Yeah, we're Cutting offspring. Welcome aboard.

Dad, Mom and Jennifer arrived the other day for a little gathering of the clan. During the girl's shopping outing I mentioned to Mom that I was having trouble finding a particular item for the wedding.

"Oh, I have one of those in my dress-up box left over from my Value Village days," she replied. Last year, Connie had salvaged the dress up box from certain return to whence it came.

We were starting to wind down an evening at Tim and Connie's filled with eating, yakking and swatting mosquitoes, when I remembered the dress-up item. And out came the Tickle Trunk. We had a great time of hilarity as we gathered in the guest bedroom and costumes were hauled out and posed in. Cameras flashed and blackmail threats were made. Eventually, I found the item I needed and we started to pack up the wigs and costumes.

As a final hurrah, Jade picks up a pink plaid item of clothing, holds it up and wiggles her butt in a sarcastic little dance as if to say, "What on earth could this be used for?"

Aunty Connie gasped. She sputtered. She pointed. And she let out a great Cutting Mwah-ha-ha.
"Th-that, that's grandma's nightie you just picked up off the bed!"

Well, as you can imagine that set off fits of laughter from all who were present. Poor Jade. She nearly died of embarassment. I felt bad laughing at her. Really I did. But it was hilarious. We laughed till we cried. Some of us peed.

"What would you use this ridiculous rag for???"

... and now it's confirmed.

Yes it's official and even confirmed. I am an old person.

Jade asked me if I remember the first thing I ever said to her. I can recall exactly where I was standing, what she was wearing and what I was thinking, but I do not recall my first conversation with her. She took pleasure in reminding me:

"I am not ready to be a Grandma," was apparently part of the conversation. After she reminded me of this, she then asked if I will be ready by February. Yes! Yes! I'm ready now.

So I am grandma to a little tadpole sized child who is due to breath it's first breath on February 23rd, which is Grandpa Ernie's 82nd birthday. How cool is that.

I phoned to tell Connie that from this point forward we shall be called Granny and Grumpy Ziemer. She responded with, "Does Albert want to be called Granny?"

I arrived home from work today to find that Alb had some left over concrete after pouring the floor of Jed's basement suite. He made me a name plate for my parking spot in the back.

It's Official.

I am an old person.

My visit to the doc today, after monitoring my blood pressure every 3 days for a month, resulted in me being given a prescription for quinapril.

I entered the small drugstore in the medical building, set my prescription on the counter and said, "I'm officially an old person."

The druggist read my doc's written request and looked me in the eye and said, "And fat."

My very first scrambled thought was, "He can't have just said that." But yes, he had.
Then I thought, "He must think he knows me and is sort making a joke." I know I am overweight, but...

Rather than be offended by this man, who is two decades older and at least 100 pounds heavier than me, I just bantered with him about stresses in life: kids getting married, kids moving back home, home renos - the list goes on.

He printed off a few pages of information on the drug I will be taking every day for the rest of my life, slid it across the counter towards me and said, "Some homework for you."

I thought, "That's a nice casual way to word it. He must just be a casual informal kinda guy."

Then he added, "And join Weight Watchers."

I was so flabbergasted by the whole thing I just paid him over a dollar per pill and walked out sort of dazed and confused. After I left the building I thought of a thousand good remarks I could have made.

Join Weight Watchers. Ha! I'll show him. I stopped off at the liquor store bought a bottle of Fat Bastard Shiraz. Cheers! to the fat bastard who will not get one more cent of the $1.20 a day I will spend for the rest of my life.

Dollar Daze

Remember the first time you entered a "dollar" store in the 90's when they first burst onto the scene? It was amazing. You could actually buy things for a dollar - wrapping paper, school supplies, household items, party supplies, candles... the list goes on. It took a few trips for us to realize that many dollar items were not actually worth a dollar, but we learned to by-pass the candles, soaps and cleaners that stink and don't work and get the bargain items worthy of a loonie.

I was getting my blood pressure checked in the mall last night and decided to run across the hall from Shopper's Drugs to the dollar store. I needed some small hangers for the 5 flower girl dresses I am just finishing.

