Jellybean Row

Awhile back, Geoff Meeker dropped a line to me about Jellybean row. I have to admit, it was the first I had heard of it. But one peek at their web page and I was hooked. I even have a little Christmas request list made.

What is a Jellybean Row you ask? Well, it is part souvenir, part collectible and a piece of original art. Modeled after the heritage homes of downtown St. John's, these colorful plaques are mounted and ready to hang on your wall. Better yet, my wall.

There is a really sweet Christmas series for sale as well... I am seriously considering picking up a set for my mom for the holidays. She is a Christmas nut. I love how the one above even has the stained glass window over the door. Anyhooo, it is a really neat idea folks. Check it out! Let me know how you like it.

Newfie Screech- We have the Yanks to thank?

Back in the day, Jamaican rum was a popular part of a Newfoundlander’s diet, as we traded salt fish to the West Indies in exchange for rum (that would have been when we actually had fish to trade with anyone!). The original rum was barrel proof in strength so it did not exactly have a smooth finish. Eventually the government applied some controls that required it be packaged in clear glass and began selling the rum in unlabelled bottles. You could say that screech was the original no-name brand. It remained nameless until American soldiers came to the Island during World War II.

I have heard the story told many times, and I often wonder if there is either bit of truth to it. Apparently, a young serviceman, enjoying the lower drinking age, was having his first taste of the brew with some of the locals. They were not supposed to be drinking at the time, as the officer was on duty. But, it was cold, and a little nip might warm him. The Newfoundlander he was with, downed his shot in one gulp, so the American did the same. The officer’s blood-curdling scream attracted a lot of attention. An Sergeant who heard the sound from outside pounded his fist on the door and demanded to know, "What the hell was that ungodly screech?"

Answered the Newfoundlander: "Da Screech? T’is the rum, me son!"

And the name stuck.

A few years back there was an overhaul of the whole brand. Ironically, it was done in part to break into the US market. I hate the new look. Maybe it is because I don’t do well with change, maybe it is because the new look just doesn’t jibe with a name like “Screech”, or maybe it is just an uppity design which conveys little of the history behind the bottle.

What do you think? Which bottle style do you prefer? And have you ever sampled this sweet, yet raw dark amber gold? And for those of you who might scoof at the drink due to its name, I’ll have you know, this baby is the Gold Medal winner at the 2003 International Rum Fest!

Newfie Night-cap
• 1 ¼ ozs. Newfoundland Screech
• 1 – 2 Teaspoons Brown Sugar
• Coffee
• Whipped Cream

Halloween Rant

I so agree, strange little dude:





That said, my little guy will be a dragon tomorrow.

Scott Pynn Art

You know, I believe that Newfoundlanders are a talented lot: a fine crew. Contrary to all those Newfie jokes out there, we can get the job done. Hell, we are currently building the entire province of Alberta! We are sharp, clear minded, we cut through the bullshit. One need only read the works of Ray Guy, Rex Murphy, or Rick Mercer to see that. We are artisans, painters, sculptors and poets. And we do it all with our distinct sense of the world, our wit, and our poetic voice.

I recently came across the works of Labrador native, 27 year old Scott Pynn , and I was lucky enough to be able to ask him a few questions about his life and work as an artist. A self described "Average Joe", Scott used to work as a roofer, a carpenters assistant, and a lumberjack. The latter he said was “the most interesting because I would spend all day cutting down trees and then go home and paint them back up again”. Scott’s been painting since he was young. He was inspired by his grandfather, also an artist, who specializes in painting steam locomotives. He taught Scott when he was “just a young pup” beginning with the basics of composition, color, and perspective: “It was the greatest gift he ever could have given me.”

Art is not a choice for Scott- it is something he must do: “I have always been compelled to make things and feel disconnected from myself when I don't have a creative outlet. I sometimes joke that if I never painted my mind would explode, it's hard to pinpoint what inspires me; it's a mixture of everything, nature of course being a big part. But I guess what I strive for the most is to describe in paint those indescribable feelings you get so often in life. Like on a crisp fall evening when the leaves are crunching under your feet and you can smell wood smoke in the air, or that feeling in your stomach around Christmas time. You know the feeling I'm talking about, everyone does. Sometimes I'm inspired by very big things like a thunder and lightning storm and sometimes it can be as small as watching a drop of rain slowly trickle down the stem of a daisy.” Scott has had a variety of shows in the last few years in Labrador, New Brunswick and Alberta, and more are in the works. Currently he has the largest Facebook Art Group with over twenty-five thousand members and growing. He is “thrilled” with the support he has received fellow Newfoundlanders.

