Pedophilia is not "an incident"

Watched a documentary about Roman Polanski, in which every defender called his rape of a 13-year-old "an incident".  The guy drugged and raped her, but since he is a famous director, everyone forgave him.  You should have heard "the French" lauding him.  Disgusting.

Apparently Polenski is "a genius" and a "brilliant film maker", according to the French.  What is wrong with the French?   A lot, nevermind the rape. 

What was interesting were the interviews with his victim.  She has moved on.  "Others have done more to me than he did," she declared.  Wow!  I was impressed.  Having being the victim of sexual assault myself, I understand why she "moved on".   One can either get over sexual assault, or dine out on it for the rest of one's life.  I chose to get over it.         

It's always about $$$$$

"Sorry you haven't heard from me, but our daughter is going through a horrific divorce and things have been stressful since she and our grand-daughter moved back home."  This message came from a very old friend of B's today.  She finally explained why we hadn't heard from her, in spite of several cards, voice and emails. 

The italics are mine because this is the key word.  Having been married to a very rich man, the daughter's divorce is horrific because she is obviously trying to worm a lot of money out of the soon-to-be ex, but it's not happening.  That's what horrific means in my books.  Otherwise, why would any divorce be horrific?

His friend's daughter was an only child and she married an only child, the latter of whose family had oodles of dough.  Obviously unwilling to let their son give away the hard-earned store, the parents are right in there.  My advice to the daughter?  Get your ass right into court, take what the judge gives you and move on with gratitude. Get the best lawyer you can, but don't spend more than you have to.  In other words, don't use your lawyer as a psychiatrist.   

Cynical?  Yes, but I know from experience that an "acrimonious" divorce is always about money.  Acrimonious means "give me more money".  Period, the end.  B's divorce dragged on for seven years; guess what it was about?  Not his kids because we had primary custody.......it was about $$$$$$.  I always wondered why we had to give her money when we had the kids?  Why didn't anyone order her to pay us child support?  "That's the judicial attitude," explained our lawyer.  And all this degrading haggling from a shameless person who had tons of family money herself and trust funds up the ying-yang. 

What galled me was that my salary became part of what she wanted.  Huh??!!???  By the way, when my ex and I parted ways, I never received a cent in child support.  Nevertheless, we remained cordial and he visited, or took the kids whenever he wanted.  He even used to stay with us because I didn't want my kids to think I had denied him access.  I knew the divorce was as much my fault as his, so why play the "blame game"?  I had always supported myself and since I had custody of the kids (he moved to Toronto), I just carried on and supported them.

I remember when my ex and I married, I vowed to continue to support myself.  Can you imagine asking your husband for $2?  "What do you need $2 for," he might say.  "I need $2 for nylons," I might have had to have replied.  Forget that.  I had been well-educated, had a good job and earned my own money.  Taking a guy's money, even if it's your husband?  No bloody way.     

As I said, horrific is a synonym for $$$$$$$$.

Note I:  This rant brought to you by the dredging up of old memories.  Apologies, but it feels good every now and then. 

Note II:  B and I both had our marriages annulled, so everything's kosher.    

Back to the fashion future

Flowered jeans and pants are now all the rage.  I made two pairs 30 years ago -- one for myself and another for step-daughter, Sarah.  I loved mine and thought Sarah loved hers, but after wearing them once to school and back to her mother's house, never saw them again.  I asked where they were and could she bring them back so I could hand them down to Susanne, but her answers were evasive.  Either someone at school laughed at her elevated sense of fashion, or her mother crapped on them. 

Unfortunately, our kids went to a very snooty Rockcliffe elementary school in Ottawa.  It was filled with diplomats' offspring, politicians' kids -- including all the Trudeau boys -- and the brats of the greats and near-greats.  We didn't live in the immediate area, but being in immersion, that was where our kids had to go.

"Your daughter and her friends are bullying my stepdaughter and it better stop," I had to say to more than one Rockcliffe matron.  It always worked, so all the fuss about bullying today mystifies me?  Why don't parents just pick up the phone and call the other parents?  "Your son and mine seem to bring out the worst in each other," was another conversation I had to have more than once.  This also worked because it blamed my kid as much as the other. 

