And you're not invited...........

He sent one of those annoying "undisclosed recipients" e-mails, which I hate in the first place.  I mean, you don't know in whose company you are?  Is it three people or three hundred?  To top it off, it was a Christmas we-did-this-and-we-went-there-and-we-ate-that-and-we-drank-that boring missives.

Like anyone cares?  It was a missal about his Christmas Eve dinner, to which none of the "undisclosed recipients" had been invited.  He waxed on about what he and his girlfriend ate, what they drank -- a ton-- what they did, where they did it, how long the feast took to prepare...and on and on it went for.....paragraphs.  Hey, did he think the rest of us were having peanut butter sandwiches for Christmas dinner?!

Two people consumed 17 "important" wines from his "cave".  Alcohol poisoning anyone?  Seriously.

I am not a wine snob.  I drink respectable plonk, but plonk it is.  I buy the local fare and if I purchase a case I get one bottle free.  Yay.  I think I pay about $6 each.  One friend, who isn't a wine snob and who hadn't seen the bottle when I took it out of the fridge, raved about it over lunch the other day.  And believe me, she could afford $1,000 per bottle -- at a minimum.   

I hope the former boss, of whom I write and who now lives "abroad", takes me off his "undisclosed" list so I won't have to digest his ridiculous ramblings about "amuse bouche", et al.

Thank G-d I am retired.  No one has power over me and I now get paid to stay home. 

As I enjoy a bottle of "plonk" in my nightgown at home, I wish all my readers a Happy New Year! 



    

Beyond me

"Well, after my mother died, my Dad got involved with another woman and married her.  We didn't get along (read: I aggressively decided not to get along with her), so now my Dad and I don't speak."  These sentiments were spoken at the pool this morning by a woman I swim with, a woman I thought had a few brains.

Guess she doesn't. 

She has three young children who -- thanks to her selfishness -- will not know their alive-and-well grandfather.  How dumb is that. Why does she think she has the right to "not get along" with her stepmother, thus depriving her children of a relationship with their grandfather? 

As an adoptee, I actively sought out my birth relatives because that's what adoptees do.  Nothing is more important to us than our genetic background.  Where did I get my fingernail shape from?  Where did I get my curly hair?  How long did my mother live?  How did she die?  Why is my middle toe longer than my big toe?  (The latter I like, by the way.) 

But so many natural offspring don't even talk to their siblings and parents.  I can't understand that -- unless, of course, there was rampant abuse of some kind.  At a funeral a few years ago, I remarked that I hadn't even known "R" had a brother?  And where did he live?  In the same town she did!  "You have a brother here and you don't talk to him?" I said.  I was incredulous. 

Some people don't know how lucky they are.  Get over yourselves.    

That tops it

Apparently the Christmas pageant in Houston, where two grandchildren reside, features three languages:  English, Spanish and.....wait for it.....Ebonics. 

Yep, they do the pageant in Ebonics, the black "language" of America.  As a writer, English fanatic and grammarian, I really have no idea why the US has recognized Ebonics as some sort of official language?  Bizarre in the extreme?!  But at least they still have Christmas pageants in the odd school here and there.

Here in Calgary, unless it's a Catholic school, Christmas has poofed.  Sad.  What I don't get is that it's actually....wait for it again.....Christmas!  December 25th is still Christmas Day, regardless of whether or not some sect or other does not recognize it.  Just because one is not a Christian does not mean Christmas is cancelled.  Just because one is of some other faith does not mean December 25th is not Christmas Day.  It is.  Newspapers here are filled with coverage of Hanukkah and Eid, but Christmas is somehow verboten.  Christmas has been hijacked and we wimpy Canadians have allowed it.   

It's outrageous.  "Happy Holidays" has supplanted Christmas.  That's good, old political correctness in Canada for you.  Even the traditional Santa Claus parade has not happened in Calgary for the past three years, since -- sorry to say -- our Muslim mayor took over.  There is always some excuse -- construction, traffic, you name it -- but it's complete BS.

Join me in encouraging Christmas, please.  Can we not have our holiday?

He missed one

I'd put Shelagh Rogers at the top of any list of the top 10 most irritating people of the year.  Or how about "ever".  Globe and Mail columnist, John Doyle, ran his annual catalogue of his most annoying people this morning, but he definitely missed the hyper-irritatingly annoying Ms. Rogers, whose speech affectations rank with the best-of-the-best in phony mid-Atlantic accents.  Even the spelling of her name is an affectation.  But here are Doyle's choices:

1.  Ezra Levant....."his supremacy in irritating-ness is unmatched".
2.  Pastor Mansbridge...."inept and hugely irritating".
3.  The people behind Tim Hortons commercials....."the worst kind of Canadian cant".
4.  The people behind 'A message from the Government of Canada'...."irritating to think we are taken for fools".
5.  The people who are top CBC management...."the buck-passing and self-aggrandizing hand-wringing was an outrage".
6.  George Stroumboulopoulos.  This needs no explanation whatsoever. 
7.  Pierre Pollievre.  Neither does this. 
8.  Amanda Lang (she made it last year too) and Rudyard Griffiths on 'The Exchange'...."the bland, mindless, unfocussed chats are nonsensical and utterly bogus".
9.  Our Glorious Leader (OGL)...."announced himself to be in 'a different headspace' in a year-end interview.  We knew that".
10.  Me.  Doyle added himself, as apparently every year people rave at who he included and who he didn't. 

His immortals include Don Cherry and Kevin O'Leary, now in Doyle's Hall of Fame.  Shelagh needs to be added.  All good stuff as 2014 rolls away. 

The Late

"Tackaberry" is a rather unusual name, so when I saw the obituary, I opened it.  Having lived in Ottawa forever, I continue to scan the obits.  And there it was.  "Mother of......and the late Anthea..." 

Whoa!  I went to Lisgar Collegiate with Anthea Tackaberry and knew her well.  And she's dead?  It just floors me when someone of my age-and-stage dies.  The fascinating thing about Anthea was that her family were Christian Scientists -- a sect of which I still have no clue, but which continues to be mysterious and secretive.  At the time, it almost seemed heretical.  (Remind me to google it.) 

Christmas is a time when we remember loved ones who have died.  Reading the obits these days I see that people have "passed on", or "departed", or are "in the arms of The Lord".  Seems no one actually "dies".  I am eternally grateful to my dead mother, who started taking me to Hulse and Playfair when I was about five so I could stare into the coffins of the dead and understand that..."death is a part of life, dear"....as she put it.

This year, we have received significantly fewer Christmas cards, which is sad.  I love sitting down and writing them, with Christmas music playing in the background.  And just a note to those who send tacky internet ones:  Take me off your lists.  I find it quite insulting that people who claim to be friends send a mass mailing.  Please.   

A very dear friend of many years is now in palliative care and it pains me to contemplate his passing.             

Only four

A coroner has only four ways to classify a death:  homicide, suicide, accidental or unknown causes.  That's why Brian Sinclair's death was classified as a homicide because there wasn't another category for the coroner to choose.  Sinclair was the native man who died awaiting treatment in a Winnipeg emergency room, a tragedy.  The inquest called it a case of "emotional fatigue", or some such other weird thing. 

The problem was, Sinclair was an addict and habitual user of emergency services, so I guess staff just got tired of, and ultimately ignored, him.  Predictably, his family is outraged.  Why?  I have no clue?  His misery was self-inflicted, the case with all of us.  Another sad story is that of Ashley Smith, the young woman who committed suicide while in segregated custody.  Bizarrely, the coroner called it homicide, even though she committed suicide?!

The families of Tina Fontaine and Rinelle Harper are also calling for national inquiries into why their daughters were attacked.  Fontaine died; Harper lived.  But both chose very risky lifestyles which put each in grave danger.  Are we to have a national inquiry every time a native dies?  If the Assembly of First Nations has its way, yes.  We all know what the problem is.

Please. 

Tidly

"She would be a tad tidly by the middle of the flight, but always the lady," said my luncheon companion today.  He had been an Air Canada steward..."in the good old days"....for more than 30 years and had served on seven Royal flights.  This one concerned the Queen Mother.  "There were always only two in first-class, Her Majesty and her lady-in-waiting, who happened to be Princess Diana's grandmother, Countess Elinor Beatrix Lady Spencer. "And there were always two of us to serve them," he added.  

