Thursday, July 29, 2010


So on Wednesday, AS I was writing the last post (Signs are ineffective if your customers can’t read), recalling all my asshole customers, I was thanking Raptor Jesus for my available corn that day.  Today was going to be a fine day, everyone could have corn, everyone would be so happy. 

Then, an older man walks up, “Show me some of that corn you got on for $5/dozen.”  At this point, I think everyone already knows that this interaction isn’t going to go well.  Perhaps because I’m already on edge from recounting the previous day’s corn-horrors, and now this ornery old fuck with poor sentence structure walks up and starts ordering me around without so much as a ‘please’.  (Which we all know I cannot stand.)

archie bunker So I begrudgingly hand him a cob of my corn (freshly received the night before), wondering several things as I watch him with the cob.  How picky can someone be when the price is so low?  Is he some sort of corn expert that knows quality by inspecting the exterior of the corn?  I watched my boss eat the better part of a RAW cob on Tuesday evening (Yeah, raw).  It can’t be  substandard.  But Archie Bunker would have none of this corn, it was not good enough for him.

Archie Bunker: “This corn is OLD.  And MOULDY!”
Me: “Old?  No, we got it last night.”
Archie: “That’s a lie, this corn is old.  Smell how mouldy it is.  Look at the silk on the end, it’s rotten.  It’s supposed to be green.”
Me: “It smells like corn.” (Why am I participating in this conversation?)
Archie: “That’s mould you smell.  I don’t want any of your old, mouldy corn.”
I couldn’t help myself, after all the garbage these people have put me through over corn, I can’t take it anymore.  Not to mention it’s Wednesday, and I’m on hour 30-something of my work week already.
Me: “Well no one’s holding a gun to your head, walk away, don’t buy the corn!”
At this point, I promptly grabbed the corn, put it back in the basket and storm out of the stand and around the corner to avoid a physical outburst as well.

This is the second time this summer that I’ve been accused of being a liar by a customer, and such accusations sting.  I am nothing if not honest, perhaps even to a fault.  Not to mention, why would I lie?  What could I possibly gain?  The customer is going to go home, eat what they bought and find out the truth anyway, and then probably never return.  Besides, I don’t give two shits if he buys the corn.  I know by now if he doesn’t, somebody else will.  And calling me a liar is even worse than calling me “princess”.  No, not me, never.

Fuck that guy.

I think the worst part about all these terrible people of the corn is that I don’t understand it.  I would understand completely if people were flipping their lids because I was out of cherries.  Cherries are good for you and they’re only tasty and available about 6 weeks out of the year.  But corn?  Eating corn off any cob that wasn’t picked within the last hour is no better than eating a bunch of frozen niblets.  Buying up all the corn we have shipped in from Georgia is probably worse than if you just bought a bag of niblets, and it’s a lot less work.  And from what I understand, it’s not even very good for you, all vegies considered.  I’m so over corn.

On the plus side, my shack has a cherry-loving gopher that visits me every day:


p_00276 Aww….

Kudos to Dwayne for the Raptor Jesus Photoshop.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Signs are ineffective if your customers can’t read

In addition to being bitchy and just plain weird, it’s becoming increasingly likely that many corn-buyers in the Confed area may also be illiterate.

The corn-on-the-cob wars rage on between my fruit stand and the “Cherries” shack across the parking lot.  We are totally winning with our $5/dozen corn, but when I run out of it, bad things happen.  When Confederites come looking for their cheap corn and I am sold out, they lose their fucking minds.  To try to limit interaction with these belligerent asshats, I’ve been experimenting with my signage.  If these people can somehow KNOW that I have no corn, they can stop coming by my stand.p_00294

