.  Call centre Customer Service Rep is not a position for the feint of heart!

I have since decided to leave this whole mess with the Universe to sort out.  The bizarre things that have developed and unfolded since my arrival here have left me thoroughly vexed.

My mind is slowly pulling itself back together.  The hysteria is subsiding and as long as I don't think about it, I am not experiencing any relapses.   A full recovery is likely.

Life can be so strange!  Little problems and difficulties pop up out of nowhere and knock you down or pull you off course.  And then something wonderful happens.  In time both the good and the bad fade away and get forgotten, making space for new challenges and new wonders to come to roost.  I dare say that the craziness of the past few weeks has certainly taken a toll.  Yet I feel hopeful and curious about what the future holds for me here.

A bad experience is just that.  A bad experience.  But all experiences have value.  In time I hope to discover the value in this one!

A Rant About a Bad Experience With a Big Business

CAUTION:  contains strong language.  (But only a little bit)

Prepare yourself for a bit of a rant.  I will do my best to be concise and objective and I apologize in advance if I happen to lose my shit in the course of this missive.

Now, I do try - very hard! - not to be a whiner and a complainer.  I work at being understanding and giving the benefit of the doubt where and when I am at a disadvantage as to the mechanisms that go awry and cause me inconvenience.  I admit quite freely that I am wont to freak out first and ask questions later.  It's a terrible habit, I know... which is why I am working on it.  I have a quick temper.  But after a good rant and a reasonable cooling off period, I can deal with things reasonably.

Sometimes, though, this approach is not conducive to a speedy resolution and I fall back on freaking out.  If nothing else, it does get peoples' attention.  (Give the crazy lady what she wants.  Quickly!) And I do get some measure of satisfaction when a particularly unhelpful person is forced to backpedal!

I get it that people make mistakes.  I make mistakes.  It happens.  I don't have problems with people making mistakes.  What I do have a problem with is people who make mistakes and then try to deny their culpability or pass the buck onto someone else.  That, makes me mad.

So!  A mistake got made a while back.  When I discovered the mistake, I steeled my courage and picked up the phone to call the company that made the mistake to report it.  A very personable young man - eventually! (and I will get to that bit shortly) - won me in the customer service call taker's lottery and answered my call.  He listened patiently to my problem.  He even repeated it all back to me to clarify his understanding.  And then he proceeded to explain to me what was going to happen to ensure that the problem got fixed.  Yay!  I thanked him and hung up, feeling quite good about the entire exchange.

The mistake, I was promised, would be resolved in three business days.  I was good with that.  Immediately would have been better, but I accept that the wheels of corporate bureaucracy, policy and actual service turn slowly in reverse!  I didn't even get upset about the two weekend days that fell amid the three business days, thus delaying the desired result.

On the third business day, I checked - after waiting patiently (not my strong suit) - to see if all was indeed well in my world again.

It was not.

Hmmm....   I felt the creep of annoyance slithering around in the shadows of my psyche.

Another phone call ensued.

This time my call was handled by an efficient-sounding woman who called up my file and informed me that my problem had been resolved.  (Deep breath!)  I explained again that it had not and she grudgingly acknowledged it after leaving me on hold for several minutes.  She informed me that the issue had been referred to the person in charge of my file and that he was working on it.  She gave me his direct number and suggested that if I wasn't satisfied that I should call him.  Great!

I called him.  I got his voice mail.  I left a detailed message, stressing the growing urgency surrounding my situation and requested a call back as soon as possible...

It is now that I need to interject a bit more information about myself.  I swear.  A lot.  Nothing relieves the tension better than a few well articulated epithets.  I am a profound advocate for the f-bomb!  I use it freely and without apology.  (Though I do try to keep my blog relatively profanity free.)

...At this point I had not resorted to swearing.  I had managed to maintain a relative calm about the situation and a faith in the business I was dealing with.  My optimism wasn't exactly soaring; neither was it entirely in the toilet.  But it was getting there.

The guy did call me back.  Unfortunately, I was indisposed when my phone rang and I missed the call.  So I called back.  I got his voice mail.  I left another message.

