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.
Friday, November 30, 2012
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!
 |
| 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.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Never thought the day would come.........
.......when I would be wearing Dr. Scholl's. But it arrived Friday. Just thinking about Dr. Scholl's made me cringe. Remember those hideous wooden clogs of the 70s? Every loser wore them, thinking they were the latest in fashion statements........for the boring and monotonous, maybe. They were replaced a few years later by the famous Birkenstock -- another replusive item.
(You know, I have to confess I actually bought a pair of Birkenstock's one summer, when we were guests at a friend's cottage. I had recalled from a previous visit that every woman up there wore Birkenstock's, so in a delusional and misguided effort to "fit in", I actually bought a pair. What a mistake. They went with none of my outfits, were ridiculously expensive, gruesome and downright ugly. I mean, what does footwear such as that do for the calf? Zero.)
Anyway, needed new winter boots, the $19.95 "Bum" ones I had had for four years having finally died. Purchased at Walmart, they had done yeoman service, so out we struck for the nearest Walmart.
Unfortunately, they no longer carried "Bum's". "But these Dr. Scholl's are excellent," said the clerk, leading us over to another aisle. Dr. Scholl's, I thought, me? Never! But after thoroughly researching every boot in the place, I realized they were actually the best buy. And at $49.95, they were good value -- even though they didn't come close to the $19.95 of yesteryear. I am damned if I will pay more than $50 bucks for boots -- and that's tops.
So, much to my chagrin, diedhard high-heel lover that I am, I am also now the wearer of Dr. Scholl's.
Will wonders never cease.
(You know, I have to confess I actually bought a pair of Birkenstock's one summer, when we were guests at a friend's cottage. I had recalled from a previous visit that every woman up there wore Birkenstock's, so in a delusional and misguided effort to "fit in", I actually bought a pair. What a mistake. They went with none of my outfits, were ridiculously expensive, gruesome and downright ugly. I mean, what does footwear such as that do for the calf? Zero.)
Anyway, needed new winter boots, the $19.95 "Bum" ones I had had for four years having finally died. Purchased at Walmart, they had done yeoman service, so out we struck for the nearest Walmart.
Unfortunately, they no longer carried "Bum's". "But these Dr. Scholl's are excellent," said the clerk, leading us over to another aisle. Dr. Scholl's, I thought, me? Never! But after thoroughly researching every boot in the place, I realized they were actually the best buy. And at $49.95, they were good value -- even though they didn't come close to the $19.95 of yesteryear. I am damned if I will pay more than $50 bucks for boots -- and that's tops.
So, much to my chagrin, diedhard high-heel lover that I am, I am also now the wearer of Dr. Scholl's.
Will wonders never cease.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Geez Wendy......!!
More often than not, CBC's Wendy Mesley dresses -- if not fashionably -- then appropriately when she anchors The National. Tonight she looked like a waiter: black, tuxedo vest over a bulky white shirt. And a string of pearls to top off the mis-match. Yikes!
It was a fashion disaster.
She needs to take a page from CTV's Marcia MacMillan. Coincidentally, Ms. MacMillan also wore black and white tonight, but her outfit positively dazzled. The so-elegant Marcia has it going on, as they say. And why is Wendy slavishly devoted to those boring diamond studs she sports every friggin' evening?! OK, OK, some guy gave you diamond studs. We have all had guys give us diamond studs, but get over it and wear earrings with a smidgen of style to offset your cropped hair -- which, by the way I love. That "do" works for her perfectly.
Well, now that I've blown that off my chest, I feel better.
p.s. Just had a flashback. At a Knights of Columbus dinner a few years ago, a wife approached me and announced she had just graduated as a "professional stylist". Standing there, in her plastic, black dress, ugly low pumps and dyed-blonde hair, she said, "I could help you accessorize. What I do is come into your home and go through your closet to help you dress better." All this while she bold-faced stood there, sporting pathetic 1/2-inch gold and diamond mall earrings and a cheap gold chain around her neck. Girl, I could give a clinic on accessorizing. The nerve!
Je pense que non, I don't think so.
It was a fashion disaster.
She needs to take a page from CTV's Marcia MacMillan. Coincidentally, Ms. MacMillan also wore black and white tonight, but her outfit positively dazzled. The so-elegant Marcia has it going on, as they say. And why is Wendy slavishly devoted to those boring diamond studs she sports every friggin' evening?! OK, OK, some guy gave you diamond studs. We have all had guys give us diamond studs, but get over it and wear earrings with a smidgen of style to offset your cropped hair -- which, by the way I love. That "do" works for her perfectly.
