Marshmallow Gun

This week I entered a writing challenge. Thought I’d share with you what I wrote.
Here is the challenge: The little choices we make each day create meaningful stories that can change the course of our lives. Seeking best stories about how a little choice had a positive, significant influence on you in 170 words or less.

marshmellowgunI met Liam, 13, at my Grandtoys’ school’s Art Harvest on Friday.

Liam sold marshmallow guns at an art show table in the gym.

I bought this one for $20 including two bags of ammunition.

A marshmallow gun has several potential uses like entertaining aforementioned Grandtoys.

Husband can use it in his on-going war with magpies, much safer than his pellet gun plan!

As a speaker, I’m always seeking to add fun to my presentations. Audiences would wake right up if I started pelting them with baby marshmallows.

Making marshmallow guns would be a fun “cottage project”; I now possess a prototype.

I’ll never know if my marshmallow gun purchase will make any difference in Liam’s life.

I like to think it will. By noticing him, taking him seriously, and purchasing his product, I expect Liam will be encouraged to launch other ingenious endeavors, some of which just might change the world, most certainly, Liam’s world.

And I have my marshmallow gun.

100 Books in 2014

PhilomenaMy book club read the book Philomena, by Martin Sixsmith and we met to discuss this week. The book is purported to be about a mother’s search for her adopted son. But the majority of the book is about her son trying to find himself and his birth mother. It should be called Anthony. We chatted about the themes in the book. The consensus was lukewarm.

For me, the book is monumental, not for itself but that it’s the 100th book I’ve read this year. That seems like a mountain of books, but honestly, since beginning my reading mission in 2007, this has been the easiest year to meet my goals.

(If your eyes glaze over when you see numbers, skip the next two paragraphs).

In 2007 and for the next two years, I read a book a week. Partway through 2010, I realized I was reading two books per week so that became my new goal for 2010 to 2013. At the start of 2014, I had read 579 books since 2007. With a bit more effort I knew I could get to 700 in 2014.

Then I decided, why not strive for 1000 books in ten years? That meant I had to read 421 books in three years, 140 books per year. The hundredth book puts me at 679 so far. 321 books with 28 months to go: 2.5 books per week. Let’s call it three.

It may seem obsessive, but it’s quite exhilarating to be accumulating knowledge on a wide variety of topics, including health, business, politics, marketing, speaking, writing, spirituality, food, gardening, real estate, self-help, history, various other non-fiction, poetry, and even a few novels.

People are shocked to learn of my reading habits. It has become such an integral part of me, I’m not as impressed as I once was. Here are my tips for those who desire to read more.

Make reading a priority. We all waste time every day. If you truly love to read you will find some wasted time. And read!

Carry a book. I always have one in my purse because I realized much of my wasted time is waiting…in line at banks and supermarkets, at appointments, even at restaurants and coffee shops when clients are late. (I sometimes purposely get there really early so I can read a few chapters!) I read about two “purse” books each month.

I also have partly read books throughout my house: one where I sit in the living room, one on my nightstand, sometimes, one in the kitchen. I rarely read two novels simultaneously. The last time I tried, one book had a man who had lost a daughter and the other had a woman who had lost a son; I had a hard time staying on track: which book am I reading?

Trade TV watching for reading. The average North American watches 35 hours of TV each week, a full-time job! Watch one less hour of TV each day and devote that time to reading. At one hour a day, everybody can read one or two books a month. Soon your books will call you away from most TV.

Schedule reading times. My husband likes to sleep in on weekends. I usually can’t sleep past eight. So I read for two hours, keeping the house quiet for my sleepyhead husband. I often read a novel on a Sunday afternoon. On vacations, I plan to read a book each day. Airports are a great place to read books since so much waiting is required. And a four hour flight whizzes by when a mystery is unfolding in your hands. I can usually read a book before I get there and one to get home.

I appreciate e-books when I travel. Before I go, I load up my iPad with books. I always bring a couple real books because airlines won’t let me use electronics on take-off and landing which can last many “chapters”. Sometimes I take books with me I don’t expect to want to keep so can I leave them behind in public places, surprises for strangers.

I naturally read more in winter as I’m not distracted by my garden, golfing and summer socializing! I guess that’s one good thing about living in Calgary: long winters for reading. (As I write this on September 8, it is snowing!)

Start with one book. Many despair that they could ever read three books a week! Start with one a month. Then two. You will become a faster reader. That’s what happened to me. I got faster so now I can read more. I can read 100 pages per hour unless the font is miniscule or the language archaic.

