Voilà, a short travel tale ...

of what happened when I cleared security at Pearson Airport,  catching a connecting flight to Austin, Texas, recently.  I was the only person, along with two other gentleman, in that entire, HUGE security clearance area. They sailed through. Did I? Of course not!!! There were eight security people, all standing around doing nothing. All Jamaican Canadians, I kid you not. I am very good at picking up on accents "monn." They confiscated my sunscreen in my carry-on and APOLOGIZED for it. They were just so darn sweet about it, those two female employees. I hardly had time to notice that they also whisked away my white, plastic bin with my purse, jacket, etc. back through the screening a SECOND time. Slow day obviously. They were looking for something to do? My sunscreen had made them suspicious? They didn't find anything, but when I grabbed my jacket, I noticed right away that it was now extremely dirty, with smudgy, black streaks all over the front of it. I was a bit dismayed when I  pointed this out to the CATSA staff. That was a NEW Old Navy jacket I had just bought. Well ... new to me. I got it at the Sally Ann! :) 

 

It seems my jacket had fallen OUT of the bin and gone BETWEEN the conveyor rollers, while under that black box. There was no other explanation for it. The same two women assured me the bins were cleaned regularly, but they didn't know about the conveyor itself. They immediately tried to clean those stains, swabbing them with water and then some kind of cleaner. Can you picture a MALE security guy doing THAT? I think not.  Those two women were just SO, SO sweet and apologetic, AGAIN. I just may write the Canadian Air Transport Security Agency to tell them what g-r-e-a-t staff they had working that day. I bet they don't get many letters to THAT effect.

After that gauntlet, I had to go through US Customs, which can be a TOTAL PITA. However, this time it was a breeze. No one there again. I was questioned by a friendly, hunky American named YOW!!! That is what his name tag said.  How cool is that! His nickname?  WOW of course!

 

 

How do you get a trapezoid into a Volkswagen?

My friends know me as a pretty "green" person;  "écolo" en français. I am a fervid, and I mean, FERVID,  supporter of reduce, reuse and recycle.

So that nice, sturdy table at curbside, that I saw when I drove by several times on my way to work, became the object of my attention.  I wanted THAT table. Covered with a pretty tablecloth, it would do as my new patio table.

A friend had popped down to have dinner with me. I suggested maybe we could go get the table under cover of darkness. I want you to know that I draw the line at "dumpster diving!"  However, I WILL pick up at curbside.  It is just that I AM a l-i-t-t-l-e shy about picking up other people's trash, in BROAD DAYLIGHT. 

"Let's go right now!" she replies. It wasn't far. When we arrived and tried to lift the table, we realized it was REALLY heavy.  Plus the awkwardly shaped trapezoid  top, made it impossible to get it INTO the trunk, despite our repeated efforts. We couldn't get it into the back seat either. By this time, I can't stop laughing. I keep collapsing into fits of giggles every time we try to lift that table.  It is SO awkward to handle.

When we first arrived, I had knocked on the door of the home.  I knew the table was at the curb for garbage pick-up but I thought it would be polite to ask permission anyway. There was no answer. In the process, my phone fell out of my little holder around my neck, bounced down four steps and landed hard on the cement path. In spite of having a decent cover, I NOW have a crack on my Smartphone screen, darn it! 

Also, I must confess that I had had a Coors Lite while awaiting my friend's arrival. It had been a really hot day.  I don't drink that type of beer, but it had been a long time since I had had a Lite beer.  It will be even longer .... next time. That beer was as I rememberd it, rank and tasteless. Furthermore, it makes you totally silly in no time flat!!

People are gawking at us, as they drive by. Vimy is fed-up with waiting around, and decides to go sit under the table.  My friend will NOT give up trying to get the table INTO the car. Then another friend whizzes by on her bicycle and I yell out, "Come and give us a hand Janet!"  God bless her!  She turns around and does just that. So now we are three women trying to get this awkwardly shaped table into her Volkswagen Jetta. No better luck!!

A truck slows down, turning into the driveway next door. Shoot! We thought the driver was going to come and give us a hand. Obviously NOT! He disappears into the back of the house.  Well, that doesn't deter my visiting friend. Not ONE BIT!!! Despite my repeated, "No, just forget it! Let's just leave the table", she takes off in search of the man.  She is nothing if not intrepid! Janet and I stand around, me still laughing, Vimy barking at passersby and Janet probably thinking, "What am I am doing here with these two crazy women?"

