As a former weekly newspaper columnist years ago in Smalltown, Ontario, I was fortunate to interview passing-through celebrities of the day.
        Remember Ben Wicks? A well-known cartoonist of his time, he died in Toronto, 2000. His obituary describes him as a British-born Canadian cartoonist, illustrator, journalist and author.
        I also recall him as owner of The Ben Wicks pub on Parliament Street in Toronto’s Cabbagetown. (New owners took over the pub in 2013. A blue plaque commemorating Wicks has been installed on the railing and a wall-sized outdoor cartoon by Wicks has been retained.)
        In our very long interview, Ben Wicks described his personal roller coaster ride to success.

His early memory
        “I grew up on Fleet Street (London, England). My father was a printer. My mother, a charlady at The London Times.” He admitted talking about his childhood was unsettling and “very emotional”.
        “In the London of that day, things were bad. I had a twin brother who died 3 ½ days after we were born. There was no money.” An undertaker who knew the Wicks family offered to bury his brother by lying the child between the legs of a deceased woman in a closed coffin. His parents accepted the offer.

And then came World War II
        London’s children---and Wicks was one of them---were evacuated during this time. “From this warm, close family,” he recounted, “I was forced to go on a train to Wales. I was twelve. Having never left home before, it was pretty traumatic.”
        Standing in the station where the exiled children were delivered, “we stood there while families picked us out. A miner and his wife who had no children chose me.”
        But the union didn’t work and after a few months, “I was sent back and the village smithy picked me up.”

Emotional trauma
        The rejection, suffering, confusion and emotional stress of that awful experience still haunted the Ben Wicks I met.
“You have to be prepared when luck comes along”
        Which brings us to his start in cartooning.
        With only a few lines and a related caption, Ben Wicks could create an instant, effective and timely message. What was even more amazing was how he produced his cartoons a month in advance.
        Each morning, he claimed, he read the wire service (remember, these are pre-online days!). He credited his ‘excellent nose’ for news, a helpful ability since he filed current stories that he felt would still be topical in a few months’ time.

Humble beginnings
        By his own admission, Ben Wicks held some 32 odd jobs (among them clogmaker, barrow boy, electrician’s mate, and a musician aboard the Queen Elizabeth liner) since leaving school at 14.
        The turning point came in 1960 while he worked as a milkman in Calgary. “We lived in a one room flat and I was home from my milk route at noon. So, I bought this book on cartooning….” And in it he discovered a list of markets.

All for Fun
      “It was a hobby,” said Wicks. “I mailed 6 cartoons to the Saturday Evening Post planning to mail them out again to other markets as soon as they were returned.”
Fake Letters
       But the Post liked his work and offered him a contract. However, since he was an unknown, they asked for three letters of reference.
       “I faked the letters,” chuckled Wicks, “and drew for the Post for two years. Strictly gag jokes.”

The Rest is History
      Acting on a colleague’s advice, Wicks then moved to Toronto to work for the Toronto Telegram from where his cartoon, The Outcasts, was soon syndicated in over 50 newspapers. He drew his witty cartoons in a simple style that became popular with readers. When the Telegram ceased to be in 1971, he was picked up by the Toronto Star.  
        At the height of its popularity, the daily Wicks cartoon was carried by 84 Canadian, and more than 100, American newspapers.

Children especially
        He was always interested in, and advocated, for children. His book, “No Time To Wave Goodbye”, highlights selected accounts from more than two million children under the age of thirteen who were displaced from London during World War II. The book is a traumatic reminder of his own childhood.
          In 1986, he was made a Member of the Order of Canada.
        Wicks was also known for his humanitarian work. He used his illustrations to publicize the plight of civilian sufferers of the Biafran War in Nigeria, and became a supporter of Oxfam.
The Ben Wicks Pub
       One of his last words to me, after our fascinating and marathon interview, was “when you come to Toronto, stop by the Pub. Ask for me. If I’m there, it would be great to see you again.”
        We did. My husband and I stopped into his pub on Parliament Street. Some time later.
And, as genial as ever, he greeted us warmly.
        But he had no idea who I was.

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        Once upon a time, I was a columnist for a weekly newspaper in a small Ontario city. One column I wrote featured how our three sons wanted a pet. More specifically, a dog.
         My husband, despite four-legged creatures being attracted to him, nixed the idea. Too much trouble. Who was going to walk it all hours of the day and in all kinds of weather? And pick up after it? And, with the five of us out of the house for a significant part of the day, how was that fair to a dog? Also, we travelled a lot. What then? Place it in a kennel (an expensive proposition) or depend on kind-hearted friends (who would no longer be friends after two weeks of dog-sitting)?

