"Didn't see you at the pool this morning," said a fellow swimmer, a tad smugly. "Oh, I was there, but at 5:30 because I have my grandson today," I replied, schlepping through the grocery store checkout. Yep, there we were, grandson and I, having woven our way throughout the store, the weekly "shop" completed.
Then it was off to the mall for shopping and lunch. As I was putting grandson's jacket and hat on before we headed home, B disappeared. "Pop into 'Arnold Churgin Shoes' for a minute," he said as he reappeared. In I went and he directed me to a goregous green patent pair. They were the same shoes I had admired, but not bought, a few days earlier. Amazing. We have exactly the same taste in women's shoes. You'd look great in these, he said.
Tried them on and he bought them.
As I have said so often, shoes make the outfit.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Sunday, January 13, 2013
You have to be American
'Lincoln' is a movie about America. Just returned from seeing it and, apart from an acting clinic put on by the incomparable Daniel Day-Lewis, it's a very, very American piece.... which is why it will win a ton of Academy Awards. You can't beat apple pie and ice cream.
Tommy Lee Jones will win a supporting award because he is shown in bed with his black mistress, while also playing the character instrumental in getting the required votes to pass the bill. Personally, I thought he was much better in 'Hope Springs' as Meryl Streep's lost husband in an old marriage. Nevermind, he'll get one for this.
The movie revolves around the passing of the 13th amendment to the American Constitution and the back-room machinations that led to its success. That amendment outlawed slavery, much to the horror of the South. When I visit our southern friends in Louisianna to this day I see what they wanted to retain. In fact, the rich have it still, with their black maids and staff all living off the kindness of their employer.
Is it sacrilege to say the movie was boring? It was one stirring speech after another, but Speilberg could have cut at least half an hour off the final. Nonetheless the sets and costumes were perfect and the lighting was so authentic you could hardly see anything at times. You could actually smell the smoke-filled rooms from fireplaces and candles in many scenes.
Watching the voting tallied in the House of Representatives, I think I finally figured out which side my Missouri forefathers were on. The South. My father, Thomas Raymond Griffith, born in Kansas City in 1899, would have had Confederate ancestors. He never spoke of it. A devout Catholic, my Dad harboured malice towards none.
How interesting that this most "American" of movies plays to sold-out theatres in Canada.
Tommy Lee Jones will win a supporting award because he is shown in bed with his black mistress, while also playing the character instrumental in getting the required votes to pass the bill. Personally, I thought he was much better in 'Hope Springs' as Meryl Streep's lost husband in an old marriage. Nevermind, he'll get one for this.
The movie revolves around the passing of the 13th amendment to the American Constitution and the back-room machinations that led to its success. That amendment outlawed slavery, much to the horror of the South. When I visit our southern friends in Louisianna to this day I see what they wanted to retain. In fact, the rich have it still, with their black maids and staff all living off the kindness of their employer.
Is it sacrilege to say the movie was boring? It was one stirring speech after another, but Speilberg could have cut at least half an hour off the final. Nonetheless the sets and costumes were perfect and the lighting was so authentic you could hardly see anything at times. You could actually smell the smoke-filled rooms from fireplaces and candles in many scenes.
Watching the voting tallied in the House of Representatives, I think I finally figured out which side my Missouri forefathers were on. The South. My father, Thomas Raymond Griffith, born in Kansas City in 1899, would have had Confederate ancestors. He never spoke of it. A devout Catholic, my Dad harboured malice towards none.
How interesting that this most "American" of movies plays to sold-out theatres in Canada.
Now I get it
I have blogged about him before (see "Some swims are better than others", March 14, 2012, and "Scooters and flutter boards", July 20, 2012). Gerry, my friend at the pool. He is very "helpful", to say the least, telling me how to improve my back crawl, teaching me how to perfect a flip turn, etc. And when I injured my arm last March, he knowingly said, "Oh, that'll take months to heal." I was pretty upset at that assessment, but he was right. My arm took about as long to recover as giving birth -- almost nine months and it's still not perfect.
But I am back in the medium lane and back swimming with Gerry. This morning, when he was asking about my spiffy new goggles (I swear I swim faster with them), I finally said, "What do you do?" "I'm a family doctor," he replied. Of course you are. Now I know why you are so didactic and authoritative. You're a doctor.
He suggested a race this morning -- which I won, much to his chagrin. I used to pass him routinely before the arm thing, but now he is a little faster. Except this morning. The things you find out about people in that great equalizer, the Y pool.
