happy mothers' day...to mothers...and aunts...and friends...

I had the great luxury of hanging out with my Mother today (capital intended). And because I am blessed to have her - close by, in good health, in sound mind - I am reminded that sometimes, gifts are more important than presents. It's one of the brilliant lessons my mother taught me, and on Mothers' Day - but hopefully, on every day - I hope that brilliant woman knows how valuable those lessons have been (and continue to be) to me.

My Mother taught me that sometimes, white lies are okay.  When I was a very little kid (really, really little) and my poor mother needed a break, she would sneak down the hall without shoes on because if I heard her heels, I'd know she was going somewhere.  Sometimes, bait and switch is an important lesson in preserving your quality of life.

My Mother taught me the importance of patience.  Two of the three of us were not easy children - by a long shot. I may hold the title for being most difficult.  I hope she agrees the time she invested in me was worth it because she is one of my favourite people on the planet and she is more than my Mother, she is my friend.

My Mother taught me a love of reading - and let me read anything I liked because she knew reading anything would teach me to love reading everything.  She read to us all as children (the purple Winnie the Pooh...about the birthday party...where Pooh and Piglet get Eeyore a honey pot and a balloon -empty and burst - but Eeyore loves them anyway; The Sleep Book - a Jedd is in bed...and the bed of a Jedd is the softest of beds in the world it is said...he makes it from pom-poms he grows on his head...). She bought me comics.  We trade books now. How great is that.

My Mother taught me to do the right thing - even when people think you're crazy to do it.
I watched her give back too much change...and walk back into stores when she hadn't been charged for things.  And when I do it now and I see the stunned look of incredulity on the faces of the folks who I walk back too, I think it was an important lesson.  

She taught me to pay my taxes.  And to be grateful to have the opportunity to pay for schools and roads and hospitals.  She's fun to cross the border with because she presents her bills and calculations to the border patrol...and some who have Moms like her smile and wave her through.

My Mother taught me to value dear friends.  She has played bridge with a wonderful group of women for as long as I remember.  There is never a family event that those women are not central to - and they are as devoted as she is, particularly when the chips are down. I love them all and I love running into them as they are fabulous company.

And I love the women who are like that for me: Pam, Carole, Louise, JoAnn and JoAnne (they travel in packs), Mel, Carrie, Kathy and Ruth.

My Mother taught me the importance of faith - even when you're not sure you believe.  She does. I wish I did more...but I have no doubt that Churches and Synagogues and Mosques and Temples...and all the Mothers who pray therein make us better people.  God Bless Them All.....

My Mother taught me the importance of devotion. She flew to her dying sister, managed her aging mother, sat with her dying sister-in-law - when the situations weren't easy or convenient or comfortable.  And she was brilliant every time.

My Mother taught me it's important to call...even when you're not sure you have something to say because sometimes just the comfort of your voice - and the gift of thinking about someone - is more important than you know.

My Mother taught me it was okay to not always be right.  To admit you're wrong...even it it's just to yourself...and to learn along the way.  Now that was a good lesson.

My Mother taught me to type.  She told me if nothing else, it would give me a chance to earn an honest living.  It has helped me in every job I had...including when I was the production manager for the engineers' paper and held my middle finger over the delete key.

My Mother taught me to laugh...boy, is that handy.

My Mother taught me to dress appropriately...I wish I could take her to the office and to school.

My Mother taught me that while clean is critical, tidy is negotiable.  Dust never killed anyone. Really.

My Mother taught me not to be afraid of spiders (name them all Charlotte and look for Wilbur...but don't bring the pig home).  I rescue them out of my bathroom and talk to them all.

My Mother taught me that adventures -big and small - are to be had.  Day trips to little spring ponds....drives to watch the swans...treks to San Francisco...they're all the things memories are made of.  My first memory of an adventure with her was to see a summer parade on James Street in Burlington...with ice cream.  It was wonderful.

My Mother taught me that among your friends and relations, diversity - of culture, of opinion, of approach - is a good thing.  You'll be better fed - in body and mind - if you take that approach.

My Mother taught me loyalty.  My Father was not an easy man, but she loved him fiercely and she misses him every day that he's no longer with us. As they grew old together, they grew together and in later years, I was amused at what good friends they were.  Before he knew he was ill, she did...and while she never approved of his smoking or drinking, we never went to Niagara that she didn't return with Marlboros and beer.  In his final weeks, she coaxed him with lobster and Velveeta and anything else she could think of.  When he was gone, she was resolute on only one detail: he had always talked about a pine coffin and a shroud in Ireland...and that was what she insisted he have.

