BookLust

Good Granny/Bad Granny story winner 4!

And our final winner in the Good Granny/Bad Granny contest is Sandy Zita with his delightful Bad Granny story. Congrats, Sandy!

Well it was 1979. The place... Woolco’s on Weston road. We were sitting in the restaurant. I was 9 or 10 and working on my rubbery jell-o. My grandmother lit a cigarette (my how times have changed).

As she tapped out the ashes into the glass ashtray she remarked to my mother how much she liked the ashtray. My mother and Bubbie (I’m half Jewish) continued with idle conversation about nothing in particular. As she finished the cigarette, she again remarked how much she liked it. And sort of gave my mother this look.

My mother said “Do you want it?”

Bubbie said “I’d like to have it”

“Take it” said my mother as if it were the natural thing to do.

Bubbie knocked the ashes out into a saucer, wiped it out with a napkin and put it in her purse. I gave my mother a pleading look. I knew it was wrong... I had been told it was wrong.. And here they were.. Working together on the heist.

We got up and left the restaurant and headed for the front door of the store, which felt like miles. I was sure we were going to get nailed. I just knew it.

We got to the front door.

We passed through the front door.

We got in the car and drove home.

Nothing. No one said a thing. I couldn’t believe we made it without getting nabbed.

Bubbie’s gonenow... But the ashtray remains.

Once again, thank-you to everyone who entered, and thank-you to everyone who helped promote this contest on their blogs. I hope people enjoyed this little bit of fun, and if nothing else, took some time to think about their own grandmothers, be they good or bad.

Trading In Memories with Barbara

Ooooooo....I've got wonderful news! But first, for those not in the know, I am a very big fan of writer and artist Barbara Hodgson. She is one of those few gifted people on the planet who can combine beautiful writing with luscious art to create treasured, memorable books. If you don't know about her work, well, you should find out. A good place to start is by reading Barbara's new book, Trading in Memories: Travels Through a Scavenger's Favorite Places. In this new creation, Ms. Hodgson takes her readers on her own adventures through Paris, London, Istanbul, Naples, Damascus, and too many other places to name. Like her other books, Trading In Memories is overflowing with luscious collages illustrating her fascinating travels.

If you want to find out more about the book and Barbara Hodgson, you must take some time to explore the Trading In Memories web site. And if you are a passionate traveler with a gift for writing, why not enter the Travel Story Contest? You could win a collection of travel books valued at $250. And if you're interested in getting a review copy, there might be some left, but you must hurry and contact Monique Trottier over at So Misguided.

Thank-you, Barbara Hodgson, for creating yet another amazing book, and thank-you so much Monique, for bringing this gem to my attention!

Good Granny/Bad Granny Story Winner 3!

Today's wonderful story from the Good Granny/Bad Granny contest is written by Rachel Green. Congrats, Rachel!

Buckets of Love

Every summer mum and I would have a week in Newcastle. It’s where she came from after meeting my dad and moving to Birmingham. She was seventeen when the war ended and my Nan asked her to write to the soldiers serving overseas. She didn’t know who she was writing to at first, but her replay came from a man in the RAF serving in Burma and they fell in love through faded ink before ever meeting in person.

Mum didn’t drive. Dad did, but we didn’t have a car and he didn’t like my nan and da anyway so we always went on the train. I’d begin to get excited when the train passed through Durham and sped over the river. I’d look out for the Tyne Bridge and the Swing Bridge and then, when we’d got off and stumped over the platform bridge, I’d look for Nan.

She’d be watching for us from the concourse below wearing her fur-collar woollen coat with the big black buttons. She always wore that, rain or shine, summer or winter, though we never visited in winter. I’d run down the steps and into her arm, inhaling the scent of mothballs and leather gloves, Winston cigarettes and Guinness.

I’d have to wait while mum and Nan hugged. Mum would always cry and Nan would wipe away her tears with a white lace handkerchief. Sometimes she’d spit on it first, but I think Nan only did that to me.

Then we’d get the bus back to Benwell and Nan would open the big heavy door with a brass knob right in the centre and I’d run down the corridor past the piano and into the living room where Da would be waiting with his pipe. Nan would follow more slowly with mum, but within half an hour I’d be settled at the table with a glass of Tizer and a plate of egg and chips. Nan always made egg and chips the first day I was there. Even now I love that simple meal for the memories it invokes.

