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The Unwritten Rules of Twitter That Can Get You Suspended

2010-04-13T22:27:00.001-07:00

Ever since I started using Twitter a few months ago, I've been trying to understand the rules. However, as I study the rules more and more, I find that they aren't terribly clear. I thought it might be useful to share what Twitter *doesn't* spell out for you. As usual this is a vast subject, so I'm limiting myself to 4 main points.

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In case you're wondering, here are The Twitter Rules.

Spam: There are 17 points described under Spam. But none of them are specific or use specific numbers. So what is Spam specifically?

Unwritten Rule #1: It's not clear what Spam is and the definition is a fickle mistress.

You can probably get away with doing some spammy things for a while, but even if Twitter doesn't shut you down right away, lots of individuals will block you. If enough people block you, that alone will shut you down. Some people have itchier Block Button Fingers than others and block people with ease. These are things that *I* consider serious spam: sending lots of people you don't know @ messages advertising your product; blatant porn; and the vast majority of "make money fast" messages tweeted ad nauseum. I also view links with cli.gs as a yellow

flag--it's usually crap.

What a lot of peeps fail to grasp is that even if you aren't selling anything, even if all you want to do is direct people to your blog to share Grandma's recipe for Banana Cream Pie, if you tweet it over and over and send the link to people who haven't asked for it, it's still spam.

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Here are the Twitter Following Rules. But here is another discussion of Twitter's (Total) Follow Limits, and here is yet another. Here is a note about Daily Limits. You'll notice the rules don't all say exactly the same thing. So what is the real rule?

Unwritten Rule #2: It's not clear what the follow limits are and who they apply to.

The follow limits probably vary between accounts. So to be safe follow less than 10% more than are following you. If you follow more than 10% then the Twitter Gods are watching you. In a previous article, I said that I believed--and still do--that you are more attractive to potential followers if the number of people you follow exceeds the number who follows you. I still believe that. Just be careful, and keep that difference under 10% of those following you.

I have to add here that I think the concept that it's somehow better to have lots of people following you than you are following is absurd, and I don't know why that belief abounds. I also have no idea why Twitter itself enourages this concept and imposes follow limits at all. Twitter was originally used in its infancy for internal Odeo communication. The original idea was for employees to be able to talk to each other--for everyone to share information. Twitter was not designed for one person to talk and everyone else to listen. So why on earth should it be preferable and coveted to follow few people and have lots of followers? No idea.

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Here are the Twitter Automation Rules . This page tells you how and when it's okay to use them. What this page doesn't tell you is the following:

Unwritten Rule #3: The quickest way to attract the wrath of Twitter Gods is to use Automation Tools.

There are lots of ways to automate your account. I'm not going to tell you how to do it because I think it's bad for several reasons. Twitter is supposed to be a social network. It's not supposed to be just free advertising (except for Twitter itself--stay tuned) and most of the people who automate their accounts are doing it to make it easier and faster to tweet crap. So let me tell you that Twitter doesn't like automation tools and as soon as you start using them, you're on their radar. While Twitter explains politely that you can use them (carefully), if you use them too much, they will shut you down. Also, if other twitterers smell automation, they will block you. So use them at your own risk. And in case you didn't know, people HATE AUTO DIRECT MESSAGES. So quit using them. People will block you, and don't come crying to me. Get people to notice you by being interesting and friendly. Nobody goes to your website or buys your product when you shove it down his or her throat. There are also automation tools for following and unfollowing. And those are including under the Unwritten Rule.

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Twitter Jail. Twitter Jail is defined by twitterers as what happens when Twitter shuts you down. It might be because you've tweeted too much and your account is just locked for an hour or two. That happens to spammers and also to lots of people who are just talking to their friends, not spamming. Or it could be more serious, and you could be suspended and taken out of their search engines--which don't work all that great anyway, by the way, but that's an article for another day. I've never been in Twitter Jail, but as my buddy @asark21 put it so eloquently, I can hear them chains rattling.

Unwritten Rule #4: Suspended accounts are not easy to get reactivated. So learn what to do if it happens to you.

The obvious solution is try to avoid it. Don't get suspended. But sometimes people get suspended that aren't spamming; they are naive and had the best intentions. So what do you do?

A. As a precaution get the email addresses of a few of your Twitter friends--I call them Fritters. Most people call them Tweeps. If you get in trouble, quickly email your buddies and get them to make some noise and try to help.

B. Make a new account and start making noise. Twitter Gods hate noise. So if enough people make noise, it puts a lot of pressure on them.

C. Log a help ticket. It's really hard to find this link. I'm not sure how much good this does. I often get the impression that the people who receive and work on these tickets just sit back and laugh at them and don't actually do anything, but it's worth a try. Stories abound on the internet of people who asked for help and waited a long time to get any.

D. Send a distress signal to @twitter_tips These guys know everything. They can give you advice.

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Why are all these rules so vague? There are several possibilities: one is that they are deliberately left vague so those in charge can change them continually without us knowing when or why. [Likely] One is that they are inadvertently left vague because the software people who developed Twitter are too [stupid] brilliant in technical matters to write good English. [good possibility] Another is that they are deliberately left vague because different rules apply to different accounts. [very good possibility]

In closing I have to mention a few peeps who I talk to and laugh with every day. If I end up in Twitter Jail for tweeting too much, it will be because I was talking to them: @aussie_home_biz @takethe_plunge @lovegoldcoast @singhd and @budgetdude

6 Things I Learned Living in France

2010-04-02T22:28:00.000-07:00

In 1985, as a young 23-year-old American girl newly married to a French guy, I moved from New York City to France. I couldn't speak or understand a word of French, but I had studied the language in school so I had some basic understanding of grammar--enough to write a few correct sentences on a postcard, for example.

I lived in France until 1991 when my husband and I and our two children--both born in France--moved to and immigrated to Calgary, Alberta, Canada. During those six years, I learned to speak fluent French, fluent enough to pass for French; I learned my way around; I got a job; and my two children were born there. My years and experiences in France are largely enough fodder for a book. But I've scaled it down for the purposes of this blog to the following.

6 Things I Learned Living in France:

1. Assertiveness

Some people who know me today might say I'm assertive to a fault. A long time ago, however, I was pretty shy and quiet like a church mouse. I wasn't very good at saying what I wanted or needed. Living in France changed that. The main reason for this change is that the French theory of retail business is "the customer is always wrong."

This reality was a struggle for me in my first few months there, but I eventually learned that if I did not become more assertive I would not survive.

The following is an incident of me buying a turkey at the bird (chicken, fowl etc.) seller (at the open-air market). It was October and I was planning a 6-course dinner for 16 people. All the dialogues I'm recreating here in English, originally took place in French.

Me: Hello, I'd like to special order a turkey that weighs 16 pounds that I can pick up next week.

Turkey Lady: 16 pounds?

Me: Yes, please. 16 pounds.

Turkey Lady: You don't need a turkey that weighs 16 pounds. How many people are eating?

Me: I want a 16 pound turkey. Can I please order a 16 pound turkey.

Turkey Lady: How many people are at the table?

Me: It doesn't matter how many people are at the table. I want a 16 pound turkey. Can I order a 16 pound turkey?

Turkey Lady: You know we don't usually get turkeys that size except at Easter and Christmas.

Me: Can I order a 16-pound turkey?

Turkey Lady: Are you sure you want such a big turkey? That's a VERY BIG TURKEY.

[Translation for the reader's benefit: You are an idiot. You don't know how to cook or how to plan a dinner. You don't know anything about fowl, and you look very stupid to boot. No one in Europe cooks a 16-pound turkey in October. And your sweatpants are ugly.]

