Talking…

Please don’t interrupt, I’m deep in conversation. With whom? With myself of course. Yes I talk to myself — who else would listen as carefully and give me such expert advice — for free? Professionals charge by the hour.

Problem solving is important and requires extreme concentration. I haven’t lived all these years for nothing… Besides who is more familiar with the circumstances in my life and more capable of figuring out what to do?

I’m also a good listener, especially when I’m doing the talking. I may not always agree, but why argue? I want to hear what I have to say, so I pay total attention.

I DEBATED WELL AT SCHOOL

Am I bored? Insulted? Never! As a good debater (I did well on debating teams at school), when I don’t agree, you’d never hear ME make personal attacks. Not even when I debate myself. Personal attacks aren’t cool, I never say things like: ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

LAUGHTER IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL.

Something I truly value is humour and I CAN, at times, be hilarious. I’m at my best when I make me laugh. Laughing is good for the soul, so I laugh often. It also makes me happy.

MY SON PUT THIS COMMENT ON THE PHOTO. WAS HE TELLING ME SOMETHING?

I’m known in my family for being a nut and appreciate their tolerance because it is certainly true.

Don’t you agree?????

HAPPY FATHERS DAY TO MY SON RAFI, THE BEST FATHER I KNOW!!!

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Patience…

I don’t recall Hans ever being angry with me, but I do remember that the poor guy was bored with some of the outings we took because of my work. Then, again, he did correct some of my expressions I’d picked up in my childhood.

I’M SURE, AT TIMES, I DID TAX HIS PATIENCE.

My mom immigrated to Canada from Russia and picked up English and French. I picked up some of her sentence structures. Although Hans had immigrated to the U.S. from Vienna himself and English wasn’t his first language, he spoke and wrote it perfectly. Let’s face it, the guy was smarter than me — and funny — and I’m sure, at times, I did tax his patience.

Poor Hans accompanied me to many events I had to cover. The other day when I found this poem and reread it, I laughed. I hope you get a kick out of it too.

HANS ACCOMPANIED ME TO MANY EVENTS I HAD TO COVER. THEY WEREN’T ALWAYS GREAT.

P A T I E N C E .

Who? Whom?

When she says ‘who’ instead of ‘whom’
I do not send her to her room,
I patiently correct her once,
or twice, or thrice. She’s not a dunce.
And tell her when it’s ‘may’ – not ‘can’.
I am, indeed, a patient man.

When she invites me to a bash
and all I get is turkey hash
and then, for breakfast, Decaf, brewed,
have I complained, lamented, sued?
Invoked the bible, the Koran?
No, I’m indeed a patient man.

When I was dragged to ‘Dead Man’s Gulch’,
that gross, dung-aggregated mulch
of cinematographic Kitsch.
Was I observed to gripe, to bitch?
No – come and go, ten blocks I ran
I am a very patient man.
By God, I am a patient man.

I AM, INDEED, A PATIENT MAN.

When she broke up my mountain weekend
when manage-editing had freakened
my well deserved week’s recreation
with job-caused crass abomination.
Did I kick her in the can?
No – I’m a very patient man.
I am, indeed, a patient man.

WHO’S ASKING WHO?

I’d laugh until my sides hurt.

Hans was undoubtedly the smartest person I ever knew. He was also so funny, he’d have me laughing out loud until my sides hurt.

In going through my papers and throwing out thousands (honestly) I came across this poem of his and couldn’t resist sharing it with you.

Hans came from Vienna as a young adult, where he spoke German and another local dialect. He said other languages were easy because he’d studied Latin at school and Latin is the root of so many languages. But I think it was much more than that. I hope you enjoy this playful poem he wrote about English.

WHO’S ASKING WHO?

by Hans Muller

Hans could and did read several languages

All of us languish
with speech induced anguish
and parsing our sentences
gives rise to repentences.
Hence using the vernacular
looms as positively Dracular.

Much joy to many gives
The usage of genitives
and even a native
can have fun with a dative.
Then why do brains turn into sieves
when confronted with accusatives?

Hans on one of our ‘motor’ trips which we thoroughly enjoyed

Is it HE or HIM, is it ME or I,
WE or US, SHE or HER — and why?
Is REGARDLESS wrong, IRREGARDLESS right
or are they the same — no, not quite.
When I go to bed, do I LAY or LIE?
Did they LEARN me wrong
or should it be TEACH?
I’ve got doctorates in English and Speech.

Aren’t the schools rich
in certified rules which
prescribe things grammatical?
Do I seem fanatical
if I declare that I’m aghast
finding ignorance so deep, so vast.

English???

If the abusive
of mother-tongue usage
prevails incontestably
and quite indigestibly.
I’m asking with unceasing awe:
Ain’t lingocide against the law?

I get jittery and tlnglish
speaking so-called good English,
The King’s, the Queen’s or the Bard’s
For me that is not in the cards.
What the heck — WHOM or WHO,
why don’t I just do
what Tom and Dick and Harry can,
talking simple North American.

Ten commandments for travellers…

photo by Vector

You already know I’ve decided to get rid of files and files of papers so my children won’t be left with a huge job of doing so later. Some are treasures — like this one. I don’t know where it came from or who wrote it, but I like it and decided to share it with you.

