Musings of an Old Biddy

H1N1 and the Media

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 20:28:00 +0000

This is just a short blog about a controversial topic that has been blown out of all proportion by our friends, the media.

This pandemic has offered another frenzied feeding to the media. They have had a wonderful time tracking every little variation of H1N1, both good and bad, predominantly bad. The result of their reporting has been responsible in the large part for the public chaos over vaccinations for H1N1.

They have whipped the population into a state of nervous confusion, especially people with children. This has resulted in huge lineups at clinics because of jammed telephone lines by people trying to get information from the local authorities. A debate in parliament followed, with the intention, so it would appear, of trying to find a culprit to which the blame can be attached. If ever there was a time when co-operation is needed between parties, this is it with a hope that cooperation will find a solution to the mess.

Personally, I don’t think anyone is to specifically blame. There has been a huge rush to create a vaccine, get it on the market and provide for people who may be ‘at risk’ of getting N1H1. It has been a combination of all these factors, plus the media, which have contributed to the current state of affairs. Also, when there is media frenzy like this, you get hundreds of people who are not in the ‘at risk’ category, managing to get the shot before anyone else and this makes for debatable headlines, too.

As I’ve mentioned before, the media does a lot of good, but they don’t achieve anything when instilling fear and despondency among people.

TO CHILKO AND BACK continued...............

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 19:05:00 +0000

The following morning was bright and sunny, an invitation for us to head out to Chilko Lake (all 80 miles of it), a further 15 kilometers on from the River Lodge. When we reached the lake, a dire warning about bears being frequent visitors to the area greeted us at the entrance of the park. In accordance with the instructions posted, I insisted that wherever we were going to fish, the Jeep could not be far away. We smiled and both of us suddenly realized that while we were at home, the thought of encountering bears in the wild caused apprehension and we even enquired about bear spray! However, we arrived in the wild without bear spray and while fishing in bear country, neither one of us was at all concerned or worried.

The bears didn’t put in an appearance and we spent a marvelous 3-4 hours, the sole occupants of the Park, Denis fishing and me learning to fish – casting, that is. Actually, in retrospect, I was quite pleased with my efforts by the end of the day. We didn’t catch any fish, but that was beside the point. It was a joy just to be out there. The sun, the sky with tiny cotton wool clouds moved gently by a slight breeze, the gorgeous colours of the lake itself stretching out before us, predominantly ice blue and white as a result of the winter melt and run off; the huge snow-capped peaks towering above us and of course the endless trees – just as it all had been for thousands of years. It was spring (early June) and the entire panorama seemed to be coming alive in anticipation of summer.

We returned to the Lodge, tired out but invigorated, without fish! Unfortunately, for the rest of the holiday it was the weather, not us, that dictated the holiday activities. Denis did get some more fishing in and actually went out on the lake with Mike, the resident fishing guide. Alas, I cannot report any success.

My activity apart from writing was one afternoon of horseback riding. This was wonderful, although some of my riding skills taught so many years ago were a bit rusty. Silver, my horse, and he was a big horse (he had to be to carry me) was a dream. I thoroughly enjoyed myself just ambling behind our host in the late day’s sunshine, with Bandit, the border collie running ahead of us to ensure that we wouldn’t come upon any wildlife unexpectedly!

The holiday was so neat; we decided to stay an extra day before heading back on the long drive home. We returned the way we’d come until we got to Cache Creek where we decided to head out and investigate a new route and which, according to the map, was a gravel road. The owner of the gift shop at Cache Creek assured us that the road was recently leveled and that it would not produce any difficulties for us, particularly since we had a Jeep. So off we went into Downing Provincial Park and then up what appeared to be an unassailable mountainside. Actually, it wasn’t, but it was very steep and I was just a little concerned as the ground seemed to drop away more steeply than ever round each bend!

Coming down on the other side was much gentler and the country spread out before us, mountain after mountain, some with snow, some without, bathed in the afternoon sunshine. It was absolutely vast, breathtaking and unbelievable. On the lookout for wildlife, we saw only one black bear, but unfortunately the noise of the Jeep frightened him and he took himself off at a high speed before I could get the window down to take a picture. As we descended the road passed through some private land and we witnessed ranchers herding cattle and roping calves – fascinating – long live the Wild West.

By the time we got to Lillooet it was getting late, but we decided to press on. We followed route 99 through some steep, precipitous mountains rising on both sides from the highway which produced a strange feeling of claustrophobia. The road was good but fraught with twists and bends so you had to be on guard all the time. Finally, at about 8:00 p.m. we reached Whistler and booked in at the Holiday Inn (the first hotel we came to). We went from the sublime to the ridiculous – rustic but very comfortable living to state of the art hotel conveniences, which included a Jacuzzi; just what was needed after a long day’s journey.

The following day we got up early to finish the journey to the Ferries at Horseshoe Bay and then home to Nanaimo. It was great to see home again, but we were both sad that we couldn’t have stayed longer at Chilko.

Keywords: horse, River Lodge, bears, bear spray, Chilko Lake, Williams Lake, barbecue, crossword books, Jacuzzi, Holiday Inn, Lillooet, fishing, horseback riding

TO CHILKO AND BACK Getting to Know Beautiful British Columbia

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 22:43:00 +0000

Chilko Lake beckoned seductively via Ts’yl-os Provincial Park as we sat in front of the television set. Boy, did it cast its spell over us. We both knew we had to go there and it wasn’t long before we packed ourselves up and set out.

Our first stop en route to our destination was Hell’s Gate in the Fraser Canyon. In 1808 Simon Fraser, the explorer who discovered the Fraser River, described this narrow passage as ‘an awesome gorge – the mouth of hell’ and indeed that’s what it looks like. The rock walls of the Fraser River on either side plunging down towards each other forcing the waters through a passage way only 110 feet wide. Apparently, at certain times of the year, a greater volume of water goes through the narrow gorge that is Hell’s Gate, than goes over the Niagara Falls! After looking down at the seething, boiling water, I can believe that fact to be so. Leaving Hell’s gate we continued to travel north and finally reached Williams Lake at about 7:30 p.m. and decided to find a bed there for the night.

The distances and scenery of this province are mind boggling. We had already travelled 338 miles from Vancouver to Williams Lake through lush valleys, wild mountainous scenery and through rocky, barren and desert-like vistas. It just seemed to go on and on. As the crow flies, Chilko is only 150 miles from our home, but we had travel all this way just to get to the Chilko Lake area!