        No, he decreed. Our lifestyle did not suit a dog member. (I must confess I was always on the fence. I had two dogs and a cat at separate times as childhood friends.   But I never said that out loud!)
        So instead of dogs, a myriad of weird creatures inhabited our home.  Once, as a parting gift, visiting relatives left behind a cage containing two gerbils for our sons. The givers insisted these little rodents were no trouble: clean, pleasant, quiet little pets…until one promptly disappeared into the recesses of the house. This incident caused a violent argument about whose fault it was. Then there were two chameleons (“one will just die of loneliness…we’ve got to have two”) and eventually, an iguana. Called “Drake”, short for Draconian, he became a legend in his own right.

        Hanging with his claws on the front door screen, Drake often turned away pesky salespeople who, catching sight of this mini-dinosaur flicking his tongue, did not dare ring our doorbell. We gleefully watched them creep away. Drake was also guilty of eating leaves from our houseplants leading to weird looks from visitors; on entering our home, one only saw tall green leafless stems standing alone in large containers.

        Fast forward now to 2020 and the Pandemic.
        Common sense (and psychologists) tell us that an adoring pet does wonders for the soul. And our mental health.
        The instinct to turn to pets during this pandemic is supported by science, says a researcher studying how pets help people.
        Researcher Megan Mueller says pets provide nonjudgmental emotional support, and studies show that “contact with pets help reduces stress and anxiety, particularly when you are experiencing a stressful situation.”
      Studies have also shown how animals help people cope better with social isolation—that is, being physically separated from others—and with loneliness.
        So, in that spirit, several members of our family have opted to follow that advice.
In the case of two sons, the pet idea started with the kids, then mom got into the picture, and finally dad agreed. (Fathers often link pets to a money drain.)

        A few years ago, our 8-year-old-grandson begged for a pet rabbit. If not a pet rabbit, then maybe a kitten, something soft and furry. He’d been playing with both animals in cages at local markets. After research, the parents settled on a male kitten. But not any male kitten. He came from a trusted litter and was not allowed to leave his mama until properly weaned. This meant, although he was ‘given’ the kitten on his birthday, our grandson couldn’t physically own him until at least six weeks later. But visit ‘his’ kitten he did, hold him he did, snuggle him he did. The day he brought him home was the day his parents took a photo of him with Bear (his kitten’s name) in his arms. His last words before falling asleep were “this is the happiest day of my life”. And Bear is still a happy member of the family.

        With kids home during this pandemic it was only a matter of time before another son fell victim to the pet syndrome. As he confessed, “it was almost child abuse” not to get a puppy. Enter one guardian puppy, a mini labradoodle, to be picked up this week. The excitement and preparations and longing for ‘Luna’ have reached a crescendo. Mama is as thrilled as the girls. Papa remains a little subdued, warning of care obligations, expenses, and on and on. But no-one’s listening.

        First son has not succumbed yet to the pet syndrome. His preteen twins have had their teeth weaned on hamsters but there has been talk. Mother is all for a puppy “this is the best time with everyone home” but so far…nada. We shall see.

        The crazy part is…all these fathers, including my husband, who complain about the work and expense of a pet, will fall madly in love with these adorable little critters. And these critters will be the ones who enthusiastically welcome home the hard-working dads. That is, when dads stop working from home.

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        “Join us for a Thai cooking class,” urged a German friend when we were in Thailand.
        Me? Miss Suzy Homemaker who wants nothing to do with complicated cooking?
Give me an easy recipe and I’m happy. But Thai? All that chopping and prep work and stirring and spices. Who needs it? My best Thai dish is pad thai prepared from a box.
        Yet here I found myself, apron donned, at a Thai Cooking course in Hua Hin.
        But let me back up for a minute. You can’t just ‘cook’…oh no, you’ve got to go to the market and buy your ingredients first. Groan. More walking on a hot, humid day.

        However, the local 100-year-old market is an education. Busy. So much to see. Spices with fragrant and spicy aromas; fresh herbs begging to be tasted. Even toads crowded together in a mesh bag for a special dish. “They aren’t alive,” I suggest. “Watch their eyes,” she says. I peer at the toads’ eyes. They are blinking!