I have some really beautiful pieces of art in my small collection of Newfoundland works- and I picked each because they spoke to me somehow. Of course, because I live off Rock now, these pieces mean so much more to me: they are a comfort. But my feelings towards Scott's pieces were very different: I haven't reacted to art work so viscerally in a long time.

I lived in Wabush, and Goose Bay for a few years as a child- and it was a golden time for me. I was a happy kid then; my family loved it there. I don’t often think of Labrador because my time there was so short. But when I first saw Scott’s work, I found myself whirling back to that apartment on Cormac drive…to the woods beyond where I would toboggan, ski-doo, build snow forts, and make snow angels in the deep of the whitest snow. I remembered the magic of the Northern Sky, with her rainbow of lights swirling in dark- the trees bowed by the weight of the snow, themselves awed by celestial majesty. Scott’s work brought it all back in a bittersweet rush of nostalgia; made me a little weepy. But then, that is what great art does.

Autumn traditions in Newfoundland.

I love autumn. I love the cool days and crisp nights; the changing leaves that swirl in the wind whispering their way through the sky. Of course this fall has had none of that. Jeeze, it has been hot as balls these past few weeks. Feels like we may just skip fall and dive head long into winter- though at the rate we are going, it looks like it will be a green one.

Aside from the weather cliches, I love autumn because of all the traditions that go with it. Many of my favorites begin at harvest time, it has become and annual tradition for my husband and I to pick apples at Archibald's Orchard , and pick up a nice fruit wine for Thanksgiving at the same time. We also head on over to Pingles Farm to pick our pumpkin for Halloween- and deck the house out so it looks like a tribute to Vincent Price. And now it is something we do with our son.

Many of the autumn season's customs are historically related. Although there was no Thanksgiving Day holiday in Newfoundland Pre-Confederation, many people celebrated it as part Harvest and it included Halloween. The whole season of Halloween is a little different back home on the Rock. There are at least a half-dozen Halloween-related customs that are unique to Newfoundland, though their roots, like our ancestors, reach back to other places. We just made them our own.

For example, the few days before Halloween and sometimes after it used to be called Mischief Week. Old Newfoundland's children traditionally believed that there are certain kinds of mischief allowed at that time: stuffing sods in chimneys, soaping windows, taking pins from gate hinges, and so on. It in no way resembles the Devils night insanity that sometimes goes on across Canada and the US. Mischief week was just harmless little pranks.

In Trinity Bay North, many people participated in Torch Night, when young men would carry torches around the community in a parade. Torches were made from just about anything: from old boots soaked in fish oil, or barrels of kindling, even old dried-up tar mops; in fact the name Tar Mop Night was used in the White Bay area. And come on, is there anywhere else on the planet that still celebrates Gay Fawkes night besides the UK and Newfoundland?

I miss all that kind of stuff now. Not just because that the weather here in Ontario is all off, but that deep rooted sense of tradition and community is so lacking here. Cripes, some neighborhoods and apartment buildings don’t even allow Halloween. It is kind of sad really. And we are losing it back home too, slowly but surely. I don’t think Tar Mop Night has been seen in about 60 years or more now.

I know some traditions die out for practical reasons- imagine Guy Fawkes night downtown Toronto! The police would show up in Riot gear. Seriously, we need to sit down and look at all those wonderful traditions we had for so many years, and really give some thought to preserving them. If not in practice, definitely with photos and stories: our own recording of our history. These traditions are what make us unique, they are an essential part of that constant internal pull of the island: they draw us together as one. And that my friends, is a beautiful thing.

"Ass kicking is what's called for"

I have never been one to jump into American political debate. I do watch what is going on down south but I refrain from commenting on American politics and popular debate because, well, I am not American. It is all too easy to point the finger from the outside; much more difficult to take an honest look inward. But there are occasions when issues arise and I find myself drawn in. The 911 conspiracy freaks have managed to get me going today because, and it pains me to say it, but there are actually some Newfoundlanders out there promoting a variety of conspiracy theories. And no, I am not linking to their blog.

While I am no fan of George Bush and his cronies, I do not believe that the attacks were a false flag operation carried out with the intention of winning the allegiance of the American people in order to facilitate military spending, the restriction of civil liberties, and a program of aggressive and profitable foreign policy. All this was simply a bonus for Bush Administration; it allowed them to take advantage of a tragic situation and use 9/11 to invade Iraq.

