Home  >> Stories  >> The Tale Spinner #2010-35

---

IN THIS ISSUE

• Lyle Meeres continues his description of a tour of the Baltic
• Kate Brookfield begins a story about a recent visit to Scotland
• Catherine Green forwards a letter addressed to Proctor & Gamble
• Tom Kyle suggests a way to get a rapid response from police
• The editor has been waiting for new windows
• Sites are suggested by Catherine Green, Jay, and Pat Moore

Lyle Meeres is part of a tour group exploring St. Petersburg on their

BALTIC CRUISE

Our tour for August 26 was eight and a half hours of "Grand St. Petersburg with Hermitage." After a quick look at some places in the city and the exterior of St. Isaac´s Cathedral, we drove to the Hermitage. Later in the day, we debated whether or not this is the world´s best museum. Some three million items are on display, while six million wait in storage for their turn. Marina, the guide, placed the Hermitage in the top four museums, and I suspect she was trying to understate her case. She also said that if we spent one minute in front of each display, it would take nine years to see them all, and that´s not including stored items.

The Winter Palace, which is the site of the Hermitage, is a glorious setting too. One certainly wants time to look at the building, never mind its content. Though we had only a few hours, the experience was overwhelming. After a time, one does become saturated with information. I enjoyed Marina´s comments in front of some of the paintings, especially when she directed attention to details: a ring on a common lady´s finger, for example, or the bare-foot bottom of the Prodigal Son.

Marina revealed a quick temper when another group invaded our space while we looked at a painting. I forget her exact words but the effect was "that woman has no sense." True, the leader was discourteous, but to Marina she was also stupid. I hope Marina´s partner is perfect. Don´t misunderstand: she was a perfect guide IF you were in her group.

The glass and porcelain also caught one´s eye, but even display cases had me gawking at times.

The Russian lunch was in a fine hotel, and the food matched. The presentation made the Pushkin lunch look amateurish, though both tasted good. Again we had champagne and vodka, and this time we had two musicians. It was a classy lunch.

By the way, we were told we needed to be able to walk three-quarters of a mile and to handle over 200 steps. Marina said we walked over three miles in the morning, and my feet believed her.

I found it annoying that tourists were told "No flash photos where there are paintings", yet time after time I saw people who thought that their precious picture was more important than the preservation of some old Rembrandt. I kept expecting watchers to spring out of the woodwork and give ´em hell. The hosts, though, were more polite (or desperate for tourist dollars) than their guests. One guest frequently pushed people away from viewing a painting so she could take her photograph (if she had a professional interest, she could have bought a book on the paintings). Such people should have their tourist card terminated.

Marina made it clear that their two million tourists are very significant and the goal is five million in coming years. I don´t know how favourite sites or traffic will cope.

After lunch we drove to the cruiser Aurora, where I took a picture that is better than the postcard we were sold. The Aurora fired the shot that marked the beginning of the Russian Revolution in 1917.

Later we drove to St. Isaac´s, and this time we went inside the huge cathedral. What can an atheist say but, "This is awesome!" I could for the first time see a point in an expensive church. Even I would attend, but I would look rather than listen. St. Isaac´s Cathedral began with 1400 people working on it and ended up with 5000 workers - and it took them 40 years. According to a story, the architect was told that he would die in the year the building was finished. Consequently, he kept the pace unhurried. In any case, he did die the year it was finished, and despite his wish to be buried there, his wish was not granted. He was Catholic. He was buried in France where he was relatively unknown, having lived most of his life in Russia.

We drove around more and looked at other cathedrals, including the beautiful light blue, gold, and white Smolny Cathedral. Once again we stopped at the Church on Spilled Blood, where I took a picture from the distant side, which was a good setting, but the photo came out too dark to do justice to the scene.

Then we walked through an extensive flea market, which included interesting crafts, but we just bought some postcards. Dinner was rack of lamb - what else on such a good day!

"Tallinn" means "Danish town", but this part of Estonia was under Russian domination for so long that a Russian name would have been just as appropriate. We had no excursion on August 27 because the Old Town in Tallinn is quite walkable and suited to a do-it-yourself jaunt. One can quite often get a bit lost doing this, but finding the way around is just part of the excitement of exploring. We walked into Old Town past Fat Margaret Tower, so called because of a chubby cannon in the tower. At first the town was very quiet and we enjoyed strolling along by the old medieval wall with towers appearing periodically. We stopped at shops, since Tallinn is noted for lower prices, and bought a Matrioska doll and tea towels (a packable gift). We walked further and saw the Russian Orthodox Church of St. Alexander Nevski, Town Hall, and Toomkirk, the Dome Church that dates from 1223. The Nevski Cathedral reminded me of the Church on Spilled Blood. Though the domes are black, the red and white front is dramatically colourful.