Well, now that I've blown that off my chest, I feel better.
p.s. Just had a flashback. At a Knights of Columbus dinner a few years ago, a wife approached me and announced she had just graduated as a "professional stylist". Standing there, in her plastic, black dress, ugly low pumps and dyed-blonde hair, she said, "I could help you accessorize. What I do is come into your home and go through your closet to help you dress better." All this while she bold-faced stood there, sporting pathetic 1/2-inch gold and diamond mall earrings and a cheap gold chain around her neck. Girl, I could give a clinic on accessorizing. The nerve!
Je pense que non, I don't think so.
Playing grandma for the day
Daughter Susanne just dropped Reed off for the day. I have often had him for half days, but this will be my first full day. Boring as it will be to most of my readers, I will tell you that he is a very busy boy with a hearty appetite!
Snack this morning was chunks of toast with a little jam slathered over them. Then it was story time and then snooze time. He is getting used to napping here, which is a good thing -- for all of us! Usually we go swimming, but today when he wakes up, it's off to Market Mall and the kiddy area until lunch.
With babies, you just try to keep them busy and fill in the time between meals and naps...anything goes, as long as they're happy!
On another completely unrelated subject, watched "Casino" again yesterday for about the 10th time. Never get tired of that four-hour spectacular movie. Who's better looking than Sharon Stone? And what a fabulous actress. I think the other cast members brought out the very best in her.
Snack this morning was chunks of toast with a little jam slathered over them. Then it was story time and then snooze time. He is getting used to napping here, which is a good thing -- for all of us! Usually we go swimming, but today when he wakes up, it's off to Market Mall and the kiddy area until lunch.
With babies, you just try to keep them busy and fill in the time between meals and naps...anything goes, as long as they're happy!
On another completely unrelated subject, watched "Casino" again yesterday for about the 10th time. Never get tired of that four-hour spectacular movie. Who's better looking than Sharon Stone? And what a fabulous actress. I think the other cast members brought out the very best in her.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
More action from the lobby bar of the Hotel Saskachewan
"Excuse me," he said, "your husband looks important, is he important?" asked the young guy to my right when B had left our table to chat with one of the conference presenters at the recent Friends of the Canadian Crown gathering. "He's a nobody," I replied. "Well, there are a lot of people in here tonight who look important, who are you all?"
B may have looked "important" because he was wearing a bow tie and a dark blue pinstripe suit. The chap introduced himself as "John" from South Carolina, a tomato farmer. "I'm up here hunting," he said. When I told him what we were doing, he was amazed. I think many Americans forget -- or don't even know -- that Canada has a Queen, The Queen, as head of state. Very interested, he then asked me to explain our Parliamentary system of government, which I did happily.
The conversation then switched to American politics. "I've already voted Republican," he said. "Obama was hopeless." I asked him if it was difficult for families to have to be either Republican or Democrat for generations; he hadn't really thought about it. When I explained that we have many parties in Canada and that people vote differently in elections at different levels, he was again amazed. And the fact that neither our judges nor crown prosecutors are elected was another puzzle to him. "And we have an appointed Senate, so no gridlock. Legislation actually gets passed." An eye-opener to someone from the US who lives with a no-legislation form of government.
Americans know practically nothing about their neighbour to the north, but John now knows a smidgen.
B may have looked "important" because he was wearing a bow tie and a dark blue pinstripe suit. The chap introduced himself as "John" from South Carolina, a tomato farmer. "I'm up here hunting," he said. When I told him what we were doing, he was amazed. I think many Americans forget -- or don't even know -- that Canada has a Queen, The Queen, as head of state. Very interested, he then asked me to explain our Parliamentary system of government, which I did happily.
The conversation then switched to American politics. "I've already voted Republican," he said. "Obama was hopeless." I asked him if it was difficult for families to have to be either Republican or Democrat for generations; he hadn't really thought about it. When I explained that we have many parties in Canada and that people vote differently in elections at different levels, he was again amazed. And the fact that neither our judges nor crown prosecutors are elected was another puzzle to him. "And we have an appointed Senate, so no gridlock. Legislation actually gets passed." An eye-opener to someone from the US who lives with a no-legislation form of government.
Americans know practically nothing about their neighbour to the north, but John now knows a smidgen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)