Man, this charmer had tales of the rich-and-famous up the ying-yang.  He had a few unmentionables about some wives of PMs, which unfortunately will remain untold.  We were at a lunch at The Ranchmen's Club, hosted by two of the most generous people you could ever know.  Every Christmas "M" and "P" host the volunteers who work at their sprawling ranch in Bragg Creek for under-privileged children.  Why I was invited, I have no idea, but I was thrilled to have been.

"I wait all year for the scalloped potatoes," said a woman ahead of me in the buffet line.  The board was groaning with shrimp, lobster, turkey, dressing, roast beef, fish, salads of all kinds, scalloped potatoes and a line of fruit and desserts that stretched forever...and....on.....and....on.  The Ranchmens's Club boasts one of the most celebrated chefs in the country.

As the lunch ended, there was a draw for each centrepiece.  Guess who won ours?  Moi.  It was fixed by "M", but I was thrilled.

This is what I "won".  Gorgeous. 



Yep, there are some very cool people in Calgary.            

Never been a fan...

...of those boring and tedious Christmas letters people send.  It was bad enough when we received paper versions.  At least the egomaniacal senders had paid for a stamp.  Now the cheapskates send the drivel in an email.  Like, who cares?!  I was often tempted to send one back -- when we had the dog -- telling them how many "calling cards" I had picked up on the back deck, how many laundries I had done, how many toilets I had cleaned......you get the picture.

We all have lives and none of us is really interested in.....whatever.  Especially from people one rarely sees.  One of the worst offenders was a woman who always sent a two-pager, filled with name-dropping and boring, boring.....but who never mentioned the times we had been forced to host them (thanks to B's history with the husband).  I mean, we had them to the golf club in Ottawa, The Ranchmen's Club here in Calgary, The Gatineau Fish and Game Club and yet these events were never mentioned in her pompous letter. 

Please.

Buy a few cards, a coupla' stamps and send a friggin' actual physical Christmas card. 

Deep Do-Do

With the election of Perry Bellegarde as national chief of the Assembly of First Nations we are in deeper do-do than ever.  His platform is to be less concilliatory with Ottawa, adding unhelpfully that, "Canada is Indian land." 

I knew it would come to this.  I mean, why not?  Indians can claim the entire country because they were here first  - not that they originated here, they migrated when there was a land bridge between the north and Asia.  So, we're all "from away", as Newfoundlanders say.  But the natives did nothing with the land they inhabited before later immigrants arrived, namely the rest of us.  Nevertheless, they claim it is "their" land.  Bellegarde also wants a national inquiry into missing and murdered aboriginal women.  That's top of his agenda.  Hey, we all know what has happened to most missing and aboriginal women.  Tragic nonetheless, the majority have been done in by their own kith and kin.  An inquiry will uncover nothing new and I am glad Harper is refusing to hold one. 

The spectacle of Rinelle Harper, the teen who went along with two aboriginal strangers in the middle of the night and was nearly beaten to death, being trotted out for the cameras was absolutely shameful.  Sadly, she and her family have no idea how breathtakingly they are being exploited.  And the media?  Absolutely no courage to tell the whole sad story.  (see my blog, "It has to be said", November 14) 

"We will no longer accept poverty and homelessness while resource companies and governments grow fat off our land," stated Bellegarde.  Hey, it's not money that keeps natives poor -- they are given lots of that -- it's their own leaders who don't pass it on.  And pipelines?  Forget about it.  He claims they'll fight every inch of the way.  Just listened to an interview and beneath all the "moving forward" and "sitting at the table" was the real underlying message:  no pipelines unless natives approve.  Without pipelines moving oil, Canada won't have the resources Bellegarde is so keen to get in on.  Protect the land and water?  Good luck doing that with rail transport. 

It's all pathetic.   

Heartening

"I'd wish you Merry Christmas, but....," I said to the hijab-wearing cashier.  I chicken-shittedly added the last part, against my better judgement.  "Oh no, please," she replied.  "It is Christmas and we're all human.  Afterall, there is only one God."

Well, that was a pleasant exchange.  Pushing on in my "Merry Christmas" crusade, I find everyone appreciates the greeting -- people at the Y, clerks, cashiers, a young man holding a door -- everyone.  I find this very heartening.  I mean, if it's "Happy Holidays", why don't we say that in July?  In December it's "Merry Christmas".   

Try to find "Fanciful Rinse" in Calgary and you're sh-t out of luck.  This is a product I used faithfully a few years ago, but stopped....for some reason?  It is for grey hair and takes the sheen out.  The problem here is with an average age of 37 in this town, there is no market for "grey" products.  I brought a bunch with me when we moved, but am getting low.

Time to go on-line and find the stuff.

 

    

Meanwhile, back at The Ranch(men's Club)

"They got rid of her, the new job went to her head and she was impossible," said one of the staff at The Ranchmen's Club today.  He was referring to another staff member, about whom I had inquired.  You know, I could have predicted that would have happened with "R", who was a tad imperious and complaining.  Apparently, they had promoted her over her peers and guess what?  That never works.   

But, it was great to be back at one of the most prestigious clubs in the world.  Today, I enjoyed the lobster salad, chatting with people I had not seen for more than a year.  Having been members for two, we weren't last year and I missed it.  Heck, I told B, I am not going to eat cat food so you can fly around the continent visiting...whomever.

The club goes all-out for Christmas.  Here are a couple of examples:

All the toys go to charity.  So Canadian.

Father Christmas. 





   

Dumb

A Chinook blew through here yesterday -- Calgary's answer to snow removal -- and I decided this was the perfect day to string the outside lights.  Rummaged through basement boxes and came up with them. 

Then the dummy in me took over.  I actually wrapped the front-yard tree in lights....without plugging them in first!  You know what befell me.  Yep, half of them didn't work.  Are we still in the stone age of lights, where if one blows they all die??!  So I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut them off the tree -- yes, I unplugged them first.  Was almost ready to schlep to 'Canadian Tire' for another set when I had a vague memory of more unused outdoor lights in some box.........somewhere.....in a black storage hole.  Back to the basement and presto, found them!  So, it's off to re-do yesterday's mess. 

After Mass today, went to an open house hosted every year by 'Ed William's Menswear', one of the few fine men's shops in this City-of-Jeans.  Always a classy affair, this year's was no different and I bought a couple of pressies for B.  It's lovely to see that men's socks are now both fashionable and arresting.  I mean, other than ties, what do men have that allows them to stand out??

It's a wine-and-goodies affair and the food is scrumptious.  Chatting with a man in the jacket department, I was gob-smacked when he pulled out a toothpick and started.........picking....his.......teeth!  While we were chatting!  And he seemed to think this was all perfectly fine.  Amazing! 

Welcome to Calgary, a city not far from the pasture. 

 

      

It's Merry Christmas....period.

"Merry Christmas, Santa," said a little girl at the mall yesterday.  "It's nice to hear children say that," I said to the mother, "since so many people and groups have high-jacked the feast."  "They don't give us the same courtesy do they," she rejoined. 

No, they don't. 

I say "Merry Christmas" to everyone -- clerks, cashiers, waiters...even strangers in parking lots.  I am making a stand and it's amazing how many respond enthusiastically.  "Same to you," said the shocked, elderly Walmart greeter as I left this afternoon.  Shoving my cart to my car in the snowy lot, I was relieved of it by a lovely young lady who was actually surprised when I said, "Merry Christmas."  Same to you, was also her happy response.   

Today went to daughter's home to help decorate their tree.  Hey, it's Christmas, not "Happy Holiday" time.  This feast is all about the birth of Jesus, but unfortunately it has been taken over by everyone and anyone, thanks to the acquiescence of politically-correct, chicken-s-it Christians.  I'm sick of it.

Those of us who miss Christmas need to speak up, not hide behind "Happy Holidays".             

Are there hundreds?!

It's ridiculous.  The airwaves are jammed with debate about accommodating gender-confused kids, even in elementary school!  Are you kidding me?!  Do these "experts" mean to tell me that kids in grade five don't know whether they are boys or girls?? 

We are now at the point where they advocate letting kids use whichever washroom they wish -- and no one can tell the parents!  What if a girl is just a tomboy, as I was?  Would I have decided to identify as a boy?!  (Sorry, this blog is going to contain a lot of "?!"s)  Would I have decided I was a lesbian because the gym teacher used to make me run with the boys because I was fast?!  These lunatics are even advocating allowing children to change their names and call themselves "boy" or "girl".   

The way the debates go, you'd think there were literally hundreds of LGBT (by the way, I hate that moniker) children in every school who need to be accommodated without their parents being informed.  It used to be OK to have boys' and girls' washrooms.  Now they want individual stalls so kids can do whatever they do in private.  It's just insane!  And speaking of insane, there is now a course at the University of Alberta on gender confusion!  Seriously! 

