High heels under Judicial Robes.....

I'll bet Judge Judy wears high heels. I have become a daily fan of her ascerbic program, in which she dishes out impartial justice to all and sundry. She is a no-nonsense judge who plays no favourites in the face of the American version of 'Wife Swap'. The characters who appear before her are a motley collection of the under-belly of the wonderful and marvellous US of A. The unfortunates who seek justice in her court comprise everything from teenaged mothers of several children fathered by different passersby to parents suing their children, sisters suing their brothers and grandchildren suing their long-suffering grandparents. The winners and losers of various drunken brawls compete with dissolute friends who have fallen out over a $100 loan..."Judge Judy, I had no idea she wanted the money back." Judy's favourite expressions range from..."I don't care!...Be quiet!...What's that got to do with anything!...Just tell me what he said, I don't care what you feel...You're an idiot!...Can't you find anything else to do as recreation instead of what you do that produces so many children!...You are 23 and you have five children with five different fathers! How did that happen?!...After you had one child with this moron you made the brilliant decision to have another, well that's your problem....Hey, hey, hey, listen to me very carefully!" On and on it goes. She shows no mercy, ever. The look in her eyes is a mixture of deadly intelligence and merciless resolution.

Her most vitriolic opinions are saved for the parents who appear with their offspring, trying to get a break. Look out if you try and excuse your teenager's delinquency! Dead in the water. The thing is she has immpecable credibility, having spent 40 years on the family court bench while raising five kids of her own. See ya later.....so to speak.

So, I admire the woman and can think of a number of people I would love to see appear before her. She is unique among the Court programs. Other judges give quarter and cut slack; Judy never does. White, black, young, old, male, female...........none is spared.

Wife Swap

There is a disturbing show on every day that I watch with all too frequent morbid facination. It is called 'Wife Swap' and is about two families who swap wives for two weeks. And I don't mean swapping Buckingham Palace for Coronation Street. I mean swapping an East Ender for a Manchaster soccer hoodlum. Ever watched it? Showcase network has some real doozies, but this one is frightening because it is about real families and not scripted the way American "reality" shows are orchestrated. Not that I was a poster girl for motherly or wifely behaviour -- far from it (just ask my kids). No, the thing that rivets is that both wives are convinced they are super- mothers-- even in the face of the dog and cat shit they pick their way around in each other's houses, to cite just one homey example of domestic perfection. Week one each wife has to live by the other's rules -- all detailed in how-to manuals left for the replacement wife; week two they change the rules and run the family their way. On any given show, pole dancers have to make cookies and lesbians have to cater to the household demands of a domineering male. And these are the mothers I am referring to! Typically, the settings are in industrial England and typically everyone smokes, drinks and generally ignores completely, or caters mindlessly to, the bereft children. It is to weep.

The show switches swiftly from one household to the other and a narrator provides the continuity. Kind'a reminds me of the old children's show, 'Hammy Hampster', where the voice-over just made the story up as the animals did their unpredictable thing. "Oh look, Hammy has decided to venture to the riverbank to see what froggy is doing," ...becomes in 'Wife Swap', "Oh look, Jane has decided to pack in cooking dinner to go outside and smoke a joint." It is unbelievable. In another show both parents are councilmen and spend their time wandering from house to house with clipboards asking their constituents if they need anything, while their unattended children forage for rotting food back home. The rationale is that the constituents need more help than the kids. Yes, the Nanny State is alive, well and thriving in Britian. Every show lays out a smorgasbord of filthy houses, rude children, spoiled parents, unruly pets and layabout adults that would rival anything ever written for fiction. Yet each mother is a self-proclaimed Madonna. Ah, such are the powers of self-delusion to which we all succumb.

Usually, each family claims to have "learned" something from the experience -- whether it is that they were right all along, or that maybe it is not child abuse or corporal punishment for a six-year-old to be in bed before 11 p.m. We recently rented a video entitled, 'This is England' and I thought it was a one-off aberration of suburban perversion and lawlessness. 'Wife Swap' confirms it is not. The England of green meadows, gurgling brooks and Mr. Darcy is no more. She has been suplanted by an urban morasse of depressing chaos. But, we have our own jewel here in North America...more about 'Judge Judy' later.................

