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Tag Archives: Children

The Book Of Thank You ~ Post 7: The Canadian National Exhibition

01 Monday Aug 2016

Posted by duckykoren in Childhood, Education, Entertainment, Family Stories, Father, Grandmothers, Ice Cream, relationships, Rock And Roll, Thanks, Toronto, Tourism, Uncategorized

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Children, Family, ferris wheel, grandfathers, Grandmothers, grief, midway, Music, Platters, Stories, Toronto, Travel, Writing

 

The month of August always brings thoughts of a family tradition started by my Father in 1966.

That is when we would make our annual visit to the Canadian National Exhibition, or more commonly known to the people of Toronto as the C.N.E.

On the last day of school in late June, every child would be given a free children’s pass to this annual event.

Father was never one to let something free pass him by.

Set in the middle of downtown Toronto and bordering on Lake Ontario, the C.N.E. covers 192 acres of ground filled with a stadium, bandshell, coliseum, midway, fountains, picnic areas and much more.

Using Toronto’s public transportation, Father and I always went on the first Saturday after the grand opening. This usually coincided with the annual grand Scottish Tattoo parades where the sounds of bagpipes could be heard at every turn.

My Father didn’t care for bagpipes, and I remember how he would cover his ears and whisk me off to a quieter venue, a building perhaps, one of the many which would showcase countries from around the world, cars, or home shows.

The food building was a grand concourse featuring kiosks of cuisine from all over the world. I was partial to the corn dogs, while Father always contented himself with a cardboard bowl of spaghetti which cost only twenty-five cents.

Throughout the course of the day we collected free magazines, brochures, samples and souvenirs. By the time we left at the end of the day we would usually have three full bags of treasure to take home. I carried one while Father carried two.

I was allowed to purchase one souvenir of choice which was usually a punching ball, or an invisible dog leash.

The last time that I went to the C.N.E. with my Father was in the early 1990’s.

We brought my two young daughters to share the experience with us.

What I remember the most about that day was when we went to the bandshell where their was a rock and roll revival being held hosted by Bowser from the group SHA-NA-NA. We found a patch of grass to stand and watch. While the Platters were on stage singing their hit UNDER THE BOARDWALK, my daughters and I twirled and danced to the music.

Those were very happy moments.

In 1969, while my Father was away on business, my Grandparents took me for my annual pilgrimage to the C.N.E.

All these years later, it’s hard for me to decide which memories of that day are dearest to me.

Is it the memories of going on the Ferris wheel with my Grandmother?

She handled my rocking the carriage very well. I could be a handful at times.

Shortly after that, as I took another turn on the Ferris wheel alone, she won me an orange stuffed teddy bear. To this day, I think she paid off the carnie just so that she could see the joy on my face as she presented me with a new toy. I named the bear Godfrey.

We were very fortunate that day as our visit to the C.N.E. coincided with the visit of Canada’s current Prime Minister, Pierre Elliot Trudeau, who was there for a cinematic premiere at the Queen Elizabeth building.

My Grandmother and I stood less than ten feet from him as he stood for photographs and welcoming speeches.

At one point, he turned his head left, looked at me and smiled. I smiled back.

Now, my Grandmother has always been of the opinion that the Prime Minister was smiling at her and not me.

Indeed, every time that we found ourselves together in the following thirty-five years we would lovingly spar  with each other over this:

“Trudeau was laughing at me…” she’s say.

“No, he was laughing at me…” I’d respond.

Then we would end the discussion by laughing at ourselves.

One of the last times that I visited the C.N.E. Was in 2005, seven months after my Father had passed away. I brought my two daughters and a good friend.

We made new memories as we walked our way through trapeze artists, upside down rides, tall cups of lemonade, tall ships, log flumes, ice cream, all behind the beautiful backdrop of the Toronto skyline.

It was good to be reacquainted with one of my childhood joys and be able to set aside my lingering grief.

Thank you C.N.E. for those new memories.

May there be many more.

 

 

❤

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 188: Picking Up The Pieces (A.K.A… ‘The Sprawl’)

16 Thursday Jul 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Children, Entertainment, Music, Toys

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Children, Entertainment, Family, Lego, Music, Pink Floyd, Toys

image

Like most children, I had my own collection of Lego. Not a lot, but enough to build a small house and an economy sized car.