We ate lunch in a long narrow cafe half a block off Town Hall. Pat and I tried Saku, an Estonian beer that was quite pleasant. At shops lining a street nearby, Pat bought a sweater-jacket. Then we tried our turn at getting slightly lost. It took some doing to find the shuttle bus stop though we got into the general area readily enough. The Jewel of the Seas left our last port of call at 4:00 p.m. Dinner was fine. We were tired, but clocks went back an hour that night so we could catch some extra zzz´s. The sea was slightly rough, especially considering that the Baltic is a rather calm sea.

Cruise Day 11, otherwise known as August 28, was a day at sea. After a decent sleep, we ate a leisurely breakfast in the Tides Dining Room. We went quickly through the Russian bazaar that the ship´s sales area had set up. Was it ever busy! The Father Frost we liked (Santa on an old-fashioned wooden child´s sleigh) was $300 U.S. so we left - but Pat snuck back later and bought a far less expensive carved Father Frost. Donna got a signed Father Frost.

At 11:00 a.m. we were called to the Tides dining room to go through a British Immigration check, which was very rapid. The set-up for our departure was not what we wanted: it would drop us at Heathrow, which was the only possibility we knew of back when we were talking to Neil at the travel agency, but we found out that another bus went to Victoria coach station in central London. This would put us much closer to our hotel and save us a bundle on taxi fare.

When we turned in our departure forms, I talked to the fellow behind the counter and he seemed comfortable with making the change, but whoever dealt with departure simply went by our original Red Deer forms. We intended to let Neil know that these tours have more departure variations than RCI tells people initially. We went to the desk that was used to settle departure details and the fellow was not at all happy to make the change, but we were less happy, and he decided that the easier route was to make the change we were insisting upon. We got the purple baggage tags that meant we had our bus to Victoria Station.

As usual, dinner was good. People took pictures of this, our last formal dinner. We then went upstairs and watched the ship, still in Denmark´s territory, slip under the world´s second longest suspension bridge. Appearances said that the ship wouldn´t make it. People on the bridge stopped their vehicles to watch us crash, but we never scratched the bridge or the ship. We went to the evening performance in the Coral Theatre: a violinist from the U.K. who knew how to entertain a holiday audience. He was fast, lively, upbeat, and he danced all over the stage and then skittered throughout the auditorium. Once again we moved our clocks back an hour.

To be continued.

Kate Brookfield begins the story of their visit to

SCOTLAND

Early this summer we had a very pleasant holiday in Scotland and northern England. It was mainly a family holiday. The occasion was the wedding of our niece, who is the daughter of my husband´s only sister, who died in 1991 when her daughter, the bride, was only 13 years old. Her father died three years later, leaving her brother and our family their only relatives. Her mother´s dying wish was that the cousins keep in touch, and my son and daughter have honoured their promise to their well-loved Auntie Helen. Suzie came to Canada with the man she was marrying for my daughter´s wedding, so we knew the groom and made their wedding an occasion for us all to travel to Scotland.

We rarely get together as a family in Canada as my son, with his wife and three-year-old daughter, live in Ottawa, and my daughter and son- in-law, with two boys aged four and two, live in Calgary. The last time we were all together was Easter 2007, when the eldest grandchildren were two and one and the third had not been born.

My husband surfed the web and found an attractive place to rent that promised to accommodate up to eight people: the Keith Marischel Tower house near Humbie in East Lowthian, just 14 miles from Edinburgh. Tower houses are plentiful in the Border regions of Northern England and Southern Scotland. Many are in ruins but a few still stand. Tower houses date back to the feudal times when the clans and Border Reivers raided the property of rivals. The tower house was a stone structure built by the chieftains to protect the community. When the marauding rivals appeared, burning homes and stealing women and animals, the people and their animals herded into the tower house.

On Wednesday, May 26th, our family arrived without difficulties at the Keith Marischal Tower house. The worst part was finding the place. The directions and map we were given were not much help as the entrance to the tower house was unmarked. We knew it was near Humbie, a small village in East Lowthian. Mike and I arrived first as we spent our first three days in Scotland in the Trossachs, north-west of Edinburgh. We drove through Humbie, but no signs for the tower house. After cruising up and down countryside roads, we found the Humbie Parish Church at the bottom of a long winding narrow road. There was no house near and the place was deserted, except for some workmen mending a wall. "Sorry, we are not from round here! Best ask a local" was the only help they could offer. Then we met a woman walking her dog and she gave us clear directions three entrances past the farm. The third entrance was almost hidden from view on the road and we had passed it several times. We drove through the narrow opening between the remnants of a stone gateway onto a twisting long and narrow drive with magnificent rhododendron bushes in flower on each side. But at the end it opened out into a large circular drive round a large lawn, and there was the tower house in full splendour.