Makeup as life philosophy

Now that I am retired, makeup has taken on gargantuan proportions. My activities now revolve around whether or not I have to put it on. An event has to be weighed carefully if I have to apply guck to my face. Believe me, something has to be important for me to make up. Fifty years of wearing it have made me hate it, but without it I really do look hideous. I remember saying to my husband one morning, as I peered into the mirror first thing, "G-d! Imagine being a man and this is the best you're going to look all day!" Frightful. But vanity still rules and I will not attend an event without trying to look my very best. And that means Estee Lauder and I have to spend at least 15 minutes together before I venture out. The cost of makeup is appalling, but I pay it. I even went so far as to search out a discontinued foundation all over the US because it remains the only one that successfully masks my rosacea. So successfully that people actually tell me I have wonderful skin. Ha!

When will the makeup manufacturers realize that 14-year-old models don't need it. It is we -- the middle-aged -- who need it. Use us to promote your products because we have the money and the results are breathtaking. I am very lucky that I have a husband who couldn't care less about how I look most of the time. A while back I worked with a woman who had stayed home with her children during their early years, but who stopped in her tracks every day at 4 p.m. to dress and make up for her husband so that she would be gorgeous when he came home. At the time I was impressed; now I feel sorry for her. Dead a few years, she died young, but she looked great in her coffin. They say stress is a factor in cancer and she died of cancer. I really don't think she knew who or what she was.

I have several friends, my age and stage, who will not wear makeup, but who could mightily benefit from the sacrifice. I think they may be trying to make a statement -- "I don't wear makeup because I am a liberated woman." That might have sounded authentic in the sixties, but now they just looks like bags. Very sad because they are short-changing themselves by slotting themselves into a very tired stereotype. Note that Gloria S wears makeup and always has. So now does Germaine Greer. I think we are all inclined to listen to what people have to say if it is agreeable to look at them while they say it. I must add that I have no time for Gloria, but like Germaine and love Camille Paglia. One note of caution: too much makeup and a middle-aged woman becomes a harridan. Beware this trap too.

So, my love-hate relationship with makeup continues. I am relieved I can apply it and enhance my looks, but the minute I get home I race to the sink and wash it off completely. As women, we have this advantage and I intend to continue to enjoy it. With the luggage we hump, we deserve it.

Thoughts on "settling"

Listened to an interview on CBC today with an author named Lori Gottlieb. She has written a book called 'Marry Him!', based on her March 2008 article by the same name in 'The Atlantic'. I have been married twice - once for nine years and this time for 27. I highly recommend it because society affords married women perks it denies singles. I'm not going to go into them, you all know what I mean. Ms. Gottlieb's premise is that if a woman wants children, she is better to "settle" than to continue to look for Mr. Perfect. She knows; she did it the other way 'round, i.e., had a child and then tried to find Mr. Perfect, except he wasn't interested in taking on her baggage. He wanted a younger woman with whom he could make his own offspring. She admits that there is something objectionable about settling because it places a woman's biological clock at the mercy of a man, thus making the affair one of not only the heart, but also of the ovaries. Can't deny that one, unfortunately. In my case, I had two beautiful toddlers from my first marriage when I met a man in the same boat. We combined our burdens, so to speak, with varying degrees of success and failure. But I agree with Ms. Gottlieb, marrying before having the child is preferrable for the simple reason that you at least have another parent to share the rearing of it with. Even if you divorce, she says, you can still date while the child is visiting the other parent. Cynical, yet practical, I have to admit.
She also talked about today's young men, who think they can land the supermodel with the degree in biochemistry and environmental engineering. Forget about it. She referred to it as the "Cinder-her" and "Cinder-him" phenomenon. We mothers have to realize that it is we who raised these young men and women. My theory is that they watched us getting divorced and struggling with jobs and kids and they want to get it right the first time. I sincerely hope they do. They must have sensed that although we called them "careers" -- weren't we just so "liberated" -- they knew it was a hoax and we got the wrong end of the stick. Liberated! Ha, ha, ha, hahahah ha! Those are my thoughts on "settling".............

