I hesitated about going to the emergency ward last summer, when B was very sick. "The cost," I said, thinking of how my parents always so prudently conducted themselves. "Is he really sick enough?" It took blood tests and an early-morning emergency call from his doctor to get me there with him, where he nearly expired from a rare blood infection.
With flu, flu and more flu having hit Calgary with a sledge hammer, I again hesitated about going to a local clinic today to see his doctor, even though B was pretty sick with something. After all, he'd had a flu shot, so.....?? But we went. It turned out he needed an X-ray and antibiotics, so yes, we were right to make the call.
Sitting in the waiting room, I noticed a young couple arrive with their daughter. Naturally, I eavesdropped (that's one of the ways I get blog material). Their accents told me they were Eastern European -- members of a huge immigrant population in this town -- and concerned that their young daughter had vomited during the night. Vomited!? At this point the kid was merrily running around playing and enjoying the fish tank, obviously fine. Note to the parents: young kids vomit all the time, mostly during the night, splaying it into pillows at 2 a.m. Forget about it and forget about rushing to a walk-in clinic that will cost the rest of us a lot of unnecessary money. And all because of a bit of routine childhood vomiting.
What galls me are people who come to Canada, not having paid a cent in taxes for most of their lives, and expect Cadillac health care with nary a fig's concern to the cost. Back home did some rough math and calculated between us we have paid about $500,000 in taxes during our lives -- and that's federal alone.
With that number, why am I hesitant to go to emergency every 20 years? I need to give my head a shake.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Ridiculous
Cupping her hand over the phone, she called to colleagues in her office, "Has anyone ever been to Bermuda?" Apparently no one had. This was a travel agent at Co Op Travel here with whom B was dealing in trying to book a trip. "We're very busy right now," she added, "so I'll have to call you back."
Can you believe a travel agent would do this? A. Travel. Agent. A few hours later she called. "I sent out an e-mail to all our offices to see if anyone had been to Bermuda, so far no response," she incredulously said. Hey, google "Tourism Bermuda" you knucklehead. I found it preposterous that someone in the business of booking vacations had no clue how to deal with Bermuda.
The Palliser Hotel also pulled a dumb move. B is trying to book a Valentine's Day dinner for some Fourth Degree Knights of Columbus and has reserved the alcove off the dining room. "We're not sure if we will be 14 or 16," he said to the catering agent. "Would 16 fit comfortably in that space?" The agent didn't really know. Didn't really know?! How can the guy book a dinner and not know how many people will fit into the space he's booking?! Thinking laterally, B called back and asked to speak to one of the waiters in the dining room. "Sixteen would be crowded, 14 would be perfect."
Still haven't heard back from the catering agent. What is wrong with people??
Can you believe a travel agent would do this? A. Travel. Agent. A few hours later she called. "I sent out an e-mail to all our offices to see if anyone had been to Bermuda, so far no response," she incredulously said. Hey, google "Tourism Bermuda" you knucklehead. I found it preposterous that someone in the business of booking vacations had no clue how to deal with Bermuda.
The Palliser Hotel also pulled a dumb move. B is trying to book a Valentine's Day dinner for some Fourth Degree Knights of Columbus and has reserved the alcove off the dining room. "We're not sure if we will be 14 or 16," he said to the catering agent. "Would 16 fit comfortably in that space?" The agent didn't really know. Didn't really know?! How can the guy book a dinner and not know how many people will fit into the space he's booking?! Thinking laterally, B called back and asked to speak to one of the waiters in the dining room. "Sixteen would be crowded, 14 would be perfect."
Still haven't heard back from the catering agent. What is wrong with people??
Monday, January 27, 2014
Wonderful and scary
Edith Wharton is my favourite female writer. Just now watching -- for the umpteenth time -- the screen adaptation of her 'The Age of Innocence' and marvelling at her insight into the late nineteenth century's treatment of women. They had few options. Not much had changed in Wharton's world since the days of Jane Austin when she penned this, her 12th novel. Come to think of it, my own mother's generation faced the same reality: marry well because female civil servants were not permitted to work after their nuptials.
Feature it.
Women either married "well" or were doomed. Born in 1862, Wharton died in 1937. In between she wrote brilliant novels and wonderful short stories. She herself had a bad marriage, but it was to a well-to-do society gentleman, so she was "saved". Martin Scorsese directed this 1993 classic, the same man who directed 'The Wolf of Wall Street', which we went to see last night. He's a wondrous director. What a movie! Three-and-a-half hours long, it was mesmerizing -- especially as I had just enjoyed Piers Morgan's interview of the "real" wolf of Wall Street, Jordan Belfort, the other night.
Belfort came across as "normal" and calm. Not so the character in the movie -- a drug-crazed lunatic who operates full blast on all cylinders all the time. Leonardo Di Caprio was perfect, as he seems to be in everything of late. Scorsese added many scenes other directors might not have because they obviously cost plenty, but they served to complete the movie in a perfect way. Go see it.
My favourite male writer? Somerset Maugham. Every sentence a poem.
_________________________________________
Note: I noticed the music of my favourite jazz pianist, Ahmed Jamal, was part of the score of 'The Wolf of Wall Street'. It also featured a few years ago in 'The Bridges of Madison County'. Wonder who else would have noticed this?
Feature it.
Women either married "well" or were doomed. Born in 1862, Wharton died in 1937. In between she wrote brilliant novels and wonderful short stories. She herself had a bad marriage, but it was to a well-to-do society gentleman, so she was "saved". Martin Scorsese directed this 1993 classic, the same man who directed 'The Wolf of Wall Street', which we went to see last night. He's a wondrous director. What a movie! Three-and-a-half hours long, it was mesmerizing -- especially as I had just enjoyed Piers Morgan's interview of the "real" wolf of Wall Street, Jordan Belfort, the other night.
