I warbled in the bath again today

Today my list of songs I sang snatches of included So Long, Farewell from the Sound of Music; How do you solve a problem like Maria?  also from the Sound of Music, as well as the title song; the hymn Oh it is wonderful!; and Moon River.  I was very pleased with myself at the end.

Galit's bedtime story was indicative of the whole day

Galit's bedtime story was indicative of the whole day.  We couldn't believe how badly it went.  There were high points and we were smiling, but otherwise we couldn't believe how bad some of our friends turned out today.  We bought Galit a headbow, that was a high point.  We bought baby oil for her head, that was a high point.  We cheered people up, or tried to, with art Mummy did, listened to the Sound of Music soundtrack songs, caught up on housework, walked in the sunshine, listened to Mozart.  Other than that it was a bummer of a day.

One day at a time, Alcoholics Anonymous say, and I've never been alcoholic

Today was one of those days I couldn't believe.  The prices were unbelievably good.  The sunshine (and rain) were unbelievably good.  I got soaked but wonder of wonders, I could afford a new strip of bus tickets to get the bus back.  I even afforded two large pizza slices and a small bottle of water for lunch while out on the bus system of British Columbia, not literally sitting on the bus but out away from home for the morning.  I saw a chap I want to ask to sing on my folk singing album if I ever save up enough shekels for a recording studio and musicianship to be paid for hire.  He is the poorest man in Abbotsford, I bet nearly anyway.  God told me he's meant to be a singer.  I asked God twice on the trip today if he, the Maker, expects me to busk.  Come on, are you joking?  I asked kindly as I thought maybe that was my next money-making venture, but no, he didn't expect me to.  On a better day cash-wise I could have nipped down to the fabric store and bought reams of quilting fabric to make quilts I designed out of, but no, such was not today.  On a better day, I could have GONE ON HOLIDAY, which was what I felt like I needed to do.  I thought that would be fun.  But no, not today.  I could have sung on my album, but no, not today.  I could have busked if it had been Vancouver, but no, not today.  I could have written a prize-winning novel at the three day novel writing contest in Vancouver, but no, not today.

If I were on Bowen Island, I could have milked the goat and made yogurt or cheese, but no not today.  Maybe I should write some songs.  In the Himalayas, sister Robin was seen hiking on a film I watched on television sometime ago on tourism.  She is an odd-looking Swedish athlete type to see and it was quite easy to pick her out.  Out of the blue, there appeared Robin.  Quite astounding.  Could something happen to me like that, I don't ask.  Just a nice quiet day, writing songs would be good.  Is that what I'm meant to do?

I would like to write protest songs maybe, as I am in a protesting sort of mood.

The other day I was thinking about a book I read

My son read the whole book and it was a hayride of a book not.  It turned him over in his mind to earlier days when farming on untouched land was possible in the Prairies of America and Canada.  A girl wrote the story about her fabled aunt's story of her life as a farming woman in early America, with no telephone, no gun if I remember rightly, furious neighbours who plagued her life with torment, fire, rocks to pick out of the land to clear the field for farming, drug deals nearly on the train on the way there if there had been such a thing in those days on trains and she was an honest-hearted upstanding citizen who would have none of the riff raff, and then she had no heat, no light, but fire and candles like everyone else then of course but she was alone and had to run a big farm by herself with no family around.  Boy, can I relate to her!  It sounds like my life except that I'm living in a city nowadays.  Police officers turning up over and over when I'm a very good person, taking me prisoner to the hospital for toxic injections, mental asylumming when I haven't even done anything to deserve such unwarranted torment, running out of food in some areas because of carelessness of others when I have earned the money for it but they have forgotten to pay me, at least that's the nicest way I can put it (stolen it from me is how some people might put it), babies being delivered overdue by who knows who because everybody seems to think I'm a nothing and so forth.  At least I got some Spring cleaning done!

