How can this be possible?! Three natives -- chief, ex-wife and son -- have received more than $4.1 million in remuneration in the past four years. And over how many on-reserve natives of the Shuswap people do they preside? Eight-seven. Eighty-seven!!!
That's it, folks. Eighty-seven. Did I say it one or two too many times? Sorry about that, but it's absolutely scandalous. How many times have I used that word in relation to the natives of this country? Many. Happily, thanks to the Harper government's requirement of full financial disclosure -- to which many bands have not complied -- their own people are now finally having the blinders lifted.
The Shuswap people are in Invermere, B.C., where I have done my open-water swim for the past couple of years. Is it a thriving community? No, the reserve is a dump. Plain, simple and sad.
"We had no idea," said one band councillor (who herself earns a non-paltry $57,700 annually, by the way). "We are absolutely disgusted, Barbara Cote told Post Media. Running for chief, she vows to reform band finances, if elected. We'll see about that, Barb.
"Some community members have gone without water and electricity in the winter, but were unable to get help from the band," said Cote. Whaaaat!! But their son says -- incredulously -- that he and his parents were entitled to their booty. "I don't think they (the Conservatives) have been in power for 34 straight years," said Dean Martin, chief executive of Finbasket Development Corporation. "To be a leader of a nation, and we're not just a band, we are a nation, and to lead it for 34 years is something totally unheard of, I don't care in what political field you're in," he irrationally and inarticulately continued.
Yeah, 34 years is unheard of because, by the way, it's un-democratic. Buddy, get a grip.
No, you are not a "nation". To be a "nation" a country has to have an army, collect taxes -- not just receive them -- and provide all health, welfare, security and infrastructure services of all kinds to its people.
How we have misled regional bands into thinking they are "nations" is beyond me. Did I say, "scandalous?"
Friday, October 31, 2014
A few unproven, personal theories..........
I think Mark Knopfler and 'Dire Sraights' said it best: "Money for nothin' and your chicks for free". That may have summed up Jian Gomeshi's thinking when he first started his now-public (alleged) serial woman-beating spree.*
Nine women with the same sordid tale can't be wrong, in my opinion. And the fact that they don't even know each other is another plank in their credibility platform. Initially, I was outraged and believed Gomeshi just liked rough, consensual sex. Who cared? But I have changed my opinion.
Something he said a while ago came back to me when I heard about his alleged beating of women -- all white, I believe. "Let's face it, I got into 'Moxie Fruvous' to get chicks," he laughed on air. I laughed too at the time, but with the latest hell revealed, it started me thinking. Having being raised in a relatively affluent neighbourhood, he may have been rejected at times by the white girls he was trying to date? As a "brown" man, did this piss him off? Were his subsequent attacks on his dates a result of surpressed rage? All only questions I ponder at the moment.
Let's face it, Gomeshi was a Canadian super star and inevitably hubris and arrogance often creep into such personalities. Super-cool and very out-there-avant-guard, Gomeshi may have begun to believe his own press, thinking the law and the rules were for everyone else and he could break them with impunity. Not in Canada you can't.
"Remember when you could hit broads?" said Eddie Murphy in one of his television specials a number of years ago. "You could just stop the car, hit them and say, 'get out b-tch'". I laughed at the line because it was true. You could "hit broads" and the police would simply call it domestic violence and walk away. You can't "hit broads" or anyone else anymore. That sad era is over.
As B's grandfather and father said to him many times, "Never, ever strike a woman, I don't care what she did or what you feel. Never hit a woman." Good advice, which he repeatedly passed on to our sons.
With no statute of limitations on filing sexual assault charges, Gomeshi's nightmare may be just beginning. All I can say is I am glad his father is no longer around.
* All alleged at the moment, no charges and nothing proven in court.
Nine women with the same sordid tale can't be wrong, in my opinion. And the fact that they don't even know each other is another plank in their credibility platform. Initially, I was outraged and believed Gomeshi just liked rough, consensual sex. Who cared? But I have changed my opinion.
Something he said a while ago came back to me when I heard about his alleged beating of women -- all white, I believe. "Let's face it, I got into 'Moxie Fruvous' to get chicks," he laughed on air. I laughed too at the time, but with the latest hell revealed, it started me thinking. Having being raised in a relatively affluent neighbourhood, he may have been rejected at times by the white girls he was trying to date? As a "brown" man, did this piss him off? Were his subsequent attacks on his dates a result of surpressed rage? All only questions I ponder at the moment.
Let's face it, Gomeshi was a Canadian super star and inevitably hubris and arrogance often creep into such personalities. Super-cool and very out-there-avant-guard, Gomeshi may have begun to believe his own press, thinking the law and the rules were for everyone else and he could break them with impunity. Not in Canada you can't.
"Remember when you could hit broads?" said Eddie Murphy in one of his television specials a number of years ago. "You could just stop the car, hit them and say, 'get out b-tch'". I laughed at the line because it was true. You could "hit broads" and the police would simply call it domestic violence and walk away. You can't "hit broads" or anyone else anymore. That sad era is over.
As B's grandfather and father said to him many times, "Never, ever strike a woman, I don't care what she did or what you feel. Never hit a woman." Good advice, which he repeatedly passed on to our sons.
With no statute of limitations on filing sexual assault charges, Gomeshi's nightmare may be just beginning. All I can say is I am glad his father is no longer around.
* All alleged at the moment, no charges and nothing proven in court.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
So little
As I walked up, the soldier snapped to attention. I had gone to Cochrane to lay flowers on the War Memorial in honour of the two soldiers slain this week in acts of insanity. Tears welled up in my eyes when I saw all the other tributes that had been offered.
"It's an honour to be here," said Steve, the airman who was keeping watch. He was serving a nine-hour vigil in memory of his fallen comrades. I shook his hand and thanked him, but my gesture was all as nothing compared to what these men and women do in service to Canada. I said a prayer and left. It's all so very, very sad.