Originally, I was instructed to just leave the sign as is, since our corn, according to Glen, would “be $5/dozen until the end of time.”  But when I do that, people walk up and  announce, “I will take 3 dozen corn”.  What people do with 36 cobs of corn, I have no idea.  Then I have to break the bad news and suffer through numerous scowls, glares, huffs, profanities, stalk-offs and a surprising number of “Take down your damn sign” comments, and other similarly helpful suggestions. And they’re right, I should just take the sign down, but it’s a huge pain in the ass to do, so I tried simply taking down the “5” from its magnet:


After doing so, I truly felt that the altered sign illustrated my point.  The black rectangle accurately represented the empty void in my cooler where cheap corn ought to be. 
This action made a bad situation worse.  Now, people are running up excitedly asking me, “Is your corn $1 per dozen?!?!?!”

a) In what world is that big rectangle the number one?  Even from a distance?
2) How could anyone running a business possibly sell corn for $1/dozen?
c) What is with Confederites and their corn?  It’s not even that good for you!

So clearly this had to change, the simple removing of a 5 was not the winning move that would grant me relief from these people.  Something must be possible to make this no-corn concept less abstract and more easily understood.  So I make this little sign:

Nice, right?  I liked where this was going, so I slap it up on the magnet:


There shall be no more confusion now, there could not possibly be.  I am so proud of myself for having this idea, that I buy and eat two Kit Kats.

Again, I was wrong.  Time after time this summer, I have underestimated both the sheer stupidity of humans and the love that Confederites have for their ridiculously cheap corn.  The rest of that day, I still had more than half a dozen people come that day with some kind of request for either the price of my corn or a bag of the corn itself.  Really?


Thursday, July 22, 2010

Day 2 Challenge

I know I’m a few days behind on the Blogger Challenge that I’ve joined, but I’m taking the “list post” idea, doing it late and thinking outside the box.  I’m also taking this opportunity to give a shout out to my mom, who I am certain doesn’t read this, but want to recognize publicly anyway.

I love making lists.  A few weeks ago, I posted a fun list about Douchebags.  But I’m not going to make this entry a traditional list-post like that.  I just want to talk about how much I love to make lists.  I was talking to Matt today, half-conscious, half-napping after work, and I realized that the purpose of my blog is not to get discovered as a writer (I have no interest in being a writer), nor is it really to keep people apprised of my life anymore.  Sure, the blog started out when I moved to Thailand, as a way to put my shenanigans all in one location for the reading pleasure of a few close friends.  But now it’s more of an emotional release for me, similar to how I had a Livejournal quite a few years ago.  I feel like getting all my thoughts and problems out of my head and into print somehow makes them less threatening.  Without the venting outlet of a blog or a firey text message to a friend, my problems would bounce around in my mind forever with seemingly no solution.  And even though I don’t care too much if anyone reads it, because the only thing I’m trying to achieve is to get out of my own head, it secondarily offers a forum for advice or helpful insights from people who have been there before, or just want to offer their supportive words.  (I do kind of care if people read it, it’s nice.)

But lists made on the back of envelopes and scraps of paper rule my life.  I have my mother to thank for this trait of mine.  I will make list upon list upon list: groceries, chores, life, bills, 5-year plans, errands to run, etc etc.  In a similar way with my blog and my emotions, a list gets my duties out from bouncing around in my head and onto paper, where I no longer need to worry about forgetting to get them done.  I can’t forget to get them done, they’ve been immortalized on the back of a SaskEnergy envelope until they get crossed off one by one.  I just find them immensely helpful and they keep me organized and sane.  Without them, bills would not get paid, the fridge would be empty and I would have no idea how many years it would be until we can afford to start having babies and weddings (not necessarily in that order).

DSC02162  Thanks, Mom!

Handlebar Moustaches

Not as cool as people think they are.

Monday, July 19, 2010

I did it again…

I have a problem.  I have a tendency to start reading comments on web articles and YouTube videos, and then get upset and reply to them.  An article that came up on my FB News Feed (The Top 10 TV Characters of the Decade, by Sam McPherson) started out entertaining, and then some how got me thinking about feminism, and what I think it should be, but more importantly: what I do NOT think it should be.

