The Rural Voice, 2000-11, Page 10TKA
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6 THE RURAL VOICE
Gisele Ireland
1 can't stand all this change
My tolerance level for change
definitely went into the red zone
recently. For some reason, maybe
because I've stopped taking therapy,
I'm havinr coping with change crisis
more often than
I can handle
with aplomb.
It began
when our new
accountant
informed me
that it would be
so -o -o ... labour
saving to put the
business' books
on the computer.
To those of you
who have gone
through this
ordeal, need I
say more? As I
struggle with putting numbers on a
flashing screen which eats them, and
makes them disappear where only an
expert can ever retrieve them, I am
cursing change under my breath.
With all the time I'm saving by not
recording by hand into a journal, I'm
reading the "Idiots Guide to
Computer Bookkeeping" and trying
to find why the computer thinks I
owe Revenue Canada $8,888,888.00
in GST.
Super Wrench is ecstatic about
freeing up some of my time as there
are several pants with airy crotches
and sundry errands he would like me
to run. These require finding people
on sideroads and taking things to
them. It should be relatively simple,
but it isn't. Some noodlehead decided
he was bored and changed all the
signs to the places I am to go, place
names I have finally started feeling
comfortable with after 35 years. Not
now! Concession 14 in an
amalgamated township could now be
Screeching Possum Hollow and the
county road is now Wilson's line.
This leaves me constantly on the cell
phone, bothering the beleaguered
Wrench to describe the farm I am
now located at and where to go from
there. I won't scorch your ears with
what he says under his breath. May
the person responsible for this get hot
marbles put up his nose.
The hardest changes of all for me
are the scientific advancements in
child rearing. I recently aided an
obviously distressed grandmother,
not to mention a screaming toddler,
when she inadvertently collapsed the
handy dandy new baby buggy.
Unfortunately the kid was still in it.
There are 44 plastic components to
this jobbie and pushing, pulling or
twisting sideways on the right one
will free the entrapped child. We both
struggled to find it and are having our
eardrums repaired next week. We
finally did it and took a breather. We
fondly remembered the cumbersome
baby buggies we had that stayed in
one piece and no one ever thought of
trying to stuff in the truck of the car.
"However did we take out children
anywhere with the primitive
equipment we had?" she asked and I
had no answer. We must have done it
the neanderthal way and let them
walk on those two things growing out
of their torsos or carried them.
Kids have to be fed differently
nowadays, too. My daughter-in-law is
a dental hygienist and gets a look of
absolute horror on her face when I
tell her that her husband was raised
from milk we sterilized straight from
the bulk tank in the barn in a double
boiler, added a good dollop of corn
syrup and propped the bottle on a
pillow and listened for the contented
smacking and sucking.
Being a grandparent is supposed to
be as easy as untying velcro shoes ...
and could still be if it wasn't for all
the changes that snuck in. No child
under one year of age is allowed
honey because of some spore that
will make them ill. This information
is fired at me right after I've fed them
toast, dripping with you know what.
I've learned to hide the honey jar
from the parents, but the grandkids
all know where it is.
Eggs are a no -no under a year. I
can't remember what horrendous
health threat they are but do
remember how our four gobbled
scrambled eggs as soon as they could
eat solids. Added to this was smashed
banana (now only allowed in small
quantities) and perhaps some mashed
potatoes. Soon there will be