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My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 184: Snail Mail Gets Slick

02 Thursday Jul 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Communication, Entertainment, Family, Istanbul, Mail, Photography, Stories, Travel

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App, communication, Entertainment, Family, Istanbul, Mail, Photography, Richard Ayoade, Travel, Travel Guy

Over the past month a new TV series has become very popular at our home.

It is a British travel series hosted by Richard Ayoade. Perhaps you know him from another television show, Gadget Man which he hosts as well.

Richard enjoys critiquing his travels with a dry acerbic humour that leads you to thirst for his deadpan punchlines. He amuses me to no end.

Over the course of four television shows, he and his travelling guest companions take exciting weekend excursions to Barcelona, Istanbul, Iceland, and Madagascar.

There was something that Richard Ayoade did during his episode on Istanbul that left me gobsmacked.

(I’ve included a link to this particular episode at the end of this post, so you can watch it for yourself if you like.)

As Richard and his travelling companion stood admiring the vista of ancient churches in Istanbul, he took a selfie of himself and his guest with his cell phone.

He then explained to his television audience that thanks to a software app called…

‘Touchnote’…

The picture he just took will, at the press of a button, be sent as a postcard to whomever he chooses.

Whoa…

…I thought to myself.

That is one slick way to send a postcard.

Of course I had to check this out.

Much to my pleasant surprise, when I looked it up in the App Store I learned that my husband had already downloaded it.

This was astonishing because I don’t think he’s ever sent a postcard in his life.

He must’ve really been impressed with this app.

Software generated postcards seem nifty, but no one, and I mean no one could generate hand written postcards, with all the old fashioned lick’em and stick’em accoutrements like my Grandmother.

She carried in her purse all the fixings for a postcard as well as formal stationary, accompanying photographs, scissors, tape, and a never ending roll of stamps.

Nevertheless I’m quite sure that my Grandmother would have made really good use of this newly discovered app.

How do I know this?

You see, my Grandmother also happened to be a bit of a shutterbug herself.

When I try to imagine her response to this cell phone generated postcard I can almost feel her glee. I wish she could have experienced the ultimate convenience that all of us already take for granted. No longer do we have to take our camera film to the store to be developed before we can enjoy our photographs.

I find myself looking forward to signing up with this new app and purchasing some postage credits so that I can always be at the ready to send a friend or loved one a postcard made from an impromptu picture that I had taken.

No doubt, there are many of you…

(And you know who you are)

…Who are currently nodding your head in agreement as you know me all too well.

On the other hand there are those of you cringing at the thought of me taking yet another selfie of the two of us.

Nevertheless, you can consider yourself warned.

Keeping that in mind, please prepare yourselves to…

Say “CHEESE!”

—————————-

TRAVEL MAN: 48 Hours In Istanbul

Memories Of Mother ~ Chapter 61… May 14, 2015: Still Breathing

14 Thursday May 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Family, Grief, Loss, love, Stories

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Beauty, Family, grief, hair, loss, love, salons, Stories

image

One of the last things that my Mother ever gave me was a hairbrush.

This is a rather serendipitous revelation for me because I always loved my Mother’s hairbrushes.

Even as a little girl, no matter how many hairbrushes my Mother would supply me with, it was always her hairbrush that I would reach for first.

I know she found it frustrating, but I really didn’t care.

Yes, I loved her and her hair brushes that much.

My Mother did not look happy when she handed me this last hairbrush.

It was on the small side. It had a little black plastic handle and tiny white bristles. It looked very plain.

“Do you want to know how much I paid for this brush,” she asked me?

“How much?” I responded.

“Twenty-eight dollars.”

“Really, how did that happen?”

“I was paying my bill at the hairdressers when I saw the brush under their glass counter. I liked the small size of it and thought it would be perfect for my purse.”

Looking at the brush, I surmised that twenty-eight dollars was about the right price you would pay for a gourmet hairbrush at the beauty salon.

Mother continued:

It wasn’t until I got to the car that I looked at my credit card receipt and saw that the bill was rather high. That’s when I noticed that they charged me $28 for the hairbrush.”

“Why didn’t you return it?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Do you like it,” she asked me.

“Yes,” I said running the brush through my long hair.

“It will do just fine, thank you.”

Now… fast forward fourteen months:

I was not looking forward to May 14, 2015.

This day marks the one year anniversary since my Mother’s passing.