The offending commenter was one “webdiva”, pictured here:

(Not really)

She was fairly irate that no female characters were included in the list, and wrote a particularly condescending comment: 

For example, per your top 10 list, you’d have us believe that there were absolutely no female characters during the entire decade that could qualify for that list. Even on your secondary list (spots 11-20), there’s only one female character, and that’s Carmela Soprano. You’re kidding, right? There were a lot of impressive female leads this decade, including some pretty kick-ass ones that could run circles around Carmela…
And start paying more attention to female characters, for heaven’s sake, especially those outside the Buffyverse. Sheesh, your list is so guy-biased it’s not funny. Get over it, already.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed, someone called her out for chastizing the author’s “guy-bias” (which is 2010 talk for sexism, I believe) and called her bitter (which made me chuckle).  But no, she wasn’t done with the topic: 

Nope, you don't have to be bitter to notice there's only one woman here, and she's not the best choice. Can you honestly tell me that doesn't bother you even a bit? Or in reading through the list the first time, with so many great female characters out there, did you really not notice?? Says far more about you than about me.

I know, I’m opinionated, and often, I am pretty sure that my opinion is right, but I’ve proven I can admit to being wrong.  And nothing annoys me more than to see a girl crying sexism and then calling other ladies to rally, especially if it’s over bullshit like some cyber-geeks super fave TV characters.  But even with my strong opinions, I know the difference between a news article and an opinion piece.  There’s no reason to attack someone personally over their opinion (unless it’s overly religious or based outside of fact).  For one, I think Carmela Soprano was a phenomenal character, far and away more interesting than Sydney Bristow (Alias), and Nikita, who were nothing but 1D ass-kicking females: the Lara Crofts of TV.  This doesn’t make them interesting or memorable characters, they are just female.  (And look at this list of women: WEAK)  So really, how many female characters really stand out from TV shows over the last 10 years?  I wouldn’t put any of these women on the list and can’t think of many that I would include in the ranks of House, Ari Gold, Tobias Funke or even Stephen Colbert.  Deb from Dexter, maybe?  And I want to say Tina Fey’s character from 30 Rock, but I don’t watch the show, so I can’t.  I didn’t even notice the lack of female characters, and it doesn’t bother me one bit.  This guy obviously feels that these 10 characters are awesome, and two of them are from LOST, so how seriously can I take him?  Besides, maybe the problem isn’t that this list didn’t include female characters: maybe the problem is that the female characters that DO exist in this decade are a big yawn.

Now, it’s important to note that I’ve never eagerly identified myself as a feminist, because I feel like, in the eyes of the under-informed, it would paint me as a man-hater.  I think the word carries connotations to it now that I don’t want applied to me.  I guess, like any paradigm it has radicals and moderates, it shifts and changes, and it can be totally oppressive or totally reasonable.  It’s no longer about wearing Gloria-Steinem-aviators, letting our hair down and burning our bras while asking for basic rights and equal pay.   But many of the more vocal “radical feminist” women (feminazis?) lead me to believe that to them, it’s not about equality anymore.  Rather, these self-proclaimed feminists are the ones trying to make men less-than, and crying out every time women aren’t “represented”.  They annoy me and set back the cause by crying wolf. 

I have heard Sarah Palin called a feminist.  So what does it even MEAN anymore?  As I mentioned in a Girl Power post a while back, can you oppose something like abortion rights and be a feminist?  I feel there’s no goal or target to the movement anymore, and women are just spraying it all over the place.  With this post, I intend to initiate discussion on what feminism has become, where we want it to go, and I’d like to know who’s driving.

