Life in progress


One-Liner Wednesday – A Birthday Boy

Alex, my miracle baby, turned eighteen yesterday! Happy birthday, Alex!

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As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a pingback from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. It’s bound to be short and sweet.

Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the same “theme.”

The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:

1. Make it one sentence.

2. Try to make it either funny or inspirational.

3. Use our unique tag #1linerWeds.

4. Add our lovely badge to your post for extra exposure!

5. Have fun!


#SoCS – Tea, no matter what

When, as a child, I questioned the wisdom of drinking hot tea on a hot day, my parents told me that it made you sweat, which is better. Back then we didn’t have an air conditioner in the house. They weren’t really a “thing” in my neighbourhood, at least outside of public buildings. We never had a window unit and didn’t get central air until the late 70s, early 80s.

My parents came from the UK–let’s get that out of the way. They HAD to have their tea. So even when it was 90 degrees outside, we’d be sitting with our cuppa, vying for a spot where there was a bit of a wind to cool off our sweaty skin. All stiff-upper-lip/do-it-because-it-feels-good-when-you-stop behaviour.

But that’s turned out to be a good thing. I can’t stand iced (or cold) coffee, but I’ve been conditioned to bear the heat of summer AND a scorching hot drink. I’ve learned to appreciate that extra layer of perspiration that cools me off when I come in contact with even the slightest of breezes.

Or I drink it in an air conditioned room.

Because who needs a stiff upper lip when you have A/C?

BUT, having said that, I still take my cup of tea upstairs to bed with me every night. I have a fan on my bedside table that blasts me with cool air.

Ingenuity is the boon of all that ails.


This post is brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click the following link to find all the other posts in the comments, and the rules to join in too. It’s fun!


#SoCS – Style

I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a style that one could cramp. As a teenager, I went by the general style of “get away with anything I can,” yet nothing in particular sticks out much. I didn’t smoke or do drugs, and by the time I started drinking, my mother had stopped. So the water in the booze to keep the level up went unnoticed. I think it might have ended up being so watered down that even I didn’t bother with it.

My style now amounts to being alone as much as possible so I can work. Oooh, I’m such a party animal in my old age. 😛 In fact nothing cramps my style any more as much as actual cramps do. And believe me, my walk has style for the first few minutes in the morning.

Now, just don’t get between me and my coffee. Or I’ll cramp your style.

*waves and limps off into the sunset*

This crampy post is brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click to see all the other posts linked in the comments, and to join in too!


#SoCS – 60 per minute

When I had my first child, I was told it was best to rock him about 60 beats per minute – the same as the average heart rate.  I paid attention to that, and now it’s funny how I use that habit. Having a child (my third) with a heart condition makes it necessary to check his pulse occasionally. I can usually tell without looking at a clock if it’s fast or slow. Makes you wonder how they came up with how many seconds there should be in a minute, doesn’t it? And how it works out that our hearts beat, on average, the same number of times the clock ticks by the seconds in an hour, a day, a month, and a year. It’s like we power the universe!!!

Mind blown yet? Mine is.

My first child flew the coop today for the first time. Literally. He’s gone to Florida to see his girlfriend. It was his third time on a plane (we went to England together in 2007) and his first time on one alone. He must get that from me. So I’m looking after his cats for the next week. He didn’t ask about them when he texted me to say he’d made it. Girlfriend. Right.

My second son has the travel bug too. He wants to go everywhere, but he can’t go alone. That darned Autism thing. And my third son – I’m sure he’d love to go places too. But with his health conditions, insurance would be astronomical. Which leaves him with going only one way… up.

To the moon, Alex! Haha. I actually make myself laugh sometimes.

SoCS badge 2015
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#ThursdayDoors – Doors that tell a story

It was 2009 and I’d already decided to buy my house. During the inspection, the real estate agent and I were poking around in all the nooks and crannies when we discovered that the inside of one of the closet doors had been used, for decades, as a place to record the growth of the children who grew up here. Click on the pictures for a closer look.

It’s fun to find history displayed in public places. It’s even better when you come across it in your own home.

Thursday Doors is brought to you by Norm Frampton at Norm 2.0. You can find the origin of this amazing prompt here:


Jab – #AtoZ Challenge

My “J”-word is a bit of a stretch, but it’s the only way I could find to talk about an important subject without taking up another letter. So here we have “jab,” by which I really mean “point” and “poke.” Both actions are important in American Sign Language, more the former than the latter, however. Confused yet? I’ll explain.

Growing up we’re all told it’s rude to point. Pointing though, is an essential part of ASL vocabulary. You, me, he, she, and it, are all indicated by pointing. It took me a while to get over the ingrained sense of right and wrong; of needing to point but not wanting to. Now I do it all the time – and I get a lot of strange looks, particularly when Alex and I are out, pointing all over the place.

