Had it confirmed last evening. B loves opera, so we signed on to an evening of dinner at The Ranchmen's Club, then to the Jubilee Centre to "enjoy" 'La Traviata'. The only reason I went was because of the sumptuous repast before the event. Kenneth Titcombe, head chef, is absolutely fabulous.
Highlight of the evening? We were seated at dinner with a young, professional couple. She is a concert violinist and appears all over the world, he is a mortgage broker. You know how soloists appear on stage, bejewelled and gowned to the back teeth? Well, resplendent in a red-lace, off-the-shoulder evening gown, this gorgeous woman nailed it. By the way, it helped that she was wearing a $900 pair of Ferragamo heels. She gave me all the dope on Amanda Forsythe and Pinchus Zukerman -- they're splitting 'cause she had an affair. Of course she had an affair. Her ego is monstrous. And anyone who would marry Tuesday Weld deserves whatever he gets.
The other highlight was the entrance of a beautiful, young woman who stepped up to the piano and began to sing an aria. I was speechless. She is a budding opera star and the club had invited her to perform. Brilliant.
But back to the opera. It was sooooooooooooo boring! I just don't "get" opera and neither, I am convinced, does anyone else. Looking around, I am sure everyone was there because they thought they should be. "I get my best sleeps at the opera," I overheard one guy stage-whisper to his buddy. Me too.
We left after act two because -- thankfully -- B had a bad cold and had started to cough. Mercy, mercy. In the cab, I talked to our driver. Where are you from, I asked. Afghanistan. Oh, here we go. "Do you force your wife to cover her head and face," I said. "Yes." "Well, what the hell are you doing in Canada? In Canada we don't do that," I went on. I thought B was going to throw himself from the vehicle. "Why does your wife have to hide herself," I continued. "Modesty, the Quran," he replied. "No, it's not modesty, it's sexual," I offered. After a few rib-jabs from B, I shut up. But I am sick of people coming to Canada and bringing their un-Canadian values with them. We are all equal in this country. No one should have to cover and hide themselves. If you want to live like that, stay where you are.
But back to the opera. One thing I have to give the women in the crowd: great shoes. Having suffered the consistently hideous footwear at the National Arts Centre in Ottawa for years, I was delighted to see so many great shoes! Even women whose figures were a tad askew compensated with gorgeous, high-fashion shoes.
As I have always said, shoes make the outfit.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Danger at the Y
When I arrived this morning for my swim, two fire trucks and an ambulance were at the entrance to the Y, lights flashing. Checked to see if my son-in-law was one of the first-responders, he wasn't. They were wheeling out a very grey patron who had just had a heart attack. Didn't look like he was going to make it, but I hope I'm wrong.
A lot of people decide to get fit and jump in too hard and fast. The other day I asked a lifeguard to keep an eye on a new guy in one of the lanes, he couldn't breathe. "Are you alright?" I asked. "I can't get my breath." "Don't have a heart attack, rest for a while," I suggested. "That's what my daughter told me," he gasped. That was a few weeks ago and now he's swimming like a trooper. It doesn't take long -- about two weeks -- to get your lungs back.
Karen, my research-doctor friend in the locker room (also the gal who made me Christmas cookies), was really shaken up about the heart attack victim. "I run with him every day upstairs and he seemed fine," she said. "Take it easy," I said, giving her a hug. There is great camaraderie among some of the women there. On the other hand, there are quite a few b-tches I never talk to.
One of the lifeguards I have become fairly friendly with is a young kid (19) who is leaving shortly for a two-year stint in Winnipeg and Northern Manitoba. He is a devout Mormon and has to do this service. So, I took him to lunch yesterday. He might as well be my grandson, but he is so polite and charming it was a real pleasure. This is a kid who lived on the street for a few years and was a drug addict. How he has turned his life around is nothing short of miraculous. "My mother just had her seventh baby a week ago," he told me. "G-d, how old is your mother?" Thirty-eight. My step-son is 40, my step-daughter 38 and my own son 37. I was floored. Seven kids. With another birthday fast-approaching, I felt ancient.
As I have said, everyone is very young in Calgary.
Footnote: The guy didn't make it.
A lot of people decide to get fit and jump in too hard and fast. The other day I asked a lifeguard to keep an eye on a new guy in one of the lanes, he couldn't breathe. "Are you alright?" I asked. "I can't get my breath." "Don't have a heart attack, rest for a while," I suggested. "That's what my daughter told me," he gasped. That was a few weeks ago and now he's swimming like a trooper. It doesn't take long -- about two weeks -- to get your lungs back.
Karen, my research-doctor friend in the locker room (also the gal who made me Christmas cookies), was really shaken up about the heart attack victim. "I run with him every day upstairs and he seemed fine," she said. "Take it easy," I said, giving her a hug. There is great camaraderie among some of the women there. On the other hand, there are quite a few b-tches I never talk to.
One of the lifeguards I have become fairly friendly with is a young kid (19) who is leaving shortly for a two-year stint in Winnipeg and Northern Manitoba. He is a devout Mormon and has to do this service. So, I took him to lunch yesterday. He might as well be my grandson, but he is so polite and charming it was a real pleasure. This is a kid who lived on the street for a few years and was a drug addict. How he has turned his life around is nothing short of miraculous. "My mother just had her seventh baby a week ago," he told me. "G-d, how old is your mother?" Thirty-eight. My step-son is 40, my step-daughter 38 and my own son 37. I was floored. Seven kids. With another birthday fast-approaching, I felt ancient.
As I have said, everyone is very young in Calgary.
Footnote: The guy didn't make it.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
A clinic on "feminism"
Gave one last evening. We were at a Concordia Alumni function at The Ranchmen's Club where I met several mid-forties "feminists". Dressed very conservatively, sporting sensible (read ugly) shoes, they feigned interest in talking to a "poineer" of The Movement: moi.
Boy, did they get their money's worth. I entered university in 1965, when The Movement was just getting underway. Mine was the first generation to deviate from our mothers' paths to pursue careers. Mine was the first generation to experience social, sexual and personal freedom -- with all the joys and sorrows that hazardous path entailed. Back then we definitely worked both sides of the street, I told them. We were women, but we did everything the men did. We had real power -- heck, we had all the power.
"You women today have disenfranchised yourselves. You are missing the "woman" part of the women's movement," I said. "You can never be men, so quit trying. Embrace what it means to be a woman as we did, stop being insulted every time you receive a compliment. Don't greet every advance a man makes with an hysterical 'harassment' charge. Take it as a compliment, for G-d's sake. Get over yourselves and enjoy being women. That's what you are missing these days. You have emasculated men to the point where you hate them," I added for good measure.
They were slack-jawed. I went on to recount my days at Maclean-Hunter, where every day was an episode of 'Mad Men'. Wine, women (and men) and song were the order of the day and man did we have fun. We weren't "exploited". Far, far from it. If you were good at what you did, you got ahead regardless of gender. It had nothing to do with "political correctness". No one had ever heard of the term. We earned our own money and did what we wanted -- be it traditional or revolutionary.
