Good for him

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

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

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

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

Boring, I know, but that was my day.       

This and That in Calgary

"I used to do it in two, maybe three, but after that it was always three -- usually four," said a swimming friend who also golfs.  She was referring to putting and how hers went completely downhill after she took a lesson.  "Dumb," she said, adding that she also took a swing lesson which ruined her game for months. 

I've heard that.  Never take a lesson and don't think about your swing.  But, as you know, I don't play.  Can't hit the effing ball because the club is too long and the ball too small. 

Completed a sad task this morning; tossed all my remaining flowers over the back fence into the field behind.  In the process, almost stepped on a dead mouse, one I killed on purpose.  We have had them living under our back patio for the summer and I did not want them to somehow burrow into the basement.  So I bought a contraption with poison pellets.  It took three cubes to do the job, as the mice seemed to love them, but today I found one victim.  I will continue to put out more to ensure they are gone.  Sad, I know, but necessary.

After only two-and-a-half months of actual Sumer, Fall has definitely arrived in Calgary.  And the furnace is humming.   

With their faces hanging out

The family and tribe of murdered Indian teen, Tina Fontaine, have come out aggressively to blame all the "systems" to which she had been referred for her tragic death.  You name it, it was the fault of the police, the foster care system and everyone else you can think of that she met an untimely end.  In fact, a number of "system" workers were trying to help her the day she died.  What of it, claims the family who neglected her in the first place.   

Hey, does it not occur to them to be ashamed to the back teeth that she had to be taken into care in the first place?!  I would be hiding my head in shame if a daughter or son of mine had to be placed in foster care because I was an incompetent or neglectful parent.  Were there not others within her circle who could have cared for her?  And then, when she runs away and is murdered, the rest of us are to blame!  The ridiculous thing is her family doesn't even get it.  They have no compunction about heading to the media to "blame" everyone else.  They have no clue they were to blame in the first place. 

It's complete horsesh-t.

But guess who lets it happen?  Yeah, we let it.     

What nonsense

Why in the world would anyone change the words to a national anthem?  But that's what that idiot Ottawa MP, Mauril Belanger, wants to do.  He wants to change, "in all our sons' command" to "in all of us command".  That's just dumb.  National anthems are sacred and not to be changed on a whim.  I hope he fails.  Is there nothing more pressing to deal with? 
___________________________________

On the health front, finally decided to do something about my hips.  My doctor here just shook her head when she read a four-year-old report on an MRI I had in Ottawa.  "Oh, you need celebrex," the doctor there had said and walked out of the room.  Have been enduring pain ever since.  "We're going to get to the bottom of it," Dr. "M" said this morning.  And believe me, she will.  Health care in Alberta is first-rate.   

_____________________________________

"You thought my shaving my legs in the shower was disgusting," said my pool friend "L" yesterday.  Actually, yes I did -- especially when you are shaving them right below a sign that says "No shaving, brushing teeth, spitting or urinating the shower."  "The other day a woman was actually washing her underpants in the shower," said "L", trying to redeem herself.

People will do anything!         

Beyond belief!

Apparently, she entered and performed the wedding ceremony.  How absolutely self-centred and egomaniacal!  I really searched for a title for this blog.  "What?!"  "Unreal"  "Appalling"  "Inappropriate"  "Sick"...........came to mind.  Here's what happened:

My niece got married this past weekend in Ottawa (I couldn't attend) and guess what?  Her mother performed the ceremony.  Whaaaaaaat!!??  This is a woman who has not been able to hold any relationship together......ever.  And she's had plenty.  Guy after guy after guy.  But....get this.......she became some sort of "ordained" thing and is thus licenced in Ontario to marry people. 

"No one except "K" knew she would be performing the ceremony," said her father, my dearest cousin.  Whaaaaat??!!!  So, to upstage her own daughter at the latter's wedding, "V" had insisted it be a secret and then she had the nerve to magisterially saunter out and perform the ceremony.  Well, yah, it had to be a secret, or everyone would have been up-in-arms! 

How appalling.  What bullsh-t.  It's disgusting.

The person I feel most sorry about is my cousin's wife.  She had to sit through that crap.  Nothing's new.  It's always about "V".  What a b-tch.   

So, here we are............

......approaching Canadian Thanksgiving.  Frankly, I don't even know why I have to say "Canadian" when I refer to Thanksgiving.  But since stepdaughter lives in Texas, I guess that is an influence.  Why do Americans celebrate Thanksgiving more than they do Christmas!?  I guess because that is when they overpowered the Indians with a few trinkets and mirrors and overtook over New Amsterdam.  Bullies ever. 