But back to the flowered pants.  I have never followed fashion, but rather dressed in my own style.  This was because I didn't have enough money to buy the latest this-and-that, so did things my distinctive way.  The other deal was, if I couldn't find exactly what I was looking for in the first three stores into which I ventured, I made it.  Never compromised the look I was going for by buying "something close".  The trick with sewing is to keep it simple -- no buttons, button holes, pockets, zippers or collars.  Just go for elastic waists and bias-tape necklines -- even if the pattern calls for waistbands and facing.  Forget about that.  To keep seams simple, use pinking shears and stay-stitch the edges.  For hemming the length, always machine-sew tape first, iron and quickly finish by hand.  See how laziness and stealth can work in your favour?   

Unfortunately over the years, I outgrew my beautiful pants, when I went from almost-anorexic to normal.  But I still love the look.  Think I may hit the fabric store and make a couple more.  Afterall, summer's a'comin!!

Dumb

Sick in bed for the last couple of days, I have been watching a lot of movies.  1971's 'Le Mans' was just dumb.  Two hours of nothing happening -- a lot of engine noise and cars racing around...oh, and the odd crash thrown in for good measure.  But basically it's a movie with no plot, no dialogue and no reason to watch it. 

Steve McQueen plays one of the driver's and in true French film style, the director has him spend the two hours walking through crowds -- the only one in focus -- getting in and out of his car, hanging in his trailer and taking his helmut off and on.  And the music!  Remember that French-movie-type of tuneless, glum, morose stuff?  Think 'A Man and a Woman', think 'The Unbrellas of Cherbourg', think 'Jules and Jim' and you've got it.  They still play that crap in Quebec all the time.  Awful.

As to any interpersonal relationships or romance?  Nothing.  The female lead is played by someone I have never heard of before or since.  Even starring in a movie with the greatest box-office dreamboat of the time could not rescue her from oblivion.  Having lost her husband in a crash earlier, her character spends her scenes mooning around, pouting, looking sad and lost, staring into the horizon.  Steve tries to befriend and comfort her, but she basically rudely gives him the French shoulder.  The French are like that, so that part was authentic.

So, if you like the sound of cars and if you like watching closeups of mechanics changing tires, fixing suspensions and replacing brakes, you'll love this one.   

So what?!

They arrived on Parliament Hill today, the native marchers from James Bay.  Do they not have jobs?  How could they have marched for three months employed?  There they were, drumming and standing around.  Now what?.......came to mind.  Suppose that's the "white folks" fault.

I have told you before that my great-grandmother was a Mohawk from the Tyendanaga Reserve in Napanee.  Thank God she married and moved off the reserve so her descendents could lead normal lives.  My native roots are why I am merciless about how they are ruining themselves and blaming the "white man".  They certainly don't consider themselves "Canadian". 

Harper has pretty much ignored them.  Good on him.  Keep ignoring them.  As I have blogged, they get $8 billion from Canadians every year -- $8 billion!  Eight billion is ten hundred million times eight.  That's what $8 billion is.  It's eight thousand million.  Think about it and think about it again.  Every day you go to work, think about the money you are working to earn to give to the natives.  It is scandalous.   

The wee lad

Had him overnight for the first time last evening.  What a treat.  Of course, he was perfect.  Slept from 8 p.m. until 5 a.m., so that's not bad.  I was up making blueberry pancakes at 5:30!  Off we went to Palm Sunday Mass and he thoroughly enjoyed smashing the palms around!

Very proud of daughter Susanne, who won the big Grand Prix of the 'Calgary Road Runners' race series.  She won a huge trophy, plus a hand-painted plate for her age group.  As I said to her son, "Mummy is a super star." 

Heartbeats and the Amish

In two minutes at the pool this morning, my doctor buddy, Gerry, explained coherently to me what several doctors have been unable to.  Not wanting to actually come right out and ask for a medical consultation while we were doing our laps, when finished I said, "Well, off to my non-caffeine breakfast, see you tomorrow."

