Back in Time and Off to Scotland

One of my favourite authors, Diana Gabaldon, has a new book called "Written in My Own Heart's Blood".  

I was introduced to Ms. Gabaldon's Outlander series several years ago by one of my friends, another avid reader like myself.  The series follows the life of a woman who, post World War I, steps through a break in time while visiting some standing stones (think "Stonehenge") in Scotland and steps back two hundred years.  She meets a man and marries but returns through the stones before the great Highland battles.  She returns to live with her present-day husband up until his death, raising her daughter by her Highland husband of the ancient past.  Through several books we follow the adventures of this couple and their family.  It's been a few years now since the last book, so the new one is sitting in my living room, singing its siren call as it waits for me to finish up some other projects so I can devote some time to reading it.  

Finally there is to be a television series based on the book series.  I can only guess that with the tv
show due to start, the decision was made to do a tour to coincide with the tv show and the release of the book.  When I saw a link recently on the Outlander facebook page that connected to Ms. Gabaldon's home page, I followed it.  Consequently I signed up for her blog and discovered that she would be signing autographs in three cities within a three-hour drive of where I live.  I decided to go to the closest one (a mere one and a half hours away) and asked one of my coworkers if she wanted to go, too.  I'd introduced her to the Outlander series a couple of years ago so she was also keen to go.  

We drove to Barrie and had no idea how long the line would actually be before we were able to meet Ms. Gabaldon and have her sign our new books.  It was touch and go for a while because my co-worker drove us there and she had to leave by a certain time, but we made it and we got our books signed. 

Me and Diana Gabaldon, June 22, 2014

The Shocking State of "Modern" Education

In the Fall my son’s school conducted some standardized testing.  A few weeks later the results of these tests were mailed to us and I read them, filing the document away afterwards.  In the early Spring we got a phone call asking us to come in for a meeting with the principal, the teacher, the school’s proctor (my son’s French teacher), and a rep from the Board of Education.

At this meeting we were informed that our son is gifted, according to his test results.  While this result was not really a surprise to me, what did surprise me was that the school had called us in for a meeting about it.  I was surprised because being a small rural school, they have no facility for effectively dealing with or managing gifted children.  I think the days of promoting kids beyond their age level have gone by the wayside.  It’s probably just as well because since it is a small school of only 130 kids, any kid that was either failed or promoted would have to endure endlessly being singled out as “different” by their peers.  This would doubtless continue right up until high school graduation as the friends made in kindergarten are the same kids he will eventually graduate with. 

The school’s proposition was to create an “Independent Education Plan” which would outline ways in which to challenge my son’s strengths while providing remedial attention on his struggling areas of learning.  At our request, further more in-depth testing was effected in order to determine what my son’s strengths and struggles might be.  A few weeks after that testing was completed, a further meeting was set up to discuss the results.  This was the “Identification, Placement and Review Committee” and included the same people as before. 

At this IRPC meeting the list of identified strengths and needs once again didn’t really present any surprises to me.  Never fear, though, as there were a number of things that not only surprised me, but some completely blew me out of the water. 

One of my questions to them was about spelling in the curriculum.  The answer was that beyond the primary grades (1 to 3), they no longer have spelling per se.  Rather, and this shocked me for several reasons, they have a computer program that allows a child to type in the first few letters of a word and the program makes a list of several suggested words.  The child scrolls through the list, clicking each one, and the computer says each word as it’s clicked.  Then the child simply selects the right word by its sound and it is inserted into their document.  WHAT?  I mean, WHAT??  How on earth will children learn to spell if they aren’t taught to? 

Then I asked about cursive writing.  I know that email and typed communication of one form or another has pretty much taken over writing, but I believe this skill is still necessary.  Imagine my surprise when I was informed that they no longer teach cursive writing!  I asked how my son would ever sign a marriage certificate or a mortgage application if he couldn’t write, but there was no answer.  I’m still gobsmacked over this one and have decided I will teach my son this summer. 

The list continues:  the teachers say my son is having a hard time with research.  I dropped that one right back in their laps.  I said that they should not assume that every child has free access to a computer or that they have developed the skills the school deems necessary.  I told them before they plunk a kid in front of a monitor with the Google page open and tell them to research something, the school should first make sure that those same kids actually know how to use Google!   

Now I realize why so many young people are heading off to college and university so ill-prepared for it.  In September when my son's teacher asks, "What did you do on your summer vacation?" my ten-year-old son will reply, "I learned how to write, how to spell, and how to multiply and divide."  What will your child say?  Take action now so they can say the same.  Our children's education is no longer provided by the educators, it's provided by us. 

