And there it is again.........

...the reason no one wants to consult with the Indigenous:  "Consultations can't be rushed," declared AFN Chief Cindy Woodhouse Nepinak.  "You can't put a deadline on moving forward with major projects."  

Cindy, in all her glory putting her foot on progress, as usual.

Well, Cindy, that's why nothing gets done because you take forever to "consult".  In fact, you believe "consultation" means "veto".  It doesn't, but that never stops you because there's never an end date or time limit for consultations with the Indigenous.  Why? Because your funding doesn't depend on anything getting done or built.  If it did, you'd shut down the chatting and start collecting money.

The government is asking to limit chatting to a year, but apparently, that's not long enough.  Well, what is long enough, Ms. Nepinak?  Two years?  Five?  Ten?

It's absolutely ludicrous.  No wonder Canada's economy is in the toilet and heading straight for the prosperity sewar.  I'm sooooo sick of it.

I'm trying

.....but I'm failing.  I can't really drum up much sympathy for the Nepo movie star babies who have turned deadly, either on themselves, or on their parents.  (And I'm talking as the sister of a young man who committed suicide at age 32 and broke our parents' hearts.)

Today I'm talking about the kids of stars like Ryan O'Neil, Michael Douglas, Rob Reiner, Tom Hanks, Jackie Chan, Paul Newman and Sylvester Stalone and others like the Menendez brothers, Matthew Perry, Mucaulay Culkin, Brittany Spears, Tatum O'Neil, Drew Barrymore....and many others.

Big problem among rich Nepo babies.

Now we have Presley Gerber, son of a super model and billionaire, who just died of an apparent overdose while in a rehab facility -- the latest of many such facilities he had been placed in.  Watched a video of him talking about how tough his life was and how misunderstood he was.  Have to admit I was unsympathetic.  Seems his parents' billions could not save him.  

Could a few visits to the homeless have given him some perspective on his privilege?  Princess Diana did this regularly.  Granted, it didn't help Harry, but it certainly seems to have strengthened William.  Harry, I'm afraid, allowed his evil shrew of a wife to bewitch hi (sexually I'm sure) and influence his chronic "poor me" syndrome. 

Do these kids have too much money?  I think that's part of it.  Matthew Perry's mother was my best friend all through high school and, although we have lost touch, we did talk about how money kept allowing Matthew to continue using.  The substance abuser in my family didn't have the money to keep using, so he cleaned up and has been a model of success since.

I'm also getting tired of people blaming mental health for drug abuse.  I think the drug abuse comes first, not the other way 'round.  I think it's the drug abuse that causes the mental health problems and functions as a convenient excuse for whatever heinous acts the addict commits.

So, call me callous, but that's my take on it.  I agree with Megyn Kelly on this one.

 

Betty

One of the most fascinating women I have ever met was Betty Noe.  B and I met her when we were guests of a mutual friend on a private island on Lac des Trente et un Milles, located at the Gatineau Fish & Game Club in Point Comfort, Quebec.

Betty was a close relative of the Louisiana State Governor, so needless to say, she was pretty well connected in those southern parts.  For some reason, Betty took an instant liking to me and we got on like a house on fire.  Even her two nieces, who were there with us, could not understand how Betty and I clicked -- to the point that I could insult her about anything anytime.  

"Betty, no one cares what you think," I'd say, when she was rambling on.  Rather than get upset, we'd both roar uproariously.  "How do you get away with that with Aunt Betty," they'd ask incredulously.  "If we did that we'd be banished!"

Betty never appeared at breakfast without every hair in place in her carefully coifed locks, bright red lipstick and resplendent in a perfectly coordinated outfit -- even as I appeared in a terrycloth robe, having just swum around the one-km island.

Betty Noe.

Frankly, I don't know how I got away with how we interacted, but I did.  "Nancy, you must come visit me in New Orleans," she said one day over pre-prandial cocktails.  "We'd love to!" I replied, never thinking for one minute she'd actually follow up.

But she did.  Back home the next February the phone rang.  "Nayancee, when are ya'all coming here?" Betty asked.  So we did.  When we arrived, her chauffeur met us at the airport and took us to her magnificent Antebellum home in the Garden District with its majestic verandah and lush gardens.  

There, she introduced us to her cook, her maid and the gardener -- all Black, I might add; that was the culture.  I was flabbergasted.  I mean, I knew she had money, not just how much.  We had our own suite on the top floor and spent a wonderful week enjoying that lovely town and her lavish hospitality.  