I was beginning to get worried.  Nearly a week had passed since my initial call and I had no idea if or how my problem was being dealt with.  I elected to call the call centre again and see if I could get some nugget of information about what was going on.

This time I got a cheerful young lady who apologized profusely for my troubles and assured me that they (meaning the business) would do everything in their power to sort things out and make things right.  My optimism retreated from the rim of the toilet bowl and alighted on the top of the tank, still well within sight should a sudden dive become necessary.

The cheerful young lady ever so sweetly suggested that I get in contact with the guy in charge of my file, stating that the whole thing could sorted out much faster with him because he was familiar with my file and it wasn't something she could do anyway.

Really?  The first call centre guy I talked to seemed to think it was something he could do.

But okay.  I will wait for the guy with my file to call me.

The next day he did just that.  And then he proceeded to deny that he had any knowledge of what he said I was "claiming" he told me he was going to do before the mistake happened in the first place and that there was nothing he could do about it now.  I would just have to come in to the office, get the stuff I needed from them to go and fix it myself.

And that, my friends, is when I lost my shit and I started swearing.  (Possibly thankfully, it is also when my phone battery died, increasing the colourful language about six-fold, though saving the guy from having to hear it all.)

During the course of all these phone calls I was told a few different things.  I was told that any charges I incurred as a result of the mistake would be reimbursed.  (They will not be.) I was told that the problem was being resolved when it was not.  I was told that nothing I had been told before the problem was ever said.  I was told that it was all my fault in the first place.  (I sat across the desk from the guy in charge of my file and his boss and listened to him bare-faced lie to me about what had transpired on the day he first became in charge of my file.)

As of 11 a.m. most of the problem has been solved.  There is one outstanding issue, but a completely different bureaucracy is in charge of that piece and is - rather oddly - "unable to help" me at the moment.  I have to wait until August to get an answer from them, though the woman who told me this couldn't tell me why.

"Can't you just look up my account?"  I asked.

"Not until August."  Deadpan.  Probably sick to death of repeating herself.

I elected not to push it.  In my volatile emotional state and her very likely shitty job at this particular time of year, it just wasn't worth it.

And so I wait!

Fuck!  (I don't like waiting.)

And while I wait, I shall ponder the pros and cons of switching my business to a different company.

Now earlier I alluded to the time it took for my call to be answered.  This is, without exception, my biggest pet peeve in the whole world.

Who ever thought that it was a good idea to have business calls answered by an electronic system?  Who!?  And why have they not been drawn and quartered for it?

Just to get to speak to a real, live person, I had to listen to three different "menus", two of which had eight choices that I was expected to remember until the end, key in my account number and answer several "security" questions, all of which I had to repeat when, at long (f-bomb alert!) fucking last, and after being on hold for 6 minutes, a real, live person answered.  WTF!?  How is that a good thing?  It took eleven minutes total from the time I dialed until I got to talk to someone.  Eleven minutes!  I timed it.  It was a complete wonder that I was able to be so  polite to the fellow.  And let me tell you, it took a crap load of will power to slap a smile on my face and be polite by the time he did come on the line.

This is not good business.  It is not good customer service.  It just isn't.  It's appalling!  My blood pressure rises even just writing about it.

I have come to the sad conclusion in my old(er) age that complacency is a huge contributor to the downfall of society.  People, myself included, are so disinclined to speak up against anything.  Sure we get mad and frustrated and we rant to our friends and family (and blogs) about stuff.  But who does anything?

All this mamby-pamby, touchy-feely, go-with-the-flow crap is just getting stupid.  I'm sorry!  I really am.  I hate that I just wrote that, but it is!  It's stupid.

I believe in being loving and kind and compassionate.  I do!  I think the world can benefit greatly from a little more loving kindness and compassion.  At the same time, where is the accountability?  Where is the good customer service?  We're actually supposed to be loving and kind and compassionate, but corporations are allowed to treat their paying customers like crap!?  I don't freaking think so!  It's as if this whole movement toward "spiritual enlightenment" is nothing more than a ploy to get people to just bend over and take crap like this up the wazoo.  Where is the balance?  Where has the humanity gone?