My visiting friend returns with the driver of the truck.  He reaches the conclusion that the table legs need to be taken off.  He goes to fetch a tool. It doesn't work. He goes back for his ratchet set. Janet decides to keep on cycling.  She knows she is not leaving us in the lurch.  She cycles away, after a hug and a thank you from me.  

Then a fifth person shows up - the owner of the table!  He has been sneaking peeks at us from his backyard. I wave him over. He gets the lowdown as I thank John (we are on a first name basis now!) and invite him to drop by for a Coors Lite anytime. LOL  The owner gives our Good Samaritan a hand to lift the table into the trunk. It is a piece of cake to do NOW, with the four table legs removed.  

I will have to get hold of a ratchet set now, so I can put those table legs back on.  Being "green" is hard work! Umm, I wonder if there is a ratchet set curbside somewhere....

It's not always easy to flush away your problems!

 

 

I have owned five homes in my lifetime, but this is the first time I've owned one alone. Flying solo in maintaining a home is a very steep learning curve. Therefore, problems with a toilet tank that doesn't refill, with the water running continuously since the flapper sticks, can make a Saturday afternoon VERY interesting.

 

My good friend Listen Linda had already shown me how to lift the toilet tank cover, push down on the flapper (aka a flush valve), and "Bingo", problem solved until the next flush.

 

However, peering down into that grungy toilet tank that hadn't been cleaned in over thirty years, I am SURE, made me queasy every time I had to lift the cover. I came to the conclusion that cleaning it could only make things BETTER!

 

A how-to video showed me how.  I watched it three times.  I followed all the steps, scrubbing vigorously everywhere inside the tank that I could reach, with my brush.

 

Now that I was done, I had to turn  the stop valve back on.  (It hadn't been turned on and off for many years.  I found out later that I should have turned off the MAIN water supply while I was doing my cleaning, just in case the toilet tank valve broke off when I touched it.  NOW THAT would have been a disaster, since I don't even KNOW where my main water supply valve is!)  As it turns out, I was leaning over the tank after I had flushed, watching to make sure the tank would refill, when one end of the bowl refill tube flew OFF! Water sprayed all over ME, all over the bathroom wall, tub and floor, before I could scramble and shut the valve off again.

 

Now I can barely see; there is a fine mist all over my glasses.  I can't figure out how to put that darn tube back properly, no matter how much I fiddle with it. So I dash to the computer and find a video that explains "HOW" a toilet actually works.  In hindsight, I probably should have watched that one FIRST!

 

By now, it is almost 3:00 and I am thinking "IF I don't get this toilet working, what are my chances of getting a plumber over the weekend, without paying an arm and a leg?"

I can't go without a toilet. I only have ONE bathroom. I break down and call a male friend, who agrees to come over and help me.  While I am waiting, I keep fiddling with that tube, and wouldn't you know it, I get it back on correctly.  "Isn't this wonderful?", I think.  I DID IT! All by myself too!

 

NOT!!! When I turned the valve back on once again, the tank did not fill up, in spite of my pressing down on the flapper.  The toilet tank was a LOT cleaner though, and I could at least see what I was doing. So I hadn't totally wasted my afternoon.

 

My friend arrived and quickly diagnosed the problem. With all the vigorous scrubbing, I guess I had manhandled the "ballcock" (aka a float) out of position.  I had never even heard the word "ballcock" before, let alone knew what it was.  It's a ball! I still don't understand how that works. It's round. So what if it was upside down! 

 

I may have a cleaner toilet tank, but it's back to shopping for a new flapper.  I have only been to three different stores, six times in all, trying to find the right one.  The search continues.

 

 

 

 

 

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE "Kinder" KIND.

After a week of filling in as a gym teacher, a principal and a Grade Five French Immersion teacher, here are a few interactions worth sharing.  I think so, anyway!

 

I helped a little fellow in Grade 2 clean up his dinner tray, after his chocolate milk had spilled. He says, "You're nice". I reply "Aren't all teachers nice?"

He pauses, then comments, "Yeah, but...... some I like more than others." Future diplomat there, DEFINITELY!

