Saturday, July 29, 2006

The names of our lives...

Special K has an interesting post about titles. It go me thinking about how what we are taught (indoctrinated) as children affects our ability to address others by or without titles.

In my family 'auntie' is a very important title. Through a set of circumstances that precluded them spending much time with each other during their growing up time, my older set of kids did not automatically give this title to my female siblings. The title was, however, accorded to my best friend and through her Uncle was given to her husband. To this day, she and her husband, although no longer as integral to our lives are still referred to in nostalgia binges as Auntie and Uncle.

I make a point of asking people how they would like my kids to address them. The response has often been just call me *firstname* but now and again a thankful Oh, Mrs so&So will be okay if they're comfortable with that. And despite their teenage years' mantra of 'let's see just how hard we can make that vein in mom's forehead pop out' they usually were respectful.

I always balked however, when someone suggested "Oh, they can just call me auntie " No, that's not an option sorry. Auntie is an accorded honour in our family, awarded to a certain level of relationship. I didn't really realize just how strongly I felt about this until a ...lady? ... who was not to my liking stepped into a friend's relationship and became their *roommate* for a time. She was to watch my kids one day and they were unsure of how to address her. On the phone she mentioned "They can call me Auntie so and so" I nearly bit her head off with an abruptly snapped "No! I seriously don't think so." Thankfully she was the epitomy of blonde bimboness and was totally oblivous to my response. :) she weren't a blondie just for looks y'know. :)

It's in the conference of authority for me. In the comments of SK's post someone mentioned Southern manners. I will always refer to a woman older than I or that I am serving or providing a serving to as Ma'am (or a man older than me as Sir or Mr.) and be quite confused when they get pissy about it. Ladies, it's good enough for the Queen of freaking England quit getting yer knickers in a knot.

When I was a kid, it was the height of my contempt to not address my mom's brother as Uncle so&so. He was and is beneath my contempt and totally undeserving to my 8 yo mind of such a lofty title. This ideal of mine carried on through school when I dared to address a teacher by her first name. *daring do for a kid of my generation*

Now I tend to be a bit offhand with folks, shortening names and using the ubiquitous 'hon' (comes of hanging out with all those 'murricans' as SK would denote them. :P

Where do titles fit in your life?

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Excuse me? Blessed? I'll say...

Click, read, click again, read s'more. My very nearly daily evening activity of blog reading, occasional commenting, reading some of the funny bits aloud to my not so very interested other was interrupted today by this random click on someone's blogroll. It led me to here.

First let me say how terrible this whole situation is. How glad I am that this family escaped this experience without loss of life or limb. Truly, they are blessed.

Second...what the hell was this woman thinking? Pictures? keepsakes? momentos? The pets I can understand. I guess I can even understand going back in a time or two...but there comes a point...

THEN she got scared? Then? How does she think her family felt watching her running back in time and time again for this picture or that. Great that some of the neighbours took it upon themselves to grab stuff and run. Great. How would this story have turned out if just one of them had tripped.

Not only were lives risked unnecessarily but repeatedly.


RRRAaaacccceee OVER

I've been chuckling about this all evening long. The titles alone that have wandered through my brain whilst contemplating this post have kept me amused for hours.

Today after work my brief holiday from kidlets ended. I dropped the guy off in Okotoks to work on a car and went on into the city to pick up the littles. They've been staying with #2 daughter since Thursday evening. She's now rethinking the whole 'it's time for me to have a baby' thought pattern but that's another blog.

As I wander my way past a shitload of backed up traffic held up by not one but two multi car mishaps I count myself lucky that I only have *visit* the city occasionally nowadays, rather than driving there every day or weekend as was my life a few years back.

As I travel I glance in my rear view mirror and see a car approaching at what might e considered an alarming rate of speed. It lurches as it brakes and then edges even closer to my back bumper. Now since I've been rearended a time or two, and have rather less tolerance for stupidity than most I was immediately annoyed. I refused to up my speed as he obviously wanted me to do and held steady at (gasp) the speed limit as posted. A few more intimidation attempts on his part had me getting past annoyed well on my way towards cranky. I touched my brakes enough to warn him off and then when he encroached again I shook my fist in my rear view mirror. I didn't flip him off, just a quick shake of my hand and head. Well you'd think I'd ripped off his shiney silver mirror or something. He swerved and pushed his way into the other lane and paced me, dropping gears and revving for about 1 klik or so and then when we came to a halt at a red, proceeded to tell me off in a voice loud enough to be heard over the ridiculous bass pouring out of the ass end of his shiney, slick silver something or other, but it's got a spoiler car. I spared him a glance and rolled my eyes. Then he did it, he pushed me past the point of cranky. He insulted my car.

Them's fighting words. I really didn't give a shit that he called me a fat old bitch. Hell, somedays I'm even proud of being just that. But when he asked what a fat old bitch like me was doing driving a rustbucket of a sportscar like that I saw red. Well, green actually. I turned to him and snarled "smokin' your scrawny ass" and revved my engine working my gearshift through its paces. The light turned and my sanity returned and I didn't jump. He did however...

You know that bit in the movies where the smart ass young punk gets his after tormenting the hero at the light? Well... silvershiney crumples damn good when it smacks into the ass end of a caddy. And you know, that really big black guy getting out of the caddy...he didn't look all that happy camper. Funny how my little buddy didn't even wave back to me as I drove past, and we were having such a good conversation too.