From Williams Lake, the road was good, much better than I expected - a hardtop highway with gravel shoulders. With a short coffee break and lunch thrown in, it took about three hours to reach the final turn off for Chilko River Lodge. It was then I discovered to my horror that we were going to travel the remaining 50 kilometers on an gravel road. Thank goodness for the jeep. The journey was devoid of any signs of habitation or people which created for us the sense of being the only people on the planet! When we did eventually arrive at Chilko River Lodge, a warm greeting by the owners of the lodge immediately nullified our sense of desolation

As it was early June and a tad on the cool side, our hosts soon had the Yukon stove in our cabin rocking on its feet, and a barbecue on the go outside for our meal of steak which we proposed to cook. When we read the lodge brochure and noted that there was a barbecue outside each cabin, my mind ran to a sort of modified Canadian Tire barbecue, metal black with drop down working space on either side. Not a bit of it, this barbecue was much simpler!

A ring of stones marked the spot out of which arose a teepee-like creation of metal rods, held in place by a triangular metal bracket at the top. Attached to this bracket was what looked like a painted, old fashioned lavatory chain (it was, of course, your everyday chain you buy at the hardware store). The other end of this chain was secured to a metal ring surrounding one of the metal rods, thus allowing for height adjustment of the grill suspended by three wires above the stone ring. Never having seen one of these barbecues before, I was somewhat dubious as to its capabilities. I needn’t have worried; the steak was ‘par excellence’ and tasted absolutely delicious.

After dark, we retired to a cabin bathed in gaslight and we could almost believe we were back in Victorian times. There were books, cards and crosswords provided to amuse us if we so wished and it was a blessing to be without deadlines to meet and especially no telephone! We settled down to read in front of the Yukon stove with two gaslights providing illumination. Here, it was bliss.

To be continued………….

Strangers at the Ferry Terminal

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 18:43:00 +0000

I only intended to take two weeks holiday but sadly, the often talked about Rufus dog went to sleep permanently, so my break turned out to be much longer than planned! Now I must really play catch-up.

To open on a happier note – something nice that happens when you least expect it. I was coming home last week on the ferry from Vancouver to Vancouver Island and completely forgetting that Friday was not the day to travel on the ferry (line-ups galore), I raced for the 3:00 p.m. sailing from Horseshoe Bay (Vancouver). It was full.

Grumbling about the frustration of it all, I drove slowly into a holding area to await repositioning for the next sailing. Two hours to kill, sitting in the car at the ferry terminal – definitely not my choice. As I was sitting there, I began to have a coughing fit – and I mean a real coughing fit, to the point where I felt I was going to be sick. I had no lozenges, no water, no candies – nothing that would assuage that miserable needle-like jab at the back of the throat which demanded I cough to get rid of it.

Suddenly, the door of the van in front of me opened; I tried to catch the eye of the driver as he got out. No luck. Fortunately, it was not long before he re-appeared and I waved to him. Just as I was getting out of the car to meet him he was there, and I explained my plight.

“Sorry to bother you,” I said, trying to suppress yet another cough, “but do you have any candies or anything to help my cough?”

“Nothing,” he replied sympathetically, ‘but wait a minute, we do have some chocolate coated almonds – I don’t know if those would be any good to you?”

I could have hugged him.

“That will be just fine,” I replied with grateful thanks. He returned to the car and came back with the candy bag out of which I helped myself to three almonds. As he was returning to his car, he was beckoned yet a second time by the driver parked on my right, just ahead of me. Returning to speak to me, he suggested that the driver of that car may be able to help me further.

It turned out that driver number two had some orange juice and he went diving into the trunk of the car to retrieve it, while I admired the two dogs who occupied the back seat.

“You really have saved my day,” I said to the driver as he returned with the juice, “thank you so very much.”

He was all smiles, I was all smiles and the driver of car number one was all smiles.

How nice strangers are in your hour of need. I certainly won’t forget that incident.

Vacation Time

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 18:03:00 +0000

Just a short note to let you know that I am on holiday. Back in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, browse through past posts and enjoy. When I start posting again, there will be more of Travels with Verna and Jean, plus a variety of other subjects.

Thanks for you support and take care.

The Old Biddy

Book Review: The Shack by Wm. Paul Young

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 00:42:00 +0000

Having noted one Saturday, reading the Globe and Mail best seller list, that The Shack had been a best seller for 60 weeks, I was persuaded to go to the Net to see what all the fuss was about.

There appeared to be hundreds of reviews of this book, but I just stuck with the story outline and decided it was definitely worth a read; went to Coles, purchased said book and started to read. What a book. I just couldn’t put it down.

The author gives us a story that is not shrouded in biblical allegory, but a simple and easy to understand presentation of love. Basically, the story line is about a man called Mack, who has an encounter with God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit; but what an encounter. It challenged my long held views and opinions. It is funny, tragic, moving, amusing, spellbinding, sad and whatever other adjective might come to mind. It is the Holy Trinity as I had never imagined it to be. It is written for the people of today. It is family, it is power, it is understanding and above all, it is about love for everyone on this earth. It is about the kind of love that binds us all together and, if allowed to surface in people, would make the world a much better place.

It gives us an idea of how and why God makes all his decisions. The most revealing fact is that he does not make decisions for us and for the rest of humanity; that is up to us. Events happen in our lives not because God wants them to happen, or because it is going to serve a purpose for Him or because it is His will. They happen because there is evil which affects everyone. It is human beings seeking their own kind of power and independence. God is left to pick up the pieces and in His Grace he does pick up those pieces.

This is a powerful story which really makes you think, and I love stories that make me think. As I was reading, I could put myself in Mack’s shoes with all his pent up anger, negativity, loss, waffling beliefs and pain, ready to blame God for the tragedy he has suffered and the anger and pain it produced.

The book, of course, is a fictional story, but it could quite easily be very real for every one of us battling with the uncertainty of this life. The attraction of this story is that everyone can equate with the central character. We all have problems in our lives, and in this book, Mack is able to share his with God directly.

There were, in fact, many negative reviews of this book like, ‘manipulative tripe’ ‘boring’, ‘not my kind of book’, ‘same old, same old’, ‘poorly written’. After reading some of these it is revealed that the reviewers didn’t even finish the book. Why write a review when you don’t read the book? One of the many positive reviews noted that if anyone had grappled with the concept of God, they should read this book. Amen.

I am ready to start reading this story again, so that I can fully understand all the wisdom imparted and the vision of eternity we can expect.

I can only say, buy the book or borrow the book, read it and form your own opinion. Your life will feel richer for having read it.

The Old Biddy

Forget Me Not!