"It's an honour to be here," said Steve, the airman who was keeping watch. He was serving a nine-hour vigil in memory of his fallen comrades. I shook his hand and thanked him, but my gesture was all as nothing compared to what these men and women do in service to Canada. I said a prayer and left. It's all so very, very sad.
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| Airman Steve, standing vigil at the War Memorial in Cochrane, Alberta. |
Thursday, October 23, 2014
Incompetence
"The French resistance during WW II consisted of a few people hiding under the bed listening to the BBC." So wrote journalist Mark Steyn a few years ago. I burst out laughing at the time because it rung pretty much true. We were a long way away from that war when I read Steyn's article, but his words came immediately back to me as I watched "officials" from the City of Ottawa, the RCMP and the Ottawa Police hold an absolutely meaningless press conference yesterday.
Five hours after the event, they were still in deer-in-the-headlights mode, with absolutely no clue about what was happening on those bloody streets and Parliament Hill in Ottawa?! In a moment of incredulity, the Ottawa police chief actually blurted out, "We were completely taken by surprise." Had it not been for excellent coverage by the media, citizens all across this country would have been completely in the dark.
Here are a few obvious questions:
Even more incredible is the fact that caucus members had to resort to piling up chairs against a door to protect themselves! They trapped themselves in and would not even allow the RCMP to enter to remove the PM. Well, why would they? For Hill security, it was Nero-fiddles-while-Rome-burns. Except for the Sergeant-at-Arms, who sprang into action and saved the day, the rest of the mess simply rolled out in chaos. Kevin Vickers is a true hero, but it should never have come to that.
In spite of the jumble made by officials, I agree with Globe and Mail columnist Margaret Wente who wrote today, "We Canadians are steadfast and a bit phlegmatic. These are among our finest traits. We don’t get that excited, and we won’t be cowed into giving up our freedoms. Also, when necessary, we can shoot to kill. So long as we retain these virtues, the terrorists don’t have a chance."
Today at the pool Calgarians behaved normally. No one even spoke of the events. We simply behaved as Canadians behave. The saddest photo of all appeared in the Globe today:
Five hours after the event, they were still in deer-in-the-headlights mode, with absolutely no clue about what was happening on those bloody streets and Parliament Hill in Ottawa?! In a moment of incredulity, the Ottawa police chief actually blurted out, "We were completely taken by surprise." Had it not been for excellent coverage by the media, citizens all across this country would have been completely in the dark.
Here are a few obvious questions:
- Why were police and other officials unresponsive for so long?
- Why did security officers on the Hill appear to be hiding behind columns?
- Why was the Hill so completely unprotected?
- Why did officials have no answers when they finally faced the cameras?
- Why did we have to learn from a "tweet" that Corporal Cirillo had died?
- Why did we have to learn the name of the perpetrator from the Americans?
- Why was our Prime Minister unavailable?
- Why did he give absolutely no information when he finally did appear a full nine hours after events took place?
Even more incredible is the fact that caucus members had to resort to piling up chairs against a door to protect themselves! They trapped themselves in and would not even allow the RCMP to enter to remove the PM. Well, why would they? For Hill security, it was Nero-fiddles-while-Rome-burns. Except for the Sergeant-at-Arms, who sprang into action and saved the day, the rest of the mess simply rolled out in chaos. Kevin Vickers is a true hero, but it should never have come to that.
In spite of the jumble made by officials, I agree with Globe and Mail columnist Margaret Wente who wrote today, "We Canadians are steadfast and a bit phlegmatic. These are among our finest traits. We don’t get that excited, and we won’t be cowed into giving up our freedoms. Also, when necessary, we can shoot to kill. So long as we retain these virtues, the terrorists don’t have a chance."
Today at the pool Calgarians behaved normally. No one even spoke of the events. We simply behaved as Canadians behave. The saddest photo of all appeared in the Globe today:
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| Corporal Nathan Cirillo, left, minutes before he was shot. RIP. |
Monday, October 20, 2014
The trouble with single mothers
How can you be a "single mother" of eight? I mean, don't you know how you get pregnant? Having one "oops" kid is one thing, but eight??!! You have to be doing this on purpose.
Reading Jane Taber's piece on childhood poverty in The Globe and Mail today gave me great pause. She had interviewed this Nova Scotian (Taber had incorrectly written "Nova Scotia") single mother of eight who was having difficulty feeding her children nutritious food. Well, duh, of course you are. You are unemployed and have brought eight innocent children into the world here and there, willy-nilly, sired by who-knows-how-many-fathers and you can't feed them!
Selfish, unwed mothers are the biggest cause of childhood poverty. Too bad no one will actually say it out loud, but giving birth to children you can't afford to feed is a most egregious act. Of course Ms. Taber never mentions this reality, just writes a "crying" piece about the poor mother. It's scandalous. Thankfully, my single mother went into hiding, gave birth and gave me up for adoption to a wonderful family. Had she not, I would have been raised in poverty a boarding house in Kingston. Privileges such as ballet, swimming and piano lessons? Forget about it.
_____________________________________________
What is Justin Trudeau doing writing a biography? He's twelve years old. G-d help us all if he becomes Prime Minister. We're doomed. He's just so dumb.
______________________________________________
"We can't just go to the stage door and ask to be let in," I said to my nervy friend in London in 1968. "Of course we can," she replied. "We're from Canada." So, we did. "Wait a minute," said the doorman. Back he came and ushered us into the dress rehearsal for "Hair", the famous musical. I now have a lot more nerve, but when I was 21 I was more inclined to play by the rules and hang back a bit. The guy who wrote the music for "Hair" was Galt McDermot, a Montrealer. Somehow, my friend knew all this and was convinced he would host us into the dress rehearsal. She was right. He did and we enjoyed a wonderful evening. I have been recalling this because I hear one of the songs being played often on the radio of late.
Well, that's what's on my so-called mind these days.
