That's how my mother described getting ready for New Year's Eve. She got "all dolled up". What I remember most were her beautiful, long nails. Nail salons didn't exist, but the last thing my mother always did before going out "all dolled up" was paint her nails. Bright red.
My nails are not as beautiful as were hers, and I no longer wear red nail polish, but she painted on the red when she was giving, or going to, a party. That was the '50s. New Year's Eve was a big deal. I guess it still is in many circles, but not for me.
My parents, aunts, uncles and their friends always went somewhere, to someone's home, to ring in the new year. My cousins and I always went to my grandparents to watch TV, sleep on the floor and have our own little party with them. The next morning it was always the Rose Bowl and parade from California until our parents arrived to pick us up. I loved it. In later years, when I had moved away from home, my parents never failed to call me just after midnight to wish me a Happy New Year.
Tonight I am not "all dolled up". In fact, I am already in my pj's. I am not a fan of New Year's Eve, but am a fan of the "New Year's Day Levee" and tomorrow will be going to one.
To all my loved ones, Happy New Year!
Monday, December 31, 2012
Prime Minister Laurier on being a Canadian
Here is how our Prime Minister Sir Wilfred Laurier, Canada's seventh PM from 1896 to 1911 and first francophone holder of the office, described what it means to be a Canadian:.
"In the first place, we should insist that if the immigrant who comes
here in good faith becomes a Canadian and assimilates himself to us, he shall
be treated on an exact equality with everyone else, for it is an outrage to
discriminate against any such man because of creed, or birthplace, or origin.
"But this is predicated upon the person's becoming in every facet a
Canadian, and nothing but a Canadian...
"There can be no divided allegiance here.
"Any man who says he is a Canadian, but something else also, isn't a
Canadian at all.
"We have room for but one flag, the Canadian flag...and we have room for
but one sole loyalty and that is a loyalty to the Canadian people."
Wilfred Laurier 1907
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Whoa!
Just listened to a facinating documentary on CBC about Denmark's immigration regulations. They are strict. To be a Danish citizen you have to pass a language test at a very high level. If you don't after three years, you're out.
If you want to bring a foreign wife to Denmark, she also has to pass the language test. If she doesn't, she's out. If you want to bring a child over eight years old into Denmark, that child has to demonstrate an ability to speak Danish at a very high level. They actually evaluate children to see if they have a "language ear" to determine if they will be able to learn Danish at the required level. And everyone has to demonstrate a willingness to embrace the Danish culture.
Denmark's immigration policy is assimilation, not integration. "If you can't speak Danish, how can you be a Danish citizen?", said the immigration minister. Gee, he may have a point.
They are considering a ban on all muslim immigrants at this moment.
So, there you have it.
If you want to bring a foreign wife to Denmark, she also has to pass the language test. If she doesn't, she's out. If you want to bring a child over eight years old into Denmark, that child has to demonstrate an ability to speak Danish at a very high level. They actually evaluate children to see if they have a "language ear" to determine if they will be able to learn Danish at the required level. And everyone has to demonstrate a willingness to embrace the Danish culture.
Denmark's immigration policy is assimilation, not integration. "If you can't speak Danish, how can you be a Danish citizen?", said the immigration minister. Gee, he may have a point.
They are considering a ban on all muslim immigrants at this moment.
So, there you have it.
You bring them back to life
...by writing about them. Just listened to an interview on CBC with author and Pulitzer Prize nominee Francine du Plessix Gray about one of her books entitled "Them: a memoir of parents".
It hit home. When I write about my mother and father and when I honour their festal traditions...when I get out the crystal and the silver and the fine china and the linen napkins and when I give a dinner or a lunch or a tea, I bring them back to life. That's what we do when we emulate or write about our parents.
As I was polishing the silver and shining the crystal in preparation for B's birthday lunch, all I could think about was my mother. I understand her so much better, now that she is gone. All the condiments had to be set out in little dishes, accompanied by decorative silver spoons. The main course had to be laid out on a beautiful platter with a silver serving fork. The dessert had to be served in a crystal bowl with a silver spoon..........you name it, everything was done a certain way.
The rolls were always buttered, heated and placed in linen before being served; no butter-your-own-french-bread show for Lillian Griffith. In fact, I don't remember her ever serving french bread because it was too "french". She was Canadian English gentry to the core. All the beautiful things I inherited from her are a testament to that fact.
But there was a source of irritation in the Lord clan and it revolved around my grandmother's half-brother, George. My great-grandmother died young and left four children, one of whom was my grandmother, Lillian Lord. Her father, a well-to-do furniture maker and undertaker in Brockville, re-married and guess what? He had a second family and guess who changed the will and got all the money? I remember the whispers when Grandma's half-brother "George" visited from Toronto. My grandmother, mother and aunts would be upset because they knew they had to be "nice and polite" to George, but couldn't really warm up to it.
Nevertheless, the gentrified upbringing of my matriarchal clan never failed to dutifully kick in, resulting in lovely cocktail and dinner parties for George and his wife. Predictably, this failed to prompt George, a millionaire, to loosen the purse strings and share his windfall with his father's first family, but my grandmother and aunts didn't let him see the whites of their eyes.
Never let the side down.
It hit home. When I write about my mother and father and when I honour their festal traditions...when I get out the crystal and the silver and the fine china and the linen napkins and when I give a dinner or a lunch or a tea, I bring them back to life. That's what we do when we emulate or write about our parents.
As I was polishing the silver and shining the crystal in preparation for B's birthday lunch, all I could think about was my mother. I understand her so much better, now that she is gone. All the condiments had to be set out in little dishes, accompanied by decorative silver spoons. The main course had to be laid out on a beautiful platter with a silver serving fork. The dessert had to be served in a crystal bowl with a silver spoon..........you name it, everything was done a certain way.
The rolls were always buttered, heated and placed in linen before being served; no butter-your-own-french-bread show for Lillian Griffith. In fact, I don't remember her ever serving french bread because it was too "french". She was Canadian English gentry to the core. All the beautiful things I inherited from her are a testament to that fact.
But there was a source of irritation in the Lord clan and it revolved around my grandmother's half-brother, George. My great-grandmother died young and left four children, one of whom was my grandmother, Lillian Lord. Her father, a well-to-do furniture maker and undertaker in Brockville, re-married and guess what? He had a second family and guess who changed the will and got all the money? I remember the whispers when Grandma's half-brother "George" visited from Toronto. My grandmother, mother and aunts would be upset because they knew they had to be "nice and polite" to George, but couldn't really warm up to it.
Nevertheless, the gentrified upbringing of my matriarchal clan never failed to dutifully kick in, resulting in lovely cocktail and dinner parties for George and his wife. Predictably, this failed to prompt George, a millionaire, to loosen the purse strings and share his windfall with his father's first family, but my grandmother and aunts didn't let him see the whites of their eyes.
Never let the side down.
Friday, December 28, 2012
It's terrorism
That's what columnist Christie Blatchford calls Attawapiskat Chief Theresa Spence's hunger strike. Intimidation and terrorism, plain and simple. I completely agree. The woman who (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) "mismanaged" the more than $90 million handed over to her reserve since the Conservatives came to power in 2006 is now demanding a two-week meeting with Harper and Governor General Johnston. A two-week meeting! Is the woman crazy?! Why not demand The Queen come to Victoria Island and crawl into her teepee for a little smudging and drumming? That'll be next. Ludicrous.
Naturally, Justin Trudeau said of his meeting with her...."it was deeply moving". His father would be appalled. Not to be outdone, Mulcair has also written to Harper urging a meeting. Please. At least Patrick Brazeau, former head of the "Off-Reserve Natives" said Spence should be going through the "proper parliamentary process" rather than demanding a meeting with Harper.
I was not surprised to read that former Ontario Lieutenant Governor, James Bartleman, supports Spence and urges Harper to "show that he's a leader" by meeting with Spence. This from a guy who was at the top of the well-paid parliamentary-process heap. When Bartleman was the keynote speaker at a dinner of the Royal Commonwealth Society a few years ago, he spoke of neither The Queen (who was paying him handsomely) nor The Commonwealth. Instead he spent his 35 minutes complaining about his impoverished childhood, berating the residential schools and accusing Canada of unspeakable cruelty to natives.
I wanted to hide under the table. It was so inappropriate.
Some people never figure out on which side their bread is buttered.
Naturally, Justin Trudeau said of his meeting with her...."it was deeply moving". His father would be appalled. Not to be outdone, Mulcair has also written to Harper urging a meeting. Please. At least Patrick Brazeau, former head of the "Off-Reserve Natives" said Spence should be going through the "proper parliamentary process" rather than demanding a meeting with Harper.
I was not surprised to read that former Ontario Lieutenant Governor, James Bartleman, supports Spence and urges Harper to "show that he's a leader" by meeting with Spence. This from a guy who was at the top of the well-paid parliamentary-process heap. When Bartleman was the keynote speaker at a dinner of the Royal Commonwealth Society a few years ago, he spoke of neither The Queen (who was paying him handsomely) nor The Commonwealth. Instead he spent his 35 minutes complaining about his impoverished childhood, berating the residential schools and accusing Canada of unspeakable cruelty to natives.
I wanted to hide under the table. It was so inappropriate.
Some people never figure out on which side their bread is buttered.
Drunks jumping the queue
Sitting in the emergency waiting room in Cochrane with my daughter and a very sick gandson, I witnessed a sad, but nevertheless annoying, scene. A young RCMP constable walked in with a drunken woman who'd been badly beaten up. Naturally, she jumps to the head of the queue while the rest of the civilized bunch have to step back a spot.
Eavesdroppiing on her weeping and wailing to the triage nurse (you couldn't avoid the bloody drama), I heard her say "...and then he punched me here and then I fell against the table and hurt my ribs. I can' breathe! And then he tried to stab me.........." It was indeed a sordid tale the young native woman told. I had no sympathy, anxious as I was to have Reed seen and treated.
Wouldn't have had any sympathy anyway because the whole tawdry and degenerate mess was self-inflicted. Hey, you don't have to live like that. There are treatment programs everywhere if a sufferer wants to get better.
When we were finally called into an examination room, naturally our wounded victim was in the next bed. More weeping and wailing as she was attended to by two doctors, three nurses and an X-ray technician. "Come on hon, you're doing fine, I just need to get a look at what's going on inside your chest," the technician said, trying and soothe the drunk into cooperating.
It was so ignoble and nasty. To add to the publically-funded congregation, another RCMP constable arrived........why I have no idea?
Your tax dollars at work. Pathetic.
Eavesdroppiing on her weeping and wailing to the triage nurse (you couldn't avoid the bloody drama), I heard her say "...and then he punched me here and then I fell against the table and hurt my ribs. I can' breathe! And then he tried to stab me.........." It was indeed a sordid tale the young native woman told. I had no sympathy, anxious as I was to have Reed seen and treated.
Wouldn't have had any sympathy anyway because the whole tawdry and degenerate mess was self-inflicted. Hey, you don't have to live like that. There are treatment programs everywhere if a sufferer wants to get better.
When we were finally called into an examination room, naturally our wounded victim was in the next bed. More weeping and wailing as she was attended to by two doctors, three nurses and an X-ray technician. "Come on hon, you're doing fine, I just need to get a look at what's going on inside your chest," the technician said, trying and soothe the drunk into cooperating.
It was so ignoble and nasty. To add to the publically-funded congregation, another RCMP constable arrived........why I have no idea?
Your tax dollars at work. Pathetic.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
So "Canadian"
How can you really top "The Canadian Railroad Trilogy" and "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald"? You can't. B, for some reason (?) put on an old Gordon Lightfoot CD and I once again realized why I loved the guy -- Lightfoot, that is.
So Canadian. I remember watching Lightfoot a hundred years ago on Oscar Brandt's 'Let's Sing Out' in the '60s. Anyone with me here? I thought Oscar Brandt was long-dead, but low and behold, the guy is still hosting a radio program out of New York at 92!
"Brandt has been hosting the radio show Oscar Brandt's Folksong Festival every Saturday at 10 p.m. on WNYC-AM 820 in New York City, now going into its 66th year. The show has run more or less continuously since its debut on December 10, 1945, making it the longest-running radio show with the same host, according to the Guinness Book of World Records. The show celebrated its 60th anniversary on December 10, 2005. Over its run it has introduced such talents to the world as Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Woody Guthrie, Arlo Guthrie, Huddie Ledbetter, Joni Mitchell, Peter, Paul & Mary, Judy Collins, Kingston Trio, Pete Seeger and The Weavers. In order to make sure that his radio program could not be censored he has refused to be paid by WNYC for the past 65 years."
That's what Wikipedia says. But back to Lightfoot. He is so talented. We have seen him live several times and I am glad I saw him when we did; he is getting on and it shows.
Who else is "Canadian"? Blue Rodeo, Bruce Cockburn and Ian and Sylvia. We used to visit Texan friends every year for a week in The Gatineau's and I bought our hostess Bruce, Gordon and Ian & Sylvia CDs. Apparently, she hated them all.