I have no idea when this will stop. But I have a list of over 400 books to read, books recommended by somebody I respect, and there’s so much to explore at the library, I expect to keep reading. The number doesn’t really matter. It’s just fun to challenge myself and then reach those goals.

Keep a record. One of the best things I’ve done is to keep a spreadsheet record of my reading. I record the dates I read the book, the title, author, source, who referred it to me, and whether I’d read again, recommend, want in my library or am happy I read it. I also include a description or any quotes that grabbed me. Very valuable. I often forget whether I’ve read a particular book. I simply search my spreadsheet. Also when people ask me to recommend books, I can remind myself of my favourites and choose books I think will be appropriate.

Use your library! If I had bought every book new, I would have spent $20,000 so far! ($30 x 679 books). But I didn’t. I borrowed most books. Bought many used for $2 or less. Got some as gifts. And bought a few new, often at discount at Costco or as e-books. I estimate I’ve spent less than $700, including gift cards I’ve received, in nearly eight years, about $90/yr.

Join or start a book club: Your reading list will expand when others add to it. There is nothing more fun than discussing a great book with others who’ve just feasted on it too. My club has led me to read books I never would have thought to read. Some are among my all-time favourites.

One of the most important gifts you can give yourself is making time to read. Your knowledge will begin to expand immediately. Your vocabulary will grow: I’ve calculated I learn about 20 new words from every book I read. Reading strengthens your writing. I’m convinced I’ve improved.

One of my few regrets in life was not having a degree. One day I discovered a quote to the effect that everything is written down in books. If one can read, one can be educated. That made sense to me and I haven’t looked back.

Most people think I am educated in the traditional sense, often inquiring about my education history. I proudly tell them that my school is Life and my degree is self-directed and on-going. Then I tell them about the number of books I read and/or have read. It impresses. But it doesn’t matter to me. I do this for me, not to impress (unless someone is being elitist and snooty, then I might indulge in some chest beating).

I’m enjoying my book journey. Won’t you join me?

Running with the Bulls

Black Angus Bull photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Black Angus Bull
photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Not Quite Pamplona but Thrilling Enough!

One of my summer adventures was helping my farmer friend remove her bulls from their harems. Naturally, they’d rather not move to months of bachelorhood with the other bulls.

My farmer could sort them herself when she had a good herding dog, but alas, she lost him and she’s alone. So I agreed to come and be her “dog”.

A dog would do much better than I did. I haven’t done jumping jacks for cows for over 40 years! All my farmed–raised friends know exactly what I mean by that. It’s a technique used by cow chasers to divert the herd in the desired direction.

At one point I let a calf squeeze by, out popped its mama from the crowd and the rest mad-dashed for the opening. We had to regroup, technically, re-herd!

Some of the lovely ladies photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Some of the lovely ladies
photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

A dog would not have let that happen.

We were chasing the curly-haired-faced red brute. I was cautious, which again allowed the creature to choose his own direction.

My farmer chastised me. “He won’t hurt you”. My inner alarm sounded. My Grandpa constantly warned us to steer clear of the bulls. Of course that was before I was 11.

Then again, 45 years later, do I really want to take the chance that I can outrun a bull to the nearest fence? A bull that is more than a little agitated at being separated from all his lovely ladies?

Common sense prevailed.

Hereford Bull photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Hereford Bull
photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

A good herd dog is not afraid of a one-ton animal. A herd dog has years of herding history firmly lodged in the strands of his DNA. And the agility to perform the last-second escape from a hoof or horn. Clearly, I am not a dog.

I eventually got the hang of positioning my quad behind and slightly left of Curly, my farmer tucking in on the right. We got the bull to the desired paddock. An old dog like me can still learn new tricks!

I enjoyed running with the bulls in Maple Creek, SK. Not quite as thrilling as Pamplona but more my style. Our bull run had purpose: herd management, ensuring no calves are born later than a reasonable date next spring. Two bulls were sold as they have too many offspring of calf-bearing age: their “wild success” has made them redundant.

"Curly" photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

“Curly”
photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

In Pamplona they run for the heck of it. To brush with death.

I don’t feel the need to tease death. It will get me soon enough. In the meantime I enjoy everyday I have whether I’m picking beans or running with the bulls.

Seeing the cows enjoying their green pastures, being outdoors, soaking in the sunshine, fresh air, and exercise, and a couple days of good belly laughs with my farmer friend, added to my joy for life.

I wonder if that’s what they get out of it in Pamplona, too! Laughing with their buddies over drinks about their heroic moves and near misses. Running with the bulls might just be medicine!

