The spider

Halloween is coming, so for the next three days my blog entry will be scary.  Halloween used to be about ghosts, goblins and witches, bats and crows.  Lately though, spiders have been added to the cast, which gives me the creeps.

I do, however, have good story about a spider, but for obvious reasons there will be no accompanying picture today.  I suffer, and I do mean suffer, from arachnophobia.

The following is a true story my grandmother told me ...

It was 1929, and my grandmother's neighbors had found a spider in their house. But not just any spider, this was a creature of monstrous proportions. If rumors were to be believed, this beast was the size of a dinner plate.

The neighbors, unable or unwilling to kill the spider, had caught it and deposited it in an empty aquarium. They even turned it into a little business. Whoever wanted to see the amazing spider had to pay a small fee.

At first my grandmother had claimed to have no interest in the spider; but finally, curiosity got the better of her and she, too, went off to have a look at the monster. After paying the fee, she was admitted to the parlor where the spider was in residence.

Grandmother, a woman who was not easily shaken, came back shivering all over.

"It really is a monster," she reported to all willing to listen. "Black and hairy, and so big it wouldn't fit on a dinner plate. And it has eyes and a mouth."

"Well of course spiders have eyes and a mouth," one of her listeners said. "How else would they see and eat?"

"Knowing that they have eyes and a mouth is one thing," grandmother said. "Actually seeing those black beady eyes and black thin mouth is quite another."

"You saw the mouth?" another listener asked.

"Well, I didn't actually see the mouth," grandma confessed, "but a pencil lead was dropped into the tank, and the spider bit it in two. I swear it! I saw it with my own two eyes."

By now more people wanted to see the spider, but the very next day the neighbors had bad news ... the spider was gone.
"WHAT?" was the general reaction.

Suddenly the whole street, neighborhood, and city lived in fear.  Most of them were not afraid of a spider, but this was no average spider, this was a creature of horror. Everybody searched high and low, but the spider could not be found.

Meanwhile in a local pub, Janet, one of the customers, reported that she had been hearing the sound of a bell, but when she went to open the front door, there was nobody there.  At first she smiled, thinking the neighborhood kids were playing a trick on her, but after the 5th or 6th trip to the front door, the game wasn't funny anymore.

"Take me to your house," a man dressed as a sailor commanded the woman.  When she spluttered in protest the sailor held up his hand and went on "Madam, I have a strong suspicion that the spider that was discussed earlier is in your house."

Janet didn't need telling twice.  She immediately made her way home, with the sailor and several others in tow.  At the precise moment that Janet and the sailor walked into the house, a wall mirror that was suspended at an angle by an inch thick twine cable came crushing down.  On the wall at the other end of the cable sat the incredible spider.

Once again the sound of a bell chimed through the house, but this time the sailor commanded Janet to remain where she was, not to move an inch, and not panic.

Meanwhile he slowly produced a knife and in one fluent motion threw the knife in the direction of the spider. The knife hit and pinned the spider in place.

As the sailor explained, the spider must have been there for weeks as it had bit by bit chewed its way through the thick twine cable.  Chiming like a doorbell was its way of communicating fear and frustration.  As long as it was hidden by the mirror, the spider had been at ease, but once exposed the spider had chimed in anger and would have jumped and could have killed someone.

When asked how come he knew so much about spiders, the sailor confessed that it was probably his fault to begin with that this spider had ended up in civilization.  A few weeks ago he had returned from South America, and he guessed the spider had been a stowaway in his suitcase.

The dead bug was taken away by the fire department and donated to the zoo where it was put on display.

Donations ... what is your money used for?

Has anyone seen the ad from the Princess Margaret hospital on TV?  They’re website is www.helpconquercancer.ca, which incidentally is also their slogan to motivate you to donate.  But what is your money really used for?

Visit the website and have a look at the houses they are giving away.  How did they come into possession of those mansions?  Were they donated or were they bought?  Bought with your donations?

They must have an awful lot of donations.  The mansion in Oakville is valued at $3,999,000 and the one in Muskoka $1,175,000.  There are also luxury condos to be won at King Street West and Downtown Toronto.
In addition there are fourteen cars to be won, ranging between $300,000 and $18,000.

All in all over ten million on prizes are to be won.  TEN MILLION!!!  How did the organization get ten million dollars?  If that’s the total amount of donations, shouldn’t that money be used for … oh I don’t know, the research and treatment of cancer!

When will people open their eyes and close their wallets and say “You’ve wasted enough of our money.”

Is what's good for the goose really good for the gander?