Low and behold if the dollar store is not moving out of the mall to down town, so they have a 50% off sale. Yes .. 50% off a dollar! I actually filled a basket to the point of stuff falling out all over the place and had to set it up by the check-out while I filled a second basket. I spent 50 bucks and could barely carry all my treasures to my car.

While my treasures are not exactly exciting items in themselves, they are things I needed to get in the next 40 days before the wedding and finding them for 50 cents was quite a thrill for me.

I got napkins, and disposable plates & bowls, and insoles. Yes, insoles. I previously bought 3 pairs at Walmart for 4 bucks each for the boots and shoes I am making for the wedding party. I got 'em for 50 cents!

Okay, so I don't get out much. That much is evident by my enthusiasm over an outing to the dollar store.

Hello, my name is Liana. I have an addiction.

My addiction is salt.

I have been rampantly indulging my addiction for 43 years. I am now overweight and my blood pressure is out of control.

Is there a support group out there? Ah yes, Old Dutch. I see you there - fully supporting me and my addiction.

What if God were writing the bible today?

Sometimes I think too much.

I don't necessarily stress about the "what ifs" and "if onlys". But my mind gets off into tangents about "how come" and "just imagines".

I will admit I have never read the entire bible from beginning to end, but I've probably read everything in it at one time or another. I find myself occasionally thinking, "What if God were writing the bible today. What would He include. What would he dismiss as trivial?"

He included the few verses about Jabez that have recently become widespread. He went on and on about the Children of Israel's journey. He briefly mentions how he called Solomon "Jedidiah". He gives great detail about heaven in His revelation to John.

When one considers what if God were writing the bible today - what would He include? What would need great detail? What would be inserted as a 2-verse notation. What would He purposely not record?

If God were writing the bible today, I cannot help but think that Stephen Harper's apology to the First Nation's people of Canada today would somehow be recorded in more than just a passing notation.

Lilacs a-la poo.

I love lilacs.

I don't have a lilac bush at this house. But I don't need one. The kids next door have a huge bush of them and they crowd my driveway. I walk down the wrong side of the driveway to get my mail so I can bury my face in the fragrant branches as I go by. I love coming home and getting out of my car and the essence fills the air. Mmmmm, wonderful!

I inhaled deeply as I stepped from my car yesterday: mmmm mmmmy gawd! What the heck? It was the most disgusting blend of aromas: lilacs and rotten septic. Filth and foul, it was baaad!

The neighbours have chosen this select precious 2 week bloom period to replant their lawn and have covered their front yard and all along my driveway with the contents of the city sewer lines. Actually Albert tells me that the layer of new earth is emitting the same smell that the composting site at the garbage dump does, but I'm not so sure.

Rather than miss out altogether on lilac season, I have chosen to pluck a few blossoms from the tree and bring them in the house with me each time I pass by the tree.

The new grass had better sprout in a great big hurry or tree will become lopsided with no more branches our side of the tree as far up as I can reach.

You're not the boss of me.

I have a special needs son. He's carded, labeled, registered with the government, or whatever other politically incorrect term you want to use. But the fact is, he's incapable of making safe and wise decisions for his own day-to-day living. (Not unlike most teenagers) As such, he qualifies for support financially, physically and professionally to ensure that his needs are being met.

We are in the process of putting together a long term plan for his future. This includes the input and professional counsel of someone formerly known as a 'social worker' now called a 'facilitator'.

In one hand the facilitator holds a pen that is scribing out a report requesting support for this young man who is unable to care for himself. Meanwhile his other hand wags a finger in Jed's face saying, "You are an adult now, you make your own decisions. Your parents are not your guardians anymore."

I'd really like the home phone number of the said facilitator about midnight when I'm being told "I don't need a shower, I had one last Thursday. And I will go to bed when I damn well choose. You're not the boss of me. [facilitator] said you are no longer my guardians. I make all my own decisions now."

Yeah, well go make them in your facilitator's house then.