        Fortunately, much of what we eventually prepare is familiar to my western palate.
It is true, Thai food has gained in popularity in North America. Thai cuisine rates among the most celebrated global favourites due to its flavor and health value.
        So, we purchased our fresh chicken breast filets and pork collar pieces, coconut, rice, water chestnuts and a myriad of herbs and spices from small stalls tended by local market keepers. My learning curve increased exponentially.
        Because of this course I didn’t really want to attend, there are certain spices/herbs I now crave in my home-based cooking. Like Kaffir lime leaves (bai makroot). The leaf of this lime is used in soups, salads and curry dishes. Added at the end of cooking, it emits a sublime lime taste.
Tip: to prepare lime leaves first pull out the main vein. Then roll 4 or 5 half leaves and slice the roll very thinly (2mm).

Spices and their health benefits
        I learned so much more about spices and herbs, the secret to successful Thai dishes AND their health benefits. Of many favourites, these three are only a sampling:
        Galangal/Siamese ginger (kha) – also called Laos. From the same ginger family we are familiar with, of similar shape and colour. Used for curry paste, soups and salads. Dried galangal must be soaked in water before use.
Health benefits: Today galangal is used extensively in Traditional Chinese and Ayurvedic Medicine and is often thought to be more beneficial than ginger. 
        Lemongrass (Thakrai) – looks like a large piece of hard grass. Used in teas, soups, salads and curries. Only the lower part is used for curry pastes while the entire blade is used in soups and salads.
Health benefits: Lemongrass has been used since ancient times in Chinese medicine for conditions like flus, colds, headaches, abdominal pain, arthritis, fungal conditions and more.
        Holy Basil (Krapow) – used in curry dishes and stir fries. Adds a hot flavour.
Health benefits: for use as a remedy for common physical and mental disorders. Acts as an adaptogen to fight the effects of ongoing stress; also balances the mind, nerves and emotions.

Do-it-Yourself
        Finally, this course taught me much more than I anticipated about the Thai kitchen. It is a form of creative expression.
        Want to try a dish? Click the link below for the fabulous Penang Curry with Chicken recipe. Bear in mind, our class prepared penang curry paste from scratch. Believe me---and lucky you---it’s easier to use Thai sauce mixes found in your supermarket’s Asian food aisle.
        ทานให้อร่อย! Enjoy your meal!

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Travelling the world means taking risks.
Sure, we’ve been scammed (sometimes due to our own ignorance or gullibility). We’ve grown wiser with these not-so-nice experiences.
But recently, while wintering in Thailand, we’ve discovered a welcome trait.
 
The motorcycle caper
            It was Valentine’s Day and we chose to treat ourselves to a non-Thai restaurant for a change in taste. Little Paris, a small bistro---ten-minute walk from our condo---may be French in name and menu but its staff is Thai. And rightly so.
Our French meal in Thailand did not disappoint. Sipping fine French wine, we dined on tender filet of beef, finishing with an ice cream dessert laced generously with a vodka sauce. With spirits high, appetites satiated, we began to thread our way back.
As usual, the street was choked with traffic: open back taxis, motorcycles, cars, bicycles, vendors, people, dogs, children, even horses. All vying for space along the route.
Halfway home, my husband stopped. Gasped.
“What’s wrong?”
“My backpack! Left it at the restaurant! We have to go back!”
Just as we turned to return, a motorbike left the road and stopped in front of us. “You forgot your backpack,” our waitress said, handing it over with a smile. With open mouths of astonishment, we barely had time to utter thank you before she was back on her motorbike, heading back to the restaurant to serve more customers.

Case of the missing sunglasses
Sunglasses, especially the more expensive brands that offer better eye protection, are a must in Thailand.
 Unfortunately, I have a nasty habit of misplacing glasses of any kind. Often, I find them perched on top of my head, or dangling, folded, from a blouse pocket, or carefully placed in the exterior pocket of my backpack that I carry everywhere.
On this occasion, we were in a nearby mall. While my husband renewed our cellphone contract, I wandered off to sniff out any bargains.
Of course, when it came time to leave, I couldn’t find my sunglasses. Retraced my steps here, there and everywhere. Nothing.
Where could I find a duplicate pair at a reasonable price? Impossible.
Without any expectation---and as a last resort---I approached the customer service counter. English is not the first language of those working this space. I could tell the clerk was baffled as I motioned with my fingers making round circles in front of my eyes. Am sure she thought I was a nut case and wondered how to handle this crazy farang.
She mimicked me, round finger circles in front of her eyes.
A lightbulb went on…she smiled (beautifully). Opened a counter drawer. Withdrew my Maui Jim glasses. “This?” she waved in front of me.
“Oh, yes, thank you!” I gushed. “Where did you find them?”
“Few minutes ago. Someone turn them in.”
She took my picture wearing my sunglasses. I guess for security reasons. In case some other wild looking farang came looking for the same pair.