The dim-witted of the earth need help from me

I can't believe what a mess the world is in.  There are many good, faithful members of the public, many hard workers for good purposes, but what a mess the others have made of it.  I aim to help the dim-witted members of society have better days ahead of them if they will listen to me.  I know it sounds uncanny but I know a lot for a woman, I say with tongue in cheek!

A retrospective look at the teachings of H.A. Rey about men and women

I think H.A. Rey thinks men are a bit dim-witted when it comes to women.  I find that endearing in a good man, endearing in a bad man even, so there is no reason in my view to put a guy down because he is funny, kind, and dim-witted concerning women.  He could be a genius at Science, Gardening or whatever, but no one suits him better than a dipstick woman like me or Sheila in the movie, or whatever her name is.  She gets him in the end, doesn't she?  I do too, I think, in my guy's case.  Sheer ecstacy on the next page of the story.

Poem about being past fifty

I love being past fifty.
It is enlivening to me.
It gives me back my youth.
With all that medication
They're giving me,
I need it.

I do look forward to the time
When I can be shortstop
For the Lacrosse team,
Whatever that means to them,
Because I am a troubleshooter
And shortstop is a troubleshooting game player.

I look forward to getting up
At four o'clock in the morning,
And telling the Prime Minister
My son in future, I hope,
What to do about his day,
His advisor so to speak.

This will be fun.
But what I shall look forward to
Most of all, is little Galit
Nursing purposefully at the breast
Of Mama Joanne, with emphasis
On purposefully, with milk
Coming out her ears nearly
For abundance of milk.

                                        by Joanne Okano, puppeteer

The Tale of Quentin by Joanne Okano

Quentin was once a small boy, but now he is a big boy, six foot four to be exact.  He lounges about all day watching videos instead of seeing his Mother.  They are teaching him funny things, those videos.  Like stealing things.  I wonder why he watches them?  He used to be a good boy, but since the mafia took over in his life and taught him to lie, he has gone downhill.  Don't watch that video, Quentin!!!!

I want you to be good.  Here is a video for you to watch, I'll make it for you at the end.  But first, here's the script.  My, my, that had quick results.  Oh, he turned me off.  Perhaps he's gone to get a sandwich, his standby maneuvre to calm down when things get hectic in the house of the damned, as I call them.  They do nice things, but they're damned, don't you know, because they don't read their scriptures, I think.  Or perhaps it's the headchopping.  Either way, I want him out of there once a day, seeing me you think.  I realise he has a busy life, watching all those videos.  So I'm making this for him, to keep him busier, watching good videos if that's all he's up to!!

My name is Moron, he says to himself, this character.  To a Mormon that is a good name.  It is in the scriptures, so it must be a great person as he was someone good I know not, but assume or he wouldn't be in there with such a name as that!  Who is he?  Let's see what we can make up about his life or lives if he lived again as an angel on earth.  Oh, Moroni, there it is, that's who I meant.  I haven't read about Moron recently, or was it Moroni, my favourite character out of the Book of Mormon.

My name is Moroni, and I am a character out of the end of the Book of Mormon and had a lot of trials to go through, says Joanne.  Who hasn't?  I don't know any who haven't!  You'd think we'd all be empathic people, slipshod not in our kindness.  The telephone in my head is telling me the Lacrosse girls of the team I want so badly to join are on the line.  They play on Sunday.  Will I be going is what I am wondering if they are asking?  Do I go?  No, you go to the synagogue on Sunday, THEN you go to Lacrosse.  It all fits in.  And in off season, you do Hula to keep your tummy firm.  You know that slipshod tummy of yours.  Too many milkshakes at Macdonald, you know.  Oh, well, my Mother made me good at sit-ups at a late age.  If I'd started at three, I'd be fine, but who knew?  She didn't know, and I didn't either.  Oh, well, there we are, as she'd say.  She was a mafia princess and I wasn't, you say, so it makes a difference to her destiny eternally in the heavens, that is, if she tried to help me have a flat tummy.  She was always telling me to sit up straight and pull my shoulders back and my tummy in, as if that helped.  I could do everything fine, except the tummy pulled in part, and that failed miserably!  I haven't got any stomach muscles in labour you say to push the baby out, father Henk, but I know I do or I wouldn't be the fastest birther in the West in the past and now not necessarily.  My Mother was right, I need to sit up straight and pull my shoulders back, but pull my tummy in, I don't know if I'm a bad Jew, but I'm a good Mormon, I just don't know Moroni very well.  And that's the installment for today.

