THE TALE SPINNER

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Vol. XII No.510
December 23, 2006

IN THIS ISSUE

• Dixie continues her story of a recent trip
• Zvonko Springer comes to the end of his hypothetical winter holiday
• Rafiki sends a story of the real meaning of Christmas
• Rafiki is also responsible for the story of Christmas with Louise
• Marilyn Magid explains why we all forward jokes





Dixie Augusteijn resumes her account of a recent

ALASKA/YUKON TRIP

I have not said anything about our life in an RV. We lived very well, starting off the day with a good breakfast of bacon and eggs, cereal, fruit juice, and tea or coffee. Lunch might be a sandwich with raw vegetables and a delicious dip made of asiago cheese and artichokes, heated enough to soften the cheese. (And here I must put in a plug for Alberta. We had Alberta cucumbers and they were far superior and more tender than the English type; we also had black currant jam from Alberta, delicious on toast or over ice cream. Why doesn´t Alberta share more of these things with the rest of the country!) For dinner we often had salmon, which was flakier, with more flavour and not as fat as the farmed salmon we get here. Elizabeth is a good cook and we never tired of her different productions. Chris always did the washing up, like the good husband he is.

We were prepared for the long evenings. The Milepost was always open to what was coming up the next day. Chris brought some videos and on the computer we saw The March of the Penguins, and another, the name of which I have forgotten, about Mr. Harrison´s troubles in getting recognition for his work in fixing longitude. We kept early hours. The games brought along to fill in the time were never opened.

Back in Anchorage and after a good night´s sleep, we were ready to visit the Cultural Centre. I have been calling it the Indian Cultural Centre, but it was the Alaska Native Culture Centre. I am no expert on Indian culture but it seemed to me there was more diversity in Alaska than in Eastern Canada. There are several different cultures* and languages in Alaska and to bring their cultures together, Alaskan natives built this very modern centre on the outskirts of Anchorage. In a large hall in one section, dancers, storytellers and drummers perform; in another, artisans are at work practicing their craft, ready to talk to visitors and answer any questions; an educational gallery shows videos and short films; finally outside by a large pond are five traditional Native houses representing each cultural group and narrated by a member of that group. All this is staffed by Native people themselves. It is most interesting to see how different groups adapted their life style to the different environments.

The Aleuts from the Aleutian islands and western Alaska are very different from the Athabascans we met at Chena village. To keep themselves snug and dry from the harsh sea winds, they live in partially underground houses with sod covered roofs. You may have seen pictures of these men wearing the wooden hunting hats, elaborate with colourful designs and ornamentation of sea lion whiskers. Clothing is from bird skins and sometimes the fur of otters, sea lions and fur seals. Waterproof parkas, sometimes worn over their shirts, are made from seal gut. I have read that Captain Cook was so impressed by these parkas he commissioned some made for his men. Later in the museum in Anchorage I saw one of these parkas, beautifully stitched together and with colourful embroidery. Looking at it, you could not imagine it started out as seal gut. They also use the esophagus and intestines, opened out and spread flat, to make ornamental bands. Aleut basketry, some of the finest in the world, dates from very early times when their only tool was a sharpened and elongated thumb nail, and is still carried on, using the grasses and reeds of the area.

Closely related to the Inuit, the Yupik are from western coastal Alaska, spending spring and summer at fish camps, then coming together at village sites for the winter. At the Heritage Center we saw their houses. The Yupik have a communal house called a quasiq which is used for festivals and ceremonies, but also is where men teach the boys survival and hunting skills, and how to make kayaks and tools. Next door is the ena or women´s house where girls are taught how to sew and cook. The interesting thing (which should be copied in our culture) is that every three to six weeks, the boys and girls would switch - the girls learning survival and hunting skills and the boys how to sew and cook.

The Tlingit are closely related to the Haida, Eyak and Tsimshian, but I understand the languages are very different. They lived in the southern rain forest where there was an abundance of food, and consequently could be considered the ´rich´ group of Indians and developed a very complex governing system. Their houses, made of cedar logs, are distinguished by a very low doorway at the base of what looked like just a tall pole. I did not find out what this signified but think the low doorway was possibly a safeguard to allow entry for only one person at a time.

Carving is done in a special house and we saw small, beautiful bowls carved from cedar, and also the huge totem poles which give history of their village and commemorate special events. The women make baskets from birch bark which are completely waterproof. These are the people who make the famous chilkat blankets and I found they are made by finger weaving! Finger weaving is really a type of braiding, and how they can ever make something so wide by finger weaving leaves me baffled. They are so creative and find a use for everything. In ornamentation beads are used, of course, but also porcupine quills, moose hair, and even the bright bill of the puffins, which are discarded after the mating season - that is really recycling. We could have spent at least a couple of days in the Centre but we had to push on and we left the place with regret that we did not have unlimited time.

* There are the Athabascans; Yupik or Cupik; Iñupiaq; Aleut or Alutiiq; and the Eyak, Tlingit, Haida and Tsimshian. The last group are from the rain forest.





Zvonko Springer concludes his description of a typical

WARMING UP HOLIDAY ON KENYA´S COAST

Usually it takes about three days until we are fully acclimatized so we can apply sun protection only once a day. However, we do protect our heads all the time, even when swimming. We always put on a shirt when walking in the sun, particularly during the white (midday) hours. Mostly we swim in the sea three times a day for an hour or more. During low tides, we have to visit one of the swimming pools that overlook the sea. There the exposure to ultraviolet rays is extreme, so we swim in the shadowed side of the pool. Here one gets the best suntan, although one should beware of overdoing it.