Belfort came across as "normal" and calm. Not so the character in the movie -- a drug-crazed lunatic who operates full blast on all cylinders all the time. Leonardo Di Caprio was perfect, as he seems to be in everything of late. Scorsese added many scenes other directors might not have because they obviously cost plenty, but they served to complete the movie in a perfect way. Go see it.
My favourite male writer? Somerset Maugham. Every sentence a poem.
_________________________________________
Note: I noticed the music of my favourite jazz pianist, Ahmed Jamal, was part of the score of 'The Wolf of Wall Street'. It also featured a few years ago in 'The Bridges of Madison County'. Wonder who else would have noticed this?
Friday, January 24, 2014
Some people literally talk sh-t
"I'm a doctor," said "K", one of the women I know from the Y locker room who has baked me Christmas cookies for the past two years. The room fell silent. This was at my potluck Christmas lunch, where I had invited a bunch of women I know from the pool. We were a motley crew of fit women of varying ages, D and I the oldest.
Born in Hong Kong, Dr. K is quite chatty and friendly -- as opposed to most doctors who are raving and determined bores. The ladies in my living room, who did not know her, had had no idea she was a doctor simply because she was too nice and uncharacteristically modest. Not all of the women knew each other. Some swam, some -- such as K -- went up to the gym, some were in the cheap locker room (me) while others opted for the upgraded one. The common denominator was me.
"What do you think of fecal transplants for treating C Difficile?" asked a nurse over our lunch. Thus began the "sh-t" talking. K launched right into a chapter and verse graphic description of how the whole thing works while we were munching on salmon and Chinese vegetables. I found it fascinating, but it was amusing to watch a few of the slack-jawed become a tad squeamish.
Dr. K is remarkable. She does Tai Chi on the treadmill (I can see her from the pool) and is now teaching herself to swim. "At the end of January," she says, "I am getting rid of the waist belt." I plan on teaching her to swim and we are both looking forward to it.
"After Chinese New Year, I am taking you to a Dim Sum lunch," she promised the other morning. "Great, you can do all the ordering," I replied. Done. 2014 is the Year of the Horse, when granddaughter will be born. The Horse gives people a ride to their destinations. "Let there be peace and let it begin with me," is the 2011 Year of the Rabbit theme, the year grandson was born. All good signs for my grandkids, avows Dr. K.
Born in Hong Kong, Dr. K is quite chatty and friendly -- as opposed to most doctors who are raving and determined bores. The ladies in my living room, who did not know her, had had no idea she was a doctor simply because she was too nice and uncharacteristically modest. Not all of the women knew each other. Some swam, some -- such as K -- went up to the gym, some were in the cheap locker room (me) while others opted for the upgraded one. The common denominator was me.
"What do you think of fecal transplants for treating C Difficile?" asked a nurse over our lunch. Thus began the "sh-t" talking. K launched right into a chapter and verse graphic description of how the whole thing works while we were munching on salmon and Chinese vegetables. I found it fascinating, but it was amusing to watch a few of the slack-jawed become a tad squeamish.
Dr. K is remarkable. She does Tai Chi on the treadmill (I can see her from the pool) and is now teaching herself to swim. "At the end of January," she says, "I am getting rid of the waist belt." I plan on teaching her to swim and we are both looking forward to it.
"After Chinese New Year, I am taking you to a Dim Sum lunch," she promised the other morning. "Great, you can do all the ordering," I replied. Done. 2014 is the Year of the Horse, when granddaughter will be born. The Horse gives people a ride to their destinations. "Let there be peace and let it begin with me," is the 2011 Year of the Rabbit theme, the year grandson was born. All good signs for my grandkids, avows Dr. K.
Another annoying person
Elvira Kurt. She one of the most annoying ditzes to be heard on CBC. Every Friday Jian Ghomeshi, host of 'Q', has this raving lunatic on to announce her weekly 'Cultural Hall of Shame' nominee. Why he tolerates her is a complete mystery? She can't shut up, interrupts other guests and talks over anyone and everyone BEFORE her spot is even announced.
Button it, please. Apparently she is actually supposed to be a comedian! She is so not funny, even though she fancies herself a scream. She also brags about being a lesbian mother. Like anyone cares -- except the poor kid she's raising. See, that's the problem with many gay men and women, they talk openly about being "gay" or "lesbian". Heterosexuals don't because again, no one cares. What you do in the bedroom is no one's business. Neither is your lifestyle.
For some reason, Jian's usually sound judgement leaves him when he has her on. Oh yeah, another annoying guest is the publisher of The Toronto Star, John Cruikshank, I think. "We, we don't, don't often, often publish, publish that sort of, of story." His verbal ticks of speech are sooooo annoying. Repeats practically every word.
Well, that's two added to my 'Annoying people' blog of December 16th.
Button it, please. Apparently she is actually supposed to be a comedian! She is so not funny, even though she fancies herself a scream. She also brags about being a lesbian mother. Like anyone cares -- except the poor kid she's raising. See, that's the problem with many gay men and women, they talk openly about being "gay" or "lesbian". Heterosexuals don't because again, no one cares. What you do in the bedroom is no one's business. Neither is your lifestyle.
For some reason, Jian's usually sound judgement leaves him when he has her on. Oh yeah, another annoying guest is the publisher of The Toronto Star, John Cruikshank, I think. "We, we don't, don't often, often publish, publish that sort of, of story." His verbal ticks of speech are sooooo annoying. Repeats practically every word.
Well, that's two added to my 'Annoying people' blog of December 16th.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Candies
On the flight to Ottawa last week, I was seated beside a very cool guy. "I have two daughters by two different mothers and I spent 10 years trying to find one of them because that mother went into hiding and refused to let me see her," he told me. "What a bitch," I replied, "but typical of many cases." I was thinking of B's own case. Had he not persevered, spending thousands and thousands of our collective money on lawyers and psychologists, he would never have even seen his own two kids, let alone been awarded custody. That's what happens to nasty malicious mothers who set out to deny the other parent access. But it's always, "show me the money". Didn't work in his case, although even with majority custody we had to pay her for six long and expensive years.