Reading Jane Taber's piece on childhood poverty in The Globe and Mail today gave me great pause. She had interviewed this Nova Scotian (Taber had incorrectly written "Nova Scotia") single mother of eight who was having difficulty feeding her children nutritious food. Well, duh, of course you are. You are unemployed and have brought eight innocent children into the world here and there, willy-nilly, sired by who-knows-how-many-fathers and you can't feed them!
Selfish, unwed mothers are the biggest cause of childhood poverty. Too bad no one will actually say it out loud, but giving birth to children you can't afford to feed is a most egregious act. Of course Ms. Taber never mentions this reality, just writes a "crying" piece about the poor mother. It's scandalous. Thankfully, my single mother went into hiding, gave birth and gave me up for adoption to a wonderful family. Had she not, I would have been raised in poverty a boarding house in Kingston. Privileges such as ballet, swimming and piano lessons? Forget about it.
_____________________________________________
What is Justin Trudeau doing writing a biography? He's twelve years old. G-d help us all if he becomes Prime Minister. We're doomed. He's just so dumb.
______________________________________________
"We can't just go to the stage door and ask to be let in," I said to my nervy friend in London in 1968. "Of course we can," she replied. "We're from Canada." So, we did. "Wait a minute," said the doorman. Back he came and ushered us into the dress rehearsal for "Hair", the famous musical. I now have a lot more nerve, but when I was 21 I was more inclined to play by the rules and hang back a bit. The guy who wrote the music for "Hair" was Galt McDermot, a Montrealer. Somehow, my friend knew all this and was convinced he would host us into the dress rehearsal. She was right. He did and we enjoyed a wonderful evening. I have been recalling this because I hear one of the songs being played often on the radio of late.
Well, that's what's on my so-called mind these days.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
They used to hide them in the attic
"Thanks a lot," said a voice mail from a cousin. "It's your fault 'H' is on heroin." I actually laughed because this cousin should be stored away in an attic, where they used to house and hide insane family members.
H is her daughter, who I have met maybe three times, but not since she was a very young child. The reason it's my fault? Because daughter H asked to "friend" me on facebook and I accepted. Apparently, a photo of B and me in Bermuda also revealed a glass of wine on the table. Horror of horrors!!! Yep, that was all H needed to get onto smack. Seriously. You could not make this up. I used to have this cousin on call block, but can't figure out how to trigger this feature on my phone here in Calgary. Need to get on that!
Her children had her committed a few years ago, but good old Canadian laws prohibited the state from keeping her locked up in a straight jacket. Sadly, they are the ones who suffer and suffer with a crazy mother. I used to share an apartment with her a hundred years ago in Toronto -- before she got into marijuana and LSD. That's what flipped her over to the dark side and she's been there ever since. One before-call-block night she called me 23 times and threatened to kill me. All in front of her poor kids, I presume. I have reached out to H and I hope she gets back to me.
All so very, very sad.
Although my childhood was idyllic, not everything turned out perfectly rosy when we all grew up. When another cousin died from ovarian cancer twelve years ago, her brother had been dating a mutual friend for about 10 minutes. The church was filled to overflowing, her husband having been a big cheese in the Toronto investment community. Every bank president and a few Ministers of Finance were there, but what galled me was how inappropriately family members managed the service.
This cousin and I were best friends, grew up around the corner from each other and toured Europe together. I used to spend lots of weekends in Toronto visiting her and loved her dearly. What happens at her funeral? My family and I were seated at the back, while the girlfriend-du-jour marched in with the family! This latest squeeze had never even met my cousin. Not once! But there she was up front, clutching tissues with the widower and children. It was appalling. The widower was also to blame. I had written a beautiful eulogy which I wanted to give, but he refused to allow it for some bizarre reason? Guess he didn't know I was a writer who had loved and adored his late wife. He had another acquaintance manage the entire event. Not only did this idiot spell my uncle's name incorrectly, she also forgot to mention in the obituary the baby sister who had died before the age of one.
Of the three hundred or so people in the church, I had known and loved her the longest. Oh, and the 10-minute girlfriend? Gone within weeks to marry someone with REAL money.
That's life friends.
Note: This same at-the-time girlfriend also crashed our wedding, when we were re-married in the Catholic Church in 2004. I explicitly limited the service and dinner to family only. Guess who "happened" to be sitting in the lounge at the Royal Ottawa Golf Club when we arrived for dinner? Yep, you guessed it.
H is her daughter, who I have met maybe three times, but not since she was a very young child. The reason it's my fault? Because daughter H asked to "friend" me on facebook and I accepted. Apparently, a photo of B and me in Bermuda also revealed a glass of wine on the table. Horror of horrors!!! Yep, that was all H needed to get onto smack. Seriously. You could not make this up. I used to have this cousin on call block, but can't figure out how to trigger this feature on my phone here in Calgary. Need to get on that!
Her children had her committed a few years ago, but good old Canadian laws prohibited the state from keeping her locked up in a straight jacket. Sadly, they are the ones who suffer and suffer with a crazy mother. I used to share an apartment with her a hundred years ago in Toronto -- before she got into marijuana and LSD. That's what flipped her over to the dark side and she's been there ever since. One before-call-block night she called me 23 times and threatened to kill me. All in front of her poor kids, I presume. I have reached out to H and I hope she gets back to me.
All so very, very sad.
Although my childhood was idyllic, not everything turned out perfectly rosy when we all grew up. When another cousin died from ovarian cancer twelve years ago, her brother had been dating a mutual friend for about 10 minutes. The church was filled to overflowing, her husband having been a big cheese in the Toronto investment community. Every bank president and a few Ministers of Finance were there, but what galled me was how inappropriately family members managed the service.
This cousin and I were best friends, grew up around the corner from each other and toured Europe together. I used to spend lots of weekends in Toronto visiting her and loved her dearly. What happens at her funeral? My family and I were seated at the back, while the girlfriend-du-jour marched in with the family! This latest squeeze had never even met my cousin. Not once! But there she was up front, clutching tissues with the widower and children. It was appalling. The widower was also to blame. I had written a beautiful eulogy which I wanted to give, but he refused to allow it for some bizarre reason? Guess he didn't know I was a writer who had loved and adored his late wife. He had another acquaintance manage the entire event. Not only did this idiot spell my uncle's name incorrectly, she also forgot to mention in the obituary the baby sister who had died before the age of one.
