Took about a year

"I'm not loving it," said my dermatologist yesterday, as he examined a spot on my chest.  He was referring to yet another wee skin cancer that has cropped up.  Sigh.......I seem to be very prone to these annoyances.  My skin is so white it's blue, so all those teenage years of baby oil and reflectors are now getting their revenge with little eruptions left, right and centre.

The worst was one I had on my forehead a year-and-a-half ago -- the remnants of an incomplete Mohs Surgery I had had 20 years ago.  With basal cell, you have to get every last cell out, or it will come back.  When the forehead lump resurfaced, it had apparently spread widely under the skin over a few years, so the surgeon had to dig and go back in seven times before she finally got it all.  What a fun day that was!

That was in January, 2021, and I am only posting to preserve a medical history record when I get another volume of my blog printed.  Here's how it looks today:

Almost not there and this is without makeup.  When Estée Lauder and I team up, it's barely visible.  I had a very skilled plastic surgeon.  With apologies to all my friends in Ontario, Alberta's health care is first rate.  

(p.s.  I wonder if Blogger will delete my post because it may be deemed too gruesome?) 

    

"Feminist" acquaintances

Just a few words about a some acquaintances who claim to be "feminists".  What is "feminism"?  What is "Women's Lib"?  Frankly, I have no clue because these days, I identify with neither.  All I know is my cohort "invented" both concepts so we could keep some sort of job after having had kids.  At least, that was my objective.

We went to the "barricades".  Some of the more radical burned bras, but I never did because I was still proud of being a woman and looking as good as I could.  Bras weren't the problem.  How we were treated when we became pregnant on the job was -- at least it was for me.

When I fell pregnant, I was working for Central Mortgage and Housing and actually had to wear bulky clothes and walk around holding files in front of my belly to hide it.  A competition came up, I applied and won.  But when they found out I was pregnant, they cancelled the competition -- thank you Bill Teron!  When I was on maternity leave, they re-opened it and the guy who had come second -- and who could not inconveniently become pregnant -- was appointed.  

I kid you not! 

Today, I am acquainted with a few self-proclaimed "feminists".  One, let's call her BM-F, has never earned a dollar in her entire life.  She was supported by her father (as were we all, as children), then married a guy who supported her, divorced him, lived on alimony and child support, and then married another wealthy guy who conveniently died and left her a million or so.  But, according to her, she's a "feminist".  Go figure!  Living off men all your life disqualifies you as a "feminist".

She blindly supports Trudeau and idolizes Freeland.  Why?  Because Trudeau claims to be a "feminist".  OMG!  The guy who gropes and shoves women in the House of Commons?  Freeland, the woman who struts around in too-tight, too-short dresses pushing everyone around?  "She speaks five languages, you know," BM-F exclaimed.  Here's a bulletin:  Living off men all your life disqualifies you as a "feminist" and insults those of us who have always earned our own living.       

Then, we have another "Church lady" who actually did work and now collects a fat pension.  She declares she will always vote Liberal.  "What about Trudeau and his scandals and disgraceful conduct in London, for example," asked B.  "What about his sexual misconduct?"  I don't care, he's a "feminist" and I always vote Liberal.  Informed?  Hardly.

Then we have another well-off retired bureaucrat, AK, who only hangs around with other generously-pensioned women and disdains men.  She's had a number of them, but nothing stuck, so now she and her scorned buddies are all man-hating losers.

And then there are all the women I know who took up an expensive seat in an institute of higher learning, got a degree or diploma and then sat on their asses and lived off their husbands.  FLJ, SM-CL, SO, TGS, T and W -- I'm lookin' at you.  You know who you are.  That's very wrong.  

So, to all the "feminists" out there who have lived off men while bad-mouthing them I say "Bullsh-t". 

Will "Blogspot" delete this?  We'll see.

      

 

    

    

The contrast is breathtaking

Watching Roger Federer participate in the Laver Cup, a team tournament he founded five years ago, after losing his doubles match a day earlier with his partner Raphael Nadal, I was struck by the difference between Roger and the Canadian prime minister.  Roger stays to support his team members, while Trudeau flies off to Japan to leave the Maritimes drowning and dying in hurricane chaos.