Case of the lost cellphone
With some anticipation, we hired a taxi to take us to see a special breakfast prepared for rescued elephants. The occasion: Chang Thai Day (Day of the Elephants), March 13, when Thailand honours its hardworking large mammals.
We watched these great beasts dive into a banquet of freshly cut fruits and vegetables with great gusto, obviously enjoying each bite of watermelon, corn, mango, pineapple and more.
Later that afternoon came a soft knock on our door. It was the young man on the desk downstairs. Holding out my cellphone, he said, ‘taxi man brought it.’
We were aghast. I didn’t realize my cellphone was missing!
Quickly we walked to the taxi stand. To thank him, yes, but to give a small reward. 

On the beach
            The Hua Hin main beach is 4 km of clean, white sand. Perfect for walking barefoot. Perfect starting point for frolicking in the warm saltwater seas of the Gulf of Thailand.
            But where to put your ‘things’? You know, those accoutrements we drag along…like hats, sarongs, sandals, purses, tee-shirts, small change (to buy fruit from the fruit lady), lotions, reading books….
            From three years’ experience, we can honestly say: leave them on the beach without fear. What’s yours, stays yours. Even friends and acquaintances agree: your belongings on the beach are safe.

Life is tough
            With the spread of the coronavirus in Thailand earlier in the season, many tourists, especially those from China, were not allowed in Thailand. In turn, the businessman, retailer, restauranteur: each suffers from lack of business.
            But their misfortune has not translated into taking advantage of people like me.
            I honour their honesty. I wish them a quick recovery.

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        “Not good,” she shakes her head continuously. “Very hard. Not too much business.”
        We are chatting with Kohsoom (‘lotus’ in Thai), our favourite fruit lady on the beach in Hua Hin, Thailand, where we are currently staying.

From the beginning
        Our first inkling not all was well on this side of the world was in early January, when we stepped off our flight in Bangkok, after travelling 24 hours---two flights and a four-hour bus ride --- from Toronto, Canada.
        Bleary-eyed, jet-lagged, zombie-like, we barely noticed the extra health precautions at a gate near us. When we did look---because this was unusual activity---it was at the gate of an incoming flight from Wuhan, China. A handful of Thai health officials, dressed in protective clothing, wearing masks and carrying thermometers, were carefully screening passengers off that flight.

        Only later, after we settled in our rental condo unit, did we realize the extent of the problem. The coronavirus, that began in Wuhan, was beginning to spread its dangerous tentacles outside of China because of unsuspecting infected travellers. The Chinese New Year---The Year of the Rat in 2020---is a time of great celebration, much like other religious celebrations in the rest of the world. While many Chinese fly home to family and friends for the occasion, many also choose this time to vacation in warmer climates. Like Thailand.
 Thailand takes an economic hit
        Last year, Thailand welcomed 10.99 million Chinese visitors; China provides the largest number of tourists (27.6% of the total). You can imagine the economic hit Thailand has taken since the spread of the coronavirus and the closing of its borders and air flights to Chinese visitors.
         As of this writing, a report by Bangkok’s RHB Bank predicts that Thailand will lose US $3.51 billion because of the coronavirus and the resultant drop in tourism from China.

The real people suffer
        But back to the real people. We notice traffic in malls and restaurants is down; many department store sales encourage the visitor to spend. Eager for a sale, retail staff hover around a prospective customer.
         Meanwhile, our fruit lady, one of Thailand’s hardest hit poor, works tirelessly on the beach. (see blog https://www.heatherrath.net/blog/the-fruit-lady-on-the-thai-beach ) For six years she (her husband now helps) serves customers on a small patch of sand every day of the week except Wednesday.
         Mother to four children, three with her current husband, she is at the beach by 8 a.m. The couple sets up tables, an umbrella, a small grill for cobs of corn, tropical fruits, a blender for drinks, coolers for ice and a few chairs for customers. Tourists like to sit, eat, drink, and watch the two manage this small on-the-beach business.
         Kohsoom and her husband serve and sell on the beach until 6:30 p.m. Their youngest child, Noon, plays and sleeps in the surrounding area while his parents work. Thank goodness as the sun moves overhead, the little stand sits in the shade.