There must be better ways to spend tax dollars.  And the CBC needs to shut up.    

Still there

She died in 2001, but I still wear her winter coat.  It's -30 here (Celsius, for my American readers) and obviously freezing, so I put on my mother's wonderful coat.  She was decidedly and demonstratively unaffectionate, nevertheless it feels as if she still hugs me. 

Same way I feel when I don her flannelette nightgowns.  Although very conservative, unlike I, my mother bought a very fashionable coat with a fleece lining and faux-fur trim on the sleeves and neck.  And it's warm as heck.  I also still sport her mink headband.  Imagine, my mother with a headband!  But I had one made and evidently she liked it, so had her own made.  When I wear her clothes, I still feel her so close to me.

Of course, Christmas brings us all back to our families -- good memories or bad.  Mine are all good and I am looking forward to trimming the tree alongside children and grandchildren with ancient decorations handed down over generations.  Who can ever throw out family tree ornaments?  Not I.
     
Guess we never get over our mothers and fathers. 

Good thing.   

Put up or shut up

Here's Globe and Mail columnist Margaret Wente's take on what's going on on the Hill:

"Here’s the scene: One of your colleagues is a married guy. You both play on a recreational sports team. One day after a game, he asks you back to his hotel for a drink. (He commutes to work from another city.) He makes clear that he wants to have sex with you, but you don’t want to have sex with him. What do you do? (a) tell him no, and leave? Or (b) join him on the bed, say nothing and hand him a condom?

"Even in our brave new age, where consent to sex is supposed to be explicit, most people would agree that if you get on a bed with a guy and silently hand him a condom, he could reasonably infer that you’re willing to have sex. And if he’s wrong, it’s hard to complain that he misread your intentions.

"But that’s exactly the complaint (as we understand it so far) made by an anonymous female New Democratic MP about Massimo Pacetti. He’s one of the two Liberal MPs who were summarily banished by Leader Justin Trudeau for serious but unexplained “personal misconduct” involving unnamed female MPs.

"Now, in a series of interviews with the media, including The Globe and Mail, one of the two female complainants has explained what the misconduct was. Mr. Pacetti had sex with her, but without “explicit consent.” She didn’t tell him “no” and she wasn’t drunk. She didn’t leave because she “froze,” having been assaulted on another occasion, years before. She doesn’t want her name to be made public because she wants to “heal.” She doesn’t think Mr. Pacetti should be punished (it’s a little late for that) and she hasn’t gone to the police (in any event, as any lawyer will tell you, she doesn’t have a shred of a legal case). But she does want the incident to be investigated, providing she remains anonymous. She thinks Mr. Pacetti should apologize and get counselling. Mr. Pacetti says he’s innocent of wrongdoing.

"The details should make everybody cringe. Although I have no sympathy for married men who cheat, Mr. Pacetti is actually the bigger victim here – it sounds like his first apology should be to his wife. Mr. Trudeau (and, by extension, his party) should be cringing because he’s recklessly trashed the career of a man who seems to be guilty of nothing more than boorishness and infidelity. The NDP should be cringing because Ms. Anonymous has embarrassed the caucus and trivialized the seriousness of genuine sexual assault. This complainant is no intern or some star-struck groupie exploited by a powerful older man – she’s an elected federal politician.

"We should be outraged on behalf of victims of assault. But in this instance, she’s not one of them. She’s blithely jettisoned due process and demanded that her privacy be protected, but not his. I completely understand why women are reluctant to come forward, but men’s reputations are worth something, too. And these days, assault accusations are the kiss of death. (See Jian Ghomeshi, Bill Cosby, et al.)

"The second Liberal MP, Scott Andrews, has been accused of harassment under the influence. His lawyer vigorously denies it. The allegations were supposed to be confidential, but everyone has been leaking like sieves.

"This story does illustrate a valuable point, however. In some cases of sexual misconduct, two people’s versions of what happened can markedly differ, not because one of them is lying, but because they may experience the same intimate encounter in very different ways. I’m not talking here about out-and-out rape or forcible assault. I’m talking about more subtle situations. Watch The Affair, a television drama that turns exactly on this premise. It’s told as two alternate versions – his and hers – of the same story, but with diverging memories, feelings and facts. This is what makes some cases of misconduct (or alleged misconduct) genuinely ambiguous.

"Sexual misconduct has always been a hot potato, but the allegations, leaks and general confusion on the Hill have become a farce. It’s obvious that both the Liberals and the NDP should have run, not walked, to recruit some experts in workplace harassment at the first sign of trouble.

"Because there will always be trouble. Any gathering in politics, where high-energy people are thrown together in intense environments far from home, will guarantee that. And like every other workplace, the institution needs fair and equitable ways to deal with it. Please, people – get a grip. And keep your wretched sex lives to yourselves."
______________________________________________

She's totally correct.  Yep, women continue to insist on being their own worst enemies.

Sometimes yes, sometimes no

I have to admit I find it very empowering when I bother to put it on.  I'm talking about makeup.  'The Current' had a very interesting debate about the pros and cons of the war paint women wear and I really come down on both sides of the argument.  After years of having to wear it every day for work, I relish not having to put it on most of the time.  But every now and then I love putting on my face and stepping out. 

And there are some places I would never go without it.  Such as Mass or out to lunch or dinner.  But schlepping to the grocery store or the pool, I never wear any.  I once had to return made-up to the pool to collect something I had forgotten, causing the women at the front desk to nearly fall over in shock.  That's what a huge difference makeup can make.  Peering into a brutal mirror first thing in the morning I often say, "Can you imagine being a man and this is the best you're going to look all day!"

The women debating the issue on the radio this morning made very sound arguments for both sides -- that it was empowering and that it was also degrading.  Personally, I feel empowered when I am all made up and dressed to the nines with a great pair of high heels on my feet.  But I would not want to have to wear it, which is what I did for 40 years going to the office.

I hail from the first "women's lib" generation -- the late sixties -- when we discovered the pill, threw away our bras and let our hair go natural.  Back then it was sort of "de rigeur".  But I found the natural look didn't really suit me, so I gradually allowed makeup and hairdo back into my life.  Frankly, I think women should do whatever they feel comfortable in doing.   

I worked with a woman who had only recently re-entered the workforce and she told me that for all the years she had stayed home, she dropped everything at 4:30 to get dressed and made up so she could greet her husband looking her best.  Poor thing, she died very young -- the self-inflicted stress having probably killed her.  But she looked great in her coffin. 

Happily, my husband couldn't give two hoots.   

Chance encounters

"Why would anyone leave the house wearing an ugly T-shirt like that?" I asked the young man beside me.  He almost spit out his lunch laughing.  I was referring to his companion, sitting on the other side of him at the bar into which I had popped in for lunch yesterday.  Heck, I had to put on makeup to go to Mass, so I figured I'd go out for a little lunch.  "It was laundry day and this was all I could find," he explained.  "Next laundry day, find something nicer," I said, laughing. 

"Well, well, my favourite customer," the young man had said as he and his friend sat down next to me at a local watering hole.  I was very surprised because he is a server at The Keg around the corner, which is where B and I met him, yet here he was frequenting the competitor.  This young man is adorable and working towards a medical degree.  He wants to be a pediatrician, but has promised to allow me to be his one and only geriatric patient, when the time comes.

Calgary was abuzz yesterday with the Western final Stampeders and Eskimos football game unfolding at McMahon Stadium.  Calgary won and will now play the Hamilton Tiger Cats in the Grey Cup in Vancouver this weekend.  Having been raised in Ottawa, I hated Hamilton and will be cheering for Calgary, my new hometown.

When my two companions left, a complete stranger walked up to me and said:  "Excuse me, but I just had to tell you that those two young men said you were the coolest woman they know."  Really??!!  That's kinda' sad, but I think it's because I don't filter much when I express my opinions. 

This luxury comes with experience --  one of the benefits that accompanies aging.

            

$376.00

Just so I could "binge watch" 'House of Cards', that's what I spent.  Oh, Netflix is only $7 a month, what a deal, I told myself.  But the rest of it was ridiculous!

"This is all you need," said the 12-year-old salesman at 'Future Shop'.  "Just hook it up and you're set for Netflix."  But, of course, we can't set anything up, so had to call Geeks-on-the-Way.  "No, this only let's you watch Netflix using your cell phone," said the technician.  Well, that's stupid.  So I had to schlep the useless device back to the store and exchange it for an Apple TV thingy.  But I also had to get wireless, so that was a bunch of bucks because apparently you have to have wireless for Netflix. 