Just too "Canadian".
So Canadian. I remember watching Lightfoot a hundred years ago on Oscar Brandt's 'Let's Sing Out' in the '60s. Anyone with me here? I thought Oscar Brandt was long-dead, but low and behold, the guy is still hosting a radio program out of New York at 92!
"Brandt has been hosting the radio show Oscar Brandt's Folksong Festival every Saturday at 10 p.m. on WNYC-AM 820 in New York City, now going into its 66th year. The show has run more or less continuously since its debut on December 10, 1945, making it the longest-running radio show with the same host, according to the Guinness Book of World Records. The show celebrated its 60th anniversary on December 10, 2005. Over its run it has introduced such talents to the world as Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Woody Guthrie, Arlo Guthrie, Huddie Ledbetter, Joni Mitchell, Peter, Paul & Mary, Judy Collins, Kingston Trio, Pete Seeger and The Weavers. In order to make sure that his radio program could not be censored he has refused to be paid by WNYC for the past 65 years."
That's what Wikipedia says. But back to Lightfoot. He is so talented. We have seen him live several times and I am glad I saw him when we did; he is getting on and it shows.
Who else is "Canadian"? Blue Rodeo, Bruce Cockburn and Ian and Sylvia. We used to visit Texan friends every year for a week in The Gatineau's and I bought our hostess Bruce, Gordon and Ian & Sylvia CDs. Apparently, she hated them all.
Just too "Canadian".
The turkey wrestle
Today was the day to wrestle with the turkey -- the day after when you have to pull it apart, remove the meat and divvy it into packets with dressing for more dinners or sandwiches. Then it's time to boil the carcass for turkey soup. I almost cry when I watch Texan son-in-law throw out the carcass after he cooks the turkey. My protestant upbringing screams, "terrible waste". Step one finished. What a mess.
When our dog was still with us, turkey-wrestling day was his favourite. He would stand beside me in the kitchen and wait patiently for me to throw him bits of grizzle and scraps of meat. Those were the days Charlie and I bonded bigtime. Still miss that dog terribly, gone this summer eight years.
Then I chide myself for bitching about dealing with excellent food. I was even complaining about the task with a pool friend this morning, as some of us got back into our routines. As expected, the lanes were packed with people I've never seen before -- people lugging themselves into the Y full of post-Christmas resolutions, which I read last about six weeks until the newcomers get bored and gradually drop off.
Years past, Boxing Day was always another big family gathering because it is son Scott's birthday. This year it's a biggie, his 40th. How did that happen?! I always prepared "fake fettucine", as my lower-fat recipt was known, along with caesar salad. That's what he wanted every birthday, so I made it. Sadly, this is the second year in a row we haven't seen him for Christmas or his birthday; his fiance runs the holiday schedules, as do all women, me included. I laugh when I look back and remember how he swore that would "never happen". "I'll be setting my own agenda," he avowed at our last dinner with him before we moved out here. Yeah right.
Well, back to the turkey soup.
When our dog was still with us, turkey-wrestling day was his favourite. He would stand beside me in the kitchen and wait patiently for me to throw him bits of grizzle and scraps of meat. Those were the days Charlie and I bonded bigtime. Still miss that dog terribly, gone this summer eight years.
Then I chide myself for bitching about dealing with excellent food. I was even complaining about the task with a pool friend this morning, as some of us got back into our routines. As expected, the lanes were packed with people I've never seen before -- people lugging themselves into the Y full of post-Christmas resolutions, which I read last about six weeks until the newcomers get bored and gradually drop off.
Years past, Boxing Day was always another big family gathering because it is son Scott's birthday. This year it's a biggie, his 40th. How did that happen?! I always prepared "fake fettucine", as my lower-fat recipt was known, along with caesar salad. That's what he wanted every birthday, so I made it. Sadly, this is the second year in a row we haven't seen him for Christmas or his birthday; his fiance runs the holiday schedules, as do all women, me included. I laugh when I look back and remember how he swore that would "never happen". "I'll be setting my own agenda," he avowed at our last dinner with him before we moved out here. Yeah right.
Well, back to the turkey soup.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Christmas may be catching on
After The Herald published my letter yesterday, Christians are coming out of the woodwork. Not necessarily because of my letter, but they are speaking to me about the letter and how much they appreciated it. Can't find it on-line, but here it is:
The lifeguards have posted it in their office, how nice. A couple I swim with gave me the 'thumbs up' this morning and another young woman spoke to me about her church and what they are doing Christmas Eve. On the way out, K, who works behind the front desk, beckoned me over and talked about my letter. "Great job," she said. "I didn't know you were so involved, but I love your button (the one that reads "Jesus is the Reason for the Season")."
How sad that at Christmas-time, Christians have to skulk around discovering each other in the underground. We all need to advocate whenever we can. Speak up!
"Dear Editor,
Wishing a young lifeguard Merry Christmas at the pool where I swim, I was
unfortunately not surprised he said he had been told he could not write “Merry
Christmas” on his final paper. Last time I checked, calendars denote December
25th as “Christmas Day”. Nonetheless, it is heartening that not all who
celebrate Christmas have been disenfranchised. Transit operators, for example,
have the discretion of putting the greeting on the front of their buses. How
cheering.
"Here’s another good idea: every year, we receive a real “Christmas” card
from a Jewish doctor friend because he knows we celebrate the feast. I am sure
he also sends “Happy Hanukkah” greetings to his Jewish friends. What a positive
and inclusive gesture. No “Happy Holidays” required."
Yours sincerely........................ moi
The lifeguards have posted it in their office, how nice. A couple I swim with gave me the 'thumbs up' this morning and another young woman spoke to me about her church and what they are doing Christmas Eve. On the way out, K, who works behind the front desk, beckoned me over and talked about my letter. "Great job," she said. "I didn't know you were so involved, but I love your button (the one that reads "Jesus is the Reason for the Season")."
How sad that at Christmas-time, Christians have to skulk around discovering each other in the underground. We all need to advocate whenever we can. Speak up!
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Lillian was right
Blogging, as I like to do about "utility birds" -- those second-class, poor-cousin, country-mouse turkeys -- a tad mutilated, a wing missing, a patch of skin ripped off, a leg mangled -- it hit home today.
Grabbing a few forgotten items at the Co-Op this morning after my swim, I stopped to peruse the turkey bins. $75.00 and up for a perfect, fresh turkey. I paid $20 for mine. Saved $55. And, believe me, it will taste exactly the same.
Thank you, mother.
Grabbing a few forgotten items at the Co-Op this morning after my swim, I stopped to peruse the turkey bins. $75.00 and up for a perfect, fresh turkey. I paid $20 for mine. Saved $55. And, believe me, it will taste exactly the same.
Thank you, mother.
The dreaded Christmas newsletter
I am not alone in loathing the newsletters people think others are desperately awaiting every Christmas. Read a hilarious piece by Oliver Pritchett from The London Telegraph, obviously a kindred spirit.
"December is the month when we indulge in the great winter sport of mocking the holiday newsletter, that annual outpouring of boasts, banality and bathos," writes Pritchett. "These dispatches, often from distant relations or long-dropped friends, are the source of great mirth," he notes. Indeed they are.
Every year we receive one such ghastly gem from a couple who come and go in our lives and who we see maybe once every couple of years. Filled with minutiae of every conceivable and boring variety, neither B nor I have ever been mentioned -- in spite of the fact that some years they have visited and we have dined out. One year they even spent a weekend with us at The Gatineau Fish & Game Club; didn't rate a line.
Here are a few exerpts from this year's tome............hold on fast your festive hats..............
"In late January, M took me to Stratford-Upon-Avon to see 'Written on the Heart', a play commissioned by the Royal Shakespeare Company to mark the 400th anniversary of the publication of the King James Bible in 1611, of which one of the editors, appointed by King James I, was my great uncle four centuries removed, Bishop Lancelot Andrewes (1555-1626)."
Imagine!
Then it was on to Calgary...."Drove to Brooks (later infamous for a meat plant E-coli outbreak) for M to speak in a legion hall, then to Drumheller overnight with K and P on the edge of a coulee where our first-ever mountain bluebird sat dazzlingly outside our window and deer grazed at dawn."
Wow! (Note: this is when we saw them for dinner, but aren't mentioned. Guess a dirty gastro-intestinal disease is more noteworthy.)
"Then we visited a house Halle Berry had for sale on Lake Molson in the Laurentians. Later M and I drove to Ottawa and saw the Van Gogh "Up Close" show at the National Gallery. Wonderful!"
What a topper!
"We welcomed former neighbor (sic), osteopath AM and her sons J (7) and M (5) from Strasbourg for a couple of weeks so they could practise English (and help hunt Japanese rose beetles infesting our beautiful roses)."
The nerve!
"We had nights up north on Lake Muskoka on Lake of Bays and marvelled at a friend's 'Animals in Art' collection at the Dufferin County Museum on our way down....I was thrilled to be (have been, sic) able to bring pumpkin pudding to niece A's condo and listen as she recovered from her flight from Kathmandu and her climb to Everest base camp."
Hard to beat!
"Sad news that my cousin, MB, had been in intensive care in Scarborough for a month after reacting badly to experimental chemotherapy. Then M had surgery on his forehead to remove an apparently benign but ugly third-growth keratoacanthoma. The biopsy later showed squamous carcinoma cells."
Lovely.
"While we were away, Super Storm Sandy caused a cedar tree next door to collapse into our swimming pool and carry some soil with it."
How tragic! Here's the finale................
"A phrase comes to mind as I (a)waken (sic) -- "Sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing", John Keats. Oh, read the first 33 lines!"
Breathtaking!
You. Could. Not. Make. This. Up. And the woman is serious!!! One year I told B I intended to send one back:
"This Spring, when the snow cleared, I picked up 210 dog droppings from the back deck," it would have read. "Then it was on to the laundry room, where more sh-t awaited dealing with. In January I had a cold, got a little tipsy one long and boring night in February and was constipated by April. Had a hysterectomy in May and a bladder infection ensued................"
B overuled it.
(Note: B has known this couple since way "before moi". Obviously. I try to be tolerant, but fail. The author has my blog address, but I doubt reads it. If she does, perhaps we will be spared the next. Nevertheless, I am grateful for the blog material it has supplied. As Pritchett concludes:
"They give us a few moments of harmless fun and December would be greyer without them.")
"December is the month when we indulge in the great winter sport of mocking the holiday newsletter, that annual outpouring of boasts, banality and bathos," writes Pritchett. "These dispatches, often from distant relations or long-dropped friends, are the source of great mirth," he notes. Indeed they are.
Every year we receive one such ghastly gem from a couple who come and go in our lives and who we see maybe once every couple of years. Filled with minutiae of every conceivable and boring variety, neither B nor I have ever been mentioned -- in spite of the fact that some years they have visited and we have dined out. One year they even spent a weekend with us at The Gatineau Fish & Game Club; didn't rate a line.
Here are a few exerpts from this year's tome............hold on fast your festive hats..............
"In late January, M took me to Stratford-Upon-Avon to see 'Written on the Heart', a play commissioned by the Royal Shakespeare Company to mark the 400th anniversary of the publication of the King James Bible in 1611, of which one of the editors, appointed by King James I, was my great uncle four centuries removed, Bishop Lancelot Andrewes (1555-1626)."
Imagine!
Then it was on to Calgary...."Drove to Brooks (later infamous for a meat plant E-coli outbreak) for M to speak in a legion hall, then to Drumheller overnight with K and P on the edge of a coulee where our first-ever mountain bluebird sat dazzlingly outside our window and deer grazed at dawn."
Wow! (Note: this is when we saw them for dinner, but aren't mentioned. Guess a dirty gastro-intestinal disease is more noteworthy.)
"Then we visited a house Halle Berry had for sale on Lake Molson in the Laurentians. Later M and I drove to Ottawa and saw the Van Gogh "Up Close" show at the National Gallery. Wonderful!"
What a topper!
"We welcomed former neighbor (sic), osteopath AM and her sons J (7) and M (5) from Strasbourg for a couple of weeks so they could practise English (and help hunt Japanese rose beetles infesting our beautiful roses)."
The nerve!
"We had nights up north on Lake Muskoka on Lake of Bays and marvelled at a friend's 'Animals in Art' collection at the Dufferin County Museum on our way down....I was thrilled to be (have been, sic) able to bring pumpkin pudding to niece A's condo and listen as she recovered from her flight from Kathmandu and her climb to Everest base camp."
Hard to beat!
"Sad news that my cousin, MB, had been in intensive care in Scarborough for a month after reacting badly to experimental chemotherapy. Then M had surgery on his forehead to remove an apparently benign but ugly third-growth keratoacanthoma. The biopsy later showed squamous carcinoma cells."
Lovely.
"While we were away, Super Storm Sandy caused a cedar tree next door to collapse into our swimming pool and carry some soil with it."
How tragic! Here's the finale................
"A phrase comes to mind as I (a)waken (sic) -- "Sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing", John Keats. Oh, read the first 33 lines!"
Breathtaking!
You. Could. Not. Make. This. Up. And the woman is serious!!! One year I told B I intended to send one back:
"This Spring, when the snow cleared, I picked up 210 dog droppings from the back deck," it would have read. "Then it was on to the laundry room, where more sh-t awaited dealing with. In January I had a cold, got a little tipsy one long and boring night in February and was constipated by April. Had a hysterectomy in May and a bladder infection ensued................"
B overuled it.
(Note: B has known this couple since way "before moi". Obviously. I try to be tolerant, but fail. The author has my blog address, but I doubt reads it. If she does, perhaps we will be spared the next. Nevertheless, I am grateful for the blog material it has supplied. As Pritchett concludes:
"They give us a few moments of harmless fun and December would be greyer without them.")
Friday, December 21, 2012
The hypocrisy of it all
Susan Martinuk nails it in The Calgary Herald today. "Aboriginals' biggest problem is their leaders". That's the title of her column, which focusses mainly on Theresa Spence's hunger strike. Spence is chief of the Attawapiskat First Nation in northern Ontario -- you know, the tribe where all the children were sniffing glue and an intervention was staged on intertnational television? Yeah, that's the one.
"Spence says she wants to talk about treaty rights and is willing to die for her people," writes Martinuk. "She may be willing to die for her people, but the paperwork shows she is not willing to sacrifice her hefty paycheque for their benefit," the column continues.
Spence gives herself $69, 575 per year; the band manager collects $74,806; and the acting band manager claimed $68,397 in travel expenses, the latter over two years. "All of this while the other 2,800 residents were living in abject poverty, huddled in shacks without heat or running water," Martinuk points out.
I have blogged about this sham many times: The leaders of Canada's native peoples are their own worst enemies. Forensic audits showed that Spence's council had not produced a budget in years and had maxed out a $2.5 million line-of-credit, paying only 10 percent interest on the loan. "Too much money was being spent on administration instead of programs," concluded the auditors.
"You can see why Spence has some credibility issues. A $70,000 income may be justified when the band is flourishing, but it becomes outrageous when the median household income for families on reserve is $11,229. It's not Harper and the federal government who are denying the natives; it's the native leaders who are denying their own people the opportunity for education, housing, health care and employment -- through greed."
I could not agree more.
"For most natives, the only way out is some kind of connection with the outside world. They cannot flouish if isolated on a reserve where there are no economic prospects or work. For too long, aboriginals have been fed a myth -- by their leaders -- that any assimilation into the white man's world will forever destroy a distinct (sic) native culture. But the Jews have kept a vibrant culture alive for over (sic) 5,000 years without a homeland and while dispersed around the world. Surely aboriginals can maintain a high degree of cultural significance in a country renowned for its respect for multiculturalism.
"It's time for natives to join in with the rest of Canadians in a productive economy and a functional society. Frankly, it's the only way out of poverty and despair."
When you see hand-wringing coverage of hunger strikes, road blockades and canoe trips to the UN, don't buy any of it. All I can say is thank G-d my Mohawk great-grandmother moved off the Tyendinaga Reserve and married a white man.
"Spence says she wants to talk about treaty rights and is willing to die for her people," writes Martinuk. "She may be willing to die for her people, but the paperwork shows she is not willing to sacrifice her hefty paycheque for their benefit," the column continues.
Spence gives herself $69, 575 per year; the band manager collects $74,806; and the acting band manager claimed $68,397 in travel expenses, the latter over two years. "All of this while the other 2,800 residents were living in abject poverty, huddled in shacks without heat or running water," Martinuk points out.
I have blogged about this sham many times: The leaders of Canada's native peoples are their own worst enemies. Forensic audits showed that Spence's council had not produced a budget in years and had maxed out a $2.5 million line-of-credit, paying only 10 percent interest on the loan. "Too much money was being spent on administration instead of programs," concluded the auditors.
"You can see why Spence has some credibility issues. A $70,000 income may be justified when the band is flourishing, but it becomes outrageous when the median household income for families on reserve is $11,229. It's not Harper and the federal government who are denying the natives; it's the native leaders who are denying their own people the opportunity for education, housing, health care and employment -- through greed."
I could not agree more.
"For most natives, the only way out is some kind of connection with the outside world. They cannot flouish if isolated on a reserve where there are no economic prospects or work. For too long, aboriginals have been fed a myth -- by their leaders -- that any assimilation into the white man's world will forever destroy a distinct (sic) native culture. But the Jews have kept a vibrant culture alive for over (sic) 5,000 years without a homeland and while dispersed around the world. Surely aboriginals can maintain a high degree of cultural significance in a country renowned for its respect for multiculturalism.
"It's time for natives to join in with the rest of Canadians in a productive economy and a functional society. Frankly, it's the only way out of poverty and despair."
When you see hand-wringing coverage of hunger strikes, road blockades and canoe trips to the UN, don't buy any of it. All I can say is thank G-d my Mohawk great-grandmother moved off the Tyendinaga Reserve and married a white man.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
On the Christmas Buses
Nearly drove off the road the other day when I saw a Calgary transit bus heading toward me with "Merry Christmas" on it's mast. Merry Christmas at Christmas! My G-d, have people lost their minds? The greeting alternated with the route name and number, but it was there in living colour. I was so cheered.
What have Canadians come to? How have we let other cultures and religions erase Christmas? How have we let it morph into "Happy Holidays"? How has "Xmas" replaced "Christmas"? The "X" actually represents the deletion of Christ; never use it. It's unconscionable.
A spokesman for Calgary transit had to point out to an offended reporter (please) that it is actually Christmas, that December 25th is actually marked as such on the calendar. "It's up to the operator whether or not he or she wants the vehicle to say "Merry Christmas". Isn't that wonderful! But it just could not go unchallenged. No, of course it couldn't. People are complaining. How mean-spirited, how Scrooge-like, how lump-of-coal-ish, how bah-humbug of them. How nasty it all is.
I'm absolutely sick of being disenfranchised for celebrating Christmas and Chirst's birthday on Christmas. Try for a split second to imagine telling other religions their feasts and holidays offend us as Christians. Try telling a muslim he can't use the word "Eid" in his festivities; try telling a Jew he can't use the word "Hanukkah"; try banning the word "Ramadan" when it is celebrated. You can't even feature it in your wildest dreams!
A Jewish doctor who has been a close friend of ours for years always sends us a Christmas Card, wishing us Merry Christmas. He knows we are Catholic and he sends us the appropriate card. I'll bet he also sends all his Jewish friends Hanukkah cards, not Happy Holiday ones.
That's the kind of class and mutual respect we need to insist upon. Merry Christmas!
What have Canadians come to? How have we let other cultures and religions erase Christmas? How have we let it morph into "Happy Holidays"? How has "Xmas" replaced "Christmas"? The "X" actually represents the deletion of Christ; never use it. It's unconscionable.
A spokesman for Calgary transit had to point out to an offended reporter (please) that it is actually Christmas, that December 25th is actually marked as such on the calendar. "It's up to the operator whether or not he or she wants the vehicle to say "Merry Christmas". Isn't that wonderful! But it just could not go unchallenged. No, of course it couldn't. People are complaining. How mean-spirited, how Scrooge-like, how lump-of-coal-ish, how bah-humbug of them. How nasty it all is.
I'm absolutely sick of being disenfranchised for celebrating Christmas and Chirst's birthday on Christmas. Try for a split second to imagine telling other religions their feasts and holidays offend us as Christians. Try telling a muslim he can't use the word "Eid" in his festivities; try telling a Jew he can't use the word "Hanukkah"; try banning the word "Ramadan" when it is celebrated. You can't even feature it in your wildest dreams!
A Jewish doctor who has been a close friend of ours for years always sends us a Christmas Card, wishing us Merry Christmas. He knows we are Catholic and he sends us the appropriate card. I'll bet he also sends all his Jewish friends Hanukkah cards, not Happy Holiday ones.
That's the kind of class and mutual respect we need to insist upon. Merry Christmas!
Funnily enough, it was a brunette
Surfed unfortunately into the Miss Universe Pageant underway last night in Las Vegas (where else?) I tuned in at the round of 16 and was shocked to see that of those still beaming in hope, 12 were brunettes. When do you ever see that? Heck, why not watch for a while?
Tune into any "Housewives" reality (sic) show and they're all bottle blondes (BBs), pretty much without exception. Look at any hockey, football or basketball star's wife and she's a BB. Most famous movie stars are now blondes -- unlike the 40's, 50's and 60's, when you had smashing brunettes like Elizabeth Taylor, Ava Gardner, Jane Russell and The Hepburn's, Kathryn and Audrey. But these days, as I have blogged before, every woman who wants to be famous, or noticed, dyes her hair blonde.
Thinking about why so many Miss-Universe-wannabe's were brunettes, I realized that they were representing "brunette" countries -- such as the Phillippines, Africa, South America and Asia, for example. So, that explained it.
Except for the winner, Miss USA, who turned out to be a brunette. Whaaaaat??!! How did that happen? Frankly, I thought many of the others were far more gorgeous, but when I spotted The Donald in the front row and learned that a Miss USA hadn't won since 1997, I got it.
Ah politics, it's everywhere.
Tune into any "Housewives" reality (sic) show and they're all bottle blondes (BBs), pretty much without exception. Look at any hockey, football or basketball star's wife and she's a BB. Most famous movie stars are now blondes -- unlike the 40's, 50's and 60's, when you had smashing brunettes like Elizabeth Taylor, Ava Gardner, Jane Russell and The Hepburn's, Kathryn and Audrey. But these days, as I have blogged before, every woman who wants to be famous, or noticed, dyes her hair blonde.
Thinking about why so many Miss-Universe-wannabe's were brunettes, I realized that they were representing "brunette" countries -- such as the Phillippines, Africa, South America and Asia, for example. So, that explained it.
Except for the winner, Miss USA, who turned out to be a brunette. Whaaaaat??!! How did that happen? Frankly, I thought many of the others were far more gorgeous, but when I spotted The Donald in the front row and learned that a Miss USA hadn't won since 1997, I got it.
Ah politics, it's everywhere.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
If I see one more butt, I'll crack!
That was the title of the GQ article I was reading this morning, waiting to get my hair cut. Hilarious! The guy was writing anguished lamentations about the new low-rise, skinny jeans men who shouldn't be wearing them are wearing.
"Please man, no, don't do it," he wrote about the guy with the bagged hand about to bend down to scoop poop. "I can't bear to have to look at your hairy pooper while you are down there!"
Have to say, I agree. Why would anyone think this part of the anatomy, or a sneak peak at a muffin-top, is attractive? It just is not. But the worst are those hideous, Justin-Beiber baggy jeans! The underwear is completely exposed at all times and the crotch droops to somewhere in the vicinity of the ankle. It's a completely dreadful and unsightly look.
An aside: the woman who cut my hair actually remembered the book I was reading when she cut my hair six months ago! "And aren't you the woman I razored?" she added. How she remembered is beyond me? Reminded me of the grocery clerk in Kona, who remembered my phone number three days after I first gave it him. Savants.
(Note to Dan: Have to confess I still go to 'First Choice' -- despite your warnings. Checked out the beauty schools you recommended and they are all right downtown -- too long a drive from where we live. I never seem to have two hours to get my hair cut, which is what it would require. And there is absolutely no parking anywhere down there. I sincerely apologize!)
"Please man, no, don't do it," he wrote about the guy with the bagged hand about to bend down to scoop poop. "I can't bear to have to look at your hairy pooper while you are down there!"
Have to say, I agree. Why would anyone think this part of the anatomy, or a sneak peak at a muffin-top, is attractive? It just is not. But the worst are those hideous, Justin-Beiber baggy jeans! The underwear is completely exposed at all times and the crotch droops to somewhere in the vicinity of the ankle. It's a completely dreadful and unsightly look.
An aside: the woman who cut my hair actually remembered the book I was reading when she cut my hair six months ago! "And aren't you the woman I razored?" she added. How she remembered is beyond me? Reminded me of the grocery clerk in Kona, who remembered my phone number three days after I first gave it him. Savants.
(Note to Dan: Have to confess I still go to 'First Choice' -- despite your warnings. Checked out the beauty schools you recommended and they are all right downtown -- too long a drive from where we live. I never seem to have two hours to get my hair cut, which is what it would require. And there is absolutely no parking anywhere down there. I sincerely apologize!)
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
No wonder they're fat
I mean they're six and in strollers! Took Reed to Market Mall to celebrate his birthday (which is actually today) and meet Santa and they were everywhere. School-age children in strollers. As one overgrown toddler was munching on something-or-other from a wrapper, his mother said, "Are you hungry honey? Let's get you something to eat." The kid was already fat and eating.
Sad.
But Reed had a ball eating turkey, ham, sweet potatoes and mushroom soup for lunch. He also tucked into Grandpa's ice cream and chocolate sauce. Mmmmm! Then it was off to meet Santa and get his picture taken. Who is this guy, was the look on Reed's face when he sat on Santa's knee. Could not get a smile out of him........until I picked him up when it was over. Then he beamed. Oh well, next year he'll be a tad more clued in.
Now..........if I could just figure out how to deal with that do-hickey the photographer gave me of the pictures for our computer...............Oh, here we go...........
Sad.
But Reed had a ball eating turkey, ham, sweet potatoes and mushroom soup for lunch. He also tucked into Grandpa's ice cream and chocolate sauce. Mmmmm! Then it was off to meet Santa and get his picture taken. Who is this guy, was the look on Reed's face when he sat on Santa's knee. Could not get a smile out of him........until I picked him up when it was over. Then he beamed. Oh well, next year he'll be a tad more clued in.
Now..........if I could just figure out how to deal with that do-hickey the photographer gave me of the pictures for our computer...............Oh, here we go...........
 |
| Where am I? Who's this guy? |
Monday, December 17, 2012
Lest we get too self-righteous.....
I remember Ottawa, 1975, when St. Pius X High School was the
scene of one of Canada's first random massacres. The gunman was an 18-year-old whacko who opened fire on his classmates with a 12-gauge shotgun. He killed one student and wounded five before killing himself.
Before the melee, the guy had raped and stabbed a 17-year-old school-mate he had lured to his home over the lunch hour; I worked with her father at CMHC. What I remember most hideously is that his mother was home at the time....while he was raping and killing her....making lunch! The boy had come from a military family and had military aspirations, thwarted by his physical condition and psychological immaturity. Rejected from the officer training program to which he had applied, rage ensued.
Obsessed with sex and pornography, he had written about wanting to have sex before he died and had been suicidal for three years prior to his attack. And all this was eons before the internet, where now pornography and violence and just a few key stokes away. Just imagine how many are out there now surfing, getting enraged and plotting revenge.
It is so frightening.
Before the melee, the guy had raped and stabbed a 17-year-old school-mate he had lured to his home over the lunch hour; I worked with her father at CMHC. What I remember most hideously is that his mother was home at the time....while he was raping and killing her....making lunch! The boy had come from a military family and had military aspirations, thwarted by his physical condition and psychological immaturity. Rejected from the officer training program to which he had applied, rage ensued.
Obsessed with sex and pornography, he had written about wanting to have sex before he died and had been suicidal for three years prior to his attack. And all this was eons before the internet, where now pornography and violence and just a few key stokes away. Just imagine how many are out there now surfing, getting enraged and plotting revenge.
It is so frightening.
What's next?!
Alberta's doctors are now going to use the charter to get more money. Please. "But it's not about money," said the president of the Alberta Medical Association. Please....again. Of course it's about money. It always is.
They have hired a high-priced Toronto lawyer to twist and spin their beef with the province into a charter issue. How they will present that fiction will be a great side show.
The biggest mistake Trudeau made was the charter. Oh, that and the economy. The charter allows anyone and everyone to mount a court case on anything and everything because their "rights" or "freedoms" are being trampled. The good of society as a whole? Forget that.
Doctors here say they "are only asking for one percent above inflation". Doctors already have most of their tuition subsidised by taxpayers and make a ton of money regardless of their competence. You know what they call the guy who graduated last in his class in medical school? Doctor. Seriously, why should they get one percent above inflation?
And nevermind the fact that after they obtain their paid-for degrees, many of them high-tail it to the US. It's unconscionable.
They have hired a high-priced Toronto lawyer to twist and spin their beef with the province into a charter issue. How they will present that fiction will be a great side show.
The biggest mistake Trudeau made was the charter. Oh, that and the economy. The charter allows anyone and everyone to mount a court case on anything and everything because their "rights" or "freedoms" are being trampled. The good of society as a whole? Forget that.
Doctors here say they "are only asking for one percent above inflation". Doctors already have most of their tuition subsidised by taxpayers and make a ton of money regardless of their competence. You know what they call the guy who graduated last in his class in medical school? Doctor. Seriously, why should they get one percent above inflation?
And nevermind the fact that after they obtain their paid-for degrees, many of them high-tail it to the US. It's unconscionable.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
It's really the Canadian ethics' commissioner
Revenue Canada (or the Canada Revenue Agency, as it is now called) is the conscience of the country. When I worked there -- by the way, it was a privilege -- we were the money police, the custodians of the public purse and the ethics' commissioners for all those Canadians who didn't get it...didn't get how a country runs.
It runs on taxes.
This hit me again the other night when I was having a dinner-table conversation with an economics' professor. He actually said we didn't necessarily need taxes, that Canada could just operate on royalties. Huh!!??!! Not wishing to be rude, as we were sitting around my dining table, I didn't push it....well, OK, couldn't help myself, did push it a little...but how the h-ll would that work? Would the royalties be on goods such as oil and trees? And what about all the Canadians who don't buy oil and trees? Why would they not have to pay their fair share to live in this magnificent country?
Well, this was all too complicated and convuluted an econometric theory for my pea brain to grasp, which is precisely the problem. You have to keep it simple and everyone has to pay. Period. The end. The phrase "bone-headed intellectual" formulated in my mind as I listened to him. The lecture he delivered gratis many innocent university students pay good money for. Sad. But I digress.
Jason Kenney has just introduced a new bill naming 27 new countries as "safe". In other words countries from which, by definition, one cannot be a refugee. That's because they are free democracies and thus cannot be persecuting people. I mean, how can one be a refugee from Austria?! That country is now on the list, along with Denmark, France, Sweden and a host of other peaceful nations. The reason he has introduced the bill is because he is targeting specific cultural groups who claim bogus refugee status and then don't even bother to show up for their hearing. They disappear into the kindly and naive Canadian woodwork.
I mention this because when Canada admits immigrants and refugees, it admits their cultural values. Unfortunately, many of these cultural values clash with traditional Canadian tenets.......like paying your taxes.
Thank G-d for Revenue Canada and the enforcement and diligence it applies. As I have said before, never participate in the underground economy. It simply isn't "Canadian".
p.s. This is another for my buddies Elayne, Faye, Phil and the rest of the gang in the retired CRA group.
It runs on taxes.
This hit me again the other night when I was having a dinner-table conversation with an economics' professor. He actually said we didn't necessarily need taxes, that Canada could just operate on royalties. Huh!!??!! Not wishing to be rude, as we were sitting around my dining table, I didn't push it....well, OK, couldn't help myself, did push it a little...but how the h-ll would that work? Would the royalties be on goods such as oil and trees? And what about all the Canadians who don't buy oil and trees? Why would they not have to pay their fair share to live in this magnificent country?
Well, this was all too complicated and convuluted an econometric theory for my pea brain to grasp, which is precisely the problem. You have to keep it simple and everyone has to pay. Period. The end. The phrase "bone-headed intellectual" formulated in my mind as I listened to him. The lecture he delivered gratis many innocent university students pay good money for. Sad. But I digress.
Jason Kenney has just introduced a new bill naming 27 new countries as "safe". In other words countries from which, by definition, one cannot be a refugee. That's because they are free democracies and thus cannot be persecuting people. I mean, how can one be a refugee from Austria?! That country is now on the list, along with Denmark, France, Sweden and a host of other peaceful nations. The reason he has introduced the bill is because he is targeting specific cultural groups who claim bogus refugee status and then don't even bother to show up for their hearing. They disappear into the kindly and naive Canadian woodwork.
I mention this because when Canada admits immigrants and refugees, it admits their cultural values. Unfortunately, many of these cultural values clash with traditional Canadian tenets.......like paying your taxes.
Thank G-d for Revenue Canada and the enforcement and diligence it applies. As I have said before, never participate in the underground economy. It simply isn't "Canadian".
p.s. This is another for my buddies Elayne, Faye, Phil and the rest of the gang in the retired CRA group.
Friday, December 14, 2012
The juxtaposition is breathtaking
Just watching "White Christmas" for the umpteenth time. The innocence of this movie contrasting with the coverage of the massacre in Connecticut is unbearable. What has happened to the US?
Will anything change? I doubt it. The gun lobby is the strongest of any in Washington. I mean, it's the second amendment to their constitution: the right to bear arms. It made sense in the "wild west", but it doesn't make any now. Their only hope is that Obama, knowing he cannot run again, will get serious about gun control. Will he? I doubt it.
Too much money at stake.
Will anything change? I doubt it. The gun lobby is the strongest of any in Washington. I mean, it's the second amendment to their constitution: the right to bear arms. It made sense in the "wild west", but it doesn't make any now. Their only hope is that Obama, knowing he cannot run again, will get serious about gun control. Will he? I doubt it.
Too much money at stake.
May have to cut it up
My library card. Why do I read this stuff?? Apparently, one of the biggest sources of bedbugs are library books. Oh, and luggage in airports. Once one bedbug gets into your home, you've had it. They've been found in libraries in Hamilton, Vancouver, Edmonton and Toronto, to name a few, and they're probably in Calgary branches too.
Staff are trained to look for the critters and if they suspect an item is carrying one of the insects, librarians put the item in a plastic bag, seal it and throw it out. Supervisors are notified and equipment and furniture are cleaned and treated. Wow!
As I said, I may have to cut up my card.
Staff are trained to look for the critters and if they suspect an item is carrying one of the insects, librarians put the item in a plastic bag, seal it and throw it out. Supervisors are notified and equipment and furniture are cleaned and treated. Wow!
As I said, I may have to cut up my card.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
TCM and mortality
Every time I watch an old movie on TCM I am accutely conscious of my mortality. It's very disconcerting to watch a young Barbara Stanwick and a young Fred MacMurray flitting away on the screen, only to google them and find out they died 20 or 30 years ago at 80 or so.
I then look in the mirror and it hits me. I am getting very old.
I then look in the mirror and it hits me. I am getting very old.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
My letter to the editor of The Calgary Herald
Premier Alison just doesn't get it...................
http://www.calgaryherald.com/news/Reigning+long/7680102/story.html
http://www.calgaryherald.com/news/Reigning+long/7680102/story.html
Monday, December 10, 2012
What price sovereignty?
Canada is purchasing new fighter jets. Finally. The talking heads and opposition are blathering on about how this will cost every Canadian $1,200. So what?! We have to have fighter jets to be a country. We have to be able to protect our sovereignty and that means fighter jets. We also have to have a naval fleet..........coming.
What would be a good price? $1,100 per citizen? $1,000? I mean, how can you quantify it? There was the ridiculous Thomas Mulcair going on about the expense on Don Martin's 'Power Play'.
Hey buddy, wise up.
What would be a good price? $1,100 per citizen? $1,000? I mean, how can you quantify it? There was the ridiculous Thomas Mulcair going on about the expense on Don Martin's 'Power Play'.
Hey buddy, wise up.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Not sexy anymore
Whatever happened to waterskiing? Just watching a replay of the Canadian championships and sex appeal has completely disappeared. With helmuts and wetsuits, forget the sex appeal.
Used to be that great waterskiiers were about the sexiest people around. I mean, you had to have a great body and a very cool bathing suit to get it done. Like my old friend John Booth. JR used to slide casually off the dock on one ski, never getting wet, then skiied around with his shoulder almost touching the water, arriving back and landing on the dock as if arriving for cocktails. Never got wet. Oh yeah, he also used to ski barefoot. Yep, the guy was as cool as cool was. Ever.
He was also generous. He taught me to waterski...........hours and hours of me trying to get up........hours and hours of John turning the boat around and getting me up again..........hours and hours of John teaching me how to ski on one ski.............the guy was incredible.
Waterskiing used to be about cool guys and gals with great bodies, flexing and showing off. I loved it. These guys in the wetsuits and helmuts just don't have it.
Used to be that great waterskiiers were about the sexiest people around. I mean, you had to have a great body and a very cool bathing suit to get it done. Like my old friend John Booth. JR used to slide casually off the dock on one ski, never getting wet, then skiied around with his shoulder almost touching the water, arriving back and landing on the dock as if arriving for cocktails. Never got wet. Oh yeah, he also used to ski barefoot. Yep, the guy was as cool as cool was. Ever.
He was also generous. He taught me to waterski...........hours and hours of me trying to get up........hours and hours of John turning the boat around and getting me up again..........hours and hours of John teaching me how to ski on one ski.............the guy was incredible.
Waterskiing used to be about cool guys and gals with great bodies, flexing and showing off. I loved it. These guys in the wetsuits and helmuts just don't have it.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
200 years later...........
Nothing's changed. The indians are still trying to storm the fort. Yesterday it was Fort Parliament Hill, when, in a demonstration of perfect and uncivilized non-democracy, a number of chiefs whooped it up and attempted to break down the doors of the House of Commons to express their displeasure at the passing of an omnibus bill which included (gasp!) a number of changes to The Indian Act.
There's no way to put this nicely: protestations to the contrary, the National Assembly of First Nations wants nothing to do with changing one letter of one word of the arcane Indian Act. And we all know why. Because it would mean the no-serious-strings-attached money wouldn't flow quite as freely into oblivion and waste as it does now.
The outraged chiefs argued all over the airwaves that there had not been enough "consultation" or "transparency" in the changes. Since when have the natives been voluntarily transparent about their finances? Since when have they consulted in good faith? Their big beef to this latest move is the strengthened financial transparency and accountability it demands. Oh dear, oh dear.
Never play chess with the patient and cunning Mr. Harper. As he was ushering native leaders into the House of Commons a couple of years ago -- complete with sweet grass and ceremonial dress, dancing and drumming -- to apologize for the residential schools' debacle, he was planning drastic changes to the deeply-flawed and out-of-date act. After waiting in the weeds and vainly trying to consult, Mr. Harper has sprung.
Not a minute too soon, in my opinion. Long overdue. Chiefs, get used to it.
There's no way to put this nicely: protestations to the contrary, the National Assembly of First Nations wants nothing to do with changing one letter of one word of the arcane Indian Act. And we all know why. Because it would mean the no-serious-strings-attached money wouldn't flow quite as freely into oblivion and waste as it does now.
The outraged chiefs argued all over the airwaves that there had not been enough "consultation" or "transparency" in the changes. Since when have the natives been voluntarily transparent about their finances? Since when have they consulted in good faith? Their big beef to this latest move is the strengthened financial transparency and accountability it demands. Oh dear, oh dear.
Never play chess with the patient and cunning Mr. Harper. As he was ushering native leaders into the House of Commons a couple of years ago -- complete with sweet grass and ceremonial dress, dancing and drumming -- to apologize for the residential schools' debacle, he was planning drastic changes to the deeply-flawed and out-of-date act. After waiting in the weeds and vainly trying to consult, Mr. Harper has sprung.
Not a minute too soon, in my opinion. Long overdue. Chiefs, get used to it.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Go fly a kite
So, the Quebec legislature has narrowly defeated a motion to ban the flying of the Canadian flag anywhere on the premises. The PQ accuses the opposition of being "anti-Quebec" and"pro-Canada". Geeze, last time I checked Quebec was still part of Canada and stealing bags of "equalization" money from the rest of us.
It's appalling. They have spent weeks on this debate, instead of trying to fix the broken province they are supposed to be governing. And it's not as if our flag were waving in the legislature itself. No, it's hidden away in the now defunct Red Chamber, which used to house the upper chamber.
The PQ are operating in a '60s time-warp twilight-zone. Separatism is deader than a doornail. Face it Pauline, you and your zombie friends need to get over yourselves. Crawl back into your graves and let Quebec at least get into the '70s.
It's appalling. They have spent weeks on this debate, instead of trying to fix the broken province they are supposed to be governing. And it's not as if our flag were waving in the legislature itself. No, it's hidden away in the now defunct Red Chamber, which used to house the upper chamber.
The PQ are operating in a '60s time-warp twilight-zone. Separatism is deader than a doornail. Face it Pauline, you and your zombie friends need to get over yourselves. Crawl back into your graves and let Quebec at least get into the '70s.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Pool friends
I have made a few "friends" at the pool. Not the kind one would call up and chat with in one's "real" life, but friends nonetheless within that sacred enclosure that is the women's locker room. Afterall, waltzing around start naked tends to engender a certain intimacy.
As Christmas approaches, nice things happen there. Walking in this morning, I was stopped by "K" who said, "Nancy, I made Christmas cookies with my Icelandic friend on the weekend and these are for you." With that she proceeded to hand over a beautiful collection of the most wonderful-looking creations. I was bowled over. Not that I will actually eat them -- I now evaluate everything I insert into my mouth against the rigid criteria of how-many-laps-is-that. But I popped them into the freezer 'cause someone will enjoy them very soon.
Then I bumped into "S" in the water -- the lovliest drug addict you will ever meet. She lives with a badly injured leg caused by years of lifting heavy patients as she toiled as a nurse. She now copes via vicodin, or some such other narcotic...."Otherwise I would have commited suicide long ago," says this vivacious grandmother. She was telling me I should definitely invest in a pair of jeans, now that I have lost 20 pounds. "You'd look great in jeans now," she said. "What are you, about 51 or so? Get some jeans." 51-or-so !%$%#^((*&^%^%*()^%^!!!! That made my week -- or maybe my year!
Changing, I chatted with "W". "We're having a party after Christmas, can I get your e-mail because we'd love to have you come."
So, that's life here in Calgary. Very rewarding!
As Christmas approaches, nice things happen there. Walking in this morning, I was stopped by "K" who said, "Nancy, I made Christmas cookies with my Icelandic friend on the weekend and these are for you." With that she proceeded to hand over a beautiful collection of the most wonderful-looking creations. I was bowled over. Not that I will actually eat them -- I now evaluate everything I insert into my mouth against the rigid criteria of how-many-laps-is-that. But I popped them into the freezer 'cause someone will enjoy them very soon.
Then I bumped into "S" in the water -- the lovliest drug addict you will ever meet. She lives with a badly injured leg caused by years of lifting heavy patients as she toiled as a nurse. She now copes via vicodin, or some such other narcotic...."Otherwise I would have commited suicide long ago," says this vivacious grandmother. She was telling me I should definitely invest in a pair of jeans, now that I have lost 20 pounds. "You'd look great in jeans now," she said. "What are you, about 51 or so? Get some jeans." 51-or-so !%$%#^((*&^%^%*()^%^!!!! That made my week -- or maybe my year!
Changing, I chatted with "W". "We're having a party after Christmas, can I get your e-mail because we'd love to have you come."
So, that's life here in Calgary. Very rewarding!
Sunday, December 2, 2012
What a great day
On this first Sunday in Advent, I say a prayer of thanks. Life is wonderful here in Calgary and I am enjoying being a hands-on grandma for Reed. He will turn one on December 18th and is adorable.
After Mass we went to an invitation party at a local men's wear shop here in Crowfoot. The food was fabulous....and so was the wine. I bought B's Christmas present -- a gorgeous new tweed jacket (or "coat" as they call it). We were helped by a charming young man who wore a beautiful suit, white shirt and snappy bow tie -- rare here, with everyone in jeans, jeans and more jeans, regardless of the occasion. I think if the Queen of England dropped in, jeans would still be the order of the day. As I have said, I am always overdressed in Calgary.
Came home and enjoyed the pair of quail-like prairie ground birds that visit my feeder every day. Today they stayed, burroughed into the snow and slept. Also had a few hares hopping around the feeder. We live next to an open, wild area, hence the coyotes and other wildlife with whom we share quarters.
It's very cold and snowing here, but who cares?! Put up the outside lights, decorated the mantle, put up the little two-foot tree that was my mother's in our bedroom, bought the pointsettias and set up the creche. The table and big tree will be next.
But the perfect gift was a great chat with my Toronto son. That topped it all off.
After Mass we went to an invitation party at a local men's wear shop here in Crowfoot. The food was fabulous....and so was the wine. I bought B's Christmas present -- a gorgeous new tweed jacket (or "coat" as they call it). We were helped by a charming young man who wore a beautiful suit, white shirt and snappy bow tie -- rare here, with everyone in jeans, jeans and more jeans, regardless of the occasion. I think if the Queen of England dropped in, jeans would still be the order of the day. As I have said, I am always overdressed in Calgary.
Came home and enjoyed the pair of quail-like prairie ground birds that visit my feeder every day. Today they stayed, burroughed into the snow and slept. Also had a few hares hopping around the feeder. We live next to an open, wild area, hence the coyotes and other wildlife with whom we share quarters.
It's very cold and snowing here, but who cares?! Put up the outside lights, decorated the mantle, put up the little two-foot tree that was my mother's in our bedroom, bought the pointsettias and set up the creche. The table and big tree will be next.
But the perfect gift was a great chat with my Toronto son. That topped it all off.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Man up
Wild Rose Country Premier has done it again. Stepped right into another one. This time it's about the awarding of a lucrative contract to sue tobacco manufacturers to a consortium of law firms that includes one in which her ex-husband toils. Oh, and he was also the head of her transition team.
While technically not illegal, it is nonetheless politically stupid because the Wildrose has jumped all over it with both feet. "I did absolutely nothing wrong," she asserted, stamping her feet and wagging her finger during question period. "I didn't really approve the choice of firms," continued our brilliant leader, in spite of the fact that pictures of her signature on the contract are all over the newspapers. Oops! Problem is, the Conservatives have been in power so long they have lost all sense of reality. Everything they do -- legal and illegal -- is always OK by them.
Alberta is still so young and petulant it absolutely won't vote Liberal because of Pierre Trudeau's national energy policy a hundred years ago. Get over yourselves.
Alison then proceeded to bemoan the fact that "the media are picking on me and my family". Please. If you want to play in the sandbox with the big boys and bullies, you can't act like a "girl" and pull the "poor little me" act when the going gets rough. And blaming the media for your stupidity? Well, that's always a dumb move. Can't work both sides of the street Alison.
Step up and take it like a man.
While technically not illegal, it is nonetheless politically stupid because the Wildrose has jumped all over it with both feet. "I did absolutely nothing wrong," she asserted, stamping her feet and wagging her finger during question period. "I didn't really approve the choice of firms," continued our brilliant leader, in spite of the fact that pictures of her signature on the contract are all over the newspapers. Oops! Problem is, the Conservatives have been in power so long they have lost all sense of reality. Everything they do -- legal and illegal -- is always OK by them.
Alberta is still so young and petulant it absolutely won't vote Liberal because of Pierre Trudeau's national energy policy a hundred years ago. Get over yourselves.
Alison then proceeded to bemoan the fact that "the media are picking on me and my family". Please. If you want to play in the sandbox with the big boys and bullies, you can't act like a "girl" and pull the "poor little me" act when the going gets rough. And blaming the media for your stupidity? Well, that's always a dumb move. Can't work both sides of the street Alison.
Step up and take it like a man.
When you really think about it...
It's not the NHL owners who are the problem, it's the players. I used to think the owners were in the wrong, but I've changed my mind. Why should the players -- who get millions, regardless of whether or not the stands are full -- share in the owners' profits? If they want to do that, then they have to share in the losses, or donate part of their bloated and distended salaries to the team.
That's the logic of it. The players, who take absolutely no risk, have the nerve to demand a percentage of the gate. That's completely ludicrous.
A few years ago, B and I were talking about the preposterous salaries paid NHLers. We came up with this scheme: Every player signed starts out at $100,000. A value is then assigned each goal and salaries increase accordingly. For goalies, compensation would be based on the number of saves. Logical and simple. Of course, it will never happen now, thanks to greedy players, their insatiable families and most particularly avaricious agents.
So, "unreasonable" and "absurd" will continue to define hockey.
That's the logic of it. The players, who take absolutely no risk, have the nerve to demand a percentage of the gate. That's completely ludicrous.
A few years ago, B and I were talking about the preposterous salaries paid NHLers. We came up with this scheme: Every player signed starts out at $100,000. A value is then assigned each goal and salaries increase accordingly. For goalies, compensation would be based on the number of saves. Logical and simple. Of course, it will never happen now, thanks to greedy players, their insatiable families and most particularly avaricious agents.
So, "unreasonable" and "absurd" will continue to define hockey.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
She looks like a cadaver
Seriously. Watching a 2010 movie with Faye Dunaway in it. Oh my G-d! The woman has had waaaaaaaaay toooooooo maaaaaaaany facelifts and botox injections. Her face has been painfully stretched, pulled and yanked and frankly, she looks hideous. She resembles an embalmer's dummy or a cadaver cut open and sewn back up a few too many times by medical students in gross anatomy class before being put back into formaldehyde.
To top it off, she is sporting a long, dark-brown, curly wig which contrasts in a jarring and unfortunate way with her blue-white skin. Sad.
Remember when Faye Dunaway was the most gorgeous thing you had ever seen? Oh yes. She was. Why some women refuse to age gracefully is beyond me. Note to self: don't ever be tempted to visit a plastic surgeon!
On the "looks" front, just read about a study on facial hair. Women don't like it; men are intimidated by it. Hear, hear. I totally agree. Facial hair puts me off because it reminds me of the other kind of "unmentionable" hair, but on the face. Yuck.
And, as I have already mentioned, western farmers think beards are for men too lazy to shave in the morning.
To top it off, she is sporting a long, dark-brown, curly wig which contrasts in a jarring and unfortunate way with her blue-white skin. Sad.
Remember when Faye Dunaway was the most gorgeous thing you had ever seen? Oh yes. She was. Why some women refuse to age gracefully is beyond me. Note to self: don't ever be tempted to visit a plastic surgeon!
On the "looks" front, just read about a study on facial hair. Women don't like it; men are intimidated by it. Hear, hear. I totally agree. Facial hair puts me off because it reminds me of the other kind of "unmentionable" hair, but on the face. Yuck.
And, as I have already mentioned, western farmers think beards are for men too lazy to shave in the morning.
Monday, November 26, 2012
A sacrilege
I know it was a sacrilege, but I was rooting for the Argos yesterday. Afterall, having "partied" with them in Regina and having been given 50-yard-line tickets, it was the least I could do.
Sitting here in our woolies yesterday, watching the first half, I said to B, "Really, here we are in Calgary and we're plunked at home watching the Grey Cup. We have to go to a sports bar and take in the crazy atmosphere." So we did. I ditched the "woolies", got dressed and off we went.
But by the time we got there, it was obvious the Stamps were just not having a good day. The atmosphere I was seeking had been replaced by decidely-glum-and-saturnine. We sat at the bar -- always the thing to do in a sports bar -- and enjoyed the big-screen TV. It was "oh no!" and "what did he do that for!" from all corners. "I'm actually an Argo fan," I recklessly said to the Dublin-born young manager, who had stopped by to chat. "What!! You better not let that out in here," he cautioned. "Are there any other Argo fans in here?" I asked. None.
The guy sitting beside me chimed in about the game. "I detect an accent," I said. "Are you a Quebecker?" "Oui." And so ensued a great chat in French we both enjoyed, each of us surprised to encounter a fellow french-speaker here in the West. He kept looking at the door. "Are friends joining you?" I asked. "No, I'm waiting for someone I met on-line. She's a gorgeous black woman and I'm excited," this slight, wiry fellow offered. Ahem. "I'm supposed to meet her at 6:30, but if she isn't here by 7, I'm leaving." I told him to hang in there, that she'd be a little late so as to not look too anxious. Sure enough, as we were leaving the parking lot, B said,"There she is, that's her just arriving." Wonder how they hit it off?
Anyway, chatted away with the manager and low and behold, he "comped" our entire order. The guy actually covered the order of an Agro fan on Grey Cup day in Calgary. Actually, I have to admit that happens to me not infrequently here. Why, I have no idea? But as B says, "Nancy talks to everyone."
Try it, it does pay off.
Sitting here in our woolies yesterday, watching the first half, I said to B, "Really, here we are in Calgary and we're plunked at home watching the Grey Cup. We have to go to a sports bar and take in the crazy atmosphere." So we did. I ditched the "woolies", got dressed and off we went.
But by the time we got there, it was obvious the Stamps were just not having a good day. The atmosphere I was seeking had been replaced by decidely-glum-and-saturnine. We sat at the bar -- always the thing to do in a sports bar -- and enjoyed the big-screen TV. It was "oh no!" and "what did he do that for!" from all corners. "I'm actually an Argo fan," I recklessly said to the Dublin-born young manager, who had stopped by to chat. "What!! You better not let that out in here," he cautioned. "Are there any other Argo fans in here?" I asked. None.
The guy sitting beside me chimed in about the game. "I detect an accent," I said. "Are you a Quebecker?" "Oui." And so ensued a great chat in French we both enjoyed, each of us surprised to encounter a fellow french-speaker here in the West. He kept looking at the door. "Are friends joining you?" I asked. "No, I'm waiting for someone I met on-line. She's a gorgeous black woman and I'm excited," this slight, wiry fellow offered. Ahem. "I'm supposed to meet her at 6:30, but if she isn't here by 7, I'm leaving." I told him to hang in there, that she'd be a little late so as to not look too anxious. Sure enough, as we were leaving the parking lot, B said,"There she is, that's her just arriving." Wonder how they hit it off?
Anyway, chatted away with the manager and low and behold, he "comped" our entire order. The guy actually covered the order of an Agro fan on Grey Cup day in Calgary. Actually, I have to admit that happens to me not infrequently here. Why, I have no idea? But as B says, "Nancy talks to everyone."
Try it, it does pay off.
Friday, November 23, 2012
It's only 7 a.m!
Lighten up! I swim with a middle-aged woman I have always suspected of being "a problem". This is the phrase I have used over the years with my kids to describe a person or situation I don't like. We could be standing in the checkout line at the supermarket, we could be in the library, we could be on an airplane, we could be at the movies, we could be at the drug store, we could be at a concert..........you name it, that was my stock phrase whenever someone was making a scene or taking too long. "This person is a problem," I would say, and the kids always knew exactly what I meant.
Being "a problem" means that someone is causing some kind of disturbance -- big or small, doesn't matter. My mother referred to it as "making a fuss". She hated it.
Anyway, "F" now fits perfectly into the "problem" category. "Well, I'm here," is usually what she says when I cheerily ask how she is in the locker room at 7 a.m. Everything is always "oh dear" and "ho hum" and "I don't know yet" and "my daughter had an accident"...........
But today clinched it. When I raved about The Stampeder Horse getting into the lobby of the Royal York Hotel, she sneered: "I hate those people. There's so much to worry about in the world and all they do is try to get a horse into a hotel." I suggested she "lighten up", it's just good fun. "And I object to all professional sports," she added for bad measure. "These people are ridiculous."
Well, at that superior pronouncement I just had to tell her about meeting the Argos in Regina and getting my picture taken with them and getting their autographs -- just to be a further annoyance. She told me that was ridiculous too. "Obviously, you're an ideologue," I added. "I just have fun."
To top it all off, this sanctimonious preaching comes from an American who ended up in Calgary because her husband dodged the draft in the '70s. And she brags about not having Canadian citizenship, yet still collecting CPP! As I said, she's a problem.
Being "a problem" means that someone is causing some kind of disturbance -- big or small, doesn't matter. My mother referred to it as "making a fuss". She hated it.
Anyway, "F" now fits perfectly into the "problem" category. "Well, I'm here," is usually what she says when I cheerily ask how she is in the locker room at 7 a.m. Everything is always "oh dear" and "ho hum" and "I don't know yet" and "my daughter had an accident"...........
But today clinched it. When I raved about The Stampeder Horse getting into the lobby of the Royal York Hotel, she sneered: "I hate those people. There's so much to worry about in the world and all they do is try to get a horse into a hotel." I suggested she "lighten up", it's just good fun. "And I object to all professional sports," she added for bad measure. "These people are ridiculous."
Well, at that superior pronouncement I just had to tell her about meeting the Argos in Regina and getting my picture taken with them and getting their autographs -- just to be a further annoyance. She told me that was ridiculous too. "Obviously, you're an ideologue," I added. "I just have fun."
To top it all off, this sanctimonious preaching comes from an American who ended up in Calgary because her husband dodged the draft in the '70s. And she brags about not having Canadian citizenship, yet still collecting CPP! As I said, she's a problem.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
I told you it would happen
Calgary Stampeder fans got their horse into the lobby of the Royal York Hotel today. These fans are rabid and will not be denied.
Apparently, the hotel originally barred the doors, but relented later in the day after the horse had been paraded around downtown Toronto, into office buildings and pubs. Someone in the publicity department used his head and realized it would have been a PR disaster to have forbade the horse entry. And by the way, the horse left a sizeable calling card on the sidewalk when first disbarred to show his displeasure. Perfect for Torontonians.
Game day, the Stampeders' horse will also be allowed right onto the field. He will take his place on the sidelines, but will not be allowed to gallop up and down whenever the Stamps get a touchdown. With so many "over-refreshed" fans careening about, that's a good thing!
So, alls well that ends well. Can't wait to see it on the news later!
Apparently, the hotel originally barred the doors, but relented later in the day after the horse had been paraded around downtown Toronto, into office buildings and pubs. Someone in the publicity department used his head and realized it would have been a PR disaster to have forbade the horse entry. And by the way, the horse left a sizeable calling card on the sidewalk when first disbarred to show his displeasure. Perfect for Torontonians.
Game day, the Stampeders' horse will also be allowed right onto the field. He will take his place on the sidelines, but will not be allowed to gallop up and down whenever the Stamps get a touchdown. With so many "over-refreshed" fans careening about, that's a good thing!
So, alls well that ends well. Can't wait to see it on the news later!
This is what Canada is all about!
This video clip brought tears to my eyes....................
http://www.youtube.com/embed/e_m4FjlPLO4?rel=0
http://www.youtube.com/embed/e_m4FjlPLO4?rel=0
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Face it
If you're a Canadian, you're a Monarchist -- even if you don't realize it. Canada is a monarchy. That's what I learned when we attended a Monarchist League dinner here the other night. (Well, I didn't exactly "learn" it 'cause I already knew it, but it's worth the re-telling.)
It's really pretty simple. The Queen, Elizabeth II, is our Head of State. Period. The end. Funnily enough, thanks to Canada's poor educational system, immigrants know this better than natives. The speaker the other night and his presentation were excellent -- even if I do forget his name.
So, to all you "replublicans" who have no clue about Canada and her constitution, you are Monarchists.
God Save the Queen!
It's really pretty simple. The Queen, Elizabeth II, is our Head of State. Period. The end. Funnily enough, thanks to Canada's poor educational system, immigrants know this better than natives. The speaker the other night and his presentation were excellent -- even if I do forget his name.
So, to all you "replublicans" who have no clue about Canada and her constitution, you are Monarchists.
God Save the Queen!
Monday, November 19, 2012
The Argos
So, here I am with a few of the Argos in the Hotel Saskatchewan. As B says, Nancy talks to everyone....
 |
| Tony Washington, offensive lineman. HUGE! And I was wearing high heels! |
James Stanley, linebackers coach, so polite.
Ejiro Kuale, Argos linebacker, played with the New Orleans Saints.
Regina
Remember I blogged about that fabulous 'Friends of the Canadian Crown' conference we attended in Regina? (See "I was an N/A, October 30th) Here are a few shots. I learned so much!
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| B and I with George Tuccaro, Commissioner of the Northwest Territories. A very charming man! |
 |
B and I with our host, Her Honour, The Honourable Vaughn Solomon Schofield, Lieutenant Governor of Saskatchewan. I wore my Richard Robinson "haute couture" jacket. Doesn't Her Honour look gorgeous in her tuxedo!
Senator Serge Joyal, another extremely bright and charming man.
God Save our Queen! |
Shoes
Remember I blogged about getting a pair of Liz Claiborne's for $2.00, thanks to step-daughter Sarah's generosity with her DSW coupons? (See 'More Shoes', October 8th) Here they are:
Aren't they absolutely gorgeous!
It's raining pro football players
As he approached along the supermarket aisle this morning, I knew he had to be one. "Excuse me," I said, "you must be a football player." He stopped, smiled broadly and replied, "I used to be." On his head was a championship cap of some sort, but he was so tall, I couldn't make out the words.
I continued, "who did you play for?" Oh, I didn't play in this country, he said, meaning he must have been a "real" pro football player because he was distinctly American. Maintaining my in-your-face approach, I told this great, huge, black, oak of a man about meeting some of the Argos in Regina. "So, who are you going to cheer for?" he asked. "That's my dilema. Being from the East and having met the Argos, I kinda feel I should back them, but I'm now a Calgarian, so I have no clue," I replied.
He laughed and we continued on our separate ways, his wife having walked on, probably annoyed at yet another encounter with a boring fan -- especially an old broad raving about her 15 minutes of fame with the Argos. As B says, Nancy talks to everyone. I do and it's always so much fun!
Next stop was the meat department, where evidently my late mother must have been hovering. I scanned the freezer for a "utility" bird, the kind she always bought at Christmas. None. So, I asked the young butcher working nearby if they had any? "I'll check in the back." A few minutes later, he emerged with a gorgeous, cheap utility turkey. Victory!
Thanks Mum.
I continued, "who did you play for?" Oh, I didn't play in this country, he said, meaning he must have been a "real" pro football player because he was distinctly American. Maintaining my in-your-face approach, I told this great, huge, black, oak of a man about meeting some of the Argos in Regina. "So, who are you going to cheer for?" he asked. "That's my dilema. Being from the East and having met the Argos, I kinda feel I should back them, but I'm now a Calgarian, so I have no clue," I replied.
He laughed and we continued on our separate ways, his wife having walked on, probably annoyed at yet another encounter with a boring fan -- especially an old broad raving about her 15 minutes of fame with the Argos. As B says, Nancy talks to everyone. I do and it's always so much fun!
Next stop was the meat department, where evidently my late mother must have been hovering. I scanned the freezer for a "utility" bird, the kind she always bought at Christmas. None. So, I asked the young butcher working nearby if they had any? "I'll check in the back." A few minutes later, he emerged with a gorgeous, cheap utility turkey. Victory!
Thanks Mum.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
More horses in The Royal York
Well, that's what we can look forward to, as Calgary just defeated BC in the Western final for the Grey Cup. With Toronto having won the Eastern final, it will be a real barn burner when the Grey Cup takes place there shortly.
Calgary fans have already booked a train to Toronto, complete with cowboys and horses. The first time they rode horseback up the steps of that venerable old lady, The Royal York Hotel, was back in 1948. It'll happen again, believe you me! The Stampede will be invading Toronto with bells on.
My only problem is who to cheer for? Having met a bunch of Argo players in Regina, I feel I have to cheer them on. Think I'll hit a sports bar for the first time in my life to watch the game.
Calgary fans have already booked a train to Toronto, complete with cowboys and horses. The first time they rode horseback up the steps of that venerable old lady, The Royal York Hotel, was back in 1948. It'll happen again, believe you me! The Stampede will be invading Toronto with bells on.
My only problem is who to cheer for? Having met a bunch of Argo players in Regina, I feel I have to cheer them on. Think I'll hit a sports bar for the first time in my life to watch the game.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
See, that's her problem...
$12,555 for one round-trip airfare to the Olympics in London. That's what our bone-headed premier spent. Just for her ladyship herself, in first class, of course. Oh, and she tacked on a personal jaunt to Paris for good measure. She just does not get it. Alberta is heading to a $3 billion deficit in 2013 and Alison just sails gaily along.
It's outrageous. But Albertans have only themselves to blame, afterall we elected her -- not I personally, I voted Wild Rose -- but a majority of us did. And they will simply not hear of a sales tax. How dumb.
Per capita program spending in the province jumped from $6,825 in 1996-97 to $9,594 by 2005-06. But instead of keeping program spending in line with inflation and population, Alberta gave away more dough to reach a high of $10,619 per person this year -- a whopping 56% increase. Ridiculously, the same people enjoying the money will not entertain a sales tax.
Alberta is on its way to morphing into a province just like any other, extra debt included. It's just so idiotic.
It's outrageous. But Albertans have only themselves to blame, afterall we elected her -- not I personally, I voted Wild Rose -- but a majority of us did. And they will simply not hear of a sales tax. How dumb.
Per capita program spending in the province jumped from $6,825 in 1996-97 to $9,594 by 2005-06. But instead of keeping program spending in line with inflation and population, Alberta gave away more dough to reach a high of $10,619 per person this year -- a whopping 56% increase. Ridiculously, the same people enjoying the money will not entertain a sales tax.
Alberta is on its way to morphing into a province just like any other, extra debt included. It's just so idiotic.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Who makes this stuff??
I mean, "Tempura Tilapia Tacos with Mango Hot Sauce"......or "Braised Pork Belly Tacos with Kiwi and Cilantro". Or how about "Wrapped Tostado Achiote Chichen with Fiesta Taco Sauce"? The recipes are ridiculous.
Every now and then I pick up a copy of the latest recipe mag in the local liquor store. The above are the kinds of stupid menus they feature. "Moroccan Spiced Chicken, Shredded Carrot and Goat Cheese Pita", is another dumb one. And who wants a heaping helping of "Pear, Apricot and Ginger Crumble with Cardamom Goat Cheese Ice Cream"? Not me! Not anyone I know! Did you know cardamom can "make everything better"? Geez, I didn't! And man, you just have to taste "Cardamom-scented Broth with Shitake and Swiss Chard Dumplings". Please.
I now peruse the magazine for comic relief because I'd never make anything in it.
CBC's 'The Current' had a great guest on this morning, Steven Poole, an "anti-foodie" author from England who has just written a book decrying the obsession with food. His book is entitled, 'You Aren't What you Eat: Fed up With Gastroculture'. It was an hilarious interview. They played a clip of a satirical sketch, with a couple ordering chicken in a restaurant and asking about the chicken. "His name was Colin," the waitress said. "He was raised on a pure diet and roamed freely on four acres about 30 k's south of here." She even produced his papers! Hilarious.
When I am preparing root vegetables and supermarket stew, I will remember this farcical look at the food-obsessed.
Every now and then I pick up a copy of the latest recipe mag in the local liquor store. The above are the kinds of stupid menus they feature. "Moroccan Spiced Chicken, Shredded Carrot and Goat Cheese Pita", is another dumb one. And who wants a heaping helping of "Pear, Apricot and Ginger Crumble with Cardamom Goat Cheese Ice Cream"? Not me! Not anyone I know! Did you know cardamom can "make everything better"? Geez, I didn't! And man, you just have to taste "Cardamom-scented Broth with Shitake and Swiss Chard Dumplings". Please.
I now peruse the magazine for comic relief because I'd never make anything in it.
CBC's 'The Current' had a great guest on this morning, Steven Poole, an "anti-foodie" author from England who has just written a book decrying the obsession with food. His book is entitled, 'You Aren't What you Eat: Fed up With Gastroculture'. It was an hilarious interview. They played a clip of a satirical sketch, with a couple ordering chicken in a restaurant and asking about the chicken. "His name was Colin," the waitress said. "He was raised on a pure diet and roamed freely on four acres about 30 k's south of here." She even produced his papers! Hilarious.
When I am preparing root vegetables and supermarket stew, I will remember this farcical look at the food-obsessed.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
My father's legacy
"Did he really!" said the gentleman to my left at The Monarchist League dinner this evening. He was taken aback when I told him my father had invented the de-icers on propeller planes during the war. Bob O'Connor had been a Canadian pilot in the RCAF and had relied heavily on those de-icers. He was amazed that my Dad had been the inventor of these life-saving devices, still used on all prop planes to this day.
"We could not have won the war without being able to fly in all kinds of weather. The de-icers made it all possible," he added. It's sort of weird that I am a link between this pilot who relied on de-icers and the guy who invented them. I was so proud of my Dad this evening.
What a giant.
"We could not have won the war without being able to fly in all kinds of weather. The de-icers made it all possible," he added. It's sort of weird that I am a link between this pilot who relied on de-icers and the guy who invented them. I was so proud of my Dad this evening.
What a giant.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
The Prairie farmer and beards
Thomas Mulcair is here in Alberta doing and blabbing about............whatever. I watched him this evening, interviewed by Don Martin on 'Power and Politics'. Here are Mulcair's problems in Alberta: a) I had no idea what he was saying, b) he has a beard, and c) he is fat.
For the average, hard-working, early-rising, lean, silent, clean-shaven and hungry Prairie Farmer, having a beard is akin to being too lazy to get out of bed early enough to shave. I kid you not! The other problem with Mulcair is that, as a chubby guy, he cannot relate to the average stick-thin Prairie farmer. He is just too "cosmopolitan". I mean, the guy is a well-educated, but stupid, Montrealer.
I usually call these guys "bone-headed intellectuals". Haven't we all met many of them? Well-meaning, but confused.
Yes, I LOVE Alberta (except for Redford).
For the average, hard-working, early-rising, lean, silent, clean-shaven and hungry Prairie Farmer, having a beard is akin to being too lazy to get out of bed early enough to shave. I kid you not! The other problem with Mulcair is that, as a chubby guy, he cannot relate to the average stick-thin Prairie farmer. He is just too "cosmopolitan". I mean, the guy is a well-educated, but stupid, Montrealer.
I usually call these guys "bone-headed intellectuals". Haven't we all met many of them? Well-meaning, but confused.
Yes, I LOVE Alberta (except for Redford).
It was a sacrilege
The women's locker room at the Y went deadly quiet, as all eyes turned to train menacingly on me. All I had said was, "Well, maybe Alberta needs a sales tax." This was in response to Karen's lament about the province's growing deficit and her what-the-hell-was-Alison-Redford-going-to-do-about-it rant. "Alison Redford," I added, "knows as much about what to do with the deficit as your average NDP-er," I recklessly asserted.
You can't even breathe the words "sales tax" here without being stomped upon. Thanks to the sainted Ralph Klein -- who wildly gave away money on a regular basis -- Albertans have no clue about the link between services and taxes. They have relied way too heavily on the whimsical price of oil. And we all know how that has (not) worked out.
I had no idea that Alberta sold its oil to the US for $60/barrel, while the international price is $80. What's up with that??!! I am sure some economist will explain it to me -- like my husband -- but I will still not get it.
There are some here who advocate a penny tax. A penny on everything would add $350 million a year to Calgary's coffers -- nevermind what it would reap should the province adopt it. But you can't even utter that! When you think of the pennies lying around on the ground, the pennies in our drawers, the pennies in our pockets, the pennies in our piggy banks.........I mean, there is a lot of money lying around and most of us don't even bother to stoop to pick it up. We wouldn't even notice a penny tax, were it to be introduced.
But never in Alberta.
You can't even breathe the words "sales tax" here without being stomped upon. Thanks to the sainted Ralph Klein -- who wildly gave away money on a regular basis -- Albertans have no clue about the link between services and taxes. They have relied way too heavily on the whimsical price of oil. And we all know how that has (not) worked out.
I had no idea that Alberta sold its oil to the US for $60/barrel, while the international price is $80. What's up with that??!! I am sure some economist will explain it to me -- like my husband -- but I will still not get it.
There are some here who advocate a penny tax. A penny on everything would add $350 million a year to Calgary's coffers -- nevermind what it would reap should the province adopt it. But you can't even utter that! When you think of the pennies lying around on the ground, the pennies in our drawers, the pennies in our pockets, the pennies in our piggy banks.........I mean, there is a lot of money lying around and most of us don't even bother to stoop to pick it up. We wouldn't even notice a penny tax, were it to be introduced.
But never in Alberta.
Monday, November 12, 2012
They were -- and are -- great
Actually sat in the car in the grocery store parking lot until the song was over. 'The Last Time', by the Rolling Stones was playing and I could not get out of the car until it had finished.
"Well, I told you once and I told you twice, dum-do-do-do-do-do, so you'd better listen to my advice, dum-do-do-do-do-do, it don't take very much to please me, dum-do-do-do-do-do, so what you know and it should be easy, dum-do-do-do-do-do....Well this could be the last time, this could the last time, baby the last time, I don't know..."
What a great tune. A few minutes ago the classic rock station here in Calgary just played another great Stone's tune: "Hey, you, get off 'of my cloud". They really are a great band.
Read Keith Richard's bio, "Life", and it was captivating. He really lays it bear.
Didn't we all grow up with The Stones. And what do I have to say about "Satisfaction". Nothing.
"Well, I told you once and I told you twice, dum-do-do-do-do-do, so you'd better listen to my advice, dum-do-do-do-do-do, it don't take very much to please me, dum-do-do-do-do-do, so what you know and it should be easy, dum-do-do-do-do-do....Well this could be the last time, this could the last time, baby the last time, I don't know..."
What a great tune. A few minutes ago the classic rock station here in Calgary just played another great Stone's tune: "Hey, you, get off 'of my cloud". They really are a great band.
Read Keith Richard's bio, "Life", and it was captivating. He really lays it bear.
Didn't we all grow up with The Stones. And what do I have to say about "Satisfaction". Nothing.
You cook the roast to get the Yorkshire
Just talking about it made my mouth water. Last evening, B, a friend of his and I were extolling the virtues of Yorkshire pudding. Don't know how we got onto it, but we did. "You have to have the fat very hot when you pour the batter in," I explained, remembering my mother's directions. "Then you turn the heat down." When I asked him this morning if he had any items to add to the grocery list he said, "What about getting a prime rib?" "It's not really the prime rib, is it," I said. "It's the Yorkshire."
My mother learned how to make Yorkshire (we never added "pudding") from her mother. She eschewed muffin tins, always made the big pie in the same pan she roasted the beast. I have never been able to duplicate her perfect Yorkshire, with its fatty, crustie bottom, topped with a beautiful fluffy pie. Absolutely delicious. It was always the best part of the meal, made at the last moment to be presented on her beautiful table.
We used to have our "dinner" at noon on Sundays, after church. My grandparents were usually there, the table set with its finest and me, seated between grandma and grandpa awaiting the feast. We always had tomato juice, never wine -- a holdover from my grandparents' Methodist upbringing. I remember my uncles sneaking off to have a belt or two in the back kitchen at Christmas behind my great-aunt May's back -- a teetotaller to the back teeth. Aunt May thought even tea was a sin. "Shall I just wave the teabag over the cup Aunt May?" my Uncle Rollie used to say. And dancing! Forget that. G-d I loved those fine, fine people.
So tonight, we will be enjoying prime rib and Yorkshire. I will once again pull out her handwritten notes for the recipe and vainly hope to produce what she did every single time.
I know I will not get it right, but it will nonetheless be a tribute to my maternal kin.
My mother learned how to make Yorkshire (we never added "pudding") from her mother. She eschewed muffin tins, always made the big pie in the same pan she roasted the beast. I have never been able to duplicate her perfect Yorkshire, with its fatty, crustie bottom, topped with a beautiful fluffy pie. Absolutely delicious. It was always the best part of the meal, made at the last moment to be presented on her beautiful table.
We used to have our "dinner" at noon on Sundays, after church. My grandparents were usually there, the table set with its finest and me, seated between grandma and grandpa awaiting the feast. We always had tomato juice, never wine -- a holdover from my grandparents' Methodist upbringing. I remember my uncles sneaking off to have a belt or two in the back kitchen at Christmas behind my great-aunt May's back -- a teetotaller to the back teeth. Aunt May thought even tea was a sin. "Shall I just wave the teabag over the cup Aunt May?" my Uncle Rollie used to say. And dancing! Forget that. G-d I loved those fine, fine people.
So tonight, we will be enjoying prime rib and Yorkshire. I will once again pull out her handwritten notes for the recipe and vainly hope to produce what she did every single time.
I know I will not get it right, but it will nonetheless be a tribute to my maternal kin.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
What is wrong with Canadians?!
Just read that the Edmonton Board of Education has decided that due to parental pressure, it will now allow students to "opt out" of Remembrance Day services because of their religion. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!$%&*(#%!!!
How dumb and "Canadian" can you get. Remembrance Day is not about religion. It is about the men and women who fought and died to protect the rights of those appalling people to practice their religion in Canada -- the same people who have now decided to "opt out" of honouring them. How pathetic and enraging is that!
Am I beside myself? You bettcha! Canada's welcome mat has now become a doormat for all kinds of "constitutional rights and freedoms". Whatever happened to being "Canadian"? We are pathetic.
But we are not alone. Just watched a BBC news commentary program that featured four journalists: two British, one Chinese and one Arabian. Guess who did not sport a poppy? Yep, the Arab. There he is, making a ton of dough in London, but won't wear a poppy. Sickening.
Tomorrow we honour our war dead. My darling uncle Rollie is a WWII veteran and still thriving at 97! He has many medals, which he wears proudly at every service they hold in his care home. Get out and attend a ceremony, or watch the national service on CBC. We are so indebted to these wonderful and brave people.
How dumb and "Canadian" can you get. Remembrance Day is not about religion. It is about the men and women who fought and died to protect the rights of those appalling people to practice their religion in Canada -- the same people who have now decided to "opt out" of honouring them. How pathetic and enraging is that!
Am I beside myself? You bettcha! Canada's welcome mat has now become a doormat for all kinds of "constitutional rights and freedoms". Whatever happened to being "Canadian"? We are pathetic.
But we are not alone. Just watched a BBC news commentary program that featured four journalists: two British, one Chinese and one Arabian. Guess who did not sport a poppy? Yep, the Arab. There he is, making a ton of dough in London, but won't wear a poppy. Sickening.
Tomorrow we honour our war dead. My darling uncle Rollie is a WWII veteran and still thriving at 97! He has many medals, which he wears proudly at every service they hold in his care home. Get out and attend a ceremony, or watch the national service on CBC. We are so indebted to these wonderful and brave people.
Friday, November 9, 2012
I fight with them every time
It was no use. I tried once again to apply false eyelashes for an event yesterday and failed. I even went on-line to see what I was missing. "Just use tweezers and drop them onto your lid, then hold each end with your fingers." That's what the instructions said. Except that holding them, I was blinking furiously, so they didn't stick. Drat! What's the bloody secret?!
So, lost the battle of the lashes and went out wearing only my own -- slathered, albeit, with gobs of mascara to cover up the glue that stubbornly remained. No way was I going to wash my face and start all over!
The event was an art show at The Ranchmen's Club. After slogging for almost two hours through a ruthless snow storm -- normally a 20-minute drive -- in we finally dragged, so late B had to find a place to park blocks away. "Oh dear, you should have told me," said the receptionist as I stood, tapping my foot and waiting. "We have other spots I could have freed up." Now she tells us.
The Ranchmen's has a fabulous art collection and this night members were asked to "vote" on various pieces the club was considering purchasing. What an evening. Hosted by the club and "gratis" for members and guests, the food was amazing. Chef Kenneth Titcombe is a genius and produced everything from generous strips of tenderloin to spring rolls, shrimp, to groaning plates of stuff I-don't-even-know-what-it-was, to cheeses, meats, exotic goodies and desserts galore. The wine flowed, as people mingled, inspected the paintings and voted.
I once again chatted with one of the high-powered women I had met at a dinner last Spring, she of the Armani jacket I coveted. "This is another Armani," she said, as I drooled over it.
As I have said, Calgary is full of beautiful, talented, successful women.
So, lost the battle of the lashes and went out wearing only my own -- slathered, albeit, with gobs of mascara to cover up the glue that stubbornly remained. No way was I going to wash my face and start all over!
The event was an art show at The Ranchmen's Club. After slogging for almost two hours through a ruthless snow storm -- normally a 20-minute drive -- in we finally dragged, so late B had to find a place to park blocks away. "Oh dear, you should have told me," said the receptionist as I stood, tapping my foot and waiting. "We have other spots I could have freed up." Now she tells us.
The Ranchmen's has a fabulous art collection and this night members were asked to "vote" on various pieces the club was considering purchasing. What an evening. Hosted by the club and "gratis" for members and guests, the food was amazing. Chef Kenneth Titcombe is a genius and produced everything from generous strips of tenderloin to spring rolls, shrimp, to groaning plates of stuff I-don't-even-know-what-it-was, to cheeses, meats, exotic goodies and desserts galore. The wine flowed, as people mingled, inspected the paintings and voted.
I once again chatted with one of the high-powered women I had met at a dinner last Spring, she of the Armani jacket I coveted. "This is another Armani," she said, as I drooled over it.
As I have said, Calgary is full of beautiful, talented, successful women.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
A very strange couple of systems
More folks voted for Obama than Romney, but the Republicans have the majority in the House of Representatives and will continue to thwart Obama at every turn, even though the Democrats have a slim majority in the Senate. Nothing much has changed. So say the "pundits" who have blathered non-stop since the polls closed.
In Canada, we have a prime minister for whom a decided minority of Canadians voted, yet he is the prime minister because he heads the party with the most seats. That's what a multi-party and first-past-the-post system, such as ours, produces.
So, the difference is the US president is the favourite, yet has little power, while the Canadian prime minister is not the favourite, yet has all the power. Is that about it? I think so.
............................................................................................
On another completely unrelated note, I swim with an absolutely adorable young woman. In her early thirties, she also happens to be completely and breathtakingly gorgeous, with a smile that lights up the whole place. We chat regularly. This morning, as we showered, I finally asked her what she did. Fully expecting this bubbly gal to tell me she was a receptionist or the manager of a restaurant, she said, "I'm a geologist with an oil company." Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather.
That's what it's like here in Calgary; successful young women litter the place. Gotta love it!
In Canada, we have a prime minister for whom a decided minority of Canadians voted, yet he is the prime minister because he heads the party with the most seats. That's what a multi-party and first-past-the-post system, such as ours, produces.
So, the difference is the US president is the favourite, yet has little power, while the Canadian prime minister is not the favourite, yet has all the power. Is that about it? I think so.
............................................................................................
On another completely unrelated note, I swim with an absolutely adorable young woman. In her early thirties, she also happens to be completely and breathtakingly gorgeous, with a smile that lights up the whole place. We chat regularly. This morning, as we showered, I finally asked her what she did. Fully expecting this bubbly gal to tell me she was a receptionist or the manager of a restaurant, she said, "I'm a geologist with an oil company." Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather.
That's what it's like here in Calgary; successful young women litter the place. Gotta love it!
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Actually yelped out loud
Such was my reaction when, flipping through a May 2012 issue of 'House and Home' magazine, I spied him. Oh my G-d! It's Mike Belcourt! And there he was in all his glory, my old buddy from Lisgar Collegiate Institute, majestically surveying his luxe lawns and home in Casa de Campo, Costa Rica.
"Are you alright?" the woman beside me asked. "Sorry, fine, it's just that I know this guy." "Really?" she said, peering into the pages on my lap. Wife Monica by his side, there stood Mike on his bocce ball court in his dazzling white polo slacks and a blue, silk shirt with his trademark shock of white hair (which used to be jet-black) blowing casually in the breeze.
"We usually start with yoga on the lawn, then breakfast and either a game of tennis or polo," he offered. "In the afternoon it's the beach and then cocktails and dinner. We love it here," he added unnecessarily. Yep, Mr. Belcourt has done very well for himself.
I think I have blogged about his success before. Mike was the always-dapper guy in high school who turned his eye for fashion into a multi-million-dollar partnership with Ralph Lauren as the exclusive Canadian distributor of this wildly-successful clothing line way back when. "Who the hell is going to buy something with a polo player embroidered on the front," we used to laughingly scoff. I mean, how many people play polo? Turns out, millions bought the stuff. Now retired, he has homes on Georgian Bay and in Forest Hill, as well as this magnificent pad in the tropics.
Mike was always ahead of the curve. He was the first kid in high school to buy one of the original Mustangs in the early '60s, a dark blue convertible that guaranteed him the attention of the most popular girls in the place. We used to double-date, I with Phil Cleary and he with my cousin Betty-Anne Brousseau (G-d rest her soul). We had so much fun.
Great to see Mike enjoying the fruits of his genius.
"Are you alright?" the woman beside me asked. "Sorry, fine, it's just that I know this guy." "Really?" she said, peering into the pages on my lap. Wife Monica by his side, there stood Mike on his bocce ball court in his dazzling white polo slacks and a blue, silk shirt with his trademark shock of white hair (which used to be jet-black) blowing casually in the breeze.
"We usually start with yoga on the lawn, then breakfast and either a game of tennis or polo," he offered. "In the afternoon it's the beach and then cocktails and dinner. We love it here," he added unnecessarily. Yep, Mr. Belcourt has done very well for himself.
I think I have blogged about his success before. Mike was the always-dapper guy in high school who turned his eye for fashion into a multi-million-dollar partnership with Ralph Lauren as the exclusive Canadian distributor of this wildly-successful clothing line way back when. "Who the hell is going to buy something with a polo player embroidered on the front," we used to laughingly scoff. I mean, how many people play polo? Turns out, millions bought the stuff. Now retired, he has homes on Georgian Bay and in Forest Hill, as well as this magnificent pad in the tropics.
Mike was always ahead of the curve. He was the first kid in high school to buy one of the original Mustangs in the early '60s, a dark blue convertible that guaranteed him the attention of the most popular girls in the place. We used to double-date, I with Phil Cleary and he with my cousin Betty-Anne Brousseau (G-d rest her soul). We had so much fun.
Great to see Mike enjoying the fruits of his genius.
Monday, November 5, 2012
He is finally with us
We met him at the funeral of a revered Ottawa matron about three years ago. Sheila Burpee was renowned in many circles. A devout Catholic, she and her husband Ted had had eight children -- one of whom, Joe, I had been madly in love with in high school. He didn't even look at girls, which made him all the more desireable. But I digress.....
Sheila's elder daughter, Pat, had been tragically killed in a train yard accident a few years before Sheila's death, but she soldiered on. She wasn't so much famous in Ottawa as "infamous", enjoying a tipple or two and speaking her considerably bright mind on any and all occasions.
The author of many a brilliant letter to The Ottawa Citizen, her funeral was class through and through, with a huge family reception afterward. It was there we met a formidable gentleman who, we learned, was about to embark on a trip to various military graveyards in Europe. "My uncle, Clive Marley-Clarke, is buried in a military cemetary in Arezzo, Italy," said B. "He was killed at 24 by a sniper on the march to Florence." "I am visiting that cemetary and I will look him up," he promised. We thanked him and kind of put it out of our minds.
Until he called a few months later. Not only had he found Clive's grave, he had made two rubbings of his tombstone. We were overwhelmed. Over dinner when he brought them to us, he told us of the visit to Arezzo cemetary and uncle Clive's headstone. He had even brought back chestnuts he had found at the site.
The rubbings have remained in our living room blanket box for the last two years. One we gave to daughter Sarah, but I said to B, "We have to get this framed so we can have Clive with us from now on." Today we hung this beautifully framed rubbing. Headed by the Edward VII Crown and Crest, it reads:
Captain
C.D. Marley-Clarke
2nd K.E. VII's O. (stands for "Own")
Gurkha Rifles
6th August 1944
We also have eight charcoal etchings and his Khukri, found in Clive's duffle bag when he died. They were his bloodied weapon and likenesses of some of the Gurkha's in his troop. Now Clive's grave marking will hang alongside his comrades.
This will be a special Remembrance Day, as we honour Clive and so many others.
Sheila's elder daughter, Pat, had been tragically killed in a train yard accident a few years before Sheila's death, but she soldiered on. She wasn't so much famous in Ottawa as "infamous", enjoying a tipple or two and speaking her considerably bright mind on any and all occasions.
The author of many a brilliant letter to The Ottawa Citizen, her funeral was class through and through, with a huge family reception afterward. It was there we met a formidable gentleman who, we learned, was about to embark on a trip to various military graveyards in Europe. "My uncle, Clive Marley-Clarke, is buried in a military cemetary in Arezzo, Italy," said B. "He was killed at 24 by a sniper on the march to Florence." "I am visiting that cemetary and I will look him up," he promised. We thanked him and kind of put it out of our minds.
Until he called a few months later. Not only had he found Clive's grave, he had made two rubbings of his tombstone. We were overwhelmed. Over dinner when he brought them to us, he told us of the visit to Arezzo cemetary and uncle Clive's headstone. He had even brought back chestnuts he had found at the site.
The rubbings have remained in our living room blanket box for the last two years. One we gave to daughter Sarah, but I said to B, "We have to get this framed so we can have Clive with us from now on." Today we hung this beautifully framed rubbing. Headed by the Edward VII Crown and Crest, it reads:
Captain
C.D. Marley-Clarke
2nd K.E. VII's O. (stands for "Own")
Gurkha Rifles
6th August 1944
We also have eight charcoal etchings and his Khukri, found in Clive's duffle bag when he died. They were his bloodied weapon and likenesses of some of the Gurkha's in his troop. Now Clive's grave marking will hang alongside his comrades.
This will be a special Remembrance Day, as we honour Clive and so many others.
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