 

A sweet little Kindergartener comes up and says, "'Mme D., I kindly asked Sally not to play with Anna and me today".  My question was, "How would you feel if someone said that to you, even IF they said it kindly?"  Her reply?  "Well, she ISN'T kind, and we're getting tired of it!" I honestly had to ponder that a few seconds,  before I found the right words to address that remark.  Little ones can be very wise.

 

Another Grade Two sweetheart, when I commented on their lovely posters, offered this comment "Well, this is a group project, but TECHNICALLY, Ethan is doing all the work!"  They were drawing posters for a fundraiser for Lesotho, which they pronounced Lesutu.  I declared that I had always pronounced that word with the letters "o" as "o".  One little one in the group leans over to another little girl and says, "She's a French person." Well, I guess THAT explains my mis prononciation of that word!

 

This last story occurred during a Social Studies class, again in Grade Two, where I read the kids a book about how things have changed over the last fifty years - ie, cars, TVs, computers, etc.  There were many photos, which I shared with them. On the last page were pictures of three items from the Fifties. I showed the class the first one, of a radio, and asked them if they knew what that object was. In almost perfect unison, they all chimed "A TOASTER!" 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How hard is it to give blankets away to the homeless?

As it turns out, no easy task!

My good friend Listen Linda arrived for my home warming party the day before the BIG blowout, with five absolutely gorgeous handmade, heavy denim blankets for the homeless. These blankets were made by her 88 year old male friend; he has made and donated over 200 blankets in the Maritimes provinces.  There are GOOD people in this world, aren't there? So Linda arrived with this big heavy bag of blankets, an address and a mission, "Deliver to the needy".

It was a beautifully warm Friday afternoon, (for once), so off we went. On the way to the address in question, she spotted a homeless person. We decided a personal delivery would be a good thing.  As it turns out, it took us so long to get the pedestrian sign at the crosswalk, that our friend in need could easily have had time to find another address, according to Linda! 

The recipient was grateful. He shook her hand and thanked her.  We took forever to cross again at the lights. Two doors up was the Salvation Army door, which was the address Linda had been given.  I knew there wasn't a shelter there, right on the main drag, but in we went.  The poor woman at the counter did NOT understand that we had blankets to donate. It didn't matter what language we spoke. She decided we needed to speak to the "Major", so she called him (or her) and handed the phone to Linda.  Linda is trying to explain to this person, whom she doesn't understand, and they don't understand HER, our blanket situation, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. A kind, young mother, whose child recognized me as a teacher, gave me the directions to the shelter, not once, but TWICE, being ever so helpful.  I try to get Linda off the phone, gracefully, since she is getting nowhere with the person at the other end of the line. Thank goodness for people eavesdropping (LOL) on phone conversations. Linda could STILL be talking to that Major.

When I give her the directions, she busts a gut laughing because one of the streets isn't "Halfass", but it SOUNDS like it. Of course, we couldn't find that shelter, even with directions, without stopping three times to ask for directions. We arrive, only to find it closed.

Someone would be in in ten minutes, we were told, so we decided to wait. There was NO way we were going to try to do this ALL OVER AGAIN Saturday morning.  I had persuaded Linda to bring the heavy bag with her, so she wouldn't have to go back to the car. So poor Linda lugs the big bag of blankets back to the car.  By this time, we have been gone almost an hour. We can't see the entrance where we are parked, so we turn around and park on the other side of the street, only to hear a woman on her doorstep yelling, and yelling! I roll my window and ask her if she is yelling at US. She says "No". We settle in, and in a few minutes a young man shows up.  We get out of the car once again, and leaving the windows down a bit for Vimy to have air, lug out the blankets AGAIN, and get the young man's attention. 

Of course, wouldn't you know it, Vimy bounds out of the car window! We are in a large common area, with the road nearby.  I don't have his leash. I didn't know this mission was going to turn into an oddyssey!  I try to grab him and carry him, since I don't want him running where he shouldn't, nor scaring any children. I pick him up, but he weighs 40 pounds, all pure muscle, and he easily wiggles out of my arms.

Meanwhile, Linda is talking to the young man about the blankets, and making arrangements.  I try to keep an eye and hand on Vimy but it is hard. We conclude our transaction, FINALLY, and start walking back to the car, when I feel wet on my feet and legs. I am wearing a jean skirt and Mary Janes on my feet. Vimy has just PISSED all over my feet and legs!  EVEN my Mary Janes were wet!

