Old Sayings and Chickens - Barbara Baker

 

My grandson hiccupped and said, “Who’s thinking about me?”

I turned to him. “Who taught you that saying?”

“You did.” He rolled his eyes. “You always say it.”

Well, blow me over. The fact anyone remembers what I say surprised me, let alone someone so young. And his response made me smile because I still ask the same question whenever I get the hiccups.

Once again, I trip down the Google rabbit hole but this time to find out where the saying came from. This is what I learned:

Folklore says getting the hiccups means someone is talking about you or missing you. It continued to say the trick to stop the hiccups was to go through all the people in your head and when you hit the culprit the hiccups would stop.

My mother never told me that part of the saying. Next time I get the hiccups, instead of holding my breath, I’ll recite names. Who knows, maybe someone important is thinking about me.

Since I was in research mode anyways, and because my grandson is responsible for this procrastination adventure, I check into the saying out of the mouths of babes. It owes its origin to Psalm 8:2 KJV where God ordains strength out of the mouths of babes. Today, the phrase has changed to praise a young person who speaks wisely. 

Here’s a good line for my procrastination endeavors – don’t put off until tomorrow what you can do today. Benjamin Franklin created the original phrase - never leave that till tomorrow which you can do today. That’s a tough one to abide by when procrastination mode is in full gear.

Don’t count your chickens before they hatch is said to be from the Aesop Fables although there is no confirmation of that. Hmm. I thought Google knew all.

You’re no spring chicken originated in the 1700s when farmers needed to sell their chickens while they were young and tasty. If they couldn’t sell them, they’d age through the winter and be less profitable. I’m not sure how I’ll react the next time I hear someone use the expression. It will probably depend on what time of year it is.

It seems chickens take a lot of heat as far as old sayings go. Here’s another one:

In the 1920s in the United States, a chicken dinner from a casino cafeteria cost under $2. And $2 was the standard bet for gamblers. When someone won a bet, they could buy a chicken dinner hence the phrase winner winner chicken dinner. Well, that one surprised me. My grandkids say it every time they win at cards or soccer or running races. I was positive they were the originators.

The knowledge I acquire when I procrastinate boggles my mind.

Here's a final one which has nothing to do with chickens, but you might think about it before you go to bed tonight.

Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is said to be a Roman superstition. They were always careful to get up on the correct side to ensure that good luck would follow them throughout the day. If they got up left foot forward or on the wrong side of the bed, they believed they would be surrounded by negative energy and have an unlucky day of it.

I hope you got up on the right side of the bed and have minimal hiccups throughout your day. Enjoy the September weather. Winter is always just around the corner in Alberta. 

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

Jillian of Banff X0 | Universal Book Links Help You Find Books at Your Favorite Store! (books2read.com)

 

Characteristics of Different Generations - Barbara Baker

 

 

In a conversation about my plan to write Book 4 of Jillian’s story, a friend suggested I research the Gen Z (or Zoomer) culture to ensure authenticity for my characters and an awareness of their era. Is it possible my own Baby Boomer mindset might be quite different? 

Hello Google. Research is a fabulous procrastination technique to avoid writing the story. And it took me down a rabbit hole.

Baby Boomers were born between 1946 and 1964. The Gen Z population were born between 1997 and 2012.

Google says the most significant difference between the two generations is their relationship with technology. I groan. Of course Gen Zers are better with smart phones, social media and getting information from the web in just a few taps. They’ve had access to it since they could walk. Baby Boomers got it in stages ... often over many years.

 

I remember the day I got to use the IBM electric typewriter in typing class. It was 1973. A jaw dropping experience in my world. No more pounding the keys on a manual typewriter. With the IBM electric, my typing speed flew off the charts. 

 

In 1982, I was introduced to the Wang Word Processor. My secretarial gig just got easier. No more scrunched paper in the trash. No more white-out. No more attempts to match the sheet of paper exactly in the typewriter so the corrector ribbon could fix the error. Okay, maybe our technology progression was slower, but it did progress.