My Mother taught me the importance of current events - local and beyond.  Reading the hatched, matched and dispatched - along with the headlines - tells you all you need to know before you start your day.  Also, it gives you something to talk about!

My Mother taught me the value of sacrifice.  Dogs are not her thing.  You wouldn't know it from the way she treats my Father's dog...or from the number of trips she's made with me to the vet.

My Mother taught me the importance of education - and she and my Father both saw that their children had a good one - and believed it was our duty to give that back.

My Mother taught me it was important to vote - even when the options aren't great. There are few duties you have to society - and many people made an ultimate sacrifice to make this possible.  It's only once every few years so even if you decline your ballot, go.

So when I asked if she'd like to go to brunch, she said she'd rather stay in, cook, and do the New York Times Crossword Puzzle.  So we did....then we went looking for shoes.  I got an iPhone (she won't even email)...she got Ibuprofen. And we had fun.

Did I mention adventures?

Thanks Mom....

halton paramedics in haiti - real friends doing real good for real people

The past 12 days have been difficult ones for many people: for the people in Haiti - and those with family there. Some people have the skills and ability to help now (and many are doing just that), but others will be needed later so we need to be sure we don't forget.

At lunch the other day, a friend observed, 'Days fly...but years drag...' and he made a good point.  Right now, immediate medical support and supplies tops the hit parade for the folks in Haiti; but, next month...and next year...and three years from now, that need will remain as pressing. It will just be a different need.

A good friend of ours, many of his colleagues, a pastor and three brilliant doctors are on the ground at University Hospital in Port au Prince.  Another Burlington resident has kindly started a Facebook site - Halton Paramedics in Haiti - to keep family and friends up-to-date on their daily efforts.  The photos show what words can't: a mother watching a child being treated, an injured person watching those who are offering care, places that have suddenly become clinics, but were recreational spots before.  The site is open - join it and go take a look.

Another friend noted the other day that she wished she had medical training so she could go help now: I told her to hold that thought.  Now, medical skills top the list of needs, but six months and a year from now, other skills will be needed too. Teachers and engineers and builders and many other folks as Haiti is resurrected (not an accidental choice of words, might I add).  There will be something for all of us to do to keep attention on this place and to be sure we don't turn away from the need that will change but grow.

I was quite cheered to read that both The Gap and Levis maintain operations here - and that they were actively working to assist their employees.  Remember that.  Why can't Haiti replace China (I am happy to rant about China as cheap goods from China blunt development in Haiti, South America, Louisiana and Ontario - to name a few spots who could use the trade)? 

I'm equally cheered by the calm voice of Lawrence Cannon - our Foreign Affairs Minister.  His regular updates - although the news is not always good - are sincere and gentle.  I am not always a great fan of our current government (okay...rarely) but you earn respect in shifting circumstances for simply saying, 'We don't have perfect answers and where our answers are wrong, we'll fix it.'  Wouldn't it be nice if we all remembered that when we are not in the teeth of crisis.  (That is not a question...it's an observation...)

Let's all mark our calendars for one year from now - 2011.  Let's see if we remember Haiti when the benefits are done and the CNN staff have gone on to the next assignment. 

Feed the Children Canada is waiting for the ports to reopen so the can ship a container of clothers and supplies.  Canadian Physicians for Aid and Relief (CPAR), a smaller charity remains in Africa, tending to many people whose needs have become less pressing to the international community for the moment, but whose needs are pressing to them every day.

One year...mark your calendar...and don't forget in between....

Resolved...I might make...and even keep some resolutions this year

My wise and lovely friend Cynthia and I were trading notes over the holidays.  She suggested for good measure we make no resolutions this new year.

Generally, I don't...the same way I don't tend to go out New Year's Eve: first, making resolutions is like giving up chocolate for Lent - it's just going to plant the seed of yearning in your mind; second, waiting for New Year's to plan a change is the original procrastinator's dream (especially if there is no specific year attached...)

So I wouldn't qualify these as resolutions so much as intentions...and some might blossom into realities...

I am going to take more pictures...
I am going to spend more time with the delightful nieces and nephews I've been blessed with...