Sadly, today is the last day of summer, but here in Calgary, we enjoyed 28 degrees!  What a wonderful day.  Stupidly, I spent it inside, sewing -- making aprons from the remnants of my Christmas fabric.  When I had finally finished the sewing projects, I laid my Thanksgiving table:

Don't you just love the colour of gourds! 

 

 

 





Christmas sewing

For some reason, I always get into a sewing jag before Christmas.  Heck, we haven't even had Thanksgiving, but I have made my Christmas table linen.  Usually, it's a tablecloth and napkins, but the problem with that is they hide my beautiful dining room table.  The solution this year?  Tablemats.  Just finished six, with napkins and coasters.  Even lined the mats with padding and sewed on a backing. 

St. Nicholas is the theme, a nod to grandson whom I will be taking (I hope) again this year to visit.  His birthday is exactly one week before Christmas and for the past two years, we have taken him to have a word with the Jolly Old Elf.  Here are my mats and napkins...............

 

I am pretty pleased I have this completed well in advance.  I like to think grandson will one day have these on his own Christmas table.   



   

Don't read it

I have blogged this before, if you don't have the balls to sign on as an official "follower" of my blog, don't comment on it to third parties.  Seriously.  I have only 18 "official" followers, but last time I checked the stats, almost 100,000 people are reading it.

The ones who annoy me are the people who complain to B about what I write.  Hey, B doesn't even read it himself.  If you want to complain, become a "follower" and I'll gladly publish your comments.  I am actually missing my niece's wedding in Ottawa today because her stepmother didn't like a blog I wrote last year and now I am not welcome in her territory.  How pathetic that you take yourself so seriously you object to...........whatever.????  Too bad her husband, my dear cousin with whom I grew up and who was like a brother to me, went along with her. 

But them's the breaks.  I say what I think, I am definite and pretty much black and white about everything.  I love writing and will continue to put myself out there.      

Them's the demographics

So, the Scots have voted "No".  Clearly, it was the crazy and idealistic youth who wanted the "Yes" side to win.  Cooler heads, however, prevailed.  A look at the demographics tells the tale.  Ages 15 to 24 comprise only 13 percent of the population -- most probably fanatics.  Cooler heads, ages 40 to 54, comprise 23 percent and they relied upon their wisdom to defeat the motion.   

The numbers were against the "No".  Plain and simple.  Heard lots of middle-aged citizens interviewed who said they would have voted "yes" ten years earlier, but realized now that would have been folly.

I am trying to understand what the issue was.  I guess it was money, as usual.  Questioning B, a constitutional expert who worked with British lawyers in the forefront of patriating our own constitution in 1982 under 'Trudeau the Elder', I still couldn't really find an equivalent to explain Scotland's problem.  Here, the provinces have taxing powers, as do the municipalities (creatures of the provinces, by the way), so they don't have a beef.  Scotland, although it has a Parliament, has no taxing powers and all fiscal allocations are decided in Westminster.  What they were after was fiscal autonomy.  And that's as close as I can come to understanding what their problem was. 

With wisdom and a bit of hysteria, Salmond has resigned.  But his speech still sounded like a victory lap.  No buddy, you lost.  And with much more of a margin than we suffered through when Quebec held its last referendum.  Man, that was a squeaker!

______________________________________

Today is Leonard Cohen's 80th birthday.  Wow!  How did that happen!?  Listening to an interview on CBC, he talked about the origins of his wonderful song, 'Suzanne'.  Apparently, it was written about a beautiful young Montreal woman he knew named "Suzanne Viallancourt".  I started when he said that because my Montreal grandmother's maiden name was "Vaillancourt" and guess what my own daughter's name is?  Yep, "Susanne".  I betcha they're related.  Very cool. 

____________________________________

Always researching for my blog, I found material while sitting in a restaurant, waiting for B to be released from hospital a few days ago.  Beside me was a table of six, but only one guy was doing all the talking.  Why is that?  No one challenged him, no one argued, no one else spoke?  He must be the guy with the money.  Always is. 

_____________________________________

Popped into my dermatologist's the other day for a check on a pesky blemish on my left ear (all clear, by the way) and there they were:  forty people on their cell phones, in spite of a huge sign and idogram that clearly yelled "NO CELL PHONES".  Mentioning it to the doctor, I laughed when he said, "They're even on them when I come into the examining room.  If they are, I just turn around and walk out and they have to wait another six months to see me."  Good for him. 