Gen Z believe in a work life balance. So did I. I worked. And after work, I had a life. Same same, but different?

Gen Z expect a sense of fulfillment from their work. Is that the same as expecting a paycheque every two weeks? If so, I’m still on the same page.

Gen Z grew up with complete access to the Internet. When the internet became public in 1993, I had access. It was dial up. Often I had time to make a coffee … and drink it before the internet connected. But it worked. So did patience.

Gen Z are money driven. So was I. Back to the paycheque.

During this research, I got sidetracked with the similarities and took a dive down another rabbit hole to check out my parent’s era. They were part of the Silent Generation (born between 1928 – 1946).

The Silent Generation was known for keeping their heads down and working hard. That definitely describes my folks. The Silent Generation weren’t risk takers – stop the bus! My parents left Germany and came to Canada in the 50s. They left their family and friends behind. They didn’t speak English. And they knew no one. What a huge risk. But they never regretted it. 

The Silent Generation were disciplined, respectful, resilient and cautious with their money. Bang on. My parents excelled in each one of those categories. 

Depending on how you analyze it, there’s a combination of differences, similarities and generalizations between the generations. And enough fodder to continue writing Jillian’s story as she grows into a young adult totally immersed in life.

Enough with procrastinating. Enough with research. It’s time to settle in and write.

If you’re still looking for a summer read, here are the links to my Summer of Lies series:

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara: 9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

  

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara: 9780228622833: Books - Amazon.ca

     

Jillian of Banff XO : Baker, Barbara, Duke, Renee: Amazon.ca: Books

When the Polar Vortex Hit Alberta - By Barbara Baker

Day 1 - My thermometer reads minus 37 Celsius. I can’t complain though. Global News warned us for a week that a Polar Vortex was about to hit Alberta. Initially, I doubted them, but they were pretty insistent, so yesterday I did a grocery run just in case they got it right this time.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate winter. In fact one of the aspects I enjoy is being able to put on layers of clothing to stay warm, whereas in summer, if it gets too hot there are only so many layers I can take off before it gets offensive to those around me.

In the afternoon I watch Bruce Springsteen, Neil Diamond and Johnny Reid music videos while I get 10,000 steps on the elliptical. The evening news stresses the dangers of frostbite, lists the closed ski resorts and posts a city map of all the warming shelters set up for both people and pets.

Day 2 - I marvel at the accuracy of the forecast. Highs of minus 33. After regular tasks are done, I organize miscellaneous drawers. Glancing out the living room window where chickadees and nuthatches take turns at the feeder, I wonder when and how we managed to accumulate this much clutter.

I add Meatloaf’s “Bat Out of Hell” and “Hot Summer Night” to my music videos and do a cardio workout in the basement.

Friends vacationing or living in warmer places send pictures of large iguanas, green grass and sandy beach sunsets. I reply with frozen emojis.

Day 3 – The afternoon high will get to minus 31.  I check the tidy drawers before I tackle a day of housecleaning. I want to be ready for the ski hills when they reopen. Because of active cleaning I only need 4,650 steps on the elliptical. I add Jelly Roll’s “Save Me” to my music videos.

Day 4 – It’s minus 34. I need to get out of the house. And we’re out of coffee. Since the store is only eight blocks away, I dress in my warmest gear – snow pants, thick scarf, down mitts, long parka, fuzzy toque, unattractive winter boots and goggles. I put my wallet on the chair and turn to take a quick check in the mirror. No exposed skin. Perfect.

I take off on my coffee run.

When I step outside, even with the scarf over my mouth and nose, I gasp and hunch my shoulders forward against the brisk breeze. My goggles fog up instantly forcing me to exhale into my collar.

Snow squeaks with each step. Crosswalks glazed with white ice require penguin-style walking. There is no one on the street or sidewalk. When I crest the hill, the wind increases. I scrape frost off my goggles as tires screech to a stop next to me. 