It you, like me, are biting at the bit to travel somewhere, anywhere, after all the long months of COVID:19, this may come in handy.

Frida Kahlo Museum, Mexico City

Ten Commandments for Travellers

1 Thou shalt not expect to find things as thou hath them at home for thou has left thy home to find things different.

11 Thou shalt not take anything too seriously … a carefree mind is the beginning of a vacation.

111 Thou shalt not let other tourists get on thy nerves, for thou art paying out thy savings to enjoy thyself.

Thou shalt not worry

1V Thou shalt not forget that thou dost represent thy country.

Gracias…

V Thou shalt not worry. One who worries hath no pleasure and few things are ever fatal.

V1 Remember thy passport so that thou always know where it is. A person without a passport is a person without a country.

V11 Blessed is the one who can say ‘Thank you’ in any tongue, for this is of more worth than tipping.

Roman Forum

V111 When in Rome, do as the Romans do. If in difficulty, use thy common sense and friendliness.

Pyramids of Giza

!X Do not Judge the people of a country by one person with whom thou hast had difficulties.

X. Remember thou art a guest in every land. Those who treat their host with respect shall themselves receive honourable treatment.

Why my crazy trip was worth it…

I had to pose with Remy so he’d know how much I enjoyed these trees

Australian Tea tree

I’d informed son Rafi my knees didn’t enjoy hills any more. He and grandson Remy put their heads together and chose parks without hills for my daily walks. The first had these wonderful trees I couldn’t resist. We went again and again so I could pose with Rafi, then Remy, and when Susan joined us, back we went to pose yet again!

Just had to once again pose by one of those wonderful trees with Rafi AND Susan when she arrived.

Yes, we took walks elsewhere as well. Every morning Rafi walked the family dog, Germaine, we dropped Remy off at soccer camp, and Rafi walked me. (He wasn’t going to let me slack off. He knows how important it is for me to keep moving.)

Another walk by the water

Germaine walks me at the nearby dog park. It was cold. I was grateful to Chandra, who gave me the snuggly, warm jacket with a hood. (My very first hoodie!)

The few times we couldn’t find the time to visit another park, I took my walk at the dog park under the supervision of Germaine, who made sure I got in enough steps. He took every step with me! Ha, ha.

Rafi at 20. What a hunk! I’d never seen this photo before.

Rafi ordered this little man for my home-made terrarium. The little guy seems happy in his new home with his bottle of wine.

Chandra, always creative, made a beautiful photo album for Rafi as a birthday gift. I had never seen some of those old photos and got a kick out of seeing, for the first time, some taken years ago. (She also made an album for him of what friends and family members thought of him. It was lovely to read.)

We celebrated everyone’s birthday. I’d just celebrated a venerable one, Rafi had a recent birthday and so had Susan. We laughed a lot and I discovered my grandson, Remy, had a crazy sense of humour. (Wonder where he got that from??? Ha, ha.) Also an avid reader, Remy shared books with me when I ran out of reading material. It was just a great visit. I could not have asked for more.

Rafi and I shopped for plants at the nursery — the kids have a beautiful garden. I looked for a little man to live in my home-made terrarium, but they didn’t have one. Rafi ordered one for me, tried NOT to tell me right away, but was so excited about it, he couldn’t wait to surprise me, but when he said: ‘I bought you something’. I immediately guessed what it was. Yeah! See him above. The little guy loves his new home.

I’m holding on to the memory of the wonderful time I had and how spoiled I was by everyone. The morning breakfasts I had with Rafi, the time we all spent together was worth all the nonsense and stupidity of the rules and regulations I had to deal with to travel across the border during COVID.

Rafi sent me this photo of Germaine waiting at my door after I’d gone home. Well, I miss him too. He was particularly gentle with me.

I shall wear purple…

If you look hard, you can see some purple.

I’m a delicate flower. I’ve got allergies to lots of chemicals, so I’ve never dyed my hair. Tired of lock-downs and not seeing friends, I wanted to do something new. My bright idea was to colour my hair purple.

Do I look good in purple? No! I NEVER wear purple. And did I do a good job? Are you kidding? I did a better job spraying water on my kitchen floor than I did my hair and I’m still trying to get the colour out of my white counter. Still, if you look really hard you can see a little purple. You may laugh. I did.

Someone who loves me enough to tell the truth (and shall remain nameless) emailed: ‘Yes! I see it! But people may just think it is the “blue hair” of old ladies who try to brighten their grey and leave the stuff on too long!’

No matter…

Poet Jenny Joseph

I loved the following poem, ‘Warning’, long before I became old. You may too. Since this is National Poetry Month, this is a good time to revisit it. Enjoy!

‘Warning’ by Jenny Joseph (1932-2018)

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.

I shall wear purple

I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick flowers in other people’s gardens

And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beer-mats and things in boxes.

Guess she didn’t do any better than I did.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Whatever you do, have fun!!!

Note: Thanks Andrew for helping me find a gentle and safe dye to use.