But I digress. Returning from Calgary after a visit with his other daughter, my seat mate told me he had spent $30,000 on the first daughter's education, but would not be invited to her upcoming wedding because her mother and step-father were refusing to allow it. "What a bitch," I repeated.
The "candies" refer to my seat mate on the flight back to Calgary. She was a morbidly obese woman (thank God no one was in the middle seat) who devoured two bags of gumdrops before we even got off the ground! She then proceeded to order snacks, chips, snacks, chips and more snacks. I found it disgusting. Didn't utter one word to her the entire trip. Why would I give my wit to a fat and determined loser like that? Some people don't deserve my entertaining banter. Sorry to crow, but it's true. Just ask anyone who has ever chatted with me.
Fashion note: I didn't tell anyone I would be coming to Uncle Rollie's funeral, just showed up. Part of it was because I didn't want a hassle from my cousin's wife and part of it was.....yes, I admit it.....to make an entrance and surprise a few other relatives who really don't like me and would never have dreamt I would have made a special trip to bury my dear, dear uncle.* I've got news for them: nothing would have kept from that church, nothing. I know I'm indulging in a little vain head-swelling here, but I wore a gorgeous, embroidered and beaded, brown silk Indian jacket, my beautiful classical black suede high heels and a custom-made pair of "Angelina Jolie" drop earrings. Remember the emerald pair she wore to the Oscars a few years ago? I fell in love with them and had a replica made, but in synthetic emerald, beryl. Never mind, they are still absolutely dazzling. "I can't take my eyes off them, they're magnificent," raved one woman -- herself a fashionista.
If I think of anything else to share about my trip, I'll let you know.
________________________________________
*Actually, it's only one other cousin who hates me. Right after my mother died in 2001, she wrote me a four-page poison-pen letter, telling me how much she had always hated me, going back to our childhood and recounting various incidents I didn't even remember. By the way, she waited until I had given her and her daughter the money my mother had wanted them to have. With no estate, I did not have to give them any money, but I did because I knew it was my mother's wish. Incidentally, her mother left me nothing when she died, but I didn't expect any. Cousin "M" did.
Boy, in her evil letter she really went to town! I had no idea?! Who does that?? I remember reading it in shock before I tore it up and threw it out. Man, can I help it if I was head cheerleader and you weren't even on the squad? Can I help it if my boyfriend was head boy and you didn't have one? Can I help it if I was one of the most popular girls in town and you weren't? But we were cordial and polite at the funeral. Good for us.
But I digress. Returning from Calgary after a visit with his other daughter, my seat mate told me he had spent $30,000 on the first daughter's education, but would not be invited to her upcoming wedding because her mother and step-father were refusing to allow it. "What a bitch," I repeated.
The "candies" refer to my seat mate on the flight back to Calgary. She was a morbidly obese woman (thank God no one was in the middle seat) who devoured two bags of gumdrops before we even got off the ground! She then proceeded to order snacks, chips, snacks, chips and more snacks. I found it disgusting. Didn't utter one word to her the entire trip. Why would I give my wit to a fat and determined loser like that? Some people don't deserve my entertaining banter. Sorry to crow, but it's true. Just ask anyone who has ever chatted with me.
Fashion note: I didn't tell anyone I would be coming to Uncle Rollie's funeral, just showed up. Part of it was because I didn't want a hassle from my cousin's wife and part of it was.....yes, I admit it.....to make an entrance and surprise a few other relatives who really don't like me and would never have dreamt I would have made a special trip to bury my dear, dear uncle.* I've got news for them: nothing would have kept from that church, nothing. I know I'm indulging in a little vain head-swelling here, but I wore a gorgeous, embroidered and beaded, brown silk Indian jacket, my beautiful classical black suede high heels and a custom-made pair of "Angelina Jolie" drop earrings. Remember the emerald pair she wore to the Oscars a few years ago? I fell in love with them and had a replica made, but in synthetic emerald, beryl. Never mind, they are still absolutely dazzling. "I can't take my eyes off them, they're magnificent," raved one woman -- herself a fashionista.
If I think of anything else to share about my trip, I'll let you know.
________________________________________
*Actually, it's only one other cousin who hates me. Right after my mother died in 2001, she wrote me a four-page poison-pen letter, telling me how much she had always hated me, going back to our childhood and recounting various incidents I didn't even remember. By the way, she waited until I had given her and her daughter the money my mother had wanted them to have. With no estate, I did not have to give them any money, but I did because I knew it was my mother's wish. Incidentally, her mother left me nothing when she died, but I didn't expect any. Cousin "M" did.
Boy, in her evil letter she really went to town! I had no idea?! Who does that?? I remember reading it in shock before I tore it up and threw it out. Man, can I help it if I was head cheerleader and you weren't even on the squad? Can I help it if my boyfriend was head boy and you didn't have one? Can I help it if I was one of the most popular girls in town and you weren't? But we were cordial and polite at the funeral. Good for us.
Monday, January 20, 2014
A ballpoint pen?
He looked normal, but obviously wasn't. This was a guy sitting across from me in the departure area of the Ottawa airport, where I was waiting to board my flight home yesterday to Calgary. Suddenly, he crossed one leg over the other, took out a ballpoint pen and started to pick away at the bottom of his shoes. Seriously. He was chipping out "whatever" from his soles. When he had collected enough gunk, he went off, dumped it into a trash can and returned to pick out more.
How could someone do that?! It was disgusting.
