Toilet paper wars: which way is the right way?

Obviously toilet paper has to be hung on the wall with the tail against the wall.

How else can you get one-handed access? And yet my husband insists on putting the toilet paper the other way, so that when I really need it in a hurry, and who doesn't sometimes, admit it, I have to flounder around, trying to grasp it with two hands while precious seconds (and other things) are disappearing in an elegant swirl down the poop pipe.

He actually goes into the bathroom and switches it on me. The nerve. Of course I switch it back. What choice do I have? You have to stand up for what's right, fight the good fight. If you don't defend your own toilet paper dispenser, you might as well roll over for the rest of the world.

Besides, this is how toilet paper should be hung. It was done this way at my parents' house. It was done this way at my ex-husband's house because, erm, I was bossy that way. Come to think of it, that's probably why he cheated. The toilet paper thing probably emasculated him. Had to find his toilet testosterone somewhere else. Hey, it happens.

Dave doesn't put up with my shit. No pun intended. He was raised in a house where toity paper was overhanded and he sincerely believes that is the best way. Now, I've caved on a bunch of stuff where Dave is concerned, like not putting relish in my pasta salad, which I loved, and bringing the water to boil before I drop the corn in, but toilet paper is a make or break issue and I take it seriously.

Dave isn't the worst offender, however. Did you know there are people in this world who will go into the bathroom in your house and change your toilet paper around? Incredible, isn't it? If there's any place on earth that is truly your private space, it's the bathroom. Sacrosanct. If your home is a castle then it's no wonder the toilet is called a throne.

I was just thinking that toilet paper hanging is a lot like religion. I was raised going to a United Church so therefore my allegiance is to the United Church, even though I go maybe once a year if I'm lucky. I'm not even sure what my religious beliefs are, to be honest, but I do know I feel a certain peace in the familiarity of "my" church. Being there, hearing the same words that I heard as a child, makes me comforted.

It's how I was raised.

The toilet paper thing? That's also how I was raised. Having someone mess with the toity paper holder is like people in suits coming to the door and trying to get me to switch religions. They hand me a piece of paper, the toity paper holder hands me a piece of paper – it's all just paper, right? Why should I worry about how I get it and just use it for how it was intended?

Man, those religious leaflets though, they're hard on the butt. No matter how you hold 'em.

Big people have feelings too

I was all in a big huff yesterday afternoon because of a letter to the editor.

Some local woman had written in to complain about the upcoming demise of the Ontario Northlander, a train that links Toronto to North Bay. Hey, I'm not happy about it either. In fact I wrote my own opinion piece for the North Bay Nipissing Life blog, here. (By the way, I'm really trying to stir up interest in this blog – it's for a magazine I work on, and it's new, and it's hard up for comments and followers - hint, hint.)

But I really took offence to the her comment about a "very large woman" on a bus whose flesh overflowed onto her own seat, who ate garlic meat pies and belched continuously.

In retrospect, I can see that the smell of garlic, of someone else's leg touching my own, and continual burping would be gross. I would probably move.

Still, my first reaction to the letter was to get pissed off. Being a fat person myself, I am very sensitive to crude remarks of any kind directed to overweight people and it seems to me that it's OK to make fun of them, it's socially acceptable. It's not OK to point out the colour of someone's skin or their accent but it's still apparently all right to comment on their size.

It was the tone of the woman's letter that upset me the most. It was so derogatory. In the next paragraph she commented on someone's kid sitting in the seat behind her. Instead of calling him a child or a kid she called him a little "brat" who repeatedly kicked the back of her seat even after she told the mother to keep control of him.

So what I get from that scenario is an angry, skinny kid-hater who generally can't stand to be around other people and should probably fork over some cashola for a bubble-wrapped car so she doesn't have to ever take public transportation again.

I remember reading a short story a few years back about a person who worked in a retail store and had an obese woman as a customer. The woman paid for whatever she bought with coins from her pocket and the main character was repulsed by the warmth of the coins. The writer made it clear that the cashier didn't even want to touch the coins because they were warm from the fat woman's grotesque body.

I don't care how fat you are or how skinny you are, if you have money in your pocket it is going to be warm! Obviously the cashier wouldn't be offended at all if the warm cash was coming from the pocket of some stud-muffin.

I went off on a rant about that story and, honestly, I shouldn't have. The writer was being honest about the situation. If the cashier wasn't grossed out, I guess it would have been less realistic. The writer was doing her job and the story was actually pretty good.

I guess I just don't like to see people being discriminated because of their size. I know a woman who told me she would never hire a fat person because they're lazy. She said this to my face. I felt like smacking her.

Yup, we've come a long way in the fight against racial stereotypes but unless you're skinny you're still feeling the rage that comes your way when you're not.

Lou Freshwater and the tragedy of Camp Lejeune

Twelve-year-old Lou Freshwater in the front yard of her military base home in Camp Lejeune.

I've never met Lou Freshwater but she's a good friend of mine, a smart-as-a-whip writer with a gentle heart made of glass and gold.