That little service call cost $205.  Well, now I'm finally set, I thought.  Except I wasn't.  Still couldn't install the Apple thing and could not hook up to Netflix.  After another call to Geeks, I welcomed yet a second $96 visit from another technician today to finalize everything and teach me how it all works.  So that was another pricey service call and in the end, it all added up to a whopping $376.

That's the price we boomers pay to get hooked up.  Heck, I remember typewriters and carbon paper!  What could I possibly know about all this crap?!  But today I was able to watch every episode of 'House of Cards', which was delicious.  Good thing I took notes because to go from cable to Netflix is a maze of button-pushing and switching. 

G-d!      

No one gives a sweet

I listen to 'CBC Two' all the time, but am reconsidering, thanks to the bleating of 'Buck 65', aka Rich Terfry.  He is the host of the afternoon show, which used to be pretty good.  But now Buck has released a new CD and it's all about how sad he is about his divorce.

Hey, get over yourself Buck.  Many of us have been divorced, but do we go on every radio show and cry about it publically?  No.  Divorce is a very painful, but personal, event and everyone's is different.  So why Buck thinks his is "special" enough to be shared with the rest of Canada is a mystery?

Wimp that he must be, he first shared his rap "songs" with his ex before he even considered releasing them.  "If she had disapproved, I would not have done the CD," said Buck in yet another tedious interview.  Really? 

It's all so boring.           

Another hackneyed cliche

Some people don't get my blog and that's fine.  But once again, if you're not an "official" follower, don't comment negatively -- especially when you don't get my point.  Better still, don't read it, which is what my husband does.  "I don't read Nancy's blog," he tells people who want to talk about it with him.  Even better, write your own.   

"Don't blame the victim" was one comment on my blog about Rinelle Harper.  Obviously, this person had no clue about what I was saying because I was not blaming the victim, I was blaming the parents -- although they see themselves as "victims"....of "the system", that is.  I was also blaming native leaders who take advantage of their members in tragedies such as this to advance their own cynical political and financial agendas.   

I post my blog on facebook and about 100,000 people around the world read it, which is very flattering.  Seconds after I post one, 50 people are immediately reading it.  (Guess they have nothing better to do).  But only "followers" comment on the actual blog site itself, which I appreciate, and I often post thoughts that don't agree with mine.  Many others leave comments on facebook, but if you're going to comment there, at least come up with something better than a tired, hackneyed cliché such as "don't blame the victim".

So dear readers, enjoy my blog, but try and be a little less "PC" and a tad more original, thoughtful and creative with your comments.  Otherwise, you're just embarrassing yourselves.        

Do yourself a favour

Watch this movie.  Their hits are legendary:

• Sherry
• Big Girls Don't Cry
• Rag Doll
• Can't Take my Eyes off of you
• Walk Like a Man
• Who Loves You
• Workin' My Way Back to You Babe
• Dawn
• The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore........

............just to name a few.  'The Jersey Boys' is a fabulous movie -- especially if you are from that era , as am I.  It was so well done.  Laughed, sang along and cried through the whole thing because it was so happy, so sad, yet not cheesy in the least.  Francesco Stephen Castelluccio, a.k.a. Frankie Valli, was a marvellous falsetto singer and made that group.  Hey, the guy is still going strong at 80!  So are Bob Gaudio, who wrote most of the hits, and Tommy DeVito, who now lives in Las Vegas.  Inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1990 and the Vocal Group Hall of Fame in '99, Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons were a marvel. 

Loved the movie. 

It has to be said

What was a 16-year-old doing hanging out on the streets of dangerous downtown Winnipeg after midnight?  Where were her parents?  Why would she go for a stroll with two strange young men along a deserted river? 

I refer, of course, to Rinelle Harper, the native teen who was brutally attacked and left for dead a few days ago.  A border at a Winnipeg student dorm, she signed herself out a week ago to the care of her parents who had recently moved to Winnipeg.  But she didn't show up at her parents and instead went on a very perilous excursion.  What I want to know is, if she had signed herself out to parental custody, were they notified?  They must have been, "ass-covering" being what it is in these situations.  And if the parents had been notified, why did they do nothing and not look for her all evening and night?  A passerby found her near death the next morning and dealt with her care. 

Of course, the parents and band members called a press conference to......wait for it.......blame "the system".  How is any of this "the system's" responsibility?  Purporting to be concerned for their daughter, the parents nonetheless seemed oblivious to their responsibility in all this.  Why was Rinelle so unaware of the dangers of what she chose to do?  As Susan Martinuk said in her Herald column today (google it), "Some crimes could be avoided if people simply stayed away from areas and people where there is a heightened risk of violence." 

As a teen, I had curfews up the ying-yang and was fully-aware of which areas of Ottawa were off-limits.  Parents phoned each other to make sure all was what we had told them.  We were picked up after a certain hour, so as not to have to take the bus home.  It was all so logical and reasonable.  But in the case of this poor young woman, "the system" should have taken care of her.  It's ludicrous. 

We don't need a national inquiry about these problems among natives.  Statistics show most murdered natives are killed by other natives.  The numbers also show that native crimes are solved as often, and in as timely a fashion, as in the rest of the population.  Look it all up before you believe native leaders at a shameless and self-serving press conference.

Let's get real here. 

 

Even the Brits agree...........

By Kevin Myers , 'The Sunday Telegraph' LONDON :November 2013:

Until the deaths of  Canadian soldiers killed in Afghanistan, probably almost no one outside their home country had been aware that Canadian troops are deployed in the region.

And as always, Canada will bury its dead, just as the rest of the world, as always will forget its sacrifice, just as it always forgets nearly everything Canada ever does. It seems that Canada 's historic mission is to come to the selfless aid both of its friends and of complete strangers, and then, once the crisis is over, to be well and truly ignored.

Canada is the perpetual wallflower that stands on the edge of the hall, waiting for someone to come and ask her for a dance. A fire breaks out, she risks life and limb to rescue her fellow dance-goers, and suffers serious injuries. But when the hall is repaired and the dancing resumes, there is Canada, the wallflower still, while those she once helped glamorously cavort across the floor, blithely neglecting her yet again.

That is the price Canada pays for sharing the North American continent with the United States , and for being a selfless friend of Britain in two global conflicts.

For much of the 20th century, Canada was torn in two different directions: It seemed to be a part of the old world, yet had an address in the new one, and that divided identity ensured that it never fully got the gratitude it deserved.

Yet it's purely voluntary contribution to the cause of freedom in two world wars was perhaps the greatest of any democracy.  Almost 10% of Canada's entire population of seven million people served in the armed forces during the First World War, and nearly 60,000 died. The great Allied victories of 1918 were spearheaded by Canadian troops, perhaps the most capable soldiers in the entire British order of battle.

Canada was repaid for its enormous sacrifice by downright neglect, its unique contribution to victory being absorbed into the popular memory as somehow or other the work of the 'British.'

The Second World War provided a re-run. The Canadian navy began the war with a half dozen vessels, and ended up policing nearly half of the Atlantic against U-boat attack. More than 120 Canadian warships participated in the Normandy landings, during which 15,000 Canadian
soldiers went ashore on D-Day alone.

Canada finished the war with the third-largest navy and the fourth largest air force in the world. The world thanked Canada with the same sublime indifference as it had the previous time.

Canadian participation in the war was acknowledged in film only if it was necessary to give an American actor a part in a campaign in which the United States had clearly not participated - a touching scrupulousness which, of course, Hollywood has since abandoned, as it has any notion of a separate Canadian identity.

So it is a general rule that actors and filmmakers arriving in Hollywood keep their nationality - unless, that is, they are Canadian. Thus Mary Pickford, Walter Huston, Donald Sutherland, Michael J. Fox, William Shatner, Norman Jewison, David Cronenberg, Alex Trebek, Art Linkletter, Mike Weir and Dan Aykroyd have in the popular perception become American, and Christopher Plummer, British.

It is as if, in the very act of becoming famous, a Canadian ceases to be Canadian, unless she is Margaret Atwood, who is as unshakeably Canadian as a moose, or Celine Dion, for whom Canada has proved quite unable to find any takers.

Moreover, Canada is every bit as querulously alert to the achievements of its sons and daughters as the rest of the world is completely unaware of them. The Canadians proudly say of themselves - and are unheard by anyone else - that 1% of the world's population has provided 10% of the world's peacekeeping forces.