My love, alone he walketh

My late friend Hans was a really funny guy. He enjoyed marzipan, which I don’t. Thus marzipan was a safe thing for me to get for him whenever he visited.

I drove to the candy store in Kerrisdale for it until Purdy’s opened a shop in my own neighbourhood on 4th Avenue.

Since I was working, Hans was on his own during the day. I suggested he walk the few blocks for the chocolates on his own.

You couldn’t insult Hans. I recall telling him that he was arrogant. His response? ‘Well, I don’t know anyone who has more reason to be.’ It was impossible to get angry at him.

Hans on a visit

Hans loved Shakespeare. He even wrote an award-winning musical set in Shakespeare’s England. (It was the sole production not actually written by Shakespeare ever performed in ‘The Globe Theatre’ in Los Angeles.)

Tongue in cheek, he complained about the terrible treatment he was receiving at my hands. Tongue in cheek, I wrote this for him. We both had a good laugh. I hope you enjoy reading it too.

My Love, Alone He Walketh

My love, upon the Avenue he walketh
Gallantly, bravely, forth he setteth
Alone, uncivilized hordes he faceth
On Fourth, between Arbutus and Yew.

A villain on 4th Avenue?

Not rain, nor sleet, nor snow delayeth
Nor fear of highwaymen who lurketh
Along the dangerous route he walketh
Onward, onward to Purdy’s door.

These foreign climes, my love, he braveth
Distanced far from the land he loveth
For his fair damsel alone he cometh
Her beauteous face to see once more.

And when my love, indeed he leaveth
And alone, I must myself then beith
Shall I, on mornings cold and cleareth
Walk in his steps to Purdy’s store.

The door handle, I shall then caresseth
For dear hands upon it once had layeth
My love’s devotion I shall recalleth
And surely remember evermore.

Above all else, he does not snore.

He walk-ed this path so unafraideth
For marzipan, the world he’d braveth
Upon my knees I thank the Lordeth
That above all else, he does not snore.

Goodbye November…

My goodness it’s the end of November. I must say I’m glad to kiss this month goodbye. Our building is being upgraded — absolute madness during the pandemic! What were they thinking???

They’re replacing our balconies, glass windows and doors, repairing and painting, etc. etc. Workers hammer and bang and saw all day long five days a week. Yuk!

it’s making me crazy

They also busy themselves making appointments to do the abatement in my suite and cancel at the last minute after I’ve covered every single piece of furniture (it happened three times already) and it’s all making me crazy.

On top of it all, we (and our whole area) lost power for a day, our hot water didn’t flow for five full days (although the plumbers came each day to try again) and our elevator refused to work for almost a week! (They had to send for a part.) What’s going on??? Could it be a plot???

Nonetheless I did write a post yesterday. When I read it this morning, I hated it, so I’ll borrow again from daughter Susan. Here’s another of her ‘Muriel Says’. She is truly funny…..

Poor Susan looks really scared

Muriel says:

Had an email from daughter Susan saying she laughed out loud when she read the response I wrote a reader who commented on the ridiculous 40 cent adventure I had with FedEx. (See ‘I can hardly believe it myself…’ October, 2020)

Daughter Susan

Susan often laughs at stuff I say and decided to start posting them on Facebook. If truth be told, she’s as hilarious as I am any day and makes me laugh out loud too. And, when we get together, her poor husband Michael, usually quiet and normal, is perfectly capable of joining in with the nonsense.

Here’s the first in the series she plans:

Sorry fellas, I’m still here…

photo by Chandra

In July 2007, I received a letter from an insurance company with whom I have a small annuity. They pay me about $230 a year around my birthday, which is in July.

The letter, addressed to ‘Estate of (me)’ says:

‘Dear Sir/Madam:

We have recently been advised of the death of (me). On behalf of (them) please accept my deepest sympathy on your loss.

In order to determine our requirements we require the following:

1) Date of death

2) Name and address of the person handling the Estate

Upon receipt of this information, I will write you regarding this policy.

Should you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Sincerely, etc.’

My death was a total surprise to me

My death at the time was a total surprise to me, and since I did have a concern, I called the guy who signed the letter and asked how come I hadn’t been advised of my death and he had.

I also asked who told him I died. He personally didn’t know because he’s only the guy who writes the letters.

I was deeply saddened to learn of my demise.

I was deeply saddened to learn of my demise as you can imagine. I still had some mischief in mind.

Was I really dead? Was I a ghost? I tried walking through my bedroom wall, it wasn’t a good idea. All I got for my effort was a bruised nose. Oh, well — I was obviously still here.

Was I a ghost?

Concerned about losing the $200 they’d already mailed me, they had immediately put a stop payment on the cheque I’d just received, signed and deposited at my bank. It had to be replaced later so they at least got to hold on to my two hundred bucks longer. I hope that made up for the disappointment of my not being dead.

Well fellas, I’m still here…

Well, here it is 2020, and while looking for something else, I found their old letter. How can anyone throw away a gem like that? When was the last time you were notified of your death?

Well, sorry fellas, I’m still here and have no plans of checking out soon. I intend to stick around and make trouble for as long as I can. I’m not quite done with this adventure yet.