The guy leaves the country!  It's unreal!  To those Canadians who still support this globalist traitor I say, shame on you!  It is appalling that the so-called "leader" of this country abandons its citizens in their direst moment.  

I'm also calling out Governor General Mary Simon for the $99,000-plus she and 29 friends and hangers-on-at-the-trough blew through on a recent trip to Dubai.  And that's just the food and booze on the flights!  For starters, what the h-ll was she doing going to Dubai in the first place?!  Why does the Canadian representative of The Crown need to go to Dubai???  She doesn't and so far, I have come across no explanation for the boondoggle trip.  I mean, they can't even make one up!

  

On another file, I've also got a problem with the agreement that the Siksika reserve will now have its own police force.  What's my problem?  My problem is that they had one for 10 years, but ran out of money (go figure?!) and disbanded it.  Now, however, the province and federal government have agreed to fund it again, so the RCMP are out of the picture.  I think the tide turned because of the mess Lucki and her band have made of so many deadly incidents lately.

My other question is, why is there so much crime and murder on the average reserve?  Rhetorical.  

Speaking of the RCMP, the lawyer representing the union at the inquiry into the deadly Nova Scotia rampage wants to be sure any emerging recommendations do not put her members at risk.  Say what!?  You're a police force.  Your job is to face and catch criminals.  Of course there's danger!  If you don't want to be at risk, don't join the force.  Work at a local 'Seven 11' -- oh, sorry I forgot, those jobs are far more deadly than that of an RCMP officer.  These brave folk are actually killed on the job regularly.  Folks, doesn't that give you a sense of security that the RCMP will protect you?  Me neither.

We are so badly served by politicians and police in this country.  

  

Five?

So, the call is out for Alberta to have its own police force, like Ontario and Quebec.  Leaving Quebec out of the discussion -- because whatever the ridiculous province of Quebec demands, it gets -- that would mean Alberta, with a population of  a measly 4.7 million souls, would have five forces.  Five!

• Local police 
• Peace officers
• Sheriffs
• RCMP, and then
• Alberta police

That would be ridiculous in the extreme.  The real objective of the Yay's on this move is to ensure no one is accountable to anyone for anything.  Think about it.  A crime is committed.  The local police point to the RCMP, who points to the Alberta force, who turns to a peace officer, who blames the sheriffs'.....etc. etc. and on and on.  What a dream that would be for all parties, not to mention a real gift to the perpetrators, whose lawyers could claim a jumble of jurisdictional screw-ups and unlawful arrests in the first place.  Cases thrown out.  Closed.  Accused dismissed.

Will it happen?  Maybe.  Alberta -- and that ridiculous Danielle Smith -- simply want the no-accountability law "enforcement" deal Quebec and Ontario have had for years.  Although, with the incompetence of the RCMP so breathtaking, I can understand no one wanting them handling anything.  Every time they do, many lives are tragically lost and we have to convene a meaningless inquiry to learn that.... yep, many lives were lost.

_________________________________

I want to say a word about RoseAnne Archibald and a couple of colleagues' attendance at the Queen's funeral.  Actually, it's just one word:  Why?  She claims it's about having a word with the new King about treaty rights and the native relationship with The Crown.  Really?  Does she think amid all the bruhaha Charles III will have time to pull up a throne, roll up his gilded sleeves and bang out a few new treaty amendments with her?  

RoseAnne, Canada is the entity that decides what happens with the natives.  Not The Crown.  Get it?  Ms. Archibald is well-educated and no pushover.  Googling her, I learned she has several degrees from Laurentian University, but I could not discover if she had gone to a residential school.  (Probably, but it's not clear.)  I admire the way she stared down the chiefs who vehemently objected to her calls for a forensic audit of how many hands were monkeying around in the AFN's tills over the years.  They were calling for her head before the auditor could plug in his calculator and sharpen his pencil; she won that one.  For now.

But as to the junket to London, that's what it was, a junket.  First, the AFN demanded the Pope apologize for Canada's residential schools.  Didn't work.  Now it's The Crown.  That won't work either.  But, hey, everyone enjoyed a nice trip to London, where I understand the weather is lovely, so not everything was lost.