The people of Io, my view, by puppeteer Joanne Okano (at least that's how I think it is)

Io is a moon not a planet, everyone's saying to me, but I like Io so I'm writing about it.  Io is a cold moon.  It has no growing capabilities, but people transport food there for the inhabitents from Mars and Jupiter.  They transport cabbage and orange fruit.  They eat Mars bars too.  I wonder what else they eat.  Mars bars mainly, you know are good for you.

Io has earthlings on it from fifteen hundred and seventy two when they flew there on a spaceship from Mars.  We have so much variety here I can't believe it, but no, there are varieties of turnips there I bet we don't have if they have them.  Everywhere has variety don't they?  No, just cabbage and orange fruit and Mars bars.  Oh well, I'm happy I live here.

My Mother saw in advance I would have this idea and she was happy until my father said, Don't tell her anything about herself so she doesn't know.  Ha ha what a funny guy!

The people of Uranus, by Joanne Okano the puppeteer, my view of them

The people of Uranus are wonderful people.  They all wear green too.  They eat cabbage too, and lots of it.  We love them if we knew them, people say, and we do when we know them.  The astronauts do.  My son wants to be an astronaut, that's how I know this, what do you think?  I love cabbage in cabbage rolls, but they don't have them do they?  No they don't.

People of Uranus are full of verbs.  Their language has verbs galore.

We don't, because we don't do much compared to them.  We eat shrimp cocktail, but they don't.  They eat shrimp cocktail twelve times faster than us.  So their verbs are many per minute.

My Mother said I'd find this out and she was wrong.  Voices found this out.  They just transmitted it to me.  I don't know anything about this, just what voices tell me.  God gives voices to people who need them.  That's why I'm always laughing as I walk along the road, many times a year, not every day though.  

The people of Venus, by Joanne Okano the puppeteer and world entrepreneur you think, no I'm staying put!

Dear Readers,

You know about Mars and Venus?  Venus isn't a planet of women like you think, it is a planet of men neither.  What are there?  People, male and female, of course.  Otherwise, they couldn't continue.  They go to the fabric store like we do.  They make their own clothes, like we do in some cases.  And they make bizarre patterned clothes not, but green too.  We're the only planet that don't.

You know Mars and Venus are similar.  Their people eat cabbage too, but only in small amounts, on Wednesdays even not, but other days.  I think they must be related to Jupiterians.  No, they're descended from them not, they're conquered by them.  But they don't come here because we have spaceships with bombs and they are frightened of them and us, for that reason.  Other than that I don't know why they're there, other than conquering others not, but being conquered.

There, now I've said enough, now I'll shut up!

The people of Jupiter, by Joanne Okano, my view of them

I think the people on Jupiter wear green too, just like the people on Mars.  They eat cabbage, that's green.  They worship cabbage, like the Marsians.  Or Martians, whichever you call it.  They eat green food, cabbage that's called by them in translation.  I don't know what else they do.  Oh yes, I do.  They eat green food on Sundays only, not Mars bars.  They eat orange food on Wednesdays you know, but I don't know what that is.  Maybe it's oranges.  No, it's not, it's a fruit, not oranges though.  They are weak on Wednesdays you think, but no, it strengthens them and makes them have puppies nearly they have so many children.  They're not like us, severely restricting our intake of children into the population!!!!  They love babies, like I do.  Oh well, not everyone thinks the same here, fortunately, or we'd have no babies at all, maybe if the nudniks took over.  Nudniks are bizarre people.  I don't know any other words in Yiddish, mainly, only schmidjik or remote control and schmatte and a few other words, no use to anyone much.  They don't speak Yiddish on Mars or Jupiter.  They speak Martian and Jupiterian, you know.  I don't know what they are.  Oh, Danish people know, because they are like their language.  A lot of hobble-gobbles Joanne would say.  That's how Danish people speak.  I heard them at school.  The Danish princess was there, but she spoke English so I could understand her.