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 20:32:00 +0000

“Come on, teatimes,” I called to Rufus, after giving his food a final stir. I sailed into the dining room and put his bowl on the table. I called again.

“Come-on, tea times”.

Why was Rufus sitting in the kitchen with a puzzled look on his face.

“Ouch,” I said to myself, picked up the bowl, and backtracked to the kitchen, putting the bowl down on ‘his’ table. No wonder the poor dog looked confused.

On another occasion, I was wrapping up the leftovers to go into the frig. Where did they end up, in the bathroom. How, oh how, could I be so stupid.

Really, these senior moments are becoming all too frequent.

It was changing sheets day and I was going to put the set of pink sheets on the bed. Trouble is, I didn’t know where the pink sheets could be found. They were not in the linen closet and I checked out the linen closet downstairs which revealed nothing. Perhaps I had put them in one of the drawers in the spare bedroom downstairs – remote, but possible - no, they were not there. In desperation I looked into the semi storage room, just in case. There was no sign of any pink sheets.

I was getting myself really worked up about these bed linens. After all, a pair of sheets and pillow cases didn’t just walk out of the house. The more I fussed, the worse the situation became. Finally, I asked my husband, somewhat tersely, if he had seen the pink sheets.

“Yes”, he said, “they’re on the bed.”

Apart from these bizarre trivialities that arrive more frequently as we grow older, there are the more delinquent problems that affect our sense of comfort. For example, going out without our teeth (partial plate) because we completely forgot about it; thus causing some whistling sounds through the teeth that are not there as we speak. There is also the most embarrassing gap in our teeth when we let our guard down and actually smile broadly

The car keys and our inability to remember where we put them can cause some screaming, and swearing; especially when we are in a hurry to go out and they are nowhere to be found and we have an appointment or deadline to meet.

Finally, there are spectacles. For most of my life I have been short-sighted and was never able to see much beyond the end of my nose without glasses, which I wore all the time. On becoming bi-focal, I took the glasses off when I wanted to read, or look at something close, but they were never far from me.

This last year I had cataracts in both eyes removed. It was such a glorious feeling to see clearly into the far distance again; I felt liberated. I knew before the operation that I would have to wear glasses for reading, but had temporarily forgotten about this on a shopping spree shortly after my last operation.

I went to buy some clothes and no matter how hard I tried to decipher the price and size tag, nothing less than putting the garment on the floor, and then zooming in on it until I could see would suffice.

This incident precipitated a furious round of activity to equip myself with reading glasses to be placed strategically around the house. Not for me glasses on a chain around my neck. If anything dates you it was specs on a chain around your neck. I did try, but the glasses either slipped out of the chain holders or I caught the chain on something and it broke.

I now have glasses in the den, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, lounge, dining room and handbag. Yet still, I walk from room to room carrying or wearing the specs and then leaving them in the destination room. When I return to the original room and can’t find them all hell breaks loose and my blood pressure shoots way up high.

So life goes on, and does ‘forget me not’ get any better – no, I don’t think so. It goes with the territory and we have to devise a plan. I’ll let you know when I have one.

The Old Biddy

Greyhound

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 17:30:00 +0000

“What are these people going to do when the Olympics arrive?” asked the bewildered American gentleman (from New York) with a hint of humour.

The American was behind me in a line-up waiting to buy a ticket for a bus trip. We were two of the twenty or so people lined up at the Greyhound desk at the Vancouver Bus Terminus. There were two agents selling tickets and each ticket sale took anywhere from a couple of minutes to sometimes ten minutes, depending upon the customer’s command of the English language and the complexity of the journey being undertaken, re: connections, etc. Seeing my frustration, my daughter-in-law offered to take my place at the end of the line up, while I enjoyed time with my granddaughter.

Just before she and I changed places, one of the two agents put the ‘ closed’ announcement in front of his wicket and disappeared. After watching this scenario from a distance I couldn’t stand it any longer and went to speak to the remaining ticket agent after one passenger had finished at the wicket. I asked why there was only one person to serve 20 + people who it appeared may, or may not, catch their respective buses given the snail’s pace processing of the passengers. The agent was obviously a junior and had little experience in dealing with this old battleaxe who bore down on him to question Greyhound’s agent efficacy.

I won’t go into the details of my conversation with him especially after I was told that agents were entitled to their breaks!
“What breaks?” I demanded, “when 20+ people are waiting to buy tickets, hoping to catch their bus?”

Returning to my American friend just behind me, he asked what I recognized as a realistic question. He assured me that the attitude in the bus station was indicative of the attitude throughout British Columbia. Customer care and satisfaction by most businesses, especially Greyhound, was laid back and casual.

He noted that there were no express ticket machines where people could insert a credit card, select their destination and buy a ticket. This is unbelievable when you can go to a hugely busy international airport like Vancouver and purchase a ticket from a machine to practically anywhere in the world. You can even shop by machine in a grocery store, but certainly not with Greyhound – no way!

The one group of people I exclude from any criticism of Greyhound, is their drivers. They are excellent. However, there are many things Greyhound can do to improve their customer service in the terminus. Leaving the unions and their coffee breaks out of it would be a good start.

What, I ask, are the paying customers going to do when they want to go to Whistler by bus in 2010? I think Greyhound and the B.C. Olympic Games Organizers, need to take this kind of ‘outstanding lack of service’ by a national carrier, into account.

If this happens in Vancouver, how are customers going to cope with other bus services in British Columbia who plan to serve the Olympics?

P.S. Quite a part from alternative methods of staffing which would solve customer problems, there is a small matter of common sense. Of course people deserve their breaks, but can’t common sense prevail with these individuals? Can’t they plan their breaks after the line-ups diminish? Or does Greyhound not have a Common Sense 101 course?

.

A Different Kind of Holiday - to Newfie Land

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 22:37:00 +0000

A recent vacation to Newfoundland saw us arriving very early a.m. into Port Aux Basques on the overnight car ferry from Cape Breton.

What a contrast to the UK – we actually saw vast amounts of space around us (once we had cleared the ferry terminal that is). In the UK there’s hardly any space left!

There were signposts on the highway talking of places many hundreds of kilometres away; we rarely get beyond double figures in England, otherwise we would end up driving into the sea.

To cap it all, somewhere en route to Gander we came to a sign saying “Mooseburgers, 63 Km”! Either they were a long way off, or they were mighty big burgers, we mused to ourselves.

Unfortunately, there are so few primary places to visit. Each day in our respective B&Bs, everyone we talked with was either going to, or had been to, the same place(s). We were arriving at places hundreds of Kms away knowing what was on the menu.