The owner welcomed us and we took our first look around. The front door was heavy, like a church door, with a massive key. There was a circular porch area for hanging coats and a second glass door. The large kitchen was a step down to the left and the large stone stairs going up to the rest of the tower. There was everything we needed in the kitchen: a stove with two ovens, microwave, fridge, and plenty of utensils and good quality stoneware plates, etc. In the centre was a large wooden table that would seat about 12 or more people comfortably. Part of the floor had a colourful tiled area, which I learned later from an article published in the Scotsman was the work of a celebrated ceramic artist William Gordon.

Beyond the kitchen was another large room with a sofa bed and a large oak dresser. Beyond this room was a utility room with washer, dryer, sink, and clothes dryer. From this room was a door to a patio area outside.

We climbed the spiral stairs to the next level. There was a bathroom on the right and shelves with books and games on the left of the entrance to the living room. The living room was spacious with two large sofa, one a put-you-up bed, television and video player, and overlooked the front of the house. Off the living room was the master suite, comprised of a very large bedroom and a spacious bathroom. Both the living room and master bedroom had deep window seats showing us the thickness of the stone walls of the tower. The bedroom and bathroom were at the back of the house overlooking the beautiful garden of the owner. We were not allowed in this "rabbit free" garden, but could enjoy the view from above. First come, first served, and "age before beauty", so we bagged this master suite before the rest arrived.

The next level up had another three bedrooms and a third bathroom. Two of the rooms had twin beds and the third was a single bedroom. The final flight of stairs was much steeper and narrower and led to the last bedroom, "The Princess Room" at the top of the tower.

Michael was sent to get some groceries while I stayed to welcome the rest of the family. I was concerned that they would have the same difficulties as us, so I walked down the drive to stand on the road to show them the entrance. It turns out that Robert and family had pulled into a field to check their map yet again, when another car pulled in, and it was Caroline and Ken checking their map! Then they also met a woman with a dog, maybe the same one we met. Anyway, they found me sitting on the bank on the side of the road and they were all glad to arrive at the tower house.

Caroline and Ken had been in Scotland a week and had come south from touring the Highlands. Robert had flown in from Bulgaria the day before, picked up Amanda and Amelia in London, and driven from there that day.

And that was the end of the peace and quiet in Keith Tower House for a week. The parents decided the top room was not suitable for any of the children as the stairs were too steep, so that room became a retreat for anyone who was having difficulties sleeping. Liam, the oldest grandchild, had his own room. Cole, the youngest, had his own little tent that was set up in the bathroom. Amanda and Robert put the two single beds together to make one large bed for the three of them ... so Robert was the first to sleep in the Princess Room. One night, Amelia decided that she wanted to sleep in Grandma´s room, she liked the grandeur of the room, but not with Grandpa. Michael was dismissed to the Princess Room. After half an hour Amelia decided she did not like the feel of my silk pyjamas, so she went back to her Mum and Dad´s bed.

The grounds of the house were very extensive and most of it had been mowed. There was a tennis court in one area, behind the rabbit-free garden. At the extreme border of the property was a heavily- treed area, in the middle of which was an ancient ruined chapel. But we could not get to the chapel either from the property or from the farm track on the other side. Our Canadian grandchildren were introduced to the dreaded stinging nettle and warned not to go near them. Another article I found told more about the chapel and I stole a photo which I have included with my photos.

For the history and more about our tower house please visit

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keith_Marischal, or Google the name.

For my own photos, please visit my Picasa website: http://arunaurl.com/3lee

To be continued.

Although this letter sent to me by Catherine Green has been going around the internet with the claim that it won an award, the author wrote: "I was shocked to see that it supposedly won PC Magazine´s editors´ choice award ... I think they forgot to tell me. Anyway, I wrote this last February as a humor piece for McSweeneys.net, and it´s taken on a life of its own.

HAVE A HAPPY PERIOD

I have been a loyal user of your "Always" maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I´d probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I´d certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts.

But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic I can´t tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there´s a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? I´m guessing you haven´t. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I´ll be transformed into what my husband likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills."

Isn´t the human body amazing?

