Monthly Archives: June 2013

Sunday June 2, 2013

Lynn’s Notes:

I have only owned one bikini in my life; I am one of those women on whom a bikini looks like “balloon art.” After I turned thirty, the bikini was no longer beachwear — it was “beached-whale” wear with stretch marks. Just trying it on in the bedroom was demoralizing. So, now I go for the one piece wonder — if I can find one that flatters. I’m still wearing the same suit I bought in Florida six years ago. Florida is the only place I’ve been where there is a reasonable choice in beachwear. In Canada, it is difficult to find a bathing suit in the winter…because, who swims in January? Whoa! Millions of us escape the snow shovel for at least a week each winter, and with us, we take our spending money for summer duds. We HAVE to!

When it comes to purchasing a new bathing suit, I am not choosy; I will pay the price for a suit that has a flattering line, good frontal support, can be worn in public (even though I might never see these people again), does not have a bilious colour scheme, actually adheres to the body when wet, and doesn’t let a cheek hang out if I stoop to retrieve a towel. This is the prize I look for as I peruse the shops in Florida. When I did this strip, it was not so much a slight towards my not so slightness, but a loud complaint to those who design, manufacture, and present us with unwearable beachwear.

Monday June 3, 2013

Lynn’s Notes:

Neither Kate nor Aaron was ever so ill that they had to go to the hospital. We did live down the road, however, from a family whose young daughter had Cystic Fibrosis, and the threat of losing her was constant and cruel. Little Christine liked dolls, and I had a sizeable doll collection. I gave her one of my favorite handmade dolls, which started a sweet friendship. Visiting Christine and her family gave me new insight: it requires amazing strength of character to live with a chronic illness.

Wednesday June 5, 2013

Lynn’s Notes:

I think kids recover from illnesses well because they have such positive attitudes. When I was eighteen, I had my appendix out. Considering myself an adult, I was disappointed to be put in the children’s ward. Surrounding me were kids recovering from all kinds of serious things, and all I could hear was laughter, music, and the sounds of the day. When I visited the adult ward, there were complaints, depression, subdued conversation, and an “old” smell. I was then glad to be where I was.

Sunday June 9, 2013

Lynn’s Notes:

When I was a kid, a travelling salesman came to the door selling piano accordions. I’m not kidding. With every purchase, they threw in a year’s worth of lessons. My mother, wanting me to play something (that wouldn’t swallow half the living room and take ten years to pay off), actually considered buying one. Here was a piano-like instrument that was almost portable! I liked polkas and accordion music in general, but the cool factor was lacking. I declined. A real piano would have been great, but this was not the same! In desperation, she promised me that playing the accordion would increase my bust size. As a “budding” teen, this argument had merit, but the piano accordion still wasn’t my thing.

Years later, when I was living in southern Ontario, I met some musicians from Newfoundland. Caught up in my love for east coast music, I bought myself a button accordion. This I learned to play not too badly and after awhile, it showed. I was indeed building up bulges where none had been – on my arms. I actually had pipes! I knew then that the old arm-pumping exercise to the cry of, “We must, we must, we must improve our bust!” was hogwash. The only sure way to enhance the unenhanceable, is through surgery! I still play my accordion, but only for sympathetic friends, and I don’t really care about the bust line. I do have a word of advice, however, “Ladies, it’s a fine instrument, but…never play an accordion in the nude!”

Monday June 10, 2013

Lynn’s Notes:

Even on the most miserable winter days, my kids seemed immune to the cold. Mittens, boots, warm socks and headgear were fought against in their hurry to get out doors. They only came in when they were blue and shivering and had to be thawed out in a hot bath. Knowing he was freezing, I once called out to Aaron saying, “What are you waiting for, why don’t you come inside?” and he replied, ” My fingers still work!”

Wednesday June 12, 2013

Lynn’s Notes:

When I was about five, our road was tarred and it took weeks for the surface to completely cure. Meanwhile, the tar bubbled out along the edges, and we kids played with it. I happen to love licorice, and when a friend (older and wiser — perhaps eight years old) told me that tar was liquorice, I believed him. I picked a ball of it off the road and chewed it. The taste was awful. I was told it would improve if I kept chewing, which I did. This proves, once again, that kids will believe anything!

Friday June 14, 2013

Lynn’s Notes:

Because I worked from home, there were moms in town who felt they could drop in for coffee any time. One of these ladies was very offended when I asked her to come when I wasn’t working and to please call first. Both of her kids were in school; I was paying a sitter to watch Kate. Every hour at the drafting board meant time I could spend with my family later. It was a hard concept for some — who thought that doodling on paper couldn’t possibly be work!

Sunday June 16, 2013

Lynn’s Notes:

Robert’s Fine Jewellery was one of the flagship stores in Lynn Lake. It reminded me so much of my dad’s store in North Vancouver, that I had to include it in the strip. Having grown up surrounded by giftware, jewellery, and trinkets, I was never too interested in owning any of it, but after I left home and had my ears pierced, things changed. I started to really appreciate jewellery, and once in awhile even though I felt guilty for doing so, I’d buy myself something small, something nice.

Wednesday June 19, 2013

Lynn’s Notes:

After he was bathed and dried, it took another hour or more to comb out his fur and get him to look good again. The final touch was an elastic band in his hair to hold it away from his eyes. The ability to see, however, gave him a clear shot at the ravine behind our house or the nearest pile of stink he could roll in. I don’t think he ever stayed clean for more than a day, but it was worth the effort just to have him smell good for a change!

Friday June 21, 2013

Lynn’s Notes:

Some of Aaron’s friends did have keys to their houses, but again, the town was so small that we all looked out for each other. In general, the kids didn’t get into too much trouble. Small towns are a relatively safe environment for kids — which is probably why they all say they can’t wait to leave when they hit their teen years!

Saturday June 22, 2013

Lynn’s Notes:

After receiving a pretty rough scolding, I decided I was never going home. I was going to stay in the backyard and suffer. My dad put up a tent for me and brought me some hot soup in a thermos. It was autumn and I was about 7 years old. I didn’t want his help, but I accepted a sleeping bag and an air mattress, and prepared to spend the rest of my life separated from those, who in my opinion, had treated me mean. Night fell. Dad brought me a book and a flashlight, and as I watched him go inside I felt, well… vulnerable. I tried to sleep, but the wind and sounds of the neighbourhood kept me awake. When it started to rain, I wished I had not been so definite in my decision. The tent wasn’t waterproof and it definitely wasn’t warm. I decided to sneak into the house, sleep in my bed until early next morning and then sneak outside again. Fortunately, Dad had left the door unlocked.

Next morning my bed was too comfortable to leave, so I slept in. Dad brought in the tent. Mom hung up the sleeping bag to dry and washed the thermos…and nobody said a word. Sometimes, you don’t have to say anything to get a point across.