Tonight I followed a conversation about whether or not to offer constructive criticism on a manuscript.  Some recommended being brutally honest.

I tend to disagree.  Everybody has different tastes and as such a different opinion.  You may like a sweet and sappy story, someone else may hate it.  You may like a murder mystery and think ‘the bloodier the better’, someone else might prefer something a little more subtle.  So criticizing someone’s work should always be done with extreme caution.

Take into account that this person has worked on his manuscript for weeks, maybe even months.  It started with an idea, through bouts of inspiration it took shape, with hard work and perseverance it was finished. 

Since finding a literary agent or publisher is extremely difficult, the author then proceeded to self-publish, because he’s proud of his work and feels he has something to share. 

Having read hundreds of books and followed several critiques, I can honestly say that I put no stock whatsoever into what a critic has to say.  What he gives is his opinion of the book, which may or may not be the opinion of the general public. 

The same with movies and plays.  How often have you read a raving review about a movie and were thoroughly disappointed when you saw it yourself?  By the same token, how often have you seen a movie the critics slammed, and loved it?  There is simply no accounting for taste.

Keep in mind that even J.K. Rowling had to take a certain amount of criticism and rejection when she approached literary agents and publishers with the first Harry Potter book.  Whether you like or dislike the Harry Potter series … today J.K. Rowling is richer than the queen of England.  Can you say as much?

Other than that, authors are only as good as their editors.  Open any book and read the acknowledgements, each and every author will thank her editor(s).  They are the ones who read the original work, slashed unnecessary details and advised what should be expanded upon. 

But even with an editor’s help, a book sometimes is not all that it could or should be.  Take “Duma Key” from Stephen King for instance.  In general people rave about Stephen King.  I only read 35 pages on “Duma Key” and tossed it.  In those 35 pages the main character did nothing but swearing and shouting.  Okay, so he was angry.  Mr. King didn’t have to devote 35 pages to that emotion, I understood the man anger in one or two pages.  Couldn’t King’s editor have advised him to slash 33 pages?

In the end it’s all about personal choice.  What’s good for the goose is not necessarily good for the gander.  If you have to offer criticism, think before you speak.  How would you like to hear someone trash your work?

The importance of an up-to-date passport

I never gave my passport photo much thought. I figured if I could recognize myself, then others would too. Then I attended a lecture on the importance of using current identification and saw passport photos in a whole different light.

The speaker at this lecture was Phillip, a jovial, middle aged man, born and bred in St. Louis, Missouri.  As a financial consultant overseeing several accountants, he had traveled the world and had learned from his mistakes.  Assuming the role of a harbinger, he warned us about the dangers of an outdated passport.

"I can't stress the importance of up-to-date identification enough," he informed us. "Never mind if you don't look beautiful or even remotely attractive in your passport picture.  Be honest and look closely at your passport, or other identification picture.  Are you recognizable in your photo?"  Phillip then proceeded to relate his experience during a holiday visit to Israel fifteen years ago.  Hoping that they were about to hear a travel horror story, his audience hung onto his every word.

"If I had known then what I know now, I never would have traveled with an outdated passport photo," Philip began. "I had no trouble leaving for Tel-Aviv from St. Louis, and was treated with professional courtesy by all.  Unfortunately, when I returned to the States, I walked into a nightmare."

He recounted that the trouble started at Ben Gurion airport when he handed his passport to the customs officer for inspection. The male officer took one look at his photo, then he carefully looked at Phillip, and his brown withered face morphed into a mask of hostility.

"What is this?" he barked.

"My passport," Phillip had replied politely.

"Your passport?" the customs officer had said in a mixture of disbelief and contempt. "You want me to believe that this is you? This is not your passport. Look at this man. This man looks nothing like you."

Phillip smiled at first because the customs officer had a point. In the passport picture he was a few years younger and sporting an afro, while his hair at the time was shorter.  Due to the lack of a hair dryer, teasing comb and lacquer, his hair was now considerably less voluminous.

He was taken aside and led to a tiny windowless room.  A hermitage it seemed, dark, dusty and threatening.  After a while five men walked in, four surrounded him with guns, while the fifth one starting firing questions at him in a language that he didn't understand. When Phillip said that he didn't understand them, the leader of the group turned to English and instructed him to remove his clothing. Phillip thought this rather odd, but complied, all the while trying not to panic.

When ordered, at gunpoint, to remove his underwear too, he was not so compliant. More so, he was now severely ticked off and at a point where he didn't care anymore what happened.

"No !@#$ way!" he swore. "There is no !@#$ way I'm taking this off. You can !@#$ shoot me if you want, but I'm not taking off my underwear!”