All about Mars, from the perspective of a puppeteer

On Mars, I believe, there are millions of green-clad people, just like us, who love to joust with words at court and in Parliament, I say.  I wonder if that's true?  Are they earthlings?  No, they are Marslings.  But not Marslings only but Jupiterlings too.

They eat well.  They live on Mars bars a lot, which they copied from Earth you know, and no one knows how many they've eaten a week.  My goodness, how many Mars bars are sold there!

They have multiple babies per family per year not, but per decade and eat green food because everything is green on Mars.

They don't wear red.  They don't wear green and red at Christmas or Hannukah if such a thing happened, which it doesn't, but if it did, they don't wear red.  I don't know what they are.  Are they Christian?  Or Jewish?  Or something else?  I don't know.

They are good people, but oh the boredom of eating green only, I think.  I wonder what they make it from.  No one knows, here, anyway.  Oh well, I suppose it must be good for them.  Except for Mars bars which must be very good for them.  But you know that anyway.

Voices told me that.  It's a lie that voices don't tell you anything good or funny.  I get good, funny things all day long, and so do you if you are honest and a good person.

The man who wanted to disembowel everybody

Once upon a time there was a crook who wanted more than anything else in the world to disembowel his own daughter.  She was kind, good and humble, but all he could think of was disemboweling her.  Imagine that!  No idea who she was at all, he went round to her home and arranged, he thought to have her died by Police.  No one thought anything of it, you know, it was so common, in him and his cronies, you think, but no, it was so common, they didn't put him in jail, like they should have.  In England they would, put him in jail that is.  And they say England is a backward country where they spank children so they're good instead of  jailbirds like they become in America and Canada if they don't get a good spanking when they are obsolete in their morals.

My Mother had no idea this would happen you know or she would be doing it too, said the good girl to herself.

My Mother-in-law had no idea this would happen to her too if it happened to me or she would have been on my side, said the girl to herself.  The man had no idea who she was, his daughter, he was on drugs and would not stop taking them although she tried to force him not, but persuade him to go for counseling of rehab or something good to do with his time so he wouldn't get up to pranks of this nature.

My Mother-in-law's stepsister made up for a lot of things in life by being good to me on the phone, you know, I would say if I could, but no, no one was allowed to talk to Dad except him, the man.  I wasn't allowed to talk to Dad, my husband, or he would have done something about this and we would be safe.

My Dad, the man in question, is a hooter, the Mormons would say.  A hooter is a braggart they're good and have no good points they can find to show anyone is what people say in the Mormons.  That's what a hooter is.  A hooter hoots their horn at girls and gets into bed with them when they're not married to them, that sort of thing.

Good people don't need to be disemboweled and neither do I, said the girl to herself.  And that is the end of the story.  Now pray, children, and have a good day!

My friend and son, Somerset, came

We had fun in family home evening learning things and playing games.  We drank Black Cherry Herbal Tea and chatted about his physics test and his upcoming rugby game.  He is a kind boy, he just doesn't know what's what.  I am trying to teach him right from wrong but his parents don't teach him the same.

We discussed words to do with a castle.  I thought of architectural and military words.  He thought of fairy tale words and military words.  It was fun.