I was in Ottawa for the funeral of my uncle Rollie, as I have said, the last of my parents' generation to leave this world. What a sad, sad funeral it was. When someone dies at 99, you have had them for so long you miss them more. Looking around the church, I was the person who had known him the second-longest, one of my cousins having known him two months longer than I, she was born two months earlier. My eye makeup took a beating as I bawled them out the entire time, listening to his grandsons and granddaughter honour him with their intimate memories. I simply could not hold it together.
As my cousin's wife doesn't like me, I opted to stay with a very dear, old friend (would not have been welcome at their place anyway.) Angele and I go back 30 years, when we met working for EXPO '86. We had such a great time back then, hitting Vancouver in our mink coats and flying in and out every month. We hit it off then and have stayed in touch ever since. Arriving at her place on Thursday evening, we picked up where we had left off more than two years ago, the last time we were together. She is a pistol and puts up with nothing. We ate, drank and made merry for three days.
You have to love WestJet. On the flight to Ottawa, one of the stewardesses bumped into me. "Oh, I am so sorry," It was nothing, but when I ordered a white wine she said, "This is on me 'cause I bumped into you." Who does that? On the flight home, I asked to be upgraded to "plus", but they were sold out. "This is on me," said another stewardess when I ordered a beverage. "I am so sorry we couldn't upgrade you." As if that were her fault, but she did it anyway. Can you imagine Air Canada doing that?!
But back to the funeral. I did manage to get a civil and welcoming greeting from my cousin's wife, someone who no longer likes me because I wrote a blog to which she objected (?). You know readers, you have to have a sense of humour to read my blog. I take the mickey out of everyone, but mostly out of myself. If you can't laugh at yourself, you should not read this blog. But it was not about us, it was about my dear Uncle Rollie and his family, so we rose to the occasion. "Where is D?" I asked my late cousin's ex-husband (D is her widower). "Playing golf in Florida," he replied. D should have been there, after all he raised Rollie's grandsons. Never warmed to the guy and he showed why. He did not show up.
But there was Rollie's ex-son-in-law, there with his wife, there were his grandsons........all class acts who showed up -- two of whom flew in from Toronto the morning of. The big surprise was when A.J. Frieman walked in. "I was always a big fan of Rollie," said yet another middle-aged ex-teenager who was in love with Rollie's late daughter Betty-Anne. I was initially surprised, but of course wasn't when I thought about it for one second. Of course A.J. would be there. We all go back such a long, long way.
Farewell to a giant and a prince. Thank you to my dear friend, Angele. It was a great visit.
How could someone do that?! It was disgusting.
I was in Ottawa for the funeral of my uncle Rollie, as I have said, the last of my parents' generation to leave this world. What a sad, sad funeral it was. When someone dies at 99, you have had them for so long you miss them more. Looking around the church, I was the person who had known him the second-longest, one of my cousins having known him two months longer than I, she was born two months earlier. My eye makeup took a beating as I bawled them out the entire time, listening to his grandsons and granddaughter honour him with their intimate memories. I simply could not hold it together.
As my cousin's wife doesn't like me, I opted to stay with a very dear, old friend (would not have been welcome at their place anyway.) Angele and I go back 30 years, when we met working for EXPO '86. We had such a great time back then, hitting Vancouver in our mink coats and flying in and out every month. We hit it off then and have stayed in touch ever since. Arriving at her place on Thursday evening, we picked up where we had left off more than two years ago, the last time we were together. She is a pistol and puts up with nothing. We ate, drank and made merry for three days.
You have to love WestJet. On the flight to Ottawa, one of the stewardesses bumped into me. "Oh, I am so sorry," It was nothing, but when I ordered a white wine she said, "This is on me 'cause I bumped into you." Who does that? On the flight home, I asked to be upgraded to "plus", but they were sold out. "This is on me," said another stewardess when I ordered a beverage. "I am so sorry we couldn't upgrade you." As if that were her fault, but she did it anyway. Can you imagine Air Canada doing that?!
But back to the funeral. I did manage to get a civil and welcoming greeting from my cousin's wife, someone who no longer likes me because I wrote a blog to which she objected (?). You know readers, you have to have a sense of humour to read my blog. I take the mickey out of everyone, but mostly out of myself. If you can't laugh at yourself, you should not read this blog. But it was not about us, it was about my dear Uncle Rollie and his family, so we rose to the occasion. "Where is D?" I asked my late cousin's ex-husband (D is her widower). "Playing golf in Florida," he replied. D should have been there, after all he raised Rollie's grandsons. Never warmed to the guy and he showed why. He did not show up.
But there was Rollie's ex-son-in-law, there with his wife, there were his grandsons........all class acts who showed up -- two of whom flew in from Toronto the morning of. The big surprise was when A.J. Frieman walked in. "I was always a big fan of Rollie," said yet another middle-aged ex-teenager who was in love with Rollie's late daughter Betty-Anne. I was initially surprised, but of course wasn't when I thought about it for one second. Of course A.J. would be there. We all go back such a long, long way.
Farewell to a giant and a prince. Thank you to my dear friend, Angele. It was a great visit.
The last time I saw him, ever a great guy. Proud WW II veteran and class act.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
The skinny on air travel
"Contrary to popular belief, life is not a beach. Grow up, wash your feet with soap and water and keep your shoes on. Wear pool shoes only at the pool.* You may like your perfume or cologne, but I don't. I don't want to hear about your family and personal life or your religious beliefs just because I'm sitting next to you for a few hours. Really, it's none of my business." This from a series of great rants about the perils of air travel, sent to me by my American friend "D".
"If you choose an aisle seat, expect to get up to let the passengers next to you out, and be pleasant about it," it goes on. "Get your feet off the furniture, you're not at home! And tell your child not to kick the seat in front of him/her. Don't make me turn around and tell your child to stop kicking my back and then give me a dirty look. And parents, take your baby into the lavatory to change the diaper." Oh so true!