Of the three hundred or so people in the church, I had known and loved her the longest. Oh, and the 10-minute girlfriend? Gone within weeks to marry someone with REAL money.
That's life friends.
Note: This same at-the-time girlfriend also crashed our wedding, when we were re-married in the Catholic Church in 2004. I explicitly limited the service and dinner to family only. Guess who "happened" to be sitting in the lounge at the Royal Ottawa Golf Club when we arrived for dinner? Yep, you guessed it.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Leaders versus all the rest
"Good morning," said a young man as I walked in Cochrane this morning. "Is your baby cold? We are", he said, laughing. These two chaps -- most likely from the Tsuu Tina reserve -- were about as down-and-out as you could get, but they were polite, friendly and quite obviously harmless. No begging for money for them, just pleasant banter.
The baby I had strapped to my front was my six-month-old granddaughter. Facing out, she has a habit of smiling and cooing to everyone she meets We were walking through a side lane, heading to a grocery store, while her mother did a swim set at the local pool.
My point is that ordinary native communities are not the problem. With few exceptions, it's their leaders all across the country who are causing the impasse. Be it pipelines, roadways or mines, any attempt to get across their territory is, without fail, met with stringent opposition. One local example is the years and years and years it took to negotiate with the Tsuu Tina just to get tiny part of a ring road through a small piece of their land in the bottom-right corner of the reserve. And it wasn't as if that section were a pristine wilderness. No, it was a dump, riddled with abandoned trailers and shacks. How does this help their people? How does denying prosperity generate reserve income for the benefit of all?
It doesn't. And it's not as if these reserves were well-springs of organized and prosperous industrial hunting and fishing which would be harmed by a pipe or rail line. No, most of these remote reserves are poverty-ridden, with residents living in abject conditions thanks to the intransigence of their chiefs. And speaking of chiefs, how do you negotiate with 600 of them? They now want to deal "nation to nation", one on one, with the federal government, effectively castrating the now-meaningless National Assembly of Grand Chiefs. So, we now have another impasse. My cousin's late ex-husband was one such lawyer in Kenora who fought anything-and-everything on behalf of his mostly-native clientele and made a fortune doing it. He wasn't part of the solution, he was part of the problem (G-d rest his soul).
One could argue that all of Canada is native territory. And that's about what they and their teams of lawyers and consultants now claim. The price of oil is falling and our traditional US markets are drying up because the US has decided to become self-sufficient in oil, much to the serious detriment of not only Alberta, but of the entire Canadian economy. Unfortunately, Canada remains a hewer-of-wood-and-drawer-of-water economy which has relied for too long on natural resources to fuel its economy. The unions have done a masterful job of pricing manufacturing out of worldwide competition -- just ask Ontario.
It's all so sad. I am no economist, but mark my words, unless we can cooperate and work together to get our vast resources to market, our children face a much bleaker future than we enjoyed.
My encounter with those two young men this morning made me sadder than ever.
The baby I had strapped to my front was my six-month-old granddaughter. Facing out, she has a habit of smiling and cooing to everyone she meets We were walking through a side lane, heading to a grocery store, while her mother did a swim set at the local pool.
My point is that ordinary native communities are not the problem. With few exceptions, it's their leaders all across the country who are causing the impasse. Be it pipelines, roadways or mines, any attempt to get across their territory is, without fail, met with stringent opposition. One local example is the years and years and years it took to negotiate with the Tsuu Tina just to get tiny part of a ring road through a small piece of their land in the bottom-right corner of the reserve. And it wasn't as if that section were a pristine wilderness. No, it was a dump, riddled with abandoned trailers and shacks. How does this help their people? How does denying prosperity generate reserve income for the benefit of all?
It doesn't. And it's not as if these reserves were well-springs of organized and prosperous industrial hunting and fishing which would be harmed by a pipe or rail line. No, most of these remote reserves are poverty-ridden, with residents living in abject conditions thanks to the intransigence of their chiefs. And speaking of chiefs, how do you negotiate with 600 of them? They now want to deal "nation to nation", one on one, with the federal government, effectively castrating the now-meaningless National Assembly of Grand Chiefs. So, we now have another impasse. My cousin's late ex-husband was one such lawyer in Kenora who fought anything-and-everything on behalf of his mostly-native clientele and made a fortune doing it. He wasn't part of the solution, he was part of the problem (G-d rest his soul).
One could argue that all of Canada is native territory. And that's about what they and their teams of lawyers and consultants now claim. The price of oil is falling and our traditional US markets are drying up because the US has decided to become self-sufficient in oil, much to the serious detriment of not only Alberta, but of the entire Canadian economy. Unfortunately, Canada remains a hewer-of-wood-and-drawer-of-water economy which has relied for too long on natural resources to fuel its economy. The unions have done a masterful job of pricing manufacturing out of worldwide competition -- just ask Ontario.
It's all so sad. I am no economist, but mark my words, unless we can cooperate and work together to get our vast resources to market, our children face a much bleaker future than we enjoyed.
My encounter with those two young men this morning made me sadder than ever.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Post-turkey marathon
Pea shoots. What are those? When I see an ingredient such as this in some smarty-pants recipe, I move on. I am looking here and there for dishes to concoct to use up leftover turkey and I'd like to try and get away from my old standbys. But pea shoots? Who has those handy? Who knows what they are and who even knows where to get them?
The other ingredients were things like "panko". Is that just breadcrumb? If so, just say it. Then I had to scrounge around for fresh basil, coriander, cumin and turmeric. I know I have these (well, not the fresh basil) but I'd have to get a ladder and rummage around in the back of my spice cupboard to track them down.
