But she did have a hickey. We went to Banff for lunch today, to celebrate my birthday which is on May 1st. Our server -- an adorable girl we have met there before -- told me when I asked that she didn't have a boyfriend. So why does she have a hickey, I silently worried?
Call me a prude, but you have to have one if you have the other. I mean, hickeys are very intimate....are they not? You don't just go on a date and get a hickey. A hickey is a marking of sorts. You are my girlfriend, it screams. They are not first-date things. I was very disappointed in this young lady. I presume she must be a doormat. Too bad. In fact, hickeys are disgusting at any time. They are grotesque and crude.
Yes, call me a prig, but that's the way I think.
As for Banff, I have to say this is the first day we have had gorgeous weather. What a glorious drive from Calgary to Banff! The Rockies are, quite simply, the Rockies. Magnificent and majestic. They never get old.
The one blight on the drive is the entering of Stoney Band territory. Farms and cattle immediately disappear, as abandoned shacks and rusted out cars crop up everywhere. The one building that survives is....of course.....the casino. Your tax dollars at waste.
On another note, I swim with a woman who must be consumed with envy. Never married, she cannot bring herself to compliment another. "I gather your computer is not working," I said this morning (bitchingly, I admit) "What do you mean?" "Well, I sent you that picture of me and Darryl Sittler and you didn't even respond." "I don't follow hockey," she replied. What the f........ck?! If someone sent me a picture of themselves with a star, I would definitely respond -- even if I didn't follow....whatever.....whatever.
Women.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Monday, April 28, 2014
She washed eggs
My grade eight home-ec teacher made us wash the outside of eggs. While we all laughed up our sleeves, she was right. This was 1959 and she was an old lady -- one of many unmarried because so many of their beaux had been killed as young men on the hideous and obscene battlefields of WWI. They had no one to marry, but they became wonderful teachers.
This came back to me today as I read Elizabeth Renzetti's defence of home-ec. Apparently, across Canada home-ec classes are disappearing. What a mistake. Just when we need to teach young mothers how to feed their children from scratch, they dump home-ec. Hello! Ever wonder why we have an obesity epidemic? No one knows how to cook anymore. Everyone is "super-sized", which puts a super-sized strain on our health-care system.
"There's a problem when cooking is fetishized in some quarters and treated as a competitive sport on TV, yet doesn't exist even in its most basic form in many households," wrote Renzetti. A survey by the Dietitians of Canada found that 43 percent of people don't regularly cook for their families. Whaaaaaaaaaat??!!! I learned scratch-cooking from my mother and grandmother, who taught me how to make a meal from.....well......nothing. Potatoes and onions featured prominently in our home because they were cheap and versatile. So did root vegetables. As I have said before, we never ate salad out-of-season. Never. In winter we ate canned fruit for dessert. Frugality and practicality were the watchwords.
I have blogged before about the young mother (of two fat kids) in the checkout line who asked me what "that" was. She was referring to a squash. I told her, told her how to cook it and she went off and bought one, leaving her kids with me to watch until she returned. She actually had a look of victory on her face when she returned with the unknown food.
I delight in cooking with my two-year-old grandson. He makes pancakes, grates cheese, helps with mac-and-cheese and today made a cheese omelet. He loves to cook and help "yamma" in the kitchen. You gotta start early.
No, we don't need to drop home-ec in favour of computer labs. We need home-ec now more than ever.
This came back to me today as I read Elizabeth Renzetti's defence of home-ec. Apparently, across Canada home-ec classes are disappearing. What a mistake. Just when we need to teach young mothers how to feed their children from scratch, they dump home-ec. Hello! Ever wonder why we have an obesity epidemic? No one knows how to cook anymore. Everyone is "super-sized", which puts a super-sized strain on our health-care system.
"There's a problem when cooking is fetishized in some quarters and treated as a competitive sport on TV, yet doesn't exist even in its most basic form in many households," wrote Renzetti. A survey by the Dietitians of Canada found that 43 percent of people don't regularly cook for their families. Whaaaaaaaaaat??!!! I learned scratch-cooking from my mother and grandmother, who taught me how to make a meal from.....well......nothing. Potatoes and onions featured prominently in our home because they were cheap and versatile. So did root vegetables. As I have said before, we never ate salad out-of-season. Never. In winter we ate canned fruit for dessert. Frugality and practicality were the watchwords.
I have blogged before about the young mother (of two fat kids) in the checkout line who asked me what "that" was. She was referring to a squash. I told her, told her how to cook it and she went off and bought one, leaving her kids with me to watch until she returned. She actually had a look of victory on her face when she returned with the unknown food.
I delight in cooking with my two-year-old grandson. He makes pancakes, grates cheese, helps with mac-and-cheese and today made a cheese omelet. He loves to cook and help "yamma" in the kitchen. You gotta start early.
No, we don't need to drop home-ec in favour of computer labs. We need home-ec now more than ever.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
The chicken or the egg?
Is it a woman's fault for dressing provocatively, or is it a man's fault for sexual aggression? That's the current debate over what "rape" is.
Frankly, I think it's both. "If you are provocatively dressed, drink too much and knowingly (or unknowingly) wander into an eager young man's room, then you have displayed screamingly bad judgment and must bear accountability for what may happen next," writes 'Princeton Mom' Susan Patten in her book, 'Marry Smart: Advice for Finding the One'. I think she's right. The outfits some young women wear are glaringly and aggressively seductive. And for what reason? Obviously to attract a male. But the word "may" in the above-quote is also right. Not all young men will rape a drunk, sexy young woman.
"Be smart about managing your alcohol consumption and your image," Patton continues. Absolutely. Remember when we were young, our mothers telling us not to walk alone at night? Remember their admonishing us not to talk to strangers? Remember their telling us NEVER to get into a car with a strange man? There were reasons for these dictums. Some men can be rapists and child molesters. As Camille Paglia says, "It is ludicrous to retrain predators. More conservative jogging gear might dissuade rapists from raping."
As a teenager, I adhered to the advice of my own mother: Dress modestly, behave like a lady, have enough "mad money" to get yourself home and be in by curfew. However, in spite of all that, I was still the victim of sexual assault because.....hey.....some men are rapists. My choice was to get over it and get on with my life.
That about covers it.
Frankly, I think it's both. "If you are provocatively dressed, drink too much and knowingly (or unknowingly) wander into an eager young man's room, then you have displayed screamingly bad judgment and must bear accountability for what may happen next," writes 'Princeton Mom' Susan Patten in her book, 'Marry Smart: Advice for Finding the One'. I think she's right. The outfits some young women wear are glaringly and aggressively seductive. And for what reason? Obviously to attract a male. But the word "may" in the above-quote is also right. Not all young men will rape a drunk, sexy young woman.
"Be smart about managing your alcohol consumption and your image," Patton continues. Absolutely. Remember when we were young, our mothers telling us not to walk alone at night? Remember their admonishing us not to talk to strangers? Remember their telling us NEVER to get into a car with a strange man? There were reasons for these dictums. Some men can be rapists and child molesters. As Camille Paglia says, "It is ludicrous to retrain predators. More conservative jogging gear might dissuade rapists from raping."
As a teenager, I adhered to the advice of my own mother: Dress modestly, behave like a lady, have enough "mad money" to get yourself home and be in by curfew. However, in spite of all that, I was still the victim of sexual assault because.....hey.....some men are rapists. My choice was to get over it and get on with my life.
That about covers it.
Another Brilliant Chess Move
Of course he knew it. Harper knew the Supreme Court would rule against any arbitrary Federal move to reform the Senate. But to appease those who wanted Senate reform, he went along with it -- all the way to the Supreme Court. Now he pretends he is disappointed. He's not.