He bit.  "What do you mean?" he asked.  "Well, I have this weird heart condition where it feels as if my heart is skipping a beat, but apparently it's not, so the doctor told me to quit caffeine altogether to see if it subsides," I replied.  (By the way, I haven't had a coffee for more than 40 years, but have always drunk tea; Gerry told me tea has more caffeine than coffee.  Huh?) 

"Sounds like blah-blah-blah-blah-blah?" he diagnosed.  "Yeah, that's it."   

Basically he told me all about it....that it's a benign condition which, although annoying, is non-life-threatening in a healthy heart -- which mine obviously is, thanks to never-ending, daily, gruelling laps.  Eureka!  "It's common in older people," he added.  The only thing I didn't like about his thorough explanation was the "older people" bit.  So, on I will continue to splash.

An aside:

Watched, for the first time, "Amish Mafia" last evening.  Wow!  Facinating.  And didn't we all think the Amish were peace-loving, quiet farmers, vice-and-depravity-free, who wouldn't hurt a fly?  Well, not anymore.  They have their own enforcers who work both inside and out of the community, speaking Amish dialect when dealing with infractions within the community and English when working over the "English", as they call Americans.  Three problems arose in last evening's program: 

• one about an Amish woman whose buggy had been hit by an "English" car and one of the wheels broken; 
• another about an Amish man who had been giving money to an Amish woman whose husband had left her, but who now wanted sex in return; and
• a third about a very highly-placed elder in the community who had been meeting a prostitute at a local motel and having regular, unprotected sex.  This info was provided by the "English" taxi driver he regularly called to transport him to his trysts.

The Amish "Don" as I call him, Lebanon Levi, has young men who work for him to solve all adherence problems before they reach the Bishop.  And boy, do they solve them in a hurry, using everything from threatening words to incriminating photos to actual shotguns!  No prayer, meditation or repentance here, by gum.  Throughout the show I kept wondering how they could film all this without the Amish community noticing?  Oh yeah, no TV permitted.  Perfect.   

It was riveting, think I am hooked.  Turns out they have the same malevolent vices as the rest of us. 
 

Tidbits

"If you wudda went, you wudda saw........" said the aquatic's director of a local swim meet during a radio interview this morning.  I nearly drove off the road!  How can anyone have such appalling grammar?!  Guess he swam (or is that swimmed) too much instead of attending English class.  Although, with the quality of teaching these days, he is not alone in his complete ignorance of his native tongue.  Sad.

Leaving the pool this morning, I spotted a 4X4 in a handicapped spot.  The troubling thing was it had a bike rack on the back.  Huh??!!

Then there was the guy in the fast lane who didn't seem able to read the word "fast" at the end of each.  He struggled along and you could see him literally searching for an oxygen mask at the end of every lap as he waited at least two minutes before starting back.  My friend "D", who is a very good swimmer, was in the same lane.  She looked over, raised her shoulders and outstretched her palms, as if to say, "What the f-ck?"  So, I called over one of the lifeguards, who had a word with the guy and he finally changed lanes.  What are people thinking?  They're not, would be the answer.

Finally, another letter to the editor this morning.  I was responding to an earlier letter in which the writer had declared that truth was all relative in the Catholic Church.  I blogged about it yesterday, but here is today's letter, a condensed version of the previous blog:

Pope has last word

By Nancy Marley-Clarke, Calgary HeraldMarch 21, 2013 6:56 AM

Re: "Truth is relative," Letter, March 20.

In matters of Catholic faith, truth is not relative. Papal infallibility is a fact - not necessarily because everyone agrees with it, but because there is no higher authority in matters of Catholic faith than the Pope. There is no appeal; therefore, the Pope is by definition infallible because he has the last word.

This does not mean he has the truth in matters of social justice, for example. He can express opinions and perhaps exert influence, but he is not infallible in these arenas. The cardinals who elect him are akin to the Supreme Court, but the Pope is the final word on the Catholic faith.

Nancy Marley-Clarke, Calgary

© Copyright (c) The Calgary Herald

So, that's it for the moment. 

 

He is infallible

Many people -- Catholics and non -- object to the fact that the Pope is infallible.  But the fact is, while holding the office, he is........in matters of The Faith.  The Herald has been full of letters saying that, "truth is relavtive", "the Pope cannot be right about all things Catholic"......and on and on.   