A competition began over one breakfast as to whom had seen the most moose in NFL so far. Some people from central Canada won the game, but we suspected they weren’t the kind of guys to be beaten and that they were counting sightings from earlier visits too in order to score maximum points. We lost because we’d only encountered two by that stage, and the “winner” had amoosed 27! No contest.

Then there were the highway re-construction zones, or road works as we call them in England; armies of people and machinery blitzing the landscape, a scene from Thunderbirds. If they did projects that size on UK roads, the country would seize up and everyone would cry off work (even more than usual). We don’t even have machinery that big at home. For example, we still de-ice aircraft with a thumb over the end of a hose to make it squirt a bit faster!

The guide books said there was no fruit available in NFL – but we found the world’s most expensive banana at Deer Lake and had to cash in an extra Amex cheque to purchase same. We tried to make the banana last three days, but it wasn’t too good after twelve hours, even after using full aircon in the car and lodging the banana by one of the air vents. Anything more than stage two on the fan started to break up the fruit.

Fantastic accent the natives of NFL have; and such warm people too, but we couldn’t understand what the true locals were saying so heaven alone knows what we’ve said yes or no to during the conversations! I keep looking at my credit card statements just in case we inadvertently bought a house or something. We did manage to extract the word “partridgeberry” from the experience. This, to a UK national, conjures up imaginative pictures of preserves adorned with feathers plus a wary eye looking forlornly out at you from a jam jar. Weird! Reminded me of a sign on the back of a car I once saw – “Preserve wildlife, pickle a squirrel”.

One could go on for ever – NFL was perhaps the most “different” place we have ever visited and a return trip would definitely be considered. Twillingate, in particular, was charming providing icebergs and wildlife in abundance; the only place we’ve been to where the term “moving house” means loading your large chalet onto a raft and taking it to the other side of the bay.

Now that says it all!

David F,
England.

How Not To Buy a BBQ

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Sun, 06 Sep 2009 19:17:00 +0000

The other day, I was at Canadian Tire with Don, my husband, who wanted to buy a replacement bulb for our security light. I said I would wait in the car. That was my first mistake, letting him into Canadian Tire on his own. After all, he is a man, and Canadian Tire has hardware and neat tools (although I could never see anything neat about looking at tools and car stuff – definitely a man thing).

Anyway, after I had almost finished reading the car manual, he reappeared, bulb in one hand and a very nice looking aluminum suitcase in the other hand.

“Look what I bought”, he announced with some satisfaction. “The regular price was $49.95 and I got it for only $14.95”. It really was a nice set of BBQ tools and accessories but the thing is we don’t have a BBQ, but what the heck, it was on sale!

Our son Dan and his girlfriend, Candace came over for the weekend. Don showed Dan this neat tool set he bought for a ‘song’. Dan asked him if he was going to buy a BBQ.

“Yes one day”, said Don.

I should mention here that we got rid of our old BBQ many years ago because Don ‘really didn’t like BBQing’. Why he suddenly liked the idea again, enough to buy a set of BBQ tools, I have no idea. Perhaps it was the BBQed wieners he kept saying were so good when BBQed at the model airplane field. If wieners were what Don had in mind, a Hibachi would have worked just as well.

Dan suggested that Dad should buy the BBQ now so that he could help him get it home. Off they went and, of course, they found another deal. Father and son came home with this humongous BBQ. Bearing in mind there is just the two of us, this thing has six burners, with a hot plate on one side, to boil the kettle I suppose. On the other side is a pull up shelf, and a bottle opener. Do they even make bottles any more that aren’t screw top? But, hey, just in case they do, Don is ready.

He informs me he will do all the cooking and he even went out and paid full price for a BBQ cookbook. So far we have had two salmon steaks and a couple of pieces of chicken and, of course, zucchinis. Unfortunately, I haven’t found any sauce I like, so I made my own BBQ sauce which is excellent; it contains alcohol. I now have many different kinds of spices etc, because the book says you have to use them. Funny thing, though, Don doesn’t like steak and I thought that was what a BBQ was all about.

One last thing, our old BBQ had a rotisserie on which I used to BBQ roasts, chickens and turkey, etc. This monster has a place to put a rotisserie, but we can’t find one long enough that will fit from end to end. That’s probably why this monstrosity was so cheap. Not to be outdone, Don phoned the manufacturer back east and for $100 they will send him a rotisserie. This BBQ is definitely not the bargain he thought it was.

There has to be a moral to this story somewhere! Maybe it is ‘never let your husband shop at Canadian Tire alone! Ah well, until the next time.

Biddy Jean

Rumblings Over The Blue Bridge

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 16:18:00 +0000

Rumblings are reaching the City of Nanaimo about the plight of the Johnson Street Bridge in Victoria. I live in Nanaimo, but for many years I lived on the Saanich Peninsula and in Victoria and still have a very soft spot for Southern Vancouver Island where I visit now and then. During my time in Victoria, for a couple of years I was commuting daily between Esquimalt and downtown Victoria, over the Johnson Street Bridge. It is with these memories that I offer my opinion on the current dilemma.

It appears that the City of Victoria suddenly decided, in April of this year, that it might be a good idea to apply for some of this infrastructure money the Federal Government has hanging around. But they needed an infrastructure to address. What better than the Johnson Street Bridge? Prior to that date the Johnson Street Bridge was not in council’s plans, never mind on the agenda.

In three short months, the City moved at the speed of a bullet; estimates were calculated, tenders went out, consultants hired, designs drawn up and application for funding prepared and finalized. I really would like to see any city, not just Victoria, act with such speed and alacrity because they had found a toy to spend money on.

In the meantime, some concerned citizens became aware of what was going on and decided that they really had to put a spoke in City Council’s wheel, before it could do any more damage. After all, this was a heritage structure under fire – a utilitarian structure but most definitely historical. Quite rightly, this concerned citizen’s group of Victoria wanted to know why Victorians had not been consulted. The City did schedule public input, but only after the investment was approved.

In the meantime, this group worked very hard to bring this venture to the notice of the rest of the Victoria citizenry. Now many more people are talking about the possible fate of this old faithful. Apparently, even the City is having to recognize and accept that Victorians are worried and want to have their say about this monumental plan. So, why not a referendum allowing the public to get on board and make an informed vote?