Me: Can I please order a 16 pound turkey and pick it up next week.

Turkey Lady: Yes.

Me: Thank you very much.

2. French Women are the Epitome of Fashion

I don't want my readers to go away with the notion that everything in France was a negative. Absolutely not. There are many many wonderful things about France. Here's one: French women know fashion. They are lovely to look at at every age.

Twice a week in the little village where I lived in a suburb of Paris, there was an open-air market. Once I learned how to speak French, and could count my money/change quickly, I went religiously. I went the same way I went to Walmart today, 25 years later: I'd had a shower, my long (now grey) hair was in a ponytail, no make-up, no nail polish, no perfume, wearing sweats and sneakers.

This is how my neighbor (and friend) and every other woman my age went to the market: Her hair was short, styled and sprayed; she had on a touch of make-up and perfume; she had on jeans that were ironed with a sharp crease in the front; she had on stockings and red pumps with heels; she had a pretty little purse, a white cotton blouse with a collar and a small brightly colored red and white scarf at her neck. Anybody see a difference?

3. The Food is Better over there. Everywhere. Anywhere.

This is something hard to believe until you've experienced it. Fresh produce is, well, different than here. Compared to what we're used to, it's more brightly colored, more flavorful, much dirtier, usually smaller and locally produced whenever possible. There are many more cuts of meat available, and all of it is tastier and fresher.

The cheapest restaurant in some little town has better food in it then the vast majority of "good" restaurants in any big city here. The ingredients are fresher. Cooking is taken very seriously over there and not to be trifled with.

I'm lucky because my then-mother-in-law was and is a great cook, and she taught me lots. I also made a friend the first year I lived there who was and is a pastry chef, and fairly quickly I arranged trading English lessons for cooking lessons. I learned how to cook over there and feel very fortunate to have had that experience.

4. Women's Bodies are Valued and Appreciated More and Differently in France

I found this interesting and unexpected. When you have a baby over there, ob/gyn's do not want you to gain more than 20-25 pounds. And I mean it. This proved to be a headache for me because a) I've had a weight problem my whole life and b) I put on 40 pounds with my first child. They don't want you to put on a lot of weight because they want you to be able to return to your "before" shape easily and as soon as possible after birth. Exercise and treatment with a physical therapist is routine and covered by health insurance following a pregnancy to regain use and control of abdominal muscles.

I once visited a "breast specialist" MD in France for a persistent lump. (I didn't know there was such a thing. Can you imagine?) This doctor had a large beautiful office in a lovely district in downtown Paris. His office had several rooms each with different types of equipment for different diagnostic tests. But he didn't offer his patients any gowns. I'm not kidding.

"Get undressed." I was told.

I asked the nurse, "you think I'm going to walk around this office from room to room topless?"

"Well, of course!" she said.

I grabbed my clothing and held it in front of my chest and asked the doctor if he was on crack. (By now I was pretty assertive.) He laughed and said yes, he knew he would have to get some robes for his "Anglo" patients.

There are *much* lower rates of both hysterectomy and mastectomy in France than in N. America, in part because culturally they do not want to damage the woman's body unless there is no other choice. Makes you think, eh?

5. Medical Care is Excellent Over There

I'm not going to cite a bunch of articles that no one is likely to read, so just take my word for it. When I had a baby, they kept me and baby a *week* in the hospital. General Practioners typically have 50% of their practice as housecalls. Yup, housecalls still exist in some places--and what a blessing they were if you had a sick child. Anybody can call and schedule an appointment with a specialist and the waiting periods are not absurd.

When my family learned that I was having a baby there, they acted like it was a third-world country. It's not. I could talk for hours on the healthcare debate, but I just want to be clear. It's great there. It's a better healthcare system over there than in Canada or in the US--and it's a Nationalized System although it has some private aspects.

6. Living Abroad is a Life Experience I Recommend for Everyone

While some of my time in France was hard, it was overall a positive life-changing experience for me. There is something about living in another country where people speak a different language than the one you're used to, and value different things than you do, that makes you see the whole world differently. I honestly believe that living through hard times--like being unable to answer the phone because you can't understand ONE SINGLE WORD that anyone says--makes you stronger, tougher, more flexible and more resilient.

People often ask me if I can still speak French. Yeah, sure I can. It's rusty, and I've lost lots of vocabulary, but if you put me in room with just French speakers, I would understand 95% of the conversation. I could make a hotel reservation for you on the phone, and I could still go to the market and count my change--quickly. ;o)

Momma's Boy

2010-03-21T01:21:00.000-07:00

Photo: 2008 Bolivia

No, he's not a "momma's boy" but I thought that was a catchy title. Since I did a blog post recently about my daughter, it's only fair that I devote one now to my son. My son is 23 years old last month and currently living and working in Uruguay. I miss him very much, and I haven't seen him since last June.

David was an easy baby. He cried a lot until he learned to crawl, but he always ate good, slept good, and was happy as long as he was moving around. That crying until he crawled was an early indicator of a common theme. David craves activity and loves the thrill of sports and action. When he was a toddler I tried to satisfy this need for speed by pushing him around on the floor in a laundry basket while he squealed with delight. Believe me, I was plenty happy when he went to sleep for the night. As he grew up he tried--and was good at--several different sports, finally finding his place with soccer and then rugby, loving both the speed and the camaraderie.

David's noteworthy academic credentials include getting A's on tests despite getting zero's on homework and spending 90% of his school time sitting in the hall outside the principal's office for being a class clown. He wasn't mean-spirited, just funny, and distracted the other kids like nobody's business. He finally got A's in his last year of high school which by that time didn't help him much getting into university. Luckily, because of high SAT scores, he had an automatic buy into Texas A&M where he had a series of rugby scholarships and graduated last year.

Another of David's claims to fame is having been bitten at least once by every pet we ever had. I'm not sure how he achieved this, but let's just say he doesn't have a natural affinity for animals. He also has a lot of allergies, and I know he suffered with all the dogs and cats we had. He told me, recently, out of the blue, however, that he is happy to have had that experience living with animals and thinks he is a better person for it. I was also amazed, the first time I visited him at A&M, to see one of our dogs as the wallpaper on his computer.

David's loud humor belied a gentle individual inside. I remember once on a snowy Saturday night I was playing Hearts with David (then aged 10) and his sister, me playing 2 hands and them each playing one. I was wearing one-piece pyjamas and a pair of those giant oversized kiddie sunglasses. The kids' father and I were divorced and I had not yet considered remarrying. All of a sudden David jumped up, threw his cards down, and started to cry.

"Look at you, Mom. You're never going to meet a man looking like that!"

I told him I wasn't planning on meeting any men in my Family Room while playing cards with him.

In 8th grade he told me one evening with a smiling serene look that he understood "everything."

"Everything?" I asked him.

"Yeah, Mom, you know--about life!"

"That's great son. I'm happy for you. Most people spend their whole lives trying to understand that."

One incident I recall from years gone by was the time David was showing me a tooth, a pre-molar, that was loose. It was slightly loose, but he wanted to show me that he could turn it this way, and That Way, and THIS WAY, and THAT WAY and THEN IT WAS OUT, and of course he was bleeding like a stuck pig because the tooth wasn't READY to come out. He once gave himself a black eye by accident while trying to practice a wrestling move before a match. I'm shaking my head as I write this. It's amazing what ridiculous things a smart ADHD kid can come up with if he's bored for a minute.