Canadian soldiers in the past half century have been the greatest peacekeepers on Earth - in 39 missions on UN mandates, and six on non-UN peacekeeping duties, from Vietnam to East Timor, from Sinai to Bosnia.Yet the only foreign engagement that has entered the popular
non-Canadian imagination was the sorry affair in Somalia, in which out-of-control paratroopers
murdered two Somali infiltrators.  Their regiment was then disbanded in disgrace - a uniquely Canadian act of self-abasement for which, naturally, the Canadians received no international credit.

So who today in the United States knows about the stoic and selfless friendship its northern neighbor has given it in Afghanistan?  Rather like Cyrano de Bergerac, Canada repeatedly does honourable things for honourable motives, but instead of being thanked for it, remains something of a figure of fun. It is the Canadian way, for which Canadians should be proud, yet such honour comes at a high cost. This past year (2013) more grieving Canadian families knew that cost all too tragically well.

 Lest we forget.

 

Rembrance Day thoughts...........

The guard used to wave me through because he knew me and the dark-blue Cutlass I drove.  I was off to pick up my father at the rubber lab he oversaw at the National Research Council on Montreal Road and the shortcut was through the Rockcliffe Air Base.  Now closed, it was the perfect route to get from our home to Dad's office.  I picked him up because I wanted the car.  I had just been awarded my driver's licence.  I was 16, it was heady stuff. 

I think of my Dad, as Remembrance Day dawns.  He was considered by the Canadian Government too important to have been allowed to enlist because he was instrumental in developing synthetic rubber.  Natural rubber was unavailable because the Burmese rubber trees were inaccessible, so my Dad was a key player in getting around this problem.  Rubber is one of the foundations of civilization as we know it.  Think about it.  Rubber is everything everywhere.

I had another uncle who answered the call and served with distinction in Italy.  B had an uncle who was killed in Italy by a sniper at the tender age of 24.  His father was with the British Merchant Navy.  Another uncle was with the Indian Army.  All served with distinction.  One other of my uncles was also considered too important to serve.  He was deputy minister of finance and had to stay in Ottawa to fund the war.  But we honour them all every Remembrance Day, as we have since I was a young child.

This year, we will be going to the Cenotaph in Cochrane -- regardless of the -18 temperatures expected.  Watching coverage of the Cenotaph in Ottawa, I am a tad nostalgic.  Having lived there most of my life, I remember going there every year to remember the fallen. 

We must never forget.     

Finally brave enough

"Stand up against the wall because I can't see your teeth properly," said my orthodontist.  He then proceeded to press himself against me, with predictable consequences.  I was paralyzed with fear.  Terrified, I complied.  I was 12 years old.  He then put me back in the chair and allowed his hand to drop lower and lower on my chest until it was resting on my...........Again, terrified, I said and did nothing.

"Isn't Dr. 'Blank' handsome," said my mother when I joined her in the waiting room.  I was mute.  I certainly didn't tell her what had gone on because my treatments hadn't finished.  I had to go back and endure his assaults time and time again.  Did I know it was sexual assault?  No, but I did know it was wrong.  Did I tell anyone?  No.  I was afraid it had been my fault.  I was afraid my mother would be angry with me. 

That's the way it was back in the late fifties and early sixties.  Years later, I looked him up in the telephone directory.  Yep, he was still practicing.  How many other children had he assaulted?  I could not have been the only one!?  And yet, no one seems to have reported him.  In fact, he was a very prominent Ottawan, becoming commodore of a well-known yacht club, among other accolades. 

So, it's not unusual for assaults to go unreported, such as the Gomeshi victims chose to do. 

As to "date rape", it's also very common -- or was when I was an adolescent.  Happened to me on a blind date, with his parents sleeping in the same cottage.  In the morning, he and his mother laughed about it.  There's more outrage to this tale, but I won't go into the rest of the detail.  Years later, when I met the perpetrator at an elementary school function, I called him on it.  There he stood, chairing a meeting of the parents' council, lecturing all of us about how to be good and supportive parents.  I was dumbfounded!  "That's the guy who raped me," I said to B.  Whaaaaat?  We have no secrets, so I proceeded to re-introduce myself to the perpetrator and remind him publically of the incident in no uncertain terms, with B at my side.  He could not get away from me fast enough. 

Sexual assault is rampant.  Because of my experience, I always told my girls to tell me immediately if anyone, other than the doctor when I was in the room, ever touched them in their "private parts".  I am glad "Gomeshi-gate" has happened because it has allowed me to be brave enough to speak up.  I hope others do the same.

Happily, I did not dwell on these incidents and did not allow them to overtake or bring me down.  It was a choice I made and it has turned out to have been the right one.              

This is a real doozy

How can this be possible?!  Three natives -- chief, ex-wife and son -- have received more than $4.1 million in remuneration in the past four years.  And over how many on-reserve natives of the Shuswap people do they preside?  Eight-seven.  Eighty-seven!!! 

That's it, folks.  Eighty-seven.  Did I say it one or two too many times?  Sorry about that, but it's absolutely scandalous.  How many times have I used that word in relation to the natives of this country?  Many.  Happily, thanks to the Harper government's requirement of full financial disclosure -- to which many bands have not complied --  their own people are now finally having the blinders lifted.

The Shuswap people are in Invermere, B.C., where I have done my open-water swim for the past couple of years.  Is it a thriving community?  No, the reserve is a dump.  Plain, simple and sad.   

"We had no idea," said one band councillor (who herself earns a non-paltry $57,700 annually, by the way).  "We are absolutely disgusted, Barbara Cote told Post Media.  Running for chief, she vows to reform band finances, if elected.  We'll see about that, Barb.   

"Some community members have gone without water and electricity in the winter, but were unable to get help from the band," said Cote.  Whaaaat!!  But their son says -- incredulously -- that he and his parents were entitled to their booty.  "I don't think they (the Conservatives) have been in power for 34 straight years," said Dean Martin, chief executive of Finbasket Development Corporation.  "To be a leader of a nation, and we're not just a band, we are a nation, and to lead it for 34 years is something totally unheard of, I don't care in what political field you're in," he irrationally and inarticulately continued.

Yeah, 34 years is unheard of because, by the way, it's un-democratic.  Buddy, get a grip.

No, you are not a "nation".  To be a "nation" a country has to have an army, collect taxes -- not just receive them -- and provide all health, welfare, security and infrastructure services of all kinds to its people.  

How we have misled regional bands into thinking they are "nations" is beyond me.  Did I say, "scandalous?"        

A few unproven, personal theories..........

I think Mark Knopfler and 'Dire Sraights' said it best:  "Money for nothin' and your chicks for free".  That may have summed up Jian Gomeshi's thinking when he first started his now-public (alleged) serial woman-beating spree.* 

Nine women with the same sordid tale can't be wrong, in my opinion.  And the fact that they don't even know each other is another plank in their credibility platform.  Initially, I was outraged and believed Gomeshi just liked rough, consensual sex.  Who cared?  But I have changed my opinion. 

Something he said a while ago came back to me when I heard about his alleged beating of women -- all white, I believe.  "Let's face it, I got into 'Moxie Fruvous' to get chicks," he laughed on air.  I laughed too at the time, but with the latest hell revealed, it started me thinking.  Having being raised in a relatively affluent neighbourhood, he may have been rejected at times by the white girls he was trying to date?  As a "brown" man, did this piss him off?  Were his subsequent attacks on his dates a result of surpressed rage?  All only questions I ponder at the moment. 

Let's face it, Gomeshi was a Canadian super star and inevitably hubris and arrogance often creep into such personalities.  Super-cool and very out-there-avant-guard, Gomeshi may have begun to believe his own press, thinking the law and the rules were for everyone else and he could break them with impunity.  Not in Canada you can't. 

"Remember when you could hit broads?" said Eddie Murphy in one of his television specials a number of years ago.  "You could just stop the car, hit them and say, 'get out b-tch'".  I laughed at the line because it was true.  You could "hit broads" and the police would simply call it domestic violence and walk away.  You can't "hit broads" or anyone else anymore.  That sad era is over.

As B's grandfather and father said to him many times, "Never, ever strike a woman, I don't care what she did or what you feel.  Never hit a woman."  Good advice, which he repeatedly passed on to our sons. 

With no statute of limitations on filing sexual assault charges, Gomeshi's nightmare may be just beginning.  All I can say is I am glad his father is no longer around.         

* All alleged at the moment, no charges and nothing proven in court. 

