"How old are you?" I asked a waiter the other day. "Just turned 23," he replied. "OMG, I am 43 years older than you!" I blurted. "You can't be, that would make you......" Correct, I said. "I would have given you late forties, early fifties," he added.
Whoa! He was probably lying for the tip, but I'll take it!
Monday, December 30, 2013
Friday, December 27, 2013
Everything's free?
Christmas TV is filled with ads for "free" everything, but the ones that completely baffle me are for cell phones and insurance. How can you possibly know which "free" stuff, or "cheaper" stuff is really free and/or cheaper?
You can't.
The pitchmen flogging cell phones -- especially that annoying has-been-never-was Tie Domi -- claim that all the features are free, no charge for data, talking and texting and nothing to pay for a hundred years. Yeah, like that's true. Who can tell which plan to buy?
And as for insurance, every company swears it can save you hundreds of dollars. It's all so ridiculous and confusing. Me? I'm sticking to the big guys, except for my cell plan. When we moved to Calgary, I had NO idea what plan to opt for? So, I asked the guy who was installing my dishwasher. What better expert to consult? "Lady, I have had them all and the best one is Koodo." So, we went with that. But I now second-guess myself, what with the scores of other plans and "free" everything.
As for insurance, I hate that ugly girl in white who pushes.........now, you see..........I can't even remember her product, but she is so stupid and annoying I would never buy it -- even if I could remember what it was.
Another problem I have is navigating through all the hotels.com, trivago and priceline ads.....among others. What a dog's breakfast.
You can't.
The pitchmen flogging cell phones -- especially that annoying has-been-never-was Tie Domi -- claim that all the features are free, no charge for data, talking and texting and nothing to pay for a hundred years. Yeah, like that's true. Who can tell which plan to buy?
And as for insurance, every company swears it can save you hundreds of dollars. It's all so ridiculous and confusing. Me? I'm sticking to the big guys, except for my cell plan. When we moved to Calgary, I had NO idea what plan to opt for? So, I asked the guy who was installing my dishwasher. What better expert to consult? "Lady, I have had them all and the best one is Koodo." So, we went with that. But I now second-guess myself, what with the scores of other plans and "free" everything.
As for insurance, I hate that ugly girl in white who pushes.........now, you see..........I can't even remember her product, but she is so stupid and annoying I would never buy it -- even if I could remember what it was.
Another problem I have is navigating through all the hotels.com, trivago and priceline ads.....among others. What a dog's breakfast.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Gobbledygook
"Monetary policy got itself into a cul-de-sac where it didn't take financial markets seriously.....we need to take other steps in order to reduce those risks because if we don't, we're going to create bigger problems and we'll have to pull back too soon on monetary policy......We need financial markets that are more resilient, more like the equity market....but we could get a price, could transact. You couldn't transact if you were trying to borrow short-term.....We realized the scale of leverage in the system in the fall of 2007.....we had some very simple regulations, a leverage ratio that was a simple test. That helped save the core of our system."
Whaaaat??!!
Who spake these words? Mark Carney in an interview with Charlie Rose in 'Bloomberg Business Week'. Hey Mark, I think you're having all of us on. If anyone knows what the hell Carney is rambling on about award yourself a PhD in Economics! It is complete BS and poppycock. Let's face it, all the governor of any national bank does is frig around with interest rates. Do they go up or down? Nothing else -- except print more or less money. The hooey Carney spouts is ludicrous.
Guess he has to froth on to justify his HUGE salary as Governor of the Bank of England. He is so full of it, people actually take him seriously because they have no idea what he is talking about, hence they think him brilliant. Got news for you, I'd rather have Art Carney discussing economic policy. This Emperor has no clothes.
Whaaaat??!!
Who spake these words? Mark Carney in an interview with Charlie Rose in 'Bloomberg Business Week'. Hey Mark, I think you're having all of us on. If anyone knows what the hell Carney is rambling on about award yourself a PhD in Economics! It is complete BS and poppycock. Let's face it, all the governor of any national bank does is frig around with interest rates. Do they go up or down? Nothing else -- except print more or less money. The hooey Carney spouts is ludicrous.
Guess he has to froth on to justify his HUGE salary as Governor of the Bank of England. He is so full of it, people actually take him seriously because they have no idea what he is talking about, hence they think him brilliant. Got news for you, I'd rather have Art Carney discussing economic policy. This Emperor has no clothes.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Memories of '98
"What nationality were they?" the Chinese girl cutting my hair this afternoon asked. "Chinese," I replied. At that she burst out laughing. I had just told her about the two guys I had dislodged from their snowy trap the other day. They were trying to push their car uphill! "Oh yeah, that sounds about right," she roared.
I would never have added their nationality to the story, but she did. And it was true. I had happened upon a stuck car near our house and stopped to help. "No, no, you don't push uphill," I said. "Here, let me drive." So I got into their car, rocked it back and forth, back and forth in that never-fail, time-tested Canadian fashion and presto, out of its ruts it shot! They were amazed. Things like having the wheels straight (they didn't) and rocking are things you grew up with in the days before proper snow tires. I still don't have any, by the way, and don't need them.
It's winter in Calgary, but G-d is it ever winter in Toronto! My son, who lives there, has been texting me with updates about the mess that is the centre-of-the-universe. He has no heat and no hot water, but happily can get to work and shower there. It brings back warm memories of The Great Ice Storm of '98. Remember that beaut?! Brilliantly, I had insisted on a wood stove when we bought our house in Britannia in the mid-nineties. Having had one, I didn't want a fireplace. I wanted a cozy, snug wood stove. My memories of that ice storm are of fun nights huddled warmly in the living room by the stove, playing board games with our daughter, then still in high school. I cooked on it, boiled water, made tea, scrambled eggs and heated soup. We never missed a beat. All we had to do was get up a couple of times a night to load it up and our house was toasty.
My latent pioneer spirit was awakened in '98. I loved it.
I would never have added their nationality to the story, but she did. And it was true. I had happened upon a stuck car near our house and stopped to help. "No, no, you don't push uphill," I said. "Here, let me drive." So I got into their car, rocked it back and forth, back and forth in that never-fail, time-tested Canadian fashion and presto, out of its ruts it shot! They were amazed. Things like having the wheels straight (they didn't) and rocking are things you grew up with in the days before proper snow tires. I still don't have any, by the way, and don't need them.
It's winter in Calgary, but G-d is it ever winter in Toronto! My son, who lives there, has been texting me with updates about the mess that is the centre-of-the-universe. He has no heat and no hot water, but happily can get to work and shower there. It brings back warm memories of The Great Ice Storm of '98. Remember that beaut?! Brilliantly, I had insisted on a wood stove when we bought our house in Britannia in the mid-nineties. Having had one, I didn't want a fireplace. I wanted a cozy, snug wood stove. My memories of that ice storm are of fun nights huddled warmly in the living room by the stove, playing board games with our daughter, then still in high school. I cooked on it, boiled water, made tea, scrambled eggs and heated soup. We never missed a beat. All we had to do was get up a couple of times a night to load it up and our house was toasty.
My latent pioneer spirit was awakened in '98. I loved it.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
If we didn't have Christmas............
....we wouldn't have a reason to gather. Even for people who are not believers, Christmas brings families together. What a joy it all is!
As an adoptee, I am the one who fixates on family -- both birth and adoptive -- at all times, especially at Christmas. As I have blogged, my cousin who I love and adore, has been coopted by his wife and taken away from me and I am grieving this Christmas, but am focussing on the positive. Thanks to facebook, I have connected with B's nephews, grandnephew and niece. They are wonderful and today both B and I called his grandniece in Scotland; he connected, I left a message. What a joy it is to talk to Brenda's grandchildren!
Brenda was his sister. Having led a wild and raucous life, she left half her brain on a tree in England when her sports car crashed. Her partner of the time was convicted of attempted manslaughter (he tampered with the brakes) and spent time in prison; Brenda was left a prisoner in her own brain for thirty years before she died. She had been an absolute beauty who dated the likes of Roger Moore and Patrick McGoohan. Went to private school with Princess Anne, yeah, that's the kind of English "bird" she was.
Today I had an hour-long chat with my Aunt Helen, who had been married to my birth mother's late brother Charles. As the years fall away, I am so grateful I have a connection to Shirley, my birth mother. Apparently, I am just like her.
No kidding.
As an adoptee, I am the one who fixates on family -- both birth and adoptive -- at all times, especially at Christmas. As I have blogged, my cousin who I love and adore, has been coopted by his wife and taken away from me and I am grieving this Christmas, but am focussing on the positive. Thanks to facebook, I have connected with B's nephews, grandnephew and niece. They are wonderful and today both B and I called his grandniece in Scotland; he connected, I left a message. What a joy it is to talk to Brenda's grandchildren!
Brenda was his sister. Having led a wild and raucous life, she left half her brain on a tree in England when her sports car crashed. Her partner of the time was convicted of attempted manslaughter (he tampered with the brakes) and spent time in prison; Brenda was left a prisoner in her own brain for thirty years before she died. She had been an absolute beauty who dated the likes of Roger Moore and Patrick McGoohan. Went to private school with Princess Anne, yeah, that's the kind of English "bird" she was.
Today I had an hour-long chat with my Aunt Helen, who had been married to my birth mother's late brother Charles. As the years fall away, I am so grateful I have a connection to Shirley, my birth mother. Apparently, I am just like her.
No kidding.
Friday, December 20, 2013
A Death in the Family
No tick-tock-tick-tock. After about 25 years, I was very concerned when the clock I had purchased at a perfect Ottawa Valley auction stopped ticking and tocking. It also stopped bonging on the half hour. What to do?
I molly-coddled it for many days, coaxing it into life, but alas to no avail. It would tick-tock for a few minutes and then stop. So I went online and googled "clock repairs in Calgary" and called. "Bring it in," the guy said. So this morning I did. I reluctantly left my "baby" there and the clock expert will call with the diagnosis, but I miss that clock fiercely. Having been so used to its regular tick-tock and chiming, I feel lost in the house without it. It's sort of like a heartbeat. That clock survived the trip from Ottawa to Calgary in the back of a huge moving van and when I took it out of the box more than two years ago, it began to happily tick-tock away.
Not lately. Also took in a few antique watches from great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers, which have stopped performing, as well as a vintage 'Cartier' which B owns. We'll see what the damage is, but I will definitely have my wall clock back in fine fettle.
Hopefully by Christmas.
I molly-coddled it for many days, coaxing it into life, but alas to no avail. It would tick-tock for a few minutes and then stop. So I went online and googled "clock repairs in Calgary" and called. "Bring it in," the guy said. So this morning I did. I reluctantly left my "baby" there and the clock expert will call with the diagnosis, but I miss that clock fiercely. Having been so used to its regular tick-tock and chiming, I feel lost in the house without it. It's sort of like a heartbeat. That clock survived the trip from Ottawa to Calgary in the back of a huge moving van and when I took it out of the box more than two years ago, it began to happily tick-tock away.
Not lately. Also took in a few antique watches from great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers, which have stopped performing, as well as a vintage 'Cartier' which B owns. We'll see what the damage is, but I will definitely have my wall clock back in fine fettle.
Hopefully by Christmas.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Most respected job in Canada
Not surprisingly, firefighter is the most respected profession in Canada -- hats off to my son-in-law, one of Calgary's finest. In the US, firefighters are third, right behind astronauts (number one) and doctors (number two). Surprises me about doctors, but I guess because there is no compassionate universal health care in the US, they are seen as rich businessmen.
And that's one of the big differences between the US and Canada: the worship of money. They do, we don't.
But back to firefighters because last evening I was surprised to hear someone say that Americans don't really respect the profession and think it's a sort of lower profession. What??!!, I exclaimed. "How could you not respect firefighters?" So, I googled the matter and it turns out the Texan who voiced this opinion was dead-wrong. Of course I knew this because firefighters are respected worldwide, as they should be.
People should consult the facts before they open their mouths.
And that's one of the big differences between the US and Canada: the worship of money. They do, we don't.
But back to firefighters because last evening I was surprised to hear someone say that Americans don't really respect the profession and think it's a sort of lower profession. What??!!, I exclaimed. "How could you not respect firefighters?" So, I googled the matter and it turns out the Texan who voiced this opinion was dead-wrong. Of course I knew this because firefighters are respected worldwide, as they should be.
People should consult the facts before they open their mouths.
The two "Yammas"
I'm "Yamma" and she's "Yamma". Our grandson has given both his maternal and paternal grandmothers the same name, although he knows we are different "Yammas". Last night we celebrated his second birthday here and he was in fine fettle, albeit a tad under-the-weather. Daycare germs are immortal.
Grandson knows all about this Yamma's house, where everything is, how things need to be, where his room is, what keys of the jumble in the hall start Yamma's car, which lock the house, just as I am sure he knows everything about his other Yamma's house and habits. Sentences have now stretched to three and four words. He's a delight. Took him for his second annual visit to Santa and he was rarin' to go. Many other kids were crying and squirming, meaning that the parents had just wasted $40, but he was all smiles. Last year he had no clue who the big guy in the red suit was, but this year Santa is the cat's meow.
Merry Christmas to all my followers and readers!
Grandson knows all about this Yamma's house, where everything is, how things need to be, where his room is, what keys of the jumble in the hall start Yamma's car, which lock the house, just as I am sure he knows everything about his other Yamma's house and habits. Sentences have now stretched to three and four words. He's a delight. Took him for his second annual visit to Santa and he was rarin' to go. Many other kids were crying and squirming, meaning that the parents had just wasted $40, but he was all smiles. Last year he had no clue who the big guy in the red suit was, but this year Santa is the cat's meow.
Merry Christmas to all my followers and readers!
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
It just never ends
Vancouver lawyer Doug Eyford, who I worked with on EXPO 86 and the Canada Pavilion in Vancouver (we all had a ball) has written a report about the impossible conditions between native Canadians (although they're not really "native", just got here before the rest of us) and the resource industry. It's resistance and obstruction all 'round from the "natives".
Well, of course it is. They resist and object to anything and everything, while doing nothing themselves to harvest this country's riches. There are currently 600 resource projects planned in the next decade, valued at $650 billion, which the Fraser Institute says face major obstacles with natives. What is wrong with these people? Where do those 630 "first nations" communities think the money they are handed comes from?! Natural Resources Minister Joe Oliver has repeatedly warned that Canada must move quickly on these projects to take advantage of lucrative energy markets in Asia or the window will close.
And what are the natives doing? Going to court to stop everything. What do they care? They know they'll get their $80 billion a year every year anyway, so who cares if no oil and gas get out of the ground and into international markets? Harper wants to make Canada an "energy superpower", but it will never happen if the natives keep fighting everything in the courts. For them it's all about land claims, er I mean money. If you want to get down to their position, the natives believe they own every square inch of Canada. Hey, that makes everything impossible and no one will get richer -- not Canadians and certainly not natives, just lawyers. Sadly, the "natives" will continue to live in squalor on isolated reservations while money sits undeveloped right underneath their shacks. Canada is a very rich country if only we could get to the riches! We don't have to end up like Bulgaria.