I am always amazed when people mention to me that England and Europe must be wonderful, historical places with all those buildings hundreds, and some cases, thousands of years old – and we have nothing like that here in Canada. Come on, City Hall, get with it. Would you consider replacing the Empress, or the Parliament Buildings, or Craigdarroch Castle. I think not. Why pick on the Johnson Street Bridge? Oh, I know why, but funding can still be obtained for refurbishing so that the bridge is good for another 40 to 50 years. The dollar difference between refurbishing the Blue Bridge and bringing in the wrecking ball to allow for a new design structure, could be used for more desperately needed infrastructure work in the City of Victoria.

Long live the old bridge.

Don't Mess with God

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 04:43:00 +0000

Last week, Wednesday, August 26th, the opening of the B.C. Legislature took place. Prior to the official opening, there was a brief time of prayer for the government and the work it has set for itself.

I heard about this on the CBC Early Edition with Rick Cluff asking if it was appropriate to open the Opening of the Legislature with such a practice? The following day comments poured in.

“This kind of thing should never be allowed”, “Was it warranted?” “I thought it was rather pleasant”, etc. etc. All those for and against weighed in.

As I was listening to this, I realized that this practice had probably been used at every opening of the Legislature for a number of years. This point was borne out later by Rick’s guest the following day who confirmed that opening with a prayer has been the tradition since the first Legislature sat in B.C. I was asking myself why the appropriateness of the practice should suddenly be questioned now? If the Legislature feels that it must appeal to a higher power to guide its path in government decisions and policies, then so be it.

Listener replies were many and varied, the main question being the necessity of separating the church and the state. John Redekop a visiting professor from Trinity Western University assured listeners that there was no constitutional law or legal requirement in Canada to separate church and state. That prerogative was left to our neighbours in the south.

There was also the remark that we all prayed to the same God who not only listens to prayers as rendered on Wednesday, but also sanctions suicide attacks on innocent people. The professor hastened to assure us that the latter was not the God of his faith.

Surely the above is all perception – a faith or collective peoples’ opinion of what their God would have them do, not necessarily what God wants them to do.

What was intoned in prayer to God on Wednesday was something that we British Columbians all hope for, so what is the point of questioning the practice.

Benjamin Disraeli once said, “Never Complain and Never Explain”. What a fantastic piece of advice for all of us.

As the learned professor said, there should be no marginalizing of different faiths. What I say is that we should get on with the business of non-condemnation for those who hold different ideas from the ones we hold. Whether atheist, agnostic, Christian, Jew, Hindi, Muslim, Buddhist and with all due deference to the many other faiths not mentioned, respect other people’s views and religions, go about your own business, but don’t mess with God.

ORGANIZATION – OLD CODGER STYLE

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 18:35:00 +0000

If you have two items on a shopping list, I’m still thinking in terms of taking about half an hour to accomplish the tasks. Not so as the years move on; especially not if the trip involves a husband. Today, as well as the two items listed, we had to stop at the bank to sign a form, which would probably take a couple of minutes. Anything involving Denis immediately places the expedition in danger, so we need a half hour (or longer) planning session to figure out where we are going and what we are going to do. In fact the entire operation makes planning for a trek to the Himalayas looks like child’s play.

Naturally, dog had to come too, since Rufus refuses to accept the term ‘guard the house’. The first call, the bank, went very smoothly and when we returned to the car, I mentioned to Denis that the next stop was Fabricland to get a zipper. I also explained that he would wait while I purchased said zip and then I would take dog and walk to Superstore, while he went by car. I shouldn’t even have mentioned it as it took the whole of the car journey to Fabricland for Denis to understand what was about to happen.

Zip was purchased, I collected dog from car and off we went on our separate ways. I walked to the front of the store by the disabled parking lots but was beaten by Denis who not only swooped into a spot, but promptly reversed and went back the way he had come – at great speed, I might add.

“I paid for the gas”, he called from the car window, “but forgot to put the gas in the tank – won’t be long”. Rufus and I stood there with our mouths hanging open – has it really come to this?

When Denis arrived back to the gas pump, there was a car occupying the space by his pump, but of course the pump wouldn’t start. The attendant in the office told him that she saw him leave without filling the car and immediately turned the pump off. So, it fell to Denis to explain to the two people getting quite exasperated at the pump, that they had to move to another pump so that he could fill his car with the gas he forgot to put in on his first trip!

Finally he returned with a full tank of gas and we managed to shop without further incident, except that I couldn’t get the prescription I wanted, and we had to go to another store.

It was there, while waiting for the prescription to be filled, that I sat talking to a 90 year old, who, in my estimation, looked 70. She had quietly been waiting for at least 20 minutes for someone to give her some information. We commiserated about how long it took to do something these days. She was also bemoaning the fact that every time he saw her, her son-in-law was on her case about what to eat and what not to eat, plus the fact that she should come off all medication! She retorted on all occasions that obviously she was eating the right thing to get to the age she was and she saw no necessity to change.

As we entered the parking lot of the next pit stop Denis suddenly started to drill me about the Stilton Cheese.

“Did you get the Stilton at Superstore”, he asked. “No”, I said, I thought you were going to do that. “ No, I forgot to do it, would you mind to buy some Stilton in Thrifty’s”. And so it goes on.

What should have been a half hour shopping trip, turned into a whole morning nightmare.

Smile

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 18:37:00 +0000

A post today to remind ourselves that this short poem is very important. It's important to our well-being and to the well-being of others. If anything can lift a spirit, it's a smile.

Smile

Smiling is infectious
You catch it like the flu
When someone smiled at me today
I started smiling too

I passed around the corner
And someone saw my grin
When he smiled I realised
I’d passed it on to him

I thought about that smile
Then realised its worth
A single smile just like mine
Could travel round the earth

So if you feel a smile begin
Don’t leave it undetected
Let’s start an epidemic soon
And get the world infected

NM from Wales, UK

Beliefs

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 22:19:00 +0000

The following is an excerpt from a booklet written about changing a poor self image. We, as old biddies have probably made up our minds a long time ago on the issues discussed in this booklet. I was asked to talk about this booklet to a gathering of about 45 seniors and was extremely apprehensive because seniors were not my target audience. Surprisingly, afterwards everyone bought a copy. They didn’t want it for themselves, they wanted it for their children and grandchildren.

Beliefs

Whether we admit it or not, the one part of our life that has a profound influence on the way we think is our belief system. Take a few minutes to consider the following before flatly refusing to acknowledge that anyone, other than yourself, is responsible for your destiny.

Decide if you (we're not talking other people, we are talking you) believe that you hold the key to your own destiny and peace of mind, or whether God does?

Think about the enormity of that choice because it will affect every facet of your life in the future.

