I had a dream the other night that I was at bingo. I seldom go since my Mom died, because it’s something we did together, and well, I turned into a snotbag when I went without her.

Ass Burger Boy knew this, and graciously volunteered to go with me, so I wouldn’t be alone and prone to the snotfest. Isn’t he sweet?

I don’t exactly know why I thought I should go, it isn’t as if I dreamed I would win or anything. And? Have you ever been to bingo and watched the people around you?

Nobody smiles. Even when they win. I heard one woman who won almost $500 mutter “It’s about goddamn time, after all the money I put into this.” If they’re going for fun, I’d have to give them a fail.

If you’re in a good mood, and talking with your companion, or strike me dead laughing, you are on the receiving end of the bingo hall death ray stare. It seems that laughter is verboten at bingo.

The only time there was any real hilarity at bingo was at my expense. I once went with Mom and her friend in the valley. The tree in her friend’s yard had ripe plums on it, and I ate quite a few of them, not thinking that plums, when dried, are prunes. These were fresh, ripe, and delicious.

The rumblings coming from my tummy announced the fool who had been eating fresh plums, and the dashes to the washroom underlined just what fool it was. Everytime I scraped my chair back, the tables around me tittered.

I was happy to provide some amusement. Because bingo? Full of sour-looking, cranky faces.

My blog buddy, Zoe, is a food nazi. She has more rules than you could ever keep track of in your head concerning food, like it mustn’t touch other foods on the plate. I would probably be over stressed if I had to feed a person like her, although I would do it, because I love her. But I’d still make fun of her.

I determined early on with Ass Burger Boy that some foods, like sugar, are actually drugs in disguise. It really wasn’t easy doing research in a small town library (before the internet) when he was little, but my own observations underlined any information I gleaned about the Feingold diet. I noticed when he was very young that ketchup would make his ears turn red, and his behaviour got really out of whack. Or it was whack. Whatev.

People often wondered how I managed to raise him single-handedly with his different abilities, and really, he was a total treat. With a healthy, non-processed, no sugar diet, he was so happy and adorable that I was truly blessed. And eat? Boy, did that chile love him some grub! Anything I made him, he would chow down on with satisfied, happy noises.

How adorable was he? He’s not eating there, but he looks like he’s reaching for food. Work with me, people.

He had his first soda pop when he was nine, and promptly threw it up. And no, it wasn’t me who gave it to him, although I recognized that as he got older, his body was better able to process food-drugs. My attitude was why mess with success?

His only real food quirk is that he cannot bear to waste it. So the only clue I got that he preferred not to eat some foods is that they would languish in the fridge.

Now that he is almost twenty-five years old, I finally learn that tomatoes and spinach are not his faves. Two foods that I always have in abundance. Heh. You coulda said something, son. I don’t go on strike because you don’t like something.

Pizza and wine with Warrior Woman are not on the agenda for the foreseeable future. She has determined that she is allergy testing herself for gluten and alcohol. And potatoes. Yes, I still have some of the fifty pound bag of potatoes left. We’ve had them baked, mashed, roasted, scalloped, everything but deep-fried. But I figure I can make a meal that she can eat without all her no-nos.

And the pizza? All the more for ABB. He likes my pizza just fine.

I have the television on this morning in order to catch Heather Armstrong as she appears on the Today Show. Already, they are interviewing fans who are lined up outside to greet her, and she may not be on for an hour. Until she comes on, it’s background noise I never hear at this time of day.

The television has always been a source of discussion with Ass Burger Boy and myself. No, we don’t usually discuss the actual programs, but rather, the insidious branding and subliminal messages of programs and advertising.

It used to be said that religion is the opiate of the masses. I think I liked it better when that was true. At least religion was trying to instill some values, albeit along with a whopping dose of guilt and fear.

When you were impressionable, did you think to question the veracity of something if it was on television? Or in the newspapers? Unless you have dialogues with your children about it, I doubt that they do either.

I have become alarmed especially at how corporations are selling their products in commercials. The message is that their product is so good, that you should go to ridiculous extremes of bad behaviour to ensure that you have it.

Call me alarmist, (I don’t really care) but I see this trend in commercials as a concerted effort to erode the mores of our youth by encouraging bad behaviour.

And really, what is THIS promoting?

Why? What possible purpose is being served here?

