Started the day with a quick glance of The Herald, The Globe and Mail and morning television. What's with the fact that all coverage of The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge's visit to B.C. is about natives? What about the rest of that province's population? OK, there was a wee tea party for a few soldiers and their families the other day, but apart from that it's all-natives-all-the-time.
Complete poppycock. And never mind a simple, light snub. No, Phillip Stewart, grand chief of the union of B.C. Indian Chiefs, delivered a veritable hard slap in the face of The Royals by publically refusing to attend an official ceremony to add a ring of reconciliation to The Rod in the legislature. Sadly, Stewart didn't even have the grace or guts to show up to deliver the slap in person. He sent a lackey to the ceremony to convey it for him.
What a non-class act from a guy who regularly receives millions from The Crown via the federal government. I would hope every responsible and informed Native Canadian agrees this was a very poor show indeed.
_______________________________
Went to the pool late this morning -- thanks to a little late-night binge-watching of season five of 'Longmire' -- and what a scene in the locker room when I showed up! All the ladies I regularly swim with hooted, "Nancy, boy you're late today! What happened?!" They all know exactly when one normally shows up and one is quizzed if off by even 15 minutes.
There they were -- Gail, Wendy, Lorraine, Sharon, Noella and Radana -- all assailing me for my tardiness. The only one missing was you, Alma! Heck, it was only 9 a.m., not exactly "the crack of noon", as my charmingly-amusing and funny step-son says about late sleepers. But that's very late for this bunch. Nevertheless, it is a privilege to take sh-t from these remarkable women.
________________________________
Well, back to Longmire.
Friday, September 30, 2016
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
I always wonder....?
Sitting in a hotel, watching the action at the bar, I always wonder who is going to get lucky and who isn't. It's dead simple to figure out. Just watch body language and you've got it figured.
That's what I was doing last Thursday night in our hotel in Vancouver, where we had ventured for a long-weekend vacation. While there, we dodged The Big One, which is slated to hit anytime between now and two hundred years out (that's about as accurate as these predictions can be). When it comes, this one will be devastating, believe me. One interesting side note, on the flight there, WestJet's vp of finance, who happened to be on board, stepped up to the mike and charmingly introduced himself. Next thing I knew, he was working a cart with the flight attendant! Pretty impressive.
Along with the dashing Errol Flynn who drank there in his time, we stayed at The Sylvia Hotel on English Bay. What a place! Built in 1912, it has been designated a heritage site -- a blessing because it is surrounded by luxury condos and restaurants which would otherwise expand, bleed into and destroy all its prime territory. The really weird thing about The Sylvia is that it is pretty much exclusively Caucasian. I kid you not! In a city that is about half Asian and Indo, all I saw in The Sylvia were white people. That and many lesbian and gay couples. In fact, I don't think I saw "your average couple" the whole time we were there?!
The Sylvia opened the first cocktail bar in Vancouver in 1959. It was called "The Tilting Bar", for some reason? While there, old ladies actually came in with pillows and neck rests to have a cocktail! The whole place has an "English pub" atmosphere without an overhead sports TV to be seen -- thank G-d! I loved looking out over the bay to see the many huge freighters waiting to be towed to the harbour to unload. Their gorgeous lights at night were dazzling.
One evening when B turned in early, an old guy actually tried to pick me up at the bar! Brought back many memories of my years of business travel, when I sat at the bar so I could tell the bartender I didn't want to be bothered. The bar is actually a pretty safe place, but then again so is The Sylvia itself.
"I think I'll get out of these wet clothes and into a dry martini," was the quote over a seafood restaurant we went to. Attributed to Alexander Woollcott, they had actually spelt his name incorrectly over the bar. How could one get that wrong? The waitress told me no one had ever mentioned it before. Trust me to point it out.
The flight home was one of the bumpiest I had ever encountered. But a gorgeous first officer landed us perfectly back home in Calgary. "Heather touched down like a feather," I said to the steward. She emerged from the cockpit and he told her what I had said. I think she actually blushed.