Photo: David's High School Grad 2005

It's hard to recreate how funny David was (and is) all day long. I want to be clear that Rachel is funny too, but a different kind of funny, a more deadpan, straight-man type; Rachel isn't as loud and overwhelming. We all had humor in the house, but David's was constant, in-your-face, razor-sharp, and electric. Just a few examples: as a small child getting real close to me with a conspiratorial look, then exhaling and shouting, "SMELL-O-GRAM"; creeping up real close to me when I was reading in bed and asking, "Are you enjoying your Encyclopedia of Brown Thread in 3 Volumes?"; standing outside the bathroom when I was in the shower asking louder and louder, "MOM, I NEED A CHRONOMETER." "What?" "A CHRONOMETER." "Huh?" "CHRONOMETER, YOU KNOW, A WATCH!"

David calling a friend on the phone:

"Bro, I have some great news for you. GREAT NEWS. UNBELIEVABLY FANTASTIC NEWS FOR YOU"

"What?"

"I'M CALLING YOU."

David and his sister, Rachel, have always been very close. I recall from the beginning them sitting arm in arm watching cartoons together on the couch. She was the quiet one, and he was the squeaky monkey climbing all over everything. One time she was sitting on the floor playing some video game on the TV and he was circling around her, trying to get her attention. He pushed her, she leaned over and then she straightened up (like one of those inflatable clowns that rights itself); he pushed her again, she leaned over, and then she sat up again ignoring him. He pushed her a third time and she wound up and gave him a good roundhouse punch. He looked at me wide-eyed like "I have no idea what's wrong with her!"

Photo: David and his sister, Rachel 2004

David going away to university was tough on all of us. Rachel had to come to terms with losing her best friend/companion and accepting him going on to live a life without her; I had to accept my first-born leaving home. It was especially difficult because he always took up so much SPACE and made so much NOISE! When he first left it seemed there was a vacuum. Of course, after he'd been gone for a while, we felt the same shock when he was HOME. I was relieved to see that when he *was* home, his relationship with his sister had not changed. They still sought out each other's company, wrestled around, bickered over the bathroom (even though we had several) and chased each other around the house.

Drawing Rachel did in 2005 when he left for university. We sent it out to friends and relatives with his new address.

I can remember him sitting in the kitchen doing a project in Grade 12 which consisted of creating a realistic monthly budget for living expenses. Listening to his budget details, I laughed until I cried. The biggest chunks of David's budget were not for rent and food and utilities but for soap and condoms. In those days he was very preoccupied with his soap and that no one should, God forbid, touch it. Since he spent as much time washing the soap as using it, he went through bars of soap like salts through a widow-woman.

I know he definitely got over the obsessive-compulsive-clean anxiety because a year later at university he didn't mind both me and his sister sharing his double bed with him, and the bathroom there....well, let's just say I needed a bio-hazard suit to go in it.

Now David is in Uruguay with a food and beverage manager job at a beach resort, surfing every day. I'm sure glad he got a Bachelor of Science in Physics to prepare him for that job. I don't know when I'll see him next, but my job was to prepare him to be independent and live his own life, and that's exactly what he's doing. For all my years as a parent I wanted two things for my children: for them to be happy, and to be productive members of society. It's bittersweet for parents when kids achieve all those things far away from home, but seeing them happy is the greatest reward.

This is my son.

Photo: Rachel visiting David in Guatemala 2009

Letter to My 20-Something Children about Why I'm on Twitter

2010-03-15T01:23:00.000-07:00

Dear David and Rachel:

Both of you have expressed some concern about the amount of time I spend on Twitter and my apparent interest in it. So I write this public letter in an attempt to allay your fears and memorialize my view on the subject. Rest easy, I am not plunging into insanity.

Since neither of you are on Twitter, my guess is you don't know much about it. Here's a good explanation and history of Twitter. Yes, there's no doubt that some people think it's idiotic and a waste of time, but some people feel that way about Facebook or text messaging. How do you feel about those things?

The original reason I decided to start using Twitter was because my webmaster, Willy Grieve, suggested I do it to try to generate traffic to my blog. In fact, I like doing the blog whether anyone comes to read it or not. So when I do a new entry in the blog, i mention it on Twitter, but only once or twice. It *has* generated some traffic.

The second major reason I wanted to get established on Twitter was because I want to get a book published. I have a finished manuscript of one quilting book. When you're doing a book proposal, one of the things you have to discuss is "platform" as in what do you have as a platform for letting people know about your book and helping in advertising. I will have Twitter as my "platform".

So those were the original reasons I signed up on Twitter 2 months ago. I'm not on Twitter because I'm bored or unhappy. I had specific reasons for getting started on it, but I participate lots because I like it. I'm ADD like you, David, and I get bored easily. Man, I need to fold some laundry. What was I saying? Twitter was made for me. It consists of little snippets of conversation that you can have with lots of different people from all over the world. There's a running feed of information, links to articles, news, jokes, quotes; there's something for everybody. And it's very simple to do. Facebook, on the other hand, gets more and more complicated and I enjoy it less and less.

Participating on Twitter is a lot like reading a book of very short "flash" fiction. You can pick it up or put it down anytime you want. I have a lot of fun with it. I laugh all the time talking to Twitter buddies. Most people call Twitter friends Twends or Tweeps. I call them Fritters. I have acquaintances that I've made in Australia, in the States, Canada, Holland, England and S. America.

I not only keep up with news, but I can ask a question like "The thread on my sewing machine keeps breaking...anybody have any idea what's wrong?" or "my rose bush has aphids, what should I do?" and 2 or 3 people immediately reply. Actually I don't have any roses, but you get the idea.

So while you may not understand it, I urge you not to worry about me. I'm fine. Even while participating on Twitter, I've gotten back into cooking, I've made 2 quilts in the last month (with a 3rd on the way), and I got a part-time job teaching quilting. I'm trying to adjust to a new city, new married life, new identity, and, remember, we're moving again before too long.

While both of you are very smart cookies, I'm pretty smart myself. And I have something you don't have: the wisdom of age. I think you're going to have to trust me on this one and quit worrying, but I'm grateful that you care enough to voice your concern.

Do you remember that trout that used to sing that we had hanging on the wall?

"Don't worry, be happy."

I Love You With All My Heart,

Mom

Cynthia's Quick and Dirty 12 Rules for Using Twitter More Effectively

2010-03-10T12:35:00.000-08:00

Twitter fascinates me. And I spend a lot of time on it. I decided to write a blog post on using Twitter because there are so many people who don't use it to its fullest capacity and don't seem to understand some basic things about it. If you know nothing about Twitter, then you should start by reading my earlier blog post about it. Today's article is for people who are already using it but want to use it more effectively.

The reason I'm allowed to have an opinion on this subject is because I've been on Twitter only 2 months and have amassed 2200 "followers". I haven't used any gimmicks or weird or paid services to attract followers. I attracted them the old-fashioned way--just hard work. For what it's worth, I'm now ranked #6 in British Columbia by Twitter Grader and about the same by Twitterholic --if they knew I existed. See tools for understanding your significance on Twitter. I have regular people I interact with daily on Twitter. I recommend people to others and others recommend me.

So here are my Quick and Dirty Rules for attracting the most followers on Twitter. There are other things that may or may not work, but if you follow these rules, you will maximize your chances of attracting people.

1) On your personal Twitter profile page have a very descriptive bio.

Why? There are several reasons: having a descriptive bio makes you appear to be a live person. Twitterers abhor "bots" short for robots or automated presences on Twitter. Also using several key words enables people to find you in searches by looking for words like "reader" or "writer" or "candlestickmaker".