I am neck deep in a pool of righteous indignation right now (and wondering how long before I go all the way under).  As someone who goes out of their way to comply to business' policy and procedure, I don't like being treated the way I was treated.   I try to be a good customer.  I may not always be perfect, but I try.  And when I don't understand something, I ask.  If I make a mistake, I take my lumps.  That's all I ask from businesses.  (And that they answer their damn phones!)  Seems fair to me.

Between the call answer system and the denial and misinformation this business dealt out to me and the broken promises, how can I be expected to continue giving them my business?  The real kicker here is that, for the time being, I have no choice.  They have me by the proverbial short and curlies and I must go along with their policy and procedure.  I wouldn't mind so much if their policy and procedure was known to everyone who works for them and wasn't changed from phone call to phone call or appointment to appointment to suit the whims and cover the asses of said employees when they get called out on it.

I can only work with the information that I am given.  If it isn't the correct information, apparently, I am still responsible for the result if I follow the advice.  What galls me most about this whole thing is this conversation (held today at the business in question and slightly paraphrased to protect the guilty):

Guy in charge of my file:  Your lawyer told you you had to ______________.

Me:  Yes.  And that is why, when you brought it up, I asked you what the best way to proceed was.

Guy in charge of my file:  We don't _____________ that close to the [deadline].

Me:  Why would I ________________  if you didn't tell me to do it that way and that you could take care of it?

Guy in charge of my file:  We aren't going to have this conversation.

Guy's boss:  We can't ___________________ that close to the [deadline].  (This is the same woman who just moments before told me the [deadline] was June 31st.)

I am done ranting for now.  I'm going to go read my book and relax a bit; try to muster up some sanguinity.  Maybe next week will be better.  

The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round

I have a vague recollection of getting on a city bus with my mother as a very young child - maybe 3 or 4 years old.  I don't know why we would have had to take a bus anywhere; my mother always had a car.  But whether or not this recollection is valid, is, essentially, moot.  Even if I did take a bus with my mother as a pre-schooler once very long ago, my knowledge of and experience with public transit remains practically nil.

But living in a city and not driving kind of demands that one become familiar with this complex system of transportation.  And my orientation began yesterday!

We are conveniently located close to a convenience store that sells  bus tickets.  Who knew?  My intrepid and oh, so patient, busing mentor, Bizz, of course.  For $24 I was able to purchase a ten-pack of bus tickets there and at 9:30 a.m. that is what I did.  At 9:39 a.m., I boarded a city bus for what may have been the first time in my life.

And we were off!

Our first destination was a little new age store where I hoped to arrange to do Tarot readings a couple of days a week.  (But that is another story and one I won't get into here.)  Upon boarding, I deposited my ticket into the ticket thingie and received a transfer from the driver.  We had the bus to ourselves, so we sat in the senior seats up front - with the understanding that we would vacate them should a senior (handicapped person or stroller pusher) board.  So far, so good.

The first leg of our journey ended at a transfer station where we alighted and then waited for our next bus.  Buses were coming and going and people were boarding and alighting like pros.  I just followed Bizz and observed.

Two things are important when riding a bus.  First, one must pay attention to the stops along the way.  Second, one must know where one needs to get off the bus.  And, yes, there is an app for that!

The Edmonton Public Transit system has its own app.  It's complicated and caters, I believe, to the seasoned bus commuter more than, say... Well, a newbie like me.  A far easier way to enjoy the ride is to use Google Maps.  Just plug in your destination and tap the icon for public transit and everything is neatly laid out for you.  It even gives you walking times between bus stops if you have to move to a different one.  (Now if I could only get directionally oriented, I'd be able to follow the maps!)

Our second destination was to Johnson's Sewing Centre, where Bizz works.  We went there to show off the mystery quilt that she had completed at seven that morning.  After staying up all night to get this quilt done,  a tired, albeit caffeine infused, quilter on a mission was my teacher and guide.  Once show and tell ended, we packed up the quilt and headed south to Millwoods Town Centre, our local shopping mall, to mail off said quilt and complete the final leg of our journey.