Back to Bachelorhood until spring!  photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Back to Bachelorhood until spring!
photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Divot the Dog Celebrates her 14th Birthday in a Big Way!

photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Health Lessons from an Old Dog

Last week our Golden Retriever, Divot, turned 14 and she had a wild and crazy birthday.

It began with a lunchtime party with the Grandtoys, who simply love to have dog parties. I barbecued chicken legs. The wind blew the aluminum foil cover off the pan and Divot gobbled down a chunk of the chicken-skin-flavoured foil before I could stop her.

Peanut butter on rice cakes is her usual birthday fare but this year it was leftover blueberry pancakes with peanut butter. And my Grandtoy had put so much peanut butter on the pancake it stuck to the roof of Divot’s mouth. So funny as she struggled to suck it off! See video of Divot’s party. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FSPwqV3D8V8&feature=youtu.be

Finally, Divot and my husband went to see an old friend, Betty, who fed Divot most of a bag of popcorn. Later while hubby was sitting at the table with Betty he heard a slurping sound from the living room. There he found Divot’s nose in a box of chocolates. He dug some out of her mouth and deduced she may have swallowed one or two. Not the end of the world.

As you can see Divot still behaves like a puppy. She has slowed down in some ways: our walks are often strolls. She can no longer jump into the truck; in fact, she can’t even put her paws up to boost herself. She sleeps most of the day.

But the tiniest sign that we’re ready to walk: I brush my teeth, get my phone, ensure I have my Epi-Pen, put on my shoes, any one of those signs gets her excited about our walk. She bounds off the back porch like a puppy. Divot loves people and is happy to greet others as we walk around our neighbourhood, canines less enthusiastically than humans. Her pace going is faster than coming home, something she’s always done, anything to prolong the walk.

We are privileged to have Divot in our lives for 14 healthy years.  Divot is our living experiment. When she was ten weeks old we decided to feed her a diet that was more in keeping with her nature. As a descendent of wolves, we knew she would thrive on a wolf-like diet.

photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Divot’s Supper – photo belongs to
www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Since then she has eaten almost all raw food. Her typical meal consists of ½ cup raw meat, ½ cup cooked brown rice, ½ cup raw veggies like carrot or cucumber. She gets garlic and parsley; she gets fish, olive and coconut oils and some other supplements. An integral part of her diet is the raw beef soup bones she has two or three times each week. They keep her mouth healthy and her teeth cleaned. She has all her teeth and they’re not black, as is expected by this age.

Despite losing most of her hearing and some of her sight, Divot has had few health issues. Apart from some antibiotics for ear infections from swimming in the Bow River, she has taken no medications. At two years old we removed a large wart from her paw. No diabetes, epilepsy or other modern dog ailments. She is not obese and she has never stunk, like most dogs do.

Divot has lived two years longer, so far, than the long range for her breed. We think it’s her diet and lifestyle. If it works for a dog, it should work for humans.

So here is what I recommend based on Divot’s fine example. Eat whole, real food, suitable to your species as much as possible. Not too much. Drink plenty of water. Exercise everyday. Sleep lots. Play whenever you can. Surround yourself with people you love and choose to be happy.

If Divot were a human she’d be pushing 100. And I’ve just shared the secrets to her longevity!

Yellow

yellowrose

photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

My grandma’s favourite colour was yellow. (Being Canadian I spell both favourite and colour with “our”).

Her kitchen was yellow.

I loved her kitchen, despite not loving yellow.

She created good things in that kitchen.

The sun always seemed so bright in Grandma’s kitchen.

Perhaps it was the yellow walls. Perhaps it was the sunshine.   Perhaps, and this is what I suspect, it was Grandma.

When my grandpa was dying, over 40 years ago, he dreamed that he painted the outside of their farmhouse yellow. He inferred that he defied conventional wisdom because Grandma liked yellow. It was the perfect metaphor for his devotion, devotion that would otherwise remain unspoken in their Germanic, one-must-not-show-emotion home.

She told me that story several times, always with a catch in her voice, so I knew the impact it had on her.

As a child I had yellow hair. Perhaps that’s why Grandma cherished me so lavishly. (Or not!) I still have yellow hair thanks to Brian, with his roll of tin foil and a purple paste down at the Phoenician Salon.

My grandma had yellow flecks in her eyes. Officially, she called her eyes green, but they were actually yellow. That trait popped up in one of my daughters and one of my granddaughters; they have yellow undertones in their irises. The effect is that their eyes look like they’re the same colour as their strawberry blond hair. It’s weird. Beautiful, exotic, but strange.

photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Mustard is yellow. It is my favourite condiment, in my opinion, a must-have for the complete enjoyment of a burger. Perhaps that’s where they got the name. I like the plain stuff. No Dijon, Honey or Horseradish; just plain mustard.