“Do you need a ride?” someone shouts.

“No, I’m good,” I holler back.

“It’s really cold,” they caution me.

I wave them on. What a friendly soul and possibly a rocket scientist.

Almost there.

The automatic door screeches open slowly. Once inside, I shake hard to let warm air circulate through to my skin. There is no coffee on sale so I grab the cheapest box.

At the till the clerk scans it as I search for my wallet. So many layers. So many pockets. None of which hide my wallet. I stare at the clerk like maybe she knows where I put it. She smiles and waits. I search again and pull out my phone.

“I’m sorry. I forgot my wallet.” I look at my phone and back to her. “Can I pay with an e-transfer?”

She shakes her head. “You can tap it with a credit or debit card.”

“Yeah, I don’t have that set-up.”

She puts the box of coffee on the shelf behind her and I head back outside. How could I forget my wallet? On the way home, I stay warm by chastising myself for being forgetful. I blame it on aging. Oh well. It was a gallant effort on my part, and I got aired. Maybe I can drink tea. No. That will never happen.

The house door squeals when I open it. And there sits my wallet. Right where I left it - on the chair by the mirror.

“I found coffee and toilet paper in the basement in our tornado-COVID stash,” my husband calls out. “It’s past the best-before-date.”

“How far past?” I hang up all my layers.

“January 2020. Google says it might taste a bit weaker, but it shouldn’t kill us.”

“Good to know.”

How sweet is he that he knows I’m anal about expiry dates? A healthy helping of expired alfalfa sprouts did it to me forty-five years ago.

Day 5 – Google was right. We didn’t die from the expired coffee and the news promises the Arctic Vortex will pass in a few days. Ski hills are still on standby or closed.

A brisk walk outside and then more time on the elliptical. I add “The Sound of Silence” by Disturbed to my music collection. Totally stepping out of my comfort zone, but damn he does an amazing job with the song.

I pull out a puzzle from Christmas and we assemble the border. I organize the pieces into colour trays. 500 pieces. Wow. The cold snap can’t end soon enough.

Alberta Alert announces rotating power outages. We bring in firewood and find flashlights.

Relatives in Germany message to see if we are okay.

Day 6 – A repeat of Day 5 with minimal puzzle progress.

Day 7 – I wake up to a balmy minus 15. Hallelujah. There is now a snowfall warning in our forecast. I put the puzzle away for the next cold snap and pull our ski bag closer to the door.

Take that Polar Vortex.

See you next time.

 

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

 

 

 

Where Did the Year Go? - Barbara Baker

 

 

    The ski season started. The Christmas tree is up. Outside decorations are hung. I'd like to say the shopping, baking and meal planning are under control or complete, but I'd be lying. It's never under control, let alone close to completion.

    I can't believe there's only 21 days left before we start 2024. We went from a winter which got almost too cold to ski, wearing jackets in March to hike in Arizona, the smokiest Alberta summer in history followed by a stunning fall, to now - winter. The season we adapt to because it can last six months and, this year, winter is full of surprises. 

 

 

   Three golf courses were open in Calgary on December 5th. Tee times were all booked. We saw a rainbow in the Crowsnest Pass on December 6th when southern Alberta received rain. The ski hills struggle to make and/or keep their precious snow. What a year.

    Throughout 2023, I hammered away at Book 3 of Jillian's last story. Until September, hammered away might be an exaggeration. Peck is probably a better word to describe my progress. When my manuscript didn't even show up in Word's most recent files, I realized I needed motivation and fewer distractions to finish it.

    So, I made a commitment. I made myself accountable to 'sit my butt in the chair' and finish writing the novel. I set a goal to have the first draft completed by the end of the year. And so far, it's working. My solution - I set the alarm clock for 5 AM. When it goes off, I head to my office to write. Trust me, my husband loves the alarm clock idea especially if I wake up before it rings and sneak out of the bedroom without turning it off.