Same problem I have with the quarterly foodie magazines you get at liquor stores. They are so pompous it's ridiculous. I never have anything they call for. Ever.
But I do know what to do with the carcass, after I spend an entire morning pulling off and sorting all the meat. Soup it is. A few years ago, when I saw a son-in-law just throw the entire thing in the garbage, I almost cried. And I could hear my grandmother and mother crying from heaven too. I love turkey soup because it's so versatile. You can throw anything at it and it'll enthusiastically rise to the occasion. But first you have to boil the bird for about two days and then refrigerate the whole thing so the fat will rise to the surface and harden off for skimming. Here's my bird giving up its life a second time in order to render its gorgeous broth:
Had to boil it for two days to get it to fit into the largest pot I own. The broth is now cooling and will be ready for its transformation into soup tomorrow.
By the way, having failed to find anything really interesting for last night's leftovers, I made hot turkey sandwiches, complete with fries (but oven-baked) and frozen peas. A real throwback to the old diner days of the fifties, sixties and seventies. They were scrumptious.
Note: Speaking of cooking, just watched 'Jamie's 15-minute Meals'. Let me tell you, there is no way those meals are ready in 15 minutes. None whatsoever. Oh yeah, forgot, he has a staff of 50 prepping everything.
The other ingredients were things like "panko". Is that just breadcrumb? If so, just say it. Then I had to scrounge around for fresh basil, coriander, cumin and turmeric. I know I have these (well, not the fresh basil) but I'd have to get a ladder and rummage around in the back of my spice cupboard to track them down.
Same problem I have with the quarterly foodie magazines you get at liquor stores. They are so pompous it's ridiculous. I never have anything they call for. Ever.
But I do know what to do with the carcass, after I spend an entire morning pulling off and sorting all the meat. Soup it is. A few years ago, when I saw a son-in-law just throw the entire thing in the garbage, I almost cried. And I could hear my grandmother and mother crying from heaven too. I love turkey soup because it's so versatile. You can throw anything at it and it'll enthusiastically rise to the occasion. But first you have to boil the bird for about two days and then refrigerate the whole thing so the fat will rise to the surface and harden off for skimming. Here's my bird giving up its life a second time in order to render its gorgeous broth:
Had to boil it for two days to get it to fit into the largest pot I own. The broth is now cooling and will be ready for its transformation into soup tomorrow.
By the way, having failed to find anything really interesting for last night's leftovers, I made hot turkey sandwiches, complete with fries (but oven-baked) and frozen peas. A real throwback to the old diner days of the fifties, sixties and seventies. They were scrumptious.
Note: Speaking of cooking, just watched 'Jamie's 15-minute Meals'. Let me tell you, there is no way those meals are ready in 15 minutes. None whatsoever. Oh yeah, forgot, he has a staff of 50 prepping everything.
Monday, October 13, 2014
No sympathy whatsoever
I have none for Theresa and Joe Guidice, who are going to prison for tax fraud -- she for 15 months, he for 41. So what? They broke the law and now have to pay for it.
Hey, folks, this isn't Italy. Or Greece. Or Spain.....where citizens break the law all the time and take great pride in fleecing people and evading tax. Why do you think those countries are in such a mess? They steal from themselves by not paying taxes -- another of my favourite hobby horses. Pay your taxes, pay your taxes, pay your taxes. That's my mantra. What kills me is how unjust they think it all is. "We're family, we stick together no matter what," say all the reprobates on the 'Real Housewives of New Jersey' debacle. Against my better judgement, I watch now and then -- mainly to try and figure out how they get those monstrous false eyelashes to stay on. I still can't.
Having been raised in an honest, law-abiding, Protestant family, I cannot wrap my brain around how this culture gives rise to the mentality that being a criminal is just fine, thank you very much? Had I done anything such as this, my own mother would have turned me in. After paying at least a $million in taxes over their lives, my parents still fretted about whether they were paying their share. "Who is paying for my care," said my dying mother in the hospice she finally entered. "Don't worry," I replied. "You have paid for it many times over." Nonetheless, I made a very generous donation to The Maycourt to cover her needs and then some.
Next time you visit a restaurant, be in Chinese, Italian, Greek or.....whatever.....pay at the cash register and see if the drawer is open when you pay. If it is, the proprietors are cheating on their taxes. You'd be surprised at how often this occurs. They take your money, give you change, but don't ring it in. Not to come down inordinately hard on ethnic cultures, but they do not like to pay taxes. Just a fact and a badge of courage. And ditto, by the way, for everyone else operating in the booming underground economy. I refuse to play.
The kicker is that Joe Guidice has just realized he does not have American citizenship. I guess his parents were so devoted to Italy they neglected to obtain proper papers for him. Oops! He will probably be deported after serving his sentence. All very sad for his little daughters.
But don't worry, the American system will look after them.
Hey, folks, this isn't Italy. Or Greece. Or Spain.....where citizens break the law all the time and take great pride in fleecing people and evading tax. Why do you think those countries are in such a mess? They steal from themselves by not paying taxes -- another of my favourite hobby horses. Pay your taxes, pay your taxes, pay your taxes. That's my mantra. What kills me is how unjust they think it all is. "We're family, we stick together no matter what," say all the reprobates on the 'Real Housewives of New Jersey' debacle. Against my better judgement, I watch now and then -- mainly to try and figure out how they get those monstrous false eyelashes to stay on. I still can't.
Having been raised in an honest, law-abiding, Protestant family, I cannot wrap my brain around how this culture gives rise to the mentality that being a criminal is just fine, thank you very much? Had I done anything such as this, my own mother would have turned me in. After paying at least a $million in taxes over their lives, my parents still fretted about whether they were paying their share. "Who is paying for my care," said my dying mother in the hospice she finally entered. "Don't worry," I replied. "You have paid for it many times over." Nonetheless, I made a very generous donation to The Maycourt to cover her needs and then some.