Friday, July 16, 2010

Progress is being made, but slowly

In May, I had started the project of renewing a yard that had been much neglected, I posted the “before” photos, which were taken after a lot of clean up had been done.  But, since then we have killed the dandelions (which, unfortunately, made the lawn look worse) and trimmed a bunch of the trees back.  The caragana bushes are going to be a ridiculous undertaking to trim, so we’re not going to take that on, and they actually provide a nice privacy from our stupid neighbours with shitty, annoying, yappy litle dogs.  Anyway, if Blogger will let me format it nicely, I’m going to try to do some before/after to show the progress we’ve made.  Sorry if this turns out shitty, but please know I tried.  On the left will be the photos taken in May.  On the right, which are larger, are those taken July 11.  I was hoping the progress would be clear enough, but it might not be.IMGP3909IMGP3834










So from the deck, the backyard is looking better, the garden has come up, and also the dandelions made up 60% of the lawn, even it isn’t looking too bad.  I spread some seed on it last week, so hopefully hat helps a bit.  I’ve also decided I’m not going to paint that back fence, since it’s never been painted and it looks like much of the wood is actually on the verge of rotting.

IMGP3835 IMGP3922










The garden is finally coming up and doing something.  With all the rain and cold we had, I was worried everything I’d planted would die.  It’s not as clear, but I did plant some flowers in the small bed around the garden shed, and they are getting ready to bloom.  And, with these two side by side, it would appear that my hanging basket actually HAS grown some.












Looking pretty good.  The trees have filled in nicely since we trimmed all the small, half-dead low-hanging branches.  The lawn seems to be recovering and our potted herbs are going crazy! We’ve already harvested off of them several times and used them for cooking.















MUCH nicer.  Now that things are greening up, the lawn is being mowed regularly and somebody cares, the place actually doesn’t look half bad…  And remember how I was worried about what to do with all those dead vines on the front of the house?  Turns out they’re not dead, just late starters.  I think they give the house (and the fence on the right) awesome character.  I love them and am so pleased they came back to life.  Also, after digging a bunch of rocks out of the front flower bed, a veritable jungle of ferns showed up, so that’s cool too.

IMGP3848 IMGP3889






As you can see, the door still needs painting, but that is my project for later in the month, after the living room is painted.

In other news, Bearface is recovering and is, of course, still adorable as she watches me weed and work in the yard.  Meez, too, enjoys time spent in the yard with me.


Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Guest Author – Mattypants

A thin figure creeps out from the shadows under the bridge into the warm sunshine of an early July morning. Its hair, short and glistening; rays of light reflect from it. The street surface, lukewarm, cool and insulated beneath, offers its black-tar tiles to the early riser.

Western Meadowlarks are signalling a new day, apprehensively acknowledging the unscheduled arrival. A stray dog sniffing the remnants of someone’s late-night snack glances toward the passerby then proceeds with its task at hand, tidying the gutter with a gulp.

A dry mouth, along with instinct, provokes the sleepy-eyed stranger to quench its thirst. The cool water moistens and rouses its parched tongue, passing over its lips, profiting an energetic pink.

Unable to prevent a different biological impulse, the sex of the thirsty traveller is exposed. The revitalizing liquid has been used, absorbed. Its second-handedness excreted, revealing the obvious signs of a Y-chromosome between Jack’s thighs as he relieves himself in the shade between an old picket fence and a capitalist-sized garbage can. Like a young boy with a water pistol, his urine is directed straight but imprecise, inaccurate. It’s coloured like the rising sun and runs down the slope of cracked concrete. The epicentre separating into diminutive streams reach for Jack’s feet, which he avoids. Then, he inhales a deep lung-full of fresh air, indicating his liberation with a cheerful exhale.

The air was new, unsoiled. The cinder blanket of pollution had been pushed away by the prior evening’s wind. The soulless skyscrapers had yet to be dressed in vehicular excrement. The sky is blue except for a few wisps of stratus clouds that look like cotton balls being pulled apart. It’s a beautiful morning.

Jack continues moving through the park adjacent to his home under the bridge with his head held high. He moves with pride. His legs travelling at equal distances and equal speeds create a feline form.