"Beside the odours from people (please take a shower the day of your flight; everyone has some odour, even I) and from the food that they now want to bring on board since most flights charge for food, one of the worst is when couples put their children in one row and then sit together away from their children."
The thing that bugs me the most are passengers who rush on and stuff their bags into every overhead bin they can snag and steal. I just toss their stuff out onto the aisle and let the stewards deal with it.
Ah, the joys of air travel!
_______________________________________________
* I remember women in the office who wore beach wear every day of the week! Bare midriffs, pants below the belly button.........disgusting. And sweat pants! Almost as bad as leggings.
"If you choose an aisle seat, expect to get up to let the passengers next to you out, and be pleasant about it," it goes on. "Get your feet off the furniture, you're not at home! And tell your child not to kick the seat in front of him/her. Don't make me turn around and tell your child to stop kicking my back and then give me a dirty look. And parents, take your baby into the lavatory to change the diaper." Oh so true!
"Beside the odours from people (please take a shower the day of your flight; everyone has some odour, even I) and from the food that they now want to bring on board since most flights charge for food, one of the worst is when couples put their children in one row and then sit together away from their children."
The thing that bugs me the most are passengers who rush on and stuff their bags into every overhead bin they can snag and steal. I just toss their stuff out onto the aisle and let the stewards deal with it.
Ah, the joys of air travel!
_______________________________________________
* I remember women in the office who wore beach wear every day of the week! Bare midriffs, pants below the belly button.........disgusting. And sweat pants! Almost as bad as leggings.
Gone
The last surviving member of my parents' family has died. Uncle Rollie, the best guy you could ever have met, slipped away two days ago at 98. He was the widower of Aunt Pat, my mother's youngest sister, and I adored him.
The twinkle in his eye never faded. Never a cross word, never in a bad mood, always a delight. A veteran of WW II, he served his country faithfully and didn't have time for PTSD. Uncle Rollie just got on with it.
He now joins his baby daughter Barbara-Anne, who died in infancy, his first wife Pat, his second wife Audrey and his second daughter Betty-Anne -- the latter of whom died far too young from ovarian cancer in 2002. I miss them all.
The twinkle in his eye never faded. Never a cross word, never in a bad mood, always a delight. A veteran of WW II, he served his country faithfully and didn't have time for PTSD. Uncle Rollie just got on with it.
He now joins his baby daughter Barbara-Anne, who died in infancy, his first wife Pat, his second wife Audrey and his second daughter Betty-Anne -- the latter of whom died far too young from ovarian cancer in 2002. I miss them all.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Oh
Of course. The president of York University is a middle-easterner of some sort, Mamdouh Shoukri. That's why he (or maybe it's a 'she') over-ruled Professor Grayson's decision to refuse a request from a male student who didn't want to participate in a group discussion because the student could not be around women in public. Wait until he gets a job and his boss is a female and he is surrounded by women. Can you imagine if another student said he/she couldn't be around blacks, or Jews?! As if that would be accommodated.
Give me a friggin' break. This is Canada! Men and women are equal. I was perplexed -- actually enraged -- when I read that the president had reversed the professor's decision and agreed to accommodate the student-with-the-sixth-century attitude's request for a one-on-one with the professor. But when I learned the president was an Arab, I got it. York University has always been out of it, but this took the cake.
"York is committed to upholding Canada's pluralistic values," wrote Shoukri. But he did not address the specifics of the case, calling instead for a broader discussion of the "complexities involved with religious accommodation, an issue many people, "myself included, feel passionately about."
Hey buddy, in Canada we separate "church and state"! We don't care what your religion is and as the president of a Canadian university, neither should you. When you attend a Canadian university in Canada, you have to accept Canadian law. When you are the president of a Canadian university in Canada you must be impartial and forget about your "passionate" feelings for your religion, except when you are in your mosque.
It's a disgrace. The guy should be fired. Period, the end. Canada has completely given itself over to the dark side. I am ashamed of us.
Give me a friggin' break. This is Canada! Men and women are equal. I was perplexed -- actually enraged -- when I read that the president had reversed the professor's decision and agreed to accommodate the student-with-the-sixth-century attitude's request for a one-on-one with the professor. But when I learned the president was an Arab, I got it. York University has always been out of it, but this took the cake.
"York is committed to upholding Canada's pluralistic values," wrote Shoukri. But he did not address the specifics of the case, calling instead for a broader discussion of the "complexities involved with religious accommodation, an issue many people, "myself included, feel passionately about."
Hey buddy, in Canada we separate "church and state"! We don't care what your religion is and as the president of a Canadian university, neither should you. When you attend a Canadian university in Canada, you have to accept Canadian law. When you are the president of a Canadian university in Canada you must be impartial and forget about your "passionate" feelings for your religion, except when you are in your mosque.
It's a disgrace. The guy should be fired. Period, the end. Canada has completely given itself over to the dark side. I am ashamed of us.
Friday, January 10, 2014
Anything
From cleaning, to health remedies to food prep, my grandmother knew everything. Read a couple of pieces in The Globe today that made me nostalgic for her vinegar solutions for cleaning and mustard baths for colds.
"Many of us don't cook anymore. Only half of us spend any time cooking in a given day," writes Sarah Elton in her article, 'Grandmother knows best'. How can any self-respecting mother run a household and not cook?? My grandparents didn't run to Walmart or the Dollar Store when they needed to replace some little gadget. They fixed it themselves.
Not to be romantic, but I well remember those mustard wraps my grandmother would twist around my chest when I had a cold. Progress took the form of Vick's Vapo-Rub, which my mother used and at which my grandmother disapprovingly sniffed. Vaseline was the cure-all for every scrape and chapped lip, glycerine and rosewater the remedy for rough hands and rubbing alcohol the cleanser for any wound. Vitamins? It was cod liver oil or nothing.
