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| Grade Four |
| 08.31.05 (4:18 pm) [edit] |
My 9 year old is starting grade 4. I remember grade 4. It’s the year I got glasses, learned to handwrite and found out that my good friend had a serious right hand. Of course looking back I did hit him first but he had made fun of my mom. He didn’t know it was my mom and I didn’t know he could punch that well so it all worked out in the end.
Funny the things we remember hmm? I remember that my grade 4 teacher, Mrs. Billay, teaching us sayings to remember how to spell Arithmetic (A red Indian thought he might eat tobacco in church) and Never Eat Shredded Wheat to remember the directions, complete with pointing. I also remember her losing her husband in a sad farming accident that year; their teen sons coming home from school; walking up their long winding driveway to find their dad caught in the hydraulics of a 3 ton grain truck. Driving his body to the hospital, getting stopped by the RC’s cause neither of them could really drive. Exciting stuff to whisper about at 9, I tell you. It turned out he’d had a heart attack, and was already dead when the boys found him, but what heroes those boys were thought to be.
So back to the 9 year old, affectionately known herein as #4. She has to make a title page for Science. The subject at hand is ‘Waste and Our World’. Well, that’s dead easy, right? Picture of a globe surrounded by garbage. I’d so rock as a grade 4’er.
If only the assignments I get as an adult were that easy. Wouldn’t it be fun to solve things like being short on your bills by making the envelope all creative?
Picture it.
You walk into the utilities office and hand over your bill payment all done up in lavenders and blues, “I’m a little short this month…”
The teller, with the soft voice and happy smile that everyone hopes to get, opens it carefully and looks at your payment. “Yes I see. She glances at the payment, makes note of it and continues, “but we’ll definitely give you extra credit for this lovely envelope.” Another note, “there…all paid up for the month. See you next month.” A cheery wave and off you go.
Next month, same scenario, only you get the teller nobody likes. You know the one, the guy with the funny jackets? People call him TellerFeller behind his back and snigger. You try to get one of the other tellers but the only free one only takes payments that are on time so you walk reluctantly to his window.
“Well, well, well, what have we here? Another late payment, hmm… that makes 3 this year alone. What are you planning to become Ms. Unicorn? A ditch digger?” You quail a little but you can hear the other payees milling around in line and you want to show you aren’t afraid of TellerFeller so you hold your head up high and toss the envelope on his desk. This time you’ve carefully braided strips of paper in a plaid pattern and added sequins to the corners. It is, after all, your second late payment in a row. He sneers at it and pokes it with his pencil, glancing up at you with that evil smile that you know means no good. Out flashes the letter opener and there lies your carefully braided envelope in pieces. “OH dear…” he exclaims, not at all sincerely, “Your envelope seems to have fallen apart. Not your best work this month, you’re certainly capable of better than this. We’ll have to deduct for that now won’t we?” He pokes at your careful work yet again pulling out your payment. “Short again, are we?” He nods, making that annoying clucking sound with his tongue and you know he’s just prolonging his pleasure at your discomfort. He makes a show of counting out your payment and tallying up your bill. “There, I’ve given you as much credit as I can for this,” another disdainful poke at your envelope, “but you’re still short. Guess you’ll have to make it with extra next month.” He trusts it back to you and dismisses you with a glance over your shoulder for his next victim. You turn slowly and slink away, catching the sympathetic glances from the lineup you shrug and smile and trudge off to make another attempt.
#4 has taken my idea one better and has created the globe picture, complete with garbage encircling it. Only she’s added a crucial feature. She’s added a force field about the earth protecting it from the garbage. At least she didn’t sneer at me.
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| It's a virtual world after all... |
| 08.20.05 (2:38 pm) [edit] |
Um...
It appears a Virtual Mugging has occurred.
Go Figure. Someone's been arrested for it too. Now, consider that as a convenience store clerk in a small town, I was just robbed at gunpoint and no one has been arrested.
Hmmm...go read the article, I'll wait.
Alrighty then...
Now on further reading you'll find that the mugging occurred in the context of an online game. The person arrested on suspicion created a 'bot' that is virtually unbeatable and was programed to 'mug' other characters and steal their virtual possessions.
Everybody get that? Virtual possessions. Uh huh. So what's the crime? Beyond the do not reverse engineer or decompile this program clause that's obviously been, if not truly broken, bent.
What makes this 'mugging' so truly mindboggling to me is that once these virtual possessions were stolen they were then fenced. Oh, and not only were these possessions stolen, but their owners were beaten. Strangely enough, no assault charges are being laid. Ahem. Am I the only person getting a little confused here. These possessions do not exist. Right? Am I right? So who was the dummy that bought them? Emperor's New Clothes anyone? Some idiot paid money for things that don't exist, thereby creating a market for virtual stolen possessions. Yeesh.