A wise Senator I know (yes, there are a few "wise" ones) told me it would take unanimous agreement among all provinces and territories to change the constitution. And changing the constitution would be required to reform -- or abolish -- the Senate. Never, ever going to happen. And thank G-d for that.
Here's the deal. The Constitution Act of 1867 decreed that any change to the Senate would require the unanimous consent of all provinces. Each province would then have two years to change its mind. The Constitution Act of 1982 decreed that it would only require the consent of seven provinces and 50% of the population to reform the Senate. That, my friends, is why Quebec did not sign onto the 1982 Act; they would have had less power because fewer provinces would have had to sign on. The original Act gives Quebec enormous powers and that's the way that province likes it.
But Harper knows all this. The ignorant Canadian public does not, pushing as it was for an elected/reformed/abolished Senate. As I have always maintained, do we really want to go the way of the deadlocked United States with an immoveable government thanks to an elected Senate?
No, we don't.
A wise Senator I know (yes, there are a few "wise" ones) told me it would take unanimous agreement among all provinces and territories to change the constitution. And changing the constitution would be required to reform -- or abolish -- the Senate. Never, ever going to happen. And thank G-d for that.
Here's the deal. The Constitution Act of 1867 decreed that any change to the Senate would require the unanimous consent of all provinces. Each province would then have two years to change its mind. The Constitution Act of 1982 decreed that it would only require the consent of seven provinces and 50% of the population to reform the Senate. That, my friends, is why Quebec did not sign onto the 1982 Act; they would have had less power because fewer provinces would have had to sign on. The original Act gives Quebec enormous powers and that's the way that province likes it.
But Harper knows all this. The ignorant Canadian public does not, pushing as it was for an elected/reformed/abolished Senate. As I have always maintained, do we really want to go the way of the deadlocked United States with an immoveable government thanks to an elected Senate?
No, we don't.
Friday, April 25, 2014
A Coward
Obama's decision to stall the Keystone pipeline yet again is so cowardly. This will mean a loss of $632 billion over the next 25 years in lost revenue for Canada. How scary is that!
And do you know why he is doing this? Because some guy named Steyer promised the Democratic Party $100 million if Obama were to stop Keystone. Guess what? Obama just stalled it. Steyer is a guy who made his billions on Canadian crude from the Canadian oil sands. Of course, he was with Goldman Sachs when he made his billions and now he is trashing the goose that laid him his golden egg.
Does Goldman Sachs run the world? I guess so. I doubt many people know about this $100 million deal with Obama. I've just told you about it.
And do you know why he is doing this? Because some guy named Steyer promised the Democratic Party $100 million if Obama were to stop Keystone. Guess what? Obama just stalled it. Steyer is a guy who made his billions on Canadian crude from the Canadian oil sands. Of course, he was with Goldman Sachs when he made his billions and now he is trashing the goose that laid him his golden egg.
Does Goldman Sachs run the world? I guess so. I doubt many people know about this $100 million deal with Obama. I've just told you about it.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
A Tale of Two Mothers
My best friend just called from Ottawa. My age, we worked together almost 30 years ago and have remained friends. I may not be her best friend, but she is mine. About 14 years ago, she tragically lost her only son. I can't even begin to imagine what that is like.
We still grieve. There is no "closure" (a word I hate). It never ends. It's always there. It's always sad. When in Ottawa, I visit his grave; it is not far from my parents' and brother's.
At the other end of the spectrum is another woman. Over God-knows-what, this mother has not spoken to her only son in eight years -- in spite of the fact that he lives five blocks from her. I find this sick. The son I know well, he is beloved to me. He may have had his low points, but is now a healthy, happy lad, contributing to society.
I have had low points with my own son, but would never cast him aside like dirty underwear. Dirty underwear at least gets washed. My son has emerged from his own demons and is also a successful, contributing member of society. I am very proud of him.
So, here we have two mothers: one has lost her son forever, the other has cast hers adrift. Actually, in the latter case, the son is better off because if you have a mother that evil, you need to stay away from it. Do you believe in Demons here on Earth? I do. All mothers need to reflect. Could a mother ever cast off her child forever?
We still grieve. There is no "closure" (a word I hate). It never ends. It's always there. It's always sad. When in Ottawa, I visit his grave; it is not far from my parents' and brother's.
At the other end of the spectrum is another woman. Over God-knows-what, this mother has not spoken to her only son in eight years -- in spite of the fact that he lives five blocks from her. I find this sick. The son I know well, he is beloved to me. He may have had his low points, but is now a healthy, happy lad, contributing to society.
I have had low points with my own son, but would never cast him aside like dirty underwear. Dirty underwear at least gets washed. My son has emerged from his own demons and is also a successful, contributing member of society. I am very proud of him.
So, here we have two mothers: one has lost her son forever, the other has cast hers adrift. Actually, in the latter case, the son is better off because if you have a mother that evil, you need to stay away from it. Do you believe in Demons here on Earth? I do. All mothers need to reflect. Could a mother ever cast off her child forever?
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
My favourite beef
Mexico. It leads the world in tax evasion. Figures. I was surprised that Italy was fourth, thought it would be right up there. Turkey is second, South Korea third and Germany fifth. Canada isn't even on the charts. These figures are taken from 'Bloomberg Businessweek', one of the many mags to which B subscribes and through which I now and then flip.
I am a big believer in paying your taxes to re-distribute wealth. Has to be done and is the mark of any civilized society.
I am a big believer in paying your taxes to re-distribute wealth. Has to be done and is the mark of any civilized society.
Monday, April 21, 2014
I have a theory
If the Federal Government didn't want the Keystone pipeline built, the natives would. I just figured that out. Whatever "Ottawa" wants, the natives don't. Period. The end. If Ottawa were opposed to Keystone, the natives would claim that this deprived them of revenue and would push for the pipeline. That is how contrary natives are. This finally hit me yesterday listening to some head of some BC native group on the CBC who avowed, "Unless all 30 bands in BC are on side, the Keystone pipeline will never be built. And that will never happen." Great. Thanks.
This in the face of the constitutional reality that natives cannot veto any natural resources decisions. They may protest, but they can't veto. The Federal Government has the power to make these decisions. But try telling that to native leaders. They will tell their people to lie down in front of trains, planes, trucks and bulldozers and whatever else to stop resource development.
Here's another bulletin: "The Federal Government is proposing measures that would require mining and oil companies to report all payments made to native band councils and their corporations as part of Ottawa's push for greater transparency among aboriginal government," according to an article in today's Globe and Mail.
Guess how that's going to go over with the natives? They rely 100% on Federal handouts, yet will not reveal how much money they take from resource companies from whom they also take cash. "They're accountable to their community; they're not accountable to the Federal Government for this." So said former AFN national chief Phil Fontaine.
I am so sick of the natives and their non-Canadian-ness. Indefensible, immature and irresponsible.
This in the face of the constitutional reality that natives cannot veto any natural resources decisions. They may protest, but they can't veto. The Federal Government has the power to make these decisions. But try telling that to native leaders. They will tell their people to lie down in front of trains, planes, trucks and bulldozers and whatever else to stop resource development.
Here's another bulletin: "The Federal Government is proposing measures that would require mining and oil companies to report all payments made to native band councils and their corporations as part of Ottawa's push for greater transparency among aboriginal government," according to an article in today's Globe and Mail.
Guess how that's going to go over with the natives? They rely 100% on Federal handouts, yet will not reveal how much money they take from resource companies from whom they also take cash. "They're accountable to their community; they're not accountable to the Federal Government for this." So said former AFN national chief Phil Fontaine.
I am so sick of the natives and their non-Canadian-ness. Indefensible, immature and irresponsible.
Confirmed
Once again, the research shows that women feel better about themselves if they work outside the home. 'Mumsnet', a UK website for parents, has found that mothers who go to work are actually happier than those who stay at home. Only 13 percent claimed they'd prefer to stay home. No kidding.