For the poor, it’s the same old, same old
        At sundown they pack up, clean, and secure what belongings they leave on their space overnight. The next day at 8 a.m., they replay the same scenario. Average cost of their freshly prepared fruit (mango, papaya, jackfruit, pineapple, watermelon…) is 30 baht (about Cdn $1.20). That’s one long day of manual labour for little pay.
         Kohsoom is worried. Not only the Chinese, but other tourists from other countries, are not coming. And she counts on each and every one to help feed and raise her family.

Finding a mask
        During the first week we were here, there seemed to be little reaction to the coronavirus news. Then, almost overnight, people (Thais and visitors alike) began wearing surgical face masks.
         Should we get one? Even though several (of many) reports (“likely won't stop you from contracting the coronavirus, but that's not stopping some people worried about the risk from buying up as many as they can find”) claim masks are not the answer, try and tell that to someone who’s afraid of the virus.
         What happened when we decided to go looking for masks? Just to be on the safe side? Sold out. As was hand sanitizer. We finally found a drugstore in a nearby mall and knew, from the long line-up outside, they still had masks to sell.

Virus a constant concern
        As of this writing, the coronavirus scare is alive and well in Thailand. What is fact or fiction makes no difference these days. Especially for the thousands affected elsewhere by the virus, some with tragic results.
                   So, we remain vigilant.
         One curious factor though. Although Chinese tourism is down, the beach still remains crowded with farang, other white foreigners.
         And no-one wears a mask on the beach.

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Office in the Airport
 
        An obese woman, sitting on the cool, tile floor, one leg tucked beneath her massive bottom, the other straight out in front, her back leaning against the full-length glass window, is dozing. She catches our eye in Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi (say that in a hurry) Airport because we are waiting, bored, for our highway bus connection to our destination after a long flight. Our rental condo is four hours away in Hua Hin, on the Gulf of Thailand.
        She is amazing, this woman who looks in her thirties. Wearing black slacks, a black and white polka dot top, black slip-on shoes, she remains alert despite her closed eyes. Round owl glasses sit on her pug nose. Short, curly hair surrounds her round face while her pudgy fingers (a gold band adorns her ring finger) keep tabs on three steadily ringing cellular phones.

        She answers each cell as if in a fog, automatically grabs an official-looking form from her ‘desk’ (a 12 inch plastic stool on the airport floor), scribbles words with her left hand into appropriate spaces, ends the call, motions to a lurking young male assistant who goes running off with said paper to where? The activity repeats itself with each new cell call. The three cells ring continuously.
        When she can’t stand the noise any longer, she reaches for a full roll of toilet tissue, places it on the chair seat in front of her, leans her forehead on the roll using it like a soft pillow.
        This woman is conducting some sort of travel business in this busy airport, oblivious to the hustle and bustle. Her belongings lie scattered around her.  No-one dares enter ‘her’ space.
        She has created her own office with no overhead. And she appears to be thriving. She is an original Made in Thailand entrepreneur.

Thai woman, white man
        We see these couples everywhere. From previous research, I know many websites  promote endless romantic possibilities for a foreign man with a beautiful Thai girl.
        But what catches my eye are the high numbers of these mixed couples. I am curious. In many cases the Thai girls are young; the foreign white men to whom they are attached are predominantly middle-aged plus. And not good-looking or suave. They have overhanging paunches, and some are not gentlemen.
        I watch these mismatches dine together. We are at the next table. Thai girl and foreign man barely say a word (language obviously a problem); the girl invariably grabs her man’s hand throughout the meal as if he’s about to escape. He pays the restaurant bill, of course. They leave hand-in-hand.
        I watch in the mobile phone office when speaking Thai makes business sense. While my husband struggles to purchase SIM cards or figure out what numbers to use for North America with a Thai salesclerk, the middle-aged guy standing at the clerk next to us turns his problems over to his Thai girl. She handles the transaction. Acts as interpreter, takes his credit card, and if he protests about costs he doesn’t understand, she quickly holds his hand to calm him. Then she slides off the stool still holding her high-end store shopping bags, links her arm through his, and off they go to spend more money.