  

Plumbing

"I'll be over after I pick up a donut," said B's friend, "J".  "Oh, you don't need to do that, we can give you a cookie and tea," replied B.  No, it wasn't that kind of "donut".  It was a toilet donut, required in case J had to remove our toilet to solve a plugged issue. 

Yuck.  B has met all kinds of expert people here -- people who can do mechanical and technical stuff, unlike us.  We are completely unhandy, although I am actually handier than he.  The problem was, one of grandson's bath toys had gone down the toilet (my fault, not his) and the obvious had resulted.  Yep, a plugged toilet for a week.  I hauled out the plunger.  To no avail.  Bought an auger and jammed it down countless times.  To no avail.  On the verge of calling an actual $$$$$ plumber, I heard B say, "I'll call J, he does plumbing."  So, half-an-hour later, J arrived with his "donut".  I acted as his assistant, fetching every kitchen utensil I could find to try and poke the toy out.  We could see it, it was tantalizingly close.  It even had a smile on its face, daring us to grab it. 

After removing and draining the toilet, we started.  I felt like an operating room nurse as J called, "Screwdriver, bucket, calipers, tongs, fork, chopsticks, saw, grocery bags."  Handing them over, I realized he was finally able to grasp the wretched toy.  Victory!  Ready to throw in the towel, I was impressed that J would not give up.  Now the toilet runs perfectly. 

"Pray," he had said, just before the fiftieth and last attempt.  A deeply-religious Catholic, J was serious.  Half-jokingly, but not really, I started to say the rosary and immediately he secured the toy.  Out it popped!

Our Lady came through once again.       

The Clutch

For some reason, driving my car this afternoon and engaging the clutch, I was reminded of my Uncle Elgin.  A deputy minister of National Defence in the sixties, he always drove my cousins and me to Lisgar Collegiate every day when we were in high school.  No, deputies didn't have drivers back then.  And they didn't have EAs or assistants or chiefs of staff....no, Elgin had one secretary, Miss Mitchell.  And his office was tiny, just his desk with an extended table attached for meetings which accommodated no more that six people.  My cousins and I used to barge in after school all the time to wait for our drive home.  Standing on ceremony?  Didn't happen in Uncle Elgin's office.   

Those were the days when the public service actually functioned.  Sadly, Uncle Elgin was the first deputy to have been skewered by a Minister, Douglas Harkness, over the Bonaventure mess.  No ministerial accountability or responsibility there.  No, Harkness dumped all the blame on my dear uncle.  Looking back, I can remember Uncle Elgin smoking a little more and having one-too-many now and then.  The stress was killing him.  But did he ever talk about it?  Never.  A completely class act.  I absolutely adored the man.

But back to the clutch.  In the sixties, the clutch was a long, rounded affair, with a stubby pedal.  The gears were not in between the seats, they were attached to the steering wheel.  It was neutral, then down to first, up to second and back down to third.  There was no fourth gear, just reverse.  I can still hear the sound they made as he changed them.  And I can still see the fedora he always wore to work.  He was the reason I learned to drive a five-speed and the reason I taught three of my four children to drive a five-speed.  I mean, if you're going to drive a car, you need to know how to drive a five-speed.

Elgin was transferred to National Revenue before he retired.  I remember waiting to make a presentation in the deputy's boardroom when I worked there.  Looking around, I saw photos of all the DMs from....forever.  Spotting Uncle Elgin, I immediately found a chair right under his photo and immediately felt calm, cool and collected.  He -- along with my father and my Uncle Rollie -- was one of the greatest guys you could ever meet. 
    

 

Great people

We have met lots of wonderful people since we moved to Calgary -- can it be more than three years?!  How can it be?  But it is.  Two of the most charming are "P and M D".  They hosted a marvelous "Celebration" dinner party last Friday at a local Italian restaurant and we were fortunate enough to have been invited.

Let me tell you a bit about P and M.  Born dirt-poor in Ireland, they married, emigrated to Canada, worked, worked and worked and raised a large family.  Then -- because they are very smart -- they became very, very rich, but the wonderful thing is none of it has gone to their heads.  They are the same down-to-earth souls they have always been, which is why we get on so well.  Devout Catholics, they support many priests and have built a fabulous mountain camp for underprivileged children; some of their priest friends were also at the party -- naturally. 