I did not get a good university education and start a pretty good career to up and chuck it all when I had kids. Absolutely no way. My parents worked hard and instilled values in me so I would get a good education. Would I disappoint them? Never. I worked hard to get where I got, took up a valuable and expensive seat in a post-secondary institution and enjoyed a great career before the "baby bug" bit. Was I going to sit around the house? Are you kidding!?
What have I always told you? Self esteem is higher for women who get out there and get on with it. Narrowing one's world to that of a toddler is not a good plan -- especially for well-educated women who have enjoyed careers before motherhood. Bryony Gordon, writing in The London Telegraph, puts it perfectly. "How am I finding it? (i.e., being back at work after a baby) How am I finding it? I'm finding it just hunky-dory, thank you very much. I'm finding it totally and utterly fabulous, now that you ask," she writes. "What's not to love?"
"Does this make me a heartless harridan (one of my all-time favourite words), a woman devoid of maternal instinct who doesn't deserve to be a mother? No. It just makes me normal, actually," she continues. Personally, I could not wait to get back my job after six months' maternity leave. And the varying child-care options I had to make -- be it a neighbour, nannies, my mother, daycare, or after-four -- were all very beneficial for my children. They learned to adapt and were well-socialized from each experience. Any of the problems which cropped up later would have cropped up regardless. In other words, had I sat around the house with them, they would have turned out exactly as they have and I would have been much the worse for having sat on my educated, unemployed ass.
As this article points out, I found periods away from my children gave me the energy and drive to focus on them when I was with them.
I remember trying to be polite when I would meet a highly-educated mother at a dinner or cocktail party who would tell me she was a stay-at-home-mum. I would say, "Oh, how nice." I would think, "What a loser. You got a degree in whatever and are sitting on your ass asking your husband for $5 for nylons?! She would say, "I plan on going back when they are in school." I would nod, but think, "Dream on, you'll never get back in. The working world has moved on. You're done."
So, let's all banish the cliché of the "guilty working mum" once and for all. It's a crock and I never felt a pang.
I did not get a good university education and start a pretty good career to up and chuck it all when I had kids. Absolutely no way. My parents worked hard and instilled values in me so I would get a good education. Would I disappoint them? Never. I worked hard to get where I got, took up a valuable and expensive seat in a post-secondary institution and enjoyed a great career before the "baby bug" bit. Was I going to sit around the house? Are you kidding!?
What have I always told you? Self esteem is higher for women who get out there and get on with it. Narrowing one's world to that of a toddler is not a good plan -- especially for well-educated women who have enjoyed careers before motherhood. Bryony Gordon, writing in The London Telegraph, puts it perfectly. "How am I finding it? (i.e., being back at work after a baby) How am I finding it? I'm finding it just hunky-dory, thank you very much. I'm finding it totally and utterly fabulous, now that you ask," she writes. "What's not to love?"
"Does this make me a heartless harridan (one of my all-time favourite words), a woman devoid of maternal instinct who doesn't deserve to be a mother? No. It just makes me normal, actually," she continues. Personally, I could not wait to get back my job after six months' maternity leave. And the varying child-care options I had to make -- be it a neighbour, nannies, my mother, daycare, or after-four -- were all very beneficial for my children. They learned to adapt and were well-socialized from each experience. Any of the problems which cropped up later would have cropped up regardless. In other words, had I sat around the house with them, they would have turned out exactly as they have and I would have been much the worse for having sat on my educated, unemployed ass.
As this article points out, I found periods away from my children gave me the energy and drive to focus on them when I was with them.
I remember trying to be polite when I would meet a highly-educated mother at a dinner or cocktail party who would tell me she was a stay-at-home-mum. I would say, "Oh, how nice." I would think, "What a loser. You got a degree in whatever and are sitting on your ass asking your husband for $5 for nylons?! She would say, "I plan on going back when they are in school." I would nod, but think, "Dream on, you'll never get back in. The working world has moved on. You're done."
So, let's all banish the cliché of the "guilty working mum" once and for all. It's a crock and I never felt a pang.
Saturday, April 19, 2014
My Life
That was it, hockey, snow, French Canadians, the shack at the rink with the wood stove........that was my life in the fifties.
Just watched a fabulous movie, 'When We Were Boys', about a bunch of neighbourhood kids in Montreal who play hockey. French, with English sub-titles, the movie threw me. I fancy myself completely bilingual, but I could not follow the "jouale"(sp?) the characters spoke. When I read the sub-titles I got what they were saying after-the-fact, but I was always a beat behind trying to listen.* Nonetheless, the language was perfect! Just as I remember having heard it in Eastview and The Market when I was a kid. Part English, part French, with an accent all its own, with many English words thrown in for good measure.
What a perfect movie for a Canadian. B lived in Montreal as a kid and played lots of hockey. He took sh-t from all kinds of kids because he was an "Anglais". Nevermind, he hung in there. Watching the movie, he was moved to tears at times, so close to his childhood was it. I also lived in an Ottawa neighbourhood where we had a big outdoor rink, a shack with a wood stove, around which we warmed up until our frozen feet and the pain of their thawing forced us to hobble home.
This movie is so Canadian I defy any American or European to even remotely relate to it. Some things are just so "Canadian".
p.s. Boo to Obama for not approving the Keystone pipeline. What a coward.
______________________________________________
*My dear friend A from Embrun would have roared all the way through. There's a gal who would have "got it".
Just watched a fabulous movie, 'When We Were Boys', about a bunch of neighbourhood kids in Montreal who play hockey. French, with English sub-titles, the movie threw me. I fancy myself completely bilingual, but I could not follow the "jouale"(sp?) the characters spoke. When I read the sub-titles I got what they were saying after-the-fact, but I was always a beat behind trying to listen.* Nonetheless, the language was perfect! Just as I remember having heard it in Eastview and The Market when I was a kid. Part English, part French, with an accent all its own, with many English words thrown in for good measure.
What a perfect movie for a Canadian. B lived in Montreal as a kid and played lots of hockey. He took sh-t from all kinds of kids because he was an "Anglais". Nevermind, he hung in there. Watching the movie, he was moved to tears at times, so close to his childhood was it. I also lived in an Ottawa neighbourhood where we had a big outdoor rink, a shack with a wood stove, around which we warmed up until our frozen feet and the pain of their thawing forced us to hobble home.
This movie is so Canadian I defy any American or European to even remotely relate to it. Some things are just so "Canadian".
p.s. Boo to Obama for not approving the Keystone pipeline. What a coward.
______________________________________________
*My dear friend A from Embrun would have roared all the way through. There's a gal who would have "got it".
Friday, April 18, 2014
Remember the Cocktail Party?
I do. Whatever happened to the two-hour cocktail party, during which one could pay back previous hosts and yet not spend an entire fortune and evening doing so? Nowadays, everyone has to have an elaborate dinner party that costs a fortune and accomplishes the same thing. Take it down a thousand.
My parents' generation were the standard-bearers of "The Cocktail Party". It was genius. Guests were invited from either five to seven, or six to eight, depending upon the "sophistication" of the host and hostess. Never, ever did they last more than two hours. How brilliant. No one ever got drunk because it was clear, guests left after two hours. Period. The end.
I loved those parties because my brother, cousins and I ate all the hors d-oeuvres! We were charged with being the little waiters and we excelled. We took drink orders, passed the nibbly's and collected empty glasses -- the latter of which rarely presented themselves. We also emptied the overflowing ashtrays. This was the fifties, when everyone smoked. Except my parents. I can remember passing drinks and smoked oysters to Mrs. Fahie as she stood there, pregnant, with a cigarette in one hand and a highball in the other! Feature that! Who knew that mothers who smoked and drank when pregnant had lower-weight babies? Who knew that drinking was not a great idea when pregnant? Both still not, but some stupid pregnant women continue to do both. Sad. Especially for the babies who will undoubtedly become smokers and drinkers, their brains having been programmed in-utero.
