And now for something completely different

If you remember the Muppet Show, you know why this is funny:

The Ancestral Pile

We don't do Christmas presents in our family. It simplifies things remarkably. I'm enough of a Scrooge to have extended that policy to my entire network of friends as well.

Sometimes, though, if there's an event, or the perfect gift, we break the rule.

This falls into the "perfect gift" category:

Aerial photos of the farm. Taken in late July, just as the canola is starting to bloom. The first photo is the view from the east, and the second is the view from the north.

I am blown away. I don't think I had ever told my mother that I'd hoped to have a copy of all the aerial photos taken throughout the years in a progression.

I suspect she's digging for the older photos right now.

I am steamed. Really, truly steamed.

I just got a heads up on a Yahoo news story about the possibility of re-opening the abortion debate.

The Honourable Member for Winnipeg South, Rod Bruinooge is reportedly the head of a secret parliamentary committee that appears to be aiming to criminalize abortion.

That is wrong.

A woman should never, ever be required to carry a fetus to term, if she is unwilling or unable. I don't care if the woman in question is 17 or 57. If she doesn't want it, or is unable to care for it, or is the victim of unspeakable violence, a woman should not have to risk her life to bear a child she does not want or is unable to care for.

Period. End of discussion.

If I were pregnant, and felt that termination was my only (and right) choice, I would want to have the procedure in a safe environment.

Criminalizing abortion will not end abortion. It will just send abortion procedures and providers underground or south of the border. Mr. Bruinooge, you've got some 'splaining to do. You can expect my letter shortly.

Either abortion remains legal, or you (and I mean you, Mr. Bruinooge) can bear the next unwanted baby that comes around. Then, maybe (and that's a big maybe) you can tell me what to do with my body.

And... the holiday obligations are over.

I spent the afternoon with my grandparents.

Seeing how much joy they got from sitting around and yakking with me for a couple hours makes me think that it is something I should do more often. Really, it wasn't really that much time out of my life, to drive an hour down the road and make two old fogies insanely happy. It's the rest of the family that drives me crazy. I actually like my grandparents.

And did we ever talk. We talked about the gang problem in the inner city, violence in Africa, how I'm doing at work, the differences in accounting designations, knitting, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and acoustics, how Anglican services are strange but nice (they are soooo not Anglican, and neither am I), how Christmas was nice because they had holopchi and borscht, not turkey and dressing. We talked about their children (one of whom is my mother), plans for their funerals, genealogy. We talked about just about everything.

They spent a great deal of time talking about how interesting it was that my brothers are such engaged fathers. They were baffled by seeing a father jump up and take his two-year-old daughter to the bathroom when she yelled "PEE!" at the top of her lungs (it would be terrible to get the Dora panties dirty, doncha know).

I told my grandparents that I expected no less of my brothers.

Oi! Christmas!

Me: You know, I have a problem with Christmas. It's meaning has been completely perverted. If you give a gift, in the true sense of the word, it's freely given. No obligation.

Dad: You're right. You know, I was doing...(a job, on a thing that I don't understand) and I was talking to this nice young fellow (whose expertise is also a thing that I don't understand) and he gave me this doohickey.... and then he asked me to make some other doohickey (by the way, my dad is a blacksmith, and a damn fine one) and I told him that was a fair exchange. The fellow said no. I gave you a gift. I want to pay you for the doohickeys.

Me: Dad. You just received a gift. You don't value yourself enough. You are a good man. You are deserving of gifts.

Dad: Oh, well, I just like to work hard...

Me: Dad. Shut Up. You deserve a gift.

Dad: Oh.

Yes. Dad. You deserve gifts. You are a good man. You are the best man in my life. Don't sell yourself short. Please.

Later:

Me: And guess what? Jesus was probably black!

Dad: Yeah, and honestly, being born in a stable was a blessing! That was divine intervention. It was quiet, without the drink and the gambling, and nice clean straw is better than whatever passed for a bed in the day.
............................

Aaaw Dad. I agree that Jesus was a pretty cool guy. No argument on the hygiene either. That's a pretty sweet perspective. Makes me want to believe.

Happy Yule

From all of us at Chez Peepee.

Playing host to Flat Stanley

Have you heard about Flat Stanley? It's a story about a kid who gets squished, somehow, and realizes that he can fit into an envelope, and decides to travel the world.

I don't know this story (I remember a story about sentient brown wrapping paper), but when one of my Ravelry peeps put the call out for destinations, I responded. Here's a diary of how Flat Stanley and I spent our Saturday (frankly, it was nice to have company).

Flat Stanley was disgustingly under-dressed, but Saturday was a nice day - only -16C, with the wind chill making it -33C. That's the nicest day we've had for a week, here in WinterPeg.

We started off at Portage and Main, a well-known landmark. It is the windiest corner, well, anywhere as far as I know. What makes it special is that this corner was immortalized in a song (Prairie Wind) written by Randy Bachman and performed by Neil Young (there's sound, so be warned when you click those links):

And as you can see, it was windy.

Stanley was unimpressed that this famous intersection is not pedestrian-friendly. We had to go underground to cross the street.

Then Stanley decided that he was under-caffeinated, so we stopped at the Canadian landmark that is on every god-damn corner, and got ourselves a coffee.


I took pity on poor Stanley, and we spent a few moments indoors. We checked out the statue of Timothy Eaton (and rubbed his toe for good luck, as is tradition):


Sadly, though, it was back outdoors, down Memorial Boulevard to have his photo taken in front of the Manitoba Legislative Building. He very kindly included me in the photo:

At that point, I looked at my watch, and realized we were going to be late for my shift at the yarn shop. So, we hoofed it down the road.

Stanley was not impressed with what a country girl like me considers a nice stroll:


He was all “fuck that shit, I’m not getting out of this bag, lady, you enjoy yourself.” So, I did:


I took pity on him for a moment, but then made him get out of my bag to have his picture taken in front of the oldest curling club in Winnipeg. Curling is an adults-only sport if there ever was one – until recently, smoking and drinking were allowed on the ice. Sadly, I never got the hang of it.

He was much more comfortable in the yarn shop. He warmed up with the Freedom Wool and Malabrigo worsted:

After my shift, we flew home, and relaxed for a bit. With wine and a smoke:

Stanley is a mooch. He was bumming smokes the whole time.

But, soon, it was time to head off to the pub(s).

We ran into Santa:

And a naughty Santa he was! He spanked me, because apparently, I have not been a good girl. Seemed to be good buds with Stan, too.

And we found some buddies:


Well, Stanley and I got home about 3:30 AM, and needless to say, the two of us were useless Sunday. But, we had a wonderful time with all my peeps!
I think I need some downtime. I don’t think I can handle the pace when Stanley’s around.