Those Nasty, Disagreeable Foods

You'll be glad to know that I never talk to my food.

I find holding a conversation with something I'm about to eat somewhat disconcerting. Food has talked to me though. (Occasionally I'll hear a "eat me, eat me" coming from a plate of moo shu chicken.) I've learned to accept that.

Lately though I've been having an increasingly difficult time with food that is blatantly disagreeable. I don't understand quite why. It's not that I go out of my way to aggravate it. I love food. I'm not disrespectful and I've never had a food fight. And I've never ever spoken badly about an egg salad when one is in the room.

Rather than getting into an argument I've chosen to stay away from some foods. Maybe it's a Canadian thing – avoiding conflict. Spicy foods, who I used to love, have now become tops on my list of foods that love to disagree with me without reason. Still, rather than cause a fuss, I stay away.

Broccoli has spoken back to me (in an elevator no less). And I've learned a tasty Enchilada con chile colorado holds the power to clear a full floor of an office tower. Potato salad, meatballs, borscht, sauerkraut, certain species of dim sum, and escargot have all been downright rude. It's affected my life. I've completely stopped going into big box stores after being caught completely unawares in the middle of one after a heaping helping of seafood chowder (try to find a washroom in a store the size of several football fields).

So, I've been forced to carefully pick the foods I associate with. Now, with autumn coming and windows being closed and all, I must remain extra vigilant. I may be down to weak tea and digestive biscuits by early December...

...they're very polite.

Gotta Love Those Figures

Trending on the last post (learn, grow, share), one of the less sexy but more interesting aspects of my work is teaming with esteemed lecturers to help explain, illustrate and educate the next generation.

But figures? What's with those? They're the stick figures of art, one step away from (shudder) tables for crying out loud! Until I met Milos and his study of epidemiology I would have agreed. Now I know in some cases it's not about the art, but what it says.

According to Wikipedia, epidemiology is "the study of health-event, health-characteristic, or health-determinant patterns in a society. It is the cornerstone method of public health research, and helps inform policy decisions and evidence-based medicine by identifying risk factors for disease and targets for preventive medicine."

As in medical diagnoses, marketing decisions for treatment can be either appropriate and inappropriate. Indeed, creative directors diagnose their clients' needs everyday.

In the above Figure 2.1, (with apologies to Milos) I finally find scientifically reasoned validation for the inclusion of the cartoon illustration in marketing materials. Woo-hoo!

The Thing About Threes

My mother, the daughter of a Nova Scotia train stationmaster, first introduced me to the fact that things happen in threes.

If two things happened, there was sure to be another. "There's the third one," I can still hear my mother say. We all knew what she meant. It was a simple rule of nature in our house, one that may or may not have to do with luck.

Luck itself (from the 1480's Low German luk) somewhat ironically has three aspects: it is either good or bad, it is by accident or chance, and it applies to a person (it's a personal thing).

We live in a 3 dimensional world. We have: the past, present and the future; up, here and down; in front, here and behind; Larry, Moe and Curly Joe and the Three Musketeers. It's only natural that things happen in threes. Processes also happen in threes. The beginning, the middle and the end of great story lines. Meeting, connecting and doing of great partnerships, and the learning, growing and sharing of great innovations.

Gotta go. Want to be early to prep for an appointment. Hope the client shows up on time. Otherwise I'll be late for my next one.

Everything's Worth Nothin' Until It's Paid For

As of the mid-2010's there were 15 million IT professionals, 9.5 million physicians and between 10 to 15 million engineers worldwide. All highly paid professionals, all with a healthy disposable income, and all known for leading generally humorless lives.

Laughter boosts the immune system, triggers the release of endorphins, improves the function of blood vessels, increases blood flow and reduces the chances of heart attacks. But professionals, especially those in the fields above, won't take the time for a snort, a guffaw or a chortle. They are humor deprived. Why? Because it uses up valuable time and it's free. Laughing is considered to be a waste of time. But what would happen if they paid for it?

You see where I'm heading here. Charge people to laugh? Ridiculous?

How many of us have been on vacation and it hasn't turned out to be the splendid time we wished it would have been but we've said to ourselves, "Hell, I've paid a lot of money for this vacation and I'm damned well going to enjoy myself!" Or imagine not paying a shrink several hundred dollars an hour to talk about our neuroses. What value would that be then? We might as well be talking to an absolute stranger about our innermost thoughts. User fees are all around us in night classes, community services and parking lots. We have pay-per-view movies, pay-per-use cell phones and pay-per-click ads. Nothing is valuable until you pay for it. And if you're paying hard-earned cash to do something you tend to find time to work it into your schedule.