    For two solid hours, without interruptions, I write. I don't open Facebook, Gmail, LinkedIn or Instagram. I start by reading the last few paragraphs of the previous days writing. Then I check the Notes option on my iPhone and the slips of paper in my tray which have scribbled 'must add comments', 'snappy dialogue' or 'scenes the story can't live without.' I add them if they're appropriate for where I'm at in the story or put them back in the tray.

    And, it's working!

    But now with all the baking and shopping staring me in the face, the clock ticking and the year's end creeping closer, I feel myself faltering. Sharing my goal with people makes me accountable. I hate to fail. I'm competitive. But I also procrastinate and hit snooze.

    If just one person asks me on January 1st, 'Is your draft done?', I can't imagine letting them down. Or me. So wish me luck as I attempt to schuss through the finish line and get to The End.

    All the very best of wishes for 2024. May the holidays and Mother Nature be kind to us all.

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara: 9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies by Baker, Barbara (amazon.ca)

 

Summer Vibes by Vanessa C. Hawkins

 

 Vanessa Hawkins Author Page

    

Summer is always a busy time for me. Book wise, there is just a ton going on. This summer, I have already had several book signings and a few conventions. But now that the season is winding down, I have a writing retreat, which if you have been following my blog, know that I attended last summer! 

I. AM. SO. EXCITED. 

But on top of that, I have been invited to host a workshop for Wordsfall, which is an annual writing event in my hometown province. I'm pretty excited about it, as I get to talk about writing fantasy with a group of aspiring writers. I have also been invited to read that night. Then there is horror fest, and an upcoming release of a new novel, and finishing up the draft to Twice Hung, which is part of the Canadian Historical Mystery series. 

I'm pretty pumped. But also going crazy with all the writing projects that I have going on. Three novels, an upcoming project to be announced, as well as a workshop, reading, and keeping up with life in general. 

I guess... whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger? 

Pedal the Highwood Pass – Kananaskis Country / by Barbara Baker

 

Every June, before Hwy 40 is open to vehicles for the summer, my husband and I ride the road from the Peter Lougheed Provincial Park to the Highwood Pass (highest paved pass in Canada). David and I take off earlier on our x-country bikes because we haven’t crossed over to road bikes or electric bikes yet like our friends have.

 

Do I love this ride? I’d be a liar if I said yes. But I do love parts of it. Like near the beginning where there is a downhill. The scenery is breathtaking. I love the feeling of accomplishment when I get to the top. And the descent is a thrill. But the grueling uphill makes me want to swear. A lot.

After the initial downhill, I check my odometer. 5.3 km. Only 11.7 km to go. Insert a big sigh.

There’s lots of bear scat on the highway. I scan the blooming dandelion filled ditches for movement. The jagged peaks of the Eastern Slopes make the plate shifting events more visible and there’s little snow on top because it’s been an unseasonably hot spring.

“Drink lots of water,” David reminds me.

I nod and force myself not to look at the odometer until the next corner.

Our friends pedal with us for a few minutes of chatter.

“If it’s cold at the top, don’t wait for us,” I say.  “Just photoshop us into the group picture.”

Off they go. Part of me wishes I hadn’t said no to the e-bike for my 65^th birthday. I was adamant I didn’t want one until I turn 70. I’m not quite so adamant right now.

When I see more bear scat, I run the bear rule scenarios through my head. If it’s a grizzly, don’t look them in the eyes. They feel it’s a challenge. If it’s a black bear, look tall, speak with confidence and make slow movements to retreat. If it’s a momma bear of any type and I’m between her and the cubs, kiss my ass goodbye. The visual of me kissing my ass goodbye makes me chuckle. The bear scenario – not so much.

 

My eyes peek at the odometer. 12.3 km. If I round down to 11, I have further to go but if I round up to 13, who will pedal the extra .7 km? I chastise myself for checking the distance again.