I can still remember my Father walking barefoot across the living room. He would suddenly stop with a brief wince. Then, lifting his foot he would reach out his arm and proceed to remove a Lego piece from between his toes. As he handed me the offending Lego piece, the look on his face conveyed one message:

Death to Lego.

By the time that my sister was old enough to play with Lego he had enough practice from picking up stray Lego pieces that he could effortlessly bend the afflicted leg up in front of of him crossways in what looked to me like a ‘plié.’ With the balance and poise of a ballerina, he was able to hold this pose until his fingers plucked the Lego out of his foot.

Once he started having grandchildren he never complained about their Lego being all over his living room rug.

I’m sure that the Lego pieces hurt him just the same when he stepped on them.

I could tell this by his momentary wince.

After that, my Father was all smiles again.

Of course, my own daughters had Lego collections of their own.

You could not walk into my eldest daughter’s bedroom without stepping on one.

The Legos never broke. Instead, they would imbed themselves into your tender flesh. More than once, they have brought tears to my eyes.

By the time my second daughter was old enough for Lego, we had collected enough Lego to fill a shoebox. We also learned the importance of storing them properly and keeping them away from their Mother’s feet.

When my youngest finally outgrew them, I packed the Lego away with a happy sigh.

Never again will I have to deal with these plastic tidbits between my toes.

No more stepping on them.

No more tears.

After twenty years of my floors being…

“Lego free,”

…the time came a little over a month ago when my youngest daughter flew in from Winnipeg, to begin the final preparations to her wedding in September, which she and her fiancée decided will have a Lego theme.

When she showed me some of her plans, I retrieved the pail of Legos, which was stored upstairs.

After my daughter sifted through them, she decided that yes, they would be suitable for her wedding projects.

After packing them them up, she informed me that she was off to visit her prospective new Mother-In-Law, and show off her Lego projects.

Shortly after she left, I got up to head towards the kitchen.

By my third step, I suddenly stopped as my back stiffened. I had just experienced a sharp burst of pain from my underside of my foot. I didn’t have to look, I already knew what the problem was.

Yet another piece of Lego had managed to find it’s way between my toes.

Again.

And at that moment, I could almost hear a child’s voice from somewhere inside my brain telling me….

“They’re ba-aaack!”

In closing, I will leave you with this annoying little sound byte courtesy of Pink Floyd and my love for silly rhymes…

And it goes:

“All in all…

They’re just…

Lego bricks on the sprawl.”

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 173: Benny The Brat

21 Tuesday Apr 2015

Posted by duckykoren in cookies, Dogs, Nova Scotia, Pets

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Benny And The Jets, CFB Greenwood, Children, Cookies, dogs, Elton John, Nova Scotia, Pets, School

image

Who knows what goes through the mind of a dog…

…or why?

Case in point:

When I was a teenager I had a Pomeranian dog. I named him Benny, after Elton John’s song Benny and the Jets.

I bought him as a puppy. He was red with a black nose. People told me that he looked like a little fox. He was adorable.

Most thankfully, Benny was a good and happy dog.

When I got married and moved to Nova Scotia, Benny came to live with me and my new husband.

We live in a modest little bungalow on the edge of a forest just outside Canadian Forces Base, Camp Greenwood in Nova Scotia.

A small public-school bordered on our backyard.

There was a pathway alongside of my house on which the little children would walk to and from school every day.

Benny was pretty good about the children and let them pass by undisturbed.

However there was a young brother and sister which for whatever reason peaked Benny’s interest.

I knew the exact moment that they were walking by the house on their way to school because it was the only time that Benny ever barked.

I could never figure out why.

One day I was in the front yard when the little brother walked by me on his way to school. He was not accompanied by his sister.

I found it interesting that Benny did not begin barking as he approached.

The little boy stopped and began talking to me.

“What’s your dogs name?” he asked me.

“His name is Benny.”

“Where’s your sister?” I asked the little chap.

“At home sick.”

“I’m sorry,” I answered. “I hope she feels better soon.”

“I like your dog,” the youngster said to me.

“I’m glad,” I replied.

“Your dog doesn’t like my sister though.”

I was suddenly intrigued by the little guy. He was telling me stuff about my dog that I wasn’t aware of.

