Sunday, June 21, 2009

Year 7: Hi Kids, Today the World is Going to End!

It was in my first year of Junior High school and I was having a bad year. My parents had bulldozed my bedroom so I was sleeping in a fold-out bed in the resulting enlarged living room. My clothes were in my brother's room and I had to do my homework in the dining room. I was woken up every morning at six by my father's cigarette smoke. I had no room, no privacy, and I was bullied at school because my parents wouldn't let me wear jeans and that's what everyone else was wearing. It was pretty bad. But the worst day of Year Seven was when I walked into French class. I sat down, expecting to do declensions, when the teacher told us that when we hear sirens, we were to hide under our desks because bombs would be dropping on us. He said it was the end of the world and we were all going to die! Not sure why he thought this- maybe he was a Jehovah's Witness? These WAS huge trouble in the Middle East at the time......

Anyway, we were terrified. We would have cried, but that wasn't cool. Anyway, once he'd finished scaring the hell out of us it was time to go to English. Within minutes the teacher put down her chalk and asked sharply “"What's Wrong?"

A boy in the middle row haltingly told her. Man, was she ever FURIOUS! She said that was utterly ridiculous, and of COURSE the world wasn't going to end. She spent the whole hour and a half class calming us down and undoing the damage that man had done. Pretty admirable of her, considering she didn't even like us.

Of course nothing happened that day, so we all gave that French teacher a terrible time after that. In the end he had a nervous breakdown. We were not sorry.

He wasn't the only one who was telling us the world would end. My parents told me repeatedly I wouldn't live to the age of 20. (They were big Garner Ted Armstrong fans. ) As a result I feel really hostile to anyone who says we're living in the end times, or that world oil reserves will run out, or that global warming is the end of civilization, etc etc etc. I heard it all before, 30 odd years ago, and I have faith that whatever problems people create, they can solve. And as for those who can't wait for Armageddon, those sadists WILL go to hell!

Friday, June 19, 2009

Water Fun

Here are some games to play out in the yard on a hot day. Unfortunately, the last ten years of my kids' lives have been during a drought so I couldn't really do this with them. Or if I did, they were too young to remember. But who knows, they might someday move to a place with 100,00 lakes, right?

Here's one my mother did with us when we were kids:

Everyone gets a bucketful of water and a small ice cream container and takes it to a corner of the yard. Everyone should be equally far away from each other, and maybe ten steps apart.

When the eldest yells "GO!" everyone scoops some water into the ice cream container and throw it at someone. If you let go of the ice cream container you'll get soaked trying to retrieve it. You also don't want to get too far away from your base or you'll get soaked on the way back. You also don't want to run out of water before everyone else because then you'll be a target without any protection. Of course there's a danger you'll slip on the wet grass and hurt yourself, but we never did.

Another thing we did was run through the sprinkler, and we actually did hurt ourselves doing that. I once landed hard on my back and winded myself, but I didn't care.

A gentler, safer game is to fill an ordinary balloon half full of water and pass it around in a circle. The idea is, you want to pass it quickly, but you don't want it to burst on you. If everyone's too good at this, then start two going around the circle in opposite directions. Or pass them across and hope they don't collide.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Home Science Experiments For Kids


I did this in a science workshop once. The tough bit was figuring out how to make this without heat, but see, I found a way.

Take two plastic drinking cups.

Fill the first cup half full of vinegar.
Put filter paper in the second one (a coffee filter works best because it's already cup shaped).

Add two tablespoons of skim milk to the vinegar in the first cup, and stir.

Then add 1/8th Tablespoon of baking Soda to the milk/vinegar mixture. Add a little at a time.
Stir. You want just enough bubbles to fill the cup, but not have them spill over.

Scoop the bubbles you get onto the filter paper in the second cup.

Wait ten minutes.

Scoop the white gunk out of the filter paper onto a paper towel. Let it sit for a few seconds.

Then make it into a shape, and let it sit on a windowsill for a week. It will shrink and harden.

You've just made a kind of early plastic that buttons used to be made out of!

To make more plastic, use bigger cups!



To make the red cabbage juice, just boil some red cabbage in water and bottle the liquid. It starts to stink after a few days, so you might not want to make it too far ahead of time, but if you do, that's OK kids will think it's funny!