While "Intelligence" may have known something was in the works, I doubt they knew exactly what was going to happen and when. Nor does it make any sense to me that the planes which rammed into the Pentagon and Twin Towers were missiles, or were shot down (um, from where? Cleveland?), or that they were the results of "controlled demolition" (yes, because no one would have possibly noticed that in the works). I think the best theory is that Flight 93 never crashed, no, they swapped that plane! How exactly they manage that is never explained. All the while, these conspiracy freakshows manage to ignore the wreckage at the scenes and witness testimony. They also somehow miss published reports by the National Institute of Standards and Technology which do not support the controlled demolition hypothesis. And the hundreds of peer reviewed papers completed by civil engineers who prove that the impacts of jets at high speeds in combination with subsequent fires led to the collapse of the Twin Towers. And yet, this wacko collection of freaks, who seem to have nothing of importance to do with their time, still persist. Maybe it is time to move out of Mom's basement and get a job folks? Maybe get a girlfriend? A boyfriend? Whatever curdles your cream.

You might be wondering what got me going on this today- and it was this crazy exchange between 9/11 "Truthers" with Bill Maher on his show :"Real Time with Bill Maher":


My mind turned to all those families who lost people they loved because of 9/11 and the subsequent wars in the Middle East. What a slap in the face it must be for them to have these brainless worms go on and on with their inane conjecture, and to see Newfoundlanders join this lunatic fringe makes me even angrier. Come on people, we are smarter than this.

And now for something completely different.

It is a little known fact that I kick some serious ass when it comes to puzzles. We recently downloaded PuzzleQuest for the Xbox 360, and when we weren't cleaning, marking, or playing with the boy, my husband and I played game after game of it on the TV. I beat him bad. I made him cry. I did a victory dance on his inferior little manbrain.

Then, on Sunday night, I noticed a new link on my Newfoundland forum, it was Karen, the wonderfully talented photographer (she also happens to have a stunningly beautiful blog) who posted it. Karen knows of my weakness for riddles, puzzles and puns. I think she knew this site would plague me; would get under my skin like bed bugs at a whore house on a Saturday night.

It is a visual puzzle in the style of a medieval painting, and each section of the painting represents a horror flick. The movies represented span film history and because it is basically an ad for M&M Dark chocolates (Yuck, who eats the dark stuff??) all the films depicted are horror or thrillers. So, you have to be a bit of a film buff to get more than a dozen. My husband remembers EVERY FILM HE EVER WATCHES and I am a bit of a horror film hack, but there were two of those suckers we did not get at all.

And it is driving me batshit.

If anyone can get the one with the stairs, or the one with the two guys on the stairs please, for the love of mike and milk chocolate, please let me know.

Here it is: http://www.mms.com/us/dark/dark_game.jsp

And Karen, payback is a bitch..."I'll get you my pretty and your little dog too....."

I will be watching tonight

Two of my favourite shows have pulled out all the stops for their Fall premieres. This Hour Has 22 Minutes makes its season debut this evening ... and Danny Williams is on the menu. Oh I do hope they make a nice liver pate out of him. I may even open a bottle of wine. According to the CBC, Mark Critch will once again demonstrate an unmatched talent for his dead-ringer impression of Danny Williams. Have a listen to this my friends ...just enough to whet your appetite.

And if that wasn't enough, RMR is back! Wahooooooo! Disgraced media baron Conrad Black is scheduled to appear in a taped segment on the season premiere of The Rick Mercer Report tonight.

Ahhhh, ladies and gentlemen, I will break open a bottle this fine eve; any suggestions for a nice red, something that goes nicely with crow?

Sign in Oshawa ER

"Patients do not bite the nurses"

Classy.

Hard times everywhere I guess.

It is official, Danny is on crack.

Well the Premier toured the hospital in my hometown today. He was taken to the cramped areas where nurses and doctors work and was shown broken and outdated equipment that the health professionals use to treat (and I use that word lightly) their patients including a temperamental X-Ray machine. When shown the operating suites Danny made a small gaff: "Obviously there are bigger operating rooms than this?" Why no Danny, came the answer, this is our standard operating room. His reply: "You're not serious!"

Is anyone else asking why this is such a suprise to him besides me? Anyone?