When it came to food, she canned every summer -- now a middle-class fad -- and never put anything on the table that wasn't in season. Salad in February? Forget it. Money tight? It was onion pie -- the most delicious dish on the planet. Oh sure, we had dreadful boiled-to-death cabbage, but now and then Grandma would throw precious sugar into the water to transform it into a very sweet side. Throw potato peelings into the garbage, are you kidding? One night it would be mashed potatoes, the next we dined on fried peels from the night before. Absolutely delicious.
"While many women I know love doing homey stuff for fun -- baking cookies and drafting DIY home décor -- being good at "woman (sic) skills has definitely decreased," echoes Kate Carraway in her article, 'Struggling with the guilt of not having enough "woman skills"'. By "woman skills", Carraway means the hard skills our grandmothers deployed to ensure their families survived nutritionally on nothing.
All I can say is, bring back home ec.
"Many of us don't cook anymore. Only half of us spend any time cooking in a given day," writes Sarah Elton in her article, 'Grandmother knows best'. How can any self-respecting mother run a household and not cook?? My grandparents didn't run to Walmart or the Dollar Store when they needed to replace some little gadget. They fixed it themselves.
Not to be romantic, but I well remember those mustard wraps my grandmother would twist around my chest when I had a cold. Progress took the form of Vick's Vapo-Rub, which my mother used and at which my grandmother disapprovingly sniffed. Vaseline was the cure-all for every scrape and chapped lip, glycerine and rosewater the remedy for rough hands and rubbing alcohol the cleanser for any wound. Vitamins? It was cod liver oil or nothing.
When it came to food, she canned every summer -- now a middle-class fad -- and never put anything on the table that wasn't in season. Salad in February? Forget it. Money tight? It was onion pie -- the most delicious dish on the planet. Oh sure, we had dreadful boiled-to-death cabbage, but now and then Grandma would throw precious sugar into the water to transform it into a very sweet side. Throw potato peelings into the garbage, are you kidding? One night it would be mashed potatoes, the next we dined on fried peels from the night before. Absolutely delicious.
"While many women I know love doing homey stuff for fun -- baking cookies and drafting DIY home décor -- being good at "woman (sic) skills has definitely decreased," echoes Kate Carraway in her article, 'Struggling with the guilt of not having enough "woman skills"'. By "woman skills", Carraway means the hard skills our grandmothers deployed to ensure their families survived nutritionally on nothing.
All I can say is, bring back home ec.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Hard to believe, but then again..........
I remember them vividly, performing at the Rockpile on the corner of Yonge and Davenport in Toronto. The venue had been the old Masonic Temple, transformed at that time into a grungy concert hall, complete with all sorts of "activities" which took place on the top floor -- or so dodgy rumour had it. (The building is still there, by the way.) It was Sunday, February 2, 1969. I was 22 and went with some guy or other. Had never heard of the group we were going to see and neither had hardly anyone else, but this guy was really "into" the British music scene, so I went.
I was completely blown away. It was Led Zeppelin's first Canadian appearance and they were like nothing I had ever heard. I guess they still are like nothing anyone has ever heard because they remain, 46 years later, one of the most played and venerated groups in the world. This all came back to me this morning when I was driving to the pool. "Hard to believe," said a local DJ, "but Jimmy Page turns 70 today." Nearly drove off the road. 70! When I saw him at the Rockpile he had just turned 25 and was as wild as his band mate, Robert Plant.
What a performance. It was rough and raw and unpolished, but the talent! It just screamed from the stage. Even I, completely clueless, knew they were going to be huge. They were electric. Of course, the rest is history. Just googled that performance, which is how I know the exact day and date, and there is a "YouTube" of the whole thing. Think I'll watch it. Who knows? Might even be able to pick up my own voice screaming from the audience.
I was completely blown away. It was Led Zeppelin's first Canadian appearance and they were like nothing I had ever heard. I guess they still are like nothing anyone has ever heard because they remain, 46 years later, one of the most played and venerated groups in the world. This all came back to me this morning when I was driving to the pool. "Hard to believe," said a local DJ, "but Jimmy Page turns 70 today." Nearly drove off the road. 70! When I saw him at the Rockpile he had just turned 25 and was as wild as his band mate, Robert Plant.
What a performance. It was rough and raw and unpolished, but the talent! It just screamed from the stage. Even I, completely clueless, knew they were going to be huge. They were electric. Of course, the rest is history. Just googled that performance, which is how I know the exact day and date, and there is a "YouTube" of the whole thing. Think I'll watch it. Who knows? Might even be able to pick up my own voice screaming from the audience.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
The penny finally dropped
It was because men couldn't do it, that's why bottle feeding was pushed so hard in the fifties and sixties. Thanks to the likes of Dr. Spock and his cronies in the male-dominated medical and formula companies, the powdered variety was the answer.
This obvious reality finally dawned on me this morning as I was reading yet another article on the vast benefits of breastfeeding. "Why hadn't they figured this out decades ago," I wondered. But back then it was "Father Knows Best" all 'round-for-everything-everywhere so breast milk was scorned. Every one of my mother's friends bottle-fed and looked down on the "primitive" and suspisciously "dirty" practice of breastfeeding. When I had my own children in the late seventies, I desperately wanted to breastfeed, but my mother -- because she didn't know any better -- kept insisting that I go the bottle route.
Sitting crying along with my first-born at midnight one night, trying to figure it all out before I gave in and actually dug out one of the bottles and formula the hospital had given me, I called the La Leche League's number. Surprisingly, a very kind young woman answered. She talked me through it and the mysteries began finally to click into place. What a wonderful relief!