But I am back in the medium lane and back swimming with Gerry. This morning, when he was asking about my spiffy new goggles (I swear I swim faster with them), I finally said, "What do you do?" "I'm a family doctor," he replied. Of course you are. Now I know why you are so didactic and authoritative. You're a doctor.
He suggested a race this morning -- which I won, much to his chagrin. I used to pass him routinely before the arm thing, but now he is a little faster. Except this morning. The things you find out about people in that great equalizer, the Y pool.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Waste
"Your biggest virtue is your modesty," said the message in the fortune cookie at lunch. Well, not exactly. B's said, "What you think an obstacle is an opportunity." That fits him, mine does not...although I do think I have a proper "conceit" of myself, both good and bad.
We sometimes go to an authentic chinese restaurant in a mall not far from where we live. I say "authentic" because we are usually the only non-chinese patrons in the place. Today, however, there was another local family nearby........unfortunately. Mom and the two kidlets went for the buffet. About seven and nine, they both rushed up and filled their plates. After no more than two bites, the monsters got up and filled another two plates. Mom said and did nothing. A few minutes later, the kiddies were up for more. By the time they left, five plates sat there, missing about two bites each.
I found it sickening.
Wasting food was about the worst crime you could have committed in our household. I can vividly recall sitting in front of a piece of liver until 11 at night until I finally ate it. If you didn't eat what was on your plate, it reappeared for breakfast..........cold. Looking back, I think it was the right thing to do; I did the same with my kids.
Having gone hungry after the war in England, B hates it if I throw food out. Although I am a master with leftovers, now and then I have to toss something, but I do it when he doesn't see me.
Times have obviously changed.
We sometimes go to an authentic chinese restaurant in a mall not far from where we live. I say "authentic" because we are usually the only non-chinese patrons in the place. Today, however, there was another local family nearby........unfortunately. Mom and the two kidlets went for the buffet. About seven and nine, they both rushed up and filled their plates. After no more than two bites, the monsters got up and filled another two plates. Mom said and did nothing. A few minutes later, the kiddies were up for more. By the time they left, five plates sat there, missing about two bites each.
I found it sickening.
Wasting food was about the worst crime you could have committed in our household. I can vividly recall sitting in front of a piece of liver until 11 at night until I finally ate it. If you didn't eat what was on your plate, it reappeared for breakfast..........cold. Looking back, I think it was the right thing to do; I did the same with my kids.
Having gone hungry after the war in England, B hates it if I throw food out. Although I am a master with leftovers, now and then I have to toss something, but I do it when he doesn't see me.
Times have obviously changed.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Towards infinity
"Now you see me, now you don't." Apparently, Theresa Spence was talked into attending the meeting with Harper today. She even went to Rideau Hall for cocktails with the GG. She and her liquid diet, of course, have become irrelevant -- a sad sideshow, as the main circus rolls on. Man, better get my ass to Rideau Hall! Right now, many talking heads are on various screens blabbing about what happened this afternoon.
Who knows what really happened, or what will happen. But one smart thing Harper did was to stay for the entire meeting. Now he cannot be faulted. His main objective is to get the oil flowing to international markets and that means pipelines over reserve lands. Hence, the cooperation and dialogue he is now demonstrating for the good of all Canadians.
Here's the thing. Of the approximately one million Indians in Canada, 550,000 are off-reserve and only 430,000 on. Do the math. That 430,000 want to hold the rest of Canada hostage. This means that 34 million Canadians are to be dictated to by less that 1% of the population. How does that work?
It's going to get even messier, as a result of the latest ruling that metis and non-status Indians should be included in the Indian Act. That will result in another 650,000 wanting $$$$$. But when the British North America Act was drafted in 1867, metis meant half Indian and half white; non-status meant full Indian, but off-reserve. Where does this leave us in 2013? Many generations later, who is a metis? Who is off-reserve? Who is non-status? How much "white" blood qualifies or disqualifies you?
With a non-status, but full Mohawk, great-grandmother, I may qualify. How ridiculous! Will several generations have to apply and make a case? It's just not workable on any level.
And as to "The Crown", with which the 'Idle No More' gang wish to deal, bulletin, bulletin, bulletin....The Crown is the Canadian government. Our constitution was patriated in April, 1982.
Get over yourselves.