This gathering was mostly family and extended family, so we were thrilled to have been included.  The food was fabulous, the live orchestra was perfect and the wine flowed.  Some people are naturally "real" and P and M fall into that category.  This shindig was to celebrate their 55 years of marriage.  Can you believe that?!  I don't think we will reach 55, because both of us had false starts, but I am sure we will make it to at least 40 -- unless I kill B first!            

The ugliest of the ugly..........

Fashion has hit rock bottom........seriously.  Here's something from the "fashion" section of The Globe and Mail.  This is such an unsophisticated, uncivilized and ugly outfit.  Actually, it's not even an "outfit" because nothing "fits".  Sad.............

Absolutely nothing matches, nothing.  And what crap does she have on her feet?  So unserious.  Seriously. 



Real life

'Best in Show' was not a spoof.  It was real.  What a hilarious movie, but discovered it was actually a documentary when we visited the Cochrane Dog Show this morning.  There that movie unfolded.  Daughter, grandchildren and I wandered the arenas and kennels of very interesting dogs, but it was the handlers and owners who took the cake. 

"Have you ever noticed," I had said before we had even walked in the front door, "that show-dog people on TV are usually fat women and gay men?"  Hey, it's true.  Dog-show people are, well, weird??  They dote on things the rest of us give absolutely no thought to.  Ah well,  I loved all my now-dead dogs.  Here are a few of the live varieties we enjoyed this morning:

Told the owner these guys were better looking than most people.  She agreed!

The sixties hair look

This guy was huge!  Feasts on paper.

Bow-drying the muzzle.....weird?

No clue what this poor creature was?!

Daughter became emotional looking at this beauty because she had one exactly like her.  Sadly, "P" died very young.

 

Look what was underneath the white stuff!

I told you my flowers were little toughies.  Could not believe what was underneath 35 cm's of snow.  Many of my flowers were....intact!  I had completely given up on them, but as the snow started to melt, I thought I saw a few blossoms poking out.  Whaaaaat?!  Things like impatiens were finished, but my roses, petunias, pansies and a few geraniums hung in there.  As I have said, they have to survive in early June, when it is just barely above zero, so they harden off and come through in a pinch.  Here are a few before and after pictures:

You can see the hanging plant two days ago on the top right.....

Here it is today.  Amazing!

These petunias were previously completed blanketed, but they hung in there.

My roses were fine. 



 

Sunrise out back this morning.  Mother Nature, who takes no prisoners, is a tease.



Oh that...

"That's just Calgary," said a friend at the pool this morning.  A born-and-bred Calgarian, her reaction to the horrendous summer snow storm we just suffered through -- all 35 cm's of it -- is pretty typical of anyone who has lived here most of their lives. 

Me, not so much.  We were flabbergasted when we looked out the window Monday morning and saw the white stuff flying.  The day before, I had laundry drying on the line, people were mowing their lawns and everyone was in shorts.  It was absolutely unreal.  "Mum, you live in a mountain basin," said my son, who studied geography at university.  He too was nonplussed about the whole thing, thanks to his knowledge of this area.  The only thing he lamented were my beautiful flowers.  Gone for the season.  And they had just struggled back from the August hail storm!  Poor dears. 

But spending money has its rewards.  Two years ago, we called in Davey Tree (you don't use anyone but Davey, my mother used to say -- she of the magnificent blue spruces that ringed our corner home.  She actually used to call the company in to move 60-foot trees three feet.  And we're talking' cranes and backhoes, the whole works.  I kid you not!  But I digress.)

Anyway, Davey trimmed and fertilized our trees and thanks to that intervention, they came through pretty well -- only one big branch in the back broke off.  The rest of the city?  An absolutely chaotic mess.  If you're cheap, or take trees for granted here, you'll lose them.  But today it's all melting, the ice is dropping from the branches and boughs are bouncing back into place.  Hey, we're going to 20 on Sunday.  "When you get a day like that, just go with it," said another pool buddy.  What a city.

Here was the scene at our place this morning:

Looks like two snowmen relaxing!

Of course, children know what to do with summer snow, gotta love that.

 

 



      

Sad

He was one of our best friends.  Now he is dying.  Of lung cancer.  Was a smoker.  Why do people smoke?  Why? 

We met through our children many years ago and he and his wife became lifelong friends.  We visited them on their boat on the Big Rideau and had so many laughs I can't count.  Over the years, our children drifted apart, came together again, but the four of us remained fast friends.  We spent many New Year's Eves together, enjoyed lots of boozy dinner parties and BBQs and confided in each other about everything. 