“How do you know that Benny doesn’t like your sister?” I asked.

“The other day, me and my sister wanted to give him a cookie, and he let me give him my cookie.”

“That was very nice of you, thank you!”

“But when my sister tried to give him hers he wouldn’t take it.”

“Really?”

“No,” continued the little boy…

“… He just peed on it.”

My world came to a complete standstill as I mentally weighed what the little boy had just told me.

All these years later, I’m still wondering what was my dog thinking when he peed on that poor little girl’s cookie offering.

Then I think of that little girl.

I hope my dog’s actions didn’t scar her.

Nevertheless, it was by far the brattiest thing that Benny ever did…

…And I can’t stop myself from smiling every time I think about it.

My.Daily.Distraction ~ Post 171: Smelly Marker Mayhem

17 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Art, Children, Parenting, Toys

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Art, Children, crafts, DIY, edudation, School

The first time that I saw scented magic markers in the toy section, I instinctively knew that this was a very bad idea.

Call it a hunch.

Giving a child a marker, and then telling him that it smells nice is openly telling the child to stick the marker up their nose. This is an inevitable disaster waiting to happen.

Besides, why does ink have to be given a phoney smell in a world where wearing a fragrance is becoming taboo in public places and allergies to chemical fragrance is on the rise?

Needless to say, I didn’t buy the markers. Not then, not ever.

Try to imagine my horror one afternoon as I was picking my youngest daughter from nursery school. I took one look at her and saw some sort of monstrosity under her pretty little nose.

She looked like someone had tattooed her upper lip with an ugly moustache.

“What happened?” I asked the first teacher that I could find.

The teacher looked at my daughter and laughed.

“Oh,” she began… “We were colouring with some new scented markers, and your daughter had to smell every single one of them.”

I was not amused.

“Will it come off?” I asked her while trying my best not to sound worried.

“It should eventually…” She replied.

No doubt, some colours may be easier to fade than others. Amid the green, purple, and orange spots under her nose were big blotches of brown and black. Obviously, their fragrances must have either been delicious or hard to detect. Why else would there be dime shaped solid circles of dark ink.

For whatever reason, I do not remember what happened in the hours or even days that followed.

It’s safe to say that what wouldn’t wash off, I would have tried to get off with cold cream. Further, I highly doubt that we made any public appearances until the worst was over with.

Dear Parents, Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, etc.

I beseech you…

Do not give young children scented markers.

Their world is smelly enough.

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 ~ Post 150: “Freak da Deek Neek, Cow Manure”….

21 Saturday Mar 2015

Posted by duckykoren in bible verses, Family, German, language, Quotes, Religion

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Aunt, Children, Cousins, email, Fairfax, families, language, Religion, route 66, Uncle, Virginia, Washington D.C.

It’s an amazing feeling when an ancient joy from one’s childhood reintroduces itself to you after it has been long forgotten.

This past week an old family joke snuck up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder like an old friend.

This happened through a flurry of emails exchanged between myself, my Aunt, Uncle and cousins.

In response to one of my emails, my cousin wrote me:

I also remember the plaque on the wall of the kitchen:

“Fürchte dich nicht, glaube nur!”

(Mark 5:36)

We used to make fun of it, saying…

“Freak da Deek Neek, Cow Manure”….

Haha…
Sorry, hate to wax sacreligious…

As I read this e-mail, it all came back to me.

I immediately envisioned my Aunts’s kitchen in the 1960’s. She and her family had a lovely home in Virginia, not far from Washington D.C.

I visited there often and enjoyed playing with her two sons, my cousins. We would climb trees, play games, watch television. Sometimes we would walk to the end of their street where a ravine overlooked a major highway, Route 66, which led straight to the nation’s capital. From there, we would often count the Herbies (or Volkswagens) as they whizzed by.

My Aunt also had another young son and infant daughter, which I grew to love dearly as well.

Their family lived in a large multi-level house tucked into a huge wooded backdrop. There was a huge wooden deck and even a tire swing in the back.

The kitchen included the latest brown modern appliances with wallpaper in an orange motif.

On one of the walls, hung a brown wooden plaque engraved in a traditional German style script bearing the formidable Baptist religious message:

“Füerchte dich nicht, glaube nur!”