You might want to do this experiment at the same time as the plastic one, so the ten minute wait goes faster. For this experiment, you put Red Cabbage juice in clear cups, to which kids can add different things to. Bases (such as baking powder and Baking Soda) turn it blue, and vinegar turns the juice bright red. Some things like milk don't change the colour at all, but if you also add oil, you get different coloured layers,which the kids really like. Be careful with the cabbage juice though- it is really messy and it stains.


Another experiment you can do is make slime.

You get cornstarch (made from corn, not wheat) and add a little powdered paint to it. The kids can choose which colour they want. Then add water, a little at a time, letting them mix it with their hands until it's hard when they squeeze it, but runs through their fingers when they let go. It's really messy and kids love it. Have some extra in case someone adds too much water to theirs. If you want it a little less messy, give them the cornstarch in a sandwich sized ziplock bag, and get them to add the water and paint to that. Then they can close it and squeeze it, keeping their hands clean. I'd suggest half a ziplock bag of cornstarch each, but maybe try it out yourself first to get the amount right.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

The Day I got Lost in an American Ghetto

I was 19 and Greyhound Buses were having a promotion on that you could travel all over Canada and the US for $99 for a whole month, with an unlimited number of trips. I'd only ever been to the States once with my parents, and I especially wanted to visit Disneyland, so I went.

I had a lot of adventures on the trip, but one that was especially dangerous was when I was in Kansas City. I had gotten off the bus in the morning and planned to spend the whole day there. I got a map and saw there was a museum nearby so I decided to visit it.

I hopped on a crowded bus, paid the fare, sat down and started talking to the guy next to me. The further we went, the less people were on board, until we hit the end of the line. The bus driver said we had to get out.

That's fine, the guy I'd been talking to said he'd help me find this museum, so I wasn't particularly worried. I had noticed however that there didn't seem to be any white people around. My new friend told me that was because we were in the middle of the ghetto and whites just didn't go there. I looked around. It didn't seem like the ghettos I'd heard about. It had a beautiful well kept park, and the streets were clean. There were lots of people around and they all greeted my friend enthusiastically. He was well known and well liked there.

He told me that he wanted me to meet his Aunt who lived in an apartment building we'd just got to. Me, I was wary. I said I'd wait in the foyer for him. Not long after he'd left, he came back down again and said we'd have to leave because the caretaker had complained- he said he didn't want no white people in his building, so we decided to walk in the park.

I was curious about the caretaker and what he said, and my friend explained to me that if I had been an American, terrible things would have happened to me by now, but because I was a clueless Canadian, well, I was safe. Especially since I was with him. He was my protection.

I wasn't at all worried about this. Anyway, we decided to walk in the huge park and talked about religion. He told me that the pastor of his church was cheating on his wife and had 3 or 4 parishioners as girlfriends. I told him that that was scandalous, and that is NOT the way a Pastor should act. He said "No?" I said "Of course not. Pastors are supposed to act better than ordinary people, not worse!"

He agreed with me. We talked about religion for another hour or so, but by then it was getting late so he set me on a bus that took me to the station so I'd get there before it got dark. Again, I was the only white person on the bus, but soon white people got on, and I was back in the middle of the city again.

It was a great day. I got a glimpse into another culture and got to go where it was too dangerous for others to go. I felt quite privileged- and protected. And enlightened.

But please my children, don't do this yourselves. The rules might have changed by now right?

But of course you know this, because you read "Gang Leader for a Day". I can tell you what's written there is true- you'd never know it was a ghetto just by looking! I only have fond memories of it. And of that young man who had shown me a bit of his world!

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

The Day I Met a Russian Spy!

It was 1982, Breshnev was in power in the Soviet Union, and we were worried about nuclear attacks because of a war in Afghanistan.

I was at University studying Commerce and going out with a Jewish Marxist whose father sold luxury items to rich women. My boyfriend had seen an ad saying that Russian Communists were coming to Winnipeg to give a presentation at the town hall and he wanted me to come along. I was nervous about this because my parents warned me that the RCMP would be there to take photographs but I went along anyway because I was curious how the Soviets could possibly sell communism to us when their own country was so dysfunctional.