I lost her at 6 AM. It was a bright and sunny morning, just as peaceful as her passing.

As I reported to work for my midnight shift, I was confident that I could keep my thoughts positive and not give in to the sadness of this day.

At one point of the shift I went to the ladies room. It was hard not to think about her.

Seeing my unkempt hair in the mirror, I resolved to brush it out and rebraid it.

There was something about brushing out my hair that I always found soothing.

Looking at the brush in my hand I noticed that it was the brush that Mother gave me forteen months earlier.

The sight of it and the circumstances in which I received it brought me joy, and I immediately felt better.

If only I could go back to the moments in which she gave me that brush and tell her what a comfort it would be to her daughter less than a year and a half later.

Maybe then, she wouldn’t have been so unhappy about paying so much for that small little hairbrush that would wind up in her daughter’s jacket pocket. A brush which is both cherished and used daily.

In June of last year I wrote a series of sixty blog posts dedicated to my Mother’s memory.

The first blog post was titled “The Last Promise” which was about my last promise to my Mother.

I gave my promise that I would keep on breathing for her.

Well…

It’s one year later.

…

Still breathing!
🙂

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 169: 1.800.SANDMAN

15 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Childhood, Fiction, Folklore, Health, Myths, Parenting, Stories

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Bed, Children, Fairy Tales, Folklore, Myths, Parenting, Sand, Sandman, Sleep, Sprinkle, Stories

When I was a little girl, I remember the grown ups always referring to the sandman. For example, when my parents wanted me to go to bed, they would tell me that the sandman is coming. They also told me the sandman would take some sand from his bucket and sprinkle it in my eyes to make me go to sleep.

Upon hearing this, a lot of alarm bells would go off inside my head. This sent me a lot of mixed signals, and some of them were pretty scary.

I had some serious questions about this sandman that the adults were always talking about.

Questions like:

Why would my parents allow a strange man into the house?

Will the sand hurt my eyes?

Could he be trusted?

Does he have a proper name?

Does he like to sing?

A grown man intentionally putting sand in a young child’s eyes did not seem socially acceptable to me, even in the 1960’s. If I ever sprinkled sand into my playmates eyes, I would be promptly punished. So, how does the sandman get away with it?

I remember lying awake in my bed while waiting for the sandman. I wanted to see if he was the friendly sort or not. Sometimes, I’d sit by my bedroom window and look up and down the street to see if he was coming. Unfortunately, I always fell asleep before he arrived.

To this day, I still haven’t met him.

I’m beginning to wonder if he really even exists.

So, if you ever see the sandman, could you please do me a favour and pass on the message that I’ve waited a long time to try out that sleeping sand of his.

Tell him to bring me lots of sand.

Tell him to make sure it’s the good stuff.

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Part 152: Gettysburg: My Most Frightening Moments

23 Monday Mar 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Civil War, fables, History, Pennsylvania, Stories, superstitions

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Bread, Civil War, Gettysburg, History, HolidaybInn, Holoday Inn, idyll, Jenny Wade, jenny Wade house, quiet, sniper, teacher

My husband and I were both looking forward to our five day getaway in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

We both welcomed a break from our two chatty daughters. Our hearts yearned to revel in some peace and quiet.

We both considered ourselves students of the American civil war. We had already travelled to the battlefields of Vicksburg Mississippi, Franklin Tennessee, and the site of Confederate General Lee’s surrender to Union General Grant in Appomattox Virginia. We had also been to Gettysburg many times and knew the Holiday Inn that we were staying at well. We would probably get something on the second floor, facing the pool, with a forest for a backdrop.

Our idyll would be complete.

Imagine our deep concern when we saw a bus full of young schoolgirls pull into the hotel. They were there to participate in statewide basketball championships.

We spent the next three evenings and mealtimes listening to the same chatter we experienced at home. This, however this seemed multiplied by a factor of twenty.

However, my horror was not yet complete.

One early afternoon I was catching some quiet moments in the sun as I sat in a wonderful little garden terrace on the left side of the hotel. This same spot on the second floor of the hotel also overlooked the Jenny Wade House.

Jenny Wade was a young girl who was baking bread in the kitchen when a sniper’s bullet pierced the main door, then immediately killed Jenny Wade as it shot her through the back.

At the time, Jenny had been engaged to be married to a Union soldier who was also killed within a few days of his fiancé.