I vow to overcome procrastination

Today I looked at some pictures of mothers and babies and children from old manuscripts of books (in a poetry book).  They were really remarkably good.  I looked at a gardening-all-over-the-world book, which had pictures from various cultures, new and old, of gardening history.  I vowed to overcome procrastination, and read Mansfield Park by Jane Austen, forty-five pages worth.  It was fascinating and well written.  I love books like that.

We all threw up, dear

When I was a young Mother of four children, we took a plane from a destination far away from our home.  We all threw up on board ship if it was a ship, but it was a plane and only one didn't, Somer who was goat-milk fed and had no qualms about flying obviously, but I think he thought it was a ship!  There were Police officers on board the plane who were dressed up as Amish, which was hilariously funny in retrospect.  The girl was so ugly, I couldn't believe it.  They were dressed as lovers and held hands and were funny.

Another mishap

Allan wasn't home according to my guess, or wasn't he?  I think he had a bad day or sommat.  I went all the way to his home from church after services were over, only attending one (I'm pregnant and could only manage one for stress of the baby coming during the meeting if I attended one more I thought maybe, you know what it's like as a Mother if you are one!)

Allan's house was an apartment in a building of respectable people who don't want to be bothered with me ringing and ringing and ringing on their sound system so I stopped ringing after one try and batted my eyelashes at Allan's direction instead on the seat nearby, hoping him to come out for milk or whatever people come out of apartments for these days on Sunday afternoon or evening if they don't go to church where I hoped to find them if they were going, and waited...hours I thought would go by before I left hopelessly floundering for clues to find my beloved Allan.

Where was he?  In his apartment, but apparently in no mood for a visitor.  I heard a window open not, but his head evidently went out a window and he yelled epithets at me, quite unlike anyone else I know, and shut the window with a slam.  I cried nearly, you think, no I was disgruntled not even, but wondered what was the matter with him.  I was on his side it was a bad day for him, not for me.  His hair dresser even knew it was a bad day for him, I bet.

I am an artist

I am an artist, and feel grateful I have this calling in life.  I had begun a painting which was looking odd, so I fixed it to look more modern perhaps, but more in keeping with the subject matter.  You can do that with art, you can salvage things which didn't work.

Update on Galit's Mum and Dad, says Joanne

My update on Galit's Mum and Dad, is that Dad has gone missing for two days now at least from coming here.  I went out tonight to drown my sorrows with a vegetarian pizza and a grande milk, plain at a restaurant.  I came home alone.

Fairy Tale Time again told by Joanne Okano

Once upon a time there was a Snow Queen (this is a very different version, very different from the first version, you'd hardly recognize it, so "retold" doesn't even count) and a group of children, hers and the Snow King's.  They lived high in the mountains of Sweden, nearly Lapland, it was so far North.  Anyway, the Queen was a gargoyle to look at, fat and dumpy, unlike the King who could do a jig he was so in shape.  She had moreover a chrysalis mouth, which looked like it was going to say something clever but never did.    The children prayed she'd never have any money.  Why?  Because the daughter hated her, thinking she was a hag of a Queen because she never gave them any money.  The Snow King told them that she was.

She never gave them any money because the King never gave her any except for Christmas presents.  But the King forgot that part, not being very bright.  He gave her money for Christmas presents for them and him, that's all, and she was free to use the charge card for anything else she needed but no money was given her apart from the gift money for him and them.  Her Mother bought her clothes usually, coz she felt sorry for her looking so scrappy if she didn't, in her view.

He thought she was a bad wife but she wasn't.  Everyone in town knew she wasn't, but the children and him.  She was a good wife and they were  good town after she left because she was a good wife and they knew it.

She did everything she could to be good and they saw it in her face, and heard her on the phone being kind and correct in her behaviour.  The husband thought she was a bad wife because he thought she had another man, and she didn't.  Her Mother loved her and her father loved her, you think, but no they hated her and stirred things up against her, though they knew she was good, but they were criminals and were covering up their own crimes, the Mother and the Father of the Queen.