I still do whatever I want. Some days I'm "Nancy Griffith", some days I'm "Mrs. Marley-Clarke", some days I'm "Nancy at the pool", some days I'm "Nancy the blogger", some days I'm "Tommy and Lillian's daughter", some days I'm "Susanne and Gene's mother", some days I'm "Reed's Grandma"....it all depends on the situation. We have so many advantages. Men can't give birth, for example. "Mothers" have great status in society. Why do you think so many loser teenage girls have babies?
"You have lost your way, gals," I said last evening. "You have bought into the 'women's lib' camp and it has done you no good whatsoever. You have let slide the femininity that gave you all the power. You just don't get it and it's a real shame."
One woman, a law professor, asked me to come and speak to one of her classes next time I was in Montreal. I just may.
Boy, did they get their money's worth. I entered university in 1965, when The Movement was just getting underway. Mine was the first generation to deviate from our mothers' paths to pursue careers. Mine was the first generation to experience social, sexual and personal freedom -- with all the joys and sorrows that hazardous path entailed. Back then we definitely worked both sides of the street, I told them. We were women, but we did everything the men did. We had real power -- heck, we had all the power.
"You women today have disenfranchised yourselves. You are missing the "woman" part of the women's movement," I said. "You can never be men, so quit trying. Embrace what it means to be a woman as we did, stop being insulted every time you receive a compliment. Don't greet every advance a man makes with an hysterical 'harassment' charge. Take it as a compliment, for G-d's sake. Get over yourselves and enjoy being women. That's what you are missing these days. You have emasculated men to the point where you hate them," I added for good measure.
They were slack-jawed. I went on to recount my days at Maclean-Hunter, where every day was an episode of 'Mad Men'. Wine, women (and men) and song were the order of the day and man did we have fun. We weren't "exploited". Far, far from it. If you were good at what you did, you got ahead regardless of gender. It had nothing to do with "political correctness". No one had ever heard of the term. We earned our own money and did what we wanted -- be it traditional or revolutionary.
I still do whatever I want. Some days I'm "Nancy Griffith", some days I'm "Mrs. Marley-Clarke", some days I'm "Nancy at the pool", some days I'm "Nancy the blogger", some days I'm "Tommy and Lillian's daughter", some days I'm "Susanne and Gene's mother", some days I'm "Reed's Grandma"....it all depends on the situation. We have so many advantages. Men can't give birth, for example. "Mothers" have great status in society. Why do you think so many loser teenage girls have babies?
"You have lost your way, gals," I said last evening. "You have bought into the 'women's lib' camp and it has done you no good whatsoever. You have let slide the femininity that gave you all the power. You just don't get it and it's a real shame."
One woman, a law professor, asked me to come and speak to one of her classes next time I was in Montreal. I just may.
Monday, April 22, 2013
That's why
"Launch angle. Spin rate. Velocity. We're talking about the golf swing," says Jay Myren, director of instruction at the Golf Canada Calgary Centre. He goes on: "You need to learn from high-speed video, specialized computer software and a doplar radar launch monitor to analyze ball speed, launch angles and both sidespin and backspin. Ultimately, you are trying to maximize performance out of the ball. When we get real specific numbers, we can see how the club contacts the ball, the angle of attack coming into the ball, club path and club face angle."
G-d! Are you kidding!?
"Having a curve in your spine will limit your ability to make a good turn. To make a proper swing, it is imperative to have a straight, flat back in setup. Your torso is able to turn effectively when it can rotate around the axis of your spine," adds pro Lisa Vlooswky. "If your spine is hunched it restricts your mobility. When it is flat, it is easy to make a good turn. The ability to turn is what will create coil and torque in your backswing and will help you add distance to your game."
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!!)(&$%^&*(
She doesn't stop there. "Stand up nice and tall, shoulders back and feet shoulder-width apart. Keeping your shoulders back and back flat, bow only at the waist. Once you achieve a 45-degree angle (how would you know that?), stop and then slightly bend your knees. I like to refer to it as cracking your knees. If you bend too much you get into a sitting position. You only want to slightly bend (crack) your knees. This simple (are you kidding me?) setup will make it so much easier to rotate around your spine," Lisa expounds.
There's more. "Try setting up with a hunched back and turning. Note how far you are able to turn, then try it with your new posture setup and see if you have increased your rotation. I bet you will be amazed at the difference and thrilled with the result."
How can you be serious?! That's why I don't play golf. That's why I couldn't even hit the ball when B was "coaching" me on the driving range. Too much to worry about.
G-d! Are you kidding!?
"Having a curve in your spine will limit your ability to make a good turn. To make a proper swing, it is imperative to have a straight, flat back in setup. Your torso is able to turn effectively when it can rotate around the axis of your spine," adds pro Lisa Vlooswky. "If your spine is hunched it restricts your mobility. When it is flat, it is easy to make a good turn. The ability to turn is what will create coil and torque in your backswing and will help you add distance to your game."
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!!)(&$%^&*(
She doesn't stop there. "Stand up nice and tall, shoulders back and feet shoulder-width apart. Keeping your shoulders back and back flat, bow only at the waist. Once you achieve a 45-degree angle (how would you know that?), stop and then slightly bend your knees. I like to refer to it as cracking your knees. If you bend too much you get into a sitting position. You only want to slightly bend (crack) your knees. This simple (are you kidding me?) setup will make it so much easier to rotate around your spine," Lisa expounds.
There's more. "Try setting up with a hunched back and turning. Note how far you are able to turn, then try it with your new posture setup and see if you have increased your rotation. I bet you will be amazed at the difference and thrilled with the result."
How can you be serious?! That's why I don't play golf. That's why I couldn't even hit the ball when B was "coaching" me on the driving range. Too much to worry about.
You just have to ask
Met two new friends from the pool for lunch today. I had suggested the spot, 'Joey Tomato' in Crowfoot, where I have been many times. "I was hoping you could comp something for my friends and I," I brazenly said to the manager. "Don't worry about it," he replied.
When the bill came, he had comped all our meals. I was amazed! That must have been at least $60. All comped. As we left, I gave him a big hug of thanks. My friends were amazed at the fact that both their meals had been covered. "All you have to do is ask," I said as we parted. But I guess few do.
When the bill came, he had comped all our meals. I was amazed! That must have been at least $60. All comped. As we left, I gave him a big hug of thanks. My friends were amazed at the fact that both their meals had been covered. "All you have to do is ask," I said as we parted. But I guess few do.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
I can't walk in these shoes
This is the usual refrain B hears when we go out. "I'm going to put that on your tombstone," he quipped the other day. Well, it's true, I can't walk in most of my evening high heels, but I'm damned if I'm going to stop wearing them. Ironically, B is the one who buys me shoes whenever he travels and encourages me to do the same.
So it was again last night, when we attended the 103rd Annual Convention of the Alberta-Northwest Territories Knights of Columbus State Council dinner. I was wearing my classic, black suede heels in which I can't walk too far or fast. He dropped me at the door.