There are other good yellow foods. Nobody exposed me to squash as a child but my yellow-irised daughter shared the secret about the great flavour of butternut squash. I saute it in butter and maple syrup. Mmm!

I used to love Grandma’s pickled yellow beans.   Yellow beans are very tasty, fresh from the garden too. Canned yellow beans are gross; they certainly don’t deserve the title “vegetables”.

There is nothing more heavenly than a homemade lemon pie. Grandma used to make them.   A crust made of real lard, not hydrogenated vegetable oil, a sweet and sour sunshine filling, topped with a cloud of meringue, delicately kissed golden in the oven.   Mmm again!

When I was young I thought it was weird to declare yellow as one’s favourite colour. I preferred purple (my dad’s chosen hue, also unconventional) and blue. Even pink, red, and certain shades of green but not yellow!

I don’t know that I ever saw Grandma wearing yellow. It’s not a flattering colour for many people. Some shades of it make ME look green.

Grandpa always said Grandma looked best in white (good thing she was a nurse) and blue, but that was HIS favourite colour, so he was biased there, don’t you think?

Why would someone select a colour that one cannot wear?

I know blue makes my eyes look bluer than they are (actually they’re a blue-grey-green, depending on the weather and what I’m wearing). I guess I got some of Grandma’s yellow iris DNA too.

Most of the clothing in which I feel most comfortable is blue, like jeans and faded denim shirts, and the fabulous turquoise dress I got for $13 at a dress shop in Phoenix.

See. I know the fun of wearing MY favourite colour!

I wore yellow to Grandma’s funeral. In fact my declaration that I intended to do so inspired other family members to dig out or borrow or buy yellow articles of clothing to wear.

One of the most touching things my husband ever did was show up at my sister’s before Grandma’s funeral, wearing a crisp new yellow dress shirt. He proved he actually listens!

He looked great in that shirt with his dark hair and brown eyes, and miraculously it was exactly the same shade as my yellow jacket. We looked like we had actually coordinated our wardrobe. Quite the feat! Do you have any idea how many shades of yellow there are?

My brother in law’s tie was the same yellow as my sister’s blouse, both of which were totally different from and clashed with our yellow.

In the weeks after Grandma’s funeral I would find myself weeping, often while walking our Golden Retriever, Divot, (our yellow dog), in our local dog park.

One day I felt like I was tapped on the shoulder.

There before me was a meadow of mostly yellow wildflowers, waving at me. My eye was drawn to the buffalo beans. Grandma taught me the name of buffalo beans. As a child, I picked them in the meadow immediately behind her farmhouse.

And there were some Brown-eyed Susans and others whose names I don’t yet know.

The flowers danced while the breeze whispered in my ear, something I didn’t quite catch. It felt like “I’m okay”.   Or maybe, “I’m here”.   Or, “I was here; now it’s your turn!”

At the very least, the message that comforted me was that whenever I see a yellow wildflower I can think of Grandma. And I do.

I think of the many things she taught me.

I remember of the warmth of her unconditional love.

Before her decline in the last few years, we would compare stories about the wonder of being a grandma. I remember laughing with her about the cute things my grandkids would say. And she would repeat the cute things I said when I was her little Grandtoy.

Come to think of it, that was one of the “yellow” moments of my life.

Thanks, again, Grandma!

Very Punny

1. The roundest knight at King Arthur’s round table was Sir Cumference.  He acquired his size from too much pi.

2. I thought I saw an eye doctor on an Alaskan island, but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian.

3. She was only a whiskey maker, but he loved her still.

4. A rubber band pistol was confiscated from algebra class because it was a weapon of math disruption.

5. The butcher backed into the meat grinder and got a little behind in his work.

6.  No matter how much you push the envelope, it’ll still be stationery.

7. A dog gave birth to puppies near the road and was cited for littering.

8. A grenade thrown into a kitchen in France would result in Linoleum Blownapart.

9. Two silk worms had a race.  They ended up in a tie.

10. Time flies like an arrow.  Fruit flies like a banana.

11. A hole has been found in the nudist camp wall.  The police are looking into it.

12. Atheism is a non-prophet organization.

13. Two hats were hanging on a hat rack in the hallway.  One hat said to the other, ‘You stay here, I’ll go on a head.’

14. I wondered why the baseball kept getting bigger.  Then it hit me.

15. A sign on the lawn at a drug rehab center said:  ‘Keep off the Grass.’

16. A small boy swallowed some coins and was taken to a hospital.  When his grandmother telephoned to ask how he was, a nurse said, ‘No change yet.’

