We're in trouble. The Supreme Court has just ruled that Metis have to be treated exactly as "natives". You know what that means! Money! Now a few more hundred thousand people will be on the dole, thanks to this ridiculous ruling.
I know people who are not 100% native, half (or more) something else, yet who have been granted status, so how watered down are Metis? How much native do they have to possess to be called Metis and not "native"? Just watched an interview with a woman who is the head of the metis and non-status Indians and it was sickening how un-Canadian these people are. Not a thought to what they can do for this country, it's all about how-much-can-we-get.
I don't know what arguments their lawyers put forward, but they must be very convoluted in order for this to stand. Not a good thing.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Fun at the pool
"Nancy," a voice called from the pool office this morning as I was finishing my laps. I turned around to see fellow swimmer, Rick, standing in the doorway. "I'll be right there," I called back. Climbing out, I went over and greeted him. He was now dressed to the nines for work.
Having never seen him "in clothes", I was very impressed. Sporting gorgeous, slim, black-watch tartan slacks, beautiful dark brown, suede tie shoes, a smashing white shirt with inside blue stripes and a very stylish trench coat, he was the most fashionably-dressed guy I think I have ever seen in Calgary. "You look like a million bucks," I exclaimed enthusiastically. Knowing he was flying to Boston tomorrow to run the marathon, I was very keen to wish him well.
While we were gabbing and laughing, the rest of the swimmers -- well, the serious ones at least -- and the lifeguards were gawking. "What the h-ll is Rick doing going out of his way and going through the pool office to the deck to hail Nancy?" I am sure they were thinking. Here's the deal with Rick: He is a very serious athlete, keeps to himself and rarely talks to anyone. He is also very "hot"and ripped, with not an ounce of fat on his bones. A year younger than I, he has kept himself in fantastic shape. (Why don't men have cellulite?) As you know, I talk to everyone and engaged him one day only to learn through a quirky conversation that he knows my husband, B, both being active in the same local charity. From that moment, Rick and I started to blab away whenever we met.
I delight in the fact that no one knows we have this outside connection and so wonder why he actually talks to me?! I like it that way, much more fun keeping them guessing because his prowess is intimidating to guys much younger than he -- guys who treat me like some annoying old bag, until I pass them in the lanes.
It doesn't take much to amuse me and Rick sure gave my ego a welcome complimentary boost this morning! Going to track his progress during this weekend's marathon.
Having never seen him "in clothes", I was very impressed. Sporting gorgeous, slim, black-watch tartan slacks, beautiful dark brown, suede tie shoes, a smashing white shirt with inside blue stripes and a very stylish trench coat, he was the most fashionably-dressed guy I think I have ever seen in Calgary. "You look like a million bucks," I exclaimed enthusiastically. Knowing he was flying to Boston tomorrow to run the marathon, I was very keen to wish him well.
While we were gabbing and laughing, the rest of the swimmers -- well, the serious ones at least -- and the lifeguards were gawking. "What the h-ll is Rick doing going out of his way and going through the pool office to the deck to hail Nancy?" I am sure they were thinking. Here's the deal with Rick: He is a very serious athlete, keeps to himself and rarely talks to anyone. He is also very "hot"and ripped, with not an ounce of fat on his bones. A year younger than I, he has kept himself in fantastic shape. (Why don't men have cellulite?) As you know, I talk to everyone and engaged him one day only to learn through a quirky conversation that he knows my husband, B, both being active in the same local charity. From that moment, Rick and I started to blab away whenever we met.
I delight in the fact that no one knows we have this outside connection and so wonder why he actually talks to me?! I like it that way, much more fun keeping them guessing because his prowess is intimidating to guys much younger than he -- guys who treat me like some annoying old bag, until I pass them in the lanes.
It doesn't take much to amuse me and Rick sure gave my ego a welcome complimentary boost this morning! Going to track his progress during this weekend's marathon.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Yes, I am a grammar nazi
"The child was still asleep, oblivious to all that went into the building of her life skills, and to the lengths to which so many parents go to ensure their kids have some fun on Sunday afternoons."
This was from an essay in The Globe and Mail today -- the same paper which will not publish anything I send in. The problem with that sentence is the "to" right after "and". Wrong. Should read, "and the lengths to which....." you don't have two "to's". You also don't put a comma before the word "and" -- unless it is a clause. "And" replaces the comma.
Describing the latest virus to hit CRA, The Globe reported: "If your SIN is stolen, the hackers can possibly use it to..........." No, the word "possibly" is unnecessary.