Ask yourself if you have a personal code of ethics to guide you along the way because you will need it, if your choice is to go it alone. This code might have headings such as ‘personal conduct’, ‘accountability’ and ‘commitment’, etc.

Ask yourself about the future and how you are going to conduct it by yourself. Think carefully. It is an awesome undertaking to be totally responsible for the rest of your life.

Determine if you are going to make yourself the person around whom your world revolves. Will you be the person who makes all the decisions, calls all the shots, and expects everything to fall into place immediately?

Decide if you will be forever seeking material things which you believe will bring you happiness and satisfaction, or, is there another choice?

Determine also if skills and knowledge, to the exclusion of all else, are going to provide you with the contentment you are seeking.

The above is just one part of one of the subject areas that affect our lives. The idea behind the booklet is not for me to play psychiatrist, but to nudge recognition of a problem by individuals, which will encourage them to seek professional help if needed.

The other subject areas are:

- The other side of beliefs
- Writing down your problems
- People
- Making connections
- Improve your people image
- Attitude
- Self awareness
- Acceptance
- For more information, please go to www.snosrappublishing.com

Let me know whether you would like to hear about the other side of beliefs.

Beautiful Madness: One Man's Journey Through Other Peoples' Gardens by James Dodson, Dutton Publishers, 2006

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 18:49:00 +0000

This is an enjoyable, chatty book that follows Dodson on his year of garden discovery. A must for the garden lovers.

Dodson lives in the north of Maine on a hillside where winters are very Canadian (subzero cold) and summer is at best seven weeks long. Apparently, he has tried to ignore that and build an English garden full of tender perennials – a true test of a garden masochist. Each summer he works in a frenzy trying to get everything as he would like it, spending hours and pots of money in the process, only to weep at the winter kill and proceed to envision new plantings the next summer.

His garden centre owner/friend suggested he take a year to be nosy in other people’s gardens and get a horticultural education, So he did, beginning with the Philadelphia Flower Show in March. His journalism skills and contacts brought him to Walt and Linda Fisher who force bulbs of all kinds over the winter to bloom all together in a great crescendo for the Show. From there it was a hop skip and a jump to other gardeners, other gardens and other shows, the famous Chelsea Flower Show being one of them.

One poignant chapter relates his visit to Sweet Alice Brown, an old friend of his mother’s. All her life she had loved her garden and her flowers, but was now in a nursing home suffering from slight dementia. Dodson remembers the riot of plants around her little blue cottage and offers to take her by to see it again. When they get there, he sees scrappy grass, a rusted Monte Carlo, sagging porches, and a chained yellow dog – nothing much left of the garden’s former glory. All that remains is two redbud trees. At her urging, he quickly digs one up (distracting the dog with the remains of his takeout milkshake) and they make a quick getaway.

This is a book for those who love to garden, and for those who love reading about gardens. Dodson has a conversational style that carries you along from page to page, garden to show to gardener to wonderful new discoveries. He invests himself in every scene and anecdote in such a way that you get to know who he is and the enthusiasm he brings to his investigations. His final story in the book is about visiting his mother’s house, long since sold to strangers, to spread her dog’s ashes. Great ending to a most enjoyable book.

THEY WOULDN'T DARE!

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 18:46:00 +0000

Yesterday morning as I was getting ready for the day, I heard the following story on CBC. It made me mad – and I decided to put it on the old biddy blog to see what other people thought.

The gist of the story is about a baby deer found near the dead body of its mother outside the town of Ucluelet in B.C. five years ago. Janet Schwartz, of Ucluelet, adopted the baby deer and raised it as a pet. Bimbo and Janet have become firm friends over the past five years.

Suddenly, out of the blue, along comes the Ministry of the Environment; not one month, or one year after this adoption occurred, but FIVE years later, and decrees that the deer must be returned to the wild! Where, oh where is common sense?

I have to agree with the Ministry that wild animals should not be kept as pets, but I have to ask what it has done in the past with real wild animals, lions, tigers and snakes, particularly pythons, smuggled into the province and kept in cages as pets; animals who pose a huge danger to people if they escape?

In this case, why did the government not intervene five years ago? I suspect they didn’t know anything about the situation and they only know now probably through the tales of a pious know-it-all neighbour or individual, or possibly one of these rabid environmentalists who cannot make any kind of exception to any rule.

I am outraged on a number of fronts, not the least of which is severing the bond between animal and human that has been forged over the last five years. I doubt that Bimbo could ever be rehabilitated and returning her to the wild is returning her to an environment fraught with dangers for her. She is absolutely no threat to the general public I agree with Janet that the separation of deer and human is not an option. The ‘damage’ such as it is, has been done, and the ministry should now butt out and leave the matter well alone.

You can find more detail about this report by going to www.cbc.ca/bc Select under headlines on left hand side, ‘bc woman fights to keep deer at home’.

On the Road Again with Verna

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 17:44:00 +0000

..............continued from last post

We finally made it to Ruth and Bill’s. Bill met us on the road, as he said he would and escorted us to the house. We had a great time there, played a lot of bridge and toured the area in his rebuilt 1939 car. I should mention, this is where our cameras came out and we managed to actually take pictures of some people. This was good, otherwise we would have ended up with numerous pictures of wheat fields, which would have gone nicely with my pictures of stunted trees!

After a very pleasant visit with Ruth and Bill, we took off from their house and made our way to the Yellowhead Highway and Prince George; Verna to visit her brother, and me to visit my sister-in-law. The only unplanned incident we had on the way to Prince George was the matter of gas. We followed one of those signs that say ‘Gas Ahead’. I might suggest to our readers, that when you see a sign that says ‘Gas Ahead’, unless you can actually see the garage, don’t go. I thought at the time we didn’t have much choice, but I since realized that we probably had enough gas for another one hundred miles.

Off we went following the signs along a side road. We seemed to travel for an eternity until we finally saw a house with a sign that said ‘GAS’. There were no pumps in sight, or people, so we drove round the back of the house. A young girl came out and directed us to where the one pump was. This was Alberta, so maybe you can have your own gas pump!

With a full tank of gas, we left the gas ‘house’ and instead of turning back the way we came we just carried on into unknown territory. Again, it was another long journey until we came to a house where a man and a lady were working in their yard. I stopped the car and asked the fellow if he could tell us how to get back on the Highway. He went into a lot of turn here, go half a mile, turn left etc. Finally, frustrated, his wife came over to us and said “Don’t listen to him, he will only get you lost. Men don’t understand how woman think”. So she told him to get into the car and lead us back on to the highway, and he did. We really liked that lady.