2) On your personal Twitter profile page upload a picture.

Why? Bots usually don't have photos. What are you hiding? People like transparency.

3) On your personal Twitter profile page fix up the background.

Use one of the free tools available to create something unique and attractive.

Why? Bots usually don't have pretty backgrounds. A personalized background makes you look more real and more permanent.

4) Have a few tweets on your page.

No one is going to follow you with zero tweets on your page. No one is going to follow without a recent tweet or at least half a dozen tweets because you look like a bot. I shouldn't say no one. A few people who don't evaluate the ones they follow might follow.

5) Follow everyone back who follows you. Except of course, obvious bots, spam, and porn.

Why? Because you will attract more followers. This is a controversial topic, but I have a strong opinion on this, and here is some support for my opinion. Most people are not willing to follow others who won't follow back. Who wants to listen to someone who is not interested in hearing what you have to say? NOT ME and not most others. A lot of people seem to think that what they have to say is so interesting that they don't have to follow people back and they will attract others by the tens of thousands just by existing. NOT TRUE. You're kidding yourself. Unless your name is Heather Armstrong or Conan or Craig Ferguson, most people don't give a rat's ass what you have to say if you're not willing to listen to them too.

So ask yourself this. Do I want a big presence on Twitter--for business, for example? Then you increase your probability of attracting people by following back.

The key here is to keep the "following" number higher than the "followers" number. ALWAYS. This becomes more difficult as time goes by--BUT DO IT ANYWAY. Let me use my own case as an example. At the time of this writing I am following 2252 people and I have 2223 following me. Of the people following me, there are about 100 that I don't follow--because they're bots, spammy or porn. That means that the people I am following who aren't following me back (YET) are about 130 even though it appears to be only about 30 (difference between following and followers). As people follow me at an increasing rate, I have to scramble more and more to keep ahead.

To those who say, "I can't make sense of such of big stream of incoming tweets," I respond, "then use Lists". That's how you set aside what you *really* want to listen to (read). If you don't want people to know what you're *really* listening to, then just make the lists private.

To those who say, "you're artificially inflating your numbers of followers," I say, "you don't know what you're talking about." This is real simple: you want lots of followers--then you have to follow a lot of people. PERIOD.

6) Be nice.

Why? People like it better and want to hear what you have to say. Thank people and suggest following people by name and publicly. That's how their name gets circulated. It helps them, and it helps you get the reputation as a nice person that others thank. It doesn't cost you anything extra to be nice--if that's not your nature.

7) Be positive.

Why? See above. Personally I get tired of a steady stream of saccharine quotes, but that's what most people like. There are a few exceptions, but most people don't want to read tweets that are mean-spirited and sarcastic and downers.

In real life do you want to hang out with Mr. Grumpypants or Mrs. Sunshine? Yeah, I thought so. Same thing on Twitter. So in the morning when I look and feel like roadkill I tweet things like, "and how are my twitter buddies this fine morning!" Why? because it's pleasant and that's what people want to hear. Moreover, if you talk like that enough, eventually you start to feel like that.

8) Don't be vulgar.

Every time I say "shit" as in "the weather is shitty in Vancouver" a handful of people unfollow me. If you don't care about that, then go for broke. If you're a business trying to amass followers, then don't do it.

Similarly don't have a "porn-ish" background to your page. People don't like it--unless you're trying to attract sex-offenders. Make your background "vanilla" flavored. Every time I see large breasts falling out of bikinis on background pages, I just roll my eyes and click away. Idiots.

9) Retweet.

Retweeting or RT'ing circulates peoples names, and gets you a reputation as a retweeter--that's a great thing. Everybody wants to be retweeted. I try to Retweet at least 2 or 3 things every day. I find it a waste of time and impossible to try to predict what others will retweet. Just be yourself. I'm always surprised by which of my tweets get retweeted.

10) Tweet something interesting.

Tweets like "I'm brushing my teeth." or "My toe hurts" or "I hate Democrats" are BORING and don't encourage people to follow you.

11) Engage other twitterers.

Ask questions and make comments with @ messages. It makes life interesting and encourages others to join in. It's good vibes and helps your overall reputation on Twitter. The fact is no one knows you exist until you talk to them.

12) Sometimes break your own rules.

Samer Forzley on Twitter @sforzley is an example of me breaking my own rules. I followed him not expecting him to follow me back. But I engaged him and asked him about an article he had written about Twitter. In fact, he was happy to follow me back and has turned into a really nice and helpful guy. You should follow him too.

There are also about 50 accounts that I follow even though I expect they will never follow me back (although one did recently to my surprise). These include a couple of well-known comedians and several news-feeds.

Follow these suggestions, and I know you will have more success on Twitter than you are having now. If you want to follow me @quinceandquilt on Twitter, I'd be delighted to follow you back.

Epilogue: The people who have been most helpful to me--getting me going on Twitter--are @agrevet and @keithborgnet and @trotlinedesigns These are folks who have spent (and still do spend) a lot of time explaining things to me so that I can make sense of them. I am very grateful to them.

My Daughter and Me

2010-03-06T22:03:00.000-08:00

My husband has been quite unwell the past couple of weeks. He hurt his back and, as anyone with a bad back knows, the pain can be debilitating. I was planning to blog on this subject because there has definitely been some laughter through the tears, but my daughter asked me not to. She told me on the phone yesterday, "Don't you dare write about Flabio being sick." I'm not sure why she's so concerned about this, but in deference to her, I won't tell you about him or why I've taken to calling him Frankenstein--or Frank for short--this week. Instead, I'll talk about her.

My daughter's name is Rachel and that's a fairly recent photo of her above. Some people who knew me at that age say she looks a lot like I did, but I say that's bullshit. I never looked that good. My daughter is 20 and she's in 3rd year of university. And I adore her.

I want to get that straight up front because she has told me that she thinks I portray her in an unfavorable light in my blog. I don't mean to. I just think she says things that strike me funny. I don't look down on her or think she's stupid and I don't want you to either. I am proud of her, in awe of her, and wish I had been more like her when I was young. From time to time she just amuses me and I like to relate some of those anecdotes. So when I tell stories about my kids always remember I tell them out of love. I find humor in observing the naivete of youth. I just want to be clear about that.

Many summers ago, I took my kids for a week to Northern Saskatchewan for a few days of wakeboarding lessons with a well-known coach. The lessons were for Rachel, her friend, Chelsea--who often vacationed with us, and my son, David. Rachel was always the one most "beat-up" at the end of the day. Once I was in the boat with the coach and he explained to me why that was the case.

"Most people," he said, "like Chelsea and David, let go of the rope when they get in trouble. Rachel will never let go. She wants to recover if she's going down. She thinks she will recover. That's why she does these face-plants. I've rarely seen such tenacity in a student."

She has an unusual mental toughness. Rachel's brother and I used to joke that from a young age she very much resembled the ground commander played by Ed Harris in the movie Apollo 13. The one who holds everything together when others are in a panic. She has courage and composure. When she was 4, she once offered me her views about the child custody arrangement I had with her father while I was driving her somewhere. "I don't think it's fair that I stay with you all the time and only see him every other weekend. I think I should live with him and visit you every other weekend." I'm glad she couldn't see the expression on my face, but I just said, "I hear what you're saying. Right now you're too young to make that decision, so your Papa and I have to decide what we think is best. When you're older you can have more input into the decision-making."