I’m not sure why, but it scares the ever-lovin’ bejabbers out of me. Because I do believe there is a purpose.

Parents? Please discuss with your children the deep influence that television has upon them. Keep your eyes open to the messages that are being broadcast. They are being trained as good little consumers, willing to do nasty things to obtain the “must-have” latest new thing.

The greatest gift you can give your children is your time with them. Please use it to ensure that they don’t blindly accept everything they are exposed to.

I’ll step off my soapbox now. I really hope I’m preaching to the choir.

I have been following the discussion of Jon Armstrong’s post exploring the apprehension of 463 children from the FLDS compound at El Dorado, Texas. I also did some research into the fundamental religion, and the practices that still go on to this day. Go read the post and comments, they are fascinating. I’ll start dinner while I wait for you to come back. You will come back, won’t you?

The commenters are articulate and present interesting viewpoints. My one track mind, however, grasped onto the lead sentence of commenter #39, bookratt:

Freedom brings with it an obligation to responsibly follow the laws of the land and to respect the rights of others.

All I could think is that Americans don’t have any stinking freedom. They go overseas to fight for freedom when they don’t have it in their own country.

And if anybody doubts this, I invite you to read the Patriot Act.

You don’t need to be a terrorist or suspected terrorist for the gubmint to be all in your business. All you need is for someone to notice you. Telephone conversations, emails, blog posts, financial records, health records, ad infinitum, are all fair game. No warrants are needed, no notification is necessary. Secret searches can be performed, and the searchee may never know.

I’m not so naive to think that Canada is not involved in this. The FBI already has access to Canadian databases because of a technicality where the database administration is outsourced.

The Liberal leadership race in Canada stunk to high heaven. We had a most excellent Liberal leadership candidate in the person of Ken Dryden. Ken is upright, honest, smart, and personable. He is a hockey hero to old timers who saw him tend goal in Stanley Cup and Olympic games. (Winning, of course.) He was so very electable.

Ken was eliminated early on. Who did they choose as leader of the Liberal party? The most ineffectual human on the planet. Stephane Dion. The man with no chin. Inarticulate in two languages. Not even close to playing on the world stage, or even electable. Explain please, how that makes any sense at all.

Who was elected Prime Minister of Canada? Stephen Harper. Looks like a Ken doll, but not a Ken Dryden doll, no, the kind with helmet hair. He runs his Conservative party with an iron fist. The media has extremely limited access to him, and none to his caucus members. Why? He has forbidden them to talk to the media.

But, hey! Him and Dubya are good buddies, even though Dubya committed the cardinal sin of calling him Steve. (We like to joke that his wife calls him Mr. Harper)

I just can’t shake the sneaky suspicion that the folks behind Dubya did a little diddling behind the scenes at the Liberal leadership to ensure that Harper had no competition. I have never entertained the fairy tale that politicians have MY best interests at heart.

I’ve always been very proud to be Canadian.

Now I feel as if our country has been violated.

If you think Canada is not following suit, check this out. And this too. If the first one passes, I may have to take down my post about medical marijuana or I could be prosecuted. Skeery.

It’s been a long winter. I think those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, more specifically in Canada, can agree upon that. Any signs of spring at all are most welcome to my eyes. I’ve been especially eager to see a crocus, but it appears, there are none to be had in my yard. I hadn’t planted bulbs last fall because I wanted to see what came up and where this spring. Now I know. There appear to be irises, chives, forget-me-nots, and yarrow coming up so far. The Big V concurred with my identifications. Laugh not at the pitiful chives, for they will be wondrous in omelettes. Besides, there are more, and the Big V is bringing me some garlic chives to boot.

I also spotted what I believe to be columbine, but that is out of frame. Just imagine it for now, please.

To spot these two lonesome crocuses, I had to take a hike around the neighbourhood. I needed to see them in bloom. I need visual proof every spring, that yes, there is a God. After a long winter, I deserve that gratification. Behold the mighty crocuses (crocii?) in their God-affirming glory! I needed that. Thanks.

And? This little car has been out on this stump all winter long. Please forgive my pitiful camera skills. I would blame it on the sad little Kodak Easy Share I’ve been using, but it’s a poor workman who blames his tools.

And by the looks of things, I should have cleaned my glasses first. This shot was overexposed, so I played with it in Photoshop. Obviously, I suck at Photoshop. But hey! Give me a database, and I will kick some butt.