Which we did on foot.  It takes about the same amount of time to walk from Millwoods Town Centre as it does to bus, so we saved a ticket and hoofed her home, where is was my time to be the guide.  I showed Bizz an alternate route through Sister Mary (something) Casey Park next to the Grey Nuns Hospital, a more scenic course.  Along the way we stopped at a little lake - or a large pond - to watch the geese.

My first (or possibly second) experience using public transit was altogether positive.  Even if the reason for it didn't quite pan out the way I had hoped.   Public transit etiquette is, as it should be, fairly straight forward.  Know where you're going.  Give up your seat to the elderly, pregnant, handicapped or otherwise encumbered people.  Do not press the stop request button unless you mean to actually get off the bus.  If you are at a stop where several buses stop and a bus other than the one you are waiting for comes by, signal the driver that you don't need him/her to stop.  This applies to situations where you are the only person there. Say thank you to the driver!  (Just 'cause.)

I think I will enjoy the new-found freedom public transit has to offer.  Even if it is freedom on a schedule!

Which, by the way, is highly dependable!  I have to admit I was impressed at the efficiency of it all.

Ooh!  And the bendy buses are really cool, too!

There and Here!

It's hard not to compare where you are with where you've been; the unfamiliar with the familiar.  Having lived in a small BC town for 37 years, living in an Albertan city is, not to put too fine a point on it, strange.  I am used to seeing, hearing and doing certain things.  Here, in this metropolis, those things are no longer part of my everyday existence.

I'm used to seeing things like this:

More common in late summer and
throughout the fall, black bears were
part of life in Houston.

Deer were everywhere.  It was normal
to see them wandering the streets and
hanging out in back yards.  

Life in a valley meant being surrounded
by mountains

Now I see things like this:

These guys are everywhere, making
dog walking a bit of a challenge.

Magpies dominate the skies.  Crows, on
the other hand are relatively rare.

The skyline is broken by buildings instead
of mountains.  

Another thing I don't see is dogs wandering about off-leash and unattended.  It just never happens.  Here dogs are leashed and with their owners when not contained in fenced yards.  (I have yet to see a dog tied up, but that's not to say it doesn't happen.)


I'm used to being able to walk anywhere.  Any place I wanted to go, I could go on foot in under 20 minutes.  Now, I have to think about and plan for any excursion.  Do I walk?  Do I bus?  Do I get my kid to chauffeur me?  Appointments are not made willy-nilly.  They are given very careful consideration.   (Oddly, I can walk faster than I can bus to the "local" shopping centre.  Might not be so funny in the winter, but for now, it's great motivation to get some exercise.)

Shopping!?  Well, shopping is entirely different here.  Shopping exists!

Events happen here.  And people show up for them!  I'm relatively sure that boredom is obsolete.  At least it should be.

The city is strewn with gorgeous parks.  There are parks everywhere!  Walking trails make exploring the neighbourhoods more interesting.  I just wish there was an off-leash dog park closer by.

I was surprised to see people putting garbage for collection in bags.  Everyone had toters in Houston.  Here, they just put their bags out.  Not even in cans - though some people do use cans.  It's weird.  The first time I saw that, I was horrified.  I'm used to having to protect the garbage from dogs, crows and bears.  Here it doesn't seem to be much of an issue.  And recycling is easy!  Just leave your BLUE bag out with your garbage bags and it's all taken care of.  Love it!

Yes, city life is different.  Not better.  Not worse.  Just different.  I'm adjusting slowly to it.  I was worried that it would be all hustle and bustle, but it's really not.  It just takes a little longer to get places and that has to be factored in when making plans.  You  DO NOT leave for an even ten minutes ahead of time.  You leave at least a half an hour before it starts.  More if you want good parking!

Right now, I'm preparing to master the art of public transit.  That should be interesting!  Haven't done it yet, but I need to make friends with the buses.  I'll tell you all about it.  Soon.

More Moving Challenges

This move is proving to be somewhat more challenging than one would hope for.  As you know, the previous owners left a ton of stuff behind and it cost us a small fortune to get it hauled away so we would have room for our stuff and, obviously, be able to move in.

We are still trying to get compensation for that little debacle...

But I digress...

First challenge... Or perhaps I should say second challenge... Yes, let's go with second challenge.