We pack four or five paperback books and read quite a lot, lying in long-chairs. We often take naps that are interrupted by a visitor or a loud chatting neighbour. Well, one could say that our warming up holidays consist in the most part of resting and sleeping, reading and chatting, swimming and walking (when necessary), as well as of eating with pleasure.

Of course, during our sojourn there are some other tasks to be accomplished, like shopping outside the compound. There Ljiljana visits carvers´ stalls, where she finds some nice carvings or souvenirs for friends at home. We take home about 200 pieces of lime, several kilograms of fresh roasted cashew nuts, some Kenya tea, and certain spices (curry) etc.

Ljiljana sorts out her donation goods and packs the sorted items in plastic bags. These are to go with a list of recipients names, including her signature. A driver of the Kwale District Eye Centre collects the bags with spectacles and children´s toys soon after our arrival. We meet several friends from the old days who still live on the coast, as well as some tourists who have been coming here for many years. Also we may go on a safari - in past years we flew to various places. We never know if it could be our last visit to Kenya! We are both getting to the age when one of us will not be able to stand up to such a warming-up holiday. However, we do hope to be able to enjoy them in January of 2007.

~~~~~

For those interested in some of the safaris we have undertaken, please visit my URL athttp://www.cosy.sbg.ac.at/~zzspri/index.html. Here are the web-pages about various safaris:

09. Bamburi Nature Trail
13. The Big Five
14. Tanzania Safari - Ngorongoro
15. Tanzania Safari - Serengeti
18. Shimba Hills National Reserve (Kenya)
19. Kwale District Eve Centre (Kenya)
23. Colobus Monkeys of Diani in Kenya





Rafiki sends this Christmas story:

THIS IS WHAT IT´S ALL ABOUT...

It´s just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so. It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas - oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it. The overspending; the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma; the gifts given in desperation because you couldn´t think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties, and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, of mostly black children. These youngsters were dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together. This was in sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.

As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler´s ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn´t acknowledge defeat. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly. "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them."

Mike loved kids - all kids - and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball, and lacrosse. That´s when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church.

On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years.

For each Christmas, I followed the tradition - one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a cheque to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.

As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn´t end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation, watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike´s spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.





And here in a lighter vein, Rafiki forwards an article submitted to a Louisville Sentinel contest to find out who had the wildest Christmas dinners. This won first prize.

CHRISTMAS WITH LOUISE

As a joke, my brother used to hang a pair of pantyhose over his fireplace before Christmas. He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them. What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every Christmas morning, although Jay´s kids´ stockings were overflowing, his poor pantyhose hung sadly empty.

One year I decided to make his dream come true. I put on sunglasses and went in search of an inflatable love doll. They don´t sell those things at Wal-Mart. I had to go to an adult bookstore downtown. If you´ve never been in an X-rated store, don´t go. You´ll only confuse yourself. I was there an hour saying things like, "What does this do? You´re kidding me! Who would buy that?" Finally, I made it to the inflatable doll section.

I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll that could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car pool lane during rush hour. Finding what I wanted was difficult. Love dolls come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I´d only seen in a book on animal husbandry. I settled for Lovable Louise. She was at the bottom of the price scale. To call Louise a doll took a huge leap of imagination.

On Christmas Eve and with the help of an old bicycle pump, Louise came to life. My sister-in-law was in on the plan and let me in during the wee morning hours. Long after Santa had come and gone, I filled the dangling pantyhose with Louise´s pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray. I went home, and giggled for a couple of hours.

The next morning my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him VERY happy but had left the dog confused. She would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more. We all agreed that Louise should remain in her pantyhose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner.

My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the door.

"What the hell is that?" she asked. My brother quickly explained, "It´s a doll." "Who would play with something like that?" Granny snapped. I had several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut.

"Where are her clothes?" Granny continued.

"Boy, that turkey sure smells good, Gran," Jay said, to steer her into the dining room. But Granny was relentless. "Why doesn´t she have any teeth?" Again, I could have answered, but why would I? It was Christmas and no one wanted to ride in the back of the ambulance saying, "Hang on, Granny, hang on!"

My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me and said, "Hey, who´s the naked gal by the fireplace?" I told him she was Jay´s friend. A few minutes later I noticed Grandpa by the mantel, talking to Louise. Not just talking, but actually flirting. It was then that we realized this might be Grandpa´s last Christmas at home.

The dinner went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Louise made a noise like my father in the bathroom in the morning. Then she lurched from the pantyhose, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa. The cat screamed. I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. My brother fell back over his chair and wet his pants. Granny threw down her napkin, stomped out of the room, and sat in the car.

It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember. Later in my brother´s garage, we conducted a thorough examination to decide the cause of Louise´s collapse. We discovered that Louise had suffered from a hot ember to the back of her right thigh. Fortunately, thanks to a wonder drug called duct tape, we restored her to perfect health!





Marilyn Magid explains

WHY WE FORWARD JOKES

Sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding jokes to us without writing a word. Maybe this will explain.

When you are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do? You forward jokes.

When you have nothing to say, but still want to keep contact, you forward jokes.

When you have something to say, but don´t know what, and don´t know how, you forward jokes.

Also to let you know that you are still remembered, you are still important, you are still loved, you are still cared for, guess what you get?

A forwarded joke.

So, next time if you get a joke, don´t think that you´ve been sent just another forwarded joke, but that you´ve been thought of today and your friend on the other end of your computer wanted to send you a smile.





My favourite quote from Dickens´ A Christmas Carol: Scrooge says, "You were always a good man of business, Marley." To which Marley´s ghost replies: "Mankind was my business!"

 

 

You can also read this newsletter online at http://members.shaw.ca/vjsansum/home.html and http://www.nw-seniorsonline.org/stories.html