She got it in her head recently that she wanted to do "tree-planting" for a summer job and no other job would do. Well, that's what she's going to do this summer in northern British Columbia near Prince George. Back-breaking work in the middle of fucking nowhere with a crew of 25 strangers in the bush. Definitely not for the faint-hearted. Whatever happened to kids working at the local Dairy Queen?

In 2003 I broke my back in a riding accident. When I got a big ugly clamshell brace like this, Rachel's first comment was "Oh mom, what will you wear to work?" It proved to be a very intelligent observation because what to wear to work became a major problem.

When my 2nd husband moved out, Rachel was quite broken up for a while. She was especially worried about me.

Once she tearfully said, "Mom, you're over 40, you're hair is grey, you're overweight, and you smoke. Do you think any man will ever go out with you again?"

That made me laugh then and it makes me laugh now. She was so concerned, so worried, and when you're young, you can't necessarily see the attractive qualities in a 40+ individual. I told her not to worry about it, that plenty of men would think I was a good catch and a hot tamale. And guess what! I got married again.

A few years ago when I wasn't there, Rachel got a bad concussion on school grounds playing sports that was totally mismanaged by the school administration, namely, they did NOTHING. Only by the grace of God, and the intervention of a friend of mine, was she prevented from driving away and going to ANOTHER athletic practice and instead, taken screaming to the doctor. A few days later, loaded for bear, I went to her school and told them what I thought of their handling or rather non-handling of the situation. Rachel was furious with me then, and I think she's probably still mad about it now. [Of course, my job is to be the parent and do what I think is best for the welfare of the child, not to be her girlfriend and do what she tells me to.] She softened her position slightly when her brother--who played rugby in university--told her that they had ambulances standing by at the field during a game and that all concussions or head injuries are required to go to the hospital for evaluation. A few years later she told me that she realized that I was right. She was still mad at how I handled it, but she knew I was right. I respect her for that. I believe that the ability to say, "I was wrong" is one of the most important things that a person has to learn to get ahead in life and to have productive relationships with other people.

Tomorrow is my birthday, and that reminds me that the nicest gifts I ever received from Rachel (and her brother) were home-made coupon books that she gave me with coupons for things like "I'll wash your car" or "I'll get you whatever drink you want at Starbucks" or "I'll cook dinner". I think things like that are heartfelt and creative and much more valuable than a gift bought with money that children don't have to spare. Son and daughter below, 2009

The kindest and most special moment I recall with my daughter happened about a year ago. We were alone on a Saturday afternoon, and I was very upset. Without going into detail I was overwhelmed with anger and frustration about something unrelated to her, and I burst into tears in front of her. I have made it a personal policy never to cry in front of my kids. I have failed a couple of times, but not often. But this was over-the-top. I SOBBED like a 4-year-old and was inconsolable. She came to me and comforted me in the same way that I have comforted her over the years. "Oh don't be sad, Mom. It'll be okay. Come sit with me and tell me all about it." She cancelled her plans to go out and spent all afternoon with me trying to make me laugh. This is my daughter.

High School Grad Photo, 2007

I'll Be Home in 2 Days, Mom

2010-02-26T07:26:00.001-08:00

Photo: I posted this photo above on Twitter a few days ago. I amuses me to no end. My husband told me, "DO NOT PLANT CROCUSES IN THE LAWN." I've never been very good at doing what I'm told. I won't spend further time on the photo since today's post is so long.

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In February of 2008 I had a hysterectomy. For the sake of brevity I'm going to start this story with my checking in to the hospital. I wasn't really nervous. I was only going to be in the hospital for a couple of days, and my mom had flown up from Florida to make lots of chicken soup for when I got home. My best friend, Wendy, was in charge of everything at home--my mom, my dogs, etc. So I really didn't have a care in the world.

I had a lot of discussions with my surgeon about the operation. He preferred to do a laparoscopic procedure because he thought his patients did better and recovered faster. He couldn't do it vaginally because of an odd tilt to my uterus. I asked him how many he had done laparoscopically--lots--and what the risk of complication was--less than 1%.

So I was happily wheeled into surgery and drifted off to sleep peacefully. The next thing I remember was lying in a bed in a hospital room with my surgeon leaning over the bed. Also at the bedside was my friend, Wendy, and my mother.

Surgeon, "We had a problem in the operating room."

I just looked at him. I understood what he was saying--sort of--but couldn't figure out how to speak.

Surgeon, "You're going to be okay, but I accidentally cut into your bowel. I had to call in another surgeon and you were on the table for 4 hours. We did a bowel resection. I feel terrible about it, but you're going to be okay."

I just nodded that I understood. I reached down to feel if I had a colostomy bag.

"No, you don't have a colostomy," he said reading my thoughts.

Let me stop here and say that I am not mad at my surgeon, and I feel really lucky. These are all the reasons I feel lucky: I believe that I had a great surgeon who had a bad day. I have learned since that he called in another surgeon immediately when he saw what he had done, and the best general surgeon at that hospital was on call that day and on the surgical floor. I didn't have to have a colostomy--which is not uncommon with a perforated bowel. He recognized right away that he had perforated the bowel. People can get very sick and die if it's not noticed immediately that the bowel is perforated. He owned up to it right away. He didn't act like it was nothing or was someone else's fault. He was sick about it and visited me several times per day throughout my hospital stay. I got excellent care in the hospital. That may be in part because they were worried about who was going to get sued and in part because of general embarrassment over the situation. I don't care what the reasons were; I was just happy to have more specialists in and out of my room every day than Carter has Little Pills. While the experience was not pleasurable, I felt lucky then and still do now. So let me tell you about some of the funny parts.

My boyfriend (now husband) was living in Vancouver and I was in Calgary. Wendy kept in touch with him.

Wendy: "I'm going to get you a phone. He wants you to have a phone."

Me: "I don't want a phone."

Wendy: "He wants you to have a phone."

Me: "I don't need a fucking phone. If he wants to talk to me, tell him to bring his sorry ass to Calgary."

Wendy: "I'm getting you a phone."

I hardly used that phone at all and thought it was absurd to have it. What he never understood was that unless both me and the phone were in perfect positions I couldn't REACH THE PHONE or GET TO THE PHONE before it stopped ringing. If I was in the bathroom--a 20 minute trek by itself--forget about the phone. I could have been 2 feet away and the phone might as well have been in China. If you're in the hospital for anything serious, DON'T GET A PHONE.

I had a giant incision--they open you in a hurry in an emergency--and felt crummy. I wasn't allowed any food or drink by mouth for several days--normal practice with intestinal surgery. My favorite part was the little button I could push for morphine. Any hospital guests that got on my nerves, click click, and they disappeared behind a fog. Click click. I miss that click click.

Dealing with nurses was hilarious.

Nurse: "We're going to get you up and around today. You'll feel SO MUCH BETTER after you're moving around."

Me: "I don't want to."

Nurse: "Oh yes, SO MUCH BETTER."

Me: "I'm not going to feel better. I'm going to faint. I'm not ready."

She gets me out of bed, and then I faint.

Nurse: "Well, I guess you weren't ready."

Me: "I told you so."

Every day I had a parade of people in my room all day: specialists, doctors, residents, and med students. The script was always the same.

Doctor: "How are we today?"

Me, "We're great. Never better."

Doctor: "Can I see your incision?"

Me, "Sure." with gown already waving in the breeze.

Doctor: "How's your pain?"

Me, "Pain is fine. But I feel like shit. Here, let me save you some time. No I haven't had a bowel movement; I haven't passed gas; I haven't had anything to eat or drink and I still feel like shit."

Doctor: "Well I think you're doing great!"