Jenny Wade was the only civilian to lose her life during the battle for Gettysburg.

My daughters and I had toured the Wade House on a previous visit to Gettysburg. It was a rather small house filled with the furniture of that era. Upstairs, you could see where a cannonball had ripped through the wall.

There is a local superstition that any unmarried woman who slides her ring finger through the bullet hole that pierced the door, will be married within a year.

As you begin the tour and enter the door to the side of the house I was facing, you are met with many framed testimonial letters from women who obligingly slid their own ring finger through the door, and were indeed married within the following year.

Like I said, I was having a quiet moment in the sun, when I began to hear voices coming towards me.

Looking to my right, three teenage girls had just crossed Baltimore Street and were climbing the steps that led to the Jenny Wade House. They were accompanied by a male teacher. The chatty girls hardly let their teacher get a word in edgewise until they were alongside the house.

That was when the teacher spoke up saying:

“Wait a minute, before you rush by his place, let me tell you a little about it..
Then he commenced to tell the girls who Jenny Wade was, and how she was tragically killed.

Then, the teacher began to tell the girls about the fable of the bullet hole through the door and the superstition that surrounds it.

He did a good job in relating the story as he had evidently done his homework.

To my horror, the male teacher then suggests to the girls:

“Go ahead, stick your ring finger through the door and maybe you’ll get married within a year.”

Dear Lord, what was that man thinking?

Now I was married at eighteen, which I admit is an incredibly young age to get married, so I have a thing or two to say about the subject. Mind you, I’ve been married almost forty years now.

At eighteen, girls should be going to college, university, travelling.

Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, I saw myself jump up into action to save these poor girls.

Springing to my feet, and catapulting myself into the air I would yell out to the girls in slow motion:

“Nooooo…. don’t doooo it.”

Then, I could see myself leap from the balcony on the second floor to the first floor bypassing the stairs entirely just to stop the girls in time before they committed themselves to their fate by sliding their finger through the bullet pierced door.

Planting my feet firmly back on the ground I would have wasted no time throwing myself between the girls and the fabled door which held the cursed bullethole.

What on earth was that teacher thinking?

Without even thinking, a visible shudder went through both the girls as they quickly walked past the fabled door without stopping. One of them even held out her hand as if to ensure that the door stayed away at arm’s length.

Well done girls, I thought to myself as the teacher ran to catch up with the girls. They sure showed him what they thought of his ideas of them getting married within the year.

All the while, of course, I was still sitting on the park bench, quiet, unobtrusive and minding my own business.

But oh, if only they only knew how close I had come to stopping them had they tried to test their fate.

I would have made Wonder Woman proud.

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 142: Time In A Throttle

13 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Aging, Retirement, Stories, time

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Aunt, Cleveland, Diamonds, Time, Wish, work

(With Apologies to the late Jim Croce…)

When I was sixteen, I made a careless comment to my Aunt from Cleveland while she was staying at our home.

I told her that I wished I was eighteen.

She was quick to set me straight.

“Don’t you wish away one second of your sixteenth year. What I would do to be sixteen again. Once it’s gone, it’s gone and you’ll never get it back!”

She was right of course.

Now, let’s fast forward to the present day…

During my twenty-five year tenure at work, I remember looking on as people retired and walked out the doors one last time to a life unencumbered by forty hour work weeks.

Would that ever be me, I wondered.

Decades later, I can now count on one hand how many years I have left before I can retire, and all I can think about is…

…Where did the time go?

There is a story I once read of a newlywed couple living on a shoestring and trying to get by.

The husband asked his young bride to hold out her hand.

He then filled her open palm with peanuts and as he did he said to her…

“I wish these were diamonds.”

Fifty years later, when all their hard work has paid off and they are old yet comfortable, the husband once again asked his wife to hold out her hand.

He then filled her open palm with diamonds and as he did he said to her…

“I wish these were peanuts.”

It seems like a lifetime ago when I took my Aunt’s advice and stopped wishing away the years.

I don’t wish away the days either.

There are times however, when I’ve caught myself wishing away the hours and minutes…

…but that only happens at work,

…so that doesn’t count!

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 137: Cheesy Little Handprints

08 Sunday Mar 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Blogs, Family, Food, Stories

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Cheese, Children, clean, Family, love, walls

Looking back, I think it’s fair to say that my Father was a little obsessive over the walls in his home.