I am going to learn to use the new camera - and I am going to ask for help when I need it.  (MPB...Peter J.  - consider yourself warned)

Just for fun - and for salving my sanity - I am going to play more Scrabble...(Skip? Cynthia? Josee? Mark? We all good with that?)

I am going to walk more...up stairs at work and around the block with Master Shadow. 

I am going to make time to read things I want to read more frequently and with fewer interruptions.  Everything from Jeremy's postings (along with the fine links to The New York Times) to Dr. English's new book on Trudeau (Just watch me! or perhaps Just Read Me...) 

I am going to name more of the birds who hang out here to go with Tink the Woodpecker.  My mother always told me woodpeckers had voices like little bells...and when Tink started hanging out and chatting, I understood what she meant.  We'll see if he'll sit for a photo.

I am going to see more of my favourite people and simply delight in the pleasure of their company.

I am going to take more day trips with my Mother...who also fits into that category of favourite people who are good company and make good conversation.  It's not lost on me that not everyone is fortunate enough to come to a point where parents become trusted friends so I am going to take advantage of this good fortune. Also, I am going to get that woman to Montreal.

I am going to go visit Toronto more often...and I AM going to Louise's pub.

I might just be brave enough to make jam (or jelly this year...)  Jasmine will help, I know, and she won't even point and laugh.

I am going to learn to let go of the little things more often and with a flourish.

If the jam goes well, we'll discuss the banjo possibility.

I am going to take Mike's advice and concentrate more on the students who bring me joy rather than the occasional runyons who cause me grief.  There are many students who bring me joy...and I am going to tell them that more often.

A history course might be fun....

Squash might come up nicely around the rocks at the front...

The Sunday New York Times...at least every second Sunday.  Coffee from Cafe du Monde to go with it.

I am going to write more personal notes and letters.

I plan to continue believing in magic...and enjoying it when it happens.

I am going to keep talking to strangers - even if it's just in passing - and smiling at people to see what happens.  Usually, they smile back.  Often, it becomes contagious.

I am going to enjoy occasional Bejeweled Marathons...Trailer Park Boys...Two and Half Men and Saturdays at the pub without feeling guilty about the joy of leisure or laughter.  Both are good for the brain and the heart.

I am going to revel in the Year of the Tiger starting in February...because a Leo born in the Year of the Tiger will never get a better chance to teach the world to purr.

So there!

as the last clancy brother leaves us, some thoughts about the immigrant experience...and roots

It's funny how news creeps out...even across oceans and continents.

I tripped over the announcement late this evening that Liam Clancy - the last surviving member of the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem - had died. And I must admit that it while I wasn't entirely shocked, I was - as the Corrie folks would say - gutted.

For many of us whose parents were Irish immigrants, the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem were a connecting fibre.  Eire or Ulster...Yank or Canadian...Catholic or Protestant, the four fine minstrels were a touchstone.

They appeared in equal turns at Massey Hall in Toronto and Carnegie Hall in New York. One of their famous album covers features a photo of the four of them - with Tommy Clancy holding his arms in the air...the cover is black and the title is simply 'Live...At Carnegie Hall.' To this day, the album sells on Amazon, Chapters and iTunes.  I have a number of the songs on my iPod.

They were, in their way, the original fab four.  Two Tommys, a Liam and a Paddy.  I have all those in my Butler family...repeated almost precisely in each generation. They were friends and fans of Pete Seeger - who is acknowledged on some of their albums and in most of their writings. On their double album, the final track is Liam - God Rest You - announcing, "Pete's gonna sing 'This Land...'  They appeared - kid you not - on Dylan commemorative albums.

Perhaps more, they're etched on the hearts of far flung Irish descendants who know them through their albums (really, the vinyl ones), appearances on the Today Show each St. Patrick's Day, and visits to local venues.  I remember vividly the drives to Massey Hall in Toronto. To this day, when I drive to the Big Smoke and I pass under the railway track on Yonge Street, I'm humming those songs, even when it's early in the morning (before the break of day) and I'm off to a meeting.  It sticks with you...