Eyford says, "This won't be an easy process." How about impossible. I'm sick of it.
Well, of course it is. They resist and object to anything and everything, while doing nothing themselves to harvest this country's riches. There are currently 600 resource projects planned in the next decade, valued at $650 billion, which the Fraser Institute says face major obstacles with natives. What is wrong with these people? Where do those 630 "first nations" communities think the money they are handed comes from?! Natural Resources Minister Joe Oliver has repeatedly warned that Canada must move quickly on these projects to take advantage of lucrative energy markets in Asia or the window will close.
And what are the natives doing? Going to court to stop everything. What do they care? They know they'll get their $80 billion a year every year anyway, so who cares if no oil and gas get out of the ground and into international markets? Harper wants to make Canada an "energy superpower", but it will never happen if the natives keep fighting everything in the courts. For them it's all about land claims, er I mean money. If you want to get down to their position, the natives believe they own every square inch of Canada. Hey, that makes everything impossible and no one will get richer -- not Canadians and certainly not natives, just lawyers. Sadly, the "natives" will continue to live in squalor on isolated reservations while money sits undeveloped right underneath their shacks. Canada is a very rich country if only we could get to the riches! We don't have to end up like Bulgaria.
Eyford says, "This won't be an easy process." How about impossible. I'm sick of it.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Annoying people
Laughed my head off when I read Globe and Mail columnist John Doyle this morning. He named his top 10 most irritating TV-related Canadians of 2013.
Right up there in the number one spot was Moses Znaimer, long-time Canadian television producer and executive. He won because he hired Conrad Black to host a chat show, the latter of whom invited Rob Ford on as a guest. He called their conversation a "stunning grotesquerie" -- a brilliant term. I agree about Znaimer. I met him in 1968 in Ottawa when a mutual friend invited us for coffee. He was nauseatingly in love with himself, with a head the size of a watermelon. He committed the worst social sin, he was a bore.
Next is Amanda Lang. I agree, another one completely full of herself with off-putting ideas and opinions. Doyle's verdict is that she uses 'The Royal We' too often, giving the impression she's a government spokesman, and is outright rude to her guests. She is, but at least Kevin O'Leary regularly smushes her into her place.
Third comes predictable attack dog John Baird. Nothing more needed on that file.
Next is 'BodyBreak' couple Hal Johnson and Joanne McLeod. Could not agree more. Talk about completely sexless and clueless! You'd think a couple of fitness freaks would be sexy, but no, forget about it. Apparently they went on 'The Amazing Race Canada' and didn't do well, tagging them as a couple of frauds. Perfect.
Fifth is the A&W manager -- the fat guy who flogs Mama and Poppa burgers. Inane and idiotic, he prompts thousands of people to switch channels at the very sight of him. In fact I would never buy an A&W product -- hormone-free and bottle-fed or not -- thanks to his slovenly appearance.
Sixth are freestyle skiers and sisters Justine and Chloe Dufour-Lapointe. In Doyle's opinion the CBC should not be using eye candy to flog the Olympics. That's the CBC for you.
Ezra Levant is next -- a perennial favourite. Another ranting bore.
The Wonga Women are eighth -- those plastic figures who flog loans with English accents. Silly and annoying.
Russell Peters squeezes in in ninth place because he is no longer funny. That pretty much nails Peters, who is less and less funny the richer and richer he gets.
Finally we have someone I have never heard of, Ziya Tong, co-host of 'Discovery Planet'. She makes the grade because Doyle says she declares everything "totally amazing". Hey, it's a science show! And turn down the giggling and gushing.........please.
Some great choices there, but I can add a few such as Tom Mulcair -- completely ridiculous, out-of-touch with Canadians and hysterical. On the CBC front I nominate Peter Mansbridge as the absolute worst of a sad and bad lot, with Heather Hiscox (or is she CTV?) right up there for pure, unadulterated self-love and phoniness. Wendy Mesley gets it for revolting perkiness.
This is fun! When I think of others I'll let you know.
Right up there in the number one spot was Moses Znaimer, long-time Canadian television producer and executive. He won because he hired Conrad Black to host a chat show, the latter of whom invited Rob Ford on as a guest. He called their conversation a "stunning grotesquerie" -- a brilliant term. I agree about Znaimer. I met him in 1968 in Ottawa when a mutual friend invited us for coffee. He was nauseatingly in love with himself, with a head the size of a watermelon. He committed the worst social sin, he was a bore.
Next is Amanda Lang. I agree, another one completely full of herself with off-putting ideas and opinions. Doyle's verdict is that she uses 'The Royal We' too often, giving the impression she's a government spokesman, and is outright rude to her guests. She is, but at least Kevin O'Leary regularly smushes her into her place.
Third comes predictable attack dog John Baird. Nothing more needed on that file.
Next is 'BodyBreak' couple Hal Johnson and Joanne McLeod. Could not agree more. Talk about completely sexless and clueless! You'd think a couple of fitness freaks would be sexy, but no, forget about it. Apparently they went on 'The Amazing Race Canada' and didn't do well, tagging them as a couple of frauds. Perfect.
Fifth is the A&W manager -- the fat guy who flogs Mama and Poppa burgers. Inane and idiotic, he prompts thousands of people to switch channels at the very sight of him. In fact I would never buy an A&W product -- hormone-free and bottle-fed or not -- thanks to his slovenly appearance.
Sixth are freestyle skiers and sisters Justine and Chloe Dufour-Lapointe. In Doyle's opinion the CBC should not be using eye candy to flog the Olympics. That's the CBC for you.
Ezra Levant is next -- a perennial favourite. Another ranting bore.
The Wonga Women are eighth -- those plastic figures who flog loans with English accents. Silly and annoying.
Russell Peters squeezes in in ninth place because he is no longer funny. That pretty much nails Peters, who is less and less funny the richer and richer he gets.
Finally we have someone I have never heard of, Ziya Tong, co-host of 'Discovery Planet'. She makes the grade because Doyle says she declares everything "totally amazing". Hey, it's a science show! And turn down the giggling and gushing.........please.
Some great choices there, but I can add a few such as Tom Mulcair -- completely ridiculous, out-of-touch with Canadians and hysterical. On the CBC front I nominate Peter Mansbridge as the absolute worst of a sad and bad lot, with Heather Hiscox (or is she CTV?) right up there for pure, unadulterated self-love and phoniness. Wendy Mesley gets it for revolting perkiness.
This is fun! When I think of others I'll let you know.
Saturday, December 14, 2013
I'm with Jodi
"It is the height of tacky to invite guests to your home and then require that they remove anything more than outdoor attire." This by Jodi Smith of 'Mannersmith Etiquette Consulting' in response to the question of "to remove shoes or not". Let me tell you, if I went to a party dressed-to-the-nines and the host or hostess asked me to remove my shoes, I would turn around and walk out.
Shoes make the outfit, as I always say. I would only remove mine if I were invited to a dinner in Japan. Otherwise, they stay on. Apparently, people sink to the depths of handing out "guest socks" for people to wear because they want to protect their precious floors and carpets. Hey, don't have parties. Reminds me of old friends who collected uber-expensive carpets and proudly ushered guests into a special room where they were laid out in all their majesty. "Oh my G-d!' shrieked the wife when I ventured to actually step on one. "Don't put a foot on that," she screamed, grabbing my arm and nearly toppling me over. It was all so completely ridiculous. I mean, why put rugs on the floor no one can even brush with a baby toe?
"It's one thing to ask me to remove my boots during a snowstorm, but another to ask me to remove my heels at a cocktail party where everyone is dressed up," adds Smith. People banning shoes need to say so in the invitation so people like me can not go.
So, that's my advice as the holidays descend.
Shoes make the outfit, as I always say. I would only remove mine if I were invited to a dinner in Japan. Otherwise, they stay on. Apparently, people sink to the depths of handing out "guest socks" for people to wear because they want to protect their precious floors and carpets. Hey, don't have parties. Reminds me of old friends who collected uber-expensive carpets and proudly ushered guests into a special room where they were laid out in all their majesty. "Oh my G-d!' shrieked the wife when I ventured to actually step on one. "Don't put a foot on that," she screamed, grabbing my arm and nearly toppling me over. It was all so completely ridiculous. I mean, why put rugs on the floor no one can even brush with a baby toe?
"It's one thing to ask me to remove my boots during a snowstorm, but another to ask me to remove my heels at a cocktail party where everyone is dressed up," adds Smith. People banning shoes need to say so in the invitation so people like me can not go.
So, that's my advice as the holidays descend.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Everything's easy when you know how
No matter what I used, or how many times I tried, I could not get the bowl stain-free. Over the past two years since we moved in I have tried everything, but the black streaks remained. "Looks like they poured something down the toilet," said the young plumber today when he came to install the new powder-room toilet.
I was hoping to get a shot of a plumber's butt crack, but this young man was not your stereotypical plumber. Hailing from Belfast, he was polite and trim and a delight to chat with. "I don't give a hoot about all that religious conflict in Belfast," he said when I asked him if he had left because of it. "I left because I could only find work two days a week," he replied. Here in Calgary, he is run off his feet. This is a booming town.
I was sick of telling guests that no, the toilet was not soiled, it was stained. Hauled myself off to Rona and bought a new one. With the installation it was $418! Took the professional 30 minutes, but as B is not handy in any way, shape or form, it would have taken me forever. As I said, everything's easy when you know how.
So, my gleaming toilet is sitting pretty in my powder room, all ready for Christmas.
I was hoping to get a shot of a plumber's butt crack, but this young man was not your stereotypical plumber. Hailing from Belfast, he was polite and trim and a delight to chat with. "I don't give a hoot about all that religious conflict in Belfast," he said when I asked him if he had left because of it. "I left because I could only find work two days a week," he replied. Here in Calgary, he is run off his feet. This is a booming town.
I was sick of telling guests that no, the toilet was not soiled, it was stained. Hauled myself off to Rona and bought a new one. With the installation it was $418! Took the professional 30 minutes, but as B is not handy in any way, shape or form, it would have taken me forever. As I said, everything's easy when you know how.
So, my gleaming toilet is sitting pretty in my powder room, all ready for Christmas.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Used the flashers
Didn't want to be one of the 3,000 prang-ups here over the last week, what with all the cold weather, snow and ice. Hence, I drove around with my flashers on at all times to tell people, "Hey, I am not going to drive as if it were July. I am going to drive slowly and leave lots of distance between me and the next guy."
Unfortunately, I am almost alone with this M.O. because few drivers in Calgary adapt their driving to weather conditions. Duh! It's business as usual, thus the 3,000 crack-ups. My firefighter son-in-law has been run off his feet with the mess, so to give him a break, I picked up grandson yesterday for a day of Christmas doings. First, we trimmed the tree. With Christmas music playing, he personally decorated the tree, placing most of the ornaments on one or two lower branches. Too adorable. But he "got it".
Just to be completely stupid, I decided we would attend the Mount St. Francis Nativity Pageant -- regardless of the freezing cold. St. Francis is tucked way back in the woods outside of Cochrane and to get there you have to wind your way down many country roads and lanes. Never mind, we arrived safe and sound. "If you want to see the horsies, you have to put on your snow pants," I told grandson as we prepared to venture outside. Originally adamant he would not, he complied.
Hot dogs, chilli and hot chocolate later, we learned that it was even too cold for the "horsies", so we bade farewell. We will be back next year for the Pageant.
Unfortunately, I am almost alone with this M.O. because few drivers in Calgary adapt their driving to weather conditions. Duh! It's business as usual, thus the 3,000 crack-ups. My firefighter son-in-law has been run off his feet with the mess, so to give him a break, I picked up grandson yesterday for a day of Christmas doings. First, we trimmed the tree. With Christmas music playing, he personally decorated the tree, placing most of the ornaments on one or two lower branches. Too adorable. But he "got it".
Just to be completely stupid, I decided we would attend the Mount St. Francis Nativity Pageant -- regardless of the freezing cold. St. Francis is tucked way back in the woods outside of Cochrane and to get there you have to wind your way down many country roads and lanes. Never mind, we arrived safe and sound. "If you want to see the horsies, you have to put on your snow pants," I told grandson as we prepared to venture outside. Originally adamant he would not, he complied.
Hot dogs, chilli and hot chocolate later, we learned that it was even too cold for the "horsies", so we bade farewell. We will be back next year for the Pageant.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Ya see............
You can't play chess with Steven Harper. Our Canadian Prime Minister has it totally covered. What does he do? Invites a bunch of former prime ministers and the leader of the opposition on his plane to fly to Nelson Mandela's funeral.
What a brilliant move.
Brian Mulroney, Kim Campbell, Jean Chretien and Thomas Muclair will join the PM and his wife on the Royal Jet to Johannesburg. How classy is that.
He just takes the wind out of everyone's sails. As I said, don't play chess with the guy.
What a brilliant move.
Brian Mulroney, Kim Campbell, Jean Chretien and Thomas Muclair will join the PM and his wife on the Royal Jet to Johannesburg. How classy is that.
He just takes the wind out of everyone's sails. As I said, don't play chess with the guy.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
A plumber?
No, but he certainly dressed like one. Sitting in the waiting room of the Cochrane Lab, I was jolted to see a young man walking up and down, up and down. What jolted me? His pants. They were so low his crack showed.
It was absolutely disgusting. Had he been sitting in my seat before I arrived? Oh G-d no, please. To add insult to injury, he was fat. Yuck!
Wearing a hoodie, he looked like he should have been in a New York "hood", but there he was in Cochrane Alberta, a very conservative town. My imagination took over. "He's a drug addict and can't sit still. He is waiting for treatment to come down from something." But no. Soon a middle-aged woman emerged and said, "Let's go son, I'm done." He had been waiting for his mother.
She walked behind his behind and must have been well aware of his "ahem". She said nothing, obviously having seen this get-up many times before. Oh dear, another young adult living in his parents' basement.
It was absolutely disgusting. Had he been sitting in my seat before I arrived? Oh G-d no, please. To add insult to injury, he was fat. Yuck!
Wearing a hoodie, he looked like he should have been in a New York "hood", but there he was in Cochrane Alberta, a very conservative town. My imagination took over. "He's a drug addict and can't sit still. He is waiting for treatment to come down from something." But no. Soon a middle-aged woman emerged and said, "Let's go son, I'm done." He had been waiting for his mother.
She walked behind his behind and must have been well aware of his "ahem". She said nothing, obviously having seen this get-up many times before. Oh dear, another young adult living in his parents' basement.
Friday, December 6, 2013
Who ever said Marilyn was dumb?!
There she is, 51 years after her death, the face of Channel No. 5 in print and on TV. Apparently, no female star has been able to eclipse her. Bite me Angelina Jolie.