The rest of the trip was uneventful but very funny. However, this involved relatives so we won’t go into that; you’ll just have to take my word that it was funny.

Will tell you about our trip to Penticton next time.

Biddy Jean

Old Biddy Days Off

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 23:31:00 +0000

Dear Friends:

Even old biddies who are supposed to organize everything, do everything and remember everything, need a break sometimes. For the next seven days, this is my break. See you shortly with a continuation of On The Road Again.

Thank you muchly for your support.

Old Biddy Susan

On the Road Again with Verna

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 22:54:00 +0000

I decided it was time my oldest friend Verna, met my ‘old’ friend Ruth. Ruth and Bill lived in a Trailer Court just south of Edmonton. As usual, we had done nothing in the way of planning before we set off, except to get a few directions. I don’t really know why people give us directions because we never use them. Our friends seem to think we are renowned navigators and so should be able to follow simple directions. If that was true, we would just have to be told to turn right at the Big Red Barn. Those are the kind of directions we can follow, sometimes.

Once in Vancouver, I suggested we take the road through Port Coquitlam, Maple Ridge etc., rather than the Freeway straight out to Hope. We figured the back way would be much less boring than the Freeway. It all sounded simple enough and we would avoid a lot of traffic. I could always dream! I lived in Coquitlam for 29 years but who would have thought in the last 10 years since we left a whole new city had grown up. So eventually, being women and not men, we did ask for directions and managed to follow enough of them to get us on our way.

We got off the ferry at about 10:00a.m., and should have been over the Coquihalla before supper. As it was, we only arrived at Hope in the late afternoon. We had spent so much time finding our way out of Vancouver, instead of taking the Freeway, but what fun would that have been?

Getting out of Hope was a little easier than getting out of Vancouver. We only had to ask a service station guy once for directions to the Coquihalla and he just pointed over our shoulders at the very large sign that said ‘this way’. Not in those words, but you know what I mean.

Once over the Coquihalla, we took a secondary highway to avoid Calgary. We were getting close and weren’t sure (surprise) which was the road to Bill and Ruth’s place. A phone call to Bill and he said, turn on to such n’ such a road and follow it to their place and he would meet us at the road into the trailer park. We came to what looked like a good road, but couldn’t find a name on it. However, we figured this was the road Bill meant. We just went for miles and miles and the farms got further and further apart. The two of us reflected how many trailer parks, unprotected on the ‘bald’ prairie, had been flattened in tornados and we decided this is not right road. So, we turned around and went back to the main road.

Following the highway for a short distance, we saw ahead of us about six or eight RCMP officers with three or four police cars. Obviously, there was a serious problem for the RCMP. We just pulled into their ‘Road Block’. I mean people are usually pulled over at a road block, you don’t go into one! They really looked puzzled, like what the heck were these two old biddies doing? One officer came over to the car and I asked him if he knew where “such n’ such a road was. He pointed to a matter of yards from where they had set up their road block. Again, there was a nice big sign telling us that this was the road we wanted. As we pulled away, looking back we could see all these officers scratching their heads and smiling.

To be continued............

Biddy Jean

DOWN MEMORY LANE

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 18:42:00 +0000

With reference to the previous post, I can almost hear, “Oh, that’s the kind of thing I would do!” In fact, a friend mentioned this morning when I met her, “Susan,” she said, “I can’t count the number of times I can identify with that situation.”

In this post, I thought I would like to offer re-assurance for those of us who think that because we take the milk carton to the bathroom, instead of the frig, we really are losing it!

About 15 years ago, I attended a seminar on “Your Memory”, in the hope that I would find some answers to my forgetfulness. In many respects the seminar was just what I expected, but from another angle it was quite outstanding. The particular explanation I heard concerning forgetfulness and memory as we get older has stayed with me to this day; and, in my advancing years, given me great comfort.

The speaker likened our brain to the hard disc drive of a computer. When we first begin to use the computer, it is very fast because it is a brand new hard drive with very little on it. The more we use it and the longer we have it, the slower it becomes as we ask the computer to retrieve information from the hard drive. To grant our request, the computer must sort through hundreds and thousands of files and material resident on its hard drive; so it takes a tad longer to get the answer.

So it is with our brain. The older we get, the more difficult it becomes to enunciate and retrieve information from our brain. If it is difficult for a computer to find material in less than one second, can you imagine the pressure on our brains which hold a life time of data – much more than a small computer could ever hold.

So we mumble or grumble, or to be honest, curse and swear because we cannot think of the word we want to use; somebody’s name, or even worse, where we had put something away for safety! Remember, this is all quite normal and not an indication of an underlying serious problem. No, we are not getting senile.

This explanation provided to me by the ‘Memory” seminar all those years ago, has served me very well indeed and I just wanted to pass it along to you as a reminder.

STUPIDITY

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 03:30:00 +0000

I have been intrigued with the 'Musings of the Old Biddy'. I don't know what the male of the species is called, but never mind, we should be allowed to have our say. There are many examples of 'Old Timers' not quite with it. I wasn’t quite with it recently, and I couldn’t believe I could be so stupid.

I like to experiment with cooking and recently made a steak and kidney pudding which I used to love as a child in England. However, having gone to town with the ingredients, I had so much steak and kidney left over I thought I would make a stew. With my stews, I always like to have dumplings, large and fluffy dumplings, so I set about making them. Out came my scales to measure the ingredients for dumplings and I weighed 3 ounces of shredded suet and put that into a dry pudding basin. Next, I added a pinch of salt and thoroughly mixed the suet and salt together. Then came the all purpose flour and I measured out 6 ounces of flour.

During this time, the simmering steak and kidney stew was making me feel very hungry. I quickly mixed the contents in the pudding basin with sufficient water to bind the dumplings. This is a bit of a messy palaver; the mixed dough had to be molded into balls the size of.....well it doesn't matter too much..... if you like dumplings you can make them large or small. After boosting the simmering stew to boiling point, I carefully forked my balls of dough into the stew.

After 25 minutes of cooking time, I eagerly served up my stew with my light-as-a-feather dumplings. Biting into one of them, I nearly broke my teeth! My, oh my, what had happened? My dumplings were just as hard as cannon balls. Had my mind temporarily lapsed? Where had I gone wrong?

Pondering the whole matter, my eyes roamed around the kitchen and came to rest on the scales and I was mortified. There was the carefully measured flour still on the scales. I had forgotten to add the flour! Will I ever live that down?

D.P. The Old Timer

Rufus

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 19:10:00 +0000

My shadow, as black as a crow, finds his step in tune with my own.