I found myself in Washington on St. Patrick's Day a few years back.  My official meetings done, off I went on on a Sunday evening to an Irish pub.  I was sipping my Smithicks when the singer started up...and when I found myself standing next to a priest.  The singer was good, but the verses were off...and by off, I mean not the Clancy rendition.  The priest and I traded glances....and shook our heads a bit. 'What can I get you, Father?' I asked.  'Jameson dear...and a song sheet for our friend, like Liam and Tommy.' I told him the whiskey I could do but the bigger miracles were his.  We had a lovely chat and with the Clancys and Makem as our common interest, we crossed a number of international borders...and eccliastical approaches.

My father was the youngest of his generation...depending on who you believe, the baby of 10...or 13 ...or 20.  He left Ireland for Canada at 15...came to a sister he adored...a brother he revered but didn't know as well (20 years separation will do that to siblings)...and a place he could hardly imagine.  His children are all proud Canadians...with great love for the Emerald Isle...who were taught to be open minded.

My parents' first house - in Burlington, Ontario - was a lovely spot with a front and back garden.
The neighbours on Wellington Avenue were Irish...he a Protestant from the South and she a Catholic from the North. My father bloody adored them...and he'd explain gently to us that in his day, in his Ireland, that would never have happened...but that it was never to be an issue in his Canada...

If you're at all familiar with the lyrics of The Old Orange Flute - a Clancy and Makem staple - you'll have no doubt where I'm taking this.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVlbenGJ8u0

Before I was old enough to understand why it was important, my father used to say it was history...but not to be repeated...it was different.  When I brought home my Mister (25 years in 2010 and who knew - our anniversary was the same day he landed)...the Orange Brit...his sole comment was (based on the lad's size) 'Eileen, we might need more meat....' For a fellow who grew up with limited exposure to many cultures and things, he was remarkably and reasonably progressive.

My only trip to Ireland (so far) was with him.  It's a big family...and I was not prepared to go without an ambassador...and a tour guide. 

My idea of Ireland was shaped - in large part - by the music. Roddy McCorley...The Patriot Game...Red Head Mary...(I know...none of the expected regulars...go figure!)  I met a couple of lovely cousins....briefly...before arriving 25 years later at their end.

When I did arrive (on the heels of a curious relation who made Canadians a bit unwelcome), three things made me a credible presence: first, my firm belief that I NEEDED to buy the first round to pave the way to good karma (that's equally true in the US might I add); second, my unwavering conviction that I was a guest who appreciated being welcome but by no means felt that was a given;  third, my exposure to the Clancys and Makem...when lyrics were up in the air, on occasion, I knew the answer. 

Every Friday night, my father sang those songs.  I listened. I love them still.

When we sat in a sweet cousin's house and discussion emerged about song lyrics, I said quietly, 'Well, the Clancys and Makem sing it this way....' My cousins laughed...but agreed....

My father taught me many things...
Integrity...application....faith... (he was better at this than I will ever be)...equity...
And much of what he taught me was reflected in the songs of the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem.

When I go - and I will - DJ has a list....
I'd like a wake....with some music....including the Parting Glass and Roisin the Bow.

For our friend Liam, let's dwell on The Parting Glass which he sang so well....

Oh all the money that ere I spent
I spent it in good company...
And all the harm that e're I've done...
Alas it was to none but me...

There's much more...but that will get you doing (and I can't indent those...)

Wrap me up in me oil skins and jumpers
No more on the deck I'll be seen
Just tell me old ship mates
I'm takin a trip mates
And I'll see you one day in Fiddlers' Green.....

Goodnight Sweet Prince
Flights of Angels guide thee to they rest...
And if you don't mind, say hi to my Dad...and ny Uncle Tom...who taught me to adore you this way....

it's the great pumpkin charlie brown...and from our perspective, it has been great...

If the great Canadian pastime is complaining about weather (and it is), it's been a great year to be a Canadian passing time with complaints.  Weather casters and their critics have been referring to the clement months of 2009 as the 'summer that wasn't.'  There is some truth to that: it wasn't scorching...it wasn't humid...it wasn't all the things we all usually delight in complaining about in the brief weeks where there is no hockey.  (And in our neck of the woods, where we adore Jim Balsillie, where there is something in Toronto that the TimBits league would laugh at, hockey remains a distant possiblity....)

To paraphrase Snoopy (one of the great literary minds of our time), it was a dark and stormy summer.  The skies opened, the air cooled....

Even so, the growing season is what you make of it.
And this year, we did a little experiment....with pumpkins.
Our soil is mostly clay.  We've been dumping in peat moss and triple mix and PC Black Earth and manure in the hope of coaxing the yards into something productive.  The results are mixed, but it is kind of fun.