Google "Marilyn" and hers will be the second name to pop up, which shows you just how powerful she remains. Fifteen, I was in Ogunquit Maine on vacation with my family when the news flashed that she had died. As with Kennedy, I remember exactly where I was. Portrayed as a bimbo, she certainly was not. Here are a few of her bon mots and memorable quotes:
"It's better to be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone.
"Before marriage, a girl has to make love to a man to hold him. After marriage, she has to hold him to make love to him.
"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I'm out-of-control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.
"I don't mind living in a man's world, as long as I can be a woman in it.
"I don't know who invented high heels, but all women owe him a lot.
"A career is wonderful, but you can't curl up with it on a cold night.
"Hollywood is a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul."
About a profound as I've heard from any woman.
Google "Marilyn" and hers will be the second name to pop up, which shows you just how powerful she remains. Fifteen, I was in Ogunquit Maine on vacation with my family when the news flashed that she had died. As with Kennedy, I remember exactly where I was. Portrayed as a bimbo, she certainly was not. Here are a few of her bon mots and memorable quotes:
"It's better to be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone.
"Before marriage, a girl has to make love to a man to hold him. After marriage, she has to hold him to make love to him.
"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I'm out-of-control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.
"I don't mind living in a man's world, as long as I can be a woman in it.
"I don't know who invented high heels, but all women owe him a lot.
"A career is wonderful, but you can't curl up with it on a cold night.
"Hollywood is a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul."
About a profound as I've heard from any woman.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Bizarre
Hundreds compete and I don't get it? I guess for a chance at snagging a multimillionaire NHL football player. Got hooked into the tryouts for the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders last night. Could not tear myself away.
Mostly dyed blondes, they were clones of each other. So were the few brunettes. It's not as if these girls were all bimbos; some have successful careers. One was a chiropractor, another owned her own computer business, another was a chemical engineer.......so why they would want to subject themselves to what they will be subjecting themselves to if they succeed is a mystery to me?
But they were not all playing with a full deck. One interview was stunning. "Who is the Commander-in-Chief?" asked one of the judges. With a proud beaming grin, the girl gave the name of Jerry Jones, the owner of the team! Do you know which political party the president belongs to? She shook her head. "Do you know what a political party is? Again the head shook.
You could not make this up. I was incredulous, so were the judges. Thrilled at her chance, another girl jumped in and said, "Barrack Obama and he belongs to the Democratic Party". But the next question stumped that five-star member of Mensa. "Which party did both Presidents Bush belong to?" "Oh, I know this........the...uh.....the....um.........oh dear, I just can't think of it right now." Unreal. Needless to say, both were weeded out. But this was the final round and each girl had actually made it all the way there! If I were a judge, I'd suggest having the "brains" portion of the tryouts first up.
"These girls have to be able to converse intelligently at dinner where they might be seated next to a senator or a congressman -- or even a team owner!" drawled one of the judges, herself an older, desperately pulled-together, former cheerleader. Here's a bulletin girl: the senator, congressman or team owner doesn't give a whit if the cheerleader next to him knows who the president is. He has only one thing on his mind.
Yet, I could not bring myself to turn the TV off until the girls who were chosen for training camp had been selected. As each name was announced, the weeping-with-joy began as they rushed to the stage. And they're not even cheerleaders yet. Many who had made it to previous camps lost out to this new group of masochists. "I didn't make it this time," sobbed one loser, "but I'll be back next year."
Leaving the venue, they fell weeping into their waiting mothers' arms -- the latter older saggier versions of the daughters, of course.
Sad. Had I been one of the losers, I'd have packed it in and got on with my 'real' life.
Mostly dyed blondes, they were clones of each other. So were the few brunettes. It's not as if these girls were all bimbos; some have successful careers. One was a chiropractor, another owned her own computer business, another was a chemical engineer.......so why they would want to subject themselves to what they will be subjecting themselves to if they succeed is a mystery to me?
But they were not all playing with a full deck. One interview was stunning. "Who is the Commander-in-Chief?" asked one of the judges. With a proud beaming grin, the girl gave the name of Jerry Jones, the owner of the team! Do you know which political party the president belongs to? She shook her head. "Do you know what a political party is? Again the head shook.
You could not make this up. I was incredulous, so were the judges. Thrilled at her chance, another girl jumped in and said, "Barrack Obama and he belongs to the Democratic Party". But the next question stumped that five-star member of Mensa. "Which party did both Presidents Bush belong to?" "Oh, I know this........the...uh.....the....um.........oh dear, I just can't think of it right now." Unreal. Needless to say, both were weeded out. But this was the final round and each girl had actually made it all the way there! If I were a judge, I'd suggest having the "brains" portion of the tryouts first up.
"These girls have to be able to converse intelligently at dinner where they might be seated next to a senator or a congressman -- or even a team owner!" drawled one of the judges, herself an older, desperately pulled-together, former cheerleader. Here's a bulletin girl: the senator, congressman or team owner doesn't give a whit if the cheerleader next to him knows who the president is. He has only one thing on his mind.
Yet, I could not bring myself to turn the TV off until the girls who were chosen for training camp had been selected. As each name was announced, the weeping-with-joy began as they rushed to the stage. And they're not even cheerleaders yet. Many who had made it to previous camps lost out to this new group of masochists. "I didn't make it this time," sobbed one loser, "but I'll be back next year."
Leaving the venue, they fell weeping into their waiting mothers' arms -- the latter older saggier versions of the daughters, of course.
Sad. Had I been one of the losers, I'd have packed it in and got on with my 'real' life.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
No One has a Brain Like that Anymore
"Nine tenths of the people are created so you would want to be with the other tenth."
This marvellous comment was made by British Parliamentarian and writer, Horace Walpole, 1717 - 1797. Who has a brain like that today? Every now and then I look up someone famous to see how much more brilliant than your average Canadian. Here are a few more gems from Walpole:
"The world is a comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those that feel.
"The Methodists love your big sinners as proper subjects to work upon.
"Poetry is a beautiful way of spoiling prose, and the laborious art of exchanging plain sense for harmony."
The Globe and Mail publishes excellent quotes every day, which is where I get my inspiration for looking up the authors. What I discover is a far cry from, "Whaa's up?" And if the word "like" didn't exist, most people would remain mute. Ditto with "you know?".
All very depressing, compared with the wit and spleen of yesteryear.
This marvellous comment was made by British Parliamentarian and writer, Horace Walpole, 1717 - 1797. Who has a brain like that today? Every now and then I look up someone famous to see how much more brilliant than your average Canadian. Here are a few more gems from Walpole:
"The world is a comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those that feel.
"The Methodists love your big sinners as proper subjects to work upon.
"Poetry is a beautiful way of spoiling prose, and the laborious art of exchanging plain sense for harmony."
The Globe and Mail publishes excellent quotes every day, which is where I get my inspiration for looking up the authors. What I discover is a far cry from, "Whaa's up?" And if the word "like" didn't exist, most people would remain mute. Ditto with "you know?".
All very depressing, compared with the wit and spleen of yesteryear.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
A Fight to the Finish
Just came in from wrestling the GD Christmas lights onto the GD tree in the front yard.
Why do I store them in a tangle every year? First I had to weave them all over the living/dining room floor to untangle them, then gingerly drag them outside and re-weave them all over the frozen lawn so they wouldn't re-tangle before I set up the little step ladder to string them. Being a tad short, I did not string them into the higher branches before winding them around the trunk and plugging them into the extension cord. Presto, they lit! It was a fight to the finish, but I prevailed. Another Christmas Miracle!
A few years ago I bought a pre-lit tree to avoid the nightmare of stringing four sets of GD lights. I remember when I was a child, my father would spend an entire day frigging with the lights because in those far-off bygone days, if one bulb blew, the entire string died. I remember my Aunt Betty -- she of the nicest house in the family -- following every trend every Christmas. One year it was that gauzy angel hair stuff, actually made of glass shards which dug into our skin and itched until February. What was she thinking? !
Tomorrow, being the First Sunday in Advent, is the Sunday I hang our Advent Wreath. Feels good to be starting Christmas.
Why do I store them in a tangle every year? First I had to weave them all over the living/dining room floor to untangle them, then gingerly drag them outside and re-weave them all over the frozen lawn so they wouldn't re-tangle before I set up the little step ladder to string them. Being a tad short, I did not string them into the higher branches before winding them around the trunk and plugging them into the extension cord. Presto, they lit! It was a fight to the finish, but I prevailed. Another Christmas Miracle!
A few years ago I bought a pre-lit tree to avoid the nightmare of stringing four sets of GD lights. I remember when I was a child, my father would spend an entire day frigging with the lights because in those far-off bygone days, if one bulb blew, the entire string died. I remember my Aunt Betty -- she of the nicest house in the family -- following every trend every Christmas. One year it was that gauzy angel hair stuff, actually made of glass shards which dug into our skin and itched until February. What was she thinking? !
Tomorrow, being the First Sunday in Advent, is the Sunday I hang our Advent Wreath. Feels good to be starting Christmas.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Wow
"Look at these results," my doctor said this morning, turning the computer screen so I could see it. "Your age is one number, but your bone density is another. It's better than I ever see on anyone of any age. We never see results like that." Really?
So, osteoporosis will not be my downfall -- literally. I googled "bone density" and see that a healthy average is 1.5. Mine is 2.0. Thanks to my swimming, my heart and lungs are in excellent condition and no breast cancer in the offing. This was the first comprehensive exam I'd had in ages and I am encouraged.
We just have to get through the blood tests.
So, osteoporosis will not be my downfall -- literally. I googled "bone density" and see that a healthy average is 1.5. Mine is 2.0. Thanks to my swimming, my heart and lungs are in excellent condition and no breast cancer in the offing. This was the first comprehensive exam I'd had in ages and I am encouraged.
We just have to get through the blood tests.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Unconscionable
So, mysteriously there was a fire on the Attawapiskat Reserve, forcing the government -- you and me and our $$$$ -- to move residents to motels. Gee, how did that happen?
Good, old Chief Teresa Spence raises her greedy head once again. This is the same chief who camped out in Ottawa a while ago and went on a (non)hunger strike, while pocketing almost $400,000 in salary to look after a measly 2,000 people. It's unconscionable.
Spence has been funnelled $90 million in the past few years alone, plus another $500,000 to renovate existing housing, yet hasn't done one thing to improve life for her people. Ottawa put the community under third-party management, after an audit uncovered a cesspool of financial mismanagement, i.e., outright theft, in my view. Then Ottawa changed its mind and Spence was again handed the keys to the vault. What did Spence think of the audit? "A distraction."
The trailers that went up in flames weren't even purchased by the band, they were a gift from De Beers Canada. Five years after being donated, the "temporary" housing solution was still the only housing solution.
After squandering the money given by Ottawa, Spence had the nerve to appeal to the Red Cross for help. She should be charged.
Good, old Chief Teresa Spence raises her greedy head once again. This is the same chief who camped out in Ottawa a while ago and went on a (non)hunger strike, while pocketing almost $400,000 in salary to look after a measly 2,000 people. It's unconscionable.
Spence has been funnelled $90 million in the past few years alone, plus another $500,000 to renovate existing housing, yet hasn't done one thing to improve life for her people. Ottawa put the community under third-party management, after an audit uncovered a cesspool of financial mismanagement, i.e., outright theft, in my view. Then Ottawa changed its mind and Spence was again handed the keys to the vault. What did Spence think of the audit? "A distraction."
The trailers that went up in flames weren't even purchased by the band, they were a gift from De Beers Canada. Five years after being donated, the "temporary" housing solution was still the only housing solution.
After squandering the money given by Ottawa, Spence had the nerve to appeal to the Red Cross for help. She should be charged.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Fake
I wear it much more often than I used to, the diamond tennis bracelet my cousin left me when she passed in 2002 from ovarian cancer. Way too young. Her brother gave it me and I was overwhelmed. "She wanted you to have it," he sweetly said.
The clasp was iffy, so I took it to a jeweller. "This is worth about $120," he said of the 43 fake stones which make it up. "It's cubic zirconia." I was shocked. Many thoughts rushed into my head at that moment, the foremost of which was that she innocently always believed it genuine -- a precious gift from her husband. She never took it off. The other thought was, "What a cheapskate! With his bags and bags of money, he gives her a fake bracelet." What a jerk.
I always knew there was something about him I didn't like. A trophy wife, she deserved much more. He quickly moved on and married another "trophy" -- one too many facelifts and WAY too skinny.
I should have known that had it been real, he would never have given it me. Never mind, I wear it all the time now because it brings me closer to her.
The clasp was iffy, so I took it to a jeweller. "This is worth about $120," he said of the 43 fake stones which make it up. "It's cubic zirconia." I was shocked. Many thoughts rushed into my head at that moment, the foremost of which was that she innocently always believed it genuine -- a precious gift from her husband. She never took it off. The other thought was, "What a cheapskate! With his bags and bags of money, he gives her a fake bracelet." What a jerk.
I always knew there was something about him I didn't like. A trophy wife, she deserved much more. He quickly moved on and married another "trophy" -- one too many facelifts and WAY too skinny.
I should have known that had it been real, he would never have given it me. Never mind, I wear it all the time now because it brings me closer to her.
Keep it to yourself
I have few "official" followers of my blog, but thousands of readers all over the world, from Russia, France, the US, Indonesia, South Korea, Germany, Malaysia, the Ukraine.............you name it, people everywhere read it. Which is wonderful because I enjoy (read, 'am compelled to') writing and entertaining people. What galls me are people who criticize my blog, but do not identify as "followers". They hide behind anonymity and tear family members apart, while I am in the public thoroughfare putting my opinions in anyone's face.
If you can't declare yourself a follower, don't comment negatively. If you want to engage and say something, step up and be a follower. This is the case with the spouse of a beloved cousin. After 65 years of closeness and love between my cousin and I, the spouse -- who came on the scene five minutes ago and reads this blog -- didn't like something I posted. Sadly, my cousin wrote me a poison pen letter and we are now estranged. I know my cousin has to live with his latest, current spouse, but have some backbone and don't dump me because of her fits.
That hurts deeply. I don't care what anyone thinks of this blog. I write it for myself, period the end. But I take offense at people who never put pen to paper themselves, are not "followers", yet crap on what I write.
One of my followers, "D", told me he was ashamed of hiding in the bushes reading my blog, so he became a follower. Good for him.
Hey, if you don't like this blog, don't read it. Write your own.
Well, that's my rant for today.
p.s. to "the spouse": you won't like this one either.
If you can't declare yourself a follower, don't comment negatively. If you want to engage and say something, step up and be a follower. This is the case with the spouse of a beloved cousin. After 65 years of closeness and love between my cousin and I, the spouse -- who came on the scene five minutes ago and reads this blog -- didn't like something I posted. Sadly, my cousin wrote me a poison pen letter and we are now estranged. I know my cousin has to live with his latest, current spouse, but have some backbone and don't dump me because of her fits.
That hurts deeply. I don't care what anyone thinks of this blog. I write it for myself, period the end. But I take offense at people who never put pen to paper themselves, are not "followers", yet crap on what I write.