______________________________

I have also noticed that, when we should all be mourning the death of a beloved Monarch, there are some writing and giving interviews about how horrible The Crown is and how it stole from so many countries.  What I have also noticed is that all these anti-Monarchists are people of colour.  Can't they stand down for just a few days before starting up again?  Guess not.

But let's hand it to David Beckham and Jason Kenney, who stood in line with 'everyman' for 16 hours to pay their respects to their Queen. This is in stark contrast to British MPs, who were given passes -- and took them -- so they could go to the head of the queue.  That's outrageous.  It was also sickening to see Trudeau there.  Unbearable.  

In Kenney's case, he travelled at his own expense, with no staff.  That was impressive and shows up all his rivals.  Good for both Beckham and Kenney.  Hip hip!            

I can always tell....

.....when a woman is taking hormone replacement therapy, said a doctor friend I swim with.  "And I am sure you are," he added.  Well, as a matter of fact, I have been on the lowest dose of estrogen for 26 years, so he was correct.  

It must be working because many times, when learning my age, people are amazed.  They say they thought I was 20 years younger.  It is because of what estrogen does for the skin -- probably also helps that I don't smoke.  (Note:  Remember, I am writing this blog as a legacy for my grands, who currently have no idea what I'm really like, so if it sounds as if I am bragging at times, it's because I hope they get the full measure of me.  I am not just some old lady who makes muffins and pancakes.)  

About ten years ago, I was stopped by a complete stranger in the supermarket who approached me and said, "I just want to tell you you are very beautiful."  I almost dropped, as I quickly looked around to see if she had had an accomplice who was standing nearby to pick the wallet out of my purse while she distracted me.  But no, she was alone and seemed to have said it for no reason?

However, I did have my wallet stolen about 15 years ago in Vancouver by a man/woman team of very well-dressed pick-pockets.  Having breakfast with my daughter, I had hung my purse on the back of my chair.  In these two strolled and sat down.  Quickly, the woman rose and made a scene, while the man sat quietly behind me.  Distracted by her shenanigans, we all stared in her direction instead of at what her accomplice had been up to.  They left as quietly as they had entered, just strolling out in no rush whatsoever.  

Oblivious to what had befallen me, I arrived at the ferry terminal for Victoria and reached for my wallet to buy the ticket.  Gone.  Panicking and casting my mind back, I put two-and-two together and realized I had had my pocket picked by a couple of real pros.  I immediately called the police and my bank and discovered the bank had already cancelled my cards for "unusual activity", but not before these two had charged more than $2,500 in an hour.  What an expensive pain in the a-- to have had to replace all my cards.  Brings to mind Dickens' 'Oliver Twist' and Fagan, with his band of young brigands.  

But back to unsolicited comments from strangers.  Yesterday, leaving a restaurant, I crossed paths under the lintel with a middle-aged woman with long, grey hair.  "I love your hair!," she said about my cropped variety.  "And your skin.  Amazing!"  "I am very close with Estée Lauder (see below)," I explained, adding that estrogen was also behind the condition of the skin.

 

I will often approach total strangers myself and compliment them on their shoes, hair or outfits -- often asking where they had bought them.  It's amazing how little a compliment costs the giver and how much it means to the recipient.       

Random thoughts

So, a few provinces -- including Alberta and the true-blue, traditional Ontario -- have rejected declaring the day of the Queen's funeral a statutory day of mourning.  It'll be business-as-usual.  

How does this make any sense in a country with The Monarch as its Head of State, represented by the Governor General and Lieutenant Generals in all provinces?  It doesn't.  But this is what happens when you eliminate Civics in Canadian classrooms; those running it have no clue how their own governments work.  Think about it.  If we are not granting a day to mourn our Head of State nationally and in all provinces, then we should not have The Monarch as our Head of State.  That would necessitate the eliminating all Royal representatives in this country.  No GG and no LGs.  Goodbye.