Who knows what really happened, or what will happen. But one smart thing Harper did was to stay for the entire meeting. Now he cannot be faulted. His main objective is to get the oil flowing to international markets and that means pipelines over reserve lands. Hence, the cooperation and dialogue he is now demonstrating for the good of all Canadians.
Here's the thing. Of the approximately one million Indians in Canada, 550,000 are off-reserve and only 430,000 on. Do the math. That 430,000 want to hold the rest of Canada hostage. This means that 34 million Canadians are to be dictated to by less that 1% of the population. How does that work?
It's going to get even messier, as a result of the latest ruling that metis and non-status Indians should be included in the Indian Act. That will result in another 650,000 wanting $$$$$. But when the British North America Act was drafted in 1867, metis meant half Indian and half white; non-status meant full Indian, but off-reserve. Where does this leave us in 2013? Many generations later, who is a metis? Who is off-reserve? Who is non-status? How much "white" blood qualifies or disqualifies you?
With a non-status, but full Mohawk, great-grandmother, I may qualify. How ridiculous! Will several generations have to apply and make a case? It's just not workable on any level.
And as to "The Crown", with which the 'Idle No More' gang wish to deal, bulletin, bulletin, bulletin....The Crown is the Canadian government. Our constitution was patriated in April, 1982.
Get over yourselves.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
A Royal pain
We have been clients (they used to call us "customers") of the Royal Bank for a thousand years, yet they still can't get our name right. It's beyond belief.
Firstly, just moving here and transferring to a local branch was a big mistake. This region doesn't talk to our old region and neither do their computer systems. A year-and-a-half later and we are still not completely moved over! Not to bore you with the gory details, but you get the picture. It was just one screw up after another.
"You have to go into the bank and sign a document," B said to me the other day. You have to understand, that I enter that place under severe duress and only if I absolutely must. "Why?" Well, she just said they need your signature to complete the blah-blah, he said. "It'll be no fuss, the document will be right at the front desk for you, you don't need to see anyone, just sign it," he added.
How did I know it would not quite work that way.
So, in I go. "May I help you," said the young man. He was seated beside another young "helper" woman. I could see a 100 other employees milling around -- not at tellers' wickets, of course, too busy doing.............????...........while the docile customers, long used to no-service, lined up zombie-style waiting.
"My name is....and apparently there is a document here for me to sign." "Mrs. Clarke?" No, Mrs. Marley-Clarke. "May I just see some ID please," he asks. I show it. It clearly says, "Nancy Marley-Clarke". He shuffles around, on and under the desk, looking for what I knew with complete and absolute certainty would not be there. "Do you know who your husband saw?" No. "Let me just look up your account." I hand over my client card. He looks. "No, nothing here about signing any document," he says, now a tad nervous because I am looking daggers at him.
Then we played guess-the-client-advisor. "Was it Sue? No. Lindsay? No. Helen? No. "P" Yes, that was her name. "I'll just go and get her." And up he gets and returns with "P". Apparently, she was in a meeting -- presumably with another annoying customer -- and I had the nerve to interrupt her.
After looking under the desk and staring blankly at the computer screen, she says, "No, there is nothing for you to sign, your husband must have been mistaken." I knew he was not. She departs. The young man says, "Let me just go and see the customer (non)service people and check again." No one in the entire branch had a clue about what I was to sign. "Well, that was a waste of a half hour," I said, as I left.
A day later the phone rings, as I knew it would. "Mrs. Clarke?" No one here by that name, I said, about to hang up. "I mean Mrs. Marley-Clarke," P adds quickly. "We finally figured out what you were to to sign." I guess it took an all-day special meeting for the branch to get to the bottom of the mystery. "The document was there all along, but it was addressed to Mrs. Clarke," she actually said.
"You know, we have been customers for many, many years, it would be nice if you got our name right," I snapped. "Did (the young man) look around? What did he do?" she stupidly asked. "I'm not his boss, I wasn't going to tell him what your procedures are." "Well, can you come in and sign it today?" No.
After uttering a curt goodbye, I hung up. No clue when I will get there again, but any bets the document won't be at the front desk of that hopelessly-muddled, left-hand-right-hand mess when I do!!??
Firstly, just moving here and transferring to a local branch was a big mistake. This region doesn't talk to our old region and neither do their computer systems. A year-and-a-half later and we are still not completely moved over! Not to bore you with the gory details, but you get the picture. It was just one screw up after another.