Me, "I'm glad somebody thinks so."

Here's a conversation I had with my college-age daughter on the phone:

Rachel, "Hey Mom, how's it going?"

Me, "Oh pretty good, honey, don't worry."

Rachel, "What do you do all day there?"

Me, [chuckling], "I look out the window. I sleep a lot. I throw up every 8 hours when they hang a new bag of a certain medicine that makes me sick."

Rachel, "Don't you get bored?"

Me, "No honey, I don't get bored. I don't feel well. I'm in a hospital."

Rachel, "Have you met any good peeps? Have you made any friends?"

Me, "No honey, I haven't made any friends."

Rachel, "Is there anyone you could play scrabble with?"

And so on.

The day before I was released, I got a new roommate. This was an older woman who was not the sharpest tool in the shed. The curtain remained closed between us. Conversation between her and her nurse:

Nurse, "Have you been on heart medication for long?"

Her, "I think so. Maybe. Maybe not."

Nurse, "What's the name of the heart medication your doctor gave you?"

Her, "It starts with a D or an R or a P."

You can't make this shit up. It makes me laugh just thinking about it. There were other things that are harder to recreate. Suffice it to say that humor can be found anywhere--if you are open to it. This post is quite long enough; I had better stop now. I hope you enjoyed it.

Dumbest Things I've Ever Done: #1

2010-02-20T09:44:00.000-08:00

About 15 years ago I once accidentally ate some dishwasher detergent. How can that be, you may be asking yourself? How can a grown woman (at age 32) accidentally eat detergent? Well it's kind of a long story but I'll try to condense it.

When my kids were little I had some hard plastic straws that I used to put in the dishwasher occasionally. You also need to know that I like to drink chocolate milk. But I only drink chocolate milk with the Nestle's Quik at the bottom of the glass and the milk on top. Then I drink it with a straw and slurp the chocolate last. My son thinks he invented this method of drinking chocolate milk, but I was doing it 20 years before he was born--but I digress.

So I prepared my glass of milk, pulled a straw out of the dishwasher, and started sucking. The sucking was really difficult and I couldn't figure out why. So I sucked and sucked and sucked and finally some hard crunchy stuff came out of it. It didn't taste like chocolate, but I figured maybe the Quik is a little stale or old or HOLY SHIT IT'S NOT QUIK IT'S DISHWASHER DETERGENT.

You know how it feels when you're instantly panic stricken? The blood rushes to your head and you're hyper alert? "Well," I thought, "I'm going to die. Not only do I have 2 little kids asleep upstairs, but I'm alone down here...what do I do?"

So I called Poison Control. Naturally I had that number handy because I'm SO CAREFUL ABOUT EVERYTHING. This is how the conversation went:

"Hello, Poison Control"

"Hi, I need some help. I just accidentally ate some dishwasher detergent. I don't know what to do."

"How old are you?"

"32"

Long silence....."32?"

"Look it's a long story, just tell me what to do! I have 2 little kids asleep upstairs!"

"Alright, hold on while I talk to a doctor."

On hold......

New voice now: "Ok, Miss, how much did you consume?"

"About a teaspoon."

"How much do you weigh?"

"As much as a Tyrannosaurus Rex."

"OK [chuckling] then that's not bad. Drink a couple of liters of water over the next couple of hours. Don't take any aspirin for at least a week. You'll be fine."

So I hung up, drank my water, and spent the rest of the night awake, peeing and coming down from my adrenalin high. Feeling thankful, grateful, glad to be alive, humiliated, ashamed, guilty, and happy all rolled into one. Now I know how people can accidentally get poisoned--even grown-ups. Believe me, it's not as hard as you might think--especially if you're an idiot.

I initially intended to tell several of "my dumbest things" in this post; but there are so many to choose from! So I've decided to break them up and publish them one at a time. Enjoy.

Epilogue: In most cities, if you call 9-1-1 they can patch you through to Poison Control. But it's a good idea to BE PREPARED, and keep a list in a handy place of important numbers including friends/family to call in case of an emergency. Make sure everyone in the family knows where this list is.

I Know What The Squirrels Did Last Summer

2010-02-14T23:21:00.000-08:00

Today I'd like tell you about the animals here where I live outside of Vancouver. First, I should explain that my husband and I had a long-distance courtship for 2 years before we married this past May. I moved into my husband's house in British Columbia last October from Calgary, Alberta.

Last summer my husband, Flabio, returned home after a week with me to find that in his absence, squirrels had gotten in the house and been unable to find their way out. While looking for a way out, they chewed up the inside window frames around every single window in the house. That's about 50 windows. Flabio was not pleased. Flabio was apoplectic.

Squirrels are everywhere here. I don't like them because they like to dig up my tulip bulbs, and that pisses me off. And there's an imbecile in the neighborhood who feeds them peanuts all year round which just attracts all of them within 1000 miles. One day Flabio found a squirrel in his home office. Despite leaving windows wide open, he was unable to convince the squirrel to leave and had to put a stop to him with a 7-iron. He also took out some bricks in the fireplace--oh well. About a month ago there was a squirrel in the laundry room. I had the flu and was unwilling to help catch him while I had a fever and was in my nightgown, so we had to call Flabio's business partner to come over and help catch him. They did--eventually.

After weeks of coaxing ("I don't need no stinkin' help"), Flabio finally hired some pest control people to consult on how to keep squirrels out. The pest control guy found a dead rat in the attic. Wonderful. Alberta's claim to fame has always been that the province doesn't have any rats. Alberta's Absolute Zero winter climate is looking pretty attractive right now.

One night while I was visiting Flabio, our little female French Bulldog, Paris, was barking and barking at the window to the backyard. Paris is skittish and barks easily at noises, so we didn't think much of it. It as a windy gloomy night, and we figured it was the wind. The next day when we went out back we were saddened to see that the wind had taken down a 50-year-old apple tree. That was until we looked more closely and saw that it wasn't the wind at all; a beaver had chewed down the tree.

Our house backs onto a green space, and I guess there are beavers down there. Flabio called the municipality, and they sent someone looking like Daniel Boone to trap the beaver. "I think I got the beaver in trouble," he told me. I mean, look, we're animal lovers, and Flabio will catch spiders, for pity's sake, to release them unharmed, but we can't have beavers cutting down all our trees--and I guess the city feels the same way. I have to admit I did get a lot of mileage out of telling people "Flabio has some serious beaver problems," or "Flabio had a beaver attack the last time I was out there" and watching how people reacted.

We also have raccoons. The photo above was taken last week. If you sit on our front porch around sunset, you see raccoons walking across the front yard into the neighbor's yard every night. I don't know where they're going, but they have a mission. The photo I took was taken one mild morning when I was sitting out front with my laptop. This guy walked right by me, 3 feet away. By the time I ran in to get the camera he had scaled our giant Cedar tree out front.

I just want to comment here that yes, that photo is a little overexposed and not the best focus or composition. Let me tell you it's not easy to hold a camera above your head into the sun and try to take a photo of an animal moving around on a branch. I have a whole new respect for action/sports photographers.

Back to the raccoons. Raccoons are everywhere here. They're at home here and don't scare easily. We only worry because of our dogs, especially Paris who thinks every creature is her long lost best friend.

So I tell these stories because one day someone is going to want to remake Alfred Hitchock's The Birds, and I hope they will consider filming it here in our house. The filmmakers would have lots of animals to choose from to star: squirrels, raccoons, beavers, take your pick.