One of my followers, "D", told me he was ashamed of hiding in the bushes reading my blog, so he became a follower. Good for him.
Hey, if you don't like this blog, don't read it. Write your own.
Well, that's my rant for today.
p.s. to "the spouse": you won't like this one either.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Football versus Football
The driving snow of the Vanier Cup final yesterday brought back so many memories of my childhood. I could literally feel the numbing cold of the bleachers in which we sat at Lansdowne Park watching the Ottawa Rough Riders play. My dear uncle, Elgin, used to take all four of us young cousins to games when we were pretty small.
I hadn't a clue about what we were watching, but the atmosphere is forever seared into memory. The wind, the cold, the hard seats, the freezing feet, the frigid hands, the snow, the dripping nose..........did my mother not dress me properly? Back in those days, we didn't have $500 fleece jackets, $100 padded gloves and $300 fancy boots. We had woolen mitts, duffle coats with hoods and flimsy scarves. Our boots were pretty primitive too, but there we gamely sat through four gruelling quarters of Frank Claire football.
It all comes freezingly back as today's Grey Cup game approaches. Being played in Regina -- Canada's capital of 'freezing' -- the game and sitting in those stands is the last place I'd want to be, but I will certainly watch it on TV. Compared to the hype of the Superbowl, Canada's east-west final is pretty tame and decidedly low-key. Heck, anything is tame compared to the American version of our final. That's what I mean about "football versus football". Still, Grey Cup Sunday in Canada is huge; so is the Stanley Cup. Regardless of the fact that the NHL has been taken over by the Americans and is run by a guy who probably can't even skate, hockey also remains fiercely "Canadian". Watching pre-game coverage yesterday from Regina, Grey Cup is even huge-er there. No fans are more diehard or dedicated than the Regina variety. Ditto for gritty Steeltown's.
I remember as a child the neighbours gathering at our place for a big party. Relatively temperate, my parents and their friends would toss this virtue for Grey Cup Sunday. Beer, rye, gin, snacks and cigarettes are what I remember best. My parents didn't smoke, but everyone else did and my father always put out a hospitable cigarette dish. In between parties, he used to keep it in a drawer with a damp paper towel taped to the underside of the cover to maintain freshness. How weird it seems now? As for wine, no one drank it, too wimpy for Grey Cup. Some folks were from the West, others from the East, so cheering was wild regardless of who won what play.
I cannot think of Grey Cup without remembering my parents, my friends in Lindenlea, their parents and the wonderful childhood I had. Absolutely superb.
I hadn't a clue about what we were watching, but the atmosphere is forever seared into memory. The wind, the cold, the hard seats, the freezing feet, the frigid hands, the snow, the dripping nose..........did my mother not dress me properly? Back in those days, we didn't have $500 fleece jackets, $100 padded gloves and $300 fancy boots. We had woolen mitts, duffle coats with hoods and flimsy scarves. Our boots were pretty primitive too, but there we gamely sat through four gruelling quarters of Frank Claire football.
It all comes freezingly back as today's Grey Cup game approaches. Being played in Regina -- Canada's capital of 'freezing' -- the game and sitting in those stands is the last place I'd want to be, but I will certainly watch it on TV. Compared to the hype of the Superbowl, Canada's east-west final is pretty tame and decidedly low-key. Heck, anything is tame compared to the American version of our final. That's what I mean about "football versus football". Still, Grey Cup Sunday in Canada is huge; so is the Stanley Cup. Regardless of the fact that the NHL has been taken over by the Americans and is run by a guy who probably can't even skate, hockey also remains fiercely "Canadian". Watching pre-game coverage yesterday from Regina, Grey Cup is even huge-er there. No fans are more diehard or dedicated than the Regina variety. Ditto for gritty Steeltown's.
I remember as a child the neighbours gathering at our place for a big party. Relatively temperate, my parents and their friends would toss this virtue for Grey Cup Sunday. Beer, rye, gin, snacks and cigarettes are what I remember best. My parents didn't smoke, but everyone else did and my father always put out a hospitable cigarette dish. In between parties, he used to keep it in a drawer with a damp paper towel taped to the underside of the cover to maintain freshness. How weird it seems now? As for wine, no one drank it, too wimpy for Grey Cup. Some folks were from the West, others from the East, so cheering was wild regardless of who won what play.
I cannot think of Grey Cup without remembering my parents, my friends in Lindenlea, their parents and the wonderful childhood I had. Absolutely superb.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Americans
"I'm a New Yorker and I think it's terrible," said our hostess last evening. She was referring to the fact that Americans have no clue about Canada in any way, shape or form, but have now perked up thanks to Rob Ford. Heck, even CNN is doing specials on the lout.
But it's very true, Americans are completely ignorant about Canada. Except when a scandal erupts. Our gracious hostess has lived in Canada for many, many years and raised four children -- or is it five? Her husband served one of our prime ministers and his work took her to Ottawa and Washington. They are lovely people and proud Canadians. She is also the aunt of Brett -- the Hitman -- Hart, one of my favourite celebrities of all time. I was secretly hoping he would be there last evening, but alas wasn't. Ah well, I live in hope..............
Our hostess is a patriotic Canadian who is not proud of her native country at the moment. Just watched a re-play of 'Jeopardy', a stupid show hosted by a Canadian, and when Alex Trebek asked who the current prime minister of Canada was, no one got it! Amazing. Reminds me of Texas friends we spent time with over many years at their island in the Gatineau Hills. "You live in Canada five months of the year and you have no clue who the prime minister is!?" I said one evening to our hostess. "Do you know who the premier of Quebec is?" I asked. Of course not. It's pretty outrageous how inward-looking and navel Americans are.
It's amazing that CNN has covered the Rob Ford fiasco, but did not touch the greyhound-bus beheading of a few years ago outside of Winnipeg.
Amazing.
But it's very true, Americans are completely ignorant about Canada. Except when a scandal erupts. Our gracious hostess has lived in Canada for many, many years and raised four children -- or is it five? Her husband served one of our prime ministers and his work took her to Ottawa and Washington. They are lovely people and proud Canadians. She is also the aunt of Brett -- the Hitman -- Hart, one of my favourite celebrities of all time. I was secretly hoping he would be there last evening, but alas wasn't. Ah well, I live in hope..............
Our hostess is a patriotic Canadian who is not proud of her native country at the moment. Just watched a re-play of 'Jeopardy', a stupid show hosted by a Canadian, and when Alex Trebek asked who the current prime minister of Canada was, no one got it! Amazing. Reminds me of Texas friends we spent time with over many years at their island in the Gatineau Hills. "You live in Canada five months of the year and you have no clue who the prime minister is!?" I said one evening to our hostess. "Do you know who the premier of Quebec is?" I asked. Of course not. It's pretty outrageous how inward-looking and navel Americans are.
It's amazing that CNN has covered the Rob Ford fiasco, but did not touch the greyhound-bus beheading of a few years ago outside of Winnipeg.
Amazing.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Mrs. Todd's Algebra Class
That's where I was at about 1:30 p.m., on Friday, November 22, 1963, when Kennedy's assassination was confirmed. It was confirmed because two secret-service agents burst into our class and whisked the US ambassador's daughter away in a split second. She had been a friend of mine. We were both 16.
Mrs. Todd, my grade 12 algebra teacher at Lisgar Collegiate Institute in Ottawa, broke into tears, but after composing herself, continued with the lesson. We were all dumbfounded and very confused. I don`t think it hit me until I came home and saw that my parents had moved the TV into the dining room so we could watch it around the clock. I had to babysit that evening and went, as usual. But I remember it was cold and raining and the entire weekend was sad, sad, sad.
Life changed after that split second. Innocence disappeared. The bright light dimmed. We all know now that Kennedy had feet of clay, but for some reason he held us. Pierre Trudeau held us in the same way. What was it? The Royal Jelly, period, the end.
I hope we all take a minute this Friday, November 22nd, to remember. It's another "Friday", how ironic.
Mrs. Todd, my grade 12 algebra teacher at Lisgar Collegiate Institute in Ottawa, broke into tears, but after composing herself, continued with the lesson. We were all dumbfounded and very confused. I don`t think it hit me until I came home and saw that my parents had moved the TV into the dining room so we could watch it around the clock. I had to babysit that evening and went, as usual. But I remember it was cold and raining and the entire weekend was sad, sad, sad.
Life changed after that split second. Innocence disappeared. The bright light dimmed. We all know now that Kennedy had feet of clay, but for some reason he held us. Pierre Trudeau held us in the same way. What was it? The Royal Jelly, period, the end.
I hope we all take a minute this Friday, November 22nd, to remember. It's another "Friday", how ironic.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Sorry, but it's BS
Philippino Canadians send millions back to their native land every year -- money they have earned here, but give to another country, rendering it of no use to the Canadian economy. And yet they now want Canadians to send mega-money and relief to aid in the latest disaster in that country?!
Another Haiti. I don't get it. But, or course I do. The Philippene government has not re-distributed the money. You can bet the "powers that be" have pocketed most of it. That is why I am not giving one cent.
Disturbing? Read Gary Mason in The Globe and Mail today and weep. His column will really disturb -- but not surprise -- you. He writes about the wasteful and disastrous public-policy decision made in BC ten years ago to hand over child welfare, health and education to native communities. In a courageous report, written by Mary Ellen Turpel-Lafond -- herself a member of the Muskeg Lake Cree Nation -- she outlines that tens of millions of dollars have gone to "consultants" and "meeting planners", but little else. "Aboriginal child welfare agencies were given millions without...(wait for it)...a single child protection case for which to account."
Well, of course. What's new? "There is rampant neglect, there is abuse and there are really serious mental-health issues on the part of the parents," says the report. "The public millions being spent to fund aboriginal child welfare authorities appear to have mostly ended up in people's pockets. Few children have been helped, but any attempt by government to revert to its old ways will now be met with fierce resistance from those who have come to benefit financially from the new order."
"After my report came out, I received some really nasty, vicious e-mails from the people who stand to lose the most from any change in the status quo," Ms. Turpel-Lafond says. Education(al) results on reserves are as bad today as they've been for a long time. But the public hasn't seen those numbers because they'd be an embarrassment to the government -- a rebuke to its decision to devolve more and more responsibility to 'first nations'", she adds.
It's all so outrageous, predictable and sad for the children.
Another Haiti. I don't get it. But, or course I do. The Philippene government has not re-distributed the money. You can bet the "powers that be" have pocketed most of it. That is why I am not giving one cent.
Disturbing? Read Gary Mason in The Globe and Mail today and weep. His column will really disturb -- but not surprise -- you. He writes about the wasteful and disastrous public-policy decision made in BC ten years ago to hand over child welfare, health and education to native communities. In a courageous report, written by Mary Ellen Turpel-Lafond -- herself a member of the Muskeg Lake Cree Nation -- she outlines that tens of millions of dollars have gone to "consultants" and "meeting planners", but little else. "Aboriginal child welfare agencies were given millions without...(wait for it)...a single child protection case for which to account."
Well, of course. What's new? "There is rampant neglect, there is abuse and there are really serious mental-health issues on the part of the parents," says the report. "The public millions being spent to fund aboriginal child welfare authorities appear to have mostly ended up in people's pockets. Few children have been helped, but any attempt by government to revert to its old ways will now be met with fierce resistance from those who have come to benefit financially from the new order."
"After my report came out, I received some really nasty, vicious e-mails from the people who stand to lose the most from any change in the status quo," Ms. Turpel-Lafond says. Education(al) results on reserves are as bad today as they've been for a long time. But the public hasn't seen those numbers because they'd be an embarrassment to the government -- a rebuke to its decision to devolve more and more responsibility to 'first nations'", she adds.
It's all so outrageous, predictable and sad for the children.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
More on shoes............
As I consistently maintain, shoes make the outfit. Not handbags, although they and other accessories add to the overall picture. "Nobody cares what handbag you're wearing. Now people are focussed on whether you know what shoe to wear," says an article confirming my own fashion sense in this week's 'Maclean's', by Anne Kingston.
Which is why more and more stores are dramatically expanding their shoe departments -- such as The Bay's flagship in Toronto, which now boasts a 50,000-sq.ft. shoe sanctuary on the ground floor. I would be in paradise. I did not know that footwear in Canada is a $5.2 billion industry. "Footwear offers a longer life cycle in terms of preserving margin," the article goes on.
You also get a much bigger bang for your fashion buck with a pair of shoes than, say a very pricey dress. The power of a shoe goes back to Cinderella, whose glass slipper won her a prince. Tamara Mellon, co-founder of Jimmy Choo, says that shoes are no long what you buy to complement the dress; they are the centrepiece of the look. Absolutely. Put on any 'little black dress', which I usually make myself, don a spectacular pair of shoes, throw on a few other upper-body accessories, the right pair of earrings and you're done.
"It doesn't summon body-image anxieties like dresses do. You reject the shoe as not comfortable or the right colour; it doesn't reject you. And high heels offer the benefit of what anthropologists call 'lordosis' -- a lift of the behind and an arch of the back commonly seen in primate display," the article adds. I never feel "dressed" until I have put on my shoes.
I always say that a pair of jeans with sneakers conveys a completely different image and message than does a pair with high-heeled sandals or gorgeous boots. I have never abandoned my high heels and keep all 75 pairs in good repair at all times. As I said to my chiropractor in Ottawa, "Your job is to keep me in high heels." "So far, it's working," he replied.
Which is why more and more stores are dramatically expanding their shoe departments -- such as The Bay's flagship in Toronto, which now boasts a 50,000-sq.ft. shoe sanctuary on the ground floor. I would be in paradise. I did not know that footwear in Canada is a $5.2 billion industry. "Footwear offers a longer life cycle in terms of preserving margin," the article goes on.
You also get a much bigger bang for your fashion buck with a pair of shoes than, say a very pricey dress. The power of a shoe goes back to Cinderella, whose glass slipper won her a prince. Tamara Mellon, co-founder of Jimmy Choo, says that shoes are no long what you buy to complement the dress; they are the centrepiece of the look. Absolutely. Put on any 'little black dress', which I usually make myself, don a spectacular pair of shoes, throw on a few other upper-body accessories, the right pair of earrings and you're done.
"It doesn't summon body-image anxieties like dresses do. You reject the shoe as not comfortable or the right colour; it doesn't reject you. And high heels offer the benefit of what anthropologists call 'lordosis' -- a lift of the behind and an arch of the back commonly seen in primate display," the article adds. I never feel "dressed" until I have put on my shoes.
I always say that a pair of jeans with sneakers conveys a completely different image and message than does a pair with high-heeled sandals or gorgeous boots. I have never abandoned my high heels and keep all 75 pairs in good repair at all times. As I said to my chiropractor in Ottawa, "Your job is to keep me in high heels." "So far, it's working," he replied.
Really?
People don't know how to prepare a squash? Every day The Globe and Mail publishes a three- or four-step recipe on how to cook something -- complete with drawings. Today it was squash.