So when my sweet friend Pam and I got to talking last spring, it occurred to me that pumpkins might be a really good idea.  They throw down good roots (which help to break up clay)...they send forth winding vines (reminiscent of those grown by the Gruesomes in Bedrock, but not so effective at deterring the neighbours who park on the lawn....)...and there's always a chance at something to harvest.

So armed with a package of seeds, a hose, manure and optimism, I sallied forth some time in half past June.  It was a little late, but again, it was a rookie adventure in urban farming.

In went the seeds....

Up came some shoots...

And then - miracle of miracles - blossoms.  A bunch of blossoms.

My sweet neighbour Carrie and I considered them...at length...pondering whether they'd become delicacies for Rascal and Bandit over time. But the blossoms continued. 

The raccoons left them alone (really, they prefer cat chow and bananas) and over the course of the summer, the blossoms continued.  We did get expert advice suggesting that pinching the blossoms would promote better and larger fruit.  We took it under advisement...and left the vines to blossom.  They were lovely. 

In time, we started to notice that the vines were looking shrivelled...but that proved to be a good thing.  Lurking under those spindly shoots were tiny little pumpkins. 

The one in the garden became a buffet.  While we blamed Rascal and Bandit, we came to discover that the gourd gourmet was, in fact, Awesome the Possum.  He enjoyed it regularly over many weeks.  With luck, he's left some seeds that will return next year.

The one near the bird bath remained ungnoshed...as did the one near the driveway (mercifully, unsquished while the neighbour was doing NASCAR maneuvers over the lawn). 

The sweet neighbour (smile and wave, Miss Carrie, smile and wave) suggested leaving the sweet little globes where they grew.  While they are too small for pies or Jack-o-Lanterns, they might prove ideal for reseeding.  She makes a good point...

The experiment has been a success and it was fun to watch over the course of the summer.  We can't carve Junior, but that's okay.

We went up to the dairy farm at the top of Hwy 5 - Sutland Holsteins - and bought Junior some friends.  This way, when he drops seeds over the winter, he'll know what he's aiming for next year.

things you begin to ponder when your friends begin appearing in the obituaries...

For as long as I can recall, my parents (and grandparents) have been newspaper subscribers. I remember my Grandpa Hastings reading the comics to us when we were little (which sure gives you the idea that reading - and papers - are fun).  I also remember my parents reading the classified section - occasionally known as the hatched, matched and dispatched.  We've often joked that if we're not named in the departures column, we might as well carry on and go to work.

Late last week, on of my favourite colleauges from the college posted a message on his Facebook site noting he'd lost a dear friend.  I posted a message of condolence to him, but as the details surfaced, he and I realized we had a 'six degrees of separation' circumstance.  His friend of more than 15 years was my friend from high school.  And so the process of finding others who needed to know (so as not to be surprised after the fact - which happens too often) began for us both in wide and different circles that met a little in the middle.  We'll likely see each other later today at the funeral home.

But the loss of any one of us only makes sense in the context of the connection you shared with that individual and the adventures you enjoyed.

George was one of my favourite free spirits who moved among distinct and seemingly disconnected groups.  He was witty...and charming...quick thinking and quick speaking in one of those ways where the rapid quips always made sense.  He was gentle with others: I don't recall him ever saying an unkind thing about anyone.  How often can any of us say that.

He was the high school president championed by geeks and football players. He was a talented photographer.  He was a smart man - as street smart as he ever was book smart - who was content to just be rather than do.  I don't recall him ever saying he wanted to 'be' something at the end of his studies.  What he was, however, was a lot of things to a lot of different people.

One of my favourite road trips was one I made with George, our friend Ed, and a girl one of them was sort of dating.  I can't honestly recall which of the guys it was, but she didn't last long. I was the fourth to even out the group.  We often did that.

We drove to Buffalo to see -- wait for it -- The Jacksons.  It was a terrific show although it gave us a first taste of what it was like to be a minority in a crowd (not a bad lesson, might I add).  It was loud and fun and a great story to tell earlier this summer when Michael Jackson also made a surprise departure.

As many of us were chatting yesterday, we all talked about how easy it is to fall out of touch. How long it had been since we last talked - never mind saw each other - and we hope to do this more frequently, so we aren't making the rounds of calls the next time somebody we've loved leaves us.  With luck, we'll keep that promise to ourselves.