Poking, on the other hand, is a less-desirable way for a Deaf person to get someone’s attention. Alex loves to poke me with a sharply pointed finger, especially when he wants something he can’t have. Normally, a tap on the shoulder is used. Coming into physical contact with other people, even strangers, is natural in the signing world. It’s necessary. The other day in a coffee shop, I was watching a lady who I know is Deaf, trying to get through the line-up for the counter; she was on her way out. Her shoulder-taps were met with a mixture of surprise and, in one case, almost hostility. All she could do was smile and try to look friendly. The people in line had no way to know she was Deaf, and probably wondered why she didn’t just say, “excuse me,” like any civilized person would.

Alex is still small enough that he can get away with a lot of things in public. He smiles at people and they smile back. He touches them and it’s innocent; he’s still only a little above four feet tall. I’m not sure he’ll grow much more in height, but he’s bound one day to grow facial hair. When that happens, he’ll go from cute to uncivilized in the eyes of society. It’s difficult, even for a mom, to explain away.

My A to Z theme concerns the joys and challenges of being the hearing mother of my Deaf son, Alex. To learn more about his beginnings in life, click here to go to my first A to Z entry.


#SoCS – Be

What do you want to be when you grow up? I used to hate that question. I never had a real answer because I had no idea. It, to me, was an impractical question. I’m ten! How would I know? Hold on, while I weigh my options… I used to be envious of the kids who could just spurt out a profession like it was what they were born for. How about, I want to be a caring, compassionate human being. It’s something else to know how you want to occupy yourself when you reach a certain age, isn’t it?

Right now I’m occupying myself with my laptop, awkwardly typing with the puppy’s head on my lap, and my kid is making weird gurgling noises at his own computer while he feeds from his pump. The tv is on but there’s no sound – nobody is watching it. Not even the dog. Is it true that dogs can’t see tvs? Is that a myth? Or was it just true of the old curved screens? Because Winston seems to be able to see my flat screen.

I had to get up to feed the dog. He made me put the computer down. I’m almost out of milk. I panic when that happens, because it means I’ll either have to drink my morning coffee black or not at all. And that last option is not an option. As my best friend observed, I don’t exist before coffee. I am not.

To be, or not to be? Ask me after coffee. I think my brain just exploded.

SoCS badge 2015

This mind-bending post is brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click here to find out how you can join in!


H is for High-Spirited

I used to be very much a horse person. I loved horses as a kid – wanted to spend all my time with horses, so I talked my parents into sending me to horse camp where I learned how to ride. I remember being assigned my horse at the beginning of the week – the one I would ride twice a day. Oh how happy I was when I finally graduated to the more high-spirited horses!

I began of course with the ones that just plodded along. The ones that give the rider the illusion that he or she is in control but in fact there is nuthin’ that’s gonna change that beast’s mind about following the horse-bum in front of it. I swear sometimes those kinds of horses are sleep walking.

Years later as an adult I went back to farm where I had formerly gone to camp and got a job taking out trail rides. The number one rule for guiding a trail is to watch the customers, meaning that as a guide, I’d spend three quarters of my time twisted around in the saddle facing forward but looking back. This includes while trotting and galloping. I remember my first trail – my God was I nervous! Nervous as in I didn’t have a single drop of spit in my mouth nervous. Riding backwards while running turned out to be the least of my worries that day.

You see, every once in a while we’d get a real ass (and I’m not talking about a donkey) go out for a ride. It was normally a young guy who wanted to show off to his friends how skilled he was on horseback. Invariably the ass had no idea what he was doing. Normally we could spot them 100 miles off and stick them on one of the aforementioned plodders. No problem, right? I got one of these guys my very first trail ride ever. And somehow he managed to do the one thing that would get a plodder’s attention.

We had on the farm a thing we called “the gallop strip.” It was a stretch of trail facing away from the barn (because if you gallop a horse in the direction of the barn it ain’t gonna stop) that nine times out of ten the more high-spirited horses would behave themselves on, and the plodders would get up to a trot… which was hilarious when we got one of our macho men on one, because he’d be bouncing all over the place totally out of control. Not so much on my first time out.

My macho man managed to hold his horse back through sheer brutality when everyone else started to run. Me, not being experienced, tried but failed to slow everyone else down (a lesson I quickly learned). So when the plodder, freaked out that his horsey friends’ bums had left without him, he finally bolted. The horse passed the trail line, passed me and took off for the barn. There I was screaming at the guy as he’s getting farther and farther away (with not an ounce of spit which was difficult) to pull back on the reins and stop squeezing with his feet which was what was making the horse go faster, I couldn’t chase him because the rest of my trail would chase me…

Needless to say I ended my first trail ride as a guide in tears. But, as they say, you’ve just got to dust yourself off and get right back on, right? I loved that job; I did it for about five years. And I’ve got a million stories to go with it.