I'm trying hard not to imagine some holographic image of a guy in an overcoat accosting passersby on the street saying, "psst...wanna buy a Shield of Nightmare? Got a great deal on the Earring of Wisdom, c'mere, c'mere let me show you," as he beckons them into the dark alley.
I enjoy a good computer game as much as the next fella, but since my success rate at the current batch is limited I usually stick to blowing up lemmings. (OH no!) So maybe I don't get the way some folk take these games seriously but there does seem to me that there's an easy solution for the game producing companies. Hire the writer of the 'bot' 'cause obviously he knows your game better than you do, and ban the freakin' idiot for cheating by buying, 'nuff said.
On another note: Today begins my annual gloat. I get to be younger than my hubby till my birthday in October. So go wish the Clucking Rooster (link in the left topmost corner of the page) a Happy Birthday!
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| is it really a job if you love doing it? |
| 08.18.05 (2:53 pm) [edit] |
It’s 8 am and we’re leaving High River to head to a ranch in the foothills. Yeah, we’re running late :P but that’s the breaks with me and two kids, and Hubby is getting used to it. Sometimes he actually tries to get us out of the house earlier, but no joy for him. Guy must be an optimist or something.
Anyway, the ranch we’re heading to is about an hour’s drive away, right in the middle of the Porcupine Hills. Long sweeping hills, dotted with round bales the size of cars. Occasional ranch houses complete with matching barns and fences vie with copses of poplar and aspen, mazes of brush and willow. Tiny creeks of crystal clear water race down their beds to cross under gravel roads in culverts.
I’m home.
For a prairie girl, I really don’t hanker for the sight of my dog running away for days. There’s a quiet elegance to a prairie sunset that holds its own against the way the sun drops dramatically behind the hills but the hills sing to me (the hills are alive with the sound of music? *wry grin, sorry couldn’t resist). Riding a horse over the prairies is nice but riding on over hills is better. Trust me.
Horseback riding, yep that’s right, that’s where we’re headed. The kicker is we aren’t heading to a dude ranch, or livery stable, where we’d pay (approx) $35/hour to ride. We’re getting paid to ride. Hubby answered an ad about fine-tuning some horses for sale. We drove out to meet Carol and quickly found ourselves up and out to the hayfield for some wet saddle blanket time.
To explain, there’s nothing like practice to make perfect. Once a horse is considered green broke that’s when the wet saddle blankets come into importance. To be considered green broke in our books a horse must walk on a lead, not fight the halter, accept the bit and headstall, accept the saddle and the weight of a rider and respond to ‘step up’ and/or a cluck and nudge of the heel to move out, and most importantly, stop and stand on a steady pull on the rein and good resounding whoa.
That may sound like very little to expect from a horse if you’ve not ridden much or dealt with this skitterish animal. But consider this; a horse is prey. Many of the predators that prey upon a horse will attack from above, landing on their backs and biting at the base of their necks to incapacitate the horse. So guess what instinct can kick in when a horse that’s inexperienced feels your weight on his back? Can we say rodeo anyone?
This is where we come in. These horses are being prepared for sale. As the breeder says; if she wants to breed babies she has to sell the older ones. That’s the nature of her business. She wants her horses to be the cream of the sale and the only way that will happen is to have them be as relaxed and willing as possible in the arena when they go to auction. The only way that happens on a regular basis, is for them to have been exposed to similar situations and taught to trust humans when the surroundings aren’t familiar. She also sells privately so needs these guys; and yes all of the ones we’re dealing with are geldings; to respond whenever anyone wants to come out and try one on for size and ride.
I saw the ad in the paper and nagged. Hubby called, as he’s really the better rider of the two of us. More ability and less fear *GRIN*. Although I do better than he does with the ones that have the attitude of a 2 yo human and my groundwork is pretty good even if I do say so myself. Arrangements were made and the day before I wrote this we went out to meet Carol and the horses, had a few quick rides on a couple of horses and are returning today with gear and expectations.
I didn’t really expect to ride, but found myself on a pick up horse by the name of Bonanza rather quickly. I ‘can’ ride, don’t get me wrong, but I learnt early on never to brag about my ability lest some beast (or cowboy) try me. After a silly incident caused by my own inattention I find a little bit of unease and a frisson of fear flickering up my spine whenever I mount now. It’s dumb and I should never have let it happen but heh…what’s done is done. I’m getting over it and Bonanza is helping. He’s sound, and stable and quite willing. Too bad he’s $4280.00 *chuckle*. That’s a lot of wet saddle blankets but you never know. He’s got a younger brother, same breeding, same willing attitude that Carol says I need to meet, as he’s only $2400.00. And Carol takes payments. Hmmmm…
(added later) Bonanza and I had a good ride but today I met Perry. I'm so fickle...
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