Next time you visit a restaurant, be in Chinese, Italian, Greek or.....whatever.....pay at the cash register and see if the drawer is open when you pay. If it is, the proprietors are cheating on their taxes. You'd be surprised at how often this occurs. They take your money, give you change, but don't ring it in. Not to come down inordinately hard on ethnic cultures, but they do not like to pay taxes. Just a fact and a badge of courage. And ditto, by the way, for everyone else operating in the booming underground economy. I refuse to play.
The kicker is that Joe Guidice has just realized he does not have American citizenship. I guess his parents were so devoted to Italy they neglected to obtain proper papers for him. Oops! He will probably be deported after serving his sentence. All very sad for his little daughters.
But don't worry, the American system will look after them.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Turkey Weekend
Creeping down the stairs at five a.m. this morning, I was transported back to my childhood. I had to get the turkey dressed and into the oven so the bird would be ready for the family, scheduled to arrive at one p.m. The darkness and chill of a Northwestern Calgary early morning surrounded me, but there was work to be done. I got at it.
In earlier years, I experimented with goose, duck, Cornish hen.........you name it. Didn't we all in the early seventies? Afterall, we were smartypant's. Fruit stuffing, rice stuffing, potato stuffing -- anything went, but over the years, I have reverted to turkey and the Stapledon family dressing: bread crumbs (made from frozen crusts stored over the past few months), onions, celery, sage, savoury and sausage. A big tube of it. The secret's in the fat. Yeah, fat tastes wonderful.
I remember my grandmother and then my mother and aunts doing the turkey in the early morning because we always had "dinner" at noon, a holdover from their rural beginnings in The Ottawa Valley. Dinner was at noon and supper the evening meal, a much lighter fare. I started remembering festive dinners at my grandparents' on Cartier Street in Ottawa. My grandfather was in charge of buying a live turkey at the market, which he brought home, killed and then de-feathered in the back garden. I think he burned them off. It was mesmerizing to watch.
It's now 7:30 a.m. and everything is in the oven and starting to smell beautiful. The sun is rising and it's a delightful day. I am grateful for the many gifts I have been given in my lifetime. Today, our granddaughter is six months old. What an exquisite Thanksgiving gift she is.
In earlier years, I experimented with goose, duck, Cornish hen.........you name it. Didn't we all in the early seventies? Afterall, we were smartypant's. Fruit stuffing, rice stuffing, potato stuffing -- anything went, but over the years, I have reverted to turkey and the Stapledon family dressing: bread crumbs (made from frozen crusts stored over the past few months), onions, celery, sage, savoury and sausage. A big tube of it. The secret's in the fat. Yeah, fat tastes wonderful.
I remember my grandmother and then my mother and aunts doing the turkey in the early morning because we always had "dinner" at noon, a holdover from their rural beginnings in The Ottawa Valley. Dinner was at noon and supper the evening meal, a much lighter fare. I started remembering festive dinners at my grandparents' on Cartier Street in Ottawa. My grandfather was in charge of buying a live turkey at the market, which he brought home, killed and then de-feathered in the back garden. I think he burned them off. It was mesmerizing to watch.
It's now 7:30 a.m. and everything is in the oven and starting to smell beautiful. The sun is rising and it's a delightful day. I am grateful for the many gifts I have been given in my lifetime. Today, our granddaughter is six months old. What an exquisite Thanksgiving gift she is.
Saturday, October 11, 2014
The Odd Brush with Fame
Two handsome, strapping lads greeted B in a Montreal kitchen in 1949. Gordie was 21 and Ted 25. Friends of friends, both had popped in for a visit and B, although a dedicated Leaf's fan, was nonetheless awed. Can you imagine those guys dropping by for a chin-wag?!
Gordie, "Mr. Hockey", is now 86 and Ted Lindsay 89. Lindsay was born in "The Frew", as those of us from The Valley know it. Renfrew produced its fair share of well-known athletes, as did many other towns in that region -- like The Prior, for example. Gordie hailed from Saskatchewan.
They don't make 'em like that anymore. Gordie has a new biography out, going to read it. Two years ago I went to a charity event here in Calgary, organized by Mr. Hockey himself. Even got my picture taken with Lord Stanley's Cup, in honour of the two NHL players I dated back-in-the-day. (Everything you've ever heard about dating NHL hockey players is true, by the way.) Blogged the event, have a read.
"Hey, would you like to play drums for our last set?" said a very young musician to B in Liverpool in 1961. And so he did. The drummer, Pete Best, was "over-refreshed" and George Harrison invited B to have a go. This brush with fame happened in the Cavern Club and the group was 'The Quarrymen' -- soon to become 'The Beatles'. Yep, all true. B actually played drums with The Beatles. Think I have blogged this before (??), but can't remember. The other "players" he partied with that year in London were Christine Keeler, Mandy Rice-Davies and Stephen Ward. If you don't know who these characters were, you should. Google them.
Gordie, "Mr. Hockey", is now 86 and Ted Lindsay 89. Lindsay was born in "The Frew", as those of us from The Valley know it. Renfrew produced its fair share of well-known athletes, as did many other towns in that region -- like The Prior, for example. Gordie hailed from Saskatchewan.
They don't make 'em like that anymore. Gordie has a new biography out, going to read it. Two years ago I went to a charity event here in Calgary, organized by Mr. Hockey himself. Even got my picture taken with Lord Stanley's Cup, in honour of the two NHL players I dated back-in-the-day. (Everything you've ever heard about dating NHL hockey players is true, by the way.) Blogged the event, have a read.
"Hey, would you like to play drums for our last set?" said a very young musician to B in Liverpool in 1961. And so he did. The drummer, Pete Best, was "over-refreshed" and George Harrison invited B to have a go. This brush with fame happened in the Cavern Club and the group was 'The Quarrymen' -- soon to become 'The Beatles'. Yep, all true. B actually played drums with The Beatles. Think I have blogged this before (??), but can't remember. The other "players" he partied with that year in London were Christine Keeler, Mandy Rice-Davies and Stephen Ward. If you don't know who these characters were, you should. Google them.