Which in English translates into:

“Fear not, only believe!”

In the middle was a large kitchen table where my cousins and I shared many noisy mealtimes, chatting, laughing and being typical children.

At one point during the meal, one of my cousins would suddenly put on the sternest faces they could muster, stand up, point to the plaque on the wall and give their phonetically revised rendition of above said plaque:

“Freak da Deek Neek, Cow Manure”….

Of course, that’s when we all lost our compose and fall upon each other in heaps of uncontrollable laughter.

How could any child not love that carefully constructed homonymous series of words, (or wordy wanna-bees) with the irresistibly wicked kicker…

“Cow manure,” for an ending.

If I try hard enough, I can still hear our delicious snickers.

After a few minutes, we would finally compose ourselves and then check our clothes and placemats to clear off the bits of food we were chewing before they were unceremoniously spewed from our mouths while we laughed.

Only when it was all over, and our stomachs were sore from laughing, would we then turn our attention back to the meal.

The incredible beauty of this scene is that not only did it happened once or twice, but virtually every time we gathered at this same table.

We laughed over this same amusing string of words over and over again with almost every meal. All it took was for someone to choose the most unsuspecting moment to spring it upon the others who were gathered at the table.

It never got old.

And so, it happened again this week…

Once again, one of my cousins sent me an email, and caught me totally unaware with an eclectic moment from our past…

…And I was laughing and feeling like I was eleven years old all over again.

Thank you cousins.

We’ve got to get us some of those signs to put in our own kitchens!

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

08 Sunday Mar 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Blogs, Family, Food, Stories

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Tags

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 114: Strawberry Shortcake Blues

13 Friday Feb 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Children, Entertainment, Humour, Life, Toys

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Children, daughters, Education, Humour, life, Strawberry Shortcake, Toys

Being a young girl who loved to play with Barbies, I learned that keeping them looking neat and getting their hair properly coiffed was an ongoing challenge.

Similarly, my daughter had a Strawberry Shortcake doll with Barbie doll attributes. This Strawberry Shortcake doll was made of the same materials, had bright red hair and moveable limbs.

So, imagine my pleasant surprise when after months of play, my daughter’s Strawberry Shortcake doll’s hair was still store bought perfect.

Her tresses always remained in place and never needed combing.

Her hair even smelled like strawberries.

Then came the fateful evening when I had to attend a meeting and left my daughter and her Strawberry Shortcake Doll in the care of her father.

When I arrived home my daughter was asleep for the night.

Imagine my horror when I walked into the bathroom to find Strawberry Shortcake in the bathroom sink. Picking it up, I saw that her once perfect hair was standing straight up as if she had received the fright of a lifetime.

Through her painted on smile, I could sense her silent scream.

As hard as I tried to smooth her battered tresses, there was no calming them down.

I found my husband in the living room.

“What happened?” I asked my husband showing him the doll.

He gave me an glum look.

“That happened during potty time,” he replied.

“She accidentally dropped it,” he said with a wince.

“And…” I asked.

“You figure it out.”

The answer was now obvious.

I immediately gave the poor doll a thorough washing and shampooed her hair twice.

Needless to say, by this point, the scent of strawberries was long gone.

After combing out her squeaky clean hair I tied a wide ribbon around the doll’s head hoping through the night that her hair would dry back into place.

The next morning, I was met with unsuccessful results.

Not only was the hair a wiry mess, but she had lost her new toy sheen. Her legs and arms were difficult to move.

Nevertheless, my daughter still loved her and included her in her daily activities. It was very heartwarming to see that my daughter still played with Strawberry Shortcake like nothing had happened.

And to this day, she still fondly remembers her Strawberry Shortcake doll, imperfect hair, dull complexion, sticky joints and all.

This has been a wonderful object lesson for me.

As a her mother I am now content in the knowledge that when I get old, chances are very good that like her Strawberry Shortcake doll, my daughter will still love me and want to include me in all her daily activities…

…Even though by then, my hair will be a wiry mess,

…And my arms and legs won’t work so well,

…And I no longer smell like strawberries.

My.Daily.Diversion ~ Post Ninety-Six: An Aria By Any Other Name Is Still An Aria

26 Monday Jan 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Children, Raising Children

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Children, Dance, dolls, Dune, names

image

In grade 12 I finished writing a small book of 32 poems and was about to get it published.