Jack isn’t large, but his stature is healthy. He looks younger than he is. You can see muscles and tendons showing through his tight skin. His eyes are as blue as the gulf of Thailand. His hair is dirty blonde like pieces of hay that have been sitting in the sun—bleached and dusty. He has dirt under his nails and on the business side of his hands. It’s obvious to others that his home is everywhere: under the bridge, the bus depot, a park bench.

A cyclist hints its intentions with two short squeezes on a turkey-baster bicycle horn. Jack moves off to one side and watches the large tires pass by, which leave a wake of flower scented air.

There are many scents this morning, and he takes them all in. The dew covered grass is earthy and sweet. The river that passes through the city is wet and marine. The fecal matter coiled ten meters away--rancid. Most interesting for him, though, is the smell of eggs and bacon coming from the hotel’s kitchen around the corner.

The fatty meat and strong smelling chicken eggs are too alluring for the hungry foreigner to ignore. He follows his nose to the source. He’s been there before. The chef recognizes him and says, “Jack! Good to see you. How are you this fine, summer morning?”

Our lonely traveler is timid and doesn’t speak the same language, but understands the chef’s charity. Jack gives a nod toward the paunchy man dressed in the spotless white coat; he accepts the few pieces of bacon offered. It tastes delicious and he makes it disappear quickly, barely chewing the complimentary breakfast.

“Sorry I can’t stay and chat,” The chef says. “I’ve gotta get back to work. See ya later, Jack.” Turning to re-enter the hotel he says, “Don’t be a stranger now, ya hear.” The kind man retreats back to the kitchen.

Satisfied, Jack sits next to the kitchen door licking his lips and fingers, enjoying the savoury grease that lingers. He wipes his face with the back of his hand then stretches his legs and feet, taking in the majestic yellow sphere that’s rising higher in the sky.

He’s a simple guy. He’s been on the street for as long as he can remember. He knows how to appreciate the important things in life: the sun, clean water, and a few pieces of Canadian bacon from a generous hotel chef. He knows how to slow things down so life doesn’t pass him by.

When the sun is too hot he sleeps, which is most of the day. When it rains he takes shelter wherever possible; his only objective is to stay dry. Being wet is one of the few things Jack detests.

He moves through the streets of the city, mostly at night, avoiding the hustle and bustle of the metropolitan beehive. He has many acquaintances but only one he’d call a friend--an orange and white house-cat that he sees when he passes the large house near the university campus. They met awhile back and both took a liking to each other almost immediately, which is rare considering both of their principally independent personalities.

Jack has the type of spirit that attracts anything with a heart, anything with an ounce of compassion. His face is kind. He never speaks too loudly or arrogantly about anything. He minds his own business. He doesn’t get in the way. It doesn’t bother him that many people pass him by with exponentially more materialistic comforts. He isn’t envious; he’s happy. His soft hellos infect others, their symptoms: smiles.

The destitute, Jack, is a street-wise man. He doesn’t own a computer or a cell phone. The only thing he carries is the soft fur coat that’s been in his family for generations. In the winter it keeps him warm during the extensive cold nights when he can’t be inside: the bus-station or the shelter. He bears it in the summertime, when he sleeps, or when he wanders the streets. It keeps the heat out. It protects him from the elements.

It’s time for Jack to find his rest now.

He’s had a good day. The sun shone with perseverance, which allowed him to partake in his most favourite pleasure: sitting in the sun--laying, relaxing in the generous warmth. He was tranquil while kind people spoke to him for the few minutes they were between cars and buildings. A few shared their lunch with him, and they admired the flight patterns of birds in the park.

Oh how Jack wished he could fly.

The sun is gone now, resting peacefully underground. Jack progresses through the lamp-lit city, passing the large house by the university. He moves slowly, hoping to meet his friend who frequently lies on the wooden porch that surrounds the grand house.