That's what I was doing last Thursday night in our hotel in Vancouver, where we had ventured for a long-weekend vacation. While there, we dodged The Big One, which is slated to hit anytime between now and two hundred years out (that's about as accurate as these predictions can be). When it comes, this one will be devastating, believe me. One interesting side note, on the flight there, WestJet's vp of finance, who happened to be on board, stepped up to the mike and charmingly introduced himself. Next thing I knew, he was working a cart with the flight attendant! Pretty impressive.
Along with the dashing Errol Flynn who drank there in his time, we stayed at The Sylvia Hotel on English Bay. What a place! Built in 1912, it has been designated a heritage site -- a blessing because it is surrounded by luxury condos and restaurants which would otherwise expand, bleed into and destroy all its prime territory. The really weird thing about The Sylvia is that it is pretty much exclusively Caucasian. I kid you not! In a city that is about half Asian and Indo, all I saw in The Sylvia were white people. That and many lesbian and gay couples. In fact, I don't think I saw "your average couple" the whole time we were there?!
The Sylvia opened the first cocktail bar in Vancouver in 1959. It was called "The Tilting Bar", for some reason? While there, old ladies actually came in with pillows and neck rests to have a cocktail! The whole place has an "English pub" atmosphere without an overhead sports TV to be seen -- thank G-d! I loved looking out over the bay to see the many huge freighters waiting to be towed to the harbour to unload. Their gorgeous lights at night were dazzling.
One evening when B turned in early, an old guy actually tried to pick me up at the bar! Brought back many memories of my years of business travel, when I sat at the bar so I could tell the bartender I didn't want to be bothered. The bar is actually a pretty safe place, but then again so is The Sylvia itself.
"I think I'll get out of these wet clothes and into a dry martini," was the quote over a seafood restaurant we went to. Attributed to Alexander Woollcott, they had actually spelt his name incorrectly over the bar. How could one get that wrong? The waitress told me no one had ever mentioned it before. Trust me to point it out.
The flight home was one of the bumpiest I had ever encountered. But a gorgeous first officer landed us perfectly back home in Calgary. "Heather touched down like a feather," I said to the steward. She emerged from the cockpit and he told her what I had said. I think she actually blushed.
 |
| The famous Sylvia Hotel in Vancouver's English Bay. The ivy is famous. |
Monday, September 12, 2016
Forked tongues again
The latest kerfuffle in the news is the cost of food in the North. Really? It all has to be shipped into communities and reserves because the people who live there insist on staying there. It's all about money, of course, but here's the BS:
Natives insist on staying on remote northern reserves because they want to preserve their traditional way of life. Yet, they want to eat Cornflakes and strawberries and hang around the house. If you want to remain traditional, get on your sleds, go out and kill seals and trap food. Otherwise, move! Ah, but they can't because staying in these hell-holes guarantees them money.
The whole thing is a ludicrous Catch 22. Stay on the reserve because that's how you get money, but don't hunt and trap. Instead, eat ridiculously expensive commercial food. Duh!!?? Now we hear that the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge will be visiting all sorts of native reserves and crying and wailing about the conditions in these dismal communities. "It will be wonderful for the Royals to see how we live and take our concerns back to Her Majesty," said Perry Bellegarde, the ignorant chief of the AFN. What an idiot. Does he still not realize that The Crown delegated all native matters to Canada way back when!? You do not deal with Queens Victoria or Elizabeth, buddy. You deal with Canada.
Once again, my solution is to move off-reserve, as my great-grandmother did, and become "Canadian". I am so sick of it.
Natives insist on staying on remote northern reserves because they want to preserve their traditional way of life. Yet, they want to eat Cornflakes and strawberries and hang around the house. If you want to remain traditional, get on your sleds, go out and kill seals and trap food. Otherwise, move! Ah, but they can't because staying in these hell-holes guarantees them money.