"You have to go into the bank and sign a document," B said to me the other day. You have to understand, that I enter that place under severe duress and only if I absolutely must. "Why?" Well, she just said they need your signature to complete the blah-blah, he said. "It'll be no fuss, the document will be right at the front desk for you, you don't need to see anyone, just sign it," he added.
How did I know it would not quite work that way.
So, in I go. "May I help you," said the young man. He was seated beside another young "helper" woman. I could see a 100 other employees milling around -- not at tellers' wickets, of course, too busy doing.............????...........while the docile customers, long used to no-service, lined up zombie-style waiting.
"My name is....and apparently there is a document here for me to sign." "Mrs. Clarke?" No, Mrs. Marley-Clarke. "May I just see some ID please," he asks. I show it. It clearly says, "Nancy Marley-Clarke". He shuffles around, on and under the desk, looking for what I knew with complete and absolute certainty would not be there. "Do you know who your husband saw?" No. "Let me just look up your account." I hand over my client card. He looks. "No, nothing here about signing any document," he says, now a tad nervous because I am looking daggers at him.
Then we played guess-the-client-advisor. "Was it Sue? No. Lindsay? No. Helen? No. "P" Yes, that was her name. "I'll just go and get her." And up he gets and returns with "P". Apparently, she was in a meeting -- presumably with another annoying customer -- and I had the nerve to interrupt her.
After looking under the desk and staring blankly at the computer screen, she says, "No, there is nothing for you to sign, your husband must have been mistaken." I knew he was not. She departs. The young man says, "Let me just go and see the customer (non)service people and check again." No one in the entire branch had a clue about what I was to sign. "Well, that was a waste of a half hour," I said, as I left.
A day later the phone rings, as I knew it would. "Mrs. Clarke?" No one here by that name, I said, about to hang up. "I mean Mrs. Marley-Clarke," P adds quickly. "We finally figured out what you were to to sign." I guess it took an all-day special meeting for the branch to get to the bottom of the mystery. "The document was there all along, but it was addressed to Mrs. Clarke," she actually said.
"You know, we have been customers for many, many years, it would be nice if you got our name right," I snapped. "Did (the young man) look around? What did he do?" she stupidly asked. "I'm not his boss, I wasn't going to tell him what your procedures are." "Well, can you come in and sign it today?" No.
After uttering a curt goodbye, I hung up. No clue when I will get there again, but any bets the document won't be at the front desk of that hopelessly-muddled, left-hand-right-hand mess when I do!!??
They just didn't do it
"Babies. The politics of the fiscal cliff deal are outrageous. The economic thinking is even worse," screams the cover of 'Bloomberg Businessweek'. The visual is an overhead of the US Senate, with crying babies throwing tantrums occupying the seats.
'The Economist's cover is also perfect: "America turns European", with a shot of Boehner dressed in German lederhosen and Obama sporting a French beret and striped maillot.
Both magazines absolutely rip the two and their feeble, ineffectual and cowardly deal. I think the only way Washington may get the message is if a great unwashed armed mob stormed the Capitol. Frankly, I don't think it's too far-fetched a possibility.
On another completely unrelated note, all summer and fall we have had a pair of prairie ground birds of some type in our backyard. They come for the leftovers which fall from the birdfeeder. They even visit when the snow is heavy and simply burrow happily into the drifts at my back stoop (love that word, as charming as another we used to hear, "stile"). As I type, our visitor is snuggled so deeply into the snow, only its eyes and beak are visible. Quite adorable.
Sadly, for the past three weeks, only one has been visiting. I think a coyote got its mate. Just took a picture of our "chubby", as I call all wildlife. Will post soon.
'The Economist's cover is also perfect: "America turns European", with a shot of Boehner dressed in German lederhosen and Obama sporting a French beret and striped maillot.
Both magazines absolutely rip the two and their feeble, ineffectual and cowardly deal. I think the only way Washington may get the message is if a great unwashed armed mob stormed the Capitol. Frankly, I don't think it's too far-fetched a possibility.
On another completely unrelated note, all summer and fall we have had a pair of prairie ground birds of some type in our backyard. They come for the leftovers which fall from the birdfeeder. They even visit when the snow is heavy and simply burrow happily into the drifts at my back stoop (love that word, as charming as another we used to hear, "stile"). As I type, our visitor is snuggled so deeply into the snow, only its eyes and beak are visible. Quite adorable.
Sadly, for the past three weeks, only one has been visiting. I think a coyote got its mate. Just took a picture of our "chubby", as I call all wildlife. Will post soon.
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