Before he reached the edge of the property, before his hopes of seeing his friend were gone, he hears his friend call out. She’s meowing, “Hey, you!” and “wait up!” Her voice is soft yet pronounced, and she’s moving herself gracefully toward Jack like a sophisticated lady through a crowded ballroom.

He sits on the grass, leaning against the old elm tree on the corner of his friend’s lot. He relaxes his body and chews on a few pieces of grass while waiting for his beautiful friend.

Jack’s orange and white companion comes face to face with him and pushes her head lovingly into his. He returns the action with the same soft movement, which briefly brings their foreheads together. She pulls away and begins to lick the side of his face, cleaning his never-shaven beard with her rough tongue. He submits, enjoying the pampering strokes. His eyes close.

He only remembers one other time when he had his face cleaned by someone else. Jack was a young boy when his mother would wash his face for him; this feels similar. It feels divine, like someone scratching the spot on your back that you can’t reach. He wonders if he can return the favour to his friend who is now working on the grime from underneath his chin. She can taste something salty, something smoky.

Jack slips from the support of the elm tree and lies back, letting his friend’s coarse tongue glide gently over his chest, his stomach. He’s enjoying every second of it. He’s found a true friend. Not a social contact or partner, but one that understands him completely, like they’re one and the same. He signals his delight by purring musically into the night sky.


Jack is a kitty!  Read more of Matt’s writing on his new novel/blog here.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Great Women

For the better part of my life, most of my friends have been male.  And for those years, I assumed I wasn’t missing anything by surrounding myself with guys; male friendships were all that I needed.  After all, in elementary/high school, boys were just so much easier to get along with. Having a mom that is such an excellent female role model, I thought that I didn’t need any other women in my life.  But as I grow up, that ceases to be the case.

Throughout my first year of university, all my friends were guys.  What few girls did run in my circle of friends, were usually someone’s girlfriend, and they didn’t usually appreciate my presence.  One by one, I lost these male friends.  The girlfriend complains one too many times about hanging out with Jacquie, and they align their priorities to suit the relationship.  One too many drinks, and somebody lets their unreciprocated feelings slip out.  One too many times crashing at each other’s houses leads to mistaken impressions of a relationship, and those type of one-way feelings are what kills a friendship between the sexes.

I, of course, still do have a couple of close male friendships.  Most notably, Dewbacca and Ryan.  Dwayne and I have successfully navigated the bumpy waters of both roommatehood and platonic friendship for more than five years now, and I am very thankful for that.  Ryan, too, will be around forever, since I never have to worry about the complications due to sexual tension.  This isn’t about them, though.

Over the past couple of years, I have grown close to some great women in my life, some for the first time, some family, some coworkers and others a rekindled friendship from years ago.  All are proving to me that friendship with intelligent, amazing and like-minded women is an important part of life.

Growing up with only brothers, I found it difficult to interact and identify with other girls; that’s not to say that now I am all, “OMG shoes and makeup!!” by any stretch of the imagination. Rather, it seems that now I have found those few women who are similar enough to me that they understand how I think and function, and don’t take offense to my ways or annoy me with excessive chatter about useless bullshit.  But—and this is very important--they are still different enough that I feel like I learn from them, and that they bring something very valuable to my life table.  They are strong, intelligent, entertaining and independent women and they have truly changed what I perceive as “real” friendship.  Where before I saw someone to party or crack jokes with, I now see someone to share my secrets, thoughts and deepest fears with.  (My greatest fear, by the way, is the house catching fire with the cats inside while we are both at work.)  Conversations like, “Can you oppose abortion rights and still call yourself a feminist?” (this is actually a conversation I would like to have, somebody feel free to start it) or “What the hell is up with Whitney Port ignoring all of Kelly Cutrone’s awesome advice?”  Evidently, a very broad spectrum of possible topics exist between women.

The depth of female friendship is amazing to me, and they are not as fragile as I have been led to believe by the few problematic friendships I experienced in school.  Speaking your mind is easy, great women are great listeners, and the number of available topics is epic: books, clothes, periods, relationships, mother in laws, cats, the Hills, philosophy, art, science, health, cooking, etc. 