Man, what an event! More than 600 people crowded the ballroom of the Coast Hotel to enjoy the party. The Knights are a world-wide Catholic charitable organization and give a ton money to everyone and his brother. The program pamphlet contained messages from Stephen Harper, the Lieutenant Governor of Alberta, Alison Redford, Mayor Nenshi, the Apostolic Nuncio (a guy we used to have dinner with in Ottawa), every Archbishop in the region, Supreme Knight Carl Anderson...and everyone in between.
I wore all black, something I don't do very often these days, because I wanted to wear my Parisien Richard Robinson rhinstone-studded choker and nothing can really compete with it. Bought it when step-daughter Sarah got married in 2002 for the rehearsal dinner. Never seen anything like it before or since -- a real show-stopper -- that always elicits many compliments.
We sat beside friends from Nigeria, Francis and Chinelo, who I overheard speaking something very weird. Turns out it was "Edo". He's an engineer and she's a teacher. Both very, very charming and funny. Francis and I laughed practically the whole way through when the speeches went a little over-the-top -- which was often. Some people thought they were on stage at the Academy Awards! But all in all, a very pleasant event.
So it was again last night, when we attended the 103rd Annual Convention of the Alberta-Northwest Territories Knights of Columbus State Council dinner. I was wearing my classic, black suede heels in which I can't walk too far or fast. He dropped me at the door.
Man, what an event! More than 600 people crowded the ballroom of the Coast Hotel to enjoy the party. The Knights are a world-wide Catholic charitable organization and give a ton money to everyone and his brother. The program pamphlet contained messages from Stephen Harper, the Lieutenant Governor of Alberta, Alison Redford, Mayor Nenshi, the Apostolic Nuncio (a guy we used to have dinner with in Ottawa), every Archbishop in the region, Supreme Knight Carl Anderson...and everyone in between.
I wore all black, something I don't do very often these days, because I wanted to wear my Parisien Richard Robinson rhinstone-studded choker and nothing can really compete with it. Bought it when step-daughter Sarah got married in 2002 for the rehearsal dinner. Never seen anything like it before or since -- a real show-stopper -- that always elicits many compliments.
We sat beside friends from Nigeria, Francis and Chinelo, who I overheard speaking something very weird. Turns out it was "Edo". He's an engineer and she's a teacher. Both very, very charming and funny. Francis and I laughed practically the whole way through when the speeches went a little over-the-top -- which was often. Some people thought they were on stage at the Academy Awards! But all in all, a very pleasant event.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Camera eyes
Watching a commercial for glasses, I marvelled again at the fact that I no longer have to wear them. Started needing reading glasses in my twenties and things progressed to full-on glasses 24/7. I purchased contacts, but still had to don reading specs for close-up work.
That was where I was at until about seven years ago, when I was told I had cataracts. One eye was far-gone enough that the doctor told me I qualified for an artificial lens. Presto-chango, 15 minutes in an out-patient operating room and I had a perfect eye. No pain, no blood, nothing. But this "eye" was focussed for medium and long-range vision; still needed reading glasses.
Two years later, the other eye developed cataracts. Lucky me! "I want the other eye to be focussed on close-up and medium," I said to the doctor. "You won't like that," he replied. "Yes I will. A friend of mine has two different focusses and she loves it." So he agreed. My left eye is now focussed close-to-medium, meaning I can read a phone book with no problem. The brain quickly finds a way to figure it all out and compensates perfectly for distance or close-up.
I absolutely love not having to wear glasses -- ever. And of course, eye strain doesn't exist because I have little machines in my eyes, not real eyes. I can swim and do anything without worry, these babies are just about indestructible.
Pray for cataracts.
That was where I was at until about seven years ago, when I was told I had cataracts. One eye was far-gone enough that the doctor told me I qualified for an artificial lens. Presto-chango, 15 minutes in an out-patient operating room and I had a perfect eye. No pain, no blood, nothing. But this "eye" was focussed for medium and long-range vision; still needed reading glasses.
Two years later, the other eye developed cataracts. Lucky me! "I want the other eye to be focussed on close-up and medium," I said to the doctor. "You won't like that," he replied. "Yes I will. A friend of mine has two different focusses and she loves it." So he agreed. My left eye is now focussed close-to-medium, meaning I can read a phone book with no problem. The brain quickly finds a way to figure it all out and compensates perfectly for distance or close-up.
I absolutely love not having to wear glasses -- ever. And of course, eye strain doesn't exist because I have little machines in my eyes, not real eyes. I can swim and do anything without worry, these babies are just about indestructible.
Pray for cataracts.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Devastating
Learned from an old colleague yesterday that two of the nicest guys I ever worked with are dying of cancer. One is 47, the other not much older. Both have three kids in their late teens and early twenties. Picked up the phone today and called both of them.
Having worked for Revenue Canada, I know how to find people. But these calls were brutal. Both men were so surprised to hear from me because we had not stayed in touch. But I loved them both and loved working with each. They were smart and funny -- great combination. At least I held it together while we chatted, but after ringing off I completely lost it and broke down weeping. "Pray for my kids, I'm done," one said. "My cancer is not curable. They are just trying to prolong my life for them." Man, talk about tough to hear.
"They took forever to diagnose my cancer and by the time they found it, it was pretty advanced," said the other. My eyes are welling up again as I type. I realize it is the last time I will ever talk to either of them. It hit me hard because my birth mother died at 49 of lung cancer, which is the type one of them has. Why am I so lucky? Life and death are brutal and artibrary.
Having worked for Revenue Canada, I know how to find people. But these calls were brutal. Both men were so surprised to hear from me because we had not stayed in touch. But I loved them both and loved working with each. They were smart and funny -- great combination. At least I held it together while we chatted, but after ringing off I completely lost it and broke down weeping. "Pray for my kids, I'm done," one said. "My cancer is not curable. They are just trying to prolong my life for them." Man, talk about tough to hear.
"They took forever to diagnose my cancer and by the time they found it, it was pretty advanced," said the other. My eyes are welling up again as I type. I realize it is the last time I will ever talk to either of them. It hit me hard because my birth mother died at 49 of lung cancer, which is the type one of them has. Why am I so lucky? Life and death are brutal and artibrary.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Grotesque
Lon Chaney, Boris Karlof, Bela Lugosi. Combine them and you have "Elsa", the mother of one of the 'Real Housewives of Miami'. Watched it for the first time yesterday and this woman is hideous! She has had way too many facelifts, eye jobs and lip pumps. She is absolutely scary.
This is another stupid show I should not watch.
This is another stupid show I should not watch.
The numbers tell the tale
The GG is way out in front. In 2011/2012 he logged 600 official events. Next was the Lieutenant Governor of New Brunswick with 550. The laziest Lt.Gov was the Manitoban with a mere 242. Here in Alberta it was 411, not bad.
These interesting stats are contained in the latest issue of the 'Canadian Monarchist News'. As a member of 'The Monarchist League', B receives this regularly and it is filled with facinating stuff -- if you are Monarchists, as we are. The Canadian Crown costs each Canadian $1.63 per year, the GG $1.31. All 11 Canadian Vice-regal representatives together cost a whopping 28 cents per person. By comparison, White House operations cost each American $5.24.