I have news for them.  He is.  Why?  Because there is no higher authority on faith issues, therefore, he has to be infallible.  B. explained all this to me the other day because as a convert, I don't really get the Pope.  The College of Cardinals that elects him are akin to the Supreme Court, but the Pope has the final word on all doctrine.  If citizens don't like a Supreme Court ruling, they have to pass new legislation to change it.  Not so in the Catholic Church.  The Pope is the "legislative body" for the Church.  And those who haven't warmed to papal infallibility over the centuries?  Hello Martin Luther and Henry VIII.  Their only option was to break away, but it didn't change the Pope's infallibility one iota.   

That's not to say that the Pope is infallible on anything else, such as social justice issues or politics, for example.  Everything there's up for grabs.  Altough he may exert influence in certain sectors, he has no authority.  Pope Emeritus Benedict now has no authority; that passed to his successor.  Hope he remembers that. 

As I have blogged, I really don't pay much attention to Rome, but I find it strange that so many Catholic organizations lobby to change the way the Church operates.  Women priests?  Married priests?  Forget about it. 

Wrote a shorter letter to the editor about all this this morning.  I'll let you know if it's published.     

Just knows it

"Well, there's King, Prince, Duke, Marquess, Earl, Viscount, Baron and Life Peer," explained B , after I asked a simple question.  He just knows all about the British Peerage and does not have to refer to Debrett's (pronounced 'Debray's') at all.  (He also speaks Latin, by the way.  Impressive to someone such as I, who almost failed this mandatory subject in high school.) 

When I looked into the Debrett's website, he was (of course) right.

"A peer of the realm is someone who holds one of five possible titles (duke, marquess, earl, viscount, baron) inherited from a direct ancestor or bestowed upon him by the monarch, " reads the site. 

"Historically the peerage formed a tightly-knit group of powerful nobles, inter-related through blood and marriage in successive generations, and highly protective of their lands and rights. Their fortunes rose and fell according to the stability of the kingdom and their favour with the Sovereign. The Tudors, for example, executed, imprisoned or suppressed almost every nobleman who had any Plantagenet blood in his veins, and instead created a new aristocracy from the lesser branches of old families, and from the gentry and knightly classes.

"Subsequent changes made by the royal houses of Stuart, Hanover and Windsor have similarly brought new blood and new titles to the peerage. The ranks of the peerage were further enlarged by the passing of the Life Peerages Act of 1958.

"The last three hereditary peerages (excluding royal peerages) were created in 1984, when Harold Macmillan was created Earl of Stockton, and William Whitelaw and George Thomas were created Viscounts. Of these three, only Macmillan had an heir."

What a facinating website it is!  There is so much to learn, such as how to address the wives, daughters and younger sons of the titled.  Complicated.  Who is awarded honorary titles, who is called "Lord" and why.....it just goes on and on.  I loved it.  Should The Queen ever dine at our place, I now know all about table settings and protocol.

Ah, the English.  But scratch the surface of the civilized Brits and you will find cold-blooded warriors.  None are more fierce. 

     

Who does this?

We went to a fabulous St. Patrick's Day party last night, given by a truly remarkable couple.  Irish and dirt-poor born, these folks have done very well.  Do they give back?  You bettcha.  They support charities all over the world and always include many local priests at all their parties.  Many were there.   

There must have been 1,200 at The Ranchmen's Club, but everyone felt like an intimate of the host and hostess.  Food stations and bars were everywhere on every floor, featuring the very best genius Chef Kenneth Titcombe had to offer.  Filet, Asian fusion of a million sorts, lamb, oysters.........you name it, it was there by the bucket load.  And no "house wine", nothing but the very best; every time I turned around, my glass was filled.  The top floor featured nothing but fruits and desserts -- capped by a chocolate fountain. 

But what I enjoyed most was meeting a slew of young, accomplished professional women.  Chatting with a number of them, I learned one was an architect, another a banker, another a CBC reporter, another an engineer, another a geologist.  It was such a treat to talk to "with it" women; no housewives or slackers here. 