By 2018, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, there will be 2,125,700 top executives just in the United States alone. All earning from hundreds of thousands of dollars to more than $1 million annually. You won't find many of them laughing, I'll bet. Unless someone were to give them the opportunity to pay for it. Picture this: soundproof, strategically situated pay-per-laugh kiosks outfitted with two things: a fun house mirror and a list of laugh-at-yourself tips on the back of the door. Brilliant, right?

If I'm not around in the coming days I'm out trying to find old pay toilets to renovate.

I'm Fine Thinking Inside My Box, Thank You

"I'll be more enthusiastic about encouraging thinking outside the box when there's evidence of any thinking going on inside it." – Terry Prachett  

I have a box. I fill it with stuff. You have one too. Sometimes I put stuff from my box into yours and sometimes you put stuff from your box into mine. I do all my best thinking in there.

If, for some reason, I'm not happy with my box and the thinking I'm doing inside of it – I'll renovate. It's my box after all. I own it free and clear. I can move my box, downsize my box, expand my box, and/or redecorate my box. Why on earth would I want to leave it in order to think, just because someone says I should?

The wise amongst us know that it's not really about the box at all. It's about what we fill it with. Hopes, dreams, wisdom, life's lessons, facts, loves, memories, worries, happy thoughts, favorite food thoughts, wishes and bad hair day thoughts. What we choose to have in our box gives us perspective. And perspective gives us maturity and independent thought. It's our unique point of view. (Even if it is wacky at times.)

So to those of you who think I should think outside my box: go away. Just go away. You don't know my box. You're so cliché.

Maybe your box could use some freshening up. Just saying.

A Miraculous Discovery

We have this machine at work. I didn't know what it was for. They don't normally let me near anything mechanical.

But yesterday when no one else was around I innocently sauntered over. The screen said "enter quantity." Liking the number three I pressed three on the keyboard. Instantly a round green button began flashing. I pressed it. Glory be, if three sheets of clean, freshly-made paper didn't appear in the tray!

A paper-making machine!

I'm thinking we must have been picked to test a prototype. This could save the rain forests of the world!

I kept the three sheets as evidence. If I can I'm going back in today to get some video.

Gotta go. The refrigerator is making ice!

Brother Exhibits Himself, Gets 45 Days

(detail)

So I have this brother named Rod. He's like REALLY old (and ugly). He has had a camera strung from his neck since he was like fifteen (which is about when the camera was invented). An award-winning photojournalist, he is now so old he is RETIRED. His hair is totally grey, he drools at times and wears spectacles.

But there's nothing wrong with his vision...

...or his sense of drama...

 ...or his love of nature...

...or his poignant depictions of the past.

So, if you're sailing around the Ottawa/Almonte area in the coming days, you might want to pop by his exhibit/sale at the Heirloom Café Bistro, 7 Mill Street, Almonte. It begins this Saturday (the 17th of September – it's his 65th birthday) and the opening is between 2:30 – 4:30. The show continues until the 31st of October.

I hear it's a nice place and you can get fed while you're feasting your eyes.

Hours and map information here. Or call 613 256-9653.

If you go, give him a hug for me. He's not so bad.

Where To Dispose Of Your Unwanted Yorks

These days it's difficult to know just how to properly dispose of our unwanted items. We must be both vigilant and responsible.

Recently, I discovered Yorks must be a special concern along the line of asbestos, nuclear waste or yesterday's cabbage rolls. Evidently you can't just chuck them in a bin along with your regular household trash. After all, they have their own dumpster disposal site.

I don't exactly know what a York is but I posted a notice on FB as a public service once I discovered this location. In response, a relieved friend told me he had several dozen unwanted Yorks stacked up in his shed. Another said he got so tired of looking at his, he tried to bury some in the backyard but they killed the plants around the burial site. Evidently the tomatoes in close proximity plucked themselves and made themselves into Gazpacho. And yet another asked if they took new Yorks as well as old Yorks (although I suspect she was punning me).

I still don't know what they are but these folks appeared relieved to know how to dispose of them properly. And that's good enough for me.

So let me know if you have some Yorks you want to dispose of and I'll shoot you the coordinates...

Show Me The...