I would find life very dreary were I not able to express myself clearly and correctly on paper.
This was from an essay in The Globe and Mail today -- the same paper which will not publish anything I send in. The problem with that sentence is the "to" right after "and". Wrong. Should read, "and the lengths to which....." you don't have two "to's". You also don't put a comma before the word "and" -- unless it is a clause. "And" replaces the comma.
Describing the latest virus to hit CRA, The Globe reported: "If your SIN is stolen, the hackers can possibly use it to..........." No, the word "possibly" is unnecessary.
I would find life very dreary were I not able to express myself clearly and correctly on paper.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
More fashion faux pas............
Leafing through The Globe this morning, I came across the "fashion" section. If this is fashion, we're in trouble. Here I post a few of this season's "highlights":
 |
I wouldn't wear any outfit save the all-white one. Hideous! |
Ugly
Now for the shoes
 |
| Yeah, these are definitely ugly shoes! |
In Praise of the CBC
Not on your life would I pay $70 to hear Peter Mansbridge speak about anything, let alone something called, "Magnificent Men". Does he think he's one?? Please. But if you can find a few other chumps, you can secure a table for $560 when he comes to Calgary to deliver his bon mots.
Don't we get enough of Mansbridge every day, 10 times a day......forever and ever.......on CBC?! His head is so big I'm always surprised it fits into the screen. I'm sure he's one of the reasons Harper is starting to slash our national broadcaster.
That would be a big mistake. The CBC is one of the treasures that makes Canada "Canada". Without that we'd run the risk of being CNN. And what a disaster the latter is! How that network manages to be both vapid and hysterical at the same time is quite a feat. But CNN actually pulls it off.
A country as large and spread out as Canada needs a public broadcaster to pull it together. Graham Spry and his colleagues knew this back in the '40s, when they cobbled together a motley collection of local stations, turning them miraculously into the CBC. Granted, CBC television sucks, but radio does not. Some of the best programming you will ever hear is on CBC radio -- both One and Two.
Harper is such a control freak, His Majesty doesn't wish to abide the CBC. The irritating Peter Mansbridge notwithstanding, His Highness is wrong, wrong on that one.
Don't we get enough of Mansbridge every day, 10 times a day......forever and ever.......on CBC?! His head is so big I'm always surprised it fits into the screen. I'm sure he's one of the reasons Harper is starting to slash our national broadcaster.
That would be a big mistake. The CBC is one of the treasures that makes Canada "Canada". Without that we'd run the risk of being CNN. And what a disaster the latter is! How that network manages to be both vapid and hysterical at the same time is quite a feat. But CNN actually pulls it off.
A country as large and spread out as Canada needs a public broadcaster to pull it together. Graham Spry and his colleagues knew this back in the '40s, when they cobbled together a motley collection of local stations, turning them miraculously into the CBC. Granted, CBC television sucks, but radio does not. Some of the best programming you will ever hear is on CBC radio -- both One and Two.
Harper is such a control freak, His Majesty doesn't wish to abide the CBC. The irritating Peter Mansbridge notwithstanding, His Highness is wrong, wrong on that one.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Christmas lights and torture
Eureka! A 20-minute window to dismantle the outside Christmas lights and it's almost Easter! Every time I would head outside to face this chore, snow would start to fall. Then we'd have 20 degrees and everyone would be in shorts! But elated as I would be with such a day, I would decide not to bother with the lights. "Heck, I can deal with this tomorrow." Too bad it never happened. However, coming back from my swim this morning, I smelt victory. "Houston, we don't have a problem." FINALLY got those Blessed lights down! I was chuffed, thinking I had beaten Calgary's fickle weather.
Not so fast. Later this afternoon, heading to the torture chamber which is my physiotherapist 's bed-of-nails, I had to wear sunglasses. Leaving 40 minutes later, I battled a wicked snow squall and staggered to my car. What a town! I was there because my upper right arm began to again act up, as it had done two years ago; I needed another painful treatment. Dr. Paul, great guy that he is, has an array of "Middle-Age" torture instruments, which he inflicts upon one as he "clears up" the problem. These consist of things like Graston Rods. Ever heard of them? They might as well be called "Graston Knives" as he pounds them into your muscles and tight spots in an attempt (successfully, I have to admit) to break up all the crap that restricts one's joints and tendons. I had opted again for this charming treatment when I realized this morning at the pool that I had hit "The Wall". I could not complete my 50 laps; had to quit at 30.