As a nod to St. Paddy, most of us were in some form of green duds.  I wore a beautifully beaded green jacket from Shepherd's, which I had bought about 10 years ago, and my wonderfully classic black suede 'Nine West' high heels, purchased for a song at DSW.  I have to say, my footwear held up stalwartly against the thousands-of-dollars Manolo Blahnik's and Jimmy Choos I spotted.  I would never pay such prices for a pair of shoes.  Never.  Paying that kind of money is a dumb and unimaginative nod to status and an admission you can't put-it-together yourself with a pair of 'Shopper's' cheapo earrings and forget about the shoes. 

Also put on my custom-made, beryl drop(dead) earrings, which were a topic of conversation at more than one table. 

Speaking of Shopper's, as I schlepped through one that morning I came across green nail polish.  Bought it.  If nothing else, it was a conversation starter, not that I ever need one!  As I have said, Calgary is a great town -- lots of money and energy.  So why is Alberta's economy so screwed up?  No sales tax and an inept government headed by the stubborn and deaf Redford.  Period, the end.   

Ingenious

Everyone drives a big honkin' truck here in Calgary.  Often, as I sit at a red light in my teensy weensy 11-year-old Honda Civic hatchback, I look over and am at eye level with the wheel well of a HUGE truck.  Gas prices?  Who cares!

So it was not really a surprise when I realized that the police here drive unmarked trucks to catch speeders.  Yes, they really do -- not just unmarked cars, big friggin' trucks.  Very smart move.  Saw another guy pulled over this morning on my way to swim.  Calgarians are terrible drivers, by the way.  They may even have Ottawans beat, but the jury's out on that one. 

I think it is because everyone is so young here.  With the average age of a Calgarian 37, everyone speeds and tailgates.  And do they know how to drive in snow?  Absolutely not.  The body shops make a killing every time it snows.  My 23-year-old neighbour just bought a lovely sleek, black Audi; it already has a prang in it.

The weather in Calgary is bizarre.  Chinooks will chase the coldest snowy day away in an hour.  Yesterday it was 13 and you could see grass, today we are back into -10 and more snow.  However, I have learned that you don't buy so much as a petal before the first week of June.  The May 24th planting rule doesn't apply.     

And it wasn't

I told you it would not be Marc Ouellette and it wasn't.  So, we have a South American Pope. 

63 years later

I am looking at the cover of Maclean's Magazine of a woman shaving.  I had to laugh uproariously.  When I was about three, I used to get up with my father and shave with him.  I used a spoon and soap, but he never discouraged me. He did not discourage me from being...anyone.  I was not a "girl".   Then we went down and had shredded wheat and banana for breakfast before he went off to work.  My mother remained in bed.  I completely identified with my father.

So, here we are, 63 years later and women are just waking up to the fact that they need to be more like, well, men.  "Man up!  Stop blaming the glass ceiling,  Or the kids.  High-powered female execs now say women should be more like men if they want to get ahead," says the article.  You've bloody got it.

Women have historically been penalized for having the obligation of bearing children.  I know all about it.  When I was pregnant with my first child, I won a competition for a job at CMHC.  When they found out I was pregnant, they cancelled the competition.  A few weeks later they appointed the guy who came second.  When I was pregnant with my second child, I walked around the office in bulky clothes, holding files in my front.  I was again up for a promotion, but had they known I was pregnant, I would not have been successful.  Again, I won the competition.  I revealed I was pregnant and took six month's leave.  Did I get my new job back?  No.  I got "a job" back, not mine.  That's how it was.

"Fifty years after Betty Friedan exposed the plight of houswives in The Feminist Mystique, women are still too focused on being the ultimate wives and mothers, only to end up sacrificing their careers  on the altar of work-life balance.  That is why so few women are making it to the top of the corporate ladder, the article says.

Sadly, nothing has changed.   

   

A lot of hoopla

I find it weird that the airwaves are full of the news about the electing of the next Pope.  Maybe that's because I am a convert and don't pay much attention to Rome.  But man, everyone else does. 