This is the fourth good friend we will be losing.  The first was Mike Copeland, my best childhood friend.  He succumbed to alcoholism.  Then it was John Munro.  He succumbed to complete organ failure.  Then it was his wife, Heather.  She succumbed to........everything.....basically her lifestyle.  They were all smokers.  I think also of my good friend "D" here in Calgary, a smoker who is also dying of lung/brain/liver cancer. 

As B's grandson said this summer, "Smoking is yukky".  Smoking, my friends, is a very bad idea.  

Fashion fiascos

Whatever happened to elegance?  Whatever happened to simplicity?  Whatever happened to grace and charm?  Going, going, gone and gone.  Reading the Globe and Mail's "Style" (not) section today, here are a few fiascos:

Do you think she could pack any more crap into one outfit?!  And what's with the pigeon-toed look??

Who wears a dress with a skeleton on it?!

You'd think with a name like "Mellon" -- as in a ga-zillion dollars -- she'd be able to dress better!?  And that hair!  Just sadly and limply hanging there, woebegone.

 





Telling it like it is

This is amazing...............

AN OLD BLACK VET SPEAKS OUT, "WAKE UP!" WHAT A MOUTHFUL!!!!!

The words of a dying man have always captured attention, right or wrong, they are worth reading.  What this dying man has to say has a lot of truth.  May not be what some will want to hear:

 I wanted to clear up a few black and white questions and answers.  The things I state are facts.  They are not downloaded from some media website, not propaganda, just observations from a 70 year old black man, born in America.

I was told by my parents (yes, a married man and woman with my last name), that I was nigger.  We lived in “Nigger Town” in a small Texas town, no A/C, grass growing through the floor, no car, no TV.  We washed our bodies with lye soap that my mother made, by hand.  I thought I was a nigger, until I graduated high school, went to college, did an enlistment in the Army, and got a job.  I am now retired, own my own home, have 6 children by ONE WOMAN, and we all have the same last name.  I have a Bachelor’s Degree in Liberal Arts, a Master’s Degree in Sociology.  My retirement, VA disability from combat in the Korean War (I only have one leg), and part-time pay in a local college, is about $125,000 a year.  From dirt-poor nigger, to old, black, proud American.

Yes, I am black, and I can say “nigger”, because I understand the true meaning of the word.

Let’s clear up a few things about the Michael Brown incident.

 -Fact:  It is not called "shoplifting or stealing", it's called "robbery", which is a felony.  Brown stole something and assaulted someone, that means ROBBERY.  It’s on video, and it’s a fact.  Not shoplifting, not theft, not “lifting” a few cigars, but ROBBERY!

 

-Michael Brown, like Trayvon, was portrayed by the media as a “little black boy”, cute little headphones, and his cap and gown photo, gunned down by a ruthless police assassin, executed by “whitey”.  First, I have never seen a cop drag a person into their car’s driver door to arrest them. So, let us be clear, Michael Brown was a nigger; a sorry-assed, criminal, hoodlum, nigger.  Nobody wants to say that, but I will.  He had a criminal record a mile long, was known for numerous assaults, robberies, including the one you saw with your own eyes, and still refuse to call it a robbery.  He was, like so many others, living a life that he thought he was “entitled” to,  just for being alive.  Gangsta rap, weed, drinking, guns, and those stupid-assed low profile rims, makes him some kind of bad-ass nigger. 

-I have fought communist Chinese and North Korean soldiers in the 1950’s with more honor than that nigger.

Yep, I peeled potatoes and shot communists.  That’s the only job a nigger soldier could get.

-Rodney King?  Black Riots! 

-Trayvon?  Black Riots! 

-Hurricane Katrina?  Black Riots!  Stealing TV’s, designer clothes, etc.

 -O.J. Simpson kills white man and white woman, found NOT GUILTY?  Did white folks riot?  Nope!

-In fact, when is the last time white people rioted?  Civil War, maybe?  That’s because they are, relatively, civilized people, much like many black Americans.  Protesting is one thing, hell, I’m all for it.  Even if you are an ignorant idiot, you have a right to protest.

-Stop only showing the young black "cap and gown" photos of Michael.  Charles Manson may have a few of those laying around, as well.  Show the nigger "gangsta" photos of the "poor unarmed teenager" (grown man) pics that have been removed from his Facebook page, holding the loaded pistol, smoking weed, with a mouthful of money.