It was one of those cold miserable winter days where there was brown sand on the sidewalks and salt on the roads and the snow was muddy and wet. Nevertheless we trudged through it and attended the talk. Apparently they were trying to increase the membership of the Canadian Communist Party.

I left quite unconvinced by their sales job, but not sure how my boyfriend felt about it. We were just starting to discuss it when this tramp asked us what we thought of the meeting. I was wary. Looking him over I noticed how black his boots were. They had been polished to a bright shine. Meanwhile the rest of his clothes were shabby, dirty and torn. I listened nervously as my boyfriend started giving him his appraisal of the meeting. I interrupted rudely and asked the "tramp" if he was so interested, why didn't HE go to this meeting? After all, it was a free event and it was in a nice warm building.

He said he had been there and then he left in the middle of it, or some such unlikely thing. My boyfriend said some negative things, such as why were they trying to run the Canadian Communist Party from Russia anyway when really the locals should do it, and the tramp quickly disappeared.

So who could this guy have been? Not a tramp, that's for sure. That leaves RCMP or a Russian. If it was a Canadian, he'd have no trouble getting a tramp outfit together- he'd just grab some old clothes and an old pair of runners from home. But if this guy came from Russia, well, maybe he only brought his nice boots with him. Finding a set of ugly clothes wouldn't be hard at an op shop but finding shoes his size might have been. Also, maybe in Russia everyone actually cared about the appearance of their shoes.

So if he was Russian, why was he talking to us? Well, maybe he was looking for recruits of some sort. People not known to be members of the Communist Party. That's what I like to think, anyway. The other possibility is he was doing marketing research to see how well the presentation was and thinking about how to improve it for next time, but hey- we ARE talking about a communist country here, right? I don't think it would even have occurred to them to care!

So, next time you go to a sus meeting held by a sus country, and someone sidles up to talk to you about it, check their shoes!

Friday, June 12, 2009

Panas Tonight!

One day my father told us he had a real craving for Panas. It was something his mother used to make during wartime. My mother agreed to make him some. Next day we had a pig's head in the downstairs fridge . It stayed there for a week until my father could cut it into pieces with his blade saw. Once this was done my mother boiled the pieces in all the pots she had in the house. Next, the resulting broth was cooled and the scum was ladled off. It smelled and looked revolting! She then added nutmeg to the broth and mixed it with flour to make pancakes. Anyway,the big day finally came and she served my father the Panas he had been craving. He tasted them, and said they were just like his mother made them, then added "Oh yeah, now I remember how much I hated these when I was a kid." Meanwhile we had a freezer full of them. This enraged my mother so much she served Panas every other meal for weeks until they were all gone. I'd often go to bed hungry just so I wouldn't have to eat them. To this day I can't stomach anything with nutmeg in it!

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Tabouleh Recipe

Take half a mug of bourghal wheat (from health food store- there's lots of different spellings) and fill it with boiling water. Let it stand until the wheat is soft. (Best to put the mug on a plate in case it spills over)

Mix equal amounts of

Chopped ripe tomatoes (Never refrigerate tomatoes- they lose their taste)
Chopped Celery

Then add the softened Bourghal wheat, and stir. Add lemon juice and salt to taste. Usually one lemon is enough, but it depends on how sour the lemon is, and how much you are making. Add a little at a time, just to be safe.

You can Quote Me on That- What Really Matters

In the end, to love and be loved is all that matters in life.

You can Quote Me on That- How to be Happy

Life's more fun if you can find a cause to fight for or an injustice to fight against. Everyone needs to feel they are making a difference and in the end, everyone wants to be a hero.

Monday, June 08, 2009

How War Affects The Next Generation: My Father's Story

Growing up in my house was quite an adventure. My father told us our phone was wiretapped so we had to be careful what we said. Once, when we came back from vacation he said the RCMP had broken into our house to watch our home movies. He also said that my best friend's grandfather was writing weekly reports to Ottawa about all the neighbors, and that our teachers were recording anything interesting anyone said in their classrooms. Once I was assigned to debate that the monarchy was no longer necessary in Canada and my father saw it as a trap. We were told not to trust anyone ever with anything because sooner or later it would get back to Ottawa. This was in Canada in the 60's mind you.