Something about summer coming to a close that gets the blood a-boiling. No more lazy summer days, lollygagging in the hammock with small, cute forest creatures catering to my every whim. I'm going to make some money. And I don't mean the wishy-washy chump change. I'm talking serious bucks. No more Mr. Niceguy. No-o-o-osir-r-rie Bob. From now on, it's all about the money.

Cold hard cash. Buy low sell higher. Dollareenies. Moolah. Gimme the green. I'm opening up a big can of whoopcash and putting a million dollar bill on my forehead. Bring it on. I'm gonna to brush my teeth with hundred dollar bills, travel to lands far away in my own private jet, cruise down to the islands on a whim, heck, buy the islands, set the people free and let them pay taxes to ME. Six mansions in six different countries around the world including a chateau in France and a villa in the Riviera. My staff will have staff. I'll be courted by the rich and famous for membership in their golf clubs, attendance at their polo parties, sought after to marry daughters and asked to be godfather to their grandchildren.

Ummm, so got a spare million? Seed money. I'll give you bragging rights.

Tomorrow: how to spend a million dollars in 24 hours.

The Understated Vine

"Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,
Whose weakness, married to they stronger state, 
Makes me with they strength to communicate."
– William Shakespeare

I'm celebrating vines today because I wanted to celebrate something and when I looked out my bedroom window this morning I discovered some vines had grown up the outside of the screen. And like the old tribes who named their babies after the first thing they saw when they walked out of the teepee after the birth, I said to myself, "Right, vines it is!"

Vines are a funny thing. They can't grow up (or out) unless they cling to things because their woody stems aren't strong enough to support their leaves. But in doing so they give us grapes, pumpkins, melons, peas and beans. So you can't really blame them for clinging on. It takes a special fixed object to allow them to do so.

On an exterior wall they cover a bad paint job, on a garden fence they drape nicely in a decorative fashion. And where would Tarzan have been without vines to swing on? Vines have been used for centuries in the creation of fiber art - particularly basketry and clothing. Some of the oldest archeological sites in southeast Asia include kudzu fiber clothing and basketry. Kudzu, a type of vine from southeast China and Japan, where it is cooked and eaten, is said to have medicinal properties that has shown promise for treating Alzheimers disease and is prescribed as a remedy for alcoholism and hangover in China. They grow quickly and have shown to be an effective defense against soil erosion in the deforested section of the central Amazon Basin in Brazil.

Vines are not the only things that cling, of course. Static clings to clothes, a child clings to their mother when they're afraid, fleas cling to cats, Linus clings to his blanket and we cling to hope that things will turn out for the better.

And they do, when we find things to celebrate.

Just Don't Call Me Late For Dinner

Fun with words is a regular topic here and nothing is more 'funner' than a sentence with a double meaning, commonly known as a double entendre. (Sort of what puns become when they grow up.) For writers and other reprobates who do that on purpose it's a way of inserting wit and humor into their day and livening up their work. (How dare they assume their readers have a sense of humor.)

There are a couple of ways of making one, but mostly, double entendres make use of one word in a sentence that has two different meanings. In the example above, the word "call" could mean addressing you by name ("I'm going to call you Maurice, after the Rocket"), or it could mean making a call on a phone. ("Let me call you a cab.") But you knew that.

The most common examples use an innocent expression combined with a second meaning that is naughty in nature, like (cover your eyes Auntie), "I can't leave her behind alone." Groucho made good use of this kind. His most famous naughty double entendre may well be "If I told you you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?" Benny Hill, Mel Brooks and John Cleese also made good use of this one.

Another Groucho gem, "I once shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got in my pajamas I'll never know."

Used with a modicum of taste, double meanings of words can be great wordplay and engage listeners or readers. Even Sir Winston Churchill understood this. “A politician is asked to stand, wants to sit, and is expected to lie.” 

But my favorite double entendres have to be the ones that crop up innocently in the course of normal conversation, have me rolling on the floor with the person who uttered it going "What? WHAT?"

Quick Response Code Play

Above, an ad currently running in the newspaper. You'll notice the weird graphic that acts as the main visual. If you can't read it, the text under reads: (code for: "better rates and cheaper loans").

This visual is a QR Code. With the use of a smart phone and a free app (mine's called QR Reader), viewers can scan the code and be taken to a web site, a restaurant's menu, a museum piece's historical information, a coupon, a résumé or a myriad of other information pieces. This one takes the reader to the credit union's web site. For those without a smart phone, the URL is placed at the bottom of the ad.