After tea she’d sit in her chair by the fire and tell us all the news about my aunt and uncle and cousins, then at seven o’clock she’d get down the bathtub from the kitchen wall and fill it with water from the copper kettle on the fire. She didn’t hold with trains because they made you dirty and I had to have a bath before bed. I slept in a pair of easy chairs pushed together to form a cot, with a pouffe in the middle to make it long enough. I dreamed of the seaside then, only a bus ride away.

The only toilet at Nan’s house was outside at the far end of the yard. It had a paraffin lamp you had to light with a match, newsprint toilet paper and spider’s eggs in the cracks between bricks. The best thing about Nan was that when I was in my pyjamas she didn’t make me use it. Instead she taught me to wee into a bucket which she emptied herself after I’d gone to a bed

My nan was a good granny, because she let me wee in a bucket.

Silly Poetry Friday 13

Happy Silly Day! Guess what? I'm going to be silly and cheat a bit again today, because I'm on a tight schedule this morning. So sorry, folks – you're gonna get another silly poem written by me! Hee hee hee...

BLUE

I'm feeling sad
I'm feeling blue
There is nothing
Just nothing
NOTHING to do!
No one to play with
Nothing to see
Nobody to talk to
Not a thing on TV
Nothing to hear
Not even a peep
I'm so sad and so bored
I can't even sleep
But if I could
It wouldn't be fun
'Cause I'm sure all my dreams
Would be boring re-runs
I'm so sad I'm so bored
I'm so – What did you say?
There's a giant parade
Down the street just today?
And the circus is coming
To town in an hour?
And the garden is sprouting
Some beautiful flowers?
And the library's giving out
Books by the dozens?
And we're having some guests –
Aunts, Uncles and cousins?
And you want me to come?
That's so nice of you
But can't you see that I'm busy –
I'm FEELING BLUE!

Good Granny/Bad Granny story winner 2!

Today's winning Good Granny/Bad Granny story comes to you from the always delightful and delicious Cipriano of Bookpuddle fame. So what kind of story did Cippy write? A Bad Granny story, of course! Congrats, Cippy!

The Sudden Disconnect
[An Incidence of Bad Granny]

    I was resting peacefully on the couch, reading a magazine. It was always so nice to come home after a grueling semester of college, relax, and enjoy the pampering from mommie.
    No, I don’t mean she put diapers on me. Often.
    I refer to the constant feedings! Mmmm… she would cook, cook, cook, according to the speed with which I could eat! So, this one evening I was on the couch digesting, and she was at the stove, cooking.
    The phone rang, and I reluctantly got up and answered it.
    “Yes. Sure.” I said into the receiver, setting it down and adding, “Mom, it’s for you. Sheila.”
    Now Sheila is my niece, living in Calgary. My sister Pat’s kid. My mom’s grand-daughter. Sheila has many kids of her own. And she loves to talk.
    Mom turned whatever was currently boiling, down to simmer, and went to the phone. I returned to my magazine.
    For the longest time, the one side of the jibber-jabber I could hear was just a bit of peripheral noise to me. I paid not the slightest attention to it, and buried myself further into the article I was reading. Food being my only real concern, I noticed that once or twice mom even set the receiver down to go and stir my next meal, then she’d return to the phone and pick up where she had left off.
    Jibber. Jabber. Jabber. Jibber. Is anything other than actual chickens more poultry-like than two women on the phone?
    At one extremely animated portion of the conversation, while Granny-laughter filled the room, I looked up at her and calmly said, “Mom, do you know that is a collect call?”
    Beak instantly not flapping! Eyes real big.
    And even as my question mark still hovered in the air between us, the receiver was being slammed into its cradle!
    Not one second of hesitation!
    Not one moment of reconsideration.
    Not a good-bye.
    Not a, “Oh, sorry. Gotta go! Talk to you later, Sheila.”
    Nothing. None of the above.
    BOOM.
    Conversation finished. Decapitated!

    She ran back to the stove, and I flipped to the next page. But I remember thinking, “Ooooooh. Bad granny! Ba-a-a-a-a-a-d granny!” 