How simple can it be? Just wash it, cut it, core it and bake it. Don't even need a dish. Gee, kids are sure missing out on home ec classes -- such as we used to have in grades seven and eight. Those classes -- and my mother's and grandmother's knees -- were where I learned to cook. Back then, the boys took home ec, although unfortunately we didn't get to take shops. At least they learned something. Funnily enough, I am much handier than B, whose strengths lie elsewhere. When it comes to even hanging a painting, I do it. Easier for him than to have me yell at him for "doing it all wrong".
Back to squash. "Excuse me, but what is that and what do you do with it?" a young mother asked me in the checkout line a few years ago. Her cart was filled with processed foods, her toddlers fat.
So I told her. "Really?! Even I could do that," she added. I watched her cart and kids as she ran back to get one. "And they're really cheap!" she said in victory.
Good for her. Maybe she has since graduated to baked potatoes?
How simple can it be? Just wash it, cut it, core it and bake it. Don't even need a dish. Gee, kids are sure missing out on home ec classes -- such as we used to have in grades seven and eight. Those classes -- and my mother's and grandmother's knees -- were where I learned to cook. Back then, the boys took home ec, although unfortunately we didn't get to take shops. At least they learned something. Funnily enough, I am much handier than B, whose strengths lie elsewhere. When it comes to even hanging a painting, I do it. Easier for him than to have me yell at him for "doing it all wrong".
Back to squash. "Excuse me, but what is that and what do you do with it?" a young mother asked me in the checkout line a few years ago. Her cart was filled with processed foods, her toddlers fat.
So I told her. "Really?! Even I could do that," she added. I watched her cart and kids as she ran back to get one. "And they're really cheap!" she said in victory.
Good for her. Maybe she has since graduated to baked potatoes?
Monday, November 11, 2013
The Battle of Crysler's Farm
It is now submerged, a casualty of the St. Lawrence Seaway. But Prime Minister Harper invoked Crysler's Farm today in his Remembrance Day remarks. He has been talking about The War of 1812 for a while and this was the definitive battle -- the reason we are not part of the US.
It was the war that saved Canada from becoming part of America. The Battle of Crysler's Farm, also known as the Battle of Crysler's Field, was fought on 11 November 1813 during the Anglo-American War of 1812. A British and Canadian force was victorious over the American force which greatly outnumbered them. The American defeat prompted them to abandon the St. Lawrence Campaign, their major strategic effort in the autumn of 1813.
No matter how little today's students know about Canadian history, the Battle of Crysler's Farm was critical to Canada becoming Canada.
It was the war that saved Canada from becoming part of America. The Battle of Crysler's Farm, also known as the Battle of Crysler's Field, was fought on 11 November 1813 during the Anglo-American War of 1812. A British and Canadian force was victorious over the American force which greatly outnumbered them. The American defeat prompted them to abandon the St. Lawrence Campaign, their major strategic effort in the autumn of 1813.
No matter how little today's students know about Canadian history, the Battle of Crysler's Farm was critical to Canada becoming Canada.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
We must have done a couple of things right
"Regret" was the theme of 'Definitely Not the Opera' on CBC Radio this afternoon. The host ventured into the streets of Toronto and randomly asked people what theirs were. Without exception, each said it was a broken relationship with a parent.
How lucky B and I are. Every day, one, two, three or all four of our children are in touch -- either by phone or email. I consider it a miracle that any of them even talk to us, after the imperfect parenting job we did. When your children are young and you are raising them you try and imprint your values. When they are adults you must back off completely.
What a joy it is to be a grandparent. What a joy it is to hear the phone ring and see that it is one of your children or grandchildren calling.
Huge gifts.
How lucky B and I are. Every day, one, two, three or all four of our children are in touch -- either by phone or email. I consider it a miracle that any of them even talk to us, after the imperfect parenting job we did. When your children are young and you are raising them you try and imprint your values. When they are adults you must back off completely.
What a joy it is to be a grandparent. What a joy it is to hear the phone ring and see that it is one of your children or grandchildren calling.
Huge gifts.
Friday, November 8, 2013
The Ugly Side of Miss Goody Two-Shoes
After a nasty incident at the pool a few weeks ago, when Miss Goody Two-Shoes lifeguard went postal because she could not handle her job, and after reporting the fiasco to management, I awaited an apology I was assured was forthcoming.
"I am apologizing for that incident," Miss T-Shoes said to me today. "I was told I had to apologize and so I am," she insincerely added. "If you have any more to say, tell management." With that bullsh-t comment she walked off.
Talk about unprofessional. The problem arose because the aquafitters insist on entering the pool a half hour before their class starts and jam up the lanes. Miss T-Shoes can't handle them, so she freaked out on me a while back when I elected to stay in the lane in which I was swimming, instead of moving to another as I usually did.
I have done a couple of blogs about it, but pulled them because Miss T-Shoes is the type who would accuse me of cyber-bullying. But the crap she handed me today convinced me to out her again. Unprofessional hysterics have no place in dealing with the public. Unfortunately, the YMCA does nothing about employees such as she. "She's very emotional," was all I got from the manager this morning. Like I care. So unacceptable.
It won't stop me from swimming, but it will happily ensure Miss T-Shoes does not talk to me.
"I am apologizing for that incident," Miss T-Shoes said to me today. "I was told I had to apologize and so I am," she insincerely added. "If you have any more to say, tell management." With that bullsh-t comment she walked off.
Talk about unprofessional. The problem arose because the aquafitters insist on entering the pool a half hour before their class starts and jam up the lanes. Miss T-Shoes can't handle them, so she freaked out on me a while back when I elected to stay in the lane in which I was swimming, instead of moving to another as I usually did.
I have done a couple of blogs about it, but pulled them because Miss T-Shoes is the type who would accuse me of cyber-bullying. But the crap she handed me today convinced me to out her again. Unprofessional hysterics have no place in dealing with the public. Unfortunately, the YMCA does nothing about employees such as she. "She's very emotional," was all I got from the manager this morning. Like I care. So unacceptable.
It won't stop me from swimming, but it will happily ensure Miss T-Shoes does not talk to me.
Get over yourself
Michelle Rempel's rant against Justin Trudeau's women-only event in Toronto is laughable. A dyed-blonde huckster herself, Rempel called the gathering sexist, demeaning and unserious. Who is she kidding? Any woman who dyes her hair blonde is projecting an image of sex and does so at her own risk, the risk of not being taken seriously. At least, that is my opinion.
I am sure Rempel is a rabid feminist, who attends all kinds of women-only functions herself, so why she objects to Trudeau holding one is beyond me. Oh yeah, it's because he is a man. I think it was a great idea and so did all the women who shelled out $250 a ticket for the sold-out event. I wouldn't bother because I know the kid well, Justin having played soccer with my kids in elementary school. That is also how I got to know Margaret, chatting on the sidelines. That, my friends, is another blog entirely!
The women who wanted to meet Trudeau one-on-one are obviously not dummies. Happily, they do not share Rempel's hysteria.
I am sure Rempel is a rabid feminist, who attends all kinds of women-only functions herself, so why she objects to Trudeau holding one is beyond me. Oh yeah, it's because he is a man. I think it was a great idea and so did all the women who shelled out $250 a ticket for the sold-out event. I wouldn't bother because I know the kid well, Justin having played soccer with my kids in elementary school. That is also how I got to know Margaret, chatting on the sidelines. That, my friends, is another blog entirely!
The women who wanted to meet Trudeau one-on-one are obviously not dummies. Happily, they do not share Rempel's hysteria.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Nothing's changed
"The number of men in Calgary who would like more time with their children following divorce runs into the many hundreds," from an article in 'Avenue', a Calgary periodical. "I hate the term 'visitation'. They're my children, after all," said a victim of "The System".
The problem is many men in a divorce are so pissed off they just walk away. When they try to come back and recover their rights as fathers, they have a real uphill battle. "The legislation governing family law, as written, is gender-neutral and most judges are fair-minded, trying to apply the law impartially. Still, many believe that men are discriminated against," the article continues.
Oh boy, are they ever.
Here's the deal: Fathers have to pay big-time upfront to ensure joint custody and establish their rights and interest in their children. They can't just walk away in anger and then reclaim their rights. They have to hang in there from the beginning.
When I met "B" 33 years ago, he was in the midst of a divorce. His then-wife had declared she did not want to be married to him any longer. Apparently she had read 'The Women's Room' and had decided she was some kind of a "liberated woman". From what, we did not know? Liberated from being financially supported? Liberated from not having to work? Liberated from not doing the cleaning and laundry? Who knew? What ensued was a protracted custody battle. Eventually, B was awarded joint custody. Why? Because he showed six judges he wanted to be a parent. That was 33 years ago and after a few years of a complete mess, B was actually awarded full custody of his two children. Can you imagine that!!?? Why? Because the court knew that he would not deny access, while the mother would.
What did it take? A lot of money. Most fathers walk away. They can't do it. Fathers need to know they have to pay lawyers and be serious and persistent in their objective. Fathers who want to parent have to push The System and the "judicial attitude" to the en'th degree.
Happily, we did, against the biggest, most negative obstacle one could ever encounter: the mother. We succeeded.
Footnote: Interestingly, the lawyer who won B's case and the child psychologist who advocated co-parenting teamed up to write a legal textbook on family law, which led to the current trend towards mediation, rather than litigation.
The problem is many men in a divorce are so pissed off they just walk away. When they try to come back and recover their rights as fathers, they have a real uphill battle. "The legislation governing family law, as written, is gender-neutral and most judges are fair-minded, trying to apply the law impartially. Still, many believe that men are discriminated against," the article continues.
Oh boy, are they ever.
Here's the deal: Fathers have to pay big-time upfront to ensure joint custody and establish their rights and interest in their children. They can't just walk away in anger and then reclaim their rights. They have to hang in there from the beginning.
When I met "B" 33 years ago, he was in the midst of a divorce. His then-wife had declared she did not want to be married to him any longer. Apparently she had read 'The Women's Room' and had decided she was some kind of a "liberated woman". From what, we did not know? Liberated from being financially supported? Liberated from not having to work? Liberated from not doing the cleaning and laundry? Who knew? What ensued was a protracted custody battle. Eventually, B was awarded joint custody. Why? Because he showed six judges he wanted to be a parent. That was 33 years ago and after a few years of a complete mess, B was actually awarded full custody of his two children. Can you imagine that!!?? Why? Because the court knew that he would not deny access, while the mother would.
What did it take? A lot of money. Most fathers walk away. They can't do it. Fathers need to know they have to pay lawyers and be serious and persistent in their objective. Fathers who want to parent have to push The System and the "judicial attitude" to the en'th degree.
Happily, we did, against the biggest, most negative obstacle one could ever encounter: the mother. We succeeded.
Footnote: Interestingly, the lawyer who won B's case and the child psychologist who advocated co-parenting teamed up to write a legal textbook on family law, which led to the current trend towards mediation, rather than litigation.
My Assignment
In 1968, one of my tasks was to keep an eye on my cousin's fiancé. She was working in Toronto and he in Ottawa, so I was asked to accompany him to parties and other potentially hazardous gatherings. Being very wealthy, exceedingly polite and disarmingly charming, this young man was a target to every predatory female we knew. And just as today, the public thoroughfare was replete with them. So, yours truly was squired around in high style until they married.
Thus it was I found myself in the front row in the old Capital Theatre on Bank Street gazing upon the peerless Jimi Hendrix. Nothing but the best seats for "J", so I benefitted. This adventure came vividly back to me as I watched an excellent documentary on the late brilliant troubadour on PBS (where else) last evening. I hadn't really understood how great Jimi was at the time because I didn't know the first thing about playing a guitar, but to hear the likes of Paul McCartney rave about his raw talent was to finally understand that what he did with a bit of wood and some wire was nothing short of magnificent.
By the time I sat in rapt amazement in that beautiful, old theatre, Mr. Hendrix was in full flight, indulging himself on everything from the music he played to the drugs he took. Remember the headbands he used to wear? Soaked in LSD. "Jimi didn't think about anything except his guitar and the women he slept with. He didn't care about politics, he never talked about world affairs....nothing but women and music," said one of his contemporaries.
Man, that's concentration for you. The night I saw him he did it all -- played with his teeth, gyrated and finally set his guitar on fire. Guess it's no surprise Johnny Allen Hendrix, voted the sixth greatest guitarist of all time, died at 27. What more could he have packed into so few years?
As for my cousin? Sadly she succumbed to ovarian cancer in her fifties. My old friend "J"? Still one of my best, oldest and truest friends
Thus it was I found myself in the front row in the old Capital Theatre on Bank Street gazing upon the peerless Jimi Hendrix. Nothing but the best seats for "J", so I benefitted. This adventure came vividly back to me as I watched an excellent documentary on the late brilliant troubadour on PBS (where else) last evening. I hadn't really understood how great Jimi was at the time because I didn't know the first thing about playing a guitar, but to hear the likes of Paul McCartney rave about his raw talent was to finally understand that what he did with a bit of wood and some wire was nothing short of magnificent.
By the time I sat in rapt amazement in that beautiful, old theatre, Mr. Hendrix was in full flight, indulging himself on everything from the music he played to the drugs he took. Remember the headbands he used to wear? Soaked in LSD. "Jimi didn't think about anything except his guitar and the women he slept with. He didn't care about politics, he never talked about world affairs....nothing but women and music," said one of his contemporaries.
Man, that's concentration for you. The night I saw him he did it all -- played with his teeth, gyrated and finally set his guitar on fire. Guess it's no surprise Johnny Allen Hendrix, voted the sixth greatest guitarist of all time, died at 27. What more could he have packed into so few years?
As for my cousin? Sadly she succumbed to ovarian cancer in her fifties. My old friend "J"? Still one of my best, oldest and truest friends
Sunday, November 3, 2013
45 Years Later
In my 'Mad Men' days at Maclean-Hunter publishing, I worked with some pretty awesome writers. One of them was renowned sports journalist Roy Macgregor, now with the Globe and Mail. Google him and you will see that he is a pretty famous Canadian journalist and the author of several books.
When Roy and I were occupying side-by-side desks on Toronto's University Avenue in Maclean-Hunter's bull pen, we were both young journalists learning our craft. I was 21; so was he. Although you had to demonstrate talent to get into M-H in those days, Roy quickly established himself as a really good writer. I remained a commercial writer, pretty good, but toiling in the trenches of the business publications division. Roy? He moved up quickly. What a great time we had back then. Born and raised in Huntsville, Roy was a complete gentleman and a down-to-earth original. We got on famously, joking and rollicking around Toronto in the early '70s.
Over the years I have watched his career with great happiness. No one deserves success more than he. Now and then I think of him, but having recently subscribed to The Globe, I now read him most days. He does not disappoint. Today I impetuously sent him an email, after 45 years, complimenting him on the superb piece he did on the legendary Howie Meeker.