My version of "The Cocktail Party" is a tea and sherry party I give every Christmas. Having kept 12 of my mother's beautiful gold heirloom teacups, I invite people to our home between Christmas and New Year's for "Tea and Sherry". This consists of tea, sherry and little party sandwiches, crusts-cut-off, cakes and cookies. I have to tell you, people love it because it is so "English". The sandwiches are watercress, cucumber, tomato and cream-cheese-and-cherry. I serve "vegetable" sandwiches in honour of the fact that during WW II, meat was not to be had. Trust the English to invent vegetable sandwiches as a luxury! They have become the height of "English-ness". At any rate, my little tea party is always a success.
Calgary will have to get used to it.
My parents' generation were the standard-bearers of "The Cocktail Party". It was genius. Guests were invited from either five to seven, or six to eight, depending upon the "sophistication" of the host and hostess. Never, ever did they last more than two hours. How brilliant. No one ever got drunk because it was clear, guests left after two hours. Period. The end.
I loved those parties because my brother, cousins and I ate all the hors d-oeuvres! We were charged with being the little waiters and we excelled. We took drink orders, passed the nibbly's and collected empty glasses -- the latter of which rarely presented themselves. We also emptied the overflowing ashtrays. This was the fifties, when everyone smoked. Except my parents. I can remember passing drinks and smoked oysters to Mrs. Fahie as she stood there, pregnant, with a cigarette in one hand and a highball in the other! Feature that! Who knew that mothers who smoked and drank when pregnant had lower-weight babies? Who knew that drinking was not a great idea when pregnant? Both still not, but some stupid pregnant women continue to do both. Sad. Especially for the babies who will undoubtedly become smokers and drinkers, their brains having been programmed in-utero.
My version of "The Cocktail Party" is a tea and sherry party I give every Christmas. Having kept 12 of my mother's beautiful gold heirloom teacups, I invite people to our home between Christmas and New Year's for "Tea and Sherry". This consists of tea, sherry and little party sandwiches, crusts-cut-off, cakes and cookies. I have to tell you, people love it because it is so "English". The sandwiches are watercress, cucumber, tomato and cream-cheese-and-cherry. I serve "vegetable" sandwiches in honour of the fact that during WW II, meat was not to be had. Trust the English to invent vegetable sandwiches as a luxury! They have become the height of "English-ness". At any rate, my little tea party is always a success.
Calgary will have to get used to it.
The Most Solemn Day
Most Christians celebrate Christmas as the most important Christian celebration, but for Catholics it is Easter. Easter is classified as a "Solemnity", the highest-ranking liturgical day because Christ had to die for us. The inter-dependent day is when he was born, but that was so he could die. Get it?
Today was a very solemn one. Good Friday is a day I always dread simply because it is so solemn. In fact, it feels like a funeral because it is. Sitting in St. Luke's today, I was overwhelmed with sadness as I participated in the liturgy. I felt guilty because the Gospel always goes on and on and on and I can't wait for it to end. I actually keep flipping the pages of my Missal to see when it will be over! The other thing I have never figured out is why Passion Sunday has another version of the same Gospel the Sunday before? Because people won't be going to Good Friday services, so they need to hear it anyway? Probably.
But St. Luke's was packed with the faithful. How can a Catholic not go to Good Friday and sit through a measly hour-and-a-half when Jesus suffered for two days and died in agony? That's what I tell myself every year to get me there.
One thing is certain, as much as I endorse the Easter Bunny, Easter is NOT about the Easter Bunny. My mother always hid eggs and chocolate on Easter Sunday -- even when we were married adults -- but she was steadfast in her Faith. I did the same with my children and hope to with my grandchildren. Easter can be both. Let's celebrate it.
Today was a very solemn one. Good Friday is a day I always dread simply because it is so solemn. In fact, it feels like a funeral because it is. Sitting in St. Luke's today, I was overwhelmed with sadness as I participated in the liturgy. I felt guilty because the Gospel always goes on and on and on and I can't wait for it to end. I actually keep flipping the pages of my Missal to see when it will be over! The other thing I have never figured out is why Passion Sunday has another version of the same Gospel the Sunday before? Because people won't be going to Good Friday services, so they need to hear it anyway? Probably.
But St. Luke's was packed with the faithful. How can a Catholic not go to Good Friday and sit through a measly hour-and-a-half when Jesus suffered for two days and died in agony? That's what I tell myself every year to get me there.
One thing is certain, as much as I endorse the Easter Bunny, Easter is NOT about the Easter Bunny. My mother always hid eggs and chocolate on Easter Sunday -- even when we were married adults -- but she was steadfast in her Faith. I did the same with my children and hope to with my grandchildren. Easter can be both. Let's celebrate it.
More on who is "status" and who is "Metis"
The Federal Appeals Court ruling that Metis must be given the same rights and privileges as status Indians gave me great pause. In my earlier blog, I asked the open question, "What is a Metis and how do they differ from status Indians?"
So, I researched what the decision actually said and boy, it's clear but still a mess. According to the court's decision a Metis is a Metis if they marry another Metis, live within a Metis community and identify as Metis. Well, that could potentially include about 50% of all Canadians. Here's the background:
"Most Métis people today are not so much the direct result of First Nations and Europeans intermixing any more than English Canadians today are the direct result of intermixing of Saxons and Britons. The vast majority of Métis who self-identify today are the direct result of Métis intermarrying with other Métis. Over the past century, countless Métis are thought to have been absorbed and assimilated into European Canadian populations making Métis heritage (and thereby aboriginal ancestry) more common than is generally realized. Geneticists estimate that 50 percent of today's population in Western Canada have Aboriginal blood, and therefore would be classified as Métis by any genetic measure."
So, technically half of us are Metis. What the Federal Court has upheld is the wording in the 1982 Constitution Act that..."Aboriginal peoples of Canada include Indian, Inuit and Metis peoples of Canada." And therein lies the rub. The fact that Metis are anyone who considers themselves part of the Metis people, marries into the community...(see above)...means that huge numbers of Canadians who can trace their lineage back to natives are thus are technically Metis -- unless, of course, they got on with being "Canadian".
Looking at the definition of "status Indian", as defined by section 6 of the 1985 Indian Act, it's different, yet pretty much the same. Here it is:
"The main requirement a person needs in order to be included in the Indian Register is evidence of descent from persons whom the Canadian government recognized as members of an Indian band in Canada. You may also be eligible for registration if only one of your parents is eligible to be registered under Section 6(1) of the Indian Act."
So, that's pretty much the same as the definition for Metis. Here's what I think is going on: I think the Metis couldn't get themselves registered as status Indians and thus were left off the gravy train of housing benefits, education and exemption from federal, provincial and territorial taxes. Plain and simple, they missed the $$-boat a few hundred years ago when the Act didn't include them. In 1982, the drafters of the Constitution Act were forced to compromise and include "Metis" in the definition of Aboriginal Peoples of Canada. (This I have on good authority from a drafter who held the pen.) Thanks to the government's desire to patriate the constitution lickity-split, it had to appease Western native leaders to get the document finalized in time for the Queen to sign it when she visited. Thank you Pierre Trudeau. And thank you to the Fed/Prov official who agreed to insert that one little word, Metis. I knew him; he is long-dead. But this idiot-savant-smarty-pants in his grave has no idea what his reckless decision has wrought. Billions.