Oh yes, we are serious Danny Boy. Serious as a heart attack in the dead of night, when there are two nurses on duty but one is with the teen who just came in with Grand Mal seizure and a head injury; the other nurse is on the phone with the paramedics coming in from a serious motor vehicle accident on the highway, and the rest of her lines are lit up as well. The one doctor on call is in with the kid seizing, and is mentally trying to brace himself for the call coming in from the highway. Meanwhile, a restless dozen or more ER patients sit crammed, side by each in the tiny waiting room. Some have been there for 6 hours or more; some puking; some coughing; all miserable and stewing in their own juices.

This was a night at the ER for me some 15 years ago, when we brought my boyfriend, now husband, into the ER while he was having a Grand Mal. Things have gone further down the crapper since then and Grand Falls is only the tip of the iceberg.

Recently Meeker on Media shared a pretty dark letter he received from one of the nurses who works at the Health Science Center. It tells a sad tale of nurses who cannot be advocates for their patients for fear of job action being taken against them. Of nurses so overworked they can’t tend to patients in their dying hours. Of a lack of response on behalf of health care workers outside of the ER towards ER staff and patients because their work load is too heavy, thus further compounding the problem of overcrowding at wait times in the ER itself. It is burning good people out. It is making a difficult job harder. It is unacceptable.

People are frustrated, people are lashing out, and who gets the brunt of it? The nurses. Nurses have been assaulted in the ER, one nurse reports a wheelchair being thrown at her. When people are treated like animals, they tend to act that way.

Many of my classmates who choose a life in the health care field have left the Rock, many have left Canada, to work in places where they are properly compensated, have the proper working conditions and are given the respect they are due. Those who remain are tired, frustrated, and feel just as abandoned by the system as their patients do. And when doctors and nurses are this tired, over worked and frustrated, and angry, they tend to make mistakes. Mistakes like 42% rate of inaccuracy of hormone receptor tests for breast cancer patients, or flawed work by a radiologists overseeing the care of more than 3500 patients, or a nicked bowel on a patient who simply wanted a cyst removed.

But to hear Danny Boy tell it today "Our health-care system is not in a crisis". Then, the moron continues to elaborate saying that "the Grand Falls-Windsor hospital will be standing in line with deteriorating schools and roads", and one can only assume, 1000 dollar baby bonus checks for families back home.

Well ladies, maybe you should learn how to squat down and deliver those babies on your own because it seems there will be no room at the inn if you need to haul ass to the ER.

A thousand bucks for every baby?

Most politicians simply kiss babies, or take the obligatory picture with one. Smile for the camera! But our Danny takes that old election ploy one step further- he is bribing them before they are even born!

Yes the election promise made by Williams on Tuesday means parents would get $1,000 for every child they have in an effort to combat a sagging birth rate and mass outmigration that has sapped the province.

Hey Danny, come here for a second! Now listen close, I need to explain something to your ass:

Most Newfoundlanders would give their left tit (or nut as the case may be) to live and work on the Rock. They are not leaving because they want to- they have to. They search for work that pays them a fair wage. Work that is stable. Work in a province that can offer their children opportunity, a future. Unless you can offer this to Newfoundlanders, they will continue to leave. They will take that $1000 bucks, and save it for a plane ticket to Alberta, to Ontario, heck, even to Korea.

But they can’t stay in a province that offers them so little in the ways to make a life. No matter how much they want to.

It is Election Time

But I just don’t feel it.

The money is flying, promises are being made, babies kissed, and roads are being paved. The rhetoric is heating up as the political ads air nonstop between ads for Tampax and Nytol. Sad tallies all of promises made, broke, kept, remade and negated.

And honestly, I don’t give a damn.

My Poppy served in World War II, and I have always taken the right to vote very seriously. I always made an effort to get to know the issues, to be politically aware, and to haul my fat ass up off the couch each Election Day and vote. I was one of those annoying coworkers who harassed and berated those who could not be bothered to get politically involved.

And now I am one of them.

I am just so tired of the same old crap. And hey, it is not like we all don’t know how it is going to end. We know who will get elected; we know what will happen after the election. Nothing.

And absolutely nothing will change.

Search For Steve Fosset makes use of Amazon's Mechanical Turk

It’s been ten days since adventurer Steve Fossett disappeared in the Nevada desert. Millionaire Richard Branson was using Google Earth to try to located him and now Amazon is involved. The company has set up a Mechanical Turk project where volunteers can view recent satellite photos and search for the plane. The project is located here. A similar project was created to search for computer scientist Jim Gray when he was lost at sea earlier this year, but Gray was never found.