Emerging from Japan in 1994, a Toyota subsidiary developed the code for keeping inventory. During the month of June 2011, according to one study, 14 million U.S. mobile users scanned a QR Code or a barcode. 58% of those users scanned a QR or bar code from their home, while 39% scanned from retail stores. 60% of the 14 million users were men between the age of 18-34.

Last year I witnessed two young men talking while walking by a poster that had a QR Code on it. One interrupted the other by saying, "Hold on a minute." He walked over to the poster and quickly scanned the code. Two seconds later they resumed their conversation and walked on.

At that moment I was sold. It's not a total solution but it is a viable tool to connect viewers to more information. Used appropriately people will find it a valuable addition to their information sources.

Trash Can Legacy

Once in a while I'll meet someone in the community and explain what I do and a little while later we'll run across each other and they'll ask, "Oh, did you do the garbage cans?" And I blush.

Artists throughout history have had that one big signature piece that defines their career. Michelangelo had his Sistine Chapel. Beethoven had his 9th. DaVinci had his Mona Lisa. Warhol had his Campbell's soup can. Henry Moore had his Reclining Figure. Groucho had his moustache...

I have my garbage cans. I can die now knowing that my contribution to mankind will go down into the annals of history.

They're a set, of course, and originally meant to be exhibited not only together but in the proper order with the proper lighting. A prompt to deposit refuge into the proper bin and a testament to the cluttered cultural makeup of my familial ancestry; all in one. While I leave their multiple installations throughout the community up to a very capable crew, sometimes circumstances prevail and they may be presented out of sequence. But then a friend goes, "Okay wait. Maybe this is allowing the pieces themselves to speak of the revolt against societies prescribed order of things." And another chips in, "Yeah, the vagaries of inanimate expression." And I shrug and say, "Cool."

Mere garbage cans no more. A social statement. I may need a manifesto.

I jest, of course.

An Idiomatic Conversation

A – "I think you have a chip on your shoulder. You've been acting antsy all week."

B – "Where did you get that cock and bull story? You're barking up the wrong tree."

A – "I might have been going out on the limb a bit, but I don't think so. Do you have an axe to grind?"

B – "If you don't put it to bed I'll have a bone to pick with you."

A – "See? The proof is in the pudding."

B – "Why are you on my case all of a sudden?"

A – "I meant it tongue in cheek, of course."

B – "Oh, go jump in the lake. Did you come up with that out of the blue?"

A – "No, a little bird told me."

Along The Way

They say we're all going somewhere. Sometimes we get there and find out it isn't as good as we thought it would be. Sometimes we never seem to arrive and those of us who do often have somewhere else to head after.

And sometimes things happen along the way and find ourselves faced with a huge gap we can't cross. Ever since nature created the first fallen log across a stream, bridges have been a wonderful way fix that problem.

Symbolically, if you dream of bridges they say you may be going through a transition in your life: from one state to another. Single to married. Employed to retired. Rags to riches. Conservative to liberal. VHS to Blue Ray.

Freud once said that women who wanted to be men dream of bridges that don't connect to the other side. I suppose that went for men that wanted to be women as well. Then again, medicine and technology wasn't as advanced back then. These days, I suppose they dream of fully connected bridges.

Social media, email, the telephone and Skype gives us ways of connecting. And when we connect, people can build bridges.

If you're building a bridge for me please allow me to decide whether I want to cross or not. I'll know whether I want to when I come to it. It may not be on my route right now but if I should feel like a detour down the road I'll be sure to check it out.

And if it's the one about a man wanting to be a woman don't be surprised if I give it a total pass.

Six Ways To Tell If You're A Big Dog

1) You don't have to be mean: You don't growl or threaten or bite. You know you don't have to. You'd rather walk away from a fight than bring yourself down to their level.

2) You like small critters: This includes cats, rabbits and birds, although they may not believe that. You're even kind to small, yappy cousins.

3) You listen more than you bark: Other dogs confide in you. A lost bone, nasty fleas, trouble with the bulldog down the block... others come to you because they know that you'll be supportive and won't betray their trust.

4) You don't need a leash: Only unpredictable, angry and insecure dogs need to be tethered to a pole, or worse, caged. You know your limits and given a situation without them, you set your own.

5) You share your bones: You're not protective of your dog dish. You let others eat first. You are more concerned with the well being of others. You don't need old Lassie movies to teach you how to be magnanimous.