So, the next time someone complains about the cost of the Monarchy to Canadians, say "piffle".
These interesting stats are contained in the latest issue of the 'Canadian Monarchist News'. As a member of 'The Monarchist League', B receives this regularly and it is filled with facinating stuff -- if you are Monarchists, as we are. The Canadian Crown costs each Canadian $1.63 per year, the GG $1.31. All 11 Canadian Vice-regal representatives together cost a whopping 28 cents per person. By comparison, White House operations cost each American $5.24.
So, the next time someone complains about the cost of the Monarchy to Canadians, say "piffle".
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Depressing
Oh, you'll probably never get rid of that," said S in the pool locker room the other day. We were discussing the cellulite under my arms. I had just grabbed it and complained about its sheer ugliness. No matter how much weight I have lost, that bloody cellulite just hangs on -- literally.
Sleeveless? Gone. I also have it in a couple of other unmentionable places and I know it won't disappear from those either. My neck is another area I'd like to deal with. We look in the mirror, as we are applying our makeup, and we see a not-bad face. Then our eyes drop to our necks. Chicken is the word that springs to mind.
In 15 days I will have yet another birthday. I will be "blank-six" and I can't believe it!
Footnote: Just got word one of my ex-bosses is retiring. She was not an ideal manager to say the least, but they are having a huge party for her at the RA Centre in Ottawa. A peerless nit-picker and dedicated clock-watcher, SW always focussed on the trivial. A perfect bureaucrat. Having come from the Sudbury Tax Centre, she thought everyone needed to behave as if we were serving a public counter. The other problem with her was that she actually believed because she was my boss, she automatically knew more about everything than I. Wrong. I am a writer, and a pretty good one, but she edited and edited and re-edited my field visit reports for months at a time. By the time she was satisfied, the players were long gone. To get around this, I used to send "drafts" to the field to get the job done. She was not a champion of other women. As I have said so often, never underestimate envy in the workplace.
Sleeveless? Gone. I also have it in a couple of other unmentionable places and I know it won't disappear from those either. My neck is another area I'd like to deal with. We look in the mirror, as we are applying our makeup, and we see a not-bad face. Then our eyes drop to our necks. Chicken is the word that springs to mind.
In 15 days I will have yet another birthday. I will be "blank-six" and I can't believe it!
Footnote: Just got word one of my ex-bosses is retiring. She was not an ideal manager to say the least, but they are having a huge party for her at the RA Centre in Ottawa. A peerless nit-picker and dedicated clock-watcher, SW always focussed on the trivial. A perfect bureaucrat. Having come from the Sudbury Tax Centre, she thought everyone needed to behave as if we were serving a public counter. The other problem with her was that she actually believed because she was my boss, she automatically knew more about everything than I. Wrong. I am a writer, and a pretty good one, but she edited and edited and re-edited my field visit reports for months at a time. By the time she was satisfied, the players were long gone. To get around this, I used to send "drafts" to the field to get the job done. She was not a champion of other women. As I have said so often, never underestimate envy in the workplace.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
The Royal Jelly
Well, Trudeau has clinched it. He has the Royal Jelly and out it came. There is no doubt in my mind that he will be the next Prime Minister because he just has "it".
Looking back on the little boy I knew from Rockcliffe Park Public School who went to school with our kids, the little kid on the soccer pitch, the kid in the Christmas pageant, I find it hard to believe that he will be our next PM. But he will. Not that I particularly think he is a genius, but the public doesn't care about that when they vote.
I well remember when his father was elected leader of the Liberals. I was still living at my parents and Pierre had a friend who lived down the street. After the convention, a gang of them arrived at the guy's house to celebrate and I watched Pierre alight from his sports car and enter the house. I felt a surge of excitement. Now Canada had a real leader -- a rock star, someone who would put Canada on the map. He certainly did that -- Albertans hatred of him notwithstanding. Man, they will also hate Justin out here. On the "Trudeau" file, there is no logic in Alberta. They are still 40 years behind.
So we enter a new era. Another Trudeau will lead us. Poor Thomas Mulcair, he's dead. Might as well pack his bags and move back to Montreal. Exciting times ahead!
Looking back on the little boy I knew from Rockcliffe Park Public School who went to school with our kids, the little kid on the soccer pitch, the kid in the Christmas pageant, I find it hard to believe that he will be our next PM. But he will. Not that I particularly think he is a genius, but the public doesn't care about that when they vote.
I well remember when his father was elected leader of the Liberals. I was still living at my parents and Pierre had a friend who lived down the street. After the convention, a gang of them arrived at the guy's house to celebrate and I watched Pierre alight from his sports car and enter the house. I felt a surge of excitement. Now Canada had a real leader -- a rock star, someone who would put Canada on the map. He certainly did that -- Albertans hatred of him notwithstanding. Man, they will also hate Justin out here. On the "Trudeau" file, there is no logic in Alberta. They are still 40 years behind.
So we enter a new era. Another Trudeau will lead us. Poor Thomas Mulcair, he's dead. Might as well pack his bags and move back to Montreal. Exciting times ahead!
The nerve
"Are you a big private donor here?" interrupted a broad I had never seen before while I was talking to one of the lifeguards the other day. We were discussing the fact that they collapse the lanes 15 minutes early to accomodate the elderly aquafit class, thus depriving us of swim time. You can do quite a few laps in 15 minutes.
"As a matter of fact, I am a private donor," I replied. "Well, if you have a big mouth you have to give big money," she snapped. My friend "D" was slack-jawed in the next lane. Here was this female Michael-Phelps-wanna-be in an all-white outfit -- bathing cap, jacket, swim pants -- the whole enchilada, telling me which end was up. Who did she think she was?
We have had an issue at the pool because of the 15 minutes they used to give the old ladies to lumber into the water to get ready for their not-really-aquafit chat class. D and I met with the aquatics' director the other day and it has been resolved; they now get only five minutes to descend the stairs. But this woman butting in on my conversation with the lifeguard about the change was unbelieveable. By the way, she couldn't swim worth a sh-t, kept having to pass her.
Why do some women make themselves so unattractive and annoying? There is another one who is aggravating. Very aggressive, in her mid fifties, she simply will not let me go first when we finish a lap. Today it was the same show. I continually had to pass her. Just makes me crazy when swimmers do not observe pool etiquette.
Well, back in the pool and it's the same-old-same-old. I do love it!
By the way, Calgary is into Spring in a big way. We just had a 15 cm-snow dump. Yuck. Can't wait for our Texas grandchildren to visit here and experience a real Calgarian/Canadian winter with a ton of snow up to here, instead of the fake snow dump they have at their local swim club.
"As a matter of fact, I am a private donor," I replied. "Well, if you have a big mouth you have to give big money," she snapped. My friend "D" was slack-jawed in the next lane. Here was this female Michael-Phelps-wanna-be in an all-white outfit -- bathing cap, jacket, swim pants -- the whole enchilada, telling me which end was up. Who did she think she was?
