Am I Really Me?

The latest craze is DNA testing to know where you came from. There are a slew of online companies happy to do it for a swab of spit and a fee. Several of my colleagues at work have done it.

Some have been delighted with the results, others not so much. For them their family tree didn’t match who they thought they were. Image result for dna tests

“I think I’m adopted,” one of them said to me this week. He’s now making inquiries with relatives to see if they had lied to him to all his life. This is a family disruption on the grandest scale.

My question is, are the results accurate? I can just imagine the warehouses of desks, testing equipment and computers for workers making minimum wage who have been entrusted with your spit. I think your relatives are more trustworthy, that is if they can be counted on to speak the truth.

I haven’t succumbed yet. I’m happy to stay oblivious and believe I am who I am. Besides, what if I found out I’ve been living a fake identity? That I have more Inuit blood in me than I could ever imagine and that my love of Indian food is because…you guessed it.

Calvin says, “Who cares? It’s another form of entertainment to get you off course from your real purpose in life.”

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Tea for Two

The kitchen is complete. It’s so different Alf and I feel we’re in an alternative universe. We’re having to get used to it like a new house.

Unlike us, it’s bright, open and sleek.  What was once a traditional kitchen of the 60’s is now a bold space with stainless steel, grey cabinets, black and white granite counters, and a brown hardwood floor. teapot

Our son, the artist, immediately spotted all the flaws. “I would have laid the hardwood floor in the opposite direction,” he said.  A floor is a floor. Vertical or horizontal, once you throw rugs over it, who’s to notice? He did.

Our daughter was thrilled with the upgrade. “Wow. Makes the house look glamorous. I’ll be coming over more often.” Who knew modernizing the house is the secret to bringing the family together.

Right now I’m purging food items, pots and pans, and small appliances before we fill up cabinet space. I discovered I’ve been hording bags of spices, too many spatulas, dish towels and oven mittens, and an extra set of dishes meant for a banquet of 24. Time to toss.

Calvin says, “I have to establish new scent trails to my food dish.” beagle

 

 

A Bird Story

“Did I tell you my bird story?” Peter asked peeking around the door of my office.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

He sat down in the chair opposite my desk.

“Do you have any chocolates?” he said.

I offered him my candy dish.

“Oh, these look good,” he said as he unwrapped a truffle.

“I found a canary in my garden a few months ago. It had fallen out of its nest. I scooped it up and put it in a box. I fed it and took care of it, but realized with my work hours I couldn’t keep it, so I asked my friend, Luisa, you know, the one with the eight kids, if she’d like to have it.”

“‘What color is it, and will it sing?'” she asked me.

“‘It’s gray, and if it’s a female, she won’t sing,'” I said.

“‘You want me to take a gray canary that won’t sing?'” she said. “‘Oh, alright.'”

“It turned out the family loved the canary and tamed it. It spent most of the time outside of its cage. And she did sing. She’d land on your head and sing her songs. Then one day Luisa called me to come over. When I got there they told me the canary was dead. It was in the freezer waiting for me to have a proper funeral.

“How did it happen?” I asked.

“One of the children sat on it,” Peter said.

Calvin says, “If a bird landed on my head, I’d bay and the poor thing would drop dead.”