        We walk along the beach where these twosomes are a common sight. She is completely clothed, covered from top to bottom so no sun rays can age her virgin skin. Skin on his chest burned red, he wears his teeny tiny Speedo bathing suit, gut overlapping the waistband. Their hands are romantically linked as they putter along wordlessly.
        In the mall, these couples are everywhere. Thai girl is petite, barely up to his stooped shoulder. In one hand he holds many packages from expensive boutiques. His tiny Thai lady grips his other hand tightly. No conversation passes between them.

       As a stranger in these here parts, I am not criticizing. Rather, I am fascinated at this growing phenomenon.
        Why do I have this nagging feeling that Cupid did not fire any arrows? Perhaps for Thai women the motivating force that binds is money (or the promise of), an escape from poverty, or just wanting to leave Thailand for a new life in a new land.
As for the men, this is probably what they want and need.  A Made in Thailand partner.

        Reminiscing about her childhood holiday homemade treats made my mouth water. I almost relocated mentally to an old-fashioned kitchen thick with sweet aromas.
         My elderly aunt, living in the Maritimes, reminisced when Christmas in the 1930s was simple. And tasty. As I licked my lips, she listed off the goodies I’d only read about: gumdrop cake, barley sugar, ribbon candy, mincemeat tarts.

Gumdrop Cake
         “Gumdrop cake?” I asked. “Never heard of it!” Although it did sound delightfully sinful.
         Turns out gumdrop cake is still very popular Down East in Canada. You can create homemade gumdrops with unflavoured gelatin, lots of sugar, and flavour extracts. But the process takes time…a rare commodity in today’s fast-paced world. So, buy the gumdrops. Then add these colourful edible jewels to a butter pound cake recipe and voilà...gumdrop cake. Beautiful to look at. Fun to eat.
         “Gumdrop cake was always a treat in our house at Christmas. Mum made it every year,” remembers my aunt.

Barley Sugar
         According to Smithsonian Magazine and my aunt, a favourite holiday treat in Victorian times was barley sugar/candy. I guess we humans started eating cereal grains tens of thousands of years earlier than first thought. We began eating refined sugar about 5,000 B.C.
         A couple of centuries later, a lightbulb flashed in some creative sweet-loving brain: if you combine barley and sugar the result is an ever so sweet candy.
         Beginning in the 18th century, candy makers used metal molds to create colourful, remarkably detailed candy toys of barley sugar.
         My aunt says she and her sisters looked forward each Christmas morning to opening their long, nylon stockings stuffed with precious goodies. “I remember those candy barley toys so well. Perfect in detail. Almost didn’t wanna eat ‘em. We’d suck ‘em so they’d last longer.”

Ribbon Candy
         Ribbon candy  was another of my aunt’s favourites.
 Ribbon candy is a traditional Yule sweet that traces its roots back centuries to Europe. Its historical evolution, however, remains fuzzy.
         At first candy makers/bakers developed the sweet ribbons as Christmas decorations for their shops. Each wavy ribbon was formed around the candy maker’s thumb until the 1800s.
         That’s when mechanical crimpers were invented to shape the ribbons. Finger-like crimpers simulated the curl originally put into the candy by hand. While one candy maker made the candy, another spun off a ribbon shape feeding it into a hand-turned crimper. The curly ribbon then slid down a small conveyor where another worker, waiting with scissors, snipped the right length.
 Too much work!
         Obviously, this method to produce ribbon candy was labour intensive.
         Until the 1940s ribbon candy was never made on a large scale; production
required more sophisticated equipment. Eventually, a single spinning roll was developed. By careful tending of the candy batch---and eliminating the hand spinner--- the automated machine could run faster. Trouble was a big bottleneck developed when hand-cutting the candy with scissors.
         Finally, Sevigny Candy of Hanover, MA invented an air activated automatic cutter. And it’s still in use today by F.B. Washburn Candy.

Mincemeat
         The name sounds gross! That’s because the earliest versions of mincemeat were exactly that: minced morsels of meat. “But,” claims my aunt, “it isn’t Christmas if you don’t have mincemeat tarts!”
      During the 12th century the introduction of new preservatives like sugar (honey/maple syrup), alcohol/vinegars and East Asian spices helped inhibit bacterial growth in minced meat, eliminating the need for salting or smoking. We can thank the  Crusaders who returned to England from wars in the Far East. They brought spices, like cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves, for use in meat preservation.
        Although the name remains, most modern-day versions of mincemeat contain various dried and/or fresh fruits suitably soaked in alcohol (like rum or brandy) along with exotic spices. And you can include minced meat as well.
         So maybe, despite your crazy schedule, you might like to try your hand at one of these traditional treats this Christmas.
         Then again, maybe you’ll only have time to visit your local big box superstore  where everything is pre-baked. Like me.