So now, the constitutional chickens have come home to roost. Now the Federal Appeals Court has no choice but to include Metis in the definition of Status Indians because it's right there in black-and-white in the bloody rushed Constitution. (By the way, as to the natives' claim that they only deal with the British Monarch, here's a bulletin: The 1931 Statute of Westminster created the Queen of Canada, not only of England, and 16 Realms were part of her domain. So while the original treaties were with Victoria, all subsequent dealings have been with the Queen of Canada, who delegates to the Government of Canada. You guys need to crack a few books on treaties and statutes and learn whom you and the Metis have to deal with. Teresa Spence, are you listening?)
It's going to cost us all a lot of money because apparently, unlike status Indians who can only go back one or two generations, Metis can continue to be Metis forever -- as long as they marry other Metis, live as Metis and identify as Metis, etc, etc.
Here's another quote from the Metis after the ruling was issued:
"We always believed that Ottawa has(sic) primary responsibility to deal with us (i.e., give us money) and must show leadership. The decision today buttressed this belief. The federal government can no longer shrug its shoulders and assume that Metis matters will be dealt with by others."
So, another 390,000 who won't be paying taxes. Another 390,000 with their hands out. We're f-cked.
So, I researched what the decision actually said and boy, it's clear but still a mess. According to the court's decision a Metis is a Metis if they marry another Metis, live within a Metis community and identify as Metis. Well, that could potentially include about 50% of all Canadians. Here's the background:
"Most Métis people today are not so much the direct result of First Nations and Europeans intermixing any more than English Canadians today are the direct result of intermixing of Saxons and Britons. The vast majority of Métis who self-identify today are the direct result of Métis intermarrying with other Métis. Over the past century, countless Métis are thought to have been absorbed and assimilated into European Canadian populations making Métis heritage (and thereby aboriginal ancestry) more common than is generally realized. Geneticists estimate that 50 percent of today's population in Western Canada have Aboriginal blood, and therefore would be classified as Métis by any genetic measure."
So, technically half of us are Metis. What the Federal Court has upheld is the wording in the 1982 Constitution Act that..."Aboriginal peoples of Canada include Indian, Inuit and Metis peoples of Canada." And therein lies the rub. The fact that Metis are anyone who considers themselves part of the Metis people, marries into the community...(see above)...means that huge numbers of Canadians who can trace their lineage back to natives are thus are technically Metis -- unless, of course, they got on with being "Canadian".
Looking at the definition of "status Indian", as defined by section 6 of the 1985 Indian Act, it's different, yet pretty much the same. Here it is:
"The main requirement a person needs in order to be included in the Indian Register is evidence of descent from persons whom the Canadian government recognized as members of an Indian band in Canada. You may also be eligible for registration if only one of your parents is eligible to be registered under Section 6(1) of the Indian Act."
So, that's pretty much the same as the definition for Metis. Here's what I think is going on: I think the Metis couldn't get themselves registered as status Indians and thus were left off the gravy train of housing benefits, education and exemption from federal, provincial and territorial taxes. Plain and simple, they missed the $$-boat a few hundred years ago when the Act didn't include them. In 1982, the drafters of the Constitution Act were forced to compromise and include "Metis" in the definition of Aboriginal Peoples of Canada. (This I have on good authority from a drafter who held the pen.) Thanks to the government's desire to patriate the constitution lickity-split, it had to appease Western native leaders to get the document finalized in time for the Queen to sign it when she visited. Thank you Pierre Trudeau. And thank you to the Fed/Prov official who agreed to insert that one little word, Metis. I knew him; he is long-dead. But this idiot-savant-smarty-pants in his grave has no idea what his reckless decision has wrought. Billions.
So now, the constitutional chickens have come home to roost. Now the Federal Appeals Court has no choice but to include Metis in the definition of Status Indians because it's right there in black-and-white in the bloody rushed Constitution. (By the way, as to the natives' claim that they only deal with the British Monarch, here's a bulletin: The 1931 Statute of Westminster created the Queen of Canada, not only of England, and 16 Realms were part of her domain. So while the original treaties were with Victoria, all subsequent dealings have been with the Queen of Canada, who delegates to the Government of Canada. You guys need to crack a few books on treaties and statutes and learn whom you and the Metis have to deal with. Teresa Spence, are you listening?)
It's going to cost us all a lot of money because apparently, unlike status Indians who can only go back one or two generations, Metis can continue to be Metis forever -- as long as they marry other Metis, live as Metis and identify as Metis, etc, etc.
Here's another quote from the Metis after the ruling was issued:
"We always believed that Ottawa has(sic) primary responsibility to deal with us (i.e., give us money) and must show leadership. The decision today buttressed this belief. The federal government can no longer shrug its shoulders and assume that Metis matters will be dealt with by others."
So, another 390,000 who won't be paying taxes. Another 390,000 with their hands out. We're f-cked.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
It never ends
We're in trouble. The Supreme Court has just ruled that Metis have to be treated exactly as "natives". You know what that means! Money! Now a few more hundred thousand people will be on the dole, thanks to this ridiculous ruling.
I know people who are not 100% native, half (or more) something else, yet who have been granted status, so how watered down are Metis? How much native do they have to possess to be called Metis and not "native"? Just watched an interview with a woman who is the head of the metis and non-status Indians and it was sickening how un-Canadian these people are. Not a thought to what they can do for this country, it's all about how-much-can-we-get.
I don't know what arguments their lawyers put forward, but they must be very convoluted in order for this to stand. Not a good thing.
I know people who are not 100% native, half (or more) something else, yet who have been granted status, so how watered down are Metis? How much native do they have to possess to be called Metis and not "native"? Just watched an interview with a woman who is the head of the metis and non-status Indians and it was sickening how un-Canadian these people are. Not a thought to what they can do for this country, it's all about how-much-can-we-get.
I don't know what arguments their lawyers put forward, but they must be very convoluted in order for this to stand. Not a good thing.
Fun at the pool
"Nancy," a voice called from the pool office this morning as I was finishing my laps. I turned around to see fellow swimmer, Rick, standing in the doorway. "I'll be right there," I called back. Climbing out, I went over and greeted him. He was now dressed to the nines for work.
Having never seen him "in clothes", I was very impressed. Sporting gorgeous, slim, black-watch tartan slacks, beautiful dark brown, suede tie shoes, a smashing white shirt with inside blue stripes and a very stylish trench coat, he was the most fashionably-dressed guy I think I have ever seen in Calgary. "You look like a million bucks," I exclaimed enthusiastically. Knowing he was flying to Boston tomorrow to run the marathon, I was very keen to wish him well.
While we were gabbing and laughing, the rest of the swimmers -- well, the serious ones at least -- and the lifeguards were gawking. "What the h-ll is Rick doing going out of his way and going through the pool office to the deck to hail Nancy?" I am sure they were thinking. Here's the deal with Rick: He is a very serious athlete, keeps to himself and rarely talks to anyone. He is also very "hot"and ripped, with not an ounce of fat on his bones. A year younger than I, he has kept himself in fantastic shape. (Why don't men have cellulite?) As you know, I talk to everyone and engaged him one day only to learn through a quirky conversation that he knows my husband, B, both being active in the same local charity. From that moment, Rick and I started to blab away whenever we met.
I delight in the fact that no one knows we have this outside connection and so wonder why he actually talks to me?! I like it that way, much more fun keeping them guessing because his prowess is intimidating to guys much younger than he -- guys who treat me like some annoying old bag, until I pass them in the lanes.
It doesn't take much to amuse me and Rick sure gave my ego a welcome complimentary boost this morning! Going to track his progress during this weekend's marathon.
Having never seen him "in clothes", I was very impressed. Sporting gorgeous, slim, black-watch tartan slacks, beautiful dark brown, suede tie shoes, a smashing white shirt with inside blue stripes and a very stylish trench coat, he was the most fashionably-dressed guy I think I have ever seen in Calgary. "You look like a million bucks," I exclaimed enthusiastically. Knowing he was flying to Boston tomorrow to run the marathon, I was very keen to wish him well.