The whole thing is a ludicrous Catch 22. Stay on the reserve because that's how you get money, but don't hunt and trap. Instead, eat ridiculously expensive commercial food. Duh!!?? Now we hear that the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge will be visiting all sorts of native reserves and crying and wailing about the conditions in these dismal communities. "It will be wonderful for the Royals to see how we live and take our concerns back to Her Majesty," said Perry Bellegarde, the ignorant chief of the AFN. What an idiot. Does he still not realize that The Crown delegated all native matters to Canada way back when!? You do not deal with Queens Victoria or Elizabeth, buddy. You deal with Canada.
Once again, my solution is to move off-reserve, as my great-grandmother did, and become "Canadian". I am so sick of it.
Friday, September 9, 2016
He died
Those were the unbelieveable words spoken to me this morning when I entered the pool for my swim. For a month, a fellow swimmer and I had wondered, "Where's J...? Have you seen him? I haven't seen him in the pool for a long time," I had said on a number of occasions to this pool buddy. The sad, sad reality was that our mutual pool buddy had perished in early August in a tragic climbing accident in Kananaskis.
He was only 42 years old.
People die in climbing accidents out here, it's a risky sport. But after 25 years at it, J was a very experienced and responsible climber. He was like that in the pool too. Helpful and friendly, he followed lane etiquette and was actually the guy who patiently helped me perfect my flip turn after my many years of doing a lousy one. "Push down with your right hand on your last stroke, don't stop and keep your eyes on the blue centre line as you flip," he had instructed me. "That way you'll go straight because your head follows your eyes and your body follows your head." He was right, it worked like a charm.
I pretty much lost it this morning because swimming in the lane beside us for the first time since his death was his lovely widow, L. Over she swam and we hugged each other. Ridiculous as it seems, I was so stricken and shocked, she was actually consoling me, for Gawd's sake. And I had only known him for a couple of years at the pool, in the water.
As word spread among others who had known him, many of us stopped swimming to share our shock. That's the strange thing about lap swimming. You get to know people pretty well, although you never know their last names and mainly restrict your outside contact to the occasional coffee with a few. But when you're in the pool pounding laps together, a camaraderie develops. J was part of that group of which I feel privileged to be a member.
As I did my laps today, I dedicated every flip turn to J and cried into my fogged-up goggles for much of the swim. So, farewell J, you were a great guy and are deeply missed by those of us lucky enough to have shared a lane with you.
He was only 42 years old.
People die in climbing accidents out here, it's a risky sport. But after 25 years at it, J was a very experienced and responsible climber. He was like that in the pool too. Helpful and friendly, he followed lane etiquette and was actually the guy who patiently helped me perfect my flip turn after my many years of doing a lousy one. "Push down with your right hand on your last stroke, don't stop and keep your eyes on the blue centre line as you flip," he had instructed me. "That way you'll go straight because your head follows your eyes and your body follows your head." He was right, it worked like a charm.
I pretty much lost it this morning because swimming in the lane beside us for the first time since his death was his lovely widow, L. Over she swam and we hugged each other. Ridiculous as it seems, I was so stricken and shocked, she was actually consoling me, for Gawd's sake. And I had only known him for a couple of years at the pool, in the water.
As word spread among others who had known him, many of us stopped swimming to share our shock. That's the strange thing about lap swimming. You get to know people pretty well, although you never know their last names and mainly restrict your outside contact to the occasional coffee with a few. But when you're in the pool pounding laps together, a camaraderie develops. J was part of that group of which I feel privileged to be a member.
As I did my laps today, I dedicated every flip turn to J and cried into my fogged-up goggles for much of the swim. So, farewell J, you were a great guy and are deeply missed by those of us lucky enough to have shared a lane with you.
Tuesday, September 6, 2016
Ugly
Judging by what's on offer in the high street, I am now officially out of the fashion loop. More ugliness appeared in Calgary's 'Avenue' magazine today. If this is attractive, I'm dead and completely off track. But these outfits are ugly and I know I'm not. Here you go:
Just completely hideous. And the models! Could not be more unattractive -- also ugly with ugly makeup. Whatever happened to beauty?
Just completely hideous. And the models! Could not be more unattractive -- also ugly with ugly makeup. Whatever happened to beauty?
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