Bloor West Toonin'/Town Cryin' 13

Here's the November cartoon for the Town Crier. I had a lot of fun with this one! And you know what? I'm really having a blast drawing Mayor Miller. I love using the brush to ink his big face and long nose, and of course his darling swishy blond locks. What's there not to love about spoofing this guy?

If you live in the city of Toronto and you have an interest in municipal politics, then you know that on October 22nd, the Toronto City Council voted in those two tax increases. Unfortunately Miller decided to compromise a bit with those taxes, so he won't be pulling in as much money as he originally anticipated, so guess what? We'll be feeling the pain somewhere else, more than likely with raised property taxes, and after that, who knows? He's still behind the eight ball with the budget, and as far as I can remember, this is the first time I've ever read in various newspapers of late about serious talk of declaring bankruptcy for the city.

Miller Man, Miller Man, does whatever a Mayor can...

Good Granny/Bad Granny Winners!

Apologies for posting the winners late today, but we went away for the weekend, and didn't get back until later this afternoon. But I'm here now, and happy to announce the wonderful winners of the Good Granny/Bad Granny writing contest! First I must thank everyone for entering, and as cliché as this may sound, it really was hard to pick the four winners; everyone's entries were funny, charming, entertaining and heartwarming. But unfortunately I could only pick four, and those four folks are:

Julie Quirke from New Zealand
Cipriano of Bookpuddle fame
Rachel Green
Sandy Zita

Big congrats to you all! Starting to day I will post one of their stories on my blog, and will post the rest this week for everyone's enjoyment. Today's story is a Good Granny story, written by Julie Quirke:

When I was about six I desperately wanted a Barbie doll.  Would anyone get me one – oh no!  I grew up  in New Zealand, much like the suburbs everywhere.  So being trotted off to the local department store, or toy store I would beg and plead – “pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease can I have a Barbie for Christmas or my birthday”.  Of course those were the seventies and you never ever got toys at any other time and you never could guarantee you would get what you wanted anyway.

Well my mum listened, and dad listened with one ear, so I got a huge succession of plastic poppa beads, a ukulele (that must have been dads idea), and lots of hand-knitted cardigans, (just what I needed, when we celebrate Christmas in the middle of summer).

My nana had saved for years, and in the summer of 1976 she hopped on a big cruise ship and sailed across the Pacific ocean.  She toured and tripped all over the USA and saw the sights of  Europe.  How exotic a big trip like that seemed.

That year, at Christmas my nana gave to me a Barbie doll. Not just any Barbie, one with the biggest breasts and tiniest waist I had ever seen.  She came dressed in the tiniest  orange and white striped bikini .  Nana bought a couple of extra dresses, one was a lovely bicentennial dress styled in 1776 fashion, in red white and blue.  Of course I took it out and dressed Barbie up, I should have kept it in its packet – it would make big dollars in an online auction today!

Every time someone asked “ what did you get for Christmas?” I would shove my Barbie doll out so they could admire it, and tell them “my nana gave me this Barbie because she loves me!!”.

When I was ten, I found my nana on the floor, she had collapsed into a diabetic coma.  She died a week later, but I always knew she loved me, because she was the only one that listened to that little six year old me.

Silly Poetry Friday 12

Is it that silly time again already? Where does the week go?

So which silly artist should I mention today, folks? How 'bout Maurice Sendak? Yes, I know, I know, he certainly wasn't always silly – in fact, a lot of his work touches on quite serious themes. But you gotta agree with me that his Chicken Soup With Rice from the Nutshell Library is pretty darn silly! And speaking of silly, I read  yesterday that Dave Eggers of Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius fame has written an adult version of Where The Wild Things Are. Hmmmm. Actually, that's not silly, that's just...stupid.

Anyway, back to what really matters. It's now officially November, a month that tends to be a bit...depressing for some folks. The weather starts to get cold, Halloween is over, it's too soon to really start thinking about Christmas, and people are cocooning inside  their homes. Personally, I love this time of year, I guess because I'm a bit of a homebody, and nothing makes me happier than snuggling on the couch with some thick comforters, hot coffee, fat cats, a loving husband and a good book. But for some strange reason, some people don't like the month of November! Well, perhaps this silly poem about the month of November will cheer up all those November-haters: