Nothing is small out here

I always buy small eggs, but you can't find them here. Eggs are large, extra large or jumbo. Rifling through the shelves, all I can get my hands on are medium and there are precious few of them. (Weirdly, it takes longer to boil an egg, I'm told because of the altitude.) Same with things like corn meal. A small bag would last me a year, but all you can find out here are cowboy-sized bags.

Food is more expensive here -- especially sea food. And it's usually frozen because, of course, there are no oceans and such around these here parts. Ten feet from our house, beef cattle graze innocently before their slaughter, but tenderloin is probably more expensive than in Ontario. All very mysterious.

Everything is vast here. The fields, the hills, the roads, the beautiful mountains glistening in the distance. I still love Alberta and Calgary.

Remember I ranted about trying to lose weight? Well, low and behold I finally am! The efficient young female doctor I found sent me for a bunch of "baseline" tests -- tests my 80-year-old male doctor back in Ottawa never ordered. His philosophy was, "I just want to get you old enough to see a few grandchildren, then you can die." Seriously, that's what he used to say to me. I used to feel I would be wasting scarce health-care resources if I had the nerve to have a mamogram. What Albertans are complaining about when it comes to health care, I have no idea? Try getting good health care in Ontario! You can't anymore.

By the way, a word about this young doctor. She is very charming and we sit and talk about jewellry, Valentine's Day, flowers and skiing when I visit -- a far cry from visits to my Ontario guy who wanted to know all about our kids.

Not this young doctor. She sent me for a mamogram (now I know why I haven't had one in 20 years, yikes!), a bone-density test and blood tests. "Mrs. Marley-Clarke, this is Dr. F's office. The doctor would like you to come in to discuss the results of your blood tests. But the good news is, everything else is normal."

God, what could that mean? Too much scotch, wine? Ugh. It's amazing how slowly the days pass when you're waiting for the other shoe to drop. But when I saw her she astounded me with news that I had an under-active thyroid and probably had had for years. Oh! So that's the problem. I know you're all laughing up your sleeves because everyone who needs to lose a few attributes it to a thyroid problem. But I actually have one. So, I am now on pills and I am losing weight! Oh joy, oh joy. I now work harder in the pool, thanks to a new eating regime, this motivation and the new more taxing swim set my daughter has assigned me.

Girls, get your thyroid checked fast.

Scenes from The Palliser

You don't expect dirty jeans and a grubby t-shirt in the lobby bar of The Palliser on a Sunday, but there he was, sitting with two other men: one in his 20s, one in his 30s and our hero, in his 50s. Oh for a dress code now and then! (Yes, I know, it's me). They were a motely, dishevelled crew for sure. But here's what killed me. They were each banging away on laptops, oblivious to and ignoring each other. Sitting at the same table, each was completely absorbed in his computer. What is the point of that? I mean, they didn't talk to each other at all. As usual, I kept staring, waiting for one of them to speak to the other, but no. It was as if they were three strangers on a bus. I all could think of was, more blog material.

But the thrill of the afternoon was Rick Hansen. Remember Angele? When we worked on Expo '86 and Rick arrived from his first world tour in 1986? You and I were there and met him in all his glory. What a spectacular guy he was and remains. Standing on the hotel steps, waiting for the car, I spotted police cars and flashing lights proceeding down 9th Avenue. "What's up with this?" I asked the car jockey. "It's Rick Hansen, he's wheeling down the street to go to a big fund-raising event." As fast as you could say "adolescent school girl", I was on the sidewalk clapping and cheering. As he came by, I yelled and waved. "Hey Rick, you look great!" And didn't he turn and yell back and wave directly at me. "Wow, he actually waved at you," said the bellhop. When you're young, you're too cool to do stuff like that.

It brought back so many memories. Rick Hansen has been a champion for so many years. He is a true hero.

I'm now from Montreal

Got some good advice last night at a Concordia Alumni function. When asked where I am from, they suggested I say "Montreal" -- never, ever Ottawa. As I have already blogged, Albertans hate Ottawa. Come on, people, I'm neither related to Pierre Trudeau, nor automatically a bloody Liberal. Get over yourselves, but it was still good advice. And I can get away with it because I know Montreal very well.

All this took place at a book reading in a smart, downtown book store. Reading about it, I thought it might be quite interesting, afterall, I fancy myself a writer, albeit a hack. But no, sadly not. First of all, as usual I was over-dressed. Can't seem to get it right here and, believe me, I know I'm the one out-of-step not the Calgarians.

So, in I foolishly and imprudently prance, only to be greeted by the usual jeans, sweatshirts, t-shirts, sneakers and ugly shoes. I had figured since all these people went to school at Montreal's Concordia they might not quite yet have gone "native". Afterall, Montreal is Montreal when it comes to fashion. So I struck out then and there on that file.

Note: Maybe the Ranchmen's Club will suit my style better? I did notice several very well-dressed women when we were there the other day. I live in hope.

Then it was on to the food. Low and behold, instead of wine and hors d'oeuvres, we had smoked meat sandwiches and canned soft drinks. Ugh. Things were taking a turn for the worse.

Overhearing one of the female authors start ordering everyone around about the readings, the discussion groups, the Qs & As, where she would plant herself, where the microphone should be, where everyone else's ass-s would be...I was seized with dread. No way could I sit there and be hectored by this "very liberated" woman. You know the type of 40-ish university-educated woman who knows everything? Well that was she in spades.

So, I gave B the cue and we discretely snuck out. I'd rather come home and do laundry.

Tootsie

Just catching a bit of one of my favourite movies, 'Tootsie'. Dustin Hoffman is absolutely fabulous playing a woman. His Dorothy has no problem putting men in their place. And Charles Durning as her suitor is peerless. Men often do a better job of playing women than women, have since Shakespeare.

Robin Williams nailed it in Mrs. Doubtfire too. He put up with nothing. When men play women their personalities change drastically. It's not just the way they have to walk and talk, they actually take on feminine personalities -- more caring and nurturing. Or as Hoffman put it, "I was a better man as a woman than I ever was as a man with a woman." They can't help it.

But I think my favourite movie about confused roles is 'Indiscrete', with Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant. To my mind and taste, Cary Grant was the ultimate leading man. He had it all. And that urbane, mid-Atlantic accent. Man, irresitable. The fact that his mental mother raised him as a girl for the first part of his life might have had something to do with his appeal. Apparently, he had had an older brother who had died in infancy, so when Cary came along (Archie Leach at that time), his crazy mother was so afraid something would happen to this son, that she turned him into a girl. Gospel. He was rumoured to have been bi-sexual, probably as a result of all that girly stuff he grew up with. But who cares? He was the perfect man.

'Indiscrete' isn't shown too often, but it's about two people who have a love affair that only works because she thinks he is married and can't get a divorce. When she finds out he is actually single, Ingrid says, "How dare he make love to me and not be married!" The sets are beauftiful, the gowns are gorgeous and all the men are usually in black tie. It's a perfect movie.

Do yourself a favour and watch it.

Lent

Well, Lent begins today and I haven't decided what to give up. I can certainly think of a couple that I should, but will I?

Worked with a guy a few years ago who actually gave up eating altogether for lent. It was scary to watch him fade away, subsisting on juice and water. Not going that far. In fact, I am adding to my life, instead of taking away. Today we joined The Ranchmen's Club, or at least B did. I'm happy to go along for the ride because basically, I am a "club man".

Formed in 1891, it's a pretty exclusive club here in Calgary. B was invited to join by a long-standing member we have met here and this afternoon we were treated to a facinating, private tour. What an unbelievable place! Three stories of gorgeous carved wood, creaking stairs, ornate banisters, antiques, bronze statues of cowboys and Indians, gorgeous western-style paintings, old photographs of teepees, Indians, squaws, native urchins, mounted police, fur traders, railroad men, soldiers, local matrons...it went on and on. Every nook and cranny filled with memorabilia. But what I loved most were the majestic mounted heads of buffalo, bison, elk, deer, bear and the most jolting of all: wolves. Until you see them, you don't realize how huge these creature are! I mean, a buffalo head alone is the size of a bear! I absolutely loved it!

We were then treated to dinner by the manager, a charming woman, who happens to be of The Faith. We stumbled upon mutual friend after mutual acquaintance, she having lived in Ottawa for a while. We gossiped about every parish we knew -- a very poor show on my part considering this is Ash Wednesday. But I went to Mass to get the ashes later, just to make up for my transgressions. That's one good thing about the Catholic Church, you do get a hall pass when you need one.

A word about lawyers

I am a big fan of lawyers. Lawyers are why you can rest assured the police won't break down your door at 3 a.m. and take you to jail for no reason. Lawyers are why you will not rot there without charges or trial.

Talked to a lawyer at a dinner last evening -- he even has a doctorate of some sort -- and had to defend him against a woman who started the usual bitching about lawyers. Defensive, he was shocked when I chimed in. People are so narrow-minded. Presumably this woman had to pay a lawyer to represent her in something and she thought she had paid too much. Well, here's a bulletin: lawyers uphold the law, lawyers ensure all Canadians are treated equally, lawyers keep dodgy judges in check, lawyers mean the rule of law...rules.

But I get it. There are bad lawyers, like ambulance chasers, frivilous litigators and crooked immigration lawyers. But that is the price we pay to ensure we have the other lawyers who work to keep us free. Just as I blogged a while ago about needing one stream of tax dollars to cover politically-motivated waste, so we also need a stream of bad lawyers to be sure we still graduate the good ones.

Be thankful we have lawyers.

Some light reading

Still discovering books we have on our shelves that I have never picked up -- except to move them from abode to abode. Here's one: 'Representative Essays of Matthew Arnold'. It's a doozie, as my late mother used to say.

Having been an English major, I studied Arnold, but thought him principally a poet; an essayist I did not know he was. Essays. Who has a clue about them today? What's an "essay"? We wrote them in school, but most of us just rattled them off without faintest notion of their purpose.

"A literary composition intended to prove some particular point or illustrate a particular subject, not having the importance of a regular treatise; a short disquisition (look that up, if you dare) on a subject of taste, philosophy, or common life"....is how 'Blackie's Concise English Dictionary' defines it. (Blackie's, by the way, was the only dictionary my father used. The version I am looking at was printed at 50 Old Bailey, London, but they also had offices in Glasgow and Bombay. It contains sections on etymology, prefixes and suffixes, keys to pronunciation, abbrevations and signs, principal moneys of the world, principal weights and measures and other esoteric necessities. I intend to do a separate blog on Blackie's but, forgive me, I digress. Back to Matthew Arnold.

Arnold, born in 1822, died 1888, was a venerable scholar and his essays demonstrate it. Some of the chapter titles follow:

Marcus Aurelius
The Function of Criticism at the Present Time
Sweetness and Light
Ecce Convertimur ad Gentes (yes, he wrote and spoke in Latin)
Wordsworth
The Study of Poety
Liturature and Science, and
Civilisation in the United States

This final essay is facinating. He sums up America thusly:
"What really dissatisfies in American civilisation is the want of the interesting, a want due chiefly to the want of those two great elements of the interesting, which are elevation and beauty. And the want of these elements is increased and prolonged by the Americans being assured that they have them when have them not....Perhaps the very first step should be to insist on having for America better newspapers.

"We have a good deal to learn from them; we shall find in them, also, many things to be aware of, many points in which it is to be hoped our democracy may not be like theirs."

Canada, societally perched as it is between the United States and Britain, remains firmly in between. We remain definitely unlike either.

You had to be single

I remember being aghast when my mother told me that the minute a woman got married, she had to quit her job in the federal government; that's why she quit. Can you imagine, having to give up your job if you married.

I was thinking about that when I looked back on my career -- the latter part of it being in the federal public service. The ideal woman, the one who got ahead, was still single. They were the ones promoted, women like my old DG, Marg Ogden, and others like Jennifer McQueen, who rocketed up the ranks of the public service in the 70s and 80s. Or Anita Slezak, who rode the Liberal wave on the coattails of several high-placed senators. I can think of lots of others who, if not single, had no kids to muck things up. It appears that male bosses wanted only women who would dedicate themselves to the job and any unreasonable demands that came with it. Women with husbands and kids, burdened with the outside tugs they exerted, were a nuisance. It's still like that -- in spite of all the maternity leave and "flex" hours granted for outside lives. When push comes to shove, it's the single and childless women who get the nod.

I remember my Uncle Elgin's secretary, Miss Mitchell. She was with him for years and years and was devoted. When he retired, she cried. It was almost like a divorce for her. Sad.

What's really sad about it is that women need an outside job or career to feel fulfilled. Face it, as I have said before, society does not value childcare -- regardless of what stay-at-home moms say. No, girls, you get no kudos for diapering and going to playtime. So, it's tough to take when busy working mothers are passed over by the big boys when promotion time comes. To get promoted, you are expected to get into the office by 8 a.m. (7:30 is better) and not leave until 7 p.m. You are also expected to be able to travel at the drop of a hat -- often over weekends. Who can do that with toddlers? I remember having to turn down a job at the Privy Council Office when they informed me no one ever took lunch or left before 7 or 8 at night.

I agree with Diane von Furstenberg, who said in an interview I heard last evening that, "Every woman should have at least one baby -- preferably two -- that's why we're put on the earth, but every woman also needs an outside job to give her self esteem and something useful to do after the kids leave home."

Annoying

B came back from the doctor's today and announced he had lost 6 lbs. in a week. How annoying. All he seems to have to do is NOT eat a chip and he loses weight. I, on the other hand, never eat junk food, never eat sugar, never eat between meals, never eat after dinner, never eat dessert and swim 50 laps a day and presto! Nothing changes!

Granted, I stay the same, but what the hell would I have to do to lose?! But, you know what? I am not going there ever again. I spent years starving myself, watching everything I put in my mouth, spitting out stuff after chewing and tasting it, counting every calorie, going to bed if I had hit my daily maximum number of calories rather than risk sneaking a forbidden morsel. I was borderline anorexic and a step away from bulimia. No wonder B used to say, "You're always in a bad mood, why is that?" as he munched his way happily through a tin of cashews. Granted, those were the days when I worked all day at an office and then had to come home to B and four kids. Who wouldn't be in a bad mood!

Since retiring, I have no clue how I managed that life. None. Who was that person? How did she function? She would come home from a stupid day at the office, where she had to battle illogical bosses (usually women) at every step and say, "I'm going upstairs to change...into a different person." Then it was dinner while running up and down the stairs doing laundry, then it was bath and bedtime, then it was clean up dinner, then it was lunches for the next day, then it was setting out the breakfast stuff and then it was..........10 o'clock!! Whoa! How did it all happen?

As I said, I still have no clue.

Another drug addict dies

The hew and cry about the death of another super-star, multi-millionaire drug addict amazes me. Yes, she had a great voice, but so what? She had it all and blew it. What kind of a mother must she have been? What kind of example to young black women?

Like Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston didn't live in the real world. She lived within a cocoon of handlers and hangers-on. I am sure that within her entourage, she actually felt hard done by. Please.

We will, for the next week or so, have to live with the airwaves filled with homage to yet another dead drug addict. And as we come to Lent and Easter, does anyone think Jesus will get that much adoration? Yeah, right.

A new venture

Taking a page out of the new on-line world, I advertised my writing and editing services on Kijiji. Low and behold, I attracted interest and today completed my first job. The client just arrived, I handed over the work and she handed over money! Wow! This may be the start of something interesting and profitable.

It was a challenge because her first language was not English, so I had to try and figure out what she was attempting to say and then re-write it so it sounded professional.

Note to my tax friends (Phil, Elayne and Faye): Don't panic, I gave her an invoice and receipt -- shocking to folks here, who live in a cash world.

Babies in the office

A big media stink about an NDP MP being asked to take her baby out of the House of Commons yesterday. Yeah, well, right. Who gets to take their baby to the office? The rest of us have to make complicated and less-than-ideal child-care arrangements over many years, working with painfully engorged breasts and other maternal worries while smiling numbly through endless, interminable meetings. But MPs think they can bring the babes right onto the floor.

I remember being ticked off years ago that both Mila Mulroney(Brian's wife) and Sheila Copps were bragging about how they had their babies in their offices. Why couldn't the rest of us? Or, why couldn't we at least have on-site daycare? Governments have been blabbling for years about universal daycare, but it never happens. I believe it would cut down radically on later incarcerations of kids left to roam the streets and fall into criminal gangs.

The whinging MP should be grateful she can bring her kid to her Parliament Hill office every day, instead of complaining she can't actually bring it into the Commons chamber.

Public clipping cured

"How do you like the coughing over there?' one swimmer said to the other in the change room this morning. "You mean the hoarking," the other replied (she meant hawking). Sure enough, some woman was engaged in vulgar, unpleasant expectorating in the shower -- in violation of posted, written cautions. "That's nothing," I chimed in. "The other day a woman was sitting right there clipping her toenails!" "Oh my G-d, disgusting!" they both said, nauseated.

As if on cue, a fourth woman turned around, beet red. Guess who it was?! She of the offending clippers. What serendipity! Every now and then you catch a break! Hopefully, that will cure our friend of her repellent public habit. Dear readers, don't ever think this stuff only happens in the men's locker room. We're all equal in annonymity.

Now, if I could only figure out a way to halt the shower spitting....????

Note: If you're wondering, the blog about this transgression was December 2, 2011, "What can people possibly be thinking?"

More sugar

Sixty years after my father banned it from our household, white sugar is facing its harshest criticism. Experts are now suggesting soft drinks be treated the same as alcohol, controlled substances that cannot be legally consumed until children reach 17. That's how bad white sugar is for you. Forget the fact that it contains absolutely no food value; it's a poison and it's in every processed food on the shelves. Sugar and junk food = fat kids.

My father was a chemical engineer and knew all about the evils of white sugar. "Do you know how much sugar cane has to be refined to produce one teaspoon of white sugar? Do you think it would be healthy to eat that much sugar cane?" Case closed. As a result, I did not acquire a sugar tooth. God knows, there's enough sugar in the booze I enjoy. Can you imagine how fat I would be if I added dessert and a bag of chips to that!

A word about Mayor Nenshi's "love in". Calgarians now know all about his hiring of a psychologist to conduct a "group-hug" session for councillors. What an insult to the voters who elected those councillors. Who does the mayor think he is? "If you don't agree with me, you need a psychologist." What tommy-rot, as my father used to say, on the very rare occasion he would permit himself a critique of anything. (Today we call it b-llsh-t.) The mayor is not the head of council, he is just another member and as such, has one vote. He is not the CEO of a company, telling everyone which end is up and how to vote. A city is a democracy; a private company is not. The mayor needs to give his over-sized head a shake. He's now fully-convinced of his own inflated press.

Brown sugar and high heels

What is it with brown sugar? Why do they sell it in HUGE bags that, the minute you open them, start to harden. I can never finish a full bag of brown sugar before it becomes as hard as concrete and has to be thrown out. I've tried everything, such as re-packaging it in air-tight containers, but it never works. I invariably find myself tossing out 3/4 of a bag of brown sugar. What's the deal with that?

Read yesterday that high heels cause everything from arthritis to cancer. Whaaaaat?? Must have been written by someone from Dr. Scholls, or Nike...or a chiropractor or podiatrist. Come to think of it, these are the folks who should be promoting high heels; they get lots of business out of them. As I have said before, shoes make the outfit. One of the antidotes is going barefoot when you are not shod. Happily, this is what I do all year 'round, so obviously it has kept me in heels.

This blog is an indication of how dull things are these days. With the exception of visits to our sweet new baby, Reed, very little going is on in the February blah season. I still slog it out in the pool every day, but that's about it. Man, some days I hate that blue line in the bottom of the pool!