Fifteen minutes later I got a wonderful response. Back and forth we reminisced about our editor, the crotchety Jean Portugal, from whom we learned so much. She used to rip our stuff to pieces -- and that was a very good thing. Jean once took us to lunch in Chinatown, where she proceeded to educate us on the digestive properties of green tea while eating Chinese food. It was worse than witnessing an autopsy! I gagged. She went into bodily functions and secretions and intestinal machinations that no sane person should ever have to contemplate. "I need a drink," I remember screaming silently.
Didn't get one.
So there you have it. My brush with fame. Roy Macgregor.
When Roy and I were occupying side-by-side desks on Toronto's University Avenue in Maclean-Hunter's bull pen, we were both young journalists learning our craft. I was 21; so was he. Although you had to demonstrate talent to get into M-H in those days, Roy quickly established himself as a really good writer. I remained a commercial writer, pretty good, but toiling in the trenches of the business publications division. Roy? He moved up quickly. What a great time we had back then. Born and raised in Huntsville, Roy was a complete gentleman and a down-to-earth original. We got on famously, joking and rollicking around Toronto in the early '70s.
Over the years I have watched his career with great happiness. No one deserves success more than he. Now and then I think of him, but having recently subscribed to The Globe, I now read him most days. He does not disappoint. Today I impetuously sent him an email, after 45 years, complimenting him on the superb piece he did on the legendary Howie Meeker.
Fifteen minutes later I got a wonderful response. Back and forth we reminisced about our editor, the crotchety Jean Portugal, from whom we learned so much. She used to rip our stuff to pieces -- and that was a very good thing. Jean once took us to lunch in Chinatown, where she proceeded to educate us on the digestive properties of green tea while eating Chinese food. It was worse than witnessing an autopsy! I gagged. She went into bodily functions and secretions and intestinal machinations that no sane person should ever have to contemplate. "I need a drink," I remember screaming silently.
Didn't get one.
So there you have it. My brush with fame. Roy Macgregor.
The Coffee World
Remember when coffee was just coffee? I mean, you went somewhere -- anywhere -- and ordered "a coffee". Didn't matter what kind it was, what was in it, where it had been picked, who picked it, or even if it were good or bad. A coffee was just a bloody coffee. Horror of horrors, we even drank instant! No longer. There has sprung up an entire coffee universe and I don't get it. I probably don't get it because I haven't had a coffee in 45 years.
The last time I had one was in my office at IBM Canada in Toronto. Half way through it, my heart started racing and racing and would not settle down. It was the most terrifying episode I had ever experienced. My colleagues rushed to my aid as I sat there gasping. In those days, every office had a nurse and she was summoned. After about a half hour, my heart resumed normal beating.
Apparently, caffeine and I don't get on. I experience "extrasistoles". So that was it, no more coffee.
Drive by any Timmy's and you will always see a huge lineup. Is there heroin in the stuff? And then there are Starbuck's, Second Cup, Java-Java...........and on and on. They're even opening a Timmy's in Afghanistan! People are very stuck on their coffee and it has to be "just so".
Me, I'm a tea granny. That and water, water, water -- to which I sometimes add scotch.
The last time I had one was in my office at IBM Canada in Toronto. Half way through it, my heart started racing and racing and would not settle down. It was the most terrifying episode I had ever experienced. My colleagues rushed to my aid as I sat there gasping. In those days, every office had a nurse and she was summoned. After about a half hour, my heart resumed normal beating.
Apparently, caffeine and I don't get on. I experience "extrasistoles". So that was it, no more coffee.
Drive by any Timmy's and you will always see a huge lineup. Is there heroin in the stuff? And then there are Starbuck's, Second Cup, Java-Java...........and on and on. They're even opening a Timmy's in Afghanistan! People are very stuck on their coffee and it has to be "just so".
Me, I'm a tea granny. That and water, water, water -- to which I sometimes add scotch.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Thoughts on the Senate
The only solution to the Senate is to let it die through attrition. I wrote a letter to The Herald last week and wondered why it had not been published 'cause I thought it was a pretty good letter and offered a new take on what to do with the mess. "Oh well, didn't get published," I said. Except that it did. Today my letter was printed (as usual, can't find it online, so here it is as submitted):
"Dear Editor,
"Dear Editor,
I know everyone wants the Senate to “poof”, but here’s a bulletin: can’t
be done without opening up the Canadian constitution to...who knows what? Not
gonna happen. You can’t just have a vote or wave a magic wand. The only way
the Senate will disappear is if prime ministers stop appointing senators.
Eventually, after 30 years or so, attrition will take care of it. They will
either die off or retire, leaving the chamber empty – just another quaint stop
on a tour of Parliament Hill."
- Calgary Herald, November 1, 2013
The Conservative convention has begun today here in Calgary. Maybe the letters' editor was holding mine back so more Conservatives might read it? Don't know, but attrition is one solution no one has proposed. Have to give credit to my husband, the constitutional expert, for this painless idea.
Thanks "B".
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Brilliant
"The silliest woman can manage a clever man, but it needs a very clever woman to manage a fool." How perfect. This was coined by Rudyard Kipling, the brilliant Bombay-born writer, 1865 to 1936. Wondering what other splendid bon mots he uttered, I googled his witticisms. Here are a few more:
"God could not be everywhere and therefore he made mothers.
"A woman's guess is much more accurate than a man's certainty.
"A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke.
"An ounce of mother is worth a pound of clergy.
"I have struck a city -- a real city -- and they call it Chicago....I urgently desire never to see it again. It is inhabited by savages.
"Asia is not going to be civilized by the methods of the West. There is too much Asia and she is too old.
"It is clever, but is it Art?
"Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by man."
They just don't make 'em like that anymore.
_________________________________________
Note: Writing about writing, here's an expression that has gone viral and which I hate: "going forward". What does that mean? For example, "Those are a few of the measures we'll be implementing to improve service........going forward." You don't need the "going forward" part. Just put a period after "service". Start listening, you'll hear it everywhere. Drives me crazy -- almost as much as "is-is" and "was-is".
_________________________________________
Note: Writing about writing, here's an expression that has gone viral and which I hate: "going forward". What does that mean? For example, "Those are a few of the measures we'll be implementing to improve service........going forward." You don't need the "going forward" part. Just put a period after "service". Start listening, you'll hear it everywhere. Drives me crazy -- almost as much as "is-is" and "was-is".
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Takes a lot of you-know-whats
They steal planes from under the noses of owners who have not met their financial obligations. These guys are absolutely, totally and completely cool. 'Airplane Repo' is the show and I am hooked. The suspense is unbelievable, as these guys case an airport, find the hangar and grab the plane -- all the while being chased by security, owners and police.
Up, up and away. They're off to collect paycheques anywhere from $15,000 to $200,000, depending on the value of the bounty. And sexy. These guys ooze it simply because of the nerve they have. No one is particularly good-looking, but that is never what sex appeal is about. It's all about courage and nerve -- oh yeah, and brains.
Love this show. Here are the coolest guys around:
Up, up and away. They're off to collect paycheques anywhere from $15,000 to $200,000, depending on the value of the bounty. And sexy. These guys ooze it simply because of the nerve they have. No one is particularly good-looking, but that is never what sex appeal is about. It's all about courage and nerve -- oh yeah, and brains.
Love this show. Here are the coolest guys around:
Thursday, October 24, 2013
So annoying
If I have to look at one more grimace from Tom Selleck on 'Blue Bloods' I'm gonna scream. Never having watched it in the past, I now occasionally do and am growing increasingly annoyed with Selleck's facial expressions -- or should I say "expression" because he has only the one.
The guy never cracks a real smile, just sort emits a teeth-clenching grimace in reaction to all the weighty and serious issues he confronts in an hour as NYC police commissioner. Then he stares meaningfully into space for a while, pondering the gravity of what just took place -- be it a turkey dinner or a murderous rampage -- as the scene fades to commercial.
All so annoying. The other thing that has always bugged me are Selleck's suits. What police commissioner is that precious that he wears $2,000-dollar three-piece suits you might oogle in GQ? These guys are usually tough as nails and wear garments that reflect it.
Moving on to other stuff, the casting of Len Cariou as the father is completely ludicrous. Not only is he a terrible actor (yes, he's Canadian, unfortunately), he's not credible in other ways -- such as his age. I always thought there was something wrong with him as Selleck's father. Turns out there is. He's only six years older than the guy who plays his son. Man, talk about child marriages!
I guess I watch to see what other annoying quirks will emerge. One thing's for sure: no one's as in love with his wife in real life as Wahlberg is with his on the show. Just does not ring true. Detectives under that kind of pressure usually behave like Harvey Keitel in 'Bad Lieutenant'. Really, really badly.
The guy never cracks a real smile, just sort emits a teeth-clenching grimace in reaction to all the weighty and serious issues he confronts in an hour as NYC police commissioner. Then he stares meaningfully into space for a while, pondering the gravity of what just took place -- be it a turkey dinner or a murderous rampage -- as the scene fades to commercial.
All so annoying. The other thing that has always bugged me are Selleck's suits. What police commissioner is that precious that he wears $2,000-dollar three-piece suits you might oogle in GQ? These guys are usually tough as nails and wear garments that reflect it.
Moving on to other stuff, the casting of Len Cariou as the father is completely ludicrous. Not only is he a terrible actor (yes, he's Canadian, unfortunately), he's not credible in other ways -- such as his age. I always thought there was something wrong with him as Selleck's father. Turns out there is. He's only six years older than the guy who plays his son. Man, talk about child marriages!
I guess I watch to see what other annoying quirks will emerge. One thing's for sure: no one's as in love with his wife in real life as Wahlberg is with his on the show. Just does not ring true. Detectives under that kind of pressure usually behave like Harvey Keitel in 'Bad Lieutenant'. Really, really badly.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Man, were we stupid
With only a three-foot guardrail between us and the racing cars, we'd pitch a tent and proceed to crack open the beer. This was in Mossport, where Formula One, Two and Three zoomed and screamed.
It all came back to me this evening as I enjoyed 'Rush', the movie about James Hunt and Niki Lauda, directed by Ron Howard. What a great movie -- especially if you had actually been there in the pits, smelling the gas and oil and thrilling to the high and delicious snarl of those engines as they screeched and took off. What were we thinking? Camping right beside the track, vulnerable to.....whatever?! But we were invincible. That's what your twenties do for you.
It was either Mossport or St. Jovite, those were the Canadian racetracks that featured the biggest and fastest drivers and cars in the world. Back in the early '70s, safety was....who cares? It was speed, speed and speed. Those weekends were crazy. And peeling out on Sunday afternoon? Every guy thought he was Jackie Stewart, turning the 401 into a ridiculous death ride. Seriously.
But I survived. James Hunt died at 45 of a heart attack. Lived fast, died young. Niki Lauda is still going strong and fathering children. But Hunt had the most fun, if the movie does him credit, which I believe it does. Wine, wine, wine, women, women, women and song, song, song.
Why else would you risk your life?
It all came back to me this evening as I enjoyed 'Rush', the movie about James Hunt and Niki Lauda, directed by Ron Howard. What a great movie -- especially if you had actually been there in the pits, smelling the gas and oil and thrilling to the high and delicious snarl of those engines as they screeched and took off. What were we thinking? Camping right beside the track, vulnerable to.....whatever?! But we were invincible. That's what your twenties do for you.
It was either Mossport or St. Jovite, those were the Canadian racetracks that featured the biggest and fastest drivers and cars in the world. Back in the early '70s, safety was....who cares? It was speed, speed and speed. Those weekends were crazy. And peeling out on Sunday afternoon? Every guy thought he was Jackie Stewart, turning the 401 into a ridiculous death ride. Seriously.
But I survived. James Hunt died at 45 of a heart attack. Lived fast, died young. Niki Lauda is still going strong and fathering children. But Hunt had the most fun, if the movie does him credit, which I believe it does. Wine, wine, wine, women, women, women and song, song, song.
Why else would you risk your life?
More on booze, slut-dressing and rape
"Don't get drunk. Don't binge-drink to the point where you pass out -- especially if you're with a bunch of men who are drinking too." That's the always-sage -- but not politically-correct -- advice of Globe and Mail columnist, Margaret Wente.
T'was ever thus. Get drunk, lose the inhibitions and have sex. University frollicking back in the sixties, when I was there, was full of incidents like this -- not that they necessarily happened to me, but they happened. All the time. To lots of girls. We knew which parties and which guys to avoid because we knew what might befall us. If we wanted that sort of evening, we went; if we didn't, we didn't But don't ever tell a feminist the girl played any part in her sexual "assault".
"These people are so invested in the victim narrative they don't believe young women have a legitimate responsibility for what happens because they fail to protect themselves." Wente adds. Such women also ignore the obvious, that alcohol disinhibits both men and women. "It impairs their judgment, sometimes ruinously, and makes it harder for people to get out of situations they'd rather not be in."
Couldn't agree more. She points out that rape culture never blames sexual assault on booze culture; it's always the man's fault. But obviously blotto boozing and sexual impropriety go hand-in-hand for both men and women. Always have.
Which brings me back to "slut-dressing". There's a reason Amish, Mennonite and Muslim women cover themselves. It's sexual. North American women expose themselves -- often excessively -- and then wonder why men hit on them? As my readers know, I heartily disagree with undue covering because it demeans and degrades women. But I also don't agree with letting breasts fall out and derrieres flash. That too is demeaning and degrading.
It's all about behaving reasonably, protecting and respecting yourself.
T'was ever thus. Get drunk, lose the inhibitions and have sex. University frollicking back in the sixties, when I was there, was full of incidents like this -- not that they necessarily happened to me, but they happened. All the time. To lots of girls. We knew which parties and which guys to avoid because we knew what might befall us. If we wanted that sort of evening, we went; if we didn't, we didn't But don't ever tell a feminist the girl played any part in her sexual "assault".
"These people are so invested in the victim narrative they don't believe young women have a legitimate responsibility for what happens because they fail to protect themselves." Wente adds. Such women also ignore the obvious, that alcohol disinhibits both men and women. "It impairs their judgment, sometimes ruinously, and makes it harder for people to get out of situations they'd rather not be in."
Couldn't agree more. She points out that rape culture never blames sexual assault on booze culture; it's always the man's fault. But obviously blotto boozing and sexual impropriety go hand-in-hand for both men and women. Always have.
Which brings me back to "slut-dressing". There's a reason Amish, Mennonite and Muslim women cover themselves. It's sexual. North American women expose themselves -- often excessively -- and then wonder why men hit on them? As my readers know, I heartily disagree with undue covering because it demeans and degrades women. But I also don't agree with letting breasts fall out and derrieres flash. That too is demeaning and degrading.
It's all about behaving reasonably, protecting and respecting yourself.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
She looked so damn good
I was in grade 10 when I saw the movie. 'Lover Come Back' was one of a series of romantic comedies starring Rock and Doris -- Obviously, we don't need last names.