Good Customer Service

I had an interesting conversation with my dad the other day.  We were discussing the completely lousy customer service we had each recently experienced in two different cities at stores belonging to the same national chain of crappy tire & hardware stores.  During the conversation, I told my father that one of my coworkers, who lives in yet another city, had told me on Friday about a very positive and helpful experience she’d had at the same chain in her local town.  My dad commented, “Wow, you don’t hear that too often.” 

This is what made the conversation so interesting:  We found it remarkable that the store provided good customer service!  It left me reflecting later on the fact that the service at this particular chain has degraded so much that we accept poor service and bad attitude as the norm and remark on it when we receive good service.  Has our world devolved to this? 

My late best friend kept a gratitude journal for years.  Each day she would jot down something for which she was grateful, even if sometimes it was only that the day was finally over.  She was visiting me in my new rural locale a few years after I moved out of the big city (where she lived) and I brought her to town to shop.  There is a Sears store in the mall in the small city of 27,000 or so that is a half hour from my home.  My friend was able, with some assistance from the clerk, to find what she was looking for and decided to buy it.  As she paid, the clerk offered her a smile and wished her a nice day.  I had shopped at this Sears several times and so I thought nothing of this until my friend grabbed my arm as we left the store and said, “She smiled at me and I think she meant it.”  She was completely thrown off because the clerk smiled, made eye contact, wished her a pleasant day…and meant it.  My friend actually decided to write about this in her gratitude journal that night.  Having lived in the big city, I completely understood why.  Interactions with strangers are so brief and impersonal, often without eye contact, and often not even all that polite or pleasant. 

I know that stores need to know when things are not going well for their customers, but stores also need to know when things are going well.  Pick up a pen (or your computer keyboard) and write a note to the store’s management.  Let them know that you’ve received exceptional (for these days) service, on which date you were at their establishment, and exactly who helped you in such a positive way.  It’s these outstanding staff that can turn your lousy experience into a positive one that leaves you smiling and these people deserve recognition.  Don’t forget to smile back at them, say thank you, and wish them a pleasant day too…and mean it. 

Gingerbread Happy Times

Time has cycled around to November again.  My husband is still off work and although long-term disability runs out in a few months, the honest truth is that I don’t believe he’s anywhere near ready to go back to work yet.  Still, he’s going to make the effort.  After all, we can’t live on nothing and my salary, while good for the area, is nowhere near enough to go it alone.  I do worry about making a nice Christmas for our young son, I can’t help but be thankful for what we do have.  We are all healthy (relatively speaking that is), we do have a roof over our heads, and we have extended family who love us. 

Since it’s going to be a carefully budgeted Christmas, I decided I would be making gifts for those we usually give to.  This list gets smaller every year out of necessity, unfortunately.  So instead of rushing out to the stores and trying to find just the right thing, I decided that gingerbread would be perfect.  My son agreed. 

On my last payday I bought the biggest bag of flour I could find, together with the other needed ingredients.  This weekend the little guy and I are going to make gingerbread.  I have told him that since Christmas is still a few weeks away we would only make the gingerbread at this point.  We will freeze it and then a week before Christmas we will spend a day making it all into gingerbread houses.  I think we can design a relatively little house that will go together fairly quickly.  It will be a lot of fun for the both of us and as he is approaching ten years of age, I know our days of spending quality time together are likely dwindling. 

If I get time before Christmas gets here, I will also make some hard candy.  Who knows, maybe we could fill the little gingerbread houses with candy.   

Granny Square tutorials

I found this blogger's site last year I think it was.  Her tutorials on joining granny squares of same sizes, as well as joining squares of different sizes, are thorough.  There are lots of pictures and coupled with the explanations, you'll be doing this in your sleep in no time.  Thanks for the great tutorials!

things to make and do: granny square tutorial part 3: joining squares of the same size

Small Town Living

Small town life can be wonderful.  It should be community...people caring about their neighbour...meeting friends at the local fair or the grocery store.  For people who have grown up in a small town, that is what it is.  However, there is another segment of the population that lives in most small towns.  Some of us choose to leave the clutches of the big cities and move to small towns in anticipation of being part of a community, of raising our families in a clean, wholesome environment. 

