Okay. It’s over but for the remains. No matter how little I try to eat each year, I waddle away from the table. I always swear that I’ll never do that again, knowing full well that in a year I’ll do the same damn thing. This year I felt particular pangs of conscience. There are, again, too many starving people in the world for me to eat the Thanksgiving meal without wondering how many our feast could feed.

Each year the turkey that we purchase gets smaller and smaller. No more the 25 lbs. behemoths. I’ve definitely said good bye Toms and hello to Hens. Yet, there’s still too much. The spirits don’t eat as much as I think they will. They still hover about me as I fix the meal. They critique and bemoan. They harp on and inveigle. Thanksgiving just wouldn’t be the same without them. Though I’d be willing to give it a go. (more…)

Let me set the scene: it’s a brisk spring day in Paris. The HB and I are at the Museé d’Orsay. For many reasons, it’s our favourite museum. It’s more than the contents, though that can’t be beat. It has an incredible collection of modern art especially the Impressionists.

It’s more than the structure: it was a railway station that has been converted magically into a light-filled ode to art. It’s impossible to describe the feeling of entering the building. Its long central hall has rooms filled with treasures off to each side. At the far end there is an exhibit for the child in each of us: miniatures of the great buildings of Paris, including a cut-away of the Paris Opera. The best though is the exhibit in the floor under glass of the Opera district of Paris with Haussmann’s boulevards in their full glory. Adults react to this model in reverential awe. Children always get it right, they start walking all over the glass. They treat this Lilliputian Paris as the fun thing it’s meant to be.

It’s more than the ambience: from the huge railway clocks to the wonderful restaurants, it’s a welcoming palace of art. There is one restaurant, on the quay-side of the museum; that is moderately priced and serves excellent food. This is where my story begins.

We had a wonderful meal. I had an outstanding Potage Crecy (a creamy carrot soup). We were well-sated when we strolled back out to the museum. Then, nature called. “Need to ‘spend a penny’” I said. HB and I aimed for the loo. These particular conveniences were located down a narrow hall and across from one another. (more…)

I have been reading some fanciful tales about presidential approval ratings lately. On the right end of the political spectrum, their collective memories are betraying their prejudices. The claim, to paraphrase, is that Bush’s poll numbers aren’t any worse than Clinton’s were. Ergo: Bush is not truly sliding into the cellar. He’s merely in a little slump.

Facts are such stubborn things. They have this inconvenient way of interfering with what we choose to believe. First of all, you will need to understand something about polls and polling. The most reliable polls are the big ones. Why? Because they have the resources to do have a large sample and to do it properly. They also have trained people working for them who don’t try to skew either the questions or the results. How can I say this? If you’re a pollster and you skew your results, you will be discarded like yesterday’s newspaper: It’s bottom of the birdcage time. (more…)

Now you’ll remember my friend who went to Mexico and met up with Montezuma, and his revenge. Well, I had another bud who actually tried to change history, his own.

My friend, Dick, grew up in a time when there was still a draft. A real military draft, not just registering and forget about it like now. Dick was about to get drafted out of college and so he joined the Air Force. He figured that would keep him out of the trenches. Unfortunately, for him, world events intervened and he was sent to Korea. Not knowing how long the conflict in Korea would go on, Dick decided that he had to find a way home. (more…)

I say HOORAY for technology! I made it through this election cycle without picking up the phone and finding some push-poll or political operative on the other end.

As I’ve said before, I have no shame when it comes to avoiding annoying telephone calls. Furthermore, I have no patience for telephones games of any sort. I will put up with a legitimate telephone poll, but they are few and far between. As to the others, they can get stuffed! My ear drums will not be assaulted!

So I have done everything I can to avoid unwanted calls. I’m on the National Do-Not-Call list. I have distinctive ring tones on my mobile for everyone whom I may or may not want to talk to. Finally, I have caller ID on the home phone.

If I get any call that says “unknown caller” or even if I don’t recognise the name and/or number, I let it ring. And ring. And ring. I have no guilt whatsoever. Let them deal with my voice mail. My meals have been so peaceful. My television viewing has been blissfully uninterrupted. Conversations could take place without annoyance. When I did go to vote, I had a smile on my lips.

Now if there were only a way to stop junk mail. Of course, I laughed maniacally as I shredded the junk mail from the candidates. I was Zen-ed out during the whole run-up to the election. Ah, peace! I’m in my happy place. Caller ID: it’s a good thing.

We used to live in the hills. When you live in the hills, you know the rules of the road like the back of your hand. You know what I mean. When you park, bank your wheels. Put on the emergency brake. Keep your car in gear: preferably reverse. If you have a dodgy battery, always park going downhill so you can pop the clutch to get the engine started.

It’s all fairly easy and really logical. One of the most important things to remember is that the person coming up the hill has the right of way. Makes sense when you think about it really. If you’re coming up the hill and you have to stop, you lose momentum. This is especially true if you have a manual transmission. (more…)

My Uncle was a seriously serious person. I never really had a conversation with him until I was an adult. We just didn’t have too much in common. He did call me princess, but I always had the feeling that it was because he couldn’t remember my name.

But he still is the source of a few gut busting stories. I think that a lot of it has to do with his absent-mindedness. There was the time, for instance, when he bought a new car. It was a convertible and it was also the first time that he had a car with a radio and a cigarette lighter. He was thrilled. He headed out on the highway.

He had the top down. It was a sunny warm day. He turned on the radio. Then, he decided to have a smoke. He pushed in the lighter, it clicked right on time. He lifted it up and lit the ciggie. Ah, come on, you know what happened next. Don’t make me tell you. (more…)