Yukon Chatter Bug

It’s funny how kids really make you appreciate the simple but most meaningful things. At this time of year, people run around in a frenzy to get their shopping done. Stores get crowded, people get pissy, and tempers flare.

Meanwhile, kids are busy making their own Christmas cards and wrapping their own gifts. I know, because I received many last week.

In addition to these beautiful cards, I also received homemade cookies, bath bombs, and earrings (made by the kids themselves). Mind you, I still very much enjoyed biting into Purdy’s Sweet Georgia Brown chocolates (and others).

Earlier in the year, I thought of how nice it would be to give nothing but handmade gifts for Christmas. Of course, time flew right by, and before I knew it, my pre-Christmas me-days were numbered. However, I did find the time to go to a couple of craft fairs and picked up a few little things. Of course I can’t say just yet what they are. So, not all my gifts are handmade, but I’m making progress, I’m proud to say.

At this time of year, kids are extremely excited about Christmas. Of course, it’s next to impossible to to anything academically in the last week before the holidays. So, we played word games, sang songs, and read stories.
My challenge, since I teach almost all students in the school, is to have a little something for them on the last day. I’m not a fan of giving sugar to kids, but the only thing I could come up with (and afford) were candy canes. Of course, they all loved having them, but I’d like to plan something for next year or the end of this year. What though?

Something hand-made would be ideal, but it would have to be extremely simple, since I’d have almost 100 to do. I’m thinking painted bookmarks with their name on it.

Any suggestions are welcome.

I’ve been looking everywhere for the aforementioned black & white movie to show some of my students, and I can’t find it in any local library. Strange. I don’t have time to order it from Amazon, so if anyone in Whitehorse can lend me their copy, I would be forever grateful.

Coming out of a local electronics shop, I spot three old ladies making their way between the back of my truck and the front of a car in the parking lot. One bends down and picks pieces of something off the ground. The three of them keep shuffling forward toward the dollar store.

A funny thought strikes me: what if they hit the back of my truck when parking their car?

I quickly make my way over to where my Ranger is parked, and carefully inspect the ground where the grey-haired lady picked something up. I notice shards of dark plastic. My eyes wander over to the broken and cracked front grille of the car, then to my rear bumper, where more little pieces of the dark stuff sit.

Okay, now to find out if the ladies are the culprits.

I half run to the dollar store, fearful I might lose sight of them. I glance back to check out the colour of the car, whose top looks silver under the snow but whose body is hidden by other parked vehicles.

The bells on the door jingle as I open the door leading into the store. The three ladies are looking at some bric-à-brac items on a shelf. I approach them to ask if one of them are driving a silver car.

“No,” says one woman, probably the youngest. “We don’t own a silver car. Why?”

“Well, I’m not sure if the car is silver to be honest, but is it possible that one of you accidentally hit a truck while parking?”

“No, we didn’t hit nothing; what truck?” asks the same dyed-haired lady.

“It’s a red truck. Would you mind showing me where you’re parked? Because I think there might have been a little accident.”

“We don’t own no silver car,” she answers again.

Reluctantly, two of them decide to follow me to the parking spot only a few metres from the entrance. One says in a very low voice, “I didn’t mean to hit it; it was an accident.”

Ha ha! Gotcha!

In the end, all was okay, but I was miffed that they simply walked away. There was no damage to my rear bumper thanks to the hitch for my bike rack, but I was so afraid of losing sight of them, that I didn’t check before running in their direction.

The old woman felt really bad about the whole thing and was worried about her insurance. I told her not to worry about that as there was no damage to my truck but that she should find out how much her grille costs, as it might be to her advantage to simply have it replaced.

Lesson learned? Never trust little old ladies, at least the ones who drive Chrysler LeBarons.

Heading down a snowy knoll, I can hear the ski instructor call out, “Wider, Carole, wider!” Yes, I know what I have to do, but I just can’t do it. So, my legs start getting farther and farther apart, and I can see the snow being “ploughed” by my skis. Finally, I fall face first in the snow after having done the splits for the first time in thirty years.

I don’t feel any pain, though I make my way back up the knoll avoiding eye-contact with anyone that might have seen the spectacle. Right out of a comic strip.

Then last Thursday, I head down a steeper hill to practice the snowplough. I made it to the bottom of the hill, screaming on my way down but proud to have made it in a vertical position, until I got near the bottom that is.

Since my four cross-country ski lessons started, I’ve been to the chiropractor a couple of times now. My knee, my hip, and my neck simultaneously scream for attention.

No, skiing is NOT like riding a bicycle. I have cross-country skiied in the past (a long time ago), but I don’t remember falling as much. I feel like I’m starting at square one.

I guess it’s one of those things: no pain, no gain. I’ll take a rest and try it again. Hopefully, I’ll have a few pictures for you.