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
What was he thinking?
The sad suicide of RCMP Cpl. Ron Francis certainly brought attention to PTSD, but the big issue is pretty clear: he was deliberately smoking marijuana in uniform, in public, while on duty. He gave the force no choice but to suspend him from duty, which was actually quite considerate because I am sure his was a firing offence. He broke the law and no police force can continue to employ a member who blatantly does that. Just can't.
What would any employer do if an employee sat at his or her desk and drank or smoked weed all day? What if everyone decided to drink and smoke on the job? You'd go into Walmart and everyone would be stoned. You'd go to the gas station and the attendant would be stoned. The pilot on your next flight would be stoned. The bank teller would be stoned. The surgeon performing your heart transplant would be stoned. Remember 'Flight', the movie in which Denzel Washington plays an alcoholic airline pilot? I could go on, but you get the idea. Can't be tolerated. Period, the end.
Francis was being treated for his disorder and was on medical leave, which was a nice thing for the force to do. They didn't fire him. Apparently, he became traumatized as a result of the carnage and violence he witnessed -- particularly on his own native reserve, among his own people. But carnage and violence are the nature of police work. I have a son-in-law who is a firefighter and he deals with tragedy all the time. What if he were to drink and smoke on the job? Would we all feel safe if he zig-zaggedly drove the fire engine and staggered into burning buildings?
For some reason, everyone is blaming the RCMP? They could not have been more sympathetic in their public statements. Francis called the marijuana-smoking "a red herring". No, it wasn't a red herring, it was the "real herring". Drug use was the issue. While it's always sad when someone commits suicide (my own brother did so 31 years ago), there are other issues plaguing these people and try as any employer might to counsel them, the employer should not be held responsible.
The saddest thing is the loss his action has now caused his wife and four children to bear.
What would any employer do if an employee sat at his or her desk and drank or smoked weed all day? What if everyone decided to drink and smoke on the job? You'd go into Walmart and everyone would be stoned. You'd go to the gas station and the attendant would be stoned. The pilot on your next flight would be stoned. The bank teller would be stoned. The surgeon performing your heart transplant would be stoned. Remember 'Flight', the movie in which Denzel Washington plays an alcoholic airline pilot? I could go on, but you get the idea. Can't be tolerated. Period, the end.
Francis was being treated for his disorder and was on medical leave, which was a nice thing for the force to do. They didn't fire him. Apparently, he became traumatized as a result of the carnage and violence he witnessed -- particularly on his own native reserve, among his own people. But carnage and violence are the nature of police work. I have a son-in-law who is a firefighter and he deals with tragedy all the time. What if he were to drink and smoke on the job? Would we all feel safe if he zig-zaggedly drove the fire engine and staggered into burning buildings?
For some reason, everyone is blaming the RCMP? They could not have been more sympathetic in their public statements. Francis called the marijuana-smoking "a red herring". No, it wasn't a red herring, it was the "real herring". Drug use was the issue. While it's always sad when someone commits suicide (my own brother did so 31 years ago), there are other issues plaguing these people and try as any employer might to counsel them, the employer should not be held responsible.
The saddest thing is the loss his action has now caused his wife and four children to bear.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Musings............
Dear Diary,
Why does it seem that lesbians are always fat? Every time I see a group gathered to protest something or other, or get publically married, they're fat. Oh, and angry and ugly. On purpose. Not so gay men. They are usually fit, happy, friendly and cheerful. And by the way, they like women, as opposed to their female counterparts who positively hate men. All men.
Anecdotal I know, but with the exception of Ellen-and-Portia and Kathleen Wynne, the majority of lesbians one sees in the public thoroughfare are fat. And they don't seem to care a whit?!
______________________________________
When last I tried to look up my birth father, there was no google and I didn't get much information. But last night I took another crack at it and a ton of information popped up. He only died a few years ago, after an illustrious athletic career. I knew he was an umpire in one of the US baseball leagues (I am not going to name it), but I didn't realize just how famous he was. He won championships in speed skating, roller skating, horseshoes and table tennis. He was also a pitcher and short stop in baseball's minor leagues, playing in the border league, which is how my birth mother met him. Very "briefly", shall we say.
So, now I know where I and my children get our athletic ability. My birth mother did not tell him of her pregnancy, so I did not get to meet him. For that matter, I didn't meet her either because she had died at 49 (smoking lung cancer), a year before I found her. My natural father went on until well into his late eighties, so I may have a few more years in me yet.
That is why adoptees are so interested (read "obsessed") with their roots. Natural children take it all for granted, but those of us who had other beginnings have this strong urge to find out why we are the way we are. All very interesting, don't you think?
Why does it seem that lesbians are always fat? Every time I see a group gathered to protest something or other, or get publically married, they're fat. Oh, and angry and ugly. On purpose. Not so gay men. They are usually fit, happy, friendly and cheerful. And by the way, they like women, as opposed to their female counterparts who positively hate men. All men.
Anecdotal I know, but with the exception of Ellen-and-Portia and Kathleen Wynne, the majority of lesbians one sees in the public thoroughfare are fat. And they don't seem to care a whit?!
______________________________________
When last I tried to look up my birth father, there was no google and I didn't get much information. But last night I took another crack at it and a ton of information popped up. He only died a few years ago, after an illustrious athletic career. I knew he was an umpire in one of the US baseball leagues (I am not going to name it), but I didn't realize just how famous he was. He won championships in speed skating, roller skating, horseshoes and table tennis. He was also a pitcher and short stop in baseball's minor leagues, playing in the border league, which is how my birth mother met him. Very "briefly", shall we say.
So, now I know where I and my children get our athletic ability. My birth mother did not tell him of her pregnancy, so I did not get to meet him. For that matter, I didn't meet her either because she had died at 49 (smoking lung cancer), a year before I found her. My natural father went on until well into his late eighties, so I may have a few more years in me yet.