While we were gabbing and laughing, the rest of the swimmers -- well, the serious ones at least -- and the lifeguards were gawking. "What the h-ll is Rick doing going out of his way and going through the pool office to the deck to hail Nancy?" I am sure they were thinking. Here's the deal with Rick: He is a very serious athlete, keeps to himself and rarely talks to anyone. He is also very "hot"and ripped, with not an ounce of fat on his bones. A year younger than I, he has kept himself in fantastic shape. (Why don't men have cellulite?) As you know, I talk to everyone and engaged him one day only to learn through a quirky conversation that he knows my husband, B, both being active in the same local charity. From that moment, Rick and I started to blab away whenever we met.
I delight in the fact that no one knows we have this outside connection and so wonder why he actually talks to me?! I like it that way, much more fun keeping them guessing because his prowess is intimidating to guys much younger than he -- guys who treat me like some annoying old bag, until I pass them in the lanes.
It doesn't take much to amuse me and Rick sure gave my ego a welcome complimentary boost this morning! Going to track his progress during this weekend's marathon.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Yes, I am a grammar nazi
"The child was still asleep, oblivious to all that went into the building of her life skills, and to the lengths to which so many parents go to ensure their kids have some fun on Sunday afternoons."
This was from an essay in The Globe and Mail today -- the same paper which will not publish anything I send in. The problem with that sentence is the "to" right after "and". Wrong. Should read, "and the lengths to which....." you don't have two "to's". You also don't put a comma before the word "and" -- unless it is a clause. "And" replaces the comma.
Describing the latest virus to hit CRA, The Globe reported: "If your SIN is stolen, the hackers can possibly use it to..........." No, the word "possibly" is unnecessary.
I would find life very dreary were I not able to express myself clearly and correctly on paper.
This was from an essay in The Globe and Mail today -- the same paper which will not publish anything I send in. The problem with that sentence is the "to" right after "and". Wrong. Should read, "and the lengths to which....." you don't have two "to's". You also don't put a comma before the word "and" -- unless it is a clause. "And" replaces the comma.
Describing the latest virus to hit CRA, The Globe reported: "If your SIN is stolen, the hackers can possibly use it to..........." No, the word "possibly" is unnecessary.
I would find life very dreary were I not able to express myself clearly and correctly on paper.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
More fashion faux pas............
Leafing through The Globe this morning, I came across the "fashion" section. If this is fashion, we're in trouble. Here I post a few of this season's "highlights":
 |
I wouldn't wear any outfit save the all-white one. Hideous! |
Ugly
Now for the shoes
 |
| Yeah, these are definitely ugly shoes! |
In Praise of the CBC
Not on your life would I pay $70 to hear Peter Mansbridge speak about anything, let alone something called, "Magnificent Men". Does he think he's one?? Please. But if you can find a few other chumps, you can secure a table for $560 when he comes to Calgary to deliver his bon mots.
Don't we get enough of Mansbridge every day, 10 times a day......forever and ever.......on CBC?! His head is so big I'm always surprised it fits into the screen. I'm sure he's one of the reasons Harper is starting to slash our national broadcaster.
That would be a big mistake. The CBC is one of the treasures that makes Canada "Canada". Without that we'd run the risk of being CNN. And what a disaster the latter is! How that network manages to be both vapid and hysterical at the same time is quite a feat. But CNN actually pulls it off.
A country as large and spread out as Canada needs a public broadcaster to pull it together. Graham Spry and his colleagues knew this back in the '40s, when they cobbled together a motley collection of local stations, turning them miraculously into the CBC. Granted, CBC television sucks, but radio does not. Some of the best programming you will ever hear is on CBC radio -- both One and Two.
Harper is such a control freak, His Majesty doesn't wish to abide the CBC. The irritating Peter Mansbridge notwithstanding, His Highness is wrong, wrong on that one.
Don't we get enough of Mansbridge every day, 10 times a day......forever and ever.......on CBC?! His head is so big I'm always surprised it fits into the screen. I'm sure he's one of the reasons Harper is starting to slash our national broadcaster.
That would be a big mistake. The CBC is one of the treasures that makes Canada "Canada". Without that we'd run the risk of being CNN. And what a disaster the latter is! How that network manages to be both vapid and hysterical at the same time is quite a feat. But CNN actually pulls it off.
A country as large and spread out as Canada needs a public broadcaster to pull it together. Graham Spry and his colleagues knew this back in the '40s, when they cobbled together a motley collection of local stations, turning them miraculously into the CBC. Granted, CBC television sucks, but radio does not. Some of the best programming you will ever hear is on CBC radio -- both One and Two.
Harper is such a control freak, His Majesty doesn't wish to abide the CBC. The irritating Peter Mansbridge notwithstanding, His Highness is wrong, wrong on that one.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Christmas lights and torture
Eureka! A 20-minute window to dismantle the outside Christmas lights and it's almost Easter! Every time I would head outside to face this chore, snow would start to fall. Then we'd have 20 degrees and everyone would be in shorts! But elated as I would be with such a day, I would decide not to bother with the lights. "Heck, I can deal with this tomorrow." Too bad it never happened. However, coming back from my swim this morning, I smelt victory. "Houston, we don't have a problem." FINALLY got those Blessed lights down! I was chuffed, thinking I had beaten Calgary's fickle weather.
Not so fast. Later this afternoon, heading to the torture chamber which is my physiotherapist 's bed-of-nails, I had to wear sunglasses. Leaving 40 minutes later, I battled a wicked snow squall and staggered to my car. What a town! I was there because my upper right arm began to again act up, as it had done two years ago; I needed another painful treatment. Dr. Paul, great guy that he is, has an array of "Middle-Age" torture instruments, which he inflicts upon one as he "clears up" the problem. These consist of things like Graston Rods. Ever heard of them? They might as well be called "Graston Knives" as he pounds them into your muscles and tight spots in an attempt (successfully, I have to admit) to break up all the crap that restricts one's joints and tendons. I had opted again for this charming treatment when I realized this morning at the pool that I had hit "The Wall". I could not complete my 50 laps; had to quit at 30.
Dr. Paul and I laugh and laugh during our sessions in a vain attempt to pretend I am not in excruciating pain. When he starts something really hideous -- such as drilling into the most painful part of one's shoulder -- he chuckles about something. Luckily, I get sucked in and we both start throwing our heads back in congenial hilarity before I realize I am being legally tortured!
The test of his success will be tomorrow when I hit the pool. If I can get all my laps in, the torture will have been worth it.
Not so fast. Later this afternoon, heading to the torture chamber which is my physiotherapist 's bed-of-nails, I had to wear sunglasses. Leaving 40 minutes later, I battled a wicked snow squall and staggered to my car. What a town! I was there because my upper right arm began to again act up, as it had done two years ago; I needed another painful treatment. Dr. Paul, great guy that he is, has an array of "Middle-Age" torture instruments, which he inflicts upon one as he "clears up" the problem. These consist of things like Graston Rods. Ever heard of them? They might as well be called "Graston Knives" as he pounds them into your muscles and tight spots in an attempt (successfully, I have to admit) to break up all the crap that restricts one's joints and tendons. I had opted again for this charming treatment when I realized this morning at the pool that I had hit "The Wall". I could not complete my 50 laps; had to quit at 30.
Dr. Paul and I laugh and laugh during our sessions in a vain attempt to pretend I am not in excruciating pain. When he starts something really hideous -- such as drilling into the most painful part of one's shoulder -- he chuckles about something. Luckily, I get sucked in and we both start throwing our heads back in congenial hilarity before I realize I am being legally tortured!
The test of his success will be tomorrow when I hit the pool. If I can get all my laps in, the torture will have been worth it.