We have had an issue at the pool because of the 15 minutes they used to give the old ladies to lumber into the water to get ready for their not-really-aquafit chat class. D and I met with the aquatics' director the other day and it has been resolved; they now get only five minutes to descend the stairs. But this woman butting in on my conversation with the lifeguard about the change was unbelieveable. By the way, she couldn't swim worth a sh-t, kept having to pass her.
Why do some women make themselves so unattractive and annoying? There is another one who is aggravating. Very aggressive, in her mid fifties, she simply will not let me go first when we finish a lap. Today it was the same show. I continually had to pass her. Just makes me crazy when swimmers do not observe pool etiquette.
Well, back in the pool and it's the same-old-same-old. I do love it!
By the way, Calgary is into Spring in a big way. We just had a 15 cm-snow dump. Yuck. Can't wait for our Texas grandchildren to visit here and experience a real Calgarian/Canadian winter with a ton of snow up to here, instead of the fake snow dump they have at their local swim club.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Talk about concentration..........
The guy remembers every hole in every tournament he ever played. Amazing! Just watched an hour with Jack Nicklaus on 'Charlie Rose' and I was dumbfounded. Not only does he recall every shot, he rhymes off the length of each hole and who he was playing. 115 professional wins, 18 majors -- that's what we're talking about.
He went through year after year, club after club, which one he used on which hole, how the one iron is his favourite, how he knew this shot was hooking left or right -- always on purpose -- when he tried a new putter and what happened, what the weather was like, who was his caddy, what they talked about, when he changed his game just a touch here and there........it was something to behold.
"I always try to play smart on each hole, never risky. I don't take chances and I never play anyone else, I just play the course and fit it to my strengths." Easy to say, but impossible to do.....I am told. He thinks Tiger has the talent to beat his records, but after describing what Woods would have to get under his belt from here on in, now that he is 38 years old, I can't see it. "I didn't say he'd do it, I just said he has the talent to do it," he added. No, not enough time. He'd have to pull off another 11 professional wins and four more majors and I don't think it's possible at his age. Too many young guns nipping at his heels.
What I liked about the guy was that he doesn't take himself seriously. He takes golf seriously, but not himself. A dedicated family man, he didn't miss his kids' important events and is still married to the woman he wed in 1960, when he was 21.
As someone who eschews golf, I was impressed.
He went through year after year, club after club, which one he used on which hole, how the one iron is his favourite, how he knew this shot was hooking left or right -- always on purpose -- when he tried a new putter and what happened, what the weather was like, who was his caddy, what they talked about, when he changed his game just a touch here and there........it was something to behold.
"I always try to play smart on each hole, never risky. I don't take chances and I never play anyone else, I just play the course and fit it to my strengths." Easy to say, but impossible to do.....I am told. He thinks Tiger has the talent to beat his records, but after describing what Woods would have to get under his belt from here on in, now that he is 38 years old, I can't see it. "I didn't say he'd do it, I just said he has the talent to do it," he added. No, not enough time. He'd have to pull off another 11 professional wins and four more majors and I don't think it's possible at his age. Too many young guns nipping at his heels.
What I liked about the guy was that he doesn't take himself seriously. He takes golf seriously, but not himself. A dedicated family man, he didn't miss his kids' important events and is still married to the woman he wed in 1960, when he was 21.
As someone who eschews golf, I was impressed.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Centred again
Got back into the pool this morning after two weeks of not being able to swim. A lingering low-grade chest cold kept me away. Afraid to peek at the scales, I found I had only gained two pounds, a small victory. Felt like a fat slob until I saw the evidence. Phew!
It feels great to get back into it. "Centred" is how I'd describe it. And of course, there was a lot of socializing and catching-up to tend to, which I enjoy immensely.
Flipping through the paper this morning, I see that ads for camping and golf are in full force. I participate in neither -- the former because it's just too hideously uncomfortable and too much work and the latter because it's unplayable. I mean it. I remember camping as a ridiculous way to suffer through an otherwise pleasant weekend. I did it because my first husband loved it and I thought -- dutiful wife that I was -- I had to jump right into it. The number of weekends I spent soaking in a sleeping bag, surrounded by puddles in a tent are too numerous to recall. All that ghastly schlepping to hair-raising public showers and toilets! Beyond bearing. And trying to produce meals on a bunsen burner? Ludicrous.
As for golf, who can play it? Even the pros stumble around in "slumps" (code for "I can't play anymore") year after year. Who hits the ball consisently straight and long every tournament? The problem with golf is that the physics are all wrong; the ball is too small and the club too long. It's all a nasty joke perpetrated on the rest of the world by the cruel Scots. I'd rather go out and set fire to money on the first tee, than invest in clubs and paraphenalia. And the outfits!? Please.
Speaking of outfits, I made another pair of goucho pants for Spring and Summer. These are brightly flowered with huge blossoms all over; the last pair were solid emerald green. Luckily, I found a very easy pattern (Butterick #5044), just two pieces exactly the same back and front, so you just fold the fabric and cut both at the same time. No zippers, pockets, waistband, facing, lining -- nothing, just an elastic waist. Love both.
It feels great to get back into it. "Centred" is how I'd describe it. And of course, there was a lot of socializing and catching-up to tend to, which I enjoy immensely.
Flipping through the paper this morning, I see that ads for camping and golf are in full force. I participate in neither -- the former because it's just too hideously uncomfortable and too much work and the latter because it's unplayable. I mean it. I remember camping as a ridiculous way to suffer through an otherwise pleasant weekend. I did it because my first husband loved it and I thought -- dutiful wife that I was -- I had to jump right into it. The number of weekends I spent soaking in a sleeping bag, surrounded by puddles in a tent are too numerous to recall. All that ghastly schlepping to hair-raising public showers and toilets! Beyond bearing. And trying to produce meals on a bunsen burner? Ludicrous.
As for golf, who can play it? Even the pros stumble around in "slumps" (code for "I can't play anymore") year after year. Who hits the ball consisently straight and long every tournament? The problem with golf is that the physics are all wrong; the ball is too small and the club too long. It's all a nasty joke perpetrated on the rest of the world by the cruel Scots. I'd rather go out and set fire to money on the first tee, than invest in clubs and paraphenalia. And the outfits!? Please.
Speaking of outfits, I made another pair of goucho pants for Spring and Summer. These are brightly flowered with huge blossoms all over; the last pair were solid emerald green. Luckily, I found a very easy pattern (Butterick #5044), just two pieces exactly the same back and front, so you just fold the fabric and cut both at the same time. No zippers, pockets, waistband, facing, lining -- nothing, just an elastic waist. Love both.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Catholic "experts"
"Dear Editor,
"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 while holding the office, 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 like it or not, the
Pope is the final word on the Catholic faith.
"Nancy Marley-Clarke"
This letter was published the other week. As you all know, many letters of mine find their way into The Calgary Herald -- mainly because, having been a writer all my life, I know how to compose them. Amazingly, today I received in the mail a big envelope with clippings and a letter from a senior Knight of Columbus, chastising me for my views. Apparently, it is unseemly for a woman to talk about the Pope and 'The Faith'. In some circles, women still lurk in the dark ages. Gag me.