6) You don't run with the pack: You own the dog park and don't have to prove it. You know you don't have to change who you are in order to fit into the crowd. You know you're physically as big as you're going to get but always manage to grow a bit more inside everyday. In ways that matter to you.

Have a great weekend everyone! Have a cookie on me.

Living The Dream

Once in a while the opportunity comes along to work on a job that, from beginning to end, is a pleasurable experience.

This sixteen page booklet promoting volunteer programs was one.

Working from photos and quotations provided by previous participants, page spreads were devised to convey the depth of the experience and build interest and excitement.

Some of the images were shared a few posts back. You can visit them here.

Thanks to clients Adam and Jacquie. When we get excited about a project, that excitement is passed along to the end reader. And that's what it's all about.

(Well, it's one thing about what it's all about.)

Impostor Tomatoes

You might think this is a tomato. Sorry. This is actually a teapot disguised as a tomato. Really.

Maybe the potter was hungry at the time they made it. The boss wanted them to make a teapot and they were thinking about the tomato in their lunch pail. And voila, the tomato teapot was born.

(You have to beware of these impostors. They're very hard on the digestive system.)

This sugar pot is evidence that the boss not only missed the teapot but must have been on vacation for a while... when the cat's away...

Actually these delightfully crafted pieces (which include fruit, sea creatures and wonderfully colored vases and wall pockets) are old Japanese Maruhon Ware from the 1920's through the early 1950's. The word "Maru" in Japanese means to mark or circle. The mark on the bottom of these pieces is the circled letter "K". The Japanese were required to mark their exports, "Made in Japan", a practice that continued until the beginning of WWII. During the years from 1945 to 1952, all exports were marked "Made in Occupied Japan". If you know the ceramics and pottery field at all, you'll know the town of Noritake, where these pieces were said to be made for American export. Because of the war, many records have disappeared so an exact history is impossible to trace.

Suffice to say, finding these creations was the discovery of something unusual, a bit kitschy, much fun and playful.

Oh, and I didn't tell you about them. Because up until now, they've been relatively affordable.

Me And My Shadow

Saw my shadow yesterday. Tricky things, shadows. You can never pin one down. But they're always attached to you somewhere. I find they like my feet mostly.

I looked down in the morning and saw it was a tall one. By noon it had shrunk to almost nothing but by the time I walked home it had grown up again.

Think I'll change my shadow today. This one made me look fat.

Semour Spice Has Lost His Zing

It appeared that Seymour's spice jar of life was empty. His zing was unzung. His zest simply exzusted. His zowie was no longer powie.

"I didn't mean for THAT to happen," he thought over coffee and Coronation Street one morning and promptly called on his friend Mr. Google for help. Mr. Google promptly made numerous suggestions, including:

1) How to spice up your sex life (skimpy undies and making out in a hot tub in Iceland were not really what he meant) although he noted for future reference that there are a lot of sex experts out there. And a few weirdos.

2) How to spice up your life by using certain personal feminine hygiene products. "Oh my," he thought and hit the back button...

3) How to spice up your marriage. Let's just say he did not want to change his lipstick shade. He did not want to give his husband (if he had one) a hug for no reason. And painting his toenails a wild colour...? Ah, no.

4) How to spice up your online life. He found he already did most of the things they list there. And he just didn't think he was ready to subscribe to RSS feeds or optimize his search engine. He thought he'd reached the age that either of those would hurt his brain.

5) How to spice up your home. Adding throw curtains, sponge painting a wall or putting fake plants in his old budgie cage? "Gosh, where have I been that I didn't think of that?" he sighed.

6) How to spice up your cooking results took his request for spice a little too literally. He really didn't really care if adding lemon and orange peel to muffins and scones will give them a zesty flavor. He already knew that oregano, basil, rosemary, and garlic are great additions for tomato sauce. And brew roasted chicory root as a coffee substitute? Pure blasphemy. 

He thanked Mr. Google and hung up. David Platt was up to his antics again. He'd run over his friend Jason Grimshaw after he'd begun dating ex-girlfriend Tina but he thinks he must have blacked out because he couldn't remember hitting him. Is it epilepsy?... While awaiting his trial he goes to live with Audrey, his grandmother the hairdresser because he's forbidden to come in contact with Jason, who is now out of the hospital and hobbling around on crutches...