So little

As I walked up, the soldier snapped to attention.  I had gone to Cochrane to lay flowers on the War Memorial in honour of the two soldiers slain this week in acts of insanity.  Tears welled up in my eyes when I saw all the other tributes that had been offered. 

"It's an honour to be here," said Steve, the airman who was keeping watch.  He was serving a nine-hour vigil in memory of his fallen comrades.  I shook his hand and thanked him, but my gesture was all as nothing compared to what these men and women do in service to Canada.  I said a prayer and left.  It's all so very, very sad. 

Airman Steve, standing vigil at the War Memorial in Cochrane, Alberta.

     

Incompetence

"The French resistance during WW II consisted of a few people hiding under the bed listening to the BBC."  So wrote journalist Mark Steyn a few years ago.  I burst out laughing at the time because it rung pretty much true.  We were a long way away from that war when I read Steyn's article, but his words came immediately back to me as I watched "officials" from the City of Ottawa, the RCMP and the Ottawa Police hold an absolutely meaningless press conference yesterday. 

Five hours after the event, they were still in deer-in-the-headlights mode, with absolutely no clue about what was happening on those bloody streets and Parliament Hill in Ottawa?!  In a moment of incredulity, the Ottawa police chief actually blurted out, "We were completely taken by surprise."  Had it not been for excellent coverage by the media, citizens all across this country would have been completely in the dark.

Here are a few obvious questions:

• Why were police and other officials unresponsive for so long?
• Why did security officers on the Hill appear to be hiding behind columns?
• Why was the Hill so completely unprotected?
• Why did officials have no answers when they finally faced the cameras?
• Why did we have to learn from a "tweet" that Corporal Cirillo had died?
• Why did we have to learn the name of the perpetrator from the Americans?
• Why was our Prime Minister unavailable?
• Why did he give absolutely no information when he finally did appear a full nine hours after events took place?

It's all so incomprehensible.  Wonder what Rudy Juiliani was thinking?  Remember him?  On 9/11 he was out in front of everything and everyone, marching fearlessly towards the World Trade Centre -- come what may have.  We didn't do that.  Everyone ran for cover.  You can bet the Americans are pretty much relying solely on the Blackberry video footage shot "par hazard" by a brave Globe and Mail reporter who just happened to be in the hall.

Even more incredible is the fact that caucus members had to resort to piling up chairs against a door to protect themselves!  They trapped themselves in and would not even allow the RCMP to enter to remove the PM.  Well, why would they?  For Hill security, it was Nero-fiddles-while-Rome-burns.  Except for the Sergeant-at-Arms, who sprang into action and saved the day, the rest of the mess simply rolled out in chaos.  Kevin Vickers is a true hero, but it should never have come to that.

In spite of the jumble made by officials, I agree with Globe and Mail columnist Margaret Wente who wrote today, "We Canadians are steadfast and a bit phlegmatic. These are among our finest traits.  We don’t get that excited, and we won’t be cowed into giving up our freedoms. Also, when necessary, we can shoot to kill.  So long as we retain these virtues, the terrorists don’t have a chance."

Today at the pool Calgarians behaved normally.  No one even spoke of the events.  We simply behaved as Canadians behave.  The saddest photo of all appeared in the Globe today:

Corporal Nathan Cirillo, left, minutes before he was shot.  RIP. 



The trouble with single mothers

How can you be a "single mother" of eight? I mean, don't you know how you get pregnant?  Having one "oops" kid is one thing, but eight??!!  You have to be doing this on purpose. 

Reading Jane Taber's piece on childhood poverty in The Globe and Mail today gave me great pause.  She had interviewed this Nova Scotian (Taber had incorrectly written "Nova Scotia") single mother of eight who was having difficulty feeding her children nutritious food.  Well, duh, of course you are.  You are unemployed and have brought eight innocent children into the world here and there, willy-nilly, sired by who-knows-how-many-fathers and you can't feed them! 

Selfish, unwed mothers are the biggest cause of childhood poverty.  Too bad no one will actually say it out loud, but giving birth to children you can't afford to feed is a most egregious act.  Of course Ms. Taber never mentions this reality, just writes a "crying" piece about the poor mother.  It's scandalous.  Thankfully, my single mother went into hiding, gave birth and gave me up for adoption to a wonderful family.  Had she not, I would have been raised in poverty a boarding house in Kingston.  Privileges such as ballet, swimming and piano lessons?  Forget about it.    
_____________________________________________

What is Justin Trudeau doing writing a biography?  He's twelve years old.  G-d help us all if he becomes Prime Minister.  We're doomed.  He's just so dumb. 
______________________________________________

"We can't just go to the stage door and ask to be let in," I said to my nervy friend in London in 1968.  "Of course we can," she replied.  "We're from Canada."  So, we did.  "Wait a minute," said the doorman.  Back he came and ushered us into the dress rehearsal for "Hair", the famous musical.  I now have a lot more nerve, but when I was 21 I was more inclined to play by the rules and hang back a bit.  The guy who wrote the music for "Hair" was Galt McDermot, a Montrealer.  Somehow, my friend knew all this and was convinced he would host us into the dress rehearsal.  She was right.  He did and we enjoyed a wonderful evening.  I have been recalling this because I hear one of the songs being played often on the radio of late. 

Well, that's what's on my so-called mind these days.      

They used to hide them in the attic

"Thanks a lot," said a voice mail from a cousin.  "It's your fault 'H' is on heroin."  I actually laughed because this cousin should be stored away in an attic, where they used to house and hide insane family members. 

H is her daughter, who I have met maybe three times, but not since she was a very young child.  The reason it's my fault?  Because daughter H asked to "friend" me on facebook and I accepted.  Apparently, a photo of B and me in Bermuda also revealed a glass of wine on the table.  Horror of horrors!!!  Yep, that was all H needed to get onto smack.  Seriously.  You could not make this up.  I used to have this cousin on call block, but can't figure out how to trigger this feature on my phone here in Calgary.  Need to get on that!

Her children had her committed a few years ago, but good old Canadian laws prohibited the state from keeping her locked up in a straight jacket.  Sadly, they are the ones who suffer and suffer with a crazy mother.  I used to share an apartment with her a hundred years ago in Toronto -- before she got into marijuana and LSD.  That's what flipped her over to the dark side and she's been there ever since.  One before-call-block night she called me 23 times and threatened to kill me.  All in front of her poor kids, I presume.  I have reached out to H and I hope she gets back to me. 

All so very, very sad.

Although my childhood was idyllic, not everything turned out perfectly rosy when we all grew up.  When another cousin died from ovarian cancer twelve years ago, her brother had been dating a mutual friend for about 10 minutes.  The church was filled to overflowing, her husband having been a big cheese in the Toronto investment community.  Every bank president and a few Ministers of Finance were there, but what galled me was how inappropriately family members managed the service. 

This cousin and I were best friends, grew up around the corner from each other and toured Europe together.  I used to spend lots of weekends in Toronto visiting her and loved her dearly.  What happens at her funeral?  My family and I were seated at the back, while the girlfriend-du-jour marched in with the family!  This latest squeeze had never even met my cousin.  Not once!  But there she was up front, clutching tissues with the widower and children.  It was appalling.  The widower was also to blame.  I had written a beautiful eulogy which I wanted to give, but he refused to allow it for some bizarre reason?  Guess he didn't know I was a writer who had loved and adored his late wife.  He had another acquaintance manage the entire event.  Not only did this idiot spell my uncle's name incorrectly, she also forgot to mention in the obituary the baby sister who had died before the age of one.

Of the three hundred or so people in the church, I had known and loved her the longest.  Oh, and the 10-minute girlfriend?  Gone within weeks to marry someone with REAL money.   

That's life friends.

Note:  This same at-the-time girlfriend also crashed our wedding, when we were re-married in the Catholic Church in 2004.  I explicitly limited the service and dinner to family only.  Guess who "happened" to be sitting in the lounge at the Royal Ottawa Golf Club when we arrived for dinner?  Yep, you guessed it.   



 

          

Leaders versus all the rest

"Good morning," said a young man as I walked in Cochrane this morning.  "Is your baby cold?  We are", he said, laughing.  These two chaps -- most likely from the Tsuu Tina reserve -- were about as down-and-out as you could get, but they were polite, friendly and quite obviously harmless.  No begging for money for them, just pleasant banter.   

The baby I had strapped to my front was my six-month-old granddaughter.  Facing out, she has a habit of smiling and cooing to everyone she meets  We were walking through a side lane, heading to a grocery store, while her mother did a swim set at the local pool.