This guy told me that a quick letter-to-the-editor could not possibly describe "papal infallibility" because learned scholars for centuries have been unable to do so in failed book-after-treatise-after-bull-after-thesis. Hey buddy, I've got news for you. I am on the right track.
Poor B, he has to deal with these guys whose wives are flattened doormats. Their idea of a "Ladies Appreciation Night" is either Chinese food, fish and chips, or pizza once a year. B and I organized an $85 black-tie dinner at The Ranchmen's Club the other week and many Fourth Degree Knights did not turn up to honour their long-suffering wives. "How about $84.99," one laughingly said to me in front of his dazed wife when I asked if he were going to take her. You could almost see the tread marks on her slumped back. It's appalling. These relics cannot comprehend that some Catholic women are well-educated, have opinions and speak them. The truth of the matter is that B was the one who explained "papal infallibility" to me. I finally got it.
Can you imagine anyone having the nerve to write to someone else, instructing them on what they can and can't write to the editor??!! It's beyond comprehension. Of course, he didn't write to the editor to refute me. Oh no, he'd never stand up, let his face hang out and be counted. This Mr. Knight of Columbus enclosed his email, evidently hoping I would engage in a dialogue. I won't. Next time I see the guy, he will be enjoying the back of my head.
Why are they always "Kippers"?
Just listened to yet another English-accent type go on about how hard-done-by workers are. Guy Smith, the president of the Alberta Union of Provincial Employees, was clapping himself on the back for having waited out a 283-day dispute between home-care workers and the employer. Of course, he had an English accent. These people won a 47% raise??!!??!! In the face of Alberta's woes, it's a disgrace. I mean, do they all have Phd's?? Hardly.
Why do these Kippers come to Canada? To agitate? Remember Joe Davidson, the guy who ran the postal union? The guy who made mail irrelevant? The guy who effectively created UPS and FedEx? The guy who was always on tv with his Scottish accent raving about how the working man was hard-done-by? After ruining the post office, he went back Scotland and died.
Then there is fat Libby Davies, the deputy NDP leader, always mouthing off about something or other. Another English accent yapping.
I'm sick of English labour types bringing their gripes over here.
Why do these Kippers come to Canada? To agitate? Remember Joe Davidson, the guy who ran the postal union? The guy who made mail irrelevant? The guy who effectively created UPS and FedEx? The guy who was always on tv with his Scottish accent raving about how the working man was hard-done-by? After ruining the post office, he went back Scotland and died.
Then there is fat Libby Davies, the deputy NDP leader, always mouthing off about something or other. Another English accent yapping.
I'm sick of English labour types bringing their gripes over here.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
How would she remember?
Met some friends for lunch yesterday at 'Notable', an excellent restaurant in Bowness here in Calgary. "I remember you," said our waitress. "No you don't, but thanks for being so polite," I replied. "Oh no, I do remember you because I love your style," she said. (I guess it's noteworthy when someone appears in public NOT in jeans. I don't even own a pair.)
She then proceeded to tell me what I was wearing the last time we were there, which was about four months ago. I was amazed! This girl could be a model. She has a rather prominent nose and full lips, chiselled cheekbones and gorgeous eyes -- just the perfect sort of "imperfect" model. Very tall and slim, with dark brunette hair, she is a knockout.
Bowness is an interesting neighbourhood. Full of dumps, one-offs, ugly strip malls, body shops, do-it-yourself renovations, updated cottages and roadside canteens, it is also inhabited by pretty good restaurants -- such as 'Notable'. Reminds me a lot of Britannia in Ottawa, where we used to live, but uglier.
Every morning behind our house, a young man in shorts -- yes, winter too -- walks his adorable Springer Spaniel with his baby daughter strapped to his back. This morning I opened the back sliding door and chatted. "Hey," I called. "We love your dog! Our daughter and son-in-law have one." He stopped and we had a great chat. I have decided to talk to all the regulars who frequent the field and path behind our place.
Still loving Calgary!
She then proceeded to tell me what I was wearing the last time we were there, which was about four months ago. I was amazed! This girl could be a model. She has a rather prominent nose and full lips, chiselled cheekbones and gorgeous eyes -- just the perfect sort of "imperfect" model. Very tall and slim, with dark brunette hair, she is a knockout.
Bowness is an interesting neighbourhood. Full of dumps, one-offs, ugly strip malls, body shops, do-it-yourself renovations, updated cottages and roadside canteens, it is also inhabited by pretty good restaurants -- such as 'Notable'. Reminds me a lot of Britannia in Ottawa, where we used to live, but uglier.
Every morning behind our house, a young man in shorts -- yes, winter too -- walks his adorable Springer Spaniel with his baby daughter strapped to his back. This morning I opened the back sliding door and chatted. "Hey," I called. "We love your dog! Our daughter and son-in-law have one." He stopped and we had a great chat. I have decided to talk to all the regulars who frequent the field and path behind our place.
Still loving Calgary!
Saturday, April 6, 2013
So, that's what he really thinks
Scratch the surface and you find a sexist. Obama has revealed himself. "She's brilliant...she's dedicated, she's tough and she also happens to be, by far, the best-looking attorney general," he raved about California's Kamala Harris. Then, just for good measure, he blurts, "It's true! Come on! She's easy on the eyes." What a dummie.
Wonder what Michelle thinks? Her husband has now publically declared himself. Comes as no surprise -- especially to Michelle, I am sure. Under all the glib and facile women's-lib rhetoric, the Pres is just your regular, ordinary, garden-variety, run-of-the-mill male chauvanist pig. Not that I have anything against that kind of man, as long as he is true to his type and doesn't pretend he is a "feminist". As a matter of fact, some of the most polite and chivalrous gentlemen I have ever known and grown up around were MCPs.
Obama, on the other hand, is a fraud. Hey, no surprise there. The guy has an ego the size of Manhattan and an ego that vast holds hands in lock step with a sexist. Apparently, he had to apologize, but Ms. Harris has remained mute on whether or not she has accepted it. Evidently he recognized what a faux-pas he had committed in talking about her looks.
To top it off, Michelle described herself as a"single mother" to a television interviewer the other day. Man, they've got issues. Obviousy, Michelle feels like a single mother, what with hubby running around messing up the world.
As for Obama's gaff? Buddy, in public life if you wouldn't say it about a man, you can't say it about a woman.
Wonder what Michelle thinks? Her husband has now publically declared himself. Comes as no surprise -- especially to Michelle, I am sure. Under all the glib and facile women's-lib rhetoric, the Pres is just your regular, ordinary, garden-variety, run-of-the-mill male chauvanist pig. Not that I have anything against that kind of man, as long as he is true to his type and doesn't pretend he is a "feminist". As a matter of fact, some of the most polite and chivalrous gentlemen I have ever known and grown up around were MCPs.
Obama, on the other hand, is a fraud. Hey, no surprise there. The guy has an ego the size of Manhattan and an ego that vast holds hands in lock step with a sexist. Apparently, he had to apologize, but Ms. Harris has remained mute on whether or not she has accepted it. Evidently he recognized what a faux-pas he had committed in talking about her looks.