Eyes, the shade of arbutus in the sun, know the path by heart where we will walk.

Morning reaches down into the damp woods and lays gently her warm blanket down.

Seagulls scream for unknown desires; the geese parade along the edge of the water.

The heron hunts for its next meal with a stealthy eye.

All these things will still be tomorrow.

Dog stops to ponder the moment with pure of heart and an uncomplicated mind.

He comes to sit at my feet as I rest.

The seagulls disappear into the sky with the rising sun and the geese head back to quieter places.

The heron lifts off with hesitant wings to wait for another day.

My shadow, light as angel wings, walks beside me.

His dark chocolate eyes can see the truth and nothing more.

All these things will still be tomorrow.

But none will last as long as the bond between us.

Love without words, loyalty without bounds and shadows without darkness.

Dog, with coat as black as night, brings light to my eyes.

And I am grateful for the warmth in my life.

Nearly Biddy

Ava

The Black Dog and Blue Fly

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 04:29:00 +0000

Lulu, her muzzle bearing tell-tale signs of extra rich strawberry ice cream, sat in her usual position between the two front seats of the car balanced on the gear shaft casing. Her lovely beady brown eyes darted expectantly between Mother and Granny, hoping that more ice-cream was coming her way. She was a beautiful, if somewhat podgy Doberman Pinscher with her black coat glistening in the sunlight. She was enjoying her 'treat' after a long run on the beach and a swim in the sea - a feast of ice cream at the local cafe car park, generously offered by her doting owner and owner's mother (Granny).

Reluctantly she noted that preparations were being made to leave and therefore ice cream gorging had ended for the afternoon. She settled herself comfortably on her towel on the back seat of the car ready for the journey home. It was a hot day, so all the windows were open allowing a breeze, although not very cool, to circulate around Lulu and humans as the car moved off.

Shortly the car drew up at traffic lights, adjacent to a market stall. Between the market stall and the car stood a rather nervous looking older lady clutching her bicycle, waiting for the lights to change. Mother and Granny promptly christened her 'Nervous Nelly'.

Suddenly, there was a high pitched yelp as Lulu leapt onto a startled Granny's lap with a thud. This unexpected action unleashed a whole chain of unexpected events. Overcome with shock on hearing the yelp, Nervous Nelly nearly jumped out of her skin momentarily releasing her bicycle which fell over onto the nearest market stall loaded with oranges.

While Mother was trying to calm Granny and Dog, there was an angry shout as a precariously balanced crate of oranges, dislodged by the falling bicycle smashed onto the pavement. Oranges cascaded out of the crate and rolled all over the street.

Two volunteers from the crowd gathering to see what was going on, went to help the owner of the stall collect the oranges. Unfortunately, one of the volunteers stood on an orange which split and he slipped. He put his hand out to grab the nearest thing to steady him which was hosepipe used to produce a gentle spray to refresh the produce. As he grabbed the hose it was wrenched out of the socket in the wall and the water, which had been carefully controlled into a slow steady trickle for the purpose of watering, now gushed on to the assembled crowd.

As Mother glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw the mounting chaos in the square, the traffic lights turned to green and she decided that discretion was the better part of valour as she moved her foot onto the accelerator. She didn't want to be around to witness the next turn of events.

When they arrived home, Mother was determined to find out what made Lulu jump into Granny's lap. She didn’t have very far to look. There, on the back window ledge of the car was a large, exhausted bluebottle fly in its death throes. She knew, only too well that if Lulu encountered a fly the very worst was to be anticipated. Given freedom of space, the dog would beat a hasty retreat from the vicinity of the wretched fly - she just couldn't stand them. Any encounter between dog and fly encouraged human involvement to dispatch the fly at the earliest opportunity; a bit difficult in the confined space of a car.

The people in the market square thought they had problems being soaked to the skin and picking up oranges. They just didn't know how lucky they were that Lulu's preference was to jump on Granny's lap instead of out of the window!

AN OLD BIDDY'S BOOK REVIEW

noreply@blogger.com (Susan Lancaster) — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 21:32:00 +0000

The Holford GL Diet By Patrick Holford

Today is useful information day. At least I think it useful, you may not. Patrick Holford was recommended to me by my sister, so I promptly went to the library and picked up his books. His platform is excellent – use food instead of medicine and his Low GL diet appealed because it involved eating lots of fruit and vegetables which I love. The ‘GL’ is the abbreviation for Glycemic Load and there is no need for a detailed explanation, until you read the book.

Some of you may have read my feelings on various diets in ‘The Day The Scales Crashed’ in a previous post. But, I decided a couple of weeks ago that an attempt on another diet was in order, hence my decision to invest in the above book.

I started out in fine fettle, spending an enormous amount of money on the foods the author recommended. Basically, I had to eat mainly fruit, vegetables and protein in the form of chicken or fish to begin with; carbohydrates were supplied in the form of oats, oat cakes and pumpernickel bread. Forget it!

With the size of the servings I was supposed to consume, I became aware that Mr. Holford was catering to the foodaholics who consumed copious amounts of food before switching diets. For them, the quantity of servings in the diet would perhaps be more in keeping with the amount they previously ate and consequently less of a shock to their systems.

Oats as a cereal are not a problem; as oatcakes they are ghastly in my book and pumpernickel bread is like eating sawdust. That really is the only real criticism of the diet I have.

Unfortunately, cooking for me is a complete waste of time and after labouring over what seemed to be ‘cordon bleu’ recipes for main dishes, common sense told me that, upon analysis, they were just plain protein and vegetable tarted up.

The GL diet is basically a good nutritious diet, set out in detail with all the benefits, menus, recipes, exercise recommendations, balancing blood sugar, etc., in good comprehensive form.

My own problems are simply, as I have emphatically stated, quite personal. I don’t like wasting time cooking, the portions are far too large for me and I am not amenable in any way to oatcakes and pumpernickel bread.

There is another problem that has nothing to do with any of the above. I have discovered that I have a food allergy to sugar and that includes sugar in overly sweet fruits. The amount of sugar I consume directly affects my asthma and I cannot afford to mess around with anything containing an excessive amount of sugar, much as I love fruits.

Incidentally, the expense incurred for the initial shopping expedition was hefty because I needed to stock up. This is not an ongoing high expense diet.

I would certainly recommend that you read this book. It is available at the library, so have a look see and then if you are interested, buy the book. The diet is good, nutritious and sensible and I am continuing with it with some modifications as per the problems outlined above.

Good reading, good cooking and good eating.