There are more than 1 billion Catholics worldwide, so perhaps it's a numbers game.  Why else would Peter Mansbridge be in Rome for two weeks covering the event, other than to have a nice European time?  Anderson Cooper from CNN is there too!

As I type, yet another radio program is interviewing this expert and that about who the next Pope will be.  Amusingly, the only people touting Canadian Cardinal Marc Ouellette are the Canadians.  He has a few strikes against him -- such as the fact that you'd be hard-pressed to find a practicing Catholic in Quebec these days.  Oh yeah, that and the fact that his brother is a convicted pedophile.  Paul Ouellette started abusing a young girl when she was eight and continued to do so until she was 18 and reported him.  Oops!

I guess not many people know that little tidbit, which shouldn't necessarily relfect on Marc, but the face that he has refused to speak of it -- not even to condemn it -- I find disturbing.  Good luck getting elected Pontiff.  If it's about numbers, the African candidate will take it; there are more converts there than anywhere else. 

As I said, I concern myself with my own parish.  Rome is all politics. 

Organs and sleeves

"See that chap across the room?" B said to me last night at a dinner in Airdrie.  "Yes, who is he?" I asked.  "That's Mickey Casavant, of the famous Casavant organ brothers."  I was dumbfounded.  

Casavant Frères is a prominent Canadian company in Saint-Hyacinthe, Quebec, which has been building fine pipe organs since 1879.  As of 2008, they had produced more than 3,800.  Their reputation as organ builders of international status was cemented in 1891 with the construction of their organ for Notre-Dame de Montreal Basilica, a four-manual organ of eighty-two stops.  This famous organ features adjustable combinations and speaking pipes of thirty-two foot length in the façade. 

Our little, old local parish in Ottawa's Lowertown, St. Brigid's, actually had a Casavant organ.  It was magnificent.  Naturally, I had to go over and speak to the man.  He was so handsome, I re-applied my lipstick before venturing across the room.  "Excuse me," I said.  He immediately rose to his feet, a perfect gentleman.  He put out his hand.  "I understand you are a Casavant," I said.  "Yes," he replied.  I then proceeded to talk about his family's company, the documentary I had seen recently and our Casavant in St. Brigid's.  It was a heady moment for me -- and not many are. 

Turns out, he was born in Manitoba, but a francophone to the core.  So, we spoke French, which clearly delighted him, in Alberta as we were.  You never know who will pop up out here.  

Sleeves?  This refers to the charming lady I was seated beside at our table.  Stylishly turned out, she and I were the only ones who had taken the "semi-formal" dress code literally.  Most of the other wives were in "Matronly Calgary drab".    "I love to dress up," she said, "now that I have lost 164 pounds."  Whaaaaat?!  Yep, turns out this beautiful lady used to weigh 324 pounds.  324!  How did she do it?  She had a sleeve put into to her stomach..........whatever that is.  She now eats a cup of food three times a day.  I was so impressed, but ashamed at the same time.  "You know, if you still weighed 324 pounds, I wouldn't have even talked to you," I admitted.  That's how stigmatized large people are.  We had a lot in common and thoroughly enjoyed our visit.  

The things you run into in Airdrie!     

Two heads and Canadian culture

"Bob and Doug McKenzie and The Group of Seven."  That was my retort to a pretentious guy I met at a dinner party years ago who was waxing pompously on about "Canadian culture".  He cited the Royal Winnipeg Ballet and a couple of orchestras.

"That's not Canadian culture, lots of countries have ballets and orchestras," I said.  "Canadian culture consists of Bob and Doug McKenzie and The Group of Seven.  Period, the end."  He was not amused at having been brought up short.  But to that reverential list, I would now add Stompin' Tom Connors -- as "Canadian" as it gets.  No one but a Canadian would "get" Stompin' Tom.  He's like every guy you ever met in any town in any tavern, hockey arena or Tim Horton's in Canada.  Tom, with his nasal twang and corny tunes, would never have made it anywhere other than Canada.   

The "two heads" part of this blog refers to a black-tie dinner we attended last evening.  I decided to dress around the black-and-white patent leather heels B had bought me in Houston, so I was in black and white (obviously).  To jazz things up, I decided to wear every strand of faux and real pearls I owned in a multi-clustered choker around my neck.  I am not a "pearl" girl, but I have to say, the effect of 15 cascading strands was spectacular.