When I heard about this story I had a slightly jaded response- ah yes, another cocky kabillionaire killed off by his own arrogance. But that dark knee-jerk reaction soon gave way to a sense of awe, I mean, absolutely how cool is this technology? This is beyond Transporter cool, beyond Cylon cool, beyond Transwarp drive cool. This is ubercool.

The next thing that struck me was the results this undertaking have revealed. So far, searchers have found half a dozen previously unknown crash sites, but no sign of Fossett’s plane. Wait a second, how can we have SIX previously unknown crash sites? How does that work exactly? We must assume at least one person was aboard- likely more than one, how is that person was not missed by someone? Homeless men/women don't fly planes, prison escapees (except those off Prison Break it seems) don't have the means to fly either, and these pilots ain't runaways. This is not a person who is off the grid. A person who can fly a plane is a person of some means, likely a person who should be missed, even if we assume these folks failed to file a flight plan. Surely someone somewhere approached authorities and said: "Um, We are missing my dad, and a plane can you look into this for us?"

I find it so odd that half a dozen crashes went unreported and missing until now. And while it is amazing to consider what can be done when people put time and effort into something, it strikes me as profoundly sad that no less than six individuals were left to mummify in the heat of the desert because they didn't have the high profile name and face to warrant the effort.

If I have an accident in the desert nobody but my family would use this technology to look for me. I am not famous, I am not rich, and as such my worth as a person on this planet is limited only to my circle of family and friends. Perhaps the attention generated from this will make it easier in the future for people to conduct searches for ‘average’ people, but I doubt it.

Well I am back at it

Maternity leave is over and I am back at work. Sigh. It has been a rough week. I had to drop the Boy off at Montessori School for his first full day. It was what I had been dreading for weeks. I had envisioned him crying and screaming, clinging on to my legs, wailing like a banshee, and me wailing right along with him. It didn't quite go down that way- the Boy had a much more effective tactic.

When we arrived, he simply tucked his sweet little face into my neck, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. When they finally pulled him off me, he tucked his little face into the neck of his teacher and stared at me with pleading eyes, and a trembling lower lip. If you listen very carefully just now, you might hear my heart break all over again as I recall that scene. His quiet protest left me feeling like I was the hunter who just killed Bambi's mother. Such was the doe eyed look of misery I received.

My first day back at work was jammed packed with new things I needed to learn, and old things I had to relearn, new names and faces to memorize, and a thousand tasks that all demanded my immediate attention. All of it important. All of it with "right now" status. All of it taking a mental back seat to "I wonder how he is doing?" "Why did I leave him there" "Is he eating?" "Why did I not get a better job?" "I hope they can get him to sleep" "Oh god, I hope he knows I am coming back for him" "Is he crying?" "I am a terrible mother". Oh man there is nothing more powerful, more all consuming, more destructive to the human psyche than guilt.

Of course I had one arse cheek up off the chair, waiting for the end of the working day so I could leap out of there and race to get my son.

I could hear the crying as I walked down the hall to the infants room (he is only 11 months old). But wait, that didn't sound like the Boy. No, that is not him at all! I open the door to see each of the teachers crawling with wailing babies, and where is my boy? Over by the wall, opening and closing the little drawers and dials they have there. He doesn't even look up as I ask his teachers how he did- I even had to raise my voice a little so they could hear me over the caterwauling. He didn't even flinch. Just kept right on working.

It seems my Boy was one of the "happy ones". He had a great day. Their only concern was that he hadn't pooed, nor would he sleep. They put him in his crib, and he cuddled his MooCow, and simply stared at all the sleeping babies. But would not fall asleep himself. I guess he wanted to scope the place out. He is a strange child.

And in the days since then, the pattern established on the first day has continued. When I go to pick him up he hardly knows I am there- and when he does notice my presence he dutifully crawls over and hugs my legs. Then, when we arrive home he poos. Thanks for saving that little joy for Mommy kid. Yes, that is exactly what I needed. Why, oh why, can't you make this deposit at school? Perhaps I have a little anal retentive baby on my hands.

Naaa, I think he just takes after his Dad.

The Ten Commandments- Newfoundland Style

1. Jus' one Lard
2. Onor yer Mudder 'n fadder
3. No tellin' jigs 'n yarns
4. Go on ta deh Sundee meetin b'ye.
5. Dere's nuttin befare deh 'oly Lard
6. No foolin 'round wit anudder buddy's missus
7. No killin
8. Mine yer mout
9. Never mine 'bout dat which t'aint yers
10. Never mine 'bout yer buddy's stuf