Heads should roll
Apparently, Jim Flaherty went to the Civic on an emergency basis a week ago today with a "cardiac incident". And they sent him home. Where he died of cardiac arrest yesterday. That's Ontario health care for you. How could that happen?
Health care in Alberta is first-rate. B and I know first-hand. Had Flaherty gone to Foothills emergency -- the best acute-care facility in Canada and third-best in North America -- he would probably be alive today. They don't fool around at Foothills. When B's temperature soared last summer, blood tests showed he was gravely ill. Arriving at emergency, the triage team merely had to consult a centralized blood-test data bank which meant he jumped to the head of the line and into a trauma room, where four nurses and two doctors dealt with him within minutes of our arrival. Had this happened in Ottawa, from where we had just returned, he would be dead. Thankfully, after very aggressive in-hospital treatment, he recovered. But they didn't just discharge him and dump him onto the street. He was connected to a home-treatment team which paid regular visits and showed me how to hook up the antibiotic IVs he had to use for quite a long time.
In my case, with a weird heart beat, I have regular ECGs here -- something which did not happen in Ottawa. Securing a doctor soon after our arrival, she sent me off for tests my Ottawa doctor hadn't ordered in years. They also found my thyroid had shut down. Oh, no wonder I was lethargic, couldn't lose a pound and had thinning hair! One little daily pill has reversed all that. In a year I lost 25 pounds, regained my energy and reverted to lovely hair. The heart beat? It's benign.
We may have "universal" health care in Canada, but I still wouldn't want to live in Ontario.
Health care in Alberta is first-rate. B and I know first-hand. Had Flaherty gone to Foothills emergency -- the best acute-care facility in Canada and third-best in North America -- he would probably be alive today. They don't fool around at Foothills. When B's temperature soared last summer, blood tests showed he was gravely ill. Arriving at emergency, the triage team merely had to consult a centralized blood-test data bank which meant he jumped to the head of the line and into a trauma room, where four nurses and two doctors dealt with him within minutes of our arrival. Had this happened in Ottawa, from where we had just returned, he would be dead. Thankfully, after very aggressive in-hospital treatment, he recovered. But they didn't just discharge him and dump him onto the street. He was connected to a home-treatment team which paid regular visits and showed me how to hook up the antibiotic IVs he had to use for quite a long time.
In my case, with a weird heart beat, I have regular ECGs here -- something which did not happen in Ottawa. Securing a doctor soon after our arrival, she sent me off for tests my Ottawa doctor hadn't ordered in years. They also found my thyroid had shut down. Oh, no wonder I was lethargic, couldn't lose a pound and had thinning hair! One little daily pill has reversed all that. In a year I lost 25 pounds, regained my energy and reverted to lovely hair. The heart beat? It's benign.
We may have "universal" health care in Canada, but I still wouldn't want to live in Ontario.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Dead on
"There is one good reason to go to school: You want to do something that needs specific skills. That's it. Anything else is a hobby. And going to university while you decide what you want to do is like skipping your skydiving lesson because you want to figure out the parachute during free fall."
Could not agree more. This gem is from the daily essay section of The Globe and Mail. 'Breaking the education habit' (Actually, "education" should read "educational", but I digress.) Penned by someone called Dave Jorgensen, that boy can write. He may have wasted years in university, but he obviously learned to master his native tongue, something one never gets in high school. I have submitted three essays to The Globe, but have yet to have one published. Oh well, I live in hope.
But back to Mr. Jorgensen. "Forget about going to university unless you want to be a doctor, lawyer, engineer, dentist or architect," I used to tell my kids when they were pondering degrees in psychology or political science or sociology or history or English or philosophy. All fun courses, but useless in finding employment. "University is a huge waste of time that doesn't make any sense when you stop to think about it," the author goes on.
"Years ago I worked in a fast food restaurant with a bunch of people who hated working in a fast food restaurant, he goes on. "I was in university, but had switched my major from psychology to sociology to history, which is to say from useless to pointless to aimless." What a marvellous turn-of-phrase this guy possesses. "I'm part of the 'millennial' generation and we love going to school. If we get a flat tire, our first response is to take out a student loan to get a masters degree in Flat Tire Theory. What a perfect description of the eternal student today.
Universities are completely bogus institutions which in no way equip students to find a job in the "real" world. All those professors with tenure contribute absolutely nothing to the progress of society and all to the painful detriment of our children.
Personally, I got one of those "useless" degrees. I chose English because I wanted to be a writer, but my degree didn't get me a job as a writer, my skill as a writer did. Don't get me wrong, I have no regrets about my English degree, but my "jobs" were all a result of personal and proven skill at my craft -- not because I read 250 books a year and studied Chaucer.
Could not agree more. This gem is from the daily essay section of The Globe and Mail. 'Breaking the education habit' (Actually, "education" should read "educational", but I digress.) Penned by someone called Dave Jorgensen, that boy can write. He may have wasted years in university, but he obviously learned to master his native tongue, something one never gets in high school. I have submitted three essays to The Globe, but have yet to have one published. Oh well, I live in hope.
But back to Mr. Jorgensen. "Forget about going to university unless you want to be a doctor, lawyer, engineer, dentist or architect," I used to tell my kids when they were pondering degrees in psychology or political science or sociology or history or English or philosophy. All fun courses, but useless in finding employment. "University is a huge waste of time that doesn't make any sense when you stop to think about it," the author goes on.
"Years ago I worked in a fast food restaurant with a bunch of people who hated working in a fast food restaurant, he goes on. "I was in university, but had switched my major from psychology to sociology to history, which is to say from useless to pointless to aimless." What a marvellous turn-of-phrase this guy possesses. "I'm part of the 'millennial' generation and we love going to school. If we get a flat tire, our first response is to take out a student loan to get a masters degree in Flat Tire Theory. What a perfect description of the eternal student today.
Universities are completely bogus institutions which in no way equip students to find a job in the "real" world. All those professors with tenure contribute absolutely nothing to the progress of society and all to the painful detriment of our children.
Personally, I got one of those "useless" degrees. I chose English because I wanted to be a writer, but my degree didn't get me a job as a writer, my skill as a writer did. Don't get me wrong, I have no regrets about my English degree, but my "jobs" were all a result of personal and proven skill at my craft -- not because I read 250 books a year and studied Chaucer.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Toothpicks
I was disgusted. We had driven by "Nick's" on Crowchild Trail a hundred times, but never ventured in. Today we did 'cause we had to visit "Service Canada", which is right beside this restaurant. What disgusted me was the sight of the owner, the host and one of the waiters sitting down and eating lunch in table "one"!
Please. I do not appreciate seeing the owner and his staff scarfing lunch on my dime. Disgusting. But just when I thought I'd seen enough "disgusting", they hauled out the toothpicks.
They then proceeded to ream away at their dentures. It was disgusting. Have I used that word enough? "I will never come back here again," I said to the poor waitress. "It's all about the toothpicks," she said, apologizing.
Mortifying.
Please. I do not appreciate seeing the owner and his staff scarfing lunch on my dime. Disgusting. But just when I thought I'd seen enough "disgusting", they hauled out the toothpicks.
They then proceeded to ream away at their dentures. It was disgusting. Have I used that word enough? "I will never come back here again," I said to the poor waitress. "It's all about the toothpicks," she said, apologizing.
Mortifying.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
But without the shoes.............
Spotted this in The Globe this morning. Love it all, except the shoes. I would have worn this outfit with black patent leather spike heels.
The shoes are ugly. Big, wedge clunkers. Yuck.
The shoes are ugly. Big, wedge clunkers. Yuck.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Who?