        I felt her anguish as she frantically told me: “that d--- Elf on the Shelf is a pain!     You realize, of course, it’s not just putting it in a different spot each night. Oh no, now it’s got to have a message or it’s got to be skiing or gliding or presenting some small thing---like a treat---to your kids or it’s got to be hanging from the top of our ceiling or it’s…..”

        Like, what has happened to this once inspirational season? We all know commercialism has taken over but now it’s getting ridiculous. Elf on the Shelf is only one example of something we love to hate. In the midst of seasonal stress and expense, Christmas parties, shopping, school concerts, excitement, illness…now you must worry about this little Elf each night: what is Elf doing, wearing, eating? So your kids can wake up the next morning and be totally surprised. Nowadays Elf can’t be a wimp and sit there smiling benignly. No, Elf must take on a life of its own.

        Worse, when your kids go to school each morning and compare Elf activity, your Elf had better outdo their friends’ Elf’s antics. Otherwise you fail in Elf creative ingenuity.
        From humble beginnings, the Elf has shifted into high gear, creating a frenzy and adding holiday stress for too-busy parents.
        The first rule of this Christmas icon is: you can’t touch Elf. Second rule is Elf will not speak or move while you are awake.
        Remember, this Elf was sent from the North Pole to watch over your little ones and report back each night to Santa on your children’s behavior that day. Then Elf magically reappears the next day in a new position….and the crazier the setting, the better.

        Now so popular every family must have one, Elf’s new life is creating havoc. Changing its position each night is a no-brainer. But now Elf must show his adventurous side, which, in turn, shows off your creativity---or not. For instance….
       We found our Elf on the Shelf melting his cares away in a giant hot chocolate marshmallow bath.
        We found our Elf in a once-full, now empty box of Oreos.
        We found our Elf on a zipline of thread sliding high across the kitchen
          

        Once upon a time in America---2004---mother Carol Aebersold and twin daughters Chanda Bell and Christa Pitts created the children’s book, took a financial risk when it was turned down by publishers, and the rest is history.
        In a world gone crazy, harried parents deserve a real break. Especially from a demanding little Elf at Christmas.
        But wait! There’s more good news!
        Do you know there is a birthday Elf? Yes! The Elf on the Shelf: A Birthday Tradition! This means you can resurface your Elf for 24 hours to help celebrate your child’s special day before Elf heads back to the North Pole.
        Bet you can hardly wait to start that new tradition on your child’s next birthday.

        It was a dark and stormy night.
       I was a teen baby-sitter, hired to take care of two terrors---boys aged 10 and 11--- while their parents partied away the night. None of my friends would babysit at this house. The word was out among us. Not worth it. But I needed the money.
        I remember the boys were still up and raring to go at 8 p.m. on a school night. Made no difference to them when they settled down. Made no difference to me, either, because I wouldn’t be the one to get them up in the morning. Mom and dad left with strict instructions for the kids to be in bed by 9 p.m. They could ‘play’ until then, have a bedtime snack, and then settle nicely into bed. They shared a bedroom.
        Oh, I forgot to mention their black cat. Monster was his name. That’s because the poor animal had been teased and tormented by said two boys. Since I was a stranger in his midst, his yellow cat eyes stared at me with deep suspicion. “Just put him outside later,” suggested the missus who sensed my uneasiness. “He likes to wander. He’s used to spending the night out.”

        Mister and Missus said good-night. Left in their finery for the evening.
        For the next hour I was consumed with playing hide-and-seek with the boys. Not a great idea since it whipped them into hysterics. Did I mention Monster who trailed in, out, and between the boys as they hid in their favourite hiding spots? Always eyeballing me with those large yellow eyes. Whipping his long black tail back and forth. Finally, I called a halt to the game. Not only was I exhausted but the boys needed to settle down. Besides, there was an alternative reason for me wanting to wear them out. I knew the film classic “Hound of the Baskervilles” was on TV and wanted to watch the movie uninterrupted.
        After a snack---and a story---for each one of course, they covered up their heads under their bedsheets to giggle. Monster watched all of this with a hands-off attitude only cats can convey. Won’t lie. Felt uneasy around that cat. Decided he would go outside before I began to watch the movie.
        Finally, the hellions settled down. Went into the living room where the TV stood on a corner stand. Picked up and began to read the newspaper. Opened the pages wide. Felt uncomfortable. As I slowly lowered the newspaper, I saw Monster, sitting on the floor before me, crouched. Tail waving ominously. As if ready to pounce. Yellow eyes staring at me. Scaring me.