Just to top it off, I pulled out my evening gloves -- an item no one wears any longer except moi.  I have to admit, even I pause now and then when considering to don the long, formal gloves, but I did last night.  And what did I also do?  Wore one white glove and one black.  Well, you'd have thought I'd had two heads!  People stopped dead in their tracks and oohed and ahhed all over them.  (I have to admit, I copied the late Diana, who once wore a fabulous red-and-black gown, topped off with one red and one black glove.  I thought it was fashion genius, so I emulated.)

Tonight we have another formal dinner in Airdrie and I plan to wear a hot pink, Shepherd's jacket over black, accessorized with my "Angelina Jolie" beryl earrings and green shoes.  I think it will work, but be a bit much for Calgary -- the city in which I am always over-dressed, but who cares! 

So folks, hitherto my helter-skelter thoughts of today. 

       

A little more about Tom............

I often blog about the differences between Canadians and Americans.  As much as we share culturally, we also have very divergent values and attitudes and no one personifies the chasm better than Stompin' Tom.

To my thousands of American and International readers, if you want to know what a true Canadian is, google Tom, or better still, try and get hold of his music.  Every song on his record number of 50 albums is about Canada.  Every song contains the names of hamlets, villages and towns from Newfoundland to British Columbia and up into the Northwest Territories.  Every song will tell you something about this great country, its people, its beauty, its culture and its work ethic.

Tom didn't ride the big highways, he hitchhiked the back roads and road the rails for almost 20 years before he was signed to EMI and started to make some money.  "I know every blade of grass in every town in every province in this beautiful country," he would say.

The only other Canadian musical icons I can name are Leonard Cohen, for his distinct poetic ballads, and Gordon Lightfoot, for his brilliant work trumpeting Canadian achievements and unique folklore. 

Tom was awarded the Order of Canada and even had a stamp franked in his honour.  As a proud Ottawa Valley girl, I can't say enough about the guy.  Just wait 'til Lightfoot passes, the accolades will be overwhelming.     

What a guy

The fabulous Stompin' Tom Connors has died.  I had the privilege of catching one of his shows in some dive bar in Toronto in the early '70s and what a show he put on.  People absolutely loved him because he was so "Canadian".

There he stood on a rickety stage in a smoky tavern, his band behind him and the ever-present block of wood he stomped on through every song.  That block of wood was a great gimmick because you couldn't help but get into the song -- any song -- when he started clomping away with his cowboy boot on that plank.  His songs were as corny as they were catchy.  Who doesn't love 'Sudbury Saturday Night' in which..."the girls are out to bingo, the boys are gettin' stinko and we'll think no more of Inco on a Sudbury saturday night"?  And what about 'Bud the Spud'.......and 'The Hockey Song'.......classics.   

He always sported a slightly grimy cowboy hat and checked shirt of some kind and after he'd finish he'd join anyone and everyone at a table to hoist a few before the next set.  He even sat with us for a bit.  What a gentleman.  So polite and self-effacing.  Utterly charming. 

Once I spotted him driving up Avenue Road in his signature battered pickup, with some sort of hand-made cab on it, his name blazoned on the side.  You couldn't miss him.  His death has made national headlines and tributes are flowing in to a truly great Canadian patriot.

The small-town boy from Skinner's Pond P.E.I. will be missed.   

Women are not good mentors

My letter (transcripted below) was in The Calgary Herald today in response to Naomi Lakritz's column, which I will post on facebook.  It's a tamer version of my previous blog...................

"Dear Editor,

When I retired after a 42-year career in both the private and public sectors I wrote a note thanking all those who had mentored, supported and promoted me. You guessed it, of the 15 or 20 people on the list, not one was a woman. Not one woman had reached down into the trenches to lend a hand up to another. “I’m all right, Jill” is still the M.O. of most women who make it to the top.

Nancy Marley-Clarke"

Talk about a double standard

Marissa Mayer, the new CEO of Yahoo, has built herself a nursery beside her office for her newborn and its nanny, while announcing that no one will be able to work from home any longer.  What a complete pile.