Oddly enough, George's was one of the yearbook quotes I always remembered.  I don't know why.  It was a quote from the Grass Roots song: Sooner or later, love is gonna get you.

George was actually the object of many girls' affections when we were younger.  Smart girls, pretty girls, popular girls.  He was deft - and kind - about rebuffing them. He appreciated their interest, but wasn't keen to get caught I suspect.  From the number of devoted folks who seem to be feeling George's loss, it looks like love did get him and carried him along.  I sure hope so...
Later today, I'm going to put that song on my iPod and when it plays, I'm going to remember my friend George.  Then, I'm going to call and email some of the others just for good measure.


http://www.lifenews.ca/thespec/profile/55579--petrovic-george-gabriel

block that call...shred that junk...firms for which i have no affection...

I spent a good portion of my Friday evening shredding mail. Pulling the paper bits out of the envelopes that are not recyclable (ah, plastic...I loathe you in almost every form...). It made me think a bit about the firms that intrude on my time - by phone and by mail most often.

The alleged no call list is - I'm told - hard to get onto and harder to enforce.

I appreciate that people earn their livings this way, so I am prepared to be polite -- to a point.

Why so many firms want to push me past that point, I can't be certain; however, I'll do them the great courtesy of being polite and not naming those who either provide such dreadful service or intrude with such vigour.

The firm from which I rent my water heater hired another firm to market its other services. At least I presume that's what the water heater folks intended, but as I never got to that part of their canvass, I can't be sure. The phone rang. I answered it. The 'click' I heard first suggested it was some sort of telemarketing firm and that was confirmed by the canned message naming the 'communications' firm whose rep was calling.

A fellow (note deliberate choice not to use gentleman) came onto the line with a fine imitation of Tony Soprano's best, 'Hey...how you doin'?' I asked who he was and what he wanted, which prompted him to explain, 'Hey, I'm tryin' to be polite here.' Really? Good thing he explained that because my idea of polite isn't some anonymous voice I don't know calling to chat without offering identification -- like this will coas me into buying whatever he may be selling. (To quote from Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, 'Are you on commission? Remember me? Huge mistake!)

But wait, it gets better.

Again, I asked who he was an what he wanted.
At that point, he named the firm who supplies my heater (and whose marketing department hired another firm to extend our business dealings) and said with thinly veiled disgust, 'You do realize you're one of their clients.' Oh, I do...as will they, when my next quarterly bill lands and I use their alleged customer service line to draw this scintillating exchange to their attention. I affirmed that I did know that, but again asked what he was calling about...and got to listen to him tell his compatriots what a winner he had on the line. At that point I hung up.

It's doubtful I would ever have purchased any other service from the original firm, but had that been a possibility, their 'marketing' effort convinced me not to err in that way. What a great investment on their part.

Similarly, a credit firm continues to send me solicitations on an all too regular basis.

Their direct mail piece comes complete with a little, fake, plastic card showing what the card I could have from them might look like. That means I have to open the envelope, take out the paper, tear off the plastic card then begin the process of separating and shredding the solitication pieces I do not want.
Oh boy! That will make me love you!

In the case of the charities who lead the list of truly intrusive, I most dislike the one that insists on sending me a nickel with its pile o' paper and name labels. If the labels don't guilt me into it (along with the notepads, crappy pens and magnets), that nickel is sure to make me cave. I actually have donated to this charity. Usually, I sponsor someone participating in an event to raise funds for this group -- but their ongoing stream of junk I must manage convinces me to make that sponsorship my only contribution.

I like the firms who offer me the option of getting their news and junk via email. I can read their news or hit delete and not be worried about generating waste I didn't ask for in the first place.
I don't mind firms who send me a calendar once a year as part of an ANNUAL request for support. (I do, however, mind the ones who throw that calendar into a cycle of monthly mailings.)

I gave you money once...that does not connote interest in a continuing relationship on my part.

The competition is fierce...and my time is limited...the more you annoy me, the less likely I am to recommend you or continue to support you.

Plus I have a masterplan...I am going to start mailing it BACK...maybe with some of the other pieces I get just so the sender can pay the return freight.  Maybe that will convince them to ease off a bit.  I doubt it, but if nothing else it will let me share the magic of their inconvenience.