5 Guidelines to Help Your Kids Survive Divorce

2010-02-09T21:08:00.000-08:00

There are so many topics I would like to cover in this blog that I find it difficult to choose one when I sit down to write. Today I'd like to talk about how to spare your children in an ugly divorce. But before I get to that, I'd like to show you the photo above from my new Camera.

The photos are improving now that I've read the manual. Now what's wrong with this picture? I'm actually about the worst person to ask because I'm really bad at noticing fine details that might be amiss, but I'll tell you what I see and don't see. Feel free to leave me a comment if you'd like to add anything. The photo is a little dark or underexposed. My problem is that I LIKE dark subjects, so I'm not sure how dark is too dark. The background is not the best, and the focus is not even across the front of the flower. By that I mean that depth of field is very small in a close-up like this, so I should have been looking down more evenly on the flower so the petals weren't so unevenly focused.

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And now on to divorce. I've been thinking about this a lot lately since I currently have 2 different friends with children going through bitter divorces. First let me say that I am married for the 3rd time. Yes, nothing to brag about, but it is what it is. My 2 children are from my first marriage. They were 6 and 3 when their father and I separated and they are 23 and 20 now. So they survived 2 divorces (and I was the primary care-giving parent) and guess what! They're okay. They aren't perfect, and neither am I, but for the most part they are happy, well-adjusted, nice, smart, funny, athletic, and otherwise productive members of society. And I'm not the only one who says so. People who have otherwise no use for me have told me that I have the nicest kids they've ever met. I tell you this because this is why I have the right and authority to have an opinion on this subject. But I'm not making the following shit up. If you don't believe me, then here are some articles to read that will say the same thing: The Mayo Clinic, University of Missouri, The Child Trauma Institute, and WebMD.

So here are my guidelines to helping your kids survive the trauma of divorce and go on to thrive:

1. Do not trash the other parent in front of the child. EVER. Children have the right to love the other parent. No matter what you think or what the other parent did to you or even if the other parent is Jeffrey Dahmer, do not speak ill of him/her in front of the kids.

Why not? It makes the child feel frightened and pushed to pick sides, feel abandoned and unloved, ashamed of loving the other parent ANYWAY, and scared of the attendant instability.

2. Do not give your child lurid details about the marriage or the divorce. Do not talk to them about sex, money, or any other adult things. And I mean NEVER. Even in their 20's kids don't want or need to hear that--even if they say they do.

Why not? It's not their business. A kid's business is to go to school, play and have friends. Period. They have no business being involved in the ugly details of divorce. Your child should not be your best friend or confidant. That's called enmeshment, and it's not healthy for you or your child [this stuff is not light reading, I warn you].

3. Reassure the child that he/she is loved, that it's not his/her fault, and that he/she can't fix it.

Why? Because these are the things that children are preoccupied with and need to be told over and over and over and over. I'm talking for YEARS.

4. Handle questions and outbursts in an empathetic manner. "But what if the kid tells me the parent is a this or that or something else?"

It doesn't matter. You just put on a blank empathetic look. Say things like "I feel your pain." "I'm so sorry you feel that way." "I know your mother/father loves you." Do not say things like, "yeah, well I always did think he was a cocksucker/moron/imbecile/son-of-a-bitch/whore/thief" etc. etc. etc. Do not be drawn in or manipulated into saying things you shouldn't.

Why? See #1 and #2.

5. Give your children the minimum information they need to understand what's happening to them in language they can understand. But you say, 'why not tell the child "the truth"?' "I want them to know the truth." "The other parent is filling their heads with lies."

Why? Because your truth is not the child's truth. Children have to learn themselves what to believe. Don't fill their heads with crap. They will come to resent you for it. It will not draw you closer--it will drive a wedge between you and your children.

That's it. It's that simple. Some of this may not come naturally to you, but you can learn to handle things this way. And even if the "other" parent is not doing these things at all or not doing them well, do it anyway. Try to remember who is the parent and who is the child, and act accordingly and responsibly. It's the only chance you have to save your children.

This is free advice and you are free to disregard it--at your children's peril.

Choosing My First dSLR

2010-02-02T20:10:00.000-08:00

I'm shopping for a new camera. It's going to be my first dSLR or Digital Single Lens Reflex camera. I have 2 "point-and-shoot" digital cameras, and I'm ready to graduate to a dSLR. Flabio, of course, thinks this is weird. Our conversation a few minutes ago went like this:

"But you have a camera."

"I know but it's a camera for idiots. You point it and press the button."

"Oh, you mean you're gonna stand there now for half an hour pressing buttons while everyone gets pissed off saying take the picture for Christ's sake!"

Yeah, that's what I'm going to do. I'm not an artist, but I think I could be good at photography. P/S camera #1, a Panasonic Lumix, is my favorite but it's lost in 15,000 pounds of boxes while Flabio and I get ready to move. As of this writing, almost all of the photos on this website were taken with that camera #1. So I recently bought a 2nd one, Canon SX120 IS, that I don't know how to use very well yet--and don't like too much. The photo above is a picture that I took last night with new camera #2. Not a very good photo, but I don't know the menus yet. Yes, thank you, I realize the exposure isn't right. Part of the problem is that this camera didn't come with a manual. I have to download it and print it. So I just printed the 150 pages, and now I can learn how this one works.

Both p/s cameras that I have allow for some manual manipulation, and I've read a bunch of books on the subject, so I think I'm ready. Or if I can borrow from a piano dealer friend of mine, the two criteria for buying a dSLR (or a piano) are 1) I want one and 2) I can afford it. The rest is commentary.

Since my way of doing things is to do lots of homework before making a decision like which one to buy, I've been frequenting two online forums for camera discussion Dpreview and Digital Photography School. Both forums are populated by people who know their stuff and you can ask tons of questions and read tons of articles.

One thing I've learned is that you're better off spending the money on the "glass" or lenses than the camera body, so I've already decided to get a bottom of the line entry-level dSLR, but get really good lenses. Then when I move up to a more expensive body, I'll already have great glass. Which brand? Well, that's a tough one. Canon and Nikon have roughly 80% of the dSLR market. I flirted briefly with going with Sony or Olympus, as some may argue that you get more camera for the same money. However, once you start buying dSLR cameras and lenses you are kind of marrying a brand, and it becomes a much tougher decision at a later date to change brands. So since I don't like the feel of a Canon camera, Nikon it is.

I'm preparing a spreadsheet of desirable lenses compiled and cross-referenced from articles by Ken Rockwell, Tim Stanley, Thom Hogan, and others. If anyone would like a copy of it, email me. March 7 is my birthday, and I want to be able to tell Flabio what I want; so if you'll excuse me, I have to get to work on my spreadsheet.

Garbage Day

2010-01-27T22:03:00.000-08:00

Today was Garbage Day so tonight is a perfect time to tell you about it. First, let me say that I am married to the nicest guy in the universe. When I wake up in the morning and look like Medusa, he says things like, "You look so pretty this morning." I mean really.

But on Garbage Day morning he is unrecognizable. Hair sprouts in coarse tufts all over him; he hunches over like Quasimodo; and he drools as he careens around the kitchen hunting for things to throw out. Despite the ungraceful air, he is shockingly fast and agile when it comes to getting thngs into the bag. He focuses like a laser on the idea that there might be a molecule of food in the house that could be thrown away. Nothing is safe. Vegetables and fruits are the first to go. It doesn't matter if they are barely hours old. Who needs vegetables? What purpose does fruit serve. Between you and me he is always teetering on the edge of scurvy. I'm a bit concerned that he may have O.D.'d on the broccoli I served this week--I know it was a shock to his system.