But, of course, this will not happen because that would mean opening up the Constitution Act of 1982 to amend it and that will not be happening.  To do so requires the adoption of identical resolutions in both the House and Senate, as well as the approval of two-thirds of provincial and territorial assemblies, representing at least 50 percent of the population.  Just to patriate it in 1982 -- akin to moving it from one filing cabinet to another -- took years of federal/provincial wrangling and fighting over jurisdiction and money because if you open it up to one amendment, you open it up to anything and everything anyone wants to table.

A real Pandora's Box of a dog's breakfast.

So, since we will not be amending the constitution, The Monarch will remain Canada's Sovereign and Head of State.  Period, the end.

Watching the coverage of the Queen's funeral processions and preparations it is clear no one does it like the Brits.  The attention-to-detail, rigour and precision are unmatched.  And it was jaw-dropping and nail-biting as one watched the eight soldiers and guards carrying her heavy, oak, lead-lined coffin.  "What if they drop it, Grandma?  The Queen would fall out dead," said granddaughter, echoing a few of my own fears as the young men of the bearer party moved slowly and purposefully along.

As Her Majesty rested atop the bier in Westminster Hall, my heart went to the sentries on its four corners, who stand in watch, immobile for six hours in each shift.  Six hours!  Can't even feature going an hour-and-a-half without a "comfort" break, as it is called.  

And speaking of "comfort" breaks, what about those who sleep and stand in queues for hours and hours?  How does that work?  (You can clearly see how my bizarre mind works.)

We now await the funeral, one of the most solemn and sad ceremonies we will ever witness.  God Save the King. 

     

 

 

Old home week

The Spray Lakes pool here in Cochrane is closed for a month for maintenance, so I have returned to my old haunt, the Crowfoot Y, for my daily swim and wow, what a homecoming it has been!  Everywhere I turn, someone is yelling, "Nancy!  Where have you been?"  I guess I didn't tell all my swim-lane buddies I was moving to Cochrane a year ago, so now they know.

"We thought something had happened to you," said Anna, the young Chinese women I taught to swim and do a flip turn.  Now she's way better than I at both!   

It's actually hard to get my complete swim set in because of all the yakking I'm doing.  "It's still referred to as your locker, you know," said Rosemary.  "But if someone is in mine, I just say, 'I guess I'll use Nancy's'."  So, I am using my old locker and feeling right at home.  Not that we had lockers, but we always used the same one -- which was one way I knew who was in the pool before I got to the deck.  If someone's locker was being used, I knew so-and-so was there.    

"Gee, everyone seems to know you here," said a new lifeguard this morning.  "Well, I swam here for 11 years, so a few people do."  So, I got hugs from Jacques, Paul, Leslie-Anne, Karen, Anna, Randy, Rosemary and a few others.  Even Chris, one of the lifeguards who was still there, said, "Whoa!  Where have you been?!"

Frankly, it felt really good and if it weren't for the half-hour drive to and from, I'd go back.

_____________________________

Disappointing to see how ignorant Canadians are about the Queen and our Constitution.  Polls are full of people saying they wanted to get rid of the Monarchy.  This is because schools no longer teach Civics, History and Geography, so no one has a clue about our Head of State.  

I also think it's a disgrace that not all provinces have declared the day of her funeral a civic holiday.  But, with Trudeau in charge and Singh propping him up, this is no surprise.  He had to declare it a day of mourning because the Monarch is still our Head of State, but if he had his druthers, he would not have.  This is not going to change because that would require opening up the Constitution -- something that will not be happening because it is so fraught.  

It's all wrong and sad.

    

Happenstance?

I wonder.  Her Majesty died at Balmoral, in Scotland, where there is a groundswell of rabid, separatist advocates.  While these ceremonies will have been rehearsed and drilled at each of her residences, i.e., Buckingham Palace, Sandringham and Windsor in readiness for her passing, it happened to happen at Balmoral.  

What went on there is sure to have dampened the independence movement -- at least for a while.  The Monarchy was very much present, thriving and dominant as The Queen lay in state and was paraded.  I know many readers will recoil at what I am about to suggest, but could Her Majesty have planned to die there?  Could she have asked the morphine be upped, or could it have simply been a stroke?  Were it the latter, how fortuitous.  