It was 1961 and Doris was 37, Rock 36. Both absolutely gorgeous. She looks as if she were in her early thirties, but that's probably because she insisted in all her movies that the camera be smeared lightly with Vaseline to hide her wrinkles. Did you know that? Brilliant. What a body. Stunning. The hair? Not so much, it was blonde/white and sprayed to death into a concrete helmut. Rock died at 59 of AIDS, but good old Doris is still hanging in there at 91.
Speaking of movies, watched a classic last evening, 'Separate Tables', starring David Niven, Deborah Kerr, Burt Lancaster, Rita Hayworth, Rod Taylor and Wendy Hiller. What a cast and what a great movie, although very dated today, given the sympathy the David Niven character is accorded for sexually assaulting a teenaged girl in a movie theater.
Rita was 40 when she made the film and was considered "over-the-hill". G-d, what does that make me?! Way over, down the road and out of sight. Nevermind, Rita was still absolutely gorgeous.
It was 1961 and Doris was 37, Rock 36. Both absolutely gorgeous. She looks as if she were in her early thirties, but that's probably because she insisted in all her movies that the camera be smeared lightly with Vaseline to hide her wrinkles. Did you know that? Brilliant. What a body. Stunning. The hair? Not so much, it was blonde/white and sprayed to death into a concrete helmut. Rock died at 59 of AIDS, but good old Doris is still hanging in there at 91.
Speaking of movies, watched a classic last evening, 'Separate Tables', starring David Niven, Deborah Kerr, Burt Lancaster, Rita Hayworth, Rod Taylor and Wendy Hiller. What a cast and what a great movie, although very dated today, given the sympathy the David Niven character is accorded for sexually assaulting a teenaged girl in a movie theater.
Rita was 40 when she made the film and was considered "over-the-hill". G-d, what does that make me?! Way over, down the road and out of sight. Nevermind, Rita was still absolutely gorgeous.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Forget the Sisterhood
"It's dead," writes Margaret Wente in the Globe and Mail today. Yes folks, the Sisterhood is definitely dead. Why? Because it didn't do anything for women except make them envious of men. And, by the way, none of the "sisters" morphed into men. They simply created a pathetic ghetto and stayed in it.
Wente was writing about the "alpha woman", elite, highly-educated, independent and closing in on the heels of -- or passing -- the most successful men anywhere. In fact, this class of woman has pretty much surpassed your average guy and has definitely pulled ahead of any "sister" you'd care to mention. In this class are women such as Hillary Clinton and Beverley McLachlin -- and many other less-famous characters in all walks of life. "Alpha females make up 15 - 20 percent of women in the developed world, enough to exert a lot of clout. Every field is open to them. But the world hasn't evolved as feminists foresaw. These woman have far more in common with alpha men that they do with the other 80 or 85 percent of the female population," says Wente.
She's right, of course. I have never bought into the "sisterhood". I have always competed with men. I often won. But was I any less a wife and mother? Absolutely not. I take great pride in both those roles. Apparently, alpha women are dedicated women who...."do everything to make sure their children have the same opportunities they've had". They are also intensive, super-conscientious parents who invest huge time and resources in their children. Yes we do.
"People wonder why alpha women don't choose to marry househusbands. The answer is simple: Women don't like to marry down. Successful women want men who are as high(ly)-achieving as they, especially as fathers of their children. The truth is that no matter how open-minded we think we are, most of us secretly regard men without paid work as slackers."
I have news for Wente, alpha women also regard women without paid work as slackers.
"Less-educated women are still more likely to drop out of work when they have their kids and after that, they'd rather work part time. They're far more likely to have children out-of-wedlock and be divorced. Alpha women stay in school longer, marry later, postpone kids until they're over 30 and don't stop working when they become mothers. Even so, they spend more time with their kids than less-educated mothers."
Hear, hear. Hurrah for the alpha woman.
Wente was writing about the "alpha woman", elite, highly-educated, independent and closing in on the heels of -- or passing -- the most successful men anywhere. In fact, this class of woman has pretty much surpassed your average guy and has definitely pulled ahead of any "sister" you'd care to mention. In this class are women such as Hillary Clinton and Beverley McLachlin -- and many other less-famous characters in all walks of life. "Alpha females make up 15 - 20 percent of women in the developed world, enough to exert a lot of clout. Every field is open to them. But the world hasn't evolved as feminists foresaw. These woman have far more in common with alpha men that they do with the other 80 or 85 percent of the female population," says Wente.
She's right, of course. I have never bought into the "sisterhood". I have always competed with men. I often won. But was I any less a wife and mother? Absolutely not. I take great pride in both those roles. Apparently, alpha women are dedicated women who...."do everything to make sure their children have the same opportunities they've had". They are also intensive, super-conscientious parents who invest huge time and resources in their children. Yes we do.
"People wonder why alpha women don't choose to marry househusbands. The answer is simple: Women don't like to marry down. Successful women want men who are as high(ly)-achieving as they, especially as fathers of their children. The truth is that no matter how open-minded we think we are, most of us secretly regard men without paid work as slackers."
I have news for Wente, alpha women also regard women without paid work as slackers.
"Less-educated women are still more likely to drop out of work when they have their kids and after that, they'd rather work part time. They're far more likely to have children out-of-wedlock and be divorced. Alpha women stay in school longer, marry later, postpone kids until they're over 30 and don't stop working when they become mothers. Even so, they spend more time with their kids than less-educated mothers."
Hear, hear. Hurrah for the alpha woman.
Friday, October 18, 2013
There is a line
A close family member said the other day, "You have no friends. Why is that? It must be your fault. Have you not noticed a pattern?"
She was right. I have many "acquaintances", but few friends. Maybe none. To me a friend is someone I could call at 2 a.m., ask for $1,000 or $10,000 with no explanation, and get it. No questions asked. Who has many of those? I certainly don't.
My deal is I have a line and if you cross it, that's it. B calls it "standards" and I have to agree. Maybe mine are too rigid for a lot of people, but not for me. When people don't step up, they pay the price. Here are a few "friends" who have fallen by the wayside and the reasons why:
** He's back on my "friends" list, just heard from him and now understand why he dropped off the face of the earth for a while.
She was right. I have many "acquaintances", but few friends. Maybe none. To me a friend is someone I could call at 2 a.m., ask for $1,000 or $10,000 with no explanation, and get it. No questions asked. Who has many of those? I certainly don't.
My deal is I have a line and if you cross it, that's it. B calls it "standards" and I have to agree. Maybe mine are too rigid for a lot of people, but not for me. When people don't step up, they pay the price. Here are a few "friends" who have fallen by the wayside and the reasons why:
- A colleague for 20 years who, with no legitimate reason, did not show up for a $15 community fund-raiser to help someone close to me travel to a world athletic championship -- and this is someone for whom I secured a good government job when she was flatter than piss on a plate;
- Another colleague for 29 years who did not show up for my mother-in-law's funeral, despite living in the same city and agreeing weeks before she would be there "for sure";
- A brother-like cousin and his wife (her decision, but he went along with it) who refused to let me and my son stay with them on a visit to Ottawa;
- A loved one and her partner who don't like me; by the way, I don't like people who don't like me;
- An ex-hairdresser, to whom I poured out my innermost secrets for more than 20 years, but who has dropped me; **and
- An old male friend (my age) who tried to hit on one of my daughters.
** He's back on my "friends" list, just heard from him and now understand why he dropped off the face of the earth for a while.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
That's the problem
"The United States is not a democracy," said a Republican senator into the camera last night. "It's a representative republic." I was floored. To hear someone proclaim that the US was not a democracy was a first for me.
He was defending Boehner's refusal to allow a free vote in the Senate. But it explains a whole lot about the rigid and unmoveable attitudes in Washington that have caused this ridiculous stalemate -- which by the way, cost the country $28 billion and will again in a couple of months. As one talking head on CNN just pointed out, that's the country's entire school lunch program for a long, long time (can't remember how long, but you get the picture).
The thing that kills me about Americans is that they are now wondering whether crazy Ted Cruz might be the Republican nominee down the road. They don't even realize he can't be because he was not born in the US. He was born in Canada. Duh. That's the kind of research the lazy, American mainstream media doesn't do.
It's all so ridiculous.
He was defending Boehner's refusal to allow a free vote in the Senate. But it explains a whole lot about the rigid and unmoveable attitudes in Washington that have caused this ridiculous stalemate -- which by the way, cost the country $28 billion and will again in a couple of months. As one talking head on CNN just pointed out, that's the country's entire school lunch program for a long, long time (can't remember how long, but you get the picture).
The thing that kills me about Americans is that they are now wondering whether crazy Ted Cruz might be the Republican nominee down the road. They don't even realize he can't be because he was not born in the US. He was born in Canada. Duh. That's the kind of research the lazy, American mainstream media doesn't do.
It's all so ridiculous.
Monday, October 14, 2013
You Could Not Make This Up
African political leaders are demanding immunity from international prosecution for as long as they remain in office. Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?????!!!! See, that's the problem with Africa. They overthrow corrupt governments and then immediately become corrupt themselves. It happens over and over again.
The African Union, i.e., themselves, thinks the International Criminal Court is corrupt because, hey, they want to prosecute leaders, such as Uhuru Kenyatta of Kenya, for orchestrating mass murders. "The ICC has been reduced into a painfully farcical pantomime, a travesty that adds insult to the injury of victims," said Kenyatta recently in a completely self-serving statement. "It is biased and race-hunting, the toy of declining imperial powers," he ridiculously added.
Wake up. You are the mass murderer. And the "imperial powers"? Long gone. The result of this travesty will be that criminal leaders will hold onto power forever to escape prosecution. "The notion that sitting heads of state should have immunity for genocide, war crimes and crimes against humanity is not just appallingly self-serving, it's repugnant," said Daniel Bekele, head of the African division of Human Rights Watch.
That is why I never give a penny to Africa. I also never give a penny to Haiti.
The African Union, i.e., themselves, thinks the International Criminal Court is corrupt because, hey, they want to prosecute leaders, such as Uhuru Kenyatta of Kenya, for orchestrating mass murders. "The ICC has been reduced into a painfully farcical pantomime, a travesty that adds insult to the injury of victims," said Kenyatta recently in a completely self-serving statement. "It is biased and race-hunting, the toy of declining imperial powers," he ridiculously added.
Wake up. You are the mass murderer. And the "imperial powers"? Long gone. The result of this travesty will be that criminal leaders will hold onto power forever to escape prosecution. "The notion that sitting heads of state should have immunity for genocide, war crimes and crimes against humanity is not just appallingly self-serving, it's repugnant," said Daniel Bekele, head of the African division of Human Rights Watch.
That is why I never give a penny to Africa. I also never give a penny to Haiti.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Re-reading Alice
The professor was "nothing to write home about", as my darling late mother used to say about a lot of things, but the course material was excellent. Three years ago, I took an on-line short-story course -- not to brag, but I probably could have given it, so mediocre was the teacher. Sorry, but I do not subscribe to the vanity of false modesty.
One of the books I read was 'The Art of Short Fiction, An International Anthology'. It featured excellent writers such as Nathaniel Hawthorne, Edgar All Poe, Virginia Woolf, Katherine Mansfield, William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, Katherine Anne Porter, Doris Lessing, Mavis Gallant, Flannery O'Connor, Margaret Laurence, Timothy Findley, Margaret Atwood, Bharati Mukherjee, Guy Vanderhaeghe, Neil Bissoondath...............and Alice Munro. If you wanted to learn how to write, these were the authors you read. I devoured them.
This afternoon I pulled the book from a shelf and re-read Alice Munro's 'Lives of Girls and Women'. Yes, she certainly deserves the Nobel Prize for Literature. This was an excellent story, beautifully written. Composed in 1971, it so very accurately depicted the shifting mores and morals of women in both my mother's generation and mine. In the former, nothing sexual ever happened; in mine young girls were subjected to sexual abuse, but did not recognize it as such.
Basically, the plot revolves around a young teen, who lives with her mother and vicariously explores sexuality in secret with her school chum -- both of whom get no information from their mothers about the perils that surround them. Needless to say, one of the girls is assaulted by a grown man, but feels nothing but curiosity about the bizarre encounter.
Linking the generations, Munro's "mother" character says to her daughter at the end of the story:
"There is a change coming I think in the lives of girls and woman. Yes. But it is up to us to make it come. All women have had up till now has been their connection with men....No more lives of our own, really, than domestic animals. He shall hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, a little closer than his dog, a little dearer than his horse. Tennyson wrote that. It's true. Was true.
"But I hope you will -- use your brains. Use your brains. Don't be distracted over a man, your life will never be your own. You will get the burden, a woman always does.....It is self-respect I am really speaking of. Self-respect."
How perfect was that in 1971. How perfect is it today.
One of the books I read was 'The Art of Short Fiction, An International Anthology'. It featured excellent writers such as Nathaniel Hawthorne, Edgar All Poe, Virginia Woolf, Katherine Mansfield, William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, Katherine Anne Porter, Doris Lessing, Mavis Gallant, Flannery O'Connor, Margaret Laurence, Timothy Findley, Margaret Atwood, Bharati Mukherjee, Guy Vanderhaeghe, Neil Bissoondath...............and Alice Munro. If you wanted to learn how to write, these were the authors you read. I devoured them.
This afternoon I pulled the book from a shelf and re-read Alice Munro's 'Lives of Girls and Women'. Yes, she certainly deserves the Nobel Prize for Literature. This was an excellent story, beautifully written. Composed in 1971, it so very accurately depicted the shifting mores and morals of women in both my mother's generation and mine. In the former, nothing sexual ever happened; in mine young girls were subjected to sexual abuse, but did not recognize it as such.
Basically, the plot revolves around a young teen, who lives with her mother and vicariously explores sexuality in secret with her school chum -- both of whom get no information from their mothers about the perils that surround them. Needless to say, one of the girls is assaulted by a grown man, but feels nothing but curiosity about the bizarre encounter.
Linking the generations, Munro's "mother" character says to her daughter at the end of the story:
"There is a change coming I think in the lives of girls and woman. Yes. But it is up to us to make it come. All women have had up till now has been their connection with men....No more lives of our own, really, than domestic animals. He shall hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, a little closer than his dog, a little dearer than his horse. Tennyson wrote that. It's true. Was true.
"But I hope you will -- use your brains. Use your brains. Don't be distracted over a man, your life will never be your own. You will get the burden, a woman always does.....It is self-respect I am really speaking of. Self-respect."
How perfect was that in 1971. How perfect is it today.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
More from Montreal...............
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| I love evening gloves! The pink ostrich boa was bought in London a few years ago. Too bad you can't see my beautiful pink stilettos! The earrings are rhinestones, but gorgeous. Bought them at Shepherds in Ottawa a long time ago. |
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| With old friends at the dinner |
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
So young
'Cancan' was a pretty dumb movie, but featured a great cast. Watched it last night and I think the star who stole the movie was the beautiful and talented Juliet Prowse. Man could she hoof it. And she had the original full lips, but pre-collagen. Could have given Mick Jagger and Angelina Jolie a run for their money. How many women to we see today with botched lip jobs. Awful. Googled Prowse because I had a feeling she had died young.