So what was he so afraid they'd find? My father was a bookkeeper for a flour company- hardly sinister stuff. Our home videos consisted mainly of us walking around the garden sniffing flowers. We were so poor I was wearing all the neighbors' hand-me-downs, so if my father WAS moonlighting as a spy he sure wasn't being paid for it. So why was he saying such scary things?

I'm guessing he was just giving us the same advice his parents gave him when he was a child. Only their his case it was understandable because they were in real danger from the government. Their best friend was taken away during wartime solely because of his religion. They felt it was a real injustice- here was a man who had fought bravely for his country, and even gotten war medals for it and THIS was his reward? My grandparents were angry, and everyone in their small town knew it. So yes,they had to watch what they said. Their lives depended on it.

But this was hardly the case in Canada in the 60's! Years later I asked my parents if they still thought they were under observation and they said “No”. They felt embarrassed about ever having thought that, but in the mean time the damage had been done. We'd been raised in fear and sometimes I do worry that some day what my grandparents feared will happen to me if I become too conspicuous.

Another example of the things war can do to the next generation.

How War Hurts The Next Generation:My Mother's Story

In my anecdotes my parents don't come off looking too good. Thing is, there are reasons for their behavior and I think I should explain what they are.

For instance, my parents were teens during WW2. They were right in the middle of the horror of it all. The traumas they suffered affected how they raised us children, which led to the trials that we went through.

For instance, I have always been spiritual and my mother couldn't stand it. She'd try and crush any signs of it in me, even if I was just being kind to a stranger. I always knew that she loved me, but I also knew she didn't like me very much. This is because I reminded her religious great aunt.

This great aunt lived on my grandparent's farm. My grandfather was a farmer and a builder, he built the local church. He was also the bandleader of the town and owned all the instruments. My mother said he was loved by everyone.

My mother adored him. He let her and her three sisters be tomboys. They got to ride horses, climb trees, help with the harvest. They basically had to because they didn't have any brothers. Their relatives didn't approve of this behaviour of course, and this great Aunt especially disapproved of how they would work on Sundays. This is something the others in the town wouldn't do.

Anyway, the war came, and near the end of it, soldiers came to take her father away. They couldn't find him so they asked everyone in the family if they knew where he was. They all said they didn't, except for this Aunt. She felt it was a sin to lie. After all, Jesus had said :

John 8:44
You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father's desire. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies.

When asked if she knew where the man was, she told them she did, and they soon got it out of her that he was hiding in a haystack. They took my grandfather away, and he was never seen again.

After he was taken away, my mother cried and cried and cried so much she vowed never to cry again. When she later had kids, she wouldn't let us cry, or even be sad because compared to her, we had no right to be. So we had to keep on a happy face for her- but heaven forbid we should be genuinely happy, because how could we be happy after what happened to her? So we had to pretend all the time.

Anyway, after my father was taken away, my mother's whole extended family left the family farm that had belonged to them for hundreds of years and became refugees. All except for that demented old aunt – she was left behind to fend for herself.

The upshot is, my mother developed a real hatred for anything religious or spiritual to the point that her relatives thought she was demon possessed. She didn't like anyone who reminded her of her Great Aunt, but unfortunately, without knowing it, I did. She tried to stamp that part of me out, but it didn't work. As a result, I feel bad if I do something bad, but I also feel bad if I do something good. I do choose to be good, even if it hurts, because I don't want my trauma to affect others, especially not my own children. I may be a bit too lenient with them, but I'm determined that the damage done all those years ago stops with me. I'm NOT going to pass it on to them. But I can see how easy it would be to do that. So just because a country is at peace, it doesn't mean its people are. They won't heal for generations!!!!!

On the Road with My Father

When we were young my parents used to take us on camping trips around Canada. Sometimes it would only be to the next province, or sometimes it would be all the way to Vancouver from Winnipeg. Us kids would be in the back sleeping,or under the blankets to avoid their cigarette fumes. We slept to kill the long boring ride through the prairies that just seemed to be the same farmhouse, silo and field repeated over and over and over again for thousands of miles.

My dad kept himself amused by seeing how little fuel his blue VW Beetle could use. His favourite trick was to tailgate trucks. He noticed that there was a fair amount of suction behind of of these monsters, so we'd be literally pulled from town to town. It wasn't exactly safe, but hey! As an added bonus we'd get to our destination heaps faster than if we were going under our own steam.