They were immaculate.

During my teens we lived in an apartment in Mississauga for three years. I know for a fact that those walls were as sparkling clean when we moved out as they were on the day that we moved in. Even the superintendent expressed his amazement as he performed his final inspection on the apartment.

If Father ever found any impediment, mark, smudge, or nick on a wall it would be immediately addressed and corrected.

Touching the walls was strictly verboten.

Now, fast forward a decade or so…

My husband, daughter and I are paying my Grandparents a visit. They own a pretty little condo in Toronto where they live on the seventh floor.

At one point my Grandmother calls me over to her sliding patio door that leads to her balcony.

Pulling back the curtain she points to a patch of glass about a foot below the lock.

“Look,” she beckons me.

Seeing nothing, I shake my head no.

She then tells me to look closer.

All at once, I see the faint smudges on the glass that she is referring to. Although they’re not immediately noticeable, it looks like something has been smeared on the glass. Whatever it is, has now hardened and dried.

“What is it?” I ask her.

That is when she begins to smile,

“Those are Jennifer’s handprints.”

Jennifer is my three year old daughter, and my Grandmother is her Great-Grandmother.

Before I can mount an apology for my daughter’s handprints being on her sliding door window, my Grandmother begins to explain…

“Remember the last time you visited, and we gave Jennifer a piece of cheese?”

Of course I remembered. Jennifer loved cheese slices. My Grandmother joyfully indulged her Great Granddaughter by plying her with cheese slices from the moment she walked through the door. For virtually the whole visit, Jennifer’s fingers were covered in orange goo. I have memories of constantly chasing her around the apartment trying to keep her hands as clean as possible with a warm soapy washcloth.

Trying to keep her from touching anything was impossible.

Grandmother continued…

“Last week, the ladies from the church were here, and I brought them to this window where I pointed to the handprints.”

“Okay,” I nodded as I continued to listen.

“Then I announced to my friends…

….These are my Great-Granddaughter’s handprints!”

From the look on her face I could tell that it must have been a very proud moment for her.

As I looked at her beautiful smile, the impossible happened.

I realized that no matter how much you believe you can love someone…

Your heart always finds ways to love them even more.

❤

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 128: Misdemeanours

27 Friday Feb 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Blogs, Family, Stories, Writing

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Family, Friends, Gardens, Mail, Misdemeanours, parents, School, Stories, Swiss Chard

A friend and I were swapping family stories at work last night as we sorted mail bundles.

I told him a funny story about my Father, and then he told me a funny story about his Mother.

The story my friend told me, was about the time his Mother had asked him to deliver a bag of Swiss Chard to a friend of hers while on his way to school. She had just picked it from her garden, and had promised it to her friend, who lived along the way.

Later on, as he came home from school, he realized that he had accidentally thrown the bag into a garbage bin. He had not remembered that it was the bag that held the Swiss Chard.

When his Mother found out about it, she was of course, unhappy. She had to place an embarrassing phone call to her friend to explain that her son had accidentally thrown her swiss chard away.

“She never let me forget about it,” he said to me, rolling his eyes as he finished his story.

I quickly agreed with him. Indeed, there were many things I had done which my parents never let me forget either.

And that’s when I was struck with a thought…

As a child and even as an adult, both my parents loved to reminisce about the embarrassing moments in my life, that I tried so hard to forget.

Again and again, my misdemeanours were raised during conversations. There were many times that I had to bite my tongue, while they laughed and teased me about them.

These stories made me want to crawl under countless tables.

Now, both my parents have emanated into another dimension.

Oddly enough, in their absence, these stories have now become my friends.

Those unhappy memories that I spent my whole life trying to forget, have transformed into stories which bring me joy!

It brings me even greater joy to share them.

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 121: The Calm Before The Knitting Storm

20 Friday Feb 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Crafts, Entertainment, Family, Hobbies, Knitting, Movies, Stories, Weather

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British, Continental, Cowls, crafts, Dexter, DIY, Frenzy, Harry Potter, Hobbies, Knitting, Lord Of The Rings, mitts, Movies, NEEDLES, scarves, Sense And Sensibility, shawls, Shower, Stories, Storm, Sweaters, Tea, Yarn

image

My Daughter and I can usually sense when a there is a knitting storm on our horizon.

A knitting storm is what we call a day long knitting frenzy which usually occurs after obtaining fresh and pristine yarn.