So much for my letter of the alphabet today, eh? Oh wait – one of the synonyms for “high-spirited” is “dashing.” That works. 😀

Me at 12 years old

Me, at 12 years old


BATZAP by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions

BATZAP by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions


Guest Post – Shades of Gray

I’m honoured to have the wonderful and talented Cordelia’s Mom guest post for me today! Thanks, CM!
Please enjoy!!

Shades of Gray



… and gray window blinds.

You know, you folks have dirty minds. Unless, of course, you immediately thought of windows when you saw the title of this post.

Personally, I’ve never understood the preoccupation with sex. Sure it’s fun, especially with a partner who knows what he or she is doing. But let’s face it – sex has been around for a very long time, and basically it consists of the same basic action: one person’s body part interacting with the body part of another person.

Each generation has become a little more sophisticated in its knowledge of sex. I grew up in the 1950’s/1960’s, when television sitcoms couldn’t even show a married couple in the same bed. I turned 18 in 1970 – just at the time that David R. Reuben, M.D. published his book, “Everything You Want to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask.”

Believe me, that book was as much of a blockbuster as the current Shades of Grey – maybe even more so, because “Everything …” was not fiction.

At 18, I was still a virgin – in fact, I had never even had a date (remember – this was back when women were still supposed to remain pure until marriage). Wanting to enlighten myself, I managed to get a copy of “Everything …” and snuck it into my mother’s house, where I would read it in the privacy of my own room late at night.

Imagine my chagrin one day, when my mother asked me if I was reading that book. It was bad enough admitting to possessing that book, but imagine my absolute horror when my mother proceeded to ask me questions about it.

I mean, really? My mother had been married for many years and had four kids! At some point, she and my dad must have figured out how to do it.

But it wasn’t marital sex she was confused about. I’ll never forget our conversation wherein she said, “I can understand how homosexuals do it,” [hand gestures of pointer finger of one hand poking into the circle formed by the thumb and pointer finger of the other hand] “but how do lesbians do it?” [hand gestures of two palms flat against each other]. “I mean, girls don’t have that part. (Had she said penis, I really would have died. I knew my brothers had them – I had even diapered my baby brother – but I sure didn’t want my mother talking about them!)

I was way too embarrassed to explain about same-sex relationships (and I only knew from things I had read), so finally I just handed over the book. I don’t know if my mother became enlightened as to those issues, but she never asked me any sex questions after that (thank God in Heaven).

These days, there is no mystery surrounding sex. It finds it way not only into books, but into sitcoms, movies and advertising. I’m not sure that’s better than it was in my mother’s day.

My mother’s generation watched Jimmy Stewart trying to catch the moon for his girl, and Clark Gable carrying Scarlett up the staircase. The current generation has Shades of Grey – is that really better? I don’t think so. Although people are flocking to the movie, Shades of Grey, for the perceived sensationalism, I still think most of us would prefer a good, old-fashioned romance – even one that ends with those famous words, “Frankly, Scarlett, I don’t give a damn.”

Which, by the way, was considered pretty risqué at the time. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we? I’ll leave it to you to decide whether it’s been an improvement.

I love to hear from my readers. You may comment on this post, comment on my Facebook or Twitter pages, or email me at or

Images by: Colt Group
and Cordelia’s Mom
POSTSCRIPT: Thank you, Linda, for giving me this opportunity to guest post for you. I am truly honored!

You’re welcome CM!
A note for my readers: please click on over to Cordelia’s Mom’s site and read my guest post too! Thanks!!


In Praise of Carrots

As some of you may have read here in recent months, I’ve been having ups and downs with my eyesight of late. For weeks I get up each morning and have to squint to see the computer screen. On some of those days I found an improvement after a couple of hours but other times it would last all day. Then, suddenly, it would get better for a while and I could see as well as I did a year ago.

Over the weekend my eyesight began to get progressively worse, resulting in yesterday having to wear my distance glasses just to walk around the block so as not to strain my eyes too much. I assumed it had something to do with screen time. But then it occurred to me.

Carrots. I eat them daily for a while but then I stop. So yesterday afternoon, after my paper route was done, I had about half a dozen raw baby carrots, and this morning when I woke up I could see my computer screen. Without squinting!

I always assumed it was an old wives’ tale to get kids to eat their carrots: “Eat ’em,” my mother used to say. “They’re good for your eyes.”

Who knew it was true?! I’m such a happy bunny today! 😀