In good spirits just two days before she died, she received Boris Johnson to say farewell and Liz Truss to ask the latter to form a new government in Her Name.  We know that Her Majesty remained a devoted servant of the people literally right up to the end.  Was this her final dutiful act, to reinforce the fact that she was indeed Monarch of Scotland?  

(Note:  I just heard a commentator say that indeed, she did want to die in Scotland for the very reasons I have outlined.  How it happened, however, we do not know, but it certainly makes sense.)   

How ironic to see the zealous separatist, Nicola Sturgeon, having to laud The Queen in a speech to the Scottish Parliament.  The words of praise and acclaim must have stuck in her throat.  But, or course, we all know that secretly every opponent of The Monarchy revered The Queen and jumped at any chance to meet her.  How pathetic the Republic of Ireland looked in its absence of loyalty.  They were indeed odd man out on this one.

As the Scots paid her homage, Elizabeth II got the upper hand in a show of strength and support to King Charles III.  The Queen went out on top.  What a marvel.  May she rest in peace. 

Her last public duty two days before she died.
  

Farewell.

  

A first

We've just wrapped up a visit to Ottawa and our old cottage at The Gatineau Fish & Game Club, where we holidayed as a blended family for 25 years.  For the first time, we were there with our two sons and what a different dynamic it was.  Many, many laughs -- many at the expense of B, which he took in stride (sort of, hahaha).  

"I remember you because of your jewelry," said the woman hostess in The Chateau Laurier, where we stayed on the way there and back.  Wow, we hadn't been there for more than a year, but that's what Filomena said.  Probably just a touch of BS, but it was clever nonetheless.  'The Backstreet Boys' were also staying there and a ruder bunch of punks I have never met.  Just oafs from Florida waaaaay past their prime.

Up at the cottage, I did my daily, just-under 2K swim around the bay, accompanied by my trusty 'Swim Buddy', a bright orange, inflatable device that does not create any drag, but will hold you if you need to stop to clear your goggles, for example.  It is also a bit of a security 'buddy' just knowing it is there if ever needed.  It would also tell rescuers where I am, should I drown; no need for expensive dragging of the lake.  

Here are a few snaps of our lovely visit.  We have already booked for next year!

Gene with one of the huge bass he caught.

Gene cooling off.  The weather was superb.

B relaxing.

Me with stepson, Scott, after a swim with my orange 'Buddy'.

Gene and B, enjoying a moment.  

B and son, Scott.

Cocktails on an evening boat ride.  (Me yapping, as usual.)

Dawn on the lake.

Sunrise.

Gene off to catch (and release) a few more.

There are very few cottages marring Lake Pemichangan.

Lunch in Maniwaki, where the invoice is also written in Anishinaabeg, the local native language.  Fascinating.

 

A sad, sad day

Our beloved Queen Elizabeth II has died.  

We met her in June, 2006, shortly after her 80th birthday.  I will never forget it.  Here is a story I wrote, which I am re-posting in her honour:

The Queen, the hat and me

“It appears you and Mr. Marley-Clarke will be representing Canada when Her Majesty visits on Friday,” said the chair of the London Commonwealth Society.  “Do you have a proper frock?” he added.  I was speechless – not only because I was to meet Her Majesty, but also because he wasn’t sure I had an appropriate “frock” for the occasion.  “Yes, I have a frock and am thrilled I will be so honoured,” I replied with delight.

My husband and I were in London a few years ago for an international Royal Commonwealth meeting and the opening of the newly-renovated Commonwealth Club.  As my husband was still vice-chair, I hadn’t anticipated our being the Canadian representatives, but luckily for us, the chair had to leave before the official opening, so we were next.   “Oh dear,” I exclaimed to Brian, “I have the frock, but not a hat!”  The frock was a designer-original silk suit, created for a family wedding, but a proper hat I still had to find.  Off we went to Debenhams.