As brand manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you´ve no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customer´s monthly visits from ´Aunt Flo´. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it´s a tough time for most women.

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants.... Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: "Have a Happy Period."

Are you f------ kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness, is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you´re some kind of sick S&M freak, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don´t march down to the local Walgreen´s armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn´t it make more sense to say something that´s actually pertinent, like "Put down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong."

Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullsh!t. And that´s a promise I will keep.

Always...

Wendi AaronsAustin, TX

ED. NOTE: The good news is that Proctor & Gamble no longer puts the offending slogan on their adhesive strips.

Tom Kyle sends this helpful hint:

HOW TO CALL THE POLICE WHEN YOU ARE OLD

George Phillips of Meridian, Mississippi was going up to bed when his wife told him that he´d left the light on in the garden shed, which she could see from the bedroom window. George opened the back door to go turn off the light, but saw that there were people in the shed stealing things.

He phoned the police, who asked, "Is someone in your house?" He said, "No." Then they said, "All patrols are busy. You should lock your doors and an officer will be along when one is available."

George said, "Okay." He hung up the phone and counted to 30.

Then he phoned the police again.

"Hello, I just called you a few seconds ago because there were people stealing things from my shed. Well, you don´t have to worry about them now because I just shot them," ... and hung up.

Within five minutes, six police cars, a SWAT team, a helicopter, two fire trucks, a paramedic, and an ambulance showed up at the Phillips´ residence, and checked on the reported shooting.

One of the policemen said to George, "I thought you said that you shot them!"

George said, "I thought you said there was nobody available!"

FROM THE EDITOR´S DESKTOP

All week I have been waiting for the other shoe to drop. The men who are installing new windows in the apartment building where I live put all the front and back windows in first, then started on the sides. Last Friday they finished the two floors below me, so I expected them to arrive at 8:00 on Monday morning.

Because I have windows in the dining area, the kitchen, and the bedroom, I spent the weekend (sporadically) sweeping up cat hair and dust from under the bed and the dining table, moving plants from the dining area, and cleaning the kitchen under the window. Well, you know how it goes - you start cleaning one part of a room and next thing you know, you are washing the ceiling.... I didn´t go quite that far, but I tidied up as if a cleaning woman were coming instead of a crew of men who will never notice the difference.

I got up early on Monday morning, but there was no knock on my door and no sign of the crews. Tuesdays I go to George Derby Centre home for veterans, where I am the treasurer of the volunteer society, and I waited again for the ominous knock. Nothing.

Wednesday morning I saw the crews dropping their new windows and metal strips for framing them in the hallway so I was sure I was next. However, my next-door neighbour told me they were doing the other side of the building that day, so I relaxed.

I was sure they would come on Thursday, but when I saw one of the crew and asked him, he told me they were still working on the other floors on the other side of the building. Finally, I found a sticky note on my door announcing their arrival on Saturday at 8:00 a.m.

When they install these windows, they make a horrendous noise. They have a metal saw to cut the frames, and then they drive screws into the frames with a scream of tortured metal. We have had the noise of these operations for weeks, because no matter which floor they are working on, we can hear them. I am planning on leaving home on Saturday as soon as possible and staying out as late as I can manage. My neighbour has promised to take my cat for the time the workers are here because they leave the hall doors open and also the doors to the stairs, and who knows where my adventurous (or terrified) animal would end up!

All this to instal windows which I will not dare to open wide because Happy will undoubtedly see those newly-accessible window ledges as his passport to adventure, and I have no idea how to install the air conditioner in those tiny windows.

So much for renovations!

SUGGESTED SITES

I can´t remember whether we have already recommended this site sent by Catherine Green, but it is good for a laugh any time:

Jay sends the URL for another of the old Carol Burnett shows:

Are these the cars of the future? Jay sends the URL for a look at contestants for a prize:

Pat Moore sends the site of a compilation of global statistics as they occur:

Alternative ways the money spent on the war in Iraq could have been spent:

People keep talking about the "good old days" - have they forgotten two world wars in which millions of lives were lost, or the great depression, when people´s livelihoods were destroyed? For pictures of the depression in small towns in the US, go to http://arunaurl.com/3la5

Democracy thrives on civil debate, Michael Sandel says - but we´re shamefully out of practice. He leads a fun refresher, with TEDsters sparring over a recent Supreme Court case (PGA Tour, Inc. v. Martin) whose outcome reveals the critical ingredient in justice:

Children from the world-famous Staten Island public school sing "Forever Young":

Check out the other videos of this chorus singing on the same site.