The name I chose for my book of poetry was:

Aria: A Song Written For One Voice.

I can still remember the day my Aunt showed me the layout along with the artwork.

As it turns out, I became engaged to my high school sweetheart. I then put the project on the proverbial back burner.

In the end, the book was never published.

When I had my first daughter in 1980, we called her Jennifer.

A few years later, there were so many Jennifers that whenever I called her name, many different Jennifers answered.

When considering names for my second daughter, I wanted something a little more obscure.

I was eight months pregnant, when I found myself watching the 1984 movie DUNE. There was a reference to Princess Alia when I suddenly was reminded of the name of my unpublished poetry book…

…Aria.

In that moment I decided I was going to name my daughter Aria.

But of course, one does not give a child such an unusual name without consequences.

Aria was about four years old when she informed me that she did not like her name.

“What name do you like?” I asked her.

“Cindy,” she replied.

I then told her that her name is Aria and we would continue to call her Aria.

Not long after that, I learned that she had renamed all of her dolls Cindy.

There they sat in a row all along her bed:

Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, Cindy and Cindy.

And so it continued for a number of years.

She seemed to have found her niche in the family by always having some sort of civil protest up her sleeve.

…And then there was the fart dance.

Indeed, even when she agreed to accompany me to a picket line at work, it was not the fact that she had joined us on the picket line that impressed my C.U.P.W. brothers and sisters. It is the vision of her doing the moonwalk on the picket line that we will never forget.

My Mother always teased me that by saying:

“Well, you wanted to name her something different, and you sure got something different all right!”

Indeed.

I am happy to announce that Aria has now finally come to terms with her name, and even likes it, or so she tells me.

That’s one civil protest down, five hundred left to go.

You may ask that if I had the chance to go back and do it all over again, would I still name her Aria?

Absolutely!

May God grant us strength.

My.Daily.Diversion ~ Post Eighty-Four: We Need More Song Cues

13 Tuesday Jan 2015

Posted by duckykoren in Children, Children's Education, Education, Entertainment, Music

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Bram, Children, Family, Happy Thoughts, Lois, Nylons, Schnitzel House, Sharon, Sharon Lois And Bram, Singing, song cues, Songs, Television, The Elephant Show, The Nylons, tickle, variety shows

Does anyone remember singing?

No one ever seems to sing anymore.

There was a time when I couldn’t even walk to my fridge before a television variety show song cue introduced yet another famous celebrity singing a show tune.

But no more.

I know for a fact that there are lots and lots of fun little songs out there that can be sung alone or with someone else.

Singing was something people use to do to pass the time, to raise spirits, bring comfort, and to praise.

And who doesn’t enjoy a pretty melody from time to time?

One of my favourite joys are children’s shows which are always introducing youngsters to music. The lyrics are ridiculously easy to remember and they are humorous as well.

My kids were raised on Sharon Lois and Bram, the ones who gave us ‘The Elephant Show’ best known for it’s theme song:

‘Skinamarinkadink’.

If you have never heard them sing this song, then in my opinion…

…you have not lived.

Do yourself a favour and Google it one day. And while you’re at it be sure and look up their episode of when one of my favourite bands, THE NYLONS appeared on their show and sang “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” Even Johnny Carson was bowled over with their version of that song.

And when I was young it was Sesame Street, Mister Rogers, Mr. Dressup, Howdy Doody, Captain Kangaroo, that got everyone singing.

Now, when I was a child, there was one song that was our personal family favourite. Every now and again my Father would reach back in time and dust off this wonderfully silly song decades later and take it for a test drive. Of course, I would always join in.

Grampa Schnitzel would both begin and end his half hour children’s show with these following tuneful lyrics:

‘The Schnitzel House’

“Is this not a little mouse?
Ya, this is a little mouse,
Is this not a Schnitzel House?
Ya this is a Schnitzel House,

…Little Mouse
…Schnitzel House

Inky dinky inky dinky
Inky dinky
Schnitzel House.”

You know, just writing that out gave me a tickle.

I really should take my own advice and sing that song every day.

Guaranteed happy thoughts…

Certainly, something this world can use a little more of.

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