No one knew the children were brought up to hate her except them.  One of them loved her anyway, Paul.  One of them loved her anyway, Somerset.  One of them loved her anyway, Brigham.  On of them hated her anyway, Shoshana, who had a nib in her pen for writing against the Snow Queen.
She, sister Shoshana, turned them all against her you think, no , she didn't.

They loved her, the boys did, and the girl didn't and the Queen of the Snow thought girls were good and she didn't notice.

The missionaries came and ate with them and left a good Spirit in the home.  They prayed for them sometimes.

People heard the King telling hate stories against the Queen to the children and they cried laughing when he said the Queen was a hateable person.

It turned out the missionaries prayed wrong not perhaps but a funny prayer because they thought the Queen was ugly.  They prayed she'd leave her husband and get the children safe and then go back to him because she couldn't get another husband in their view because she was so ugly.  They thought her eyes weren't ugly, they thought her nose wasn't ugly, they thought her mouth and her teeth were ugly.  Wasn't that it?  No, they thought all of her was ugly, siad the daughter if she'd been asked coz she thought it, the sister did.

Part Two
The Summer King was available and would have happily married the Snow Queen and they would have been happy.  But he would have left her starving and taken the children to visit his Mother and brought them back in a year.  (He wouldn't have known any better.)  So maybe that's why they prayed that, the missionaries.

The end of the story is she, the Snow Queen and her friend the Summer King, got together after many hilarious adventures of the Snow Queen.  She was jailed many times for nothing, but got out alive and went to the Summer King's Palace and left him a rose and married and lived happily ever after.

Jack and the Beanstalk Giant gave up and came to earth to be a nice guy and get married told by Joanne Okano

Jack lived alone you think, no, he lived with his Mother, a single Mom.  She scolded him not much, so he was good to her but he didn't listen to her much because the scolding hurt his feelings.

He went to market to buy a cow, with egg money he made from selling eggs.  His hen was kaput, and he sold the hen too, for meat to his Mother coz he waas a business man, being a Libertarian.  She gave him two gold coins and he went to market and got beans for the gold coins and eggs.  He brought home the beans.  He wasn't very bright, people said.  He gave the beans to his Mother and she grew a beanstalk that reached up to heaven.  In heaven there was a man a-waiting her there, to marry her I meant.  Is what I say making sense, children?

She tried to explain this was the best they could do, to Heavenly Father in prayer, since beans were all they had, but could they please have a husband out of it, a father out of it.

They tried to get help every way they could but a father was needed for the boy, because he was dim-witted, said the Mother to the Lord.
"So, could you make a miracle happen, and give me a man?"

She was worried about her son's welfare said the Lord, so he'd see if he could help her.

So they tried with the beans and planted them gaily around the yard.  Is what I mean clear, children?

They asked the Lord to bless the yard to grow a crop of beans and a man, and down he fell to the earth in a moment after the beanstalk grew up to heaven.  The Maker sent him down to be a husband to her, a father to him.  (She sat up straight and wore her hair in braids, a tomahawk by her side in case anyone came around the corner in a hurry and she had to slay him for slaying her first otherwise (self-defence only).)

She didn't know him, so she slayed him not, but asked him his name, and he said, "Al".  So they were happily married and the child was born they had together.  And the boy's name was Somerset (Jack for short in this fairy story) and the baby's name was Galit.  And that is the end of the story.