We did just that.  My husband left the city and has lived in our small-town area since the mid 80’s and when we met in the mid 90’s and decided to move in together, I too made the decision to leave the city, sell my house, quit my job and all my volunteer work and move here where I had no immediate job prospects, no friends, and no volunteer work.  I met my neighbours, enjoying saying hello or sharing the occasional beer across the fence.  I got involved with volunteering in my community, canvassing for Heart and Stroke, as well as the Cancer Society.  I volunteered with other organizations as well.  And, of course, I started sending my resume around.  A visit to the local EI office gave the sad news that I could expect to earn about half of what I’d earned in the city.  Wow!  That was a shock, but cost of living is a little more reasonable up here.  Besides, I had a husband to share expenses with anyway. 

It only took 14 months to find my first job and a year and a bit later that company relocated to...yes, the city!  I once asked that boss how it was that I got the job and not his wife’s cousin’s friend’s neighbour.  He told me that it was because he was in desperate straits since his prior assistant had left with almost no notice and he really needed someone who could hit the ground running.  Since then I’ve had a couple of short term contract jobs, but mostly it’s an exercise in futility looking for work.  I have top-notch skills that are very transferable.  When I left my last position in the city (to move here), my boss offered a promotion, my own office, and more money to keep me.  The problem is that the same ‘community’ I’m so willing to embrace, doesn’t feel the same way about me.  When an interview (and there have been precious few of them) starts out, “Are you related to...” it’s pretty much guaranteed the job will go to some underqualified relative or friend of a relative of someone who works at the company.  Someone who will take two years to learn a job I already know.  Nepotism.  Companies don’t really want to hire the most qualified person, they want to hire their favourite relative or favourite employee’s relative.  Not only that, but a company in one town won’t necessarily hire someone from another town...especially when someone from their own town might need a job. 

Despite that, we’ve made friends.  Not surprisingly, these friends are mostly outsiders like ourselves.  They come from cities originally too.  While the neighbours are friendly, we can never be true ‘friends’ because my husband and I will always be those folks from the city that bought the old Smith place.  People in small towns are complacent.  They couldn’t be bothered expending the effort to actually get to know a newcomer.  Why should they?  They’ve known their friends since they were in diapers.  Perhaps they never actually learned how to make friends with a stranger.  And I’m pretty sure nobody would plan a benefit dance to help us out of any financial jam.  I volunteer in my community and participate in community events, but I know from experience that if I miss a meeting or two, there won’t be a phone call or someone dropping by to check on me.  

Our son was born here.  Maybe that will give him an "in" as he gets older.  Perhaps not.  Perhaps he will be...tainted, as it were...by having parents who are not from here.  After all, small town means small minds a lot of the time and he will ever be the son of "those people who bought the old Smith place".  On the other hand, this apartness (yes, I made up that word) may be what allows him to eventually leave this place and spread his wings in the big wide world.  I've seen so many young people around here who have no ambition to leave and in many other cases, those who go off to university or college only to return afterwards.  Time will tell.  

So while we are part of the community, we are not of the community.  Sadly, after more than a dozen years of living here personally, I fear that this will still be the case when I mark my 25^th, 40^th, or even 50^th year of living here.  

2012...The Year That Was...

Difficult! 

It started out with me recovering from surgery to my right foot following a bad fall.  Just when things should have been getting better, my husband suffered a very serious injury at work.  Oh, you can't see anything wrong, but mental injury is, in a lot of ways, worse than anything physical.  With my physical injury, at least we could say, "According to the x-rays, I'm improving."  With post-traumatic stress disorder, the injury is invisible and the road to recovery is long and never easy. 

But on the plus side, I've learned lots this past year.  I learned that trying to use the system fairly only gets you jerked around.  I've learned that people you thought of as friends, aren't really.  This realization comes slowly as the phone stops ringing and calls and messages go largely unanswered.  My son has suffered through all this too. 

I also learned that sometimes people come into our lives at a time when we really could use a friend.  They may only be there for a short while but have a huge impact.  I've learned that I really do work for a great company and have a terrific boss.  She's been fantastic with thoughtful advice and guidance.  In fact, all my coworkers have been really supportive.  I've also learned that something I've always believed is true: Our biker friends really are family.  They've been very accepting of my husband either not being around or his being there in person occasionally, but not really in spirit.  They quietly accepted his need to leave shortly after arriving, or his need to just sit in the corner and not associate.  And they've been sympathetic ears for me to talk to.  I also learned that my dearest friends are so wonderful I feel unworthy.  People like them make world a better place.  Their unquestioning generousity of heart leaves me humbled to call them "friend". 

For all the crap that was 2012, I go forward on the strength of the amazing people that have not only been there for us, but show no sign of budging anytime soon.  At a time when my usual rock is a crumbled pile of pebbles, it's nice to know I've got other rocks to lean on.  Thank you to each and every one of you.  Love you all!  Let's grab 2013 by the horns and make it better.