The La Leche League has been around forever, consistently encouraging and helping women learn how to breastfeed. Basics such as feeding on demand and not worrying if the baby is getting enough, as long as the poops are regular and plentiful. They held rotating gatherings in young mothers' homes so we could all learn from each other and share what was working and what wasn't. One thing I learned was that it is extremely rare for a mother to not be able to produce enough milk. The whole thing operates on the perfection of "supply and demand". If the baby suckles, the milk gets produced. I suspect those mothers who claim to not have enough are trying to keep to a schedule, hence not enough suckling for proper production. I have to bite my tongue when I overhear a young mother say that, as she gives the kid a bottle.
"You have to switch this baby to a bottle," said a young doctor when he weighed him at about two months. I was shocked because this guy was around my age. Weren't they starting to realize that breastfeeding was best? Guess not. I promptly went home and sent the know-it-all a bunch of pamphlets from La Leche, telling him that all babies had different weights and that as long as pooping was normal and the kid was healthy, everything was fine. Didn't hear back.
Back then doctors didn't learn about breastfeeding because it wasn't a disease. That, coupled with the money the industry would have been giving hospitals, meant that formula ruled. Today those companies are back at it, adding probiotics and other ingredients to formula and advertising the products as "as good as breast milk." Except they ain't by a long shot.
Thankfully, the medical profession has finally caught on and is now fighting back.
This obvious reality finally dawned on me this morning as I was reading yet another article on the vast benefits of breastfeeding. "Why hadn't they figured this out decades ago," I wondered. But back then it was "Father Knows Best" all 'round-for-everything-everywhere so breast milk was scorned. Every one of my mother's friends bottle-fed and looked down on the "primitive" and suspisciously "dirty" practice of breastfeeding. When I had my own children in the late seventies, I desperately wanted to breastfeed, but my mother -- because she didn't know any better -- kept insisting that I go the bottle route.
Sitting crying along with my first-born at midnight one night, trying to figure it all out before I gave in and actually dug out one of the bottles and formula the hospital had given me, I called the La Leche League's number. Surprisingly, a very kind young woman answered. She talked me through it and the mysteries began finally to click into place. What a wonderful relief!
The La Leche League has been around forever, consistently encouraging and helping women learn how to breastfeed. Basics such as feeding on demand and not worrying if the baby is getting enough, as long as the poops are regular and plentiful. They held rotating gatherings in young mothers' homes so we could all learn from each other and share what was working and what wasn't. One thing I learned was that it is extremely rare for a mother to not be able to produce enough milk. The whole thing operates on the perfection of "supply and demand". If the baby suckles, the milk gets produced. I suspect those mothers who claim to not have enough are trying to keep to a schedule, hence not enough suckling for proper production. I have to bite my tongue when I overhear a young mother say that, as she gives the kid a bottle.
"You have to switch this baby to a bottle," said a young doctor when he weighed him at about two months. I was shocked because this guy was around my age. Weren't they starting to realize that breastfeeding was best? Guess not. I promptly went home and sent the know-it-all a bunch of pamphlets from La Leche, telling him that all babies had different weights and that as long as pooping was normal and the kid was healthy, everything was fine. Didn't hear back.
Back then doctors didn't learn about breastfeeding because it wasn't a disease. That, coupled with the money the industry would have been giving hospitals, meant that formula ruled. Today those companies are back at it, adding probiotics and other ingredients to formula and advertising the products as "as good as breast milk." Except they ain't by a long shot.
Thankfully, the medical profession has finally caught on and is now fighting back.
Monday, January 6, 2014
4.54 billion years, versus Al Gore
The planet will prevail, contrary to what Al Gore and David Suzuki bleat. Earth is 4.54 billion years old. Every day 24 species go extinct. Humans will be next.
I am so tired of people and groups who think "global warming" is serious. The entirety of North America is in the grip of a freeze that breaks records of......wait for it........a paltry 20 years. Twenty years??!! How about 4.54 billion? Twenty years isn't even 20 seconds, or even .0000000002 seconds. Where's global warming when we need it? Calgary is routinely - 40 C these days. So what. It's all so temporary.
And the hilarity of the ice-bound Russian ice breaker, carrying a bunch of scientists studying global warming in the Arctic, is perfect. "We didn't know how cold it was here," said one dazzlingly brilliant mind when rescued by the Americans and the Chinese.
The environmentalists are having a field day and making a killing without any credibility whatsoever. As I said, the planet will prevail.
I am so tired of people and groups who think "global warming" is serious. The entirety of North America is in the grip of a freeze that breaks records of......wait for it........a paltry 20 years. Twenty years??!! How about 4.54 billion? Twenty years isn't even 20 seconds, or even .0000000002 seconds. Where's global warming when we need it? Calgary is routinely - 40 C these days. So what. It's all so temporary.
And the hilarity of the ice-bound Russian ice breaker, carrying a bunch of scientists studying global warming in the Arctic, is perfect. "We didn't know how cold it was here," said one dazzlingly brilliant mind when rescued by the Americans and the Chinese.
The environmentalists are having a field day and making a killing without any credibility whatsoever. As I said, the planet will prevail.
Friday, January 3, 2014
T'was ever thus
Hearing about yet another 'empty nester' wife and mother who is lost, now that her boys have left home, brought it back to me....again. Women must have their own careers and money. It's essential for self-esteem in the long haul.
The woman to whom I refer was trained as a lawyer, but never did anything with her degree. She married well, i.e. money, so thought it would be wonderful to be a stay-at-home mom. "Hey, I have a law degree so I can pick up my career anytime."
Except that she can't. And no one -- regardless of sex -- can pick up a career in their sixties when they, oops, forgot to have one in the first place! As I have said, society does not value child care, witness the dismal wages paid to daycare workers. Thus it follows that society does not value stay-at-home mothers. Sorry, but it's true.
I am eternally grateful that economics and my own determined sense of independence gave me a job and the little status that went with it. Girls, all I can say is...........
.............get a job before it's too late.