My point is that ordinary native communities are not the problem.  With few exceptions, it's their leaders all across the country who are causing the impasse.  Be it pipelines, roadways or mines, any attempt to get across their territory is, without fail, met with stringent opposition.  One local example is the years and years and years it took to negotiate with the Tsuu Tina just to get tiny part of a ring road through a small piece of their land in the bottom-right corner of the reserve.  And it wasn't as if that section were a pristine wilderness.  No, it was a dump, riddled with abandoned trailers and shacks.  How does this help their people?  How does denying prosperity generate reserve income for the benefit of all? 

It doesn't.  And it's not as if these reserves were well-springs of organized and prosperous industrial hunting and fishing which would be harmed by a pipe or rail line.  No, most of these remote reserves are poverty-ridden, with residents living in abject conditions thanks to the intransigence of their chiefs.  And speaking of chiefs, how do you negotiate with 600 of them?  They now want to deal "nation to nation", one on one, with the federal government, effectively castrating the now-meaningless National Assembly of Grand Chiefs.  So, we now have another impasse.  My cousin's late ex-husband was one such lawyer in Kenora who fought anything-and-everything on behalf of his mostly-native clientele and made a fortune doing it.  He wasn't part of the solution, he was part of the problem (G-d rest his soul).      

One could argue that all of Canada is native territory.  And that's about what they and their teams of lawyers and consultants now claim.  The price of oil is falling and our traditional US markets are drying up because the US has decided to become self-sufficient in oil, much to the serious detriment of not only Alberta, but of the entire Canadian economy.  Unfortunately, Canada remains a hewer-of-wood-and-drawer-of-water economy which has relied for too long on natural resources to fuel its economy.  The unions have done a masterful job of pricing manufacturing out of worldwide competition -- just ask Ontario.

It's all so sad.  I am no economist, but mark my words, unless we can cooperate and work together to get our vast resources to market, our children face a much bleaker future than we enjoyed.

My encounter with those two young men this morning made me sadder than ever.    

 

Post-turkey marathon

Pea shoots.  What are those?  When I see an ingredient such as this in some smarty-pants recipe, I move on.  I am looking here and there for dishes to concoct to use up leftover turkey and I'd like to try and get away from my old standbys.  But pea shoots?  Who has those handy? Who knows what they are and who even knows where to get them? 

The other ingredients were things like "panko".  Is that just breadcrumb?  If so, just say it.  Then I had to scrounge around for fresh basil, coriander, cumin and turmeric.  I know I have these (well, not the fresh basil) but I'd have to get a ladder and rummage around in the back of my spice cupboard to track them down.

Same problem I have with the quarterly foodie magazines you get at liquor stores.  They are so pompous it's ridiculous.  I never have anything they call for.  Ever. 

But I do know what to do with the carcass, after I spend an entire morning pulling off and sorting all the meat.  Soup it is.  A few years ago, when I saw a son-in-law just throw the entire thing in the garbage, I almost cried.  And I could hear my grandmother and mother crying from heaven too.  I love turkey soup because it's so versatile.  You can throw anything at it and it'll enthusiastically rise to the occasion.  But first you have to boil the bird for about two days and then refrigerate the whole thing so the fat will rise to the surface and harden off for skimming.  Here's my bird giving up its life a second time in order to render its gorgeous broth:

 

Had to boil it for two days to get it to fit into the largest pot I own.  The broth is now cooling and will be ready for its transformation into soup tomorrow.

By the way, having failed to find anything really interesting for last night's leftovers, I made hot turkey sandwiches, complete with fries (but oven-baked) and frozen peas.  A real throwback to the old diner days of the fifties, sixties and seventies.  They were scrumptious.

Note:  Speaking of cooking, just watched 'Jamie's 15-minute Meals'.  Let me tell you, there is no way those meals are ready in 15 minutes.  None whatsoever.  Oh yeah, forgot, he has a staff of 50 prepping everything. 

No sympathy whatsoever

I have none for Theresa and Joe Guidice, who are going to prison for tax fraud -- she for 15 months, he for 41.  So what?  They broke the law and now have to pay for it. 

Hey, folks, this isn't Italy.  Or Greece.  Or Spain.....where citizens break the law all the time and take great pride in fleecing people and evading tax.  Why do you think those countries are in such a mess?  They steal from themselves by not paying taxes -- another of my favourite hobby horses.  Pay your taxes, pay your taxes, pay your taxes.  That's my mantra.  What kills me is how unjust they think it all is.  "We're family, we stick together no matter what," say all the reprobates on the 'Real Housewives of New Jersey' debacle.  Against my better judgement, I watch now and then -- mainly to try and figure out how they get those monstrous false eyelashes to stay on.  I still can't.

Having been raised in an honest, law-abiding, Protestant family, I cannot wrap my brain around how this culture gives rise to the mentality that being a criminal is just fine, thank you very much?  Had I done anything such as this, my own mother would have turned me in.  After paying at least a $million in taxes over their lives, my parents still fretted about whether they were paying their share.  "Who is paying for my care," said my dying mother in the hospice she finally entered.  "Don't worry," I replied.  "You have paid for it many times over."  Nonetheless, I made a very generous donation to The Maycourt to cover her needs and then some.

Next time you visit a restaurant, be in Chinese, Italian, Greek or.....whatever.....pay at the cash register and see if the drawer is open when you pay.  If it is, the proprietors are cheating on their taxes.  You'd be surprised at how often this occurs.  They take your money, give you change, but don't ring it in.  Not to come down inordinately hard on ethnic cultures, but they do not like to pay taxes.  Just a fact and a badge of courage.  And ditto, by the way, for everyone else operating in the booming underground economy.  I refuse to play.

The kicker is that Joe Guidice has just realized he does not have American citizenship.  I guess his parents were so devoted to Italy they neglected to obtain proper papers for him.  Oops!  He will probably be deported after serving his sentence.  All very sad for his little daughters. 

But don't worry, the American system will look after them.   

       

Turkey Weekend

Creeping down the stairs at five a.m. this morning, I was transported back to my childhood.  I had to get the turkey dressed and into the oven so the bird would be ready for the family, scheduled to arrive at one p.m.  The darkness and chill of a Northwestern Calgary early morning surrounded me, but there was work to be done.  I got at it. 

In earlier years, I experimented with goose, duck, Cornish hen.........you name it.  Didn't we all in the early seventies?  Afterall, we were smartypant's.  Fruit stuffing, rice stuffing, potato stuffing -- anything went, but over the years, I have reverted to turkey and the Stapledon family dressing:  bread crumbs (made from frozen crusts stored over the past few months), onions, celery, sage, savoury and sausage.  A big tube of it.  The secret's in the fat.  Yeah, fat tastes wonderful. 

I remember my grandmother and then my mother and aunts doing the turkey in the early morning because we always had "dinner" at noon, a holdover from their rural beginnings in The Ottawa Valley.  Dinner was at noon and supper the evening meal, a much lighter fare.  I started remembering festive dinners at my grandparents' on Cartier Street in Ottawa.  My grandfather was in charge of buying a live turkey at the market, which he brought home, killed and then de-feathered in the back garden.  I think he burned them off.  It was mesmerizing to watch.

It's now 7:30 a.m. and everything is in the oven and starting to smell beautiful.  The sun is rising and it's a delightful day.  I am grateful for the many gifts I have been given in my lifetime.  Today, our granddaughter is six months old.  What an exquisite Thanksgiving gift she is.    

The Odd Brush with Fame

Two handsome, strapping lads greeted B in a Montreal kitchen in 1949.  Gordie was 21 and Ted 25.  Friends of friends, both had popped in for a visit and B, although a dedicated Leaf's fan, was nonetheless awed.  Can you imagine those guys dropping by for a chin-wag?! 

Gordie, "Mr. Hockey", is now 86 and Ted Lindsay 89.  Lindsay was born in "The Frew", as those of us from The Valley know it.  Renfrew produced its fair share of well-known athletes, as did many other towns in that region -- like The Prior, for example.  Gordie hailed from Saskatchewan. 

They don't make 'em like that anymore.  Gordie has a new biography out, going to read it.  Two years ago I went to a charity event here in Calgary, organized by Mr. Hockey himself.  Even got my picture taken with Lord Stanley's Cup, in honour of the two NHL players I dated back-in-the-day.  (Everything you've ever heard about dating NHL hockey players is true, by the way.)  Blogged the event, have a read. 