Dr. Paul and I laugh and laugh during our sessions in a vain attempt to pretend I am not in excruciating pain. When he starts something really hideous -- such as drilling into the most painful part of one's shoulder -- he chuckles about something. Luckily, I get sucked in and we both start throwing our heads back in congenial hilarity before I realize I am being legally tortured!
The test of his success will be tomorrow when I hit the pool. If I can get all my laps in, the torture will have been worth it.
Not so fast. Later this afternoon, heading to the torture chamber which is my physiotherapist 's bed-of-nails, I had to wear sunglasses. Leaving 40 minutes later, I battled a wicked snow squall and staggered to my car. What a town! I was there because my upper right arm began to again act up, as it had done two years ago; I needed another painful treatment. Dr. Paul, great guy that he is, has an array of "Middle-Age" torture instruments, which he inflicts upon one as he "clears up" the problem. These consist of things like Graston Rods. Ever heard of them? They might as well be called "Graston Knives" as he pounds them into your muscles and tight spots in an attempt (successfully, I have to admit) to break up all the crap that restricts one's joints and tendons. I had opted again for this charming treatment when I realized this morning at the pool that I had hit "The Wall". I could not complete my 50 laps; had to quit at 30.
Dr. Paul and I laugh and laugh during our sessions in a vain attempt to pretend I am not in excruciating pain. When he starts something really hideous -- such as drilling into the most painful part of one's shoulder -- he chuckles about something. Luckily, I get sucked in and we both start throwing our heads back in congenial hilarity before I realize I am being legally tortured!
The test of his success will be tomorrow when I hit the pool. If I can get all my laps in, the torture will have been worth it.
Heads should roll
Apparently, Jim Flaherty went to the Civic on an emergency basis a week ago today with a "cardiac incident". And they sent him home. Where he died of cardiac arrest yesterday. That's Ontario health care for you. How could that happen?
Health care in Alberta is first-rate. B and I know first-hand. Had Flaherty gone to Foothills emergency -- the best acute-care facility in Canada and third-best in North America -- he would probably be alive today. They don't fool around at Foothills. When B's temperature soared last summer, blood tests showed he was gravely ill. Arriving at emergency, the triage team merely had to consult a centralized blood-test data bank which meant he jumped to the head of the line and into a trauma room, where four nurses and two doctors dealt with him within minutes of our arrival. Had this happened in Ottawa, from where we had just returned, he would be dead. Thankfully, after very aggressive in-hospital treatment, he recovered. But they didn't just discharge him and dump him onto the street. He was connected to a home-treatment team which paid regular visits and showed me how to hook up the antibiotic IVs he had to use for quite a long time.
In my case, with a weird heart beat, I have regular ECGs here -- something which did not happen in Ottawa. Securing a doctor soon after our arrival, she sent me off for tests my Ottawa doctor hadn't ordered in years. They also found my thyroid had shut down. Oh, no wonder I was lethargic, couldn't lose a pound and had thinning hair! One little daily pill has reversed all that. In a year I lost 25 pounds, regained my energy and reverted to lovely hair. The heart beat? It's benign.
We may have "universal" health care in Canada, but I still wouldn't want to live in Ontario.
Health care in Alberta is first-rate. B and I know first-hand. Had Flaherty gone to Foothills emergency -- the best acute-care facility in Canada and third-best in North America -- he would probably be alive today. They don't fool around at Foothills. When B's temperature soared last summer, blood tests showed he was gravely ill. Arriving at emergency, the triage team merely had to consult a centralized blood-test data bank which meant he jumped to the head of the line and into a trauma room, where four nurses and two doctors dealt with him within minutes of our arrival. Had this happened in Ottawa, from where we had just returned, he would be dead. Thankfully, after very aggressive in-hospital treatment, he recovered. But they didn't just discharge him and dump him onto the street. He was connected to a home-treatment team which paid regular visits and showed me how to hook up the antibiotic IVs he had to use for quite a long time.
In my case, with a weird heart beat, I have regular ECGs here -- something which did not happen in Ottawa. Securing a doctor soon after our arrival, she sent me off for tests my Ottawa doctor hadn't ordered in years. They also found my thyroid had shut down. Oh, no wonder I was lethargic, couldn't lose a pound and had thinning hair! One little daily pill has reversed all that. In a year I lost 25 pounds, regained my energy and reverted to lovely hair. The heart beat? It's benign.
We may have "universal" health care in Canada, but I still wouldn't want to live in Ontario.
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