One day, B and I decided to take a bus tour of New Orleans and as we drove by one house I said, "B, that's Betty and Jimmy's house and that's our room on the top floor!"  Yep, her home was on the tour. 

"I didn't like the neighbours behind us," she told me one day.  "So Jimmy bought the house and got rid of them."  Yep, that's what it was like.  

Another, her driver took us to a charity luncheon called 'The Mad Hatter's Lunch'; luckily, I had brought a decent hat.  We were seated at a prominent table and every woman in the place came by to pay homage to the Doyenne of New Orleans and her charming peasant friend from Canada, me.

Betty on the left at the Mad Hatter's Lunch (that's not me on the right.  I'm below.)

As one women left, Betty said, "Nayancee, you know that woman I just introduced you to?"  "Yes," I replied.  "She seemed very nice."  "A kill'a bee-itch from Hell," Betty said.  I nearly fell off my chair, but she said it behind her signature huge smile, so no one was the wiser. 

Another, we were sitting laughing in her drawing room while the maid was sweeping one of her superb Oriental carpets.  She said something in contradiction to Betty at which Betty swung around and said, "If I told you to dig up dirt and throw it on that carpet, you'd do it."  Again, I was dumbfounded!  Again, that was the culture.  

Later, I found out that all Betty's staff lived in the lowland area most devastated by Katrina.  What did she do?  She built all her servants -- including the maid she had just torn a strip off of -- new homes and looked after everything for them and their families.  A devout Catholic, Betty also she paid for the restoration of her church and bought them a new Casavant Frères organ.

As for the family name, Noe, I pointed out that it was probably from the French, "Nault", but no one bought it.  I think I was right, but her son argued it was German.  I begged to differ because my explanation made more sense, but I let it lie.

Betty and her eccentric husband, Jimmy, had five children, one of whom was gay.  When James finally came out to Betty he said, weeping, "Mum, I have to tell you something, I'm gay."  Her reply?  "Honey, you're not gay you're miserable."  What a retort and completely honest.  Loved that about her.  

Betty Noe a walking contradiction, but I loved her.  Sadly, she died a few years ago.  Her charm, grace and wit, however, will not soon be forgotten.        

p.s. That's me in the hat I wore to The Mad Hatter's Lunch.  It's also the hat I wore when I met Queen Elizabeth in London. 

Incomprehensible

Carney is deliberately incomprehensible.  Try as I might -- and I watched it twice -- I could not figure out what he was saying when he addressed the EU in Strasbourg.  

"I hope -- and I believe......" he said at one point.  What does that even mean?  You cannot put those two words into the same sentence.  Either you "hope", or you "believe".  You can't do both.  He's starting to remind me of the turgid, baffling and  and obfuscating Andrew Coyne -- one of the worst writers I have ever read. 

"We believe that a strong economy is not an end in itself, but the means to a just society.  We are committed stewards of our natural heritage. We believe that our prosperity grows when it is shared," he said.  

No, a strong economy is the end, Mark, it is not just the means.  Again, what does that even mean?  And, "...committed stewards of our natural heritage..."  Coming from the guy who has just sold us out to the EU and its crippling regulations that's rich.  Huh?!

Read his whole speech.  It is a master class of gobbledygook, but the braying donkeys in Strasbourg -- desperate to keep their jobs -- bought in hook, line and sinker, clapping like trained seals begging for a rancid fish or two.

Ursula planting the kiss of economic death on Canada.  Trump, however, will have the last word.

   

Two gentlemen

The coverage of the anniversary of the death of Les Emmerson prompted a lovely memory.  A number of years ago, B and I were invited to a party hosted by Les' (or is it "Les's?) sister, Darlene, because B was a great friend of her boyfriend.  Sitting at a picnic bench on my own, I was joined by a charming man, who turned out to be Les. 

The two of us just sat for three hours and talked.  No one interrupted.  He was very smart and engaging, something I wonder if people knew?  To most, he was just the lead singer of  'The Five Man Electrical Band', with hits like 'Signs' and 'You can cry your eyes out'.  That afternoon he was just a smart, charming guy and I was captivated.

Never ran across him again, but he left a lasting impression.

The late, great Les Emmerson.