I have to stand guard in front of the refrigerator to prevent him from throwing EVERYTHING away. When I suggest that ripe bananas can go in the freezer for banana bread he just snickers and drools and throws them in his giant garbage bag. He even loses his mind over the garbage BAGS.

We have at least 15 different types of garbage bags. Ones in plastic bags and ones in boxes, white ones, green ones, yellow ones, orange ones, black ones, heavy-duty ones, flimsy ones, scented ones, drawstring ones, easy-tie ones, in all sizes. You get the idea? Although my husband (I was planning to refer to him as Banjo but he suggested Flabio, so Flabio it is) normally totally leaves me to do whatever I want, about anything, he is fussy about his bags. He doesn't hear so good--and is deaf in one ear--but if I open the cupboard for a garbage bag he can hear it 6 miles away and is immediately by my side whispering in a Gollum slippery voice, "can I help you choose one?" WTF? Who cares? As far as I'm concerned whichever one comes into my hand is the right one. Oh no, we have to choose the PROPER one depending on its intended use.

It's intended use? It's intended use is to put GARBAGE in it so who cares? Needless to say, (he thinks) selecting a proper bag is important--except on Garbage Day. On Garbage Day he pulls out all the stops and takes out the largest bag we have because we want to have lots of room to throw out all kinds of things that don't need throwing out! Get it?

Fortunately, once the stuff gets to the curb, his psychosis subsides. The bushy hair falls out, the glazed look is replaced with his normal gentle demeanor, and he starts walking normally again. He usually feels a bit tired and has to lie down, and then it's over. The storm has passed until another week goes by.

Interestingly enough, between Garbage Days sometimes things disappear from the kitchen area that should not have been thrown out. There's a surprise. Maybe I had to take the dog out or go answer the phone, and in a moment of inattention he has used a lightening fast reach to throw something extra away. Oh well, I guess that's a small price to pay for an otherwise very peaceful and happy existence that we have together. Flabio has no memory of these things that have disappeared--maybe an apple I was saving or a coffee from Starbucks that wasn't finished. He smiles, and I just say "I guess it threw itself away." I think you have to choose your battles, and this is not one that is important to me. I'll just buy another apple and some more garbage bags. We definitely don't want to run short on those.

Twitter Twaddle

2010-01-21T22:52:00.000-08:00

I was planning on telling you about Garbage Day today, but that's going to have to wait because since I blogged last, I've discovered TWITTER. I want to talk about Twitter while it's fresh in my mind.

A week ago I had no idea what it was. I had heard it mentioned a few times on CNN, but that was it. So I read a little about it, and nope, still didn't get it. It was only after my webmaster suggested that I at least look into it, I jumped in.

Twitter is very hard to explain to people who aren't familiar with it. As is often the case with computer applications, the best way to learn it is to use it. Just do it. So on the 13th of January 2010 or thereabouts, I arrived on Twitter. A childhood friend of mine, who had just launched a new website herself, helped me to get started and answered the first few idiotic questions. I registered the name quinceandquilt and just started talking (or tweeting as they say).

For a quick and dirty explanation, the way Twitter works is this: You decide who you want to listen to (or read), and others decide if they want to listen to (or read) what you have to say. The ones you listen to you "follow" and the ones who listen to you are "followers". There's a steady stream of comments (or tweets) that you have access to, coming from the people you follow. You can read them or not and respond to them or not. If you tweet only your "followers" see those replies. And the rest is commentary.

As someone explained to me tonight--a nice person I met on Twitter--some people or most people are only on Twitter to sell something and to promote themselves or someone else. Some people participate to learn something, offering or gathering links and information. A few are there just for entertainment. I'm sure there are some screwballs too. Some people are probably on there because their employers make them do it. I'm thinking of Fareed Zakaria of CNN who rarely posts and doesn't seem to have his heart in it (BORING), even though I believe he's a great newscaster.

I have to admit I like Twitter more than I thought I would, and I have found it very addictive. A week ago I had 2 followers (2 girlfriends helping me get started) and I followed them too. As of this writing I follow 97 people and 76 are following me. Will I follow more people? Probably, but I'm getting more and more selective about who I follow, just because like the ShamWow guy says, I can't do this all day. It takes time to wade through lots of messages. I think this becomes easier with a desktop Twitter application, but that's a blog post for another day.

I get the impression that most people on Twitter stick to a specific topic. Photographers talk about photography. Government people talk about government crap. Not me. I offer household tips, weird science news, opinions on current events, ideas for art inspiration. You'll never know what I'm going to say next because I don't know what I'm going to say next. So far 76 people find that entertaining.

I probably won't continue permanently tweeting as much as I am right now, but I think I'll be there for a while. I like it. If you want to follow me on Twitter, I'm @quinceandquilt. If you'd like to know who my favorites are on Twitter, then follow me because I retweet (RT) them regularly.

Next time I PROMISE I'll talk about Garbage Day.

Natural Blog Birth

2010-01-20T09:58:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my world. I decided to start a blog because a) my son told me to, b) my webmaster suggested it and c) I felt like it. How's that?

In preparation for this auspicious beginning, I read a *lot* of blogs and a lot of articles about blogging and social marketing. I don't know if any of that is going to help me blog well, but at least I tried. The fact is I don't know if anyone is ever going to read any of this, but I'm going to assume at least my kids will....hopefully.....

I looked up some "mommy blog" rankings and found mommy blogs fit into different categories.

The most popular ones seem to be written by moms with little kids--well, don't fit there, my kids are 20 and 22.

Then there are moms trying to get pregnant--nope, been there done that, had a hysterectomy last year. (It was botched, by the way, and I got a bowel resection for the same price, but I digress.)

Moms who are breastfeeding--nope, been there done that, LIKE 20 YEARS AGO.

Moms who are homeschooling, raising multiples, raising kids with the LORD, etc. etc.--nope nope nope don't fit in there either.

I didn't see a category for crazy grey-haired opinionated moms whose kids are in their twenties. Guess I'm going to start a new category.

So let me introduce myself. My name is Cynthia. I was born and raised in Louisiana, but now I live in British Columbia near Vancouver. That's the west coast in Canada, and no, I don't know your neighbor's cousin in Toronto. Within the last 6 months I left my job of 15 years, got remarried, I sold my house of 20 years in Calgary, Alberta, and moved here with my 2 French Bulldogs into my husband's house. Here's a picture of his house:

Ok, so it's not a FULL picture but at least you get the idea. It looks like a gingerbread house.

Quilting is one of my passions:

Several years ago I used to carpool, and the lady I carpooled with didn't know what quilting was so I took a little square with me one day to show her. She looked at it and then looked at me and said, "you mean you take perfectly good fabric, cut it up in little pieces and then sew it back together again?" "Yeah," I said, "that's what I do for fun."

And here's my older dog, Thibault, pronounced T-bo. Like the French surname. You know, French dog, French name, get it? He is the great dog-love of my life. Sweet, quiet, farts a lot, loves CNN.

And here's my young female, Paris. She's a wild woman. Friendly, cute, full of energy, doesn't understand NO, does lots of naughty things...she's kind of like my daughter.

So I have to go now. Craig Ferguson is on--I can't miss Craig. By the way, does anyone know where Tiger is? I'd sure like to know. Tomorrow is Garbage Day. Garbage Day is a BIG DEAL in my house. It's the day when my kind, gentle, loving husband turns into a psycho. The experts call it Garbage-Induced Psychosis or GIP. I'll tell you all about it next time.

So that's my first attempt at blogging. Night night everyone.