Eventually my parents gave up camping and they used the car mainly to go to work and to buy groceries. Well, by that I mean my father. Even though my mother did have a driver's licence and passed her test first go, he never let her drive the car. That's despite the fact that my father's eyesight was so poor he always needed someone with him to tell him if the light was green or red. His eyesight was pretty poor, but the only accident he'd ever been in was when he had a bee in the car. He got so scared he crashed the car into a pole. He wasn't hurt, don't know what happened to the bee.

Anyway, we all survived so that's all that matters, right? Ah, the good old days.......

Sunday, June 07, 2009

Decorate Your Own Lampshade

My husband had two ten dollar plastic lamp shades and I decorated them two ways. One was with felt-tipped markers. To begin with, I just outlined the pattern I wanted with non-permanent markers,then when it was perfect, covered it with permanent marker. I let it dry for half an hour, then carefully wiped away the non-permanent lines with tissues. I also smeared on some watercolours to make the sky. It will never dry and will come off in your hands but so what- how often do you touch the inside of a lampshade?

Here's the one I decorated this way:

My husband liked this and wanted me to make another, but one with geometric designs. Ideally he wanted a deltoid shape, but that was hard on a curved surface, so I did something else instead. I cut up some fish net stockings, stretched the opening to make a triangle, and fastened it with clothes pegs. Then I took the rest of the piece of stocking, and brought it up behind the triangle and fastened that with clothespegs as well. Once I had done this three times, and added three more loops for decoration, I tied everything with black elastic string at the back and got this result:

Pretty cool, eh?

Saturday, June 06, 2009

They Meant Well, I guess

Here's another story from my childhood. For some reason my kids love them.

When I was in Grade 5 and 6 I took violin lessons at school, and loved it. I and this other girl were the best in the class. Anyway, my teacher happened to mention to my parents that I had real musical talent. I probably got this from my grandfather who was the leader of the town orchestra before the war. Anyway, when my parents heard this they were delighted. The next year, they stopped my violin lessons and made me take accordion lessons, because they figure that if I was ever short of cash, I could always busk for a living and people would pay to hear an accordion player but not a violinist. The whole premise was dodgy because in Winnipeg there WERE no buskers (maybe it was illegal?). Anyway, I hated it but had to take it for four years, practicing for half an hour every day. My brother who was three years younger than me also took accordion lessons at the same time and he liked it and thus became so much better than I was. It was quite humiliating to have the teacher assign us duets where I got the boring easy parts and he got the more difficult interesting parts.I finally got to quit by telling my parents my homework load was too much. I still do love the sound of violins though.....

An Easter Tradition

Yes, I know it is the wrong time of the year for this, but I don't care!

When I was about 6 I visited my uncle and Aunt for Easter. They had a tradition that I just loved.

We went for a walk on a forest trail, with my uncle in the lead and my family and my aunt and my cousins following a distance behind him. As we walked, us kids would find foil covered chocolate eggs that the Easter Bunny had dropped out of his basket as he was delivering his eggs! We were so excited about this. The weirdest thing was though, that if one of us ran ahead to talk to my uncle, there wouldn't be any eggs anymore. Once we were all back behind him, we'd start finding them again. Because of this I started watching my uncle carefully and that's when I noticed he was putting his hands in his coat pocket and dropping the eggs on the ground. So that's how I figured out what was going on.

When my kids were young my husband and I did the same thing. We'd go to a national park (so there wouldn't be any dog droppings on the ground) and they'd find chocolate eggs everywhere. David Jones makes the nicest multi-colored eggs that don't have any logos on them, so we always used them. Fun thing was, as the kids were collecting the chocolates, they'd give them to me to hold, giving me a chance to pass them on to my husband so he could drop them again! The result was that the egg hunt went on for the whole length of the walk. Of course by the end the eggs were a bit worse for wear, but that's OK, my kids didn't really like chocolate anyway, so we gave them some we had held back from the package. Either way, it's lots of fun for us, as well as the kids.

Another thing my Aunt and Uncle did was to hide Easter baskets in the sand dunes behind the house for my cousins and us to find. Funny, we should have tried that as a well, but I never thought of it. Well, maybe the next generation can carry on that tradition.....