She had. She died in 1996 at the age of 59. Born in Bombay and raised in South Africa, she had that very English/Colonial sophisticated mien which set her apart from the usual Hollywood tarts. Louis Jourdan, also the movie, was an absolutely gorgeous man and is still alive and at 92, married to the same woman he had wed in 1948. Now, that's amazing. Never been a huge fan of Shirley MacLaine. To me, she overacts -- still doing it on Downton Abbey. Couldn't stand Frank Sinatra and didn't really like that old letch Maurice Chevalier.
But Juliet Prowse at 23 in that role? Fabulous.
She had. She died in 1996 at the age of 59. Born in Bombay and raised in South Africa, she had that very English/Colonial sophisticated mien which set her apart from the usual Hollywood tarts. Louis Jourdan, also the movie, was an absolutely gorgeous man and is still alive and at 92, married to the same woman he had wed in 1948. Now, that's amazing. Never been a huge fan of Shirley MacLaine. To me, she overacts -- still doing it on Downton Abbey. Couldn't stand Frank Sinatra and didn't really like that old letch Maurice Chevalier.
But Juliet Prowse at 23 in that role? Fabulous.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Back to the Future
I guess that's where we're headed. Margaret Wente had a great column in The Globe and Mail the other day. It was about Victorian values, the ones on which I was raised: discipline, conscientiousness and diligence.
Yeah, that's about right. "The more a society progresses, the bigger a problem self-control turns out to be. In the new hyper-meritocracy, people with temperate habits and Victorian values will do better than ever -- and people who can't resist temptation will do worse."
Apparently, self-discipline is a far better predictor of university grades than IQ. Well, I could have told you that. I remember girls who scored very high on IQ tests -- much higher than I -- but who were basically dummies and didn't do well overall. My problem was that I did not possess a "math" brain. Rather my talents were in "language", which did count much back then. Self discipline is the key. I remember my mother telling me I didn't really feel the way I told her I was feeling. "Oh, you don't really feel like that," she would say, when I indulged myself. She was so right because even if I did feel like that, who cared?
Self discipline, rigor and rectitude will overcome many faults and take one a long way.
Yeah, that's about right. "The more a society progresses, the bigger a problem self-control turns out to be. In the new hyper-meritocracy, people with temperate habits and Victorian values will do better than ever -- and people who can't resist temptation will do worse."
Apparently, self-discipline is a far better predictor of university grades than IQ. Well, I could have told you that. I remember girls who scored very high on IQ tests -- much higher than I -- but who were basically dummies and didn't do well overall. My problem was that I did not possess a "math" brain. Rather my talents were in "language", which did count much back then. Self discipline is the key. I remember my mother telling me I didn't really feel the way I told her I was feeling. "Oh, you don't really feel like that," she would say, when I indulged myself. She was so right because even if I did feel like that, who cared?
Self discipline, rigor and rectitude will overcome many faults and take one a long way.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Being a writer
"Writing is something that goes on in your head all the time," said a famous writer. Absolutely. That's the way it is with me, not that I am famous, but when you are a writer, you have to write. The funny thing is that when I have written what is in my head, I never give it a second thought.
"What have you been blogging lately," said a man I meet occasionally. I could not remember one single blog -- in spite of the fact that this is my 722nd. How bizarre is that??!!
Blogging, I always try to write as writers I admire. Would they say it this way, or that? The other weird thing is that I cannot write without a keyboard in front of me. This is a holdover from my days as a reporter and writer at Maclean-Hunter, when we faced typewriters every hour of every day and had to produce. By the way, Roy McGregor was my seat-mate. I knew he would go far.
Off to watch 'Battle of the Blades'. Yeah!
"What have you been blogging lately," said a man I meet occasionally. I could not remember one single blog -- in spite of the fact that this is my 722nd. How bizarre is that??!!
Blogging, I always try to write as writers I admire. Would they say it this way, or that? The other weird thing is that I cannot write without a keyboard in front of me. This is a holdover from my days as a reporter and writer at Maclean-Hunter, when we faced typewriters every hour of every day and had to produce. By the way, Roy McGregor was my seat-mate. I knew he would go far.
Off to watch 'Battle of the Blades'. Yeah!
Another old boyfriend
"Oh look who one of the speakers is tonight," said B, reading the programme. "Your old boyfriend 'R'." I thought he was kidding, but he wasn't. We were in Montreal for Concordia's 'Homecoming' last evening and yep, there was 'R', one of the big-cheese speakers.
I rose from the table and walked all over the room trying to find him. Couldn't. "I know him," said a woman at our table, "I'll go get him." She did and over he came with his wife. I would never have recognized him in a hundred years. Giving me the once-over, he probably thought the same. It was a weird and awkward moment. The band struck up and we headed for the dance floor. I have to admit, it was kind'a cool, dancing with a man who was once your serious beau.
In fact, the whole weekend was very cool. Montreal is still Montreal. Steak tartare is everywhere on every menu and I indulged. Absolutely love the stuff. And "Montreal frites" are still "Montreal frites". The best. Although fluent, I refused to speak a word of French the whole time, thanks to that idiot Marois and her "cultural manifesto".
Looking down in the water, as I swam, I wondered what the view was? It looked like the entrance to the hotel and I finally figured out that that's exactly what it was. The bottom of the pool was a glass window, so I could see people coming and going, taxis and cars and doormen doing their thing. I guess, had they looked up, they would have seen me swimming back and forth. It was so "seventies". Problem was the pool was extremely hot, but I did my laps.
We had a whirlwind visit, but I am so glad to be home.
I rose from the table and walked all over the room trying to find him. Couldn't. "I know him," said a woman at our table, "I'll go get him." She did and over he came with his wife. I would never have recognized him in a hundred years. Giving me the once-over, he probably thought the same. It was a weird and awkward moment. The band struck up and we headed for the dance floor. I have to admit, it was kind'a cool, dancing with a man who was once your serious beau.
In fact, the whole weekend was very cool. Montreal is still Montreal. Steak tartare is everywhere on every menu and I indulged. Absolutely love the stuff. And "Montreal frites" are still "Montreal frites". The best. Although fluent, I refused to speak a word of French the whole time, thanks to that idiot Marois and her "cultural manifesto".
Looking down in the water, as I swam, I wondered what the view was? It looked like the entrance to the hotel and I finally figured out that that's exactly what it was. The bottom of the pool was a glass window, so I could see people coming and going, taxis and cars and doormen doing their thing. I guess, had they looked up, they would have seen me swimming back and forth. It was so "seventies". Problem was the pool was extremely hot, but I did my laps.
We had a whirlwind visit, but I am so glad to be home.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
The poor thing
I will never see this young woman again so I'm going for it. The young woman to whom I refer was, unfortunately for her, my seat-mate on the flight to Montreal yesterday and I let her have it. "Where were you born?" I asked, presuming it was not Canada. "Edmonton," she replied. Edmonton!? "Why do you have to cover yourself? This is Canada and you're a Canadian," I said.
She gave me the usual "modesty" speech, which never holds water. She also told me she feels half Canadian and half Afghani. "Put a period after the word 'Canadian' and lose the 'half'," I said. "I realize you don't agree with it, but I am sure you respect my choice to wear it," she tried. "Actually, I don't, I think it's shameful that you feel so inferior that you have to cover your hair." She was speechless. "We are all God and Allah's children and all equal in this world," I avowed. Neither God nor Allah make mistakes when they create us. It is the men in your culture who insist women cover themselves, I went on. It's about sex and control. Do you think if you reveal your hair someone will rape you in the public thoroughfare? That doesn't happen in Canada -- at least not in broad daylight with a ton of people around, which is precisely where you wear the hijab.
Hey, I'm part Irish and part Mohawk, but I am Canadian. I don't go around telling people about my background because we're all immigrants in this beautiful country.
It just got worse. She kept going back to the modesty thing, but I kept at her, albeit it as nicely as I could. You get the idea. She told me her parents had given her the choice to convert and cover herself. Yeah, right. "So do any of your sisters or your mother go bareheaded?" Well, of course not. But she kept insisting it was her choice. I told her that she was drastically limiting her options in Canada, be it boyfriends or jobs.
"I have daughters and there is no way I would permit them to cover their heads in shame and inferiority," I stated. This poor thing was off to Afghanistan to "help" women. Whaaaat??? "So, are you going to buy a few of them tickets out of there?" I asked. "Because that's the only way you can help them." She kept running out of answers.
I ended our happy chat with advice: "Get off in Montreal, turn around and go back to your real life in Edmonton." She confessed that her father would never take her back. All I can hope is that he doesn't kill her. She is nineteen years old.
She gave me the usual "modesty" speech, which never holds water. She also told me she feels half Canadian and half Afghani. "Put a period after the word 'Canadian' and lose the 'half'," I said. "I realize you don't agree with it, but I am sure you respect my choice to wear it," she tried. "Actually, I don't, I think it's shameful that you feel so inferior that you have to cover your hair." She was speechless. "We are all God and Allah's children and all equal in this world," I avowed. Neither God nor Allah make mistakes when they create us. It is the men in your culture who insist women cover themselves, I went on. It's about sex and control. Do you think if you reveal your hair someone will rape you in the public thoroughfare? That doesn't happen in Canada -- at least not in broad daylight with a ton of people around, which is precisely where you wear the hijab.
Hey, I'm part Irish and part Mohawk, but I am Canadian. I don't go around telling people about my background because we're all immigrants in this beautiful country.
It just got worse. She kept going back to the modesty thing, but I kept at her, albeit it as nicely as I could. You get the idea. She told me her parents had given her the choice to convert and cover herself. Yeah, right. "So do any of your sisters or your mother go bareheaded?" Well, of course not. But she kept insisting it was her choice. I told her that she was drastically limiting her options in Canada, be it boyfriends or jobs.
"I have daughters and there is no way I would permit them to cover their heads in shame and inferiority," I stated. This poor thing was off to Afghanistan to "help" women. Whaaaat??? "So, are you going to buy a few of them tickets out of there?" I asked. "Because that's the only way you can help them." She kept running out of answers.
I ended our happy chat with advice: "Get off in Montreal, turn around and go back to your real life in Edmonton." She confessed that her father would never take her back. All I can hope is that he doesn't kill her. She is nineteen years old.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
My thoughts on the Canadian Anthem
Sent the following letter into The Calgary Herald yesterday, in response to an excellent column by Naomi Lakritz. We both agree it's just dumb to change the words. Just really dumb. Here is the letter:
Anyone who learned word-usage and ordinary English parlance knows that
whenever “men” is used on its own, it automatically includes “women”. Do we not
have more to worry about than one word in our anthem which is actually used
correctly? It’s all a much-ado-about-nothing-tempest-in-a-teapot.
Dear Editor,
Nancy Marley-Clarke
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Sometimes I agree with Pauline Marois
Like this morning at the pool. Spotting her, I presumed she was supervising her children as they changed. I made this presumption because she had just walked in off the street, garbed head to toe in Muslim attire.
I paid little attention when she waltzed out onto deck with her brood -- both girls similarly camouflaged. So, imagine my shock when she actually and really and truly and honest-to-G-d jumped in!!^%$#^%&*&*!!!! I stared at the lifeguards. They shrugged and did nothing. My friend D and I just stood there aghast. "What the f.....??!!" we both said in unison. Still nothing done.
Fear has gripped the lifeguards at the Crowfoot Y and it's appalling. With signs posted everywhere about showers being mandatory before entering the water, it is beyond me that this woman just ignored them and leapt in wearing her soiled street clothes. I got out of the water and approached one of the lifeguards. "She did?" she exclaimed when I told her the woman had not changed or showered. "They're not supposed to do that, but we didn't see it," she weakly answered. Well, how could she see it when she was out on deck??!! And by the way, no Muslim woman would strip naked in a public shower before changing into some sort of archaic bathing costume. Just wouldn't happen, so what's the point of that meaningless regulation?
But we have brought all this upon ourselves. Societies have to be secular, with separation of church and state, to function democratically. So why we are accommodating religious and cultural practice and dress in public facilities such as pools is beyond me. Try going to Saudi Arabia and wearing a western bathing suit, or not covering yourself; you'd be arrested. That's why we are secular, so women of other cultures can wear what they want -- but within reason and not in a public pool. And that's why I agree with some aspects of Marois' doctrine because our permissiveness has been taken advantage of to the point where we have been intimidated into shameful cultural submission.
First-generation immigrants in years past clung to their traditions, but their Canadian-born children became, well, "Canadian". Not the case for Muslim girls. They are forced to cover up the minute they hit puberty. They are never permitted to assimilate and be "Canadian". And don't tell me it's modesty or religion. It's purely a control and sexual issue, with men calling all the shots about how "their women" dress. The logic to this covering-up must be that if a man glimpses even a square inch of female skin, he immediately becomes aroused and has to do something about it. Face it, that's the logic. What else is there?
Women are children of God as surely as are men. We should not have to cover ourselves in shame.
I paid little attention when she waltzed out onto deck with her brood -- both girls similarly camouflaged. So, imagine my shock when she actually and really and truly and honest-to-G-d jumped in!!^%$#^%&*&*!!!! I stared at the lifeguards. They shrugged and did nothing. My friend D and I just stood there aghast. "What the f.....??!!" we both said in unison. Still nothing done.
Fear has gripped the lifeguards at the Crowfoot Y and it's appalling. With signs posted everywhere about showers being mandatory before entering the water, it is beyond me that this woman just ignored them and leapt in wearing her soiled street clothes. I got out of the water and approached one of the lifeguards. "She did?" she exclaimed when I told her the woman had not changed or showered. "They're not supposed to do that, but we didn't see it," she weakly answered. Well, how could she see it when she was out on deck??!! And by the way, no Muslim woman would strip naked in a public shower before changing into some sort of archaic bathing costume. Just wouldn't happen, so what's the point of that meaningless regulation?
But we have brought all this upon ourselves. Societies have to be secular, with separation of church and state, to function democratically. So why we are accommodating religious and cultural practice and dress in public facilities such as pools is beyond me. Try going to Saudi Arabia and wearing a western bathing suit, or not covering yourself; you'd be arrested. That's why we are secular, so women of other cultures can wear what they want -- but within reason and not in a public pool. And that's why I agree with some aspects of Marois' doctrine because our permissiveness has been taken advantage of to the point where we have been intimidated into shameful cultural submission.
First-generation immigrants in years past clung to their traditions, but their Canadian-born children became, well, "Canadian". Not the case for Muslim girls. They are forced to cover up the minute they hit puberty. They are never permitted to assimilate and be "Canadian". And don't tell me it's modesty or religion. It's purely a control and sexual issue, with men calling all the shots about how "their women" dress. The logic to this covering-up must be that if a man glimpses even a square inch of female skin, he immediately becomes aroused and has to do something about it. Face it, that's the logic. What else is there?
Women are children of God as surely as are men. We should not have to cover ourselves in shame.
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