To top it off, Michelle described herself as a"single mother" to a television interviewer the other day. Man, they've got issues. Obviousy, Michelle feels like a single mother, what with hubby running around messing up the world.
As for Obama's gaff? Buddy, in public life if you wouldn't say it about a man, you can't say it about a woman.
Friday, April 5, 2013
More movies
You knew he'd die from them with every drag. Yves Montand played one of the leads in the 1961 movie 'Goodbye Again', with Ingrid Bergman and Anthony Perkins. (As I said, I have been low-grade sick for about 10 days and thus, movies are the extent of my pathetically limited agenda.)
In the movie, Yves smokes or drinks or has affairs with other women throughout. Typical Frenchman of the era -- even Ingrid accepted it. "I told you what I was like," he admonishes when she has a bit of a breakdown. "Paula, you know they don't mean anything to me. It's you I love," he scolds. Are Frenchmen still like that? Probably. Italians too.
Yves would come home from the office, light up a fag and pour a drink. He'd get out of the bed in which he was trysting with his latest mistress, light up a fag and pour a drink. He'd be driving his sports car, light up a fag, but not actually pour a drink while driving -- although I am sure he would have if he could have.
I have to admit something shameful. There was something extremely sexy about the way Yves smoked. He'd drag hard on a cigarette with his thumb and forefinger, or keep it in his mouth. It's shameful that I remain conditioned to thinking smoking in the 50s and 60s was sexy and masculine. Now I find it horrifying and disgusting. I mean who can even imagine kissing -- or even bussing -- anyone who smokes? Smelly and gross come to mind. And the way a smoker's clothes reek! Makes me think of seedy barrooms from my university days in the late sixties, when we all frequented the grubby Hull haunts.
I find it astonishing that today's movies still feature smoking. That's the kind of money tobacco companies are pouring into the industry. The smoking in 'Mad Men' I don't find out-of-place because that's what all offices were like until 1984. Everyone smoked everywhere all the time. "Have you ever noticed that only losers smoke," observed my ancient mother back in the '90s as we drove by a local high school, young puffing baby students huddled outside. I nearly drove off the road because "loser" was not a word she ever used, but that's how strongly she felt.
Google tells me Yves died of a heart attack at age 70, caused by smoking no doubt. Why kids light up today baffles me?! As Lillian said, "only losers smoke."
Epilogue: It was weird to watch Anthony Perkins play the young lover, knowing he was gay. It just did not work because he is definitely effeminate. Funnily, I always bought Rock Hudson in romantic comedies, cavorting with Doris Day, because no one knew he was gay until he was dying. And also, of course, because he was very masculine-looking. But even more of a juxtaposition was a professor I dated at Carleton (against all the rules for a student), who was extremely effeminate, but anything but. Looks belie.
In the movie, Yves smokes or drinks or has affairs with other women throughout. Typical Frenchman of the era -- even Ingrid accepted it. "I told you what I was like," he admonishes when she has a bit of a breakdown. "Paula, you know they don't mean anything to me. It's you I love," he scolds. Are Frenchmen still like that? Probably. Italians too.
Yves would come home from the office, light up a fag and pour a drink. He'd get out of the bed in which he was trysting with his latest mistress, light up a fag and pour a drink. He'd be driving his sports car, light up a fag, but not actually pour a drink while driving -- although I am sure he would have if he could have.
I have to admit something shameful. There was something extremely sexy about the way Yves smoked. He'd drag hard on a cigarette with his thumb and forefinger, or keep it in his mouth. It's shameful that I remain conditioned to thinking smoking in the 50s and 60s was sexy and masculine. Now I find it horrifying and disgusting. I mean who can even imagine kissing -- or even bussing -- anyone who smokes? Smelly and gross come to mind. And the way a smoker's clothes reek! Makes me think of seedy barrooms from my university days in the late sixties, when we all frequented the grubby Hull haunts.
I find it astonishing that today's movies still feature smoking. That's the kind of money tobacco companies are pouring into the industry. The smoking in 'Mad Men' I don't find out-of-place because that's what all offices were like until 1984. Everyone smoked everywhere all the time. "Have you ever noticed that only losers smoke," observed my ancient mother back in the '90s as we drove by a local high school, young puffing baby students huddled outside. I nearly drove off the road because "loser" was not a word she ever used, but that's how strongly she felt.
Google tells me Yves died of a heart attack at age 70, caused by smoking no doubt. Why kids light up today baffles me?! As Lillian said, "only losers smoke."
Epilogue: It was weird to watch Anthony Perkins play the young lover, knowing he was gay. It just did not work because he is definitely effeminate. Funnily, I always bought Rock Hudson in romantic comedies, cavorting with Doris Day, because no one knew he was gay until he was dying. And also, of course, because he was very masculine-looking. But even more of a juxtaposition was a professor I dated at Carleton (against all the rules for a student), who was extremely effeminate, but anything but. Looks belie.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
There's a lot in a hyphen
What's in a name? A lot. Just watched an interview with "Martha Hall Findlay". What, actually, is her name? Why do we need the "Hall" part? Is "Hall" her maiden name? Is "Findlay" her married/divorced name? I am so confused. What's with the "Hall"? What's with the "Findlay"? If her name were hyphenated, we'd get it. But it's not, so we don't.
And then there is "John Ralston Saul". What is his name? Is "Ralston" his middle name? Who cares? My middle name is "Patricia". Should I go around calling myself "Nancy Patricia Griffith Marley-Clarke"? Isn't he just "John Saul"? What's with the "Ralston"?
See, that's what I mean about the hyphen. You need the hyphen to allow people to figure out who you are. Unfortunately, women's lib has ruined hyphenated names. People have thought for years that my maiden name was "Marley". No, it was "Griffith". It galls me that people actually think I kept my maiden name. I did not. I am not a "hyphenated-liberated" woman. I am in bondage as is every other married, working woman with children.
I worked with a woman named "Monica Jones-Kisil". I presumed her hyphenated name went way back, but no. "I decided to keep my maiden name," she declared. You decided to keep your maiden name?! It's "Jones", not "Windsor" or "Mountbatten" -- "Jones". Unless your father was Tom, what's the point?
B's hyphenated name came about 200 years ago in India. A great-grandmother married a "Marley" and had a bunch of kids. He died and she married a "Clarke" and had a bunch more. For $$$ reasons, they put the two names together so all the kids could have the same name and get the same $$$$. It's always about $$$$$$$$$$.
A number of B's cousins have changed their names to their mother's maiden name of "Marley-Clarke"? Don't get me started. What does their father think of that? Not much, I would wager.
I wish people would declare themselves.
And then there is "John Ralston Saul". What is his name? Is "Ralston" his middle name? Who cares? My middle name is "Patricia". Should I go around calling myself "Nancy Patricia Griffith Marley-Clarke"? Isn't he just "John Saul"? What's with the "Ralston"?
See, that's what I mean about the hyphen. You need the hyphen to allow people to figure out who you are. Unfortunately, women's lib has ruined hyphenated names. People have thought for years that my maiden name was "Marley". No, it was "Griffith". It galls me that people actually think I kept my maiden name. I did not. I am not a "hyphenated-liberated" woman. I am in bondage as is every other married, working woman with children.