There was a slight pause and then..........."Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha..........." I had said, "Hi Roger, this is Nancy Griffith." That's what happened this morning when I called an old, old friend. Roger and I had toured France together in 1968, along with my late cousin and his late friend Larry O'Brien. We had had a ball. Now we were the only two standing.
When Roger started laughing, I started too. We then spent the next few minutes killing ourselves on the phone, as we had all those many years ago. No words necessary, just beautiful and joyous laughter. What a great moment! This all came about because of last night, when Allen W and I had tripped down memory lane and Roger's name had come up. "What ever happened to Roger R?", I had asked Allen. "He lives here in Calgary," said A. What? Give me his coordinates. I am going to call him.
And this morning I did. That's when "Hi Roger, this is Nancy Griffith," was said. "Oh my G-d, when can we get together?" he asked, after we stopped laughing. "Why not today?" I replied. "You're on." So we met for lunch at a local watering hole near me. I arrived first and when I saw him walk in, after 46 years, my eyes watered with tears of joy. I know that sounds sentimental, but at very rare and infrequent times I can be. He looked great. He wore a beautiful pair of cream cotton slacks, a white T-shirt and a black cashmere jacket. Calgary or no Calgary, no jeans for dapper Roger. "Except for the grey hair," he lied, "you look exactly the same." And so began a beautiful two hours of laughing and crying, as we remembered so many fabulous and innocent times, re-living our glory days and nights in France driving around in Larry's two-gear-only Land Rover.
Sadly, Larry died at sixty, my cousin at 56. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too young. But here were Roger and I, still healthy and happy. It almost felt as if we shouldn't be so happy, our loved ones gone. But we had a ball. I introduced him to the servers and, of course, the manager compted half our meal, delighted as he was to meet such an old friend of mine and hear ribald stories of wonderful times back-in-the-day.
We parted and believe me, we will be getting together regularly.
When Roger started laughing, I started too. We then spent the next few minutes killing ourselves on the phone, as we had all those many years ago. No words necessary, just beautiful and joyous laughter. What a great moment! This all came about because of last night, when Allen W and I had tripped down memory lane and Roger's name had come up. "What ever happened to Roger R?", I had asked Allen. "He lives here in Calgary," said A. What? Give me his coordinates. I am going to call him.
And this morning I did. That's when "Hi Roger, this is Nancy Griffith," was said. "Oh my G-d, when can we get together?" he asked, after we stopped laughing. "Why not today?" I replied. "You're on." So we met for lunch at a local watering hole near me. I arrived first and when I saw him walk in, after 46 years, my eyes watered with tears of joy. I know that sounds sentimental, but at very rare and infrequent times I can be. He looked great. He wore a beautiful pair of cream cotton slacks, a white T-shirt and a black cashmere jacket. Calgary or no Calgary, no jeans for dapper Roger. "Except for the grey hair," he lied, "you look exactly the same." And so began a beautiful two hours of laughing and crying, as we remembered so many fabulous and innocent times, re-living our glory days and nights in France driving around in Larry's two-gear-only Land Rover.
Sadly, Larry died at sixty, my cousin at 56. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too young. But here were Roger and I, still healthy and happy. It almost felt as if we shouldn't be so happy, our loved ones gone. But we had a ball. I introduced him to the servers and, of course, the manager compted half our meal, delighted as he was to meet such an old friend of mine and hear ribald stories of wonderful times back-in-the-day.
We parted and believe me, we will be getting together regularly.
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| Roger and I. Forty-six years melted away in seconds. |
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Forty years ago
I spent this evening with a great guy I knew 40 years ago back in Lisgar Collegiate Institute in Ottawa. "Google" Lisgar and you will discover it is a fine and coveted old institution. Today parents actually camp out to be sure their kids get into Lisgar. I understand because I was head cheer leader for three years and dated the head boy. That was really tops!
My old friend "A", his lovely wife, I and my husband attended the opening party of the Calgary Tennis Club this evening. What a great time it was!
Hadn't seen "AW" for many, many years. And since he was a couple of years older than I, he didn't even talk to me while we were in high school. That was the way it was back in the sixties. Nevermind, tonight we re-connected and here we are:
My old friend "A", his lovely wife, I and my husband attended the opening party of the Calgary Tennis Club this evening. What a great time it was!
Hadn't seen "AW" for many, many years. And since he was a couple of years older than I, he didn't even talk to me while we were in high school. That was the way it was back in the sixties. Nevermind, tonight we re-connected and here we are:
By the way, I finally stuck false eyelashes successfully for this event! What a chore! But you know what? It's worth it.
More fashion, in my opinion..........
Flipping through a couple of publications which landed here this morning I found a few "gems" -- not. Here they are:
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| So, we have socks with heels. Doesn't work -- AT ALL. |
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| Now, here's a beaute. Is that a slip showing under the skirt? Then we have some sort of weird vest? And the shoes? Hideous. I have put her in the witness protection program so she can save face. |
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What's going on here? Another top that doesn't work, then something underneath and then the most appalling, clunky boots I have ever seen. Sad.  Now, these are gorgeous heels. Guess who's? They are orange suede Moda shoes and my husband picked them out himself in Houston. I am lucky we have the same taste in shoes!  Another pair he chose, Adrienne Vittadini, black and white patent. Love them too. Yes, love my shoes.
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Ill-bred low life
It's my fault, I know. I actually watch these dumb shows now and then, why I don't know? Maybe to see what unbelievable behaviour will be exposed. The one to which I refer this time is 'The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills'. Last night hit a new low. Stupid men may marry these trollops, shower money on them and dress them up, but they simply cannot be taken out into the public thoroughfare.
One dreadful character, Carlton, is particularly appalling. An obvious gutter snipe, she has no idea how to behave. None. Last night's typical episode found her continually using the "F" word at a very fancy birthday party in honour of someone other than she. Jabbing a drunken finger at one of the other harridans and screaming, she finally walked out in the middle of what must have been a $50,000 party. Affecting an upper-class British accent, this cow reverts to her real gutter tongue when drunk and hysterical. It is beyond belief!
But she is not alone in being a bum. The rest of them are right behind her -- especially bimbo Brandi. (By the way, anyone who names their kid "Brandi" deserves all the bimbo-ism's they get.) Always counted on to get quickly smashed, this one was even filmed vomiting into a toilet in another episode. What true class. Apparently, she has written two books which are best-sellers! Jane Austin and Edith Wharton, are you turning over in your talented graves? In Jane's world, the heroines were classy and succeeded; in Edith's they were silly and indiscrete and therefore had to commit suicide. Or maybe we have stream-of-consciousness writer Virginia Wolff to thank -- only minus any talent. Go figure?!
In fact, all these trashy 'Houswives' shows are unspeakable. What has our civilation come to?
One dreadful character, Carlton, is particularly appalling. An obvious gutter snipe, she has no idea how to behave. None. Last night's typical episode found her continually using the "F" word at a very fancy birthday party in honour of someone other than she. Jabbing a drunken finger at one of the other harridans and screaming, she finally walked out in the middle of what must have been a $50,000 party. Affecting an upper-class British accent, this cow reverts to her real gutter tongue when drunk and hysterical. It is beyond belief!
But she is not alone in being a bum. The rest of them are right behind her -- especially bimbo Brandi. (By the way, anyone who names their kid "Brandi" deserves all the bimbo-ism's they get.) Always counted on to get quickly smashed, this one was even filmed vomiting into a toilet in another episode. What true class. Apparently, she has written two books which are best-sellers! Jane Austin and Edith Wharton, are you turning over in your talented graves? In Jane's world, the heroines were classy and succeeded; in Edith's they were silly and indiscrete and therefore had to commit suicide. Or maybe we have stream-of-consciousness writer Virginia Wolff to thank -- only minus any talent. Go figure?!
In fact, all these trashy 'Houswives' shows are unspeakable. What has our civilation come to?
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