________________

Talking to another old friend last night, we started reminiscing, as we always do, about old times.  JR and I go back almost 60 years!  He was married to my late cousin and I think he never fell out of love with her.  She died 24 years ago and his second wife five months ago.  As I say, I am in the death zone!

Anyway, one guy we talked about was an old beau of mine.  "I could never figure Paddy out?" I said.  "I mean, we dated for a whole summer, when he flew me back and forth from Toronto to Ottawa every weekend, where we stayed at his cottage at Lac Ste. Marie, but he was not romantic in the least," I said.

I soon learned what "not romantic" meant.  "I think he was gay," said my friend.  Well, now it all makes perfect sense!  We slept in the same bed, but absolutely nothing happened.  Weird.  I mean, I was 22 years old and relatively hot.  

Paddy was from a very prominent old Ottawa family.  He was handsome and charming in the extreme and died a few years ago.  At last everything about our "romance" made perfect sense.  You never know who's what!  May Paddy Rest in Peace.         

I was 33...........

..........when my first marriage fell apart.  But to his credit, my ex (now deceased, may he RIP) husband gave me two wonderful children, who were four and nine months old when we parted.

However, when life gives you lemons...........  And that's what I did, I made the best lemonade you could ever have wished for.  I rented a lovely house on Rockcliffe Way in Lindenlea, which happened to be right down the street from my parents' house, the one in which I had grown up.

Life at 43 Rockcliffe Way were the happiest two years of my life.  I had my independence, I hired a live-in nanny -- my literal wife -- and I was free!  With no child support, I was on my own and relished it.  Wild oats were sown in those years, when I would go out with girlfriends to dives like 'The Golden Rail' on Montreal Road and other such fun dumps in Hull.  

Me outside 43 Rockcliffe Way, where I lived in bliss.

We used to do things like send over drinks to cute guys at other tables we didn't even know.  I got a kick out of waving and smiling at the shocked recipients, when the waiter turned and pointed out the woman who had bought them.  It was one night at the Rail where I met a charming 23-year-old long-haul trucker and began a short, devil-may-care fling.  He was so much fun and frankly it was damn the torpedoes! 

I wonder where Bruce is these days?  Sadly, this period only lasted a brief time, until I met B and inherited his baggage.  I thought I was marrying one man, but I also married his clingy, destructive, money-grubbing ex and two more children.  His wicked daughter has nothing to do with him -- on orders from her evil, but rich,  mother -- and his son is lost and forlorn back in Ottawa.  By the way, I am not telling you anything I haven't told B a million times and he agrees.  "Yep, 43 were your best years," he admits.

Ah well, all's well that ends well.  I now have my beautiful grandchildren to dote on, but I do look wistfully back on these years with comforting nostalgia.  

Another dumb and dangerous move

So, Carney, in his economic brilliance, has got us smack dab stuck in the European Union.  That'll be a disaster.  In fact, it's already had consequences, as Trump announces that all Canadian goods and services will be immediately removed from U.S. federal procurement lists.

The ink wasn't even dry on the EU agreement when Trump immediately removed Canadian products from U.S. procurement lists.

Brilliant!

There he was, front and centre in Brussels grinning like a Cheshire cat, as von der Leyen welcomed him -- and Canada -- aboard.  But don't say he didn't warn you.  He has been touting Canada as a "European" country since before he snatched power.  He describes himself as a "Europhile".  Was no one -- except a few of us with a brain in our heads -- listening?  Apparently not. 

He claimed that he pulled out of trade negotiations with the U.S. because of "sovereignty" issues.  What he doesn't mention is that there will be many and much more restrictive regulations Canada to which Canada will have to adhere as part of the EU and they will make Canada less productive and poorer.  But, of course, no one mentions this.  Except me. 

Former European Central Bank president Mario Draghi warned two years ago that Europe faced a "slow agony of decline".  Draghi left back then, amidst the reality of a continually bloating and useless EU bureaucracy.  The continent is an economic also-ran, so why is Carney dragging us into it?  Frankly, I'm still trying to figure it out?   

Before jetting in to Brussels, he stopped over in Jolly Old to catch a soccer match with the incompetent new PM Andy Burnham.  The image of Carney squealing with joy, while Canada descends further into economic doom is so wrong.  Either he has stupid advisors, or he has none and just does whatever his arrogant self pleases.  I believe it's the latter.  

Carney living it up.  Nero fiddles while Rome burns.

Carney and his new down-at-the-heels paramour.