A group of road bikers zip past and say, “Good job.”

I force a smile and glance at David. “Would this really be faster if I was on a road bike?”

“Yup.” 

“But this is the only time I ride on a road.”

“Yup.”

“I need a break.” I quit pedaling and coast to a stop. “My crotch and toes are numb.”

It takes a few seconds to get the prickles out of my foot before I can set the other one on the pavement. We both do our own version of stretches, eat a granola bar and wash it down. Off we go again. Only 3 kilometers left and a short flat stretch ahead. I stand and pedal until the uphill starts.

I start to count the pedal rotations to see how many it takes to make a kilometer. But I get lost around 276. Don’t look at the odometer. Focus on the line in the middle of the road. The hill is endless and after yet another corner, at the top of the hill, I see a sign. I KNOW that sign.

Tiny people wave. Crank. Crank. Do it. Just do it. Don’t stop now.

And there we are, in time for the group photo. 

After a quick sandwich, I put on all my warm layers, get one last picture taken and start the thrill of the downhill.

                                               

                                 2017                                                                    2023

I feather my brakes when I get to 52 km/hour. There’s no time to take in the scenery now as tears run down my cheeks.

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

He’s Determined to Ski Again – Barbara Baker

 

In 1937, when Dad was five-years-old, he learned to ski in his hometown, Partenkirchen, Germany. His first pair of skis were handmade. 

Years later when he started racing, he crashed while training and broke his femur. He said it was hours before ski patrollers found him because he’d flown off the course and into the trees.

While he was in the hospital, with his leg in traction and strapped to a sky hook, bombs shook the building. Nurses ran through the ward shouting for patients to get under their beds. Dad laughs when he tells the story and says all he could do was put a pillow over his head.

Dad has skied all his life but took a two-year hiatus when he was 88 years old so he could have a long-over-due knee replacement. After the surgery, he exercised. He walked. He exercised some more. He was determined to ski again.

On January 10, 2023, we arrived at the Mt. Norquay ski resort, outside of Banff, well before the lifts opened. I forced myself to slow down - my walking, my talking (I can be a chatterbox). I wanted to focus on Dad and be helpful without him asking.

Boots on, skis on, poles in hand, we headed to the beginner hill. I stayed beside him as he tested out sliding and then climbing up the slope. Each time he climbed a bit higher.

Snow plow turns first. Then the stem christie maneuver. The parallel turns proved to be trickier. Dad’s new knee worked just fine and the leg slid nicely into place. But the old knee, which was used to being in charge for decades, was pushy and uncooperative. It rushed ahead of the uphill ski and Dad would have to stop to reposition himself.

After a few equipment adjustments and more practice, Dad was ready to go up the lift.

“Can you ask the liftie to slow it down?” he said as we got our tickets scanned at the Cascade chairlift.

I took a breath and gave a silent prayer to whomever was listening.

“Can you please slow it down,” I said to the lift operator. “He’s ninety. Testing out his new knee.”

“No problem,” the Aussie accented girl replied. “Just wave to the operator at the top and he’ll slow it down again for you to get off.”

“Perfect.”

The chair swung around and scooped us up. Dad scanned the run. He was quiet. So was I. As we got to the last tower I waved at the guy in the hut. He flagged a thumbs up. I nodded.

“I don’t know if I can stand,” Dad said.

I moved right next to him and squeezed his bicep. “I’ll just shuck you off if you can’t get up.”

He laughed. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

 After an uneventful exit we stood at the top and looked down the run. Dad nodded and slid his skis back and forth. Away he went. Again, I held my breath and followed but not too close. I didn’t want to rush him.

It took a few runs but soon his perfect parallel turns, quiet body and graceful carving cut across and down the slope.

The smile on his face, the sweat dripping down his cheeks and the twinkle in his eyes made all my fears and angst melt away.

He did it. Dad skied again.

Watch Dad ski again:  Dad Skiing Again - 90 years young - YouTube

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books