Great Expectations

Great Expectations

When I was born, my father went out of his way to look for a name that was pronounceable in every language in the world. He had high expectations for his new baby girl: someday she would be Prime Minister of Canada! He had my life all planned out. After high school I'd take accounting while working as a bank teller during my school holiday, and once I'd gotten my degree I'd work in the industry, enter into federal politics and then get elected to the highest office in the land.

This is strange because when my brother was born, my father decided his son would become a television repair man. Or a carpenter. Well, unfortunately his dreams did not come true. Growing up I wasn't the least interested in politics, and while my brother did briefly work as a TV repairman over the school holidays, he eventually decided to go to university and become an engineer. While my brother was wildly successful in the computer industry, I became a housewife right after I got my Marketing degree, had kids and never had a career. I just did a lot of volunteer work with children. What I really should have done was study religion, or go to Bible College, because that's where my interests lay, but as my parents pointed out, where was the money in that? I now realize I should have just gone with my passion.

With my kids I was determined not to decide their future for them. I figure that if they can just follow their interests they will do well, no matter what field it is in. Being practical instead will only end up being a dead end for them and they will probably end up doing what they wanted to in the first place, only when they are much older and when learning is much harder. So, while I'm glad my father had such high hopes for me, I feel I should have accomplished much more in life than I have. My brother who achieved way more than he was supposed to also feels sad because he also felt he had let his father down somehow. I guess the moral of the story is, sure, have high expectations for your kids, but let them decide what they are going to try to succeed at!

Friday, June 05, 2009

Why I didn't go to my High School Reunion

Graduations are supposed to be fun, but this is what happened to me. About a month before graduation this girl I knew asked me to go to the park and play Frisbee with her. I found this a bit strange, since we'd only ever chatted on the school bus before.

Anyway, as we were talking and playing, she mentioned the graduation and asked me if I had a date for the prom. I said no, and she asked me if I'd go with her brother. Now, her brother was a nice guy, he'd even rescued a little old lady who had fallen down in her house and couldn't get up. Unfortunately,we were always in the same class and our names were so similar that the teachers were always calling us by each other's name. I really hated that and thus I really started to hate him. Also, unfortunately, he had a face that looked like it had been hit by a large flat iron and I felt that I was kind of pretty and deserved better than that. After thinking it over I called him up and told him I didn't want to go as his date after all. Actually, this was lucky for him considering what happened next.

See, a couple of weeks later my mother and I went to the local shopping center to pick out a prom dress. I'd been to about two thirds of the stores there, but hadn't found anything I really liked yet. My mother was so fed up with all this shopping that the next day, while I was at school, she went out and bought a dress for me and said that was what I was wearing and that's IT! I looked at it in dismay. I guess I could describe it best by saying it was a lacy multi-layered polyester wedding dress. Now I would have made a fuss about this and refused to wear it, but my Godmother, who was a nun and had been a missionary in China was staying with us and I really really didn't want to have a temper tantrum infront of her. So I wore the stupid thing. When I got to the prom, my friends were too embarrassed to be seen with me so I spent the whole night talking to my English teacher. What a night to remember! Of course I was lucky I could remember it, unlike four of my classmates who died in a car accident that night speeding straight on one of the few winding streets in Winnipeg! Like I said, what a night!

Thursday, June 04, 2009

Witches Brew- Recipe

We like to do this for Halloween

Can of Fruit Punch
Can of Pineapple Pieces
Can of Fruit Salad
Peeled Lemon, cut into slices
Peeled Orange, cut up into slices
Assorted fizzy fruit flavoured drinks

Mix together a bit at a time until it tastes right. Make sure you put it in a big bowl with some room to spare. Then add a fist sized piece of dry ice. (Do not touch with your bare hands- wear winter gloves and use tongs) The drink will bubble and a fog will come out of the bowl. This is Carbon Dioxide. so it isn't poisonous- it's what you breathe out all the time. Still, have doors open to other rooms if you are worried. The fog can be scooped up with a ladle and poured into glasses- kids really have a lot of fun with this.

Obviously you'd want to be careful that you don't swallow the frozen dry ice. That's why you put big chunks in, rather than smaller ones. You can find dry ice by looking in the yellow pages- they give you way more than you need, but that's OK- just keep it in the freezer, and you'll have enough to use at night. By morning of course it will all be gone.