As a child, she lived for three years or so in Camp Lejeune, a U.S. Marine training base now known as being one of the worst water contamination stories in American history, right up there, or should I say down there, with Love Canal and Hinkley, California (the water contamination story made famous in the movie Erin Brockovich).

Her mother has been diagnosed with, not one, but two types of acute leukemia. Genetic testing revealed the cause of her illness was exposure to the chemical benzene. In a heart-wrenching story from U.S. news magazine show Nightline, "the improbably named" Mary Freshwater talks about Camp Lejeune, her cancer and the loss of two babies from birth defects attributed to water contamination.

She's not the only victim, of course. Thousands, no, countless people drank the poisoned water at this military base. Untold numbers of people have gotten sick and/or died from the effects.

Through Lou's blog posts and her talent as a writer, my friend is making sense of what might otherwise be just another blip on the evening news. She gives a face to the tragedy; makes it real.

I'm telling you about it because Lou's story, and the story of Camp Lejeune, needs to be shared. She is writing a series of posts about the camp but this one is a good place to start: Poisoned by Your Own Government. Make sure you watch the You Tube video – it has been blocked on Lou's website, but if you follow the link to You Tube you can see photos of Lou as a child, as well as her mom with a tell-tale kerchief on her head.

When I first read Lou's post a few days ago, I didn't have time to watch the video. So I watched it this morning and it had such an impact on me that I'm writing this to you now. I hope you find time to visit Lou's blog and maybe share the story on your own blog. It's the only way people will get the medical treatment they deserve and it's the only way the the military will own up to what it did and defend the veterans who defended their country.

Pillow talk

Sorry for getting all girly on ya but I found two things I am just crazy about.

Last night I had the BEST sleep of my life, all because of this contoured memory foam pillow we bought yesterday. Here's a picture of me sleeping on it:

As you can see it supports the neck and gives you a perfect single-chin jawline and blonde hair. Even better, it keeps you cool. You ever have to wake up during the night and turn your pillow because your sweaty head has made it, um, sweaty? Dave's a big head-sweater and with this memory foam thing? No sweating. He "kept a cool head" all night long. He's also subject to sore necks which lead into migraines and the pillow didn't give him a sore neck!

I don't have as many pillow issues as Dave but I haven't been happy with them lately, so when I saw these puppies I thought I'd give them a try. They're more expensive than regular pillows (about $35 in Wal-mart in Canada, probably way cheaper everywhere else), but after just one night I'd be willing to pay twice that much for such a lovely, refreshing snooze.

We have a memory foam mattress topper on our bed and love it just as much as the pillow. It makes everything so cool and comfy. Only problem is, you never want to get out of bed.

Here's a picture of me with my foam topper:

So the OTHER thing I'm crazy about is Bourjois Paris 10 Day No Chips Nail Polish. I saw it in Shopper's Drug Mart the other day and fell in love with its bright pink colour. I put it on my toenails and have been dancing around showing off my tootsies ever since. The colour is glossy and shiny and PINK and if it lasts as long as it says it will, well holy moly, that just gives whole new meaning to the phrase 'Happy Feet.'

Summer morning ritual

It's a rainy day here so I grabbed a fall jacket when I went outside for our summer morning ritual.

We filled up the bird feeders then took them out of the garage and hung them from the trees in our front yard. The yellow finches are such brightly beautiful wee piggies – they go through a half a feeder's worth of seed in just one day. Dave dumped a margarine dish full of mixed seeds in the main feeder, then tossed in a handful of peanuts for eager blue jays and chipmunks to fight over. The hummingbird feeder was already outside, where feisty hummers were squabbling over whose turn it was.

With our "chores" done, we retired to the gazebo to spend five quiet minutes together before rushing into the day. I kicked off my flip-flops and put my feet up into the cushy comfort of a favourite chair, then sipped my coffee and chatted with Dave about weekend plans, the birds and nothing in particular. I love this time of day. No human activity to speak of, with sane people still in their beds, but the whistling calls of birds and saucy chatter of red squirrels is circus-like in its noisy fervour.

All too soon, Dave got up from his chair, picked up his lunch pail and kissed me. "Have a good day," he said. "Play nice with the other kiddies." He kissed me again, for good measure, and headed for the car.

I waved as he drove away and thought, insanely, that if this was a movie and I was the glamourous star, that he would go so far down the road, realize he couldn't leave me, even for a day, and come back to the gazebo, to our magic morning ritual, and to me.

I sipped my cooling coffee and did an internal head shake, thinking what a maroon.

Then, incredibly, I saw the Jeep reappear, backing up until Dave parked it at the side of the road and got out.

I thought, He came back! Just like in the movies!

I said, "What's going on?" And waited for him to say something romantic like, I need one more kiss from your tender lips before I go.

What he actually said was, "There are fresh moose prints in the mud at the side of the road. I want to see where they go."

So away he went on foot, nose to the ground like some giant ungainly man-beagle.

I finished my coffee while sunlight peeked out from behind a dark cloud, transforming the raindrops dripping from our spruce trees into gleaming pearls.

Already the chill is in the air. Soon it will be autumn and, before we know it there will be snow on the ground and these gentle mornings will be sweet memories.