 -Militarization?  The stupid-assed media that publicizes this has no idea what “militarization” really is.  Cops wear helmets and vests, and drive armored vehicle because unemployed niggers thrown bricks at them, moron!  You put on an "Adam 12" uniform and walk down the streets of Ferguson during the criminal riots.  I can guarantee that you'll jump into the first armored "military tank" that you see.

 -You only "want the police" when you "need the police", otherwise, you mock and fear what you do not understand about the police.  And by the way, the police are trained to take your shit, but I wouldn’t fuck around with those Army National Guard, they aren’t as well disciplined “culturally” to take your shit like police do every day.  They will ventilate your black asses with M-16s, with military precision and extreme prejudice.

 -And finally, the way we protest and demand justice, is run down the streets breaking shit, looting stores, and acting like a bunch of untrained monkeys?  Hell, after Rodney King, criminal niggers were actually killing people, thinking they were entitled to be worse criminals than they already were.  For those black criminals that do that, you are a disgrace to your race, inflamed by idiots like Al Sharpton, instead of listening to logic from proud black Americans, like Bill Cosby, Samuel Jackson, Colin Powell, Allen West, me, etc.

 -You blame white people for your ignorance, criminal acts, unemployed laziness, etc.

 -You blame white people for 89% of the prisons in America being full of blacks.  They did nothing wrong, the racists white cops framed them all, right?

No chance at school, no chance for college, military, employment?  BULL SHIT!

 -More niggers kill niggers, than niggers killing whites, whites killing niggers, and whites killing whites….COMBINED.  I find this astounding.

Varia

"If you're gay, I'll kill you," his brother had said, which is why the chap I am talking about took so long to debut.  Sadly, his wife seemed to be the only one who didn't know her husband was homosexual.  Everyone else did because he was of the very feminine walking-talking-affectation variety.  Not that it matters, except for the fact that he married her and had two children, knowing he was homosexual.  That was the offensive part.  I mean, why marry a young woman knowing you are going to leave her for a man?  Not nice. 

I kind'a wondered about the husband for a while because when I was at Carleton University, I dated and fell in love with one of the French professors who was extremely effeminate, but only on the outside.  In reality he was very, very heterosexual and sexy, so you can't always be sure.  Most of that boyfriend's affectations, it turned out, were cultural.  But here in Alberta, if you're effeminate, you're homosexual.  You're not "French".    

The husband to which I refer recently "came out" and that's as it should be -- except his children are very confused and upset.  Daddy likes men?  Daddy doesn't like Mummy anymore?   All very sad and unnecessary if he had just been himself in the first place.
___________________________________________

Watching the US Open, I can't believe the fatties who are the linesmen/women?!  How can they have such tubs on camera at a major sporting event?  The juxtaposition between them and the players is jarring.  Seriously.

Roger Federer, who B and I saw defeat Andy Roddick at Wimbledon in 2004, is in magnificent shape.  And then the camera pans to his fat wife in the players' box, Mirka.  Weird.  But apparently he is madly in love with her.  Go figure.

His coach is the great, great Stephan Edberg, my all-time favourite male player.  To see him serve and volley and dance to the net was a thing of beauty.  Now, there was a guy who hit winners.  No baseline pounding for him.  He was absolutely fabulous.  Now Roger too comes to the net, thanks to Edberg, and almost always wins the point.  Perfect.

Also love watching John and Patrick McEnroe calling matches.  Such enthusiasm and knowledge.  Also love Chris Evert, but can't stand that know-it-all Pam Shriver -- who wasn't even that great a player.  Did I tell you she was married to George Lazenby for five minutes?  Yes, she was, and had a couple of kids with him.  Then she dumped him and insisted on supervised visits, which he had to go to court to have overturned.  What a bi-ch.  By the way, it shows.
_______________________________________________

Cleaning out a drawer guess what I found?  A diary from 1981.  Started reading it and nearly died.  What a mess that year was!  B had just separated from his wife-of-the-moment and she was a completely hideous b-tch about everything. Denying access (the reason she did not get custody, by the way), changing locks on doors, you name it, she did it.  The diary also chronicled our courtship.  One word to describe it?  Rocky.  I was renting a house two blocks from my parents, who were wonderful-wonderful-wonderful.  B was living at the "Y" in an almost-slum room with the bathroom down the hall and a shared bath.  What a "yuck".  It was chaos, but we muddled through........somehow?  I guess if we survived that, we can survive anything. 

Threw out the diary.  Don't want my children to read it after I'm gone.  G-d forbid!