        Decided to let him out. No. Monster was having none of that. Hid under the couch instead. Damn!
        Turned on the TV, determined to see the film. Ever watch Hound of the Baskervilles? Scary. Looked around the darkened living room. TV tight in the corner, full length drapes covered wall-to-wall windows with opened side slats that overlooked a darkened ravine. Drapes began to billow into the room with the help of a sudden night breeze. Easy to imagine they were ghostly images, waving haphazardly.
        Worse, Monster had emerged from his hiding place under the couch. Sat on the floor facing me. Twitching tail again. Stared with those hideous yellow eyes.
        My own eyes moved from the TV screen: the poor devil running across the moor, demon hound howling at his back... to the staring yellow cat eyes watching me.

        Suddenly, without any provocation, the cat leapt at innocent me, imprisoned on the sofa. Terrified, stifling a scream, I grabbed Monster by the scruff of his neck and threw him down the basement stairs. Heard him hiss on the way down.
           By the time, the parents had returned from their night of revelry, I was a basket case. I should have charged more.
        I never returned to babysit. And they finally gave up asking me.

        1:  Out of thin air, he appeared on my left.  A boy about eight with large brown eyes.  He said nothing.  But he raised his hand, waving fingers frantically in his mouth.  I stopped. Stared. Then he vanished. It took only seconds for my mind to process his gesture.  The child was hungry.  He was asking for food.  In a vain effort at redemption, I looked around for him.  He was gone. The boy in Nicaragua still haunts me.

        2: “Spider,” he whispers, “big one.”  He points to an open drawer.  I gasp. Tarantula!  Two of its black hairy legs hang over the edge, poised as if ready to jump.

        3: It’s no secret it’s open season on the farang (a person of white race) male here.  But he knows he is hunted and as long as both know the unwritten rules, it’s a game as old as prostitution.  Online stories reveal ‘sad, sleazy, desperate men paying for love with Thai girls’ detailing the lonely lives of wealthy British, American, European and Asian males who pay well for a romance tour to Bangkok.  Apparently, such tours are also popular in Colombia and the Ukraine.

        4: Spread your wings and imagination and come along with us now to Tunisia located on the Mediterranean Sea and site of the first Arab Spring...As soon as the taxi driver dropped us off at the Souk (market) in Sousse, he instantly appears by our side. I recognize you from the hotel, he says. I work there.  My name is Ali. What are you looking for?  Let me help you.  You are very lucky. This is the final day of a three-day fair and prices are very good...I can take you to a special place for leather….”

        5: Twice as many elephants work in Thailand’s tourism industry as the rest of Asia combined, with the vast majority kept in severely inadequate conditions…. When not giving rides or performing, the elephants are typically chained day and night, most of the time to chains less than three meters long. They are also fed poor diets, given limited appropriate veterinary care and frequently kept on concrete floors in stressful locations. 

        These travel blog excerpts hopefully identify me as a slightly adventurous woman with an inquisitive mind and growing awareness of what makes our world tick. My personal growth has exploded because of embracing off-beat locales, foreign customs, friendly people and weird food. Few know I was once a scaredy-cat wimp, terrified of leaving home and hearth for far-flung destinations.
Fast forward now to another awareness: our damaged environment.
        A longtime close friend shared a column that is causing me second thoughts. In it, the writer shares her ‘aha’ moment on extreme climate changes as she questions the wisdom of flying. To far-away places.
        Although environmentally conscious, I have managed to turn a blind eye to flying and its effect on our environment. Because I want to continue to experience other countries, religions, people, food, customs in different parts of the world. I want to continue to learn. Like I learned about the secret war in Laos. I want to grow more. I want to know more.
        But when one of our sons writes: “We humans need to seriously think about and deal with the rift with our Natural World. We are out of sync….”  then it’s time to study and reflect on our delicate world climate.
        To travel or not to travel...that is the question.