Category: Thoughts

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I’m not sure when it was that I realized I was frugal; I’d always known my parents were, especially my father.  In fact, in my youth, I remember it being the bane of my teen-aged existence when I wanted to buy some exorbitantly priced piece of clothing  that was the latest fashion statement at the time.   A part-time job followed shortly after this time. Continue reading


Friday Thought

“Work is the curse of the drinking classes.”
– Oscar Wilde

Moving Abroad


London (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

Helen Rowland said “Home is any four walls that enclose the right person.” which aptly describes the new homes that many of the participants in my new addiction, House Hunters International. I have never lived abroad and am envious of those who have; the experience of being totally immersed in another culture, often in a different language is completely enticing.  And of course the benefits of a widened world view are also important; tolerance for different ways of doing things as well as appreciation when you return to home base for the way “we do it here” are not to be sneered at. Continue reading

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
– Ernest Hemingway


I donated blood last week and it got me thinking about how much the process of blood donation has changed over the years.  My first donation was in high school, in the ’70’s, when a clinic came to our school.   The process back then was pretty simple, as I recall: the biggest barrier for most students was that you had first to want to give blood; the notion of having a large needle inserted into the arm was off-putting for many of my classmates.   Once committed, you were asked if you’d eaten breakfast and then female students were given a test to check iron levels.  If all was well, you moved over to a cot where a nurse tied a rubber band a bit like a soft rubber hose around your arm and poked you with the needle.  Some ten to twenty minutes later, you were done, and got to move over to the table where they plied you with juice, cookies and doughnuts – almost making the donation worth it.   Continue reading

Driving stick

When I learned how to drive in the 1970’s, my parents owned two vehicles, a gold-coloured first generation Honda Civic, and a rust-coloured (who buys a car the colour of rust? ) Ford Fairmont which we nicknamed the squad car since it was the model of choice of police forces across the continent at that time.  Since the Ford was the “good” car, I wasn’t allowed to learn in it, so that left the Civic, which of course was a manual transmission.    I was duly signed up for lessons, because my father ever the frugal one, knew that this would ensure he would get a discount on my car insurance – the fact that it might make me a better driver was just an added bonus.   But before the lessons started, he decided to show me the basics – we went off to a parking lot and I learned to get into gear, hippity-hopping the small car each time until I finally got the hang of it.  I think I got to second gear in that adventure.  When we returned, my father, looking somewhat drawn, said I had taken three years off the life of the car.  Well, at least I had thought it was fun.  But Dad was privately high-fiving himself about his genius decision to enroll me to learn on someone else’s car.

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“This must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays.”
– Douglas Adams

English: Rideau Canal in Ottawa, Canada, Janua...

Photo credit: Wikipedia

Every winter, shortly after Christmas, begins the Ottawa festival known as Winterlude.  It centers around a huge rink on the Rideau Canal, itself a UNESCO world heritage site, which winds it way through downtown Ottawa, through some of Ottawa’s oldest and most venerable neighbourhoods, to its end at Dow’s Lake.  The total length is 7.8 km, with a small off-shoot at Patterson Creek, and a fine expanse of skating surface at the lake at the terminus. Continue reading

image credit: Woodhull Institute

As a teenager, I was given a copy of the book “The Women’s Room” by American feminist author Marilyn French, published in 1977.  It struck me deeply in a number of areas and for several years I went about as if I was a member of an oppressed group.  (It is funny how women today hasten to separate themselves from the title of feminist, no longer feeling the oppression so apparent to the North American middle-class female in the ’60’s and ’70’s.)  The book’s themes covered everything from how a woman was called (the original cover featured a sign for the “Ladies‘” washroom, with the word “WOMEN’S” painted over in dark marker.  I became a fervent user of “woman” instead of “girl” or “lady” for many years.) to the boredom and loneliness of the traditional female role to the more expected sexism and inequality.  After reading it, I was determined that I would not be trapped with the sole role of wife, but would instead ensure to have a career in STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics), in which I could achieve anything a man could. Continue reading

Kwaheri, Uncle

Karen, Kenya (photo by C. Toplis)

Karen, Kenya (photo by C. Toplis)

It was just about dusk as the plane landed at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport; although a smooth flight from Geneva, I was shattered on arrival, mechanically lining up for Immigration (was my hastily got visa at the Kenyan embassy in Ottawa in order?), waiting for the borrowed red case to appear on the belt and then the final push through customs and into the arrivals area.  I hadn’t seen my aunt (or more properly, my ex-aunt, since she and my late uncle had divorced) for over twenty years and wasn’t sure we’d recognize one another, but sure enough, as I rounded the corner there she was just as I remembered, only silver, a quick smile coming to her face.  But it was Katherine, former wife and universally known from childhood as Pop, who had contacted me with the news of my uncle’s death, and as I came to know, who would be the one at the centre of arranging the final bits and pieces of his life and passing. Continue reading