Let's clear up the GG thing

Not sure how nyone could think my comments on the GG and her reaction to the Haiti tragedy were racist baffles me, but a couple of people close to me did. The fact that she happens to be black and from Haiti does not bear on my comments that she is the constitutional representative of the Queen of Canada and that her personal travails should have no bearing on her role and the job she is paid to do. As I said, when my world collapsed every now and then, no one at any of my offices cared a whit. I remember one morning my boss (a woman, by the way) asked me how I was and as I teared up, unable to reply, she turned on her heel and muttered, "Wrong question," and veered off. She had kids, an ex-husband and other baggage and didn't think mine was important either. She was right, of course -- or should I say typical of all the women I worked for in my 40-year-career. Theirs was an I'm-all-right-Jack attitude and personal issues were not what any of us were paid to concentrate on at the office. And G-d help you if you went on stress leave! That was the kiss of death and male or female, black or white, young or old, your career died then and there.



But back to the GG. She and her predecesor made "state" visits to a bunch of countries not part of the Commonwealth. You and I paid for them, but these were other circles I could not square? Ms. Clarkson running around with an entourage to countries of the northern hemisphere like Finland and Iceland. Why? And Ms. Jean making a state visit to Haiti when first appointed. Haiti is part of the francophonie, not the Commonwealth. It also has no "state" per se, but is another failed state with a dictator. Suffice to say, the GG has been a political appointment for a long time and I fear that its currency has been de-valued to the point that no self-respecting patriotic folk will want the job in the future. So, all that to say that my earlier blog on the GG was not racist. It was about doing your main job and sticking to the knitting. By the way, I was glad to see she was back at her post at Rideau Hall yesterday overseeing the latest cabinet shuffle. Good on her.



I am not going to comment about the tragedy in Haiti except to echo the words of columnist David Warren who said that when there is no state to deal with disasters the gangs take over. That is the case in Haiti now, where aid is bottlenecked at the port, distribution impossible in many cases because once released it immediately gets highjacked and stolen by the ruling lawless gangs. He also talked about the tsunami in Thailand, where well-meaning donors of much needed drugs had to watch while millions of dollars were spent destroying the drugs because no one could read the labels. That's the kind of mindless deluge that is tragic.

From high heels to ugly boots

Had to don my ugly boots to help my 33-year-old son (no car at the moment) buy and lug home a few necessary large purchases. That meant trips to Ikea and Walmart. Interesting observing the clientele in both establishments. Much as the Ikea patron tries to eschew the Walmart profile, both have much in common. Ugly clothes come to mind - although my outfit fitted right in with that look last night. Ikea is a nightmare, as we all know. A maze in England would be earier to navigate. But the women in both stores have one thing in common: they are trying to raise their children and create a home for them. The men seem to be either absent from these domestic excursions, or following reluctantly along. Reminded me of my grocery trips, where retired men follow the cart -- much to the chagrin of their wives. Only difference is their ages and stages.

I was exceedingly proud to be the mother of my son last night. After some dubious choices and a number of years spent mis-firing, he has come into his own. Even though he works from his home, he puts on a shirt and tie, shaves and would not have to apologize if Donald Trump dropped in unannounced. He would definitely not be "fired". More later............

Funerals and high heels

Today I went to yet another funeral. Bob Hyndman died. He was 94 and was one of the most charming, talented people I have ever known. (Google him so I don't have to describe him.) But weren't we all there: old boyfriends, old girlfriends, old neighbours, the greats and the near greats. Putting on makeup before the event -- something I hate doing since I have retired -- I wondered which high heels I would wear. Settled on a red pair to match my red jacket. This red jacket was my mother's and wearing it is usually to funerals. I grabbed a seat at the back, but as the service wore on, I heard Mother Lily telling me to give my seat to an elderly lady who had to stand. Lily would not relent, so I stood up and gave my seat to the elderly woman. Wearing her jacket made her all the more vocal about politesse.