Second challenge:  Canada Post.

Now I know a lot of people have a lot of negative things to say about Canada Post.  I don't - usually.  And, to be honest, this challenge isn't entirely their fault.  Sort of.  Kind of.  

The mail forwarding system that Canada Post has in place - for a ridiculous amount of money, I might add - is flawed.  

What is supposed to happen is this:

1.  You give the post office your new address and ask them to forward your mail from your old address to it, which, after charging you stupid amounts of money to do, they agree to do.  (Notice that I say agree.)  In theory, this is pretty straight forward.  Mail coming to address A must be delivered to address B.  

2.  You confidently march down to your community (in our case) mail box with  your community mailbox key and open it up.

3.  You retrieve your forwarded mail.

All systems go.  

The trick to this, I have discovered is timing.  Coming from a small town with a single Cheery post office where everybody knew my name and communication between the grand total of five employees was (almost) assured, and moving to a big city with multiple post offices with hundreds of employees, I failed to consider that things might not go as smoothly as I hoped.  In the name of efficiency, I dutifully applied for, paid for and received confirmation of mail forwarding from my old address to my new address.  

Now it's reasonable to assume that, unless you are moving into a brand new home with a brand new address, that someone lived at the address you are moving into before you and that they had lived there long enough for Canada Post to develop the expected habit of delivering their mail to them there.  It's also reasonable to assume that that someone will also request mail forwarding to whatever new address they move to.  Makes sense, right?  And here is where the timing comes into play.

I requested, paid for and had confirmed my mail forwarding before the previous owners of our house requested theirs.  And in the infinite wisdom of the mail forwarding system, my mail (along with everyone else's in the house) got swept up in that mail forwarding request and is being delivered to god knows where.

And... And here's the real kicker! ,,,the previous owners are not returning our mail!  

Can you say pissed off?  

Patience, little grasshopper, it gets better.

Third Challenge:  The Bank 

Okay, so in the name, once again, of efficiency, we used a mortgage broker to help us find and secure a mortgage.  (And he is so, so cute!)  Anyway, he found us an amazing deal with amazing interest with the Scotia Bank.  Happily, we went in to sign all the paperwork and while we were there we set up an account for household expenses, including the mortgage payment.  But did they take our first mortgage payment out of that account?  The one with the money in it to cover the payment?  No, of course not.  They took it out of my personal RBC account, overdrawing it in the process.  Yay.  Interest fees!  I love those. 

Now, we got our house (and the mortgage) on the 10th of June.  Property taxes in Edmonton are due on the 30th of June.  So we told the guy at the bank that we would deposit the money to cover this year's property taxes into the property tax account so that we didn't end up with a huge deficit next year and the subsequent increase in our mortgage payment that would go with it.  No problem.

Except that they didn't submit our property taxes to the city on June 30th.  

The epithets that followed that little discovery are not fit for publication in this blog.  Rest assured the air was as blue as the deepest, bluest sea when I realized what had happened.  

Okay, so shit happens.  I get that.  And shit can be fixed.  All it takes is a phone call...

More blue air.  I swear, whoever invented those horrible call answer systems needs to be drawn and quartered.  Nothing sets me off like hearing "Thank you for calling (insert corporation name here).  If you are calling about your account, press 1.  If you are calling about your mother's sister's husband's ex-wife's dog, press 2.  If you wish to hear these menu options again, press *.  If you want to speak to a real person hang up and come talk to us in person because we're only going to screw you around until you feel the distinct need to rip your eyeballs out.  Oh and press 666.  Just 'cause we get a kick out seeing how many of you will do that."

As a general rule, I don't throw things in anger.  But one day I might not be able to make that claim ever again!  Answer the damn phone, corporations!  Just answer the damn phone and let me speak to a real person.  Please!  For the love of god, just answer your phones in person.  

Between the previous owners not compensating us for taking care of their garbage, the post office being over efficient with their mail forwarding services, the previous owner's not returning our mail and the bank errors in our automatic payments and submission of our property taxes and the stupid call answering systems I had to fight with to get the problems solved...

I need a drink!  

(Just put a straw in my wine bottle.)

Praying They Don't Get Too Big!

