Archive | April 2022

Being rude by accident.

Our provincial premier lost it yesterday and used the F-word in frustration at the legislator. I found it human and amusing. It also reminded me of the time I did that, albeit by accident.

I volunteered for a charitable organization which served the deaf and hard-of-hearing. I liked what they offered to those needing help and was often on the board. The meetings were fascinating and complicated with interpreters to keep everyone abreast of what was being said or signed. Those, like me, who didn’t sign could read everything on a large screen as well.


I wondered how they signed my name so quickly and asked. They just used ‘M’, since I was the only one on the board whose name started with that letter. Aha!


One year we had a deaf Chairman. I decided, smarty-pants that I am, to learn how to sign a little, like ‘thank you’ so I could thank him at the end of our meetings. I was shown how. I did so. He smiled. It went so well I planned to thank him again after our next meeting — in a month.


By the next month I didn’t quite remember it correctly, so apparently instead of signing ‘Thank you’, I signed something rude beginning with ‘F’. Ahem! (The word our premier used yesterday.)

The poor chairman. His face turned red with embarrassment. He shook his hands to show me that wasn’t correct. Someone else told me about my blunder. Do I embarrass easily? I just burst out laughing and asked how to sign ‘I’m sorry’.

I still think it was hilarious…


Easter and baby chicks…

It’s Easter and dear friend Garth, who has a lot going on in his own life right now, sent me this lovely Easter card. The little chicks on it are so cute — I love it.

It reminds me of the chicks my brother had in his room eons ago when I was a very little girl. Bob had set up a light over them to keep them warm, fed them regularly, and, if I remember correctly, contained them in a metal box. I loved them.


It was still war time and my father, probably too old to enlist and wanting to do his part volunteered as part of a local brigade of men who attempted to keep us safer in the event of an attack on our city — Montreal.

One night there was a ‘blackout’. All lights had to be off — streetlights included. My father was out with the other volunteers checking our neighbourhood. Bob had covered the bulb over his little chicks with a cloth, but apparently it was still visible from the street below.

We heard hurried steps running up the dark staircase. I was frightened, but thankfully it was only my father, who headed right for those precious little chicks. He quickly adjusted the covering so the light wouldn’t show through the window (it was cold out) and ran back down to join the other volunteers. Bob’s chicks made it through okay.

Some things never change. I still love little chicks.

An innocent first love…


My first love was a boy in my class at elementary school. His initials were ‘ME’. Mine were ‘MR’. What he saw in me I’ll never know, but he’d write our initials within a heart on the board for the whole class to see. And he wasn’t just teasing, we enjoyed each other.

He often invited me to play with him and his sister after school. Theirs was a child-oriented home with many games and books. I never forgot that and made sure my young children had them too.


When we were 10, he invited me to see ‘The Fun Parade’ with him at the Forum. We heard it on radio. (No one had TVs.) It wasn’t expensive — perhaps a dollar. We paid for our own tickets. There was a huge crowd, not much came to Montreal then.

At intermission, he jumped up like a Jack-in-the-box and announced: ‘I’m going to get you a hot dog and a coke.’ He didn’t ask, just ran off. I suppose his mom gave him money and told him to treat me. She must have been amused by the whole episode.

Unfortunately shortly after that, his family moved to Winnipeg. (That was long before computers or email.) I never saw or heard from him again. Did we ever kiss? Of course not!


When daughter Susan asked for a story about when I was young, I checked Google and learned that he, like so many of my other old friends, had died. Looking at his photo, I tried to see the young boy in his adult face. I found it impossible.

However, I was pleased and not surprised he’d obviously had an involved and worthwhile life, a lengthy marriage, and a family that loved him.