So I guess my real point is to thank these ladies for being in my life.  You know who you are and I really value your friendship, whether it be mostly based on internet correspondence, lunches, phone calls, text messages or days spent together at work.  You are all equally important to me and you are loved.  Plus, it’s great that you all exist now, because I will actually have people to be bridesmaids at my wedding!  That seriously worried me before, to be honest.


Spice-Girls copy

The photoshop is one of the worst I’ve ever done, but I would like to see anyone match Jamie’s skin tone to Scary Spice.  It was here that I gave up.

Love you, ladies!

Friday, July 9, 2010

An Open Letter to Shoppers

Dear Consumers,

Where are your manners?  Does your mother know you treat people this way?  Or is she the one that taught you that it’s OK to be a pain-in-the-ass/self-entitled asshole?  What ever happened to saying ‘please’ or ‘thank you’?  Since it’s obvious that many of you have never had a position in retail, I’ll let you in on a little secret: saying please, thank you or even just smiling at customer service workers really means a lot to them.

I work two jobs in the summer time, and it just so happens that this year, both of them are in retail.  I’ve noticed a disturbing trend among many customers from all walks of life: People are effing rude!  Many people approach, completely ignore my friendly greeting, avoid eye contact with me, and start ordering me around as if I were their personal servant.  “Give me two of these.” Or, “I’ll take one of those.”

Well, Saskatoon: I am not your servant and your sense of fucked-up entitlement is exhausting to deal with.  Reality check: No one who rings through your Canadian Tire purchases or serves you meals at a restaurant is yours to order around and treat like dirt under your shoe.  Instead of passing judgement about why you THINK we work in what you seem to view as a “menial” job or unimportant job, first realize that you know nothing about us, and therefore you don’t have any idea why we work in these positions.  And the reasons we have are not any cause for you to look down your nose at us or disrespect us.

Some of us are students, working our way to becoming doctors, lawyers, writers or teachers.  Some of us are single moms, working hard to make ends meet and give our families what they need.  Some of us started in the job and realized we’re REALLY good at it, and we just plain love it.  Some of us are wives/mothers who need something to fill their day while their kids are in school.

Whatever the reasons, they are good ones for us, and should be of no consequence to you, the customer.  Ever person working for their living is equally worthy of respect and good treatment, whether they are your doctor or your grocery store teller. 

So please, next time you walk up to a cashier or into a restaurant, and are greeted with a smile and hello, return the greeting and maybe even use a few pleases when you ask for things, rather than giving orders.  It makes our day so much more pleasant, and you might even find it makes your own day better, too.

Jacquie (on behalf of all those in a customer service/retail job)

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Ninjittens (Ninja-kittens)

Here is a video that I took with my phone a couple of months ago.  Bearface plays on the bed and is joined by the late Skinny Pete. 

Sunday, July 4, 2010


I have compiled a list of wonderful visitors that I’ve had at the fruit stand thus far.  I have also assigned random “awards” to a few deserving recipients, but you are all loved.  And I really hope I haven’t forgotten anyone….

Jamie B – Best drink bringer
Daniel T
Jason and Alisha – Hottest couple
Pierrette and Darryl T – Best parents
Raeanne A – Farthest Traveled (Chile!)/Best treat (homemade Lemon poppyseed loaf!)
Andrea N/Savannah N
Alex L – Most Random/Best “being shot” story
Jamie S – Best shirt (Hooters!)
Janet S – Best kids
Darlene N
Brett M – Most accidental
Matt – Most handsome
Jaclyn A – Best dressed
Graham A – Most unexpected
Melissa W
Mel C – Best dog
Megan G – Most adorable
Dannis Fisher-Hendry – Best bad timing

Noticeably absent:
Kurt K
Dwayne E
Ryan S
Terri P