The Fairy Tale of the Prince who fell asleep at his Work, told for the first time by Joanne Okano, Puppeteer

One morning, Prince Rufus woke up late and mayhem ensued.  He ran about shouting orders to the servants to get his meal ready.  His wife was his servant, you think, but no, he was her servant, he said, and she was his servant like the British (Your humble servant, is how they sign their letters in the olden days, you know) of old.  No, his servants were the courtiers, and he wanted boiled eggs with liver pate on them on toast, browned on one side, boiled to a crisp on the other (princes have wierd taste sometimes like we do).  He ate everything, galumpingly quickly, then went back to bed for a snore-a-thon and then woke up again.  He had a cold and needed to stay in bed another minute, but he was terrified he'd be put in jail!  So he got up and tore through the palace laundry basket, looking for a clean shirt.  He found nothing, but put on an old t-shirt full of holes and lint.  No way!  you say, how could he do such a thing, he was a Prince!  But he did and soon the Royal Air Force took him over to the fence and threw him over it and said, "Go away, buffoon!  Out of our kingdom!  You're late!"  and threw him in the dump where he became a tramp.  He didn't know what to do!  He cried not, he painted war paint on his face and slammed the door not, but went triumphantly to his goal, the Police station.  He cried out in Danish (this is a Danish story), "These people don't know who I am!"  and they didn't, because he forgot to wash his neck!  Wasn't that it?  No, he was late, and he wore a torn t-shirt with lint on it and forgot to mind his p's and q's and forgot to drink soda with his meal and burp loudly not.  Isn't that it, Joanne?

No, no, Mayhew!  You forgot something!  Joanne was a child nearly when she forgot to wash her neck, the burping was caused by medication, and rickrack was the "tearing" you saw on the t-shirt Father of the Prince and reported to the Prince whose eyesight wasn't good either!

My being thrown over the fence by the military of the Nation of Bohemia was caused by the mafia!  Not me!  I ran away from them and they threw me over the fence, thinking me flighty and disabled by fear!

The Prince who thought he was a Kitten, a tale, told for the first time, originally by Puppeteer Joanne Okano, but my camera doesn't work otherwise I'd do a puppet show of it

Dear Readers, once upon a time, there was a certain fair maiden who had a Prince waiting for her in marriage.  They married and he became bedridden for a time and was carried off by a mafia man in a suitcase not, but in the trunk of a get-away car, which was not hilariously funny, but instead was terrifying for the man, the Prince.  He became scared of everyone, and ran away from his wife, thinking she was going to hurt him when she brought him his dinner of fish and chips (fries in American, Canadian and who knows what).

His name was Rufus, Prince Rufus.  Prince Rufus was so bejangled by mafia men he couldn't get a wink's sleep.  He lay awake all night, thinking someone was going to kill him.  You know what that's like!  You don't get much rest.

Prince Rufus became emaciated and thin, from no food and no sleep.  He hobbled in one morning and meowed, like a cat, or a kitten who needed milk.  So Mummy, his wife, got him milk, not knowing what to do to save him from sleep deprivation and starvation, the poor dear (him).

She got him milk and he lapped it up at the table, fully engrossed in the task and said, "Thank you," not only, but, "Please may I have some more?"  He soon was back up on his feet after sleeping an hour longer than he usually did when he slept, and there is the moral of the story, "Milk is good for you, if you are not allergic to it".

Fools abound: the tale, retold by me, Joanne Okano, of the Emperor's New Clothes, originally told in Danish by Hans Christian Andersen

Once upon a time, there was a fabulous king.  He was wise.  But not so wise as he thought.  He forgot to ask God one morning what to do that day.  Oh no, you say, how could that be?  No wonder he wasn't wise that day!

Anyway, he came out of his bedchamber (this king was polite, not like those kings who gather their court to them while in bed), and there were three of the handsomest tailors he had ever seen, just hired.  They looked cool, to use a modern expression.  Not wanting to be caught out by their coolness, and his ridiculously funny lack of wisdom that day, due to lack of prayer (they hadn't said prayers for years, not since they were small, people), he agreed to view their wares.  Oh, oh, you say!  Yes, oh, oh, is right!  They had no idea what they were doing, and neither did he.

Soon, they were trying on a suit of clothing on the king.  Guess what it was?  Nothing.  No clothes.  Nakedness.