So, who knew?

I sure didn't.

A couple of weeks ago my adorable grandson, Nolan, announced that his class had hatched a bunch of praying mantis eggs and that, if "the grownups" agreed, the kids could take one home.

Needless to say, my mind took a flying leap from the comfort zone cliff with a half-gainer and a double twist, and landed somewhere in the you've-got-to-be-kidding-me area of incredulity.  They hatched praying mantises?  They get to take them home?  What?

Of course, I wanted to know what possessed Nolan's teacher to hatch praying mantis eggs.  And where the heck did she get them?

At Home Depot.  That's where.

For thirteen bucks, you, too, can purchase a praying mantis egg case containing anywhere from 40 to 400 eggs.  They hatch in about one hour, according to the HD website.

The idea, apparently, is natural pest control.  They eat anything thing that wiggles and fits in their mouth.  These aggressive and ravenous beasts will help to keep ants, fruit flies, gnats, aphids, flies, mosquitoes, beetles, moths, caterpillars and even grasshoppers out of your garden and out of your hair.  No need for sprays or chemicals.  Just let these crazy things loose and all your bug problems will disappear.

Mind you, you are then left with giant, green bugs scurrying around your yard.  Praying mantises can grow to 20 cm in length.  Though, to be fair - not to mentioned somewhat releived - the species that Nolan's class hatched only grow to be about 10 cm.  All things considered a 4" bug is better than an 8" bug.  But jeez!  Four inches!  Who said living with grandchildren wouldn't be challenging?  

There are over 2400 species of praying mantis in the world and most of them are native to temperate and tropical climates.  Edmonton has a decidedly continental climate.  

So what the heck are these things doing here?  How did this happen?  Why am I, a person who chooses locations to live based on the size of spiders and insects (the smaller, the better) and the type and number of snakes and other creepy crawlies, now wrapping my head around living in  a  place where 4" long bugs are a thing people do? On purpose!  

Imagine running into one of these in your house.
We have two!

Some fun praying mantis facts:

1. Most mantises live in the tropics.  Except for Daisy, the praying mantis formerly known as Little Foot, and Walter, who both live in MY house!

2. Most  mantises in North America are exotic rather than native, having been introduced either by accident or by insanity.  The Chinese Mantis was introduced in Philidelphia in the 1930's.  

3.  Mantids are unique in the insect world for being able to turn their heads 180 degrees.  It's really hard to sneak up on them!

4. Mantids are believed to share their ancestry with cockroaches and termites.  Oh, goodie!  

5.  Mantids overwinter as eggs in temperate climates.  Mating occurs in early fall.  Then the female lays her eggs and covers them in a protective styrofoam-like goo that forms the case - also called an ootheca.  Find one and bring it in during the winter and the warmth will trick the eggs into hatching.  So, for the love of Pete, leave them outside!

6.  Female mantises sometimes eat their mates.  But this only happens about 30% of the time in the wild.  It is more common in labs and other forms of captivity for some reason.  

7.  Manids use their specialized raptorial front legs to capture prey.  Sharp spines line these deadly appendages and are used to hold prey tight while the mantis eats its prey.  Alive!

8.  In evolutionary terms, mantids are quite young.  The oldest fossils date from the Cretaceous period - 146-66 million years ago.

9.  Mantids do eat other insects, but they do not discriminate between the good bugs and the bad ones.  A helpful, pollinating bee is just as tasty as a rose-destroying aphid.

10.  A praying mantis has binocular vision, but only one ear, which is located on its belly just forward of the back legs.  This means that it cannot detect the direction or frequency of sound.  It can, however, detect ultrasound - the sound of an echolocating bat - and thus evade becoming dinner itself.   

11. The word mantis comes from the Greek mantikos, for soothsayer or prophet. Indeed, these insects do look spiritual and mysterious, especially when their forelegs are clasped together as if they're in prayer

At the moment Walter and Daisy are only about a half-inch long.  I admit they are kind of cute.  For now.  But after watching Walter consume an ant last night, I am not looking forward to their first molt and subsequent enlargement.  

I wonder if we'll be able to pitch the pest control theory to the kids successfully....