Seymour glanced over at his spice jar. It didn't seem so empty.

A Stupid Post About Being Stupid

You may have been wondering just what stupid was.

Stupid is having eyes bigger than your stomach and having one more slice of pizza when that last one was enough. It's falling in love and becoming a blithering idiot. It's spending money on a whim and getting home to discover that whims shrink in the wash. It's stepping off the curb without looking both ways. And it's stupid chickens crossing the stupid road. It's saying something without thinking and it's thinking too much and not saying anything. It's crying over spilled milk and milk spurting out your nose when you laugh. Stupid is snorting when you laugh which makes you laugh more. It's about being too slow and not being slow enough to let things work out for themselves. It's getting stuck behind someone going 5 mph slower than you. Stupid is a mosquito in your bedroom when you're trying to sleep. It's furry green things growing in your refrigerator. It's two spaces after a period. And it's starting a sentence with an 'and'. It's toilet humor and sneezing when you have to pass wind. Stupid is trying to make something into what it's not. It's being goofy and not caring.

It's you and me being stupid together and laughing our heads off.

The Evil Eye

If you've ever been lucky enough to welcome a dog into your home for any length of time, you know this look. It's the evil eye. It is intense as all get out and it can destroy. In this case it means "you better let me out or your rugs are in danger."

Destruction of carpets as a result of the evil eye appears to be limited to house pets (or really gross college roommates). When a human person passes on the "look", some say the results are more dire: bad luck, disease, wasting, death, or even worse when it's passed by a life partner – denial of sex.

Belief in the evil eye was rampant in antiquity. Socrates was suspected of possessing the evil eye. In the Greco-Roman era Plutarch's scientific explanation stated that the eyes were the chief source of the deadly rays that were supposed to spring up like poisoned darts from the inner recesses of a person possessing the evil eye. And the evil eye reportedly spread towards the east propagated by the Empire of Alexander the Great.

Today, some cultures still believe in its power. Amulets, talismans, protective sayings and gestures are all said to protect one from the evil eye's influence.

But there is no known protection from the canine version. So, I let the dog out. Even though I knew it was just the "I-go-out-turn-around-and-come-back-in-give-me-a-cookie" game. My carpets are safe. For now.

How Do You Spell It?

I always thought that things like peanut butter and chocolate ice cream, the jingling of change in my pocket, finding that my favorite shirt didn't shrink in the dryer (and also didn't need ironing), and furry dogs that snuggled up to you on a cold night were good. Evidently I may have been mistaken.

Plato wrote that the idea of the Good is the ultimate object of knowledge, although it is not knowledge itself. Common man cannot see, understand or attain true good because it exists only as a concept. He also said things that are "just" gain their usefulness and value. According to Plato, humans are compelled to pursue the good, but no one can hope to do this successfully without philosophical reasoning.

Aristotle was critical of Plato's ideas of the Good. I guess he thought them bad. Sigh.

Today, Richard Kraut, one of Harvard's respected analytical philosophers, explores a good-centered moral philosophy, an "ethics of well-being" that requires all of our efforts to do some good. Kraut’s theory appears to come down to the fact that many common human pursuits – for riches, fame, domination – are in themselves worthless, while some of the familiar virtues – justice, honesty, and autonomy – are good.

Being a lowly common man I tend to think (when I do) that no matter how you spell it "good" is simply that which does no harm. That we can wish each other a good morning, or good luck without a fifteen page explanation about what exactly we mean...

I think I'll pick up some ice cream today. Simply because it's good, and not because it's useful or just. Call me a rebel.

Park Bench Romance

My eighty-seven year old neighbor was sitting on a park bench yesterday when a ninety-two year old man sat down beside her. 

She looked over to him and said, "You remind me of my seventh husband." 

He said, "How many husbands have you had?" 

"Six," she replied.

Jack's Gone Home

Conté crayon on cardboard

Yesterday, Canada lost a man by the name of Jack Layton. He was well known for his compassion and always took up the cause for the common man. The homeless, the elderly, the young and the defenseless. 

Before he passed away, Jack wrote a note from his deathbed to all Canadians. And there seemed to be something he had to say to everyone. Part of his letter was this: "There are great challenges before you, from the overwhelming nature of climate change to the unfairness of an economy that excludes so many from our collective wealth, and the changes necessary to build a more inclusive and generous Canada. I believe in you... Love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we'll change the world."

Rest easy Jack. We got it. 

Comments welcome.