Much to his surprise, within minutes he was let go. From what he was told his attitude and bad language had saved him. Apparently, only real Americans can swear with such gusto and resist getting naked even at gunpoint.

Needless to say, as soon as he arrived home from his holiday he had his passport picture updated.

United Way = Organized Crime

United Way’s slogan is ... “Without you there would be no way” or “The Better Way”.  The better way for what ... swindling people out of their money?

Back in the day, Robin Hood took from the rich and gave to the poor.  He was a hero.

If an ordinary person takes money from another person, no matter how good his intentions, he’s a thief.

If you’re going to swindle millions of people out of millions of dollars you better be organized and come up with a great name.  A name such as United Way.

In their latest pamphlet United Way states that $50 per person, per month provides 24 newcomers to Canada with transportation.  What ... they came to Canada any money?  What were they planning on doing?  Land in Canada and go straight onto welfare?

United Way further states that giving $106 per person per month gives people in high need neighborhoods access to computers to look for jobs.  What’s wrong with buying a newspaper and sending a resume by fax?  Alternatively, they could go to the local unemployment office and use one of the many computers there. 

In the beginning I looked favorable upon United Way, thinking they helped people in need, but then one day I read testimonies of three people and that made me see United Way in a different light.

The first one was of a woman who thanked United Way for her son’s education.  She stated that her boy was very clever, but that she didn’t have the money to send him to university.  United Way had stepped in and taken care of that.
I was appalled.  The guy got to go to university on the donations of others!  Whether he was smart or not is beside the point.  There are hundreds, maybe even thousands of kids who are smart and never get the chance to go to university because their parents cannot afford it.  What’s wrong with attending a local college?

And if his mom could not afford university or even college, what is wrong with him getting a job?  Thousands of others are doing just that.

The second testimony was of a drug addict, who after years of going through life stoned out of his mind had decided enough was enough.  He was going to get clean.  Admirable, but why should donations of others have to pay for it?  If he had money for drugs, why didn’t he have money for rehab?   There are others who have an addiction and if and when they want to make a clean break, they have to do it alone.

Finally there was the testimony of a woman who thanked United Way for buying her daughter a pony.  The girl wanted one, the mother couldn’t buy her one, so United Way gave her one. 
Do you know how many girls want a pony?  Hundreds, thousands, a pony speaks to a child’s imagination.  I wanted a pony in my younger days.  I got a bike instead.

Other than these I have never actually heard of anyone receiving money from United Way.  I see homeless men and women; I see people in need; I hear about people having difficulties making ends meet; but never have I actually heard that anyone received a dime from United Way.

So where do the millions United Way collects go to?  Do you know?  I don’t.  Another one of United Way’s slogans is “United we can make a difference”.  This is true, united they can come up with believable lies, take your money and put it into their bank account.

Perhaps United Way should change their name to “Organized Crime”.  

 Think before you give.  Where does your money go to?

Fall has blown into town

I put flannel sheets on my bed, retrieved my winter socks and dusted off my fleece slippers.  It seems that with the arrival of October, the temperature has drastically dropped.  

What people like about the fall is beyond me.  Some get quite lyrical about it, admiring the trees and their color changing leaves.  Sure, the trees are beautiful, but the way the wind was blowing yesterday and this morning they won’t have their beautiful leafs for long.

Even though I can’t quite say that it’s grown cold, it has become rather chilly.  Chilly enough for me to have changed my shoes for boots and my cotton jacket for a woolen one.  

From now until April, or even May, I won’t be able to sit on the balcony in the canopy swing anymore; and the cats won’t be able to go outside in their kitty run.

Oh I can’t bear the thought that it will only go from bad to worse.  Flowers will completely disappear, the bare trees will soon be covered with frost and I will need to wrap myself in layers of clothing.  For the next couple of months I will need a proper winter jacket, a hat, a scarf and gloves. 

Next there will be snow and ice and with it all kinds of dangers.  I will no longer walk to the subway station, but slip and skid my way over there, desperately trying to stay vertical.  I dislike the fall and I hate the winter.

So what am I doing in Canada?  Good question.  While living in South Africa, I longed for a proper winter.  I missed the cold that brought snow and ice.  In the 15 years that I lived there, I just never got used to celebrating Christmas under a blazing hot sun.  Back then I wanted snow and ice.

Come to think of it, I like the seasons the way they are in Canada just fine.  The spring ... chilly and wet; the summer ... short but hot; the fall ... windy and somewhat depressing; and the winter ... deep freeze cold.  

I need a cup of hot tea.