That is why adoptees are so interested (read "obsessed") with their roots. Natural children take it all for granted, but those of us who had other beginnings have this strong urge to find out why we are the way we are. All very interesting, don't you think?
Monday, October 6, 2014
The Things I Put Myself Through
When I decide to laz around, I often end up watching a movie. Yesterday's mistake was watching "Maid in Manhattan". G-d what a bad movie! What was director Wayne Wong thinking in pairing an eighth cousin of the Prince of Wales (Ralph Fiennes) with someone from Costa Rica-via-The Bronx (Jennifer Lopez)?! Poor Ralph. He must have been hard up for money to agree to star in this mess.
The most poignant part was watching the beautiful late Natasha Richardson, the rival for Ralph's affections. She was breathtaking and it was heartbreaking to realize that this was just seven years before her untimely demise in a freak skiing accident in Mont Tremblant.
The whole movie was ridiculous. As if a guy running for the US Senate would fall for a lower-class hotel maid!? And as if a candidate would go public with his sad affections. As we all know, Senators and Congressmen -- like all politicians -- go to great lengths to hide these tawdry affairs. They lie like rugs. But not old Ralph. He wore his pathetic heart on his sleeve at all times, while JayLo lectured him on the need to help the poor in New York. Please.
It was not only implausible, it was impossible. I cringed the whole way through. Man, better figure out how to get Netflicks hooked up in a hurry!
The most poignant part was watching the beautiful late Natasha Richardson, the rival for Ralph's affections. She was breathtaking and it was heartbreaking to realize that this was just seven years before her untimely demise in a freak skiing accident in Mont Tremblant.
The whole movie was ridiculous. As if a guy running for the US Senate would fall for a lower-class hotel maid!? And as if a candidate would go public with his sad affections. As we all know, Senators and Congressmen -- like all politicians -- go to great lengths to hide these tawdry affairs. They lie like rugs. But not old Ralph. He wore his pathetic heart on his sleeve at all times, while JayLo lectured him on the need to help the poor in New York. Please.
It was not only implausible, it was impossible. I cringed the whole way through. Man, better figure out how to get Netflicks hooked up in a hurry!
Saturday, October 4, 2014
What's their position?
Where are Canadian Indians on ISIS? What is their position? Do they have one? No, because it's not "their" issue. "Native" Canadians are at war with their own country: Canada. They protest everything, just for the sake of being anti-Canadian. And in return for paying no taxes (if they are status and on-reserve) receive $8.5 billion a year -- not a penny for which they are accountable.
Make no mistake. You can bet they will protest each and every pipeline ever proposed anywhere. And yet Canada needs to get its oil to world markets. We are in deep do-do if we can't sell this resource. But Canadians are too politically-correct to stand up and get pissed off. Oh, and I forgot to lump in the enviros and the mostly-white lawyers in the native cottage industry who also profit enormously from these blanket protests.
As I have blogged many times, my great-grandmother was a Mohawk, but thank G-d she married off-reserve to enable the rest of her brood to morph into being "Canadian". The behaviour of native leaders today is absolutely scandalous.
Make no mistake. You can bet they will protest each and every pipeline ever proposed anywhere. And yet Canada needs to get its oil to world markets. We are in deep do-do if we can't sell this resource. But Canadians are too politically-correct to stand up and get pissed off. Oh, and I forgot to lump in the enviros and the mostly-white lawyers in the native cottage industry who also profit enormously from these blanket protests.
As I have blogged many times, my great-grandmother was a Mohawk, but thank G-d she married off-reserve to enable the rest of her brood to morph into being "Canadian". The behaviour of native leaders today is absolutely scandalous.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Fear and loathing
After a week of technological messes, I can't even bear to take the 'Chromecast' product out of its package. All I wanted was 'Netflicks', but B bought a new TV which didn't include the device. So, we had to buy the adapter. "Do you have WiFi?" asked the two-year-old salesman at 'Future Shop'. How would I know??!! I have no clue!!??
"Well, do you have a computer?" Yes, we have a desktop. The whole exercise was hideous. But not as hideous as trying to figure out why I can no longer receive data on my cell phone. For some reason, I can no longer send or receive email, photos, etc.......... Only texts. What did I do? Went back to the 'Koodo' kiosk where we bought the device three years ago. "Oh, you'll have to call the help-line," said one of the lack-a-dasical salesmen lounging in the store. Whaaaaat?!! I bought this stupid phone here, you are 'Koodo' but I have to go home and sit on the line for help?!! Yep, that was about it.
Finally talked to someone in Montreal, who asked me if the mall layabouts had checked my SIM card. No, they did not. "Well, you'll have to go back to the store and ask them to remove your SIM card and see if it works in another device. If it does, it's your phone; if not, it's another problem," she helpfully suggested. What an effing mess!!
So I sit, looking at the 'Netflicks' adapter, afraid to even try to install it. What if it doesn't cooperate? I can't cope.
How I long for the days of rotary-dial phones and no "devices".
"Well, do you have a computer?" Yes, we have a desktop. The whole exercise was hideous. But not as hideous as trying to figure out why I can no longer receive data on my cell phone. For some reason, I can no longer send or receive email, photos, etc.......... Only texts. What did I do? Went back to the 'Koodo' kiosk where we bought the device three years ago. "Oh, you'll have to call the help-line," said one of the lack-a-dasical salesmen lounging in the store. Whaaaaat?!! I bought this stupid phone here, you are 'Koodo' but I have to go home and sit on the line for help?!! Yep, that was about it.
Finally talked to someone in Montreal, who asked me if the mall layabouts had checked my SIM card. No, they did not. "Well, you'll have to go back to the store and ask them to remove your SIM card and see if it works in another device. If it does, it's your phone; if not, it's another problem," she helpfully suggested. What an effing mess!!
So I sit, looking at the 'Netflicks' adapter, afraid to even try to install it. What if it doesn't cooperate? I can't cope.
How I long for the days of rotary-dial phones and no "devices".
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