 I don't know how that happened. There wasn't a post or bush around.  I must have gotten in his way somehow.  My phone rings and I answer, "My dog just pissed all over me.  What do you want?"  Of course, by now  I am highly, highly indignant.  I also know the caller is my baby bro.  Linda?  She never stopped laughing all the way back to her car, saying "Only you!"

So now I have the dubious distinction of having had my dog relieve himself on me.

Honestly!  I was told I must have squeezed his bladder when I picked him up.  I don't know about that, but I will give my pooch, whom I adore, the benefit of the doubt!

Plus, mission accomplished!

The duck walk!

Thursday I am coming home from work, distracted by a phone call,which I ignored, only to suddenly see a DUCK on the left side of the road, getting ready to cross this fairly busy street. MY first thought was, "OMG, I am NOT stopping for this duck!" Someone did that in Québec, I think, last year, where this caused a huge accident, and people were killed!" The woman ended up in prison, for letting some ducks cross the road in front of her vehicle. Listen, I haven't had any misadventures lately. I didn't want to chance anything, so I was quickly calculating what were my chances of outrunning the duck! Little to none. It is truly amazing ALL the thoughts that can run through your head in a split second.

However, when I glanced quickly ahead, and in my rear view mirror, there were no cars coming either way, so I cruised to a stop. It took forever, it seems for that duck to cross the oncoming lane, into mine. Now there are cars stopped behind me. I know they can't see why I am stopped. I am urging the duck on from inside my car, when she (he?) STOPS right in front of my car. In other words, it stops three quarters of the way across the road. It doesn't move. It just stays right there. There are no babies following it.. there is just that ONE duck. I think it was a Mallard. 

I have given up gesturing and shrugging my shoulders, to the people sitting in their car behind me. No one is leaning on the horn, but I know I have to do something soon. People are impatient when they are on their way home from work.  I really don't want to, but I get out of my car carefully, and do shoo-shoo movements to the duck. Would it move? No way!! I gesture to the people behind me, and short of waddling like a duck myself, try to convey why I am stopped, and out of my car, in the MIDDLE of the street. They smile nicely... and sit patiently. No one is in a hurry I guess... certainly NOT the duck.

I get back in my car, and in desperation, I give the horn a few blasts. What does the duck do? He/She/It decides to GO BACK where it came from, so I continue to wait. So does the long line of cars behind me. Furthermore, cars are now stopped in the oncoming lane, behind the first car, who doesn't want to kill the duck either. They don't know it is going back, not forward.   It seems to take forever, as we all wait for one of God's creature to waddle out of the way. 

So why did the duck cross the road? Who knows! 

I can't help it!

I just have a few more tales out of school to tell.  I never had time to do this when I taught full time. It is one of the advantages of being "JUST" a supply teacher. No report cards, no prep, no parents, no administration, no Board to deal with so, lots of time to write. :)

En deuxième année, une petite dans la classe ou je remplace, s'approche et me demande "Sais-tu ou je vais pour mon activité du Carnaval?"  Je devine comme il faut, en répondant "Aux quilles?"  Elle est toute impressionnée, et me dit "Hey, t'es bonne toi!"

Ensuite, elle me pose la question suivante "Sais-tu combien de dodos avant ma fête?"  Là, j'ai choisi le chiffre cinq, complètement au hasard et elle est étonnée.  "Hey, t'es vraiment bonne toi!  Je peux te donner un collé-collé?"  Vous savez sans aucun doute, ce que je lui ai répondue!

A Grade two student, climbing up an eight foot snow drift in the primary playground area after a snowstorm on the first day of spring , says "One thing, this AIN'T spring!"

A very mature Grade Two student tells her fellow classmates at her table, that when she lost a tooth recently, (They were all discussing the veracity of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, etc.), the Tooth Fairy left her $20.00 under her pillow. The little guy next to her declares, "Wow, that must have been a BIG tooth!"

Overheard during art class, by the sweetest looking little girl in Grade Two, telling her seatmates , "My mother is stupid and lazy!" I got to the bottom of that comment very quickly, by having a little chat with her in the hall.  Pauvre chouette!

Her remark did remind me of when my daugther was ten, and told me with great indignation, "You are the MEANEST, UGLIEST AND FATTEST mother in the world!"  It is those times that you remind yourself that it is NOT you whom they hate, but the power you have to THWART them.  I have always loved that word "thwart!"