They took him outside, to show the crowds, all lined up for the cornonation of his son, Hans (there was another Hans in this story, children).  He, Hans, the son, who was two years old, and was just about to be crowned Prince of Bohemia, said cheerily, "Oh, Daddy just got out of the shower!  Naked, indeed!"  and laughed uproariously!  And that is the end of the story, children.

My father drained me of energy, busily putting me down

My father, going through a new era in his life of confused behaviour, got high on putting me down, although he did have a good day here and there where he was quite coherent and sounded wise, occasionally.

The Police Officers paid so much attention to me, it was very hard to stay focussed on Al, when he spent so little time with me

Numerous calls (in person) were made to the home I live in by friendly Police Officers, not to mention Firefighters in other locations, that it was very difficult to be a good wife and remain true to my husband.

I was crushed, he paid so little attention to me

James, first husband, was home at one o'clock in the morning, whereas Al, for many months, wasn't home at all.

I wanted a husband who stayed out of my hair, but this was too much!  I wanted a family, not to be a hermit.  I pray every day for our family and for him and me to be closer.  I pray that we'll love each other, be kind to each other and be good to each other, but I very rarely see him, although it is getting better.  I took him a chocolate Easter bunny, and I don't think he knew what it was or what it was for.  I love him, but it's not looking very good for the eternities if I don't persist.

My two older sons are serving missions for my Church

Brigham, my older son, and Paul, my middle son, are both out in the mission field.  We are thankful for that.  I had a lovely time with Brigham at the art gallery before he left which I remember in a kind way, as he went all out to make it a great day for me, and I taught him a knitting lesson and told him to save himself for marriage.  We also had many happy times when he was younger and homeschooling.  Paul and I have always been close, and I have had many happy times with him, too.  One day we went out for all-you-can-eat-sushi in a Japanese restaurant together and had a good chat and we have done other fun things together, like successful family home evenings (a Mormon get-together for the family once a week on Monday nights) where he was usually our Master of Ceremonies, and did very well at it.

I saw a handsome man in the distance a month or two ago

I was taking a rose to Allan, my husband, at a house in Vancouver, where I thought he lived, and was walking slowly along the street with my rose carefully positioned in front of me, when I spied a handsome, elegant fellow walking along with another man on a cross street.  Little did I know it was Al, on a bad day, and he probably needed a rose to cheer him up.

Vancouver, British Columbia, is where we want to go to live next!

I love the scenery in British Columbia and the kind people you meet!  I love the lakes and mountains and the beautiful skies above!  I notice the light in Vancouver is different from the light in Europe.  I like the light in Europe just fine, but there's something very relaxing about the light I saw in Vancouver.  I like the Aurora Borealis up North in British Columbia, too.  It's exciting!

In Paris, France, talking of Europe, the light is pink sometimes.  The city is famous for that.  And after the volcano Mount Saint Helen's in Washington State, U.S.A., blew a number of years ago, the air in the Pacific Northwest was changed into beautiful colourful sunsets for a while because of the amount of volcanic dust in the atmosphere.

The light over the hills in England was very interesting, too, when I was growing up.  It was golden, if I remember correctly, and we had a beautiful view from my bedroom window at the back of the house where we could see five counties, as we were up on a hill.  I wish I could draw it for you, but I'd have to do the drawing from memory, so that might not happen.

People who don't do what they're s'posed to

There are so many people, these days, who are good, and a few who are guided by devils to do the wrong thing and follow them!  They seem to think they can lie their way to freedom by putting me down in a few cases, no names mentioned!

The Recession ended, but mine didn't

The Recession in Canada ended a few weeks ago, but my Recession hadn't.  I prayed to God it would end for me, too.

I had been walking miles each way to town and back to save money when I bought my groceries et cetera, daily sometimes, at fifty-two years of age!  Fortunately, I was up to it.

I had been contemplating telephone book toilet paper.  I had foregone new fabric from the fabric store, and had lately been using, instead, an old tablecloth and bedsheets and pillowcases to sew my clothes from.

Amen.