The woman to whom I refer was trained as a lawyer, but never did anything with her degree. She married well, i.e. money, so thought it would be wonderful to be a stay-at-home mom. "Hey, I have a law degree so I can pick up my career anytime."
Except that she can't. And no one -- regardless of sex -- can pick up a career in their sixties when they, oops, forgot to have one in the first place! As I have said, society does not value child care, witness the dismal wages paid to daycare workers. Thus it follows that society does not value stay-at-home mothers. Sorry, but it's true.
I am eternally grateful that economics and my own determined sense of independence gave me a job and the little status that went with it. Girls, all I can say is...........
.............get a job before it's too late.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
My Mother would turn
Ariel Sharon has been in a coma.........wait for it........for eight years. He's.........wait for it.........85 years old and his family is still keeping him alive with a feeding tube. How ridiculous. The guy is basically dead, a blob of flesh in a bed. Let him go.
As I said, my Mother would turn. "I'm trying to die, but I won't die," she said, sitting up in her Maycourt Hospice bed in 2001 before she died. She hated "fuss" and regarded her own death as "too much fuss". After paying taxes for a million years and donating a bunch of money to the Maycourt, she still worried....."who is paying for all this?" You are and you have, I told her. She was the classiest lady-like lady I have ever known. Never put a foot wrong -- including how she dealt with her own demise.
"I have to go to the hospital," she said, calling me one evening. I remember it was a Thursday in early November and I was making sandwiches for some bazaar at the church, I told her when she asked if she were disturbing me. I dropped everything and took her to the General. She was admitted and stayed for a month before they transferred her to the Maycourt. Another month later, she was dead. That's the way to do it, live on your own, get sick at 92, ignore it and then die within two months. No fuss, no muss.
The former Prime Minister of Israel's family should do exactly that. Send him off.
As I said, my Mother would turn. "I'm trying to die, but I won't die," she said, sitting up in her Maycourt Hospice bed in 2001 before she died. She hated "fuss" and regarded her own death as "too much fuss". After paying taxes for a million years and donating a bunch of money to the Maycourt, she still worried....."who is paying for all this?" You are and you have, I told her. She was the classiest lady-like lady I have ever known. Never put a foot wrong -- including how she dealt with her own demise.
"I have to go to the hospital," she said, calling me one evening. I remember it was a Thursday in early November and I was making sandwiches for some bazaar at the church, I told her when she asked if she were disturbing me. I dropped everything and took her to the General. She was admitted and stayed for a month before they transferred her to the Maycourt. Another month later, she was dead. That's the way to do it, live on your own, get sick at 92, ignore it and then die within two months. No fuss, no muss.
The former Prime Minister of Israel's family should do exactly that. Send him off.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Orange suede high heels
Never seen anything like them. Santa came for New Year's this year instead of Christmas because Santa was in Houston with the grandchildren there. But when the jolly, old elf finally arrived last night he had quite the haul in his rucksack!
The crowning glory for a shoe-adorer such as I was a pair of stunning, orange suede high heels. I have orange heels and I have suede heels, but not a pair of orange suede. They are absolutely gorgeous! I am sure my step-daughter had a hand in finding them in DSW, so thanks to her too. By the way, never pass up a chance to hit a DSW if ever you are in the US. It is peerless if you are a kindred shoe-a-holic.
The other place Santa hit was 'Charming Charlie's'. Why they don't have this chain in Canada I have no clue? It is crammed full of the most gorgeous accessories on the planet -- earrings, necklaces, hats, tops, broaches -- you name it, they have it. The key, with apologies to the sweat-shop employees who must be making them, is their price. They are disarmingly inexpensive. You can usually get a fabulous necklace with matching earrings for $20 or less. As readers know, I am a devotee of accessories which in my opinion make or break any outfit. That was the reason I used to love 'Shepherd's' in Ottawa, but her prices were through the roof. Have a google at the Charlie website, you can order online.
So, here we are in 2014. Hard to believe?! And here I am in the 'Wild West' which is Calgary. On the way home from the airport last night, we stopped at our local Crowfoot watering hole for a quick bite. It was jammed to the rafters and humming. As usual, we were greeted like long-lost family by the cute young men and women who are the staff and treated to food and beverage while we waited the few minutes for a couple of stools to free up at the bar.
All that being said, we were home and in bed by 10. Needless to say, I am not a fan of insane New Year's Eve.
The crowning glory for a shoe-adorer such as I was a pair of stunning, orange suede high heels. I have orange heels and I have suede heels, but not a pair of orange suede. They are absolutely gorgeous! I am sure my step-daughter had a hand in finding them in DSW, so thanks to her too. By the way, never pass up a chance to hit a DSW if ever you are in the US. It is peerless if you are a kindred shoe-a-holic.
The other place Santa hit was 'Charming Charlie's'. Why they don't have this chain in Canada I have no clue? It is crammed full of the most gorgeous accessories on the planet -- earrings, necklaces, hats, tops, broaches -- you name it, they have it. The key, with apologies to the sweat-shop employees who must be making them, is their price. They are disarmingly inexpensive. You can usually get a fabulous necklace with matching earrings for $20 or less. As readers know, I am a devotee of accessories which in my opinion make or break any outfit. That was the reason I used to love 'Shepherd's' in Ottawa, but her prices were through the roof. Have a google at the Charlie website, you can order online.
So, here we are in 2014. Hard to believe?! And here I am in the 'Wild West' which is Calgary. On the way home from the airport last night, we stopped at our local Crowfoot watering hole for a quick bite. It was jammed to the rafters and humming. As usual, we were greeted like long-lost family by the cute young men and women who are the staff and treated to food and beverage while we waited the few minutes for a couple of stools to free up at the bar.
All that being said, we were home and in bed by 10. Needless to say, I am not a fan of insane New Year's Eve.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)