Wandering through the extraordinary hat department were excited women chatting and trying on beautiful varieties.  I needed an exact colour and asked for help.  “What’s the occasion?” the sales girl asked.  “Well, I am being presented to The Queen tomorrow.”  “The Queen!” she practically shrieked.  At that, every head turned, rushed over and pitched in to choose my hat.  “Oh my dear,” said one matron.  “This is really something, you have to look your very best,” she added unnecessarily.  Finally the perfect hat, which matched my burgundy shoes and trim, was purchased.  Huge, it required a hat box to accommodate it.  Hadn’t seen one since those wonderful thirties Hollywood movies. 

The day dawned.  Extremely nervous, I was up early putting on makeup and affixing the famous hat.  Although Her Majesty was not expected until 11, for security reasons, guests were instructed to arrive by 9:30 at which time all doors were closed.  So, there we were, awaiting the momentous arrival of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.  Walking in and looking around, I realized with horror I was the only woman wearing a hat.  In London!  We all know that once committed, a woman can’t change head-gear course without exposing the dreaded “hat head”.  So, I asked someone I knew would know about hat protocol.  “If The Queen is wearing one, others may,” he told me.  “It’s a bit like a crown.”  Having never seen The Queen without a hat, I figured I was de rigeur. 

The excitement rose as the hour approached and those of us who were to be presented were put in the official line and given detailed instructions about how to address our Monarch.  “Your Majesty initially and Ma’am thereafter, if she stops to chat,” said the lovely man.  “And of course, one curtsies,” he added, asking me to demonstrate.  I passed. 

“I first met The Queen in 1964 in Malaysia,” said the officious gent beside me.  “Oh, I’m sure she will remember!” I replied factiously.  “I am sure she will,” he seriously replied.  Some people, I thought.  After what seemed hours, the buzz built.  “She’s here!”  We had been asked to write a little about ourselves so she could be briefed as she walked the receiving line.  Thinking about their loyalty to the Crown, I had written that my great-grandmother had been a Mohawk from Tyendinaga.  (This family lore was later debunked, when I took a '23 and Me' test; absolutely no native DNA to be found.)  Anyway, back then I didn't know that, so I wondered would she notice?  As she mounted the stairs, I gasped.  She was magnificent in an apple-green ensemble and, to my relief, a matching hat.  I was safe. 

She approached everyone with her beautiful smile, but when she reached me stopped.  I almost froze.  What was she looking at?  My hat?  Bizarrely, I noticed her lipstick was almost the same shade as mine:  Estee Lauder’s Starlit Pink no. 18.  I also noticed she was shorter than I.  Looking into her clear blue eyes, I fancied I could see back hundreds of years to the Houses of Stuart, Tudor and Wessex.  

“You’re here for the meetings, are you?” she said.  “Yes Ma’am, I am.”  “Always interesting to exchange ideas,” she added.  “I’ve certainly learned a lot,” I replied, as she began to move along.  What possessed me I have to clue, but I threw in, “And I thought I knew everything!”  At that point she turned, looked at me and let out an audible, genuine guffaw.  “It happens,” she said.  “Believe me, I happens!”  Unfortunately, the gentleman who had been convinced she would remember him didn’t get much of an introduction because Elizabeth II was too busy laughing. 

I visualized my monarchist grandmother, mother and aunts dancing around me, as thrilled as I to have met their beloved Queen.  After she took her leave, a lavish reception followed.  Approaching me as I awaited a calming flute of champagne, an elderly gentleman said, “My dear, The Queen’s hat was lovely, but yours is a cracker!”

Leaving London from Heathrow a few days later, I stood in line with the formidable millinery box.  “Sorry, you will have to stow that, you can’t take it on board.  It’s too big,” said the Air Canada agent tapping at her computer, barely looking up.  I told her I didn’t know what to do with it and added, “This hat met The Queen, so I can’t wreck it.”  This caused an excited commotion behind the counter and I was asked to take it out and try it on.  So, there I stood, modelling my “Queen hat” for the excited agents and the visibly-annoyed long, impatient lineup behind me.

Eventually, they took the hat box and stowed it safely with the captain’s gear.  To this day it’s known as “The Queen Hat” and worn proudly whenever the occasion permits.   

_______________________

So, this is my tribute to Her Majesty.  May she rest in a well-earned peace.