I have to tell you that my mother gave me the greatest gift. When I was a toddler, she used to take me to old-age homes and other hideous places with drooling inhabitants and force me to "speak to a person", while she squeezed my hand extremely hard to emphasize that this was not an option. Being "shy" was simply being rude and not permitted. These four words gave me my career. I became a journalist.

So back to the funeral. I checked out shoes and was disappointed, although not surprised. Ottawa women were in the usual "brown drab". This was the funeral of the uncle of the Canadian guy who brought "Ralph Lauren Polo" to Canada. Mike Belcourt. At Lisgar, years earlier, Mike was the most dapper guy around, but when he appeared with his navy blue Mustang convertible, well that sealed him as the coolest guy. But, when Mike announced that he was going to be the Canadian rep for Polo in Canada, we all laughed. The rest is history. At the funeral today he was still as dapper as ever.

To sum up, the who's who of Ottawa was at this funeral and I noted a cross section of The Sisterhood, Old Farts and Male Chauvinist Pigs. Needless to say, everyone remained within his/her boundaries. Later..............

Women and fabric

Read an interesting piece by Elizabeth Payne today. She talks about women being oppressed in the name of religion -- Muslim women in particular, but other religions too. When I was teaching at Algonquin a couple of years ago, I wondered at the young women who wore the hijab in the name of modesty, but who also wore high-heel boots, a ton of makeup and bright nail polish? Could not square that circle. Clearly, they were forced to wear the head scarf by their families. But was this in the name of religion, or in the name of control? As to the burka (sp?), why do woman have to be completely covered? Is it because any glimpse of any flesh on any part of a woman's body is a dangerous invitation? We are all God's creatures and why women have to schlep about swathed in fabric mystifies and saddens me. When I schelp about in fabric, it is fabric I have chosen to enhance my outfit -- like a fur coat or a silk wrap.

That being said, I have to add that I am not a member of "The Sisterhood". The Sisterhood has cost us very dearly. We have given up our traditional place in society, but this has not turned us into men. Members of The Sisterhood remain women, but disenfranchised on both side of the street. Joing The Sisterhood has always struck me as dumb. All one achieves is the thrill of hanging around other members of The Sisterhood all pounding at the glass ceiling that never seems to crack for them. How depressing. For me, being a women is a delight and enjoying all the perks of being a woman is welcome indeed. Having had both children and a career (or should I say a bunch of jobs) the only thing I did not want to encounter were penalties for carrying the biological function of procreation. I didn't.

So, if given the choice of being a member of The Sisterhood or a middle-class Male Chauvinist Pig, I choose the latter. At least the Male Chauvinist Pig is outwardly polite and deferential to women. Society forces him to adhere to its norms -- all to the benefit of the women in his path.

Why high heels?

My daughter suggested I start a blog. Seems anyone can do this. Since I fancy myself a pretty good writer, a keen observer of humanity and a quick wit, why not? Why call it 'The View from High Heels"? Because I love high heels. They empower women and make even the dowdy dazzle. In fact, shoes make the outfit and I have no idea why so few women have figured that out. They go to all the trouble of getting gussied up and then put on a hideous pair of shoes and ruin the entire effect. Even the previously-elegant Montreal woman now wears dumpy shoes. Sad.

The wearing of high heels connotes a sense of self-confidence and transmits a message of "I'm in charge and I have quite a bit of nerve" -- Don't you agree? No matter a woman's age, high heels make a serious statement. My instructions to my chiropractor are to keep me in high heels as long as possible. So, that' s where the title of my blog comes from. But believe you me, this will not be frivilous ranting on fashion. I am not into fashion. I am into style in all areas of my life. More later................