I worked with a woman named "Monica Jones-Kisil". I presumed her hyphenated name went way back, but no. "I decided to keep my maiden name," she declared. You decided to keep your maiden name?! It's "Jones", not "Windsor" or "Mountbatten" -- "Jones". Unless your father was Tom, what's the point?
B's hyphenated name came about 200 years ago in India. A great-grandmother married a "Marley" and had a bunch of kids. He died and she married a "Clarke" and had a bunch more. For $$$ reasons, they put the two names together so all the kids could have the same name and get the same $$$$. It's always about $$$$$$$$$$.
A number of B's cousins have changed their names to their mother's maiden name of "Marley-Clarke"? Don't get me started. What does their father think of that? Not much, I would wager.
I wish people would declare themselves.
Good for her
"You said you wanted those tomatoes, so you're going to eat them!" said the young mother at the table behind us at lunch today at the Banff Springs Hotel.
Good on ya, I thought. The last time I encountered a mother as food-strict was my own. Later, I adopted the same attitude. If one of my kids didn't eat it at dinner, whatever it was reappeared for breakfast -- cold. It only had to happen once for them to get it.
As the family left, I stopped her. "Wow, I'm so proud of you," I remarked. "I overheard you about the tomatoes and was very impressed." She beamed. "You have to be firm," she said.
So many mothers aren't.
Good on ya, I thought. The last time I encountered a mother as food-strict was my own. Later, I adopted the same attitude. If one of my kids didn't eat it at dinner, whatever it was reappeared for breakfast -- cold. It only had to happen once for them to get it.
As the family left, I stopped her. "Wow, I'm so proud of you," I remarked. "I overheard you about the tomatoes and was very impressed." She beamed. "You have to be firm," she said.
So many mothers aren't.
"Fun" was not what she was
No one who knew her would ever have described my mother as "a lot of fun". Absolutely not. She was stern, quiet (but very forceful), unaffectionate and self-disciplined to the back teeth. Never saw her tipsy, let alone drunk, never saw her in a pair of shorts or slacks (even in the July heat at the cottage) and never heard my parents raise their voices to each other. That's the kind of self-discipline to which I refer.
So, it was always bizarre to me that every Easter -- even when we were adults -- a little fun entered our abode. She still hid Easter eggs all over the house for us to find. It was so much fun to turn into a kid again and hunt for the eggs. Thus it was that I did it this year with daughter, Susanne, and son-in-law Colin. "You're warm, you're hot, no you've gone cold," I said as they hunted around. For a few minutes, we were all kids again.
Some things are worth preserving.
I come from a long line of puritans. My great-aunt May, my grandfather Stapledon's sister, was as strict as they came. No booze, no dancing -- not even tea! "May I wave the teabag over your cup Aunt May?" my uncle Rollie used to laughingly say when she was over for dinner. Aunt May was terribly deaf, so she just smiled unknowingly when we made fun of her. Naughty, naughty.
United Church to the core, my family used to hide the booze when the minister would call. "Quick, hide the rye!" my aunts would say, as he soberly strode up the walk. At Christmas and Easter, my uncles would sneak a drink in the back kitchen of my Aunt Betty's magnificent home on Rideau Terrace. So it was a revelation to me when I converted to Catholicism and discovered a far different culture. Father Martineau would arrive for a celebration, rip off his collar, light a cigarette and say, "Quick, give me a drink!" I thought my mother would drop dead!
Maybe that's why there are so many Catholics!
So, it was always bizarre to me that every Easter -- even when we were adults -- a little fun entered our abode. She still hid Easter eggs all over the house for us to find. It was so much fun to turn into a kid again and hunt for the eggs. Thus it was that I did it this year with daughter, Susanne, and son-in-law Colin. "You're warm, you're hot, no you've gone cold," I said as they hunted around. For a few minutes, we were all kids again.
Some things are worth preserving.
I come from a long line of puritans. My great-aunt May, my grandfather Stapledon's sister, was as strict as they came. No booze, no dancing -- not even tea! "May I wave the teabag over your cup Aunt May?" my uncle Rollie used to laughingly say when she was over for dinner. Aunt May was terribly deaf, so she just smiled unknowingly when we made fun of her. Naughty, naughty.
United Church to the core, my family used to hide the booze when the minister would call. "Quick, hide the rye!" my aunts would say, as he soberly strode up the walk. At Christmas and Easter, my uncles would sneak a drink in the back kitchen of my Aunt Betty's magnificent home on Rideau Terrace. So it was a revelation to me when I converted to Catholicism and discovered a far different culture. Father Martineau would arrive for a celebration, rip off his collar, light a cigarette and say, "Quick, give me a drink!" I thought my mother would drop dead!
Maybe that's why there are so many Catholics!
Monday, April 1, 2013
A fat day
250. That is the number of swim laps I have not done because I have been under the weather. Makes me a little sick. "How many laps will that be?" is what I now ask myself when I look at a piece of food. No wonder I was border-line anorexic in my thirties and forties.
All that to say that yesterday was a bad fat day. We took grandson Reed to the Easter party at The Ranchmen's Club and the groaning boards were laden. Starting with oysters, it ranged from pork to lamb to lobster to roast beef to mac and cheese (for the kidlets) to potatoes of all sorts to eggs benedict to......you name it, it was there by the ton.
The fruit was piled high -- unfortunately, I am not a fruit fan. But then there was the coconut cream pie. Hmm, should I get a piece for Reed? Of course. He didn't like it, so guess who ate it?! It was so delicious. Now I know what I am missing.
After dropping Reed off with his mummy and daddy, we came home. Dinner, what should that be? Lettuce immediately came to mind. What did I have? A grilled cheese sandwhich and homemade mushroom and potato fritters. What was I thinking?!
As I said, yesterday was a big fat day. What are we doing today? Well, Easter dinner with the family........a huge ham, with scalloped potatoes, squash and a little asparagus thrown in for green effect. More fat.
I need to get back into that pool!
All that to say that yesterday was a bad fat day. We took grandson Reed to the Easter party at The Ranchmen's Club and the groaning boards were laden. Starting with oysters, it ranged from pork to lamb to lobster to roast beef to mac and cheese (for the kidlets) to potatoes of all sorts to eggs benedict to......you name it, it was there by the ton.
The fruit was piled high -- unfortunately, I am not a fruit fan. But then there was the coconut cream pie. Hmm, should I get a piece for Reed? Of course. He didn't like it, so guess who ate it?! It was so delicious. Now I know what I am missing.
After dropping Reed off with his mummy and daddy, we came home. Dinner, what should that be? Lettuce immediately came to mind. What did I have? A grilled cheese sandwhich and homemade mushroom and potato fritters. What was I thinking?!
As I said, yesterday was a big fat day. What are we doing today? Well, Easter dinner with the family........a huge ham, with scalloped potatoes, squash and a little asparagus thrown in for green effect. More fat.
I need to get back into that pool!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)