"Hey, would you like to play drums for our last set?" said a very young musician to B in Liverpool in 1961.  And so he did.  The drummer, Pete Best, was "over-refreshed" and George Harrison invited B to have a go.  This brush with fame happened in the Cavern Club and the group was 'The Quarrymen' -- soon to become 'The Beatles'.  Yep, all true.  B actually played drums with The Beatles.  Think I have blogged this before (??), but can't remember.  The other "players" he partied with that year in London were Christine Keeler, Mandy Rice-Davies and Stephen Ward.  If you don't know who these characters were, you should.  Google them. 

     

What was he thinking?

The sad suicide of RCMP Cpl. Ron Francis certainly brought attention to PTSD, but the big issue is pretty clear:  he was deliberately smoking marijuana in uniform, in public, while on duty.  He gave the force no choice but to suspend him from duty, which was actually quite considerate because I am sure his was a firing offence.  He broke the law and no police force can continue to employ a member who blatantly does that.  Just can't.

What would any employer do if an employee sat at his or her desk and drank or smoked weed all day?  What if everyone decided to drink and smoke on the job?  You'd go into Walmart and everyone would be stoned.  You'd go to the gas station and the attendant would be stoned.  The pilot on your next flight would be stoned.  The bank teller would be stoned.  The surgeon performing your heart transplant would be stoned.  Remember 'Flight', the movie in which Denzel Washington plays an alcoholic airline pilot?  I could go on, but you get the idea.  Can't be tolerated.  Period, the end.   

Francis was being treated for his disorder and was on medical leave, which was a nice thing for the force to do.  They didn't fire him.  Apparently, he became traumatized as a result of the carnage and violence he witnessed -- particularly on his own native reserve, among his own people.  But carnage and violence are the nature of police work.  I have a son-in-law who is a firefighter and he deals with tragedy all the time.  What if he were to drink and smoke on the job?  Would we all feel safe if he zig-zaggedly drove the fire engine and staggered into burning buildings?

For some reason, everyone is blaming the RCMP?  They could not have been more sympathetic in their public statements.  Francis called the marijuana-smoking "a red herring".  No, it wasn't a red herring, it was the "real herring".  Drug use was the issue.  While it's always sad when someone commits suicide (my own brother did so 31 years ago), there are other issues plaguing these people and try as any employer might to counsel them, the employer should not be held responsible.   

The saddest thing is the loss his action has now caused his wife and four children to bear. 

 

Musings............

Dear Diary,

Why does it seem that lesbians are always fat?  Every time I see a group gathered to protest something or other, or get publically married, they're fat.  Oh, and angry and ugly.  On purpose.  Not so gay men.  They are usually fit, happy, friendly and cheerful.  And by the way, they like women, as opposed to their female counterparts who positively hate men.  All men.     

Anecdotal I know, but with the exception of Ellen-and-Portia and Kathleen Wynne, the majority of lesbians one sees in the public thoroughfare are fat.  And they don't seem to care a whit?!
______________________________________

When last I tried to look up my birth father, there was no google and I didn't get much information.  But last night I took another crack at it and a ton of information popped up.  He only died a few years ago, after an illustrious athletic career.  I knew he was an umpire in one of the US baseball leagues (I am not going to name it), but I didn't realize just how famous he was.  He won championships in speed skating, roller skating, horseshoes and table tennis.  He was also a pitcher and short stop in baseball's minor leagues, playing in the border league, which is how my birth mother met him.  Very "briefly", shall we say. 

So, now I know where I and my children get our athletic ability.  My birth mother did not tell him of her pregnancy, so I did not get to meet him.  For that matter, I didn't meet her either because she had died at 49 (smoking lung cancer), a year before I found her.  My natural father went on until well into his late eighties, so I may have a few more years in me yet.     

That is why adoptees are so interested (read "obsessed") with their roots.  Natural children take it all for granted, but those of us who had other beginnings have this strong urge to find out why we are the way we are.  All very interesting, don't you think?

The Things I Put Myself Through

When I decide to laz around, I often end up watching a movie.  Yesterday's mistake was watching "Maid in Manhattan".  G-d what a bad movie!  What was director Wayne Wong thinking in pairing an eighth cousin of the Prince of Wales (Ralph Fiennes) with someone from Costa Rica-via-The Bronx (Jennifer Lopez)?!  Poor Ralph.  He must have been hard up for money to agree to star in this mess.

The most poignant part was watching the beautiful late Natasha Richardson, the rival for Ralph's affections.  She was breathtaking and it was heartbreaking to realize that this was just seven years before her untimely demise in a freak skiing accident in Mont Tremblant.

The whole movie was ridiculous.  As if a guy running for the US Senate would fall for a lower-class hotel maid!?  And as if a candidate would go public with his sad affections.  As we all know, Senators and Congressmen -- like all politicians -- go to great lengths to hide these tawdry affairs.  They lie like rugs.  But not old Ralph.  He wore his pathetic heart on his sleeve at all times, while JayLo lectured him on the need to help the poor in New York.  Please.   

It was not only implausible, it was impossible.  I cringed the whole way through.  Man, better figure out how to get Netflicks hooked up in a hurry! 

   

What's their position?

Where are Canadian Indians on ISIS?  What is their position?  Do they have one?  No, because it's not "their" issue.  "Native" Canadians are at war with their own country:  Canada.  They protest everything, just for the sake of being anti-Canadian.  And in return for paying no taxes (if they are status and on-reserve) receive $8.5 billion a year -- not a penny for which they are accountable.

Make no mistake.  You can bet they will protest each and every pipeline ever proposed anywhere.  And yet Canada needs to get its oil to world markets.  We are in deep do-do if we can't sell this resource.  But Canadians are too politically-correct to stand up and get pissed off.  Oh, and I forgot to lump in the enviros and the mostly-white lawyers in the native cottage industry who also profit enormously from these blanket protests. 

As I have blogged many times, my great-grandmother was a Mohawk, but thank G-d she married off-reserve to enable the rest of her brood to morph into being "Canadian".  The behaviour of native leaders today is absolutely scandalous.     

Fear and loathing

After a week of technological messes, I can't even bear to take the 'Chromecast' product out of its package.  All I wanted was 'Netflicks', but B bought a new TV which didn't include the device.  So, we had to buy the adapter.  "Do you have WiFi?" asked the two-year-old salesman at 'Future Shop'.  How would I know??!!  I have no clue!!??

"Well, do you have a computer?"  Yes, we have a desktop.  The whole exercise was hideous.  But not as hideous as trying to figure out why I can no longer receive data on my cell phone.  For some reason, I can no longer send or receive email, photos, etc..........  Only texts.  What did I do?  Went back to the 'Koodo' kiosk where we bought the device three years ago.  "Oh, you'll have to call the help-line," said one of the lack-a-dasical salesmen lounging in the store.  Whaaaaat?!!  I bought this stupid phone here, you are 'Koodo' but I have to go home and sit on the line for help?!!  Yep, that was about it.

Finally talked to someone in Montreal, who asked me if the mall layabouts had checked my SIM card.  No, they did not.  "Well, you'll have to go back to the store and ask them to remove your SIM card and see if it works in another device.  If it does, it's your phone; if not, it's another problem," she helpfully suggested.  What an effing mess!!

So I sit, looking at the 'Netflicks' adapter, afraid to even try to install it.  What if it doesn't cooperate?  I can't cope. 

How I long for the days of rotary-dial phones and no "devices".   

 

   

Good for him

"I haven't smoked for four months," said a young man I know.  "Wow!  Good for you," I replied.  "I just got sick of myself and quit cold-turkey," he added.  I thought he was talking about regular cigarettes, but he was talking about marijuana.  "I was a functioning, daily weed addict," he told me, "but I couldn't stand myself anymore." 

Well, what do you know!?  I gave him a big hug and told him how proud I was of him.  "I bet your mother and father are very happy," I added.  "They are.  I even got my brother to quit."
________________________________________________ 

"You will have another dentist today," said the receptionist at the clinic.  "Dr. "M" has broken his hand."  I was there for my fourth and final visit to have my ancient silver fillings replaced by amalgam.  Anyone with me here?  Apparently, the old silver fillings we all endured threaten to crack our teeth.  In fact, every single filling replaced had a cavity underneath it.  I have only had four cavities in my entire life -- thanks to my father's refusal to allow sugar into out diets.  I think we have 32 teeth, which means 28 teeth have no cavities; four is not bad.  But, not wishing to lose those teeth with silver fillings, I endured replacements.

The dentist I had today was the wife of my usual dentist.  What a charmer!  Beautiful too.  They are a great couple. 

Boring, I know, but that was my day.