We know the storm is inevitable in the morning because we get these mild twitches every time we pass by our knitting needles sitting silent in their mason glass jars. Jen has even reported that she can hear my yarn crying when I am preoccupied by everything else and not my knitting.

The knitting storm then usually breaks out shortly thereafter.

It begins with brewing a pot of tea which is then set atop our wooden coffee table, followed by a short discussion on which movie or television shows to watch.

Our favourites in the past have included: Sense & Sensibility, Lord of the Rings, Dr. Who, Harry Potter or Dexter.

Of course, these are movies and shows that we have already seen. That way, we can focus attention on our knitting, where it belongs.

It doesn’t take long before we can see our shawls, scarves, cowls, sweaters, mitts and hats take shape.

In the past, we have even had sock competitions and try to make a pair of socks in one day using size 5mm needles and bulky weight yarn.

Jen usually wins because she knits continental wise which is much faster than my British method. I have tried to change, but alas, you know what they say about an old dog learning new tricks.

Mind you, we don’t have as many knitting storms as we use to.

Although, thank goodness, from time to time we do manage to do a little knitting together even if it is for only twenty minutes or so.

Maybe not a knitting storm…

… but certainly a pleasant and short burst of warm summer rain.

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 112: Noble Work

11 Wednesday Feb 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Science, Space, Stories

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astronomers, Bus, cosmology, Richard Chamerlain, Russia, Science

Several years back I watched a television series called ‘The Astronomers’ hosted by veteran T.V. actor Richard Chamberlain.

There was one episode which I never forgot and still think about.

It featured one of Russia’s best known cosmologists.

Noble work indeed!

The show interviewed him along with his family at their home.

During one interesting scene, his wife explained to the camera that when her husband is at home, she can only delegate him to do the simplest chores around the house.

Why?

She said that he was always so preoccupied with his work and scientific theories that he was unable to concentrate on anything remotely complicated.

And so, his duties included fetching water, getting potatoes and clearing the dishes away after dinner.

Also noble work.

A little later on in the program, the Russian scientist then explained to the camera that he use to drive his car into work which was about a forty-five minute commute each way.

And then one day, he decided to sell his car and use public transit because he felt the hour and a half travel time would be better spent working on his theories rather than driving a car.

He found himself grateful to his bus driver, for doing the driving into the city each day.

Noble work as well.

If a world renowned Russian cosmologist considers bus driving, fetching the potatoes and clearing away the dinner dishes as noble work…

Then yes,

That basically makes most working class jobs noble work too!

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 109: Observing The Graceful Silence

08 Sunday Feb 2015

Posted by duckykoren in History, Stories

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Tags

American Civil War, AutoBiography, Books, Friendship, History, Jefferson Davis, Lake Ontario, Port Colborne, relationships, silence, Varina Davis

image

Many years ago I read Varina Davis’s autobiography.

Varina Banks Howell Davis is better known as Mrs. Jefferson Davis, wife of Jefferson Davis. He was the President of the Confederacy during the American Civil War.

Even twenty years after reading her autobiography, there are two things about that book which still stay with me.

The first is that she enjoyed taking month long summer holidays each year in Port Colborne, Ontario. Port Colborne is right on the shore of Lake Erie and is known for the cool breezes that blow in from the lake. It is also about a half an hour’s drive from where I live.

I’m sure these cooling breezes were a refuge from the unmerciful summer heat of the southern states. No doubt that is why she sought them out.

The second thing that I love to remember about her book is the statement she made about…

“Observing the graceful silence.”

For someone who does not eagerly seek out, or willingly submit to “small talk” conversation, this term wafted over me very much like the cooling breezes that blow through Port Colborne.

For those who are curious about the context in which she used this term, she was referring to the state of her friendships among her circle of friends once the Civil War began to go badly for the south.

In the last two years of the war, not hearing from her friends anymore, she understood well the toll that politics had taken on her personal relationships.

Refusing to think ill of anyone, she conveyed to all that she will continue to observe the graceful silence between them all, until the politics of war is resolved.

I believe that truly good friends as well as family, know well on how to observe this graceful silence.

They need not fear the end of a relationship because of a simple and most innocent pause in conversation. Loved ones know that continual and idle banter does not validate a true relationship.

A good friend always knows that their comrades are always… somewhere, out there.

Perhaps silent,

…but certainly never forgotten.

Ever.

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