She has just set working women with children back 40 years.  Many of the Yahoo employees who work from home are women with young children.  Now we will be back to the atmosphere of my working years, when I had to lie consistently to balance work and family.  The worst bosses I had, when it came to doing my job and looking after my children, were women.  "I'm all right, Jill", were their watchwords.  An appointment at the school?  That was a dentist appointment for my boss' sake.  A sick child?  I called in sick.  A special sports day?  That was a doctor's appointment.  You absolutely had to lie because working mothers were big targets. 

As I said, the people least sympathetic were female bosses.  I remember being pissed off in the '80s when Mila Mulroney had her last kid and proudly brought it and its nanny to the office.  Why the hell can't I do that?, I wondered.  And Sheila Copps -- the famous "feminist" MP -- did the same.  As for the rest of us -- the great unwashed -- we were not permitted to bring our kids to the office.  Heck, we had to pretend we didn't have any! 

Thanks a bunch, Queen Bee Ms. Mayer.  You have plunged the rest of us schlepping working mothers back into the dark ages.  When I retired, I wrote an email thanking all the many who had mentored, supported and promoted me over 42 years.  Looking at the note I said, "B, there are no women on this list!?"  And there wasn't one woman's name on it.  Can that have been?  Yes, it was absolutely true.  Of all the women I worked for, not one ever reached down into the trenches to lend me a hand up.  To the contrary, many went out of their way to either sabotage my efforts, or take credit for my accomplishments.  As I have said, never underestimate envy in the workplace. 

Men, on the other hand, were only too glad to take on someone who could do something better than they.  Maybe it was because I had such a hectic family life with four kids, but I always pounced on the chance to hire a woman (or man) who could unburden me from a time-consuming task I wasn't particularly good at.  (Thank you Christine M. and Joythi L. and Lise B. and Lilly H. and Marilyn D. and Mary H. and Winnie M. and the countless other talented women who saved my bacon over many years.)  

As for me?  Whatever I did, I managed it all with God-given talent and the help and support of enlightened men.          

Goodbye to the penny

It is bizarre that Canada is doing away with the penny -- or what my grandmother Stapledon used to call the "copper".  With her own way of speaking, she always used that word.  She also used to say something was "very dear" if it were expensive. 

She was old-world to the core.  Never without a hat and matching dress, Lillian (Lord) Stapledon was the matriarch of our clan.  Crippled with arthritis, she used a cane, but still looked stately.  One creature that always facinated me was her fox stole.  It was a real fox, with head, eyes, tail, claws and legs.  She wore it around her neck like something taxidermed.  It stared at me.  For some reason, of the six of us, I ended up being given her precious wedding ring, which I proudly wear every day.  Having misplaced it at the nursing home, she cried day and night until it was found.  I am also the wearer of my grandfather's bloodstone signet ring. 

But, back to the "copper".  There must be millions of dollars in coppers in piggy banks, pockets and kitchen drawers all over the country.  Get yours out before it's too late.   

Not gonna happen

The Keystone pipeline is as dead as a door nail.  Nevertheless, Redford is stuck to it like a fly to paper.  The US just released yet another report about how damaging it will be, just as deaf Alison was in Washington lobbying...for...oops....a defeat. 

To make matters worse, Canada also released a report saying that Alberta was not even close to meeting its own safety and environmental standards.  Here a spill, there a spill, everywhere a spill-spill............She looks like the complete fool she is.

Canada and Alberta should forget about pipelines, they are finished.  Move on.  If it's not the Indians blockading and drumming, it's the environmental freaks staging sit-ins.   An above-ground rail line dedicated to getting oil out of Alberta and into Maritime ports is as abhorrent as an underground pipeline.  Forget about it.

The only hope is a deal between Alberta and Saskatchewan to build refining facilities right here in Canada.  Then we could ship refined oil by rail to receptive markets.  By the way, Canada could also be self-suffcient in oil.  (Hello Pierre Trudeau).  Will it happen?  Who the h-ll knows?  But one thing is sure, pipelines are dead.