17. A chicken crossing the road is poultry in motion.

18. The short fortune-teller who escaped from prison was a small medium at large.

19. The soldier who survived mustard gas and pepper spray is now a seasoned veteran.

20. A backward poet writes inverse.

21. In democracy it’s your vote that counts.  In feudalism it’s your count that votes.

22. When cannibals ate a missionary, they got a taste of religion.

Lines – to make you smile!

1.. My husband and I divorced over religious differences. He thought he was God and I didn’t .

2.. I don’t suffer from insanity; I enjoy every minute of it.

3.. Some people are alive only because it’s illegal to kill them.

4.. Don’t take life too seriously; no one gets out alive.

5.. I used to have a handle on life, but it broke .

6.. You’re just jealous because the voices only talk to me

7.. Earth is the insane asylum for the universe .

8.. I’m not a complete idiot — Some parts are missing.

9.. Out of my mind. Back in five minutes.

10.. God must love stupid people; He made so many.

11.. The gene pool could use a little chlorine.

12.. Consciousness: That annoying time between naps.

13.. Ever stop to think, and forget to start again?

14.. Being “over the hill” is much better than being under it.

15.. Procrastinate Now!

16.. A hangover is the wrath of grapes.

17.. Stupidity is not a handicap. Park elsewhere!

18..They call it PMS because Mad Cow Disease was already taken .

19.. He who dies with the most toys is nonetheless DEAD.

20.. Ham and eggs…A day’s work for a chicken, a lifetime commitment for a pig.

21.. I smile because I don’t know what the hell is going on.

Happy Birthday, Betty!

Betty's 90th Birthday

Betty’s 90th Birthday

A new old friend, Betty recently celebrated her 90th Birthday by inviting 20 people to a buffet dinner in a local hotel. There were representatives from almost every decade in the last century, literally from 9 to 90!

Betty has endured so many hip surgeries over the years that she has only one hip. As a result she is unable to walk or do much for herself. Caregivers come to her home three times a day to get her meals and help her in and out of bed.

You might think Betty is sad or depressed. You might think she would feel sorry for herself. But not Betty! She may not be able to walk but she is a walking example of how to enjoy life.

Betty has lived in her inner city home for 50 years.  Her oldest neighbour, Mary was taken to a nursing home on the day of the party. That was sad for Betty. Part of her purpose lately has been watching out for Mary, who has steadily deteriorated over the past few years. First her hearing; now her, mind. She’s been showing up at Betty’s at 10:30 at night, thinking it’s morning and scaring the Dickens out of Betty.

After five decades as neighbours, Betty and Mary are more like sisters than friends. Sadly Mary’s mental decline is ending their relationship. When Betty and Mary are both gone, their old homes will be dozed to make way for duplexes or mansions. Their decades of memories will be wiped out.

Betty’s kitchen is like Grand Central Station. I pop in to water her flowers or bring Divot, our 14-yr-old Golden Retriever, whom Betty loves, for a visit. Invariably I meet a different person every time, having tea with Betty!

Betty is determined to stay in her home until she dies. I hope she makes it. No matter how well meaning the “homes” are, they’re not the same as Home. The parade of visitors will slow to a trickle and eventually dry up. The staff is so harried and thinly spread, they have little time to interact on a human level. And the food is dreadful, almost completely void of nutrition and therefore, taste. No wonder people are dying to get out of there!

At her party the guests inquire with each other about our connection to Betty. One woman said her parents lived two doors down the street. For years Betty drove them to the grocery store. “Knowing my parents,” she laughed, “they didn’t buy one drop of Betty’s gas, so this is payback for me!” In her tone, shone love for Betty and the honour she has in paying back Betty’s kindnesses.

I know why Betty came into my life a few years ago: since my grandma’s been gone, I need old ladies in my life. They help connect me to “the good old days”, when I was eight and Grandma was my best friend. Much of what I learned from Grandma, I see again in Betty. They’re both tenacious old birds with a love for their people. I continue learning from Betty:

Have friends of all ages. And celebrate with them. Friendships take effort. It isn’t called “cultivating” friendships for nothing! I doubt Betty was thinking about being 90 when she was driving her old neighbours to the grocery store. Pay it forward is not just a cute slogan. It really works. One day when I’m old I hope to have younger friends who are willing to lend me a hand or an ear from time to time. I’m counting on good deeds being like stocks, paying me dividends in the future.

Happy Birthday, and thank you, Betty, for your friendship, for your never-give-in spirit and for reminding me that longevity depends on friends.