Christmas sewing

For some reason, I always get into a sewing jag before Christmas.  Heck, we haven't even had Thanksgiving, but I have made my Christmas table linen.  Usually, it's a tablecloth and napkins, but the problem with that is they hide my beautiful dining room table.  The solution this year?  Tablemats.  Just finished six, with napkins and coasters.  Even lined the mats with padding and sewed on a backing. 

St. Nicholas is the theme, a nod to grandson whom I will be taking (I hope) again this year to visit.  His birthday is exactly one week before Christmas and for the past two years, we have taken him to have a word with the Jolly Old Elf.  Here are my mats and napkins...............

 

I am pretty pleased I have this completed well in advance.  I like to think grandson will one day have these on his own Christmas table.   



   

Don't read it

I have blogged this before, if you don't have the balls to sign on as an official "follower" of my blog, don't comment on it to third parties.  Seriously.  I have only 18 "official" followers, but last time I checked the stats, almost 100,000 people are reading it.

The ones who annoy me are the people who complain to B about what I write.  Hey, B doesn't even read it himself.  If you want to complain, become a "follower" and I'll gladly publish your comments.  I am actually missing my niece's wedding in Ottawa today because her stepmother didn't like a blog I wrote last year and now I am not welcome in her territory.  How pathetic that you take yourself so seriously you object to...........whatever.????  Too bad her husband, my dear cousin with whom I grew up and who was like a brother to me, went along with her. 

But them's the breaks.  I say what I think, I am definite and pretty much black and white about everything.  I love writing and will continue to put myself out there.      

Them's the demographics

So, the Scots have voted "No".  Clearly, it was the crazy and idealistic youth who wanted the "Yes" side to win.  Cooler heads, however, prevailed.  A look at the demographics tells the tale.  Ages 15 to 24 comprise only 13 percent of the population -- most probably fanatics.  Cooler heads, ages 40 to 54, comprise 23 percent and they relied upon their wisdom to defeat the motion.   

The numbers were against the "No".  Plain and simple.  Heard lots of middle-aged citizens interviewed who said they would have voted "yes" ten years earlier, but realized now that would have been folly.

I am trying to understand what the issue was.  I guess it was money, as usual.  Questioning B, a constitutional expert who worked with British lawyers in the forefront of patriating our own constitution in 1982 under 'Trudeau the Elder', I still couldn't really find an equivalent to explain Scotland's problem.  Here, the provinces have taxing powers, as do the municipalities (creatures of the provinces, by the way), so they don't have a beef.  Scotland, although it has a Parliament, has no taxing powers and all fiscal allocations are decided in Westminster.  What they were after was fiscal autonomy.  And that's as close as I can come to understanding what their problem was. 

With wisdom and a bit of hysteria, Salmond has resigned.  But his speech still sounded like a victory lap.  No buddy, you lost.  And with much more of a margin than we suffered through when Quebec held its last referendum.  Man, that was a squeaker!

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Today is Leonard Cohen's 80th birthday.  Wow!  How did that happen!?  Listening to an interview on CBC, he talked about the origins of his wonderful song, 'Suzanne'.  Apparently, it was written about a beautiful young Montreal woman he knew named "Suzanne Viallancourt".  I started when he said that because my Montreal grandmother's maiden name was "Vaillancourt" and guess what my own daughter's name is?  Yep, "Susanne".  I betcha they're related.  Very cool. 

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Always researching for my blog, I found material while sitting in a restaurant, waiting for B to be released from hospital a few days ago.  Beside me was a table of six, but only one guy was doing all the talking.  Why is that?  No one challenged him, no one argued, no one else spoke?  He must be the guy with the money.  Always is. 

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Popped into my dermatologist's the other day for a check on a pesky blemish on my left ear (all clear, by the way) and there they were:  forty people on their cell phones, in spite of a huge sign and idogram that clearly yelled "NO CELL PHONES".  Mentioning it to the doctor, I laughed when he said, "They're even on them when I come into the examining room.  If they are, I just turn around and walk out and they have to wait another six months to see me."  Good for him. 


  

Plumbing

"I'll be over after I pick up a donut," said B's friend, "J".  "Oh, you don't need to do that, we can give you a cookie and tea," replied B.  No, it wasn't that kind of "donut".  It was a toilet donut, required in case J had to remove our toilet to solve a plugged issue. 

Yuck.  B has met all kinds of expert people here -- people who can do mechanical and technical stuff, unlike us.  We are completely unhandy, although I am actually handier than he.  The problem was, one of grandson's bath toys had gone down the toilet (my fault, not his) and the obvious had resulted.  Yep, a plugged toilet for a week.  I hauled out the plunger.  To no avail.  Bought an auger and jammed it down countless times.  To no avail.  On the verge of calling an actual $$$$$ plumber, I heard B say, "I'll call J, he does plumbing."  So, half-an-hour later, J arrived with his "donut".  I acted as his assistant, fetching every kitchen utensil I could find to try and poke the toy out.  We could see it, it was tantalizingly close.  It even had a smile on its face, daring us to grab it. 

After removing and draining the toilet, we started.  I felt like an operating room nurse as J called, "Screwdriver, bucket, calipers, tongs, fork, chopsticks, saw, grocery bags."  Handing them over, I realized he was finally able to grasp the wretched toy.  Victory!  Ready to throw in the towel, I was impressed that J would not give up.  Now the toilet runs perfectly. 

"Pray," he had said, just before the fiftieth and last attempt.  A deeply-religious Catholic, J was serious.  Half-jokingly, but not really, I started to say the rosary and immediately he secured the toy.  Out it popped!

Our Lady came through once again.       

The Clutch

For some reason, driving my car this afternoon and engaging the clutch, I was reminded of my Uncle Elgin.  A deputy minister of National Defence in the sixties, he always drove my cousins and me to Lisgar Collegiate every day when we were in high school.  No, deputies didn't have drivers back then.  And they didn't have EAs or assistants or chiefs of staff....no, Elgin had one secretary, Miss Mitchell.  And his office was tiny, just his desk with an extended table attached for meetings which accommodated no more that six people.  My cousins and I used to barge in after school all the time to wait for our drive home.  Standing on ceremony?  Didn't happen in Uncle Elgin's office.   

Those were the days when the public service actually functioned.  Sadly, Uncle Elgin was the first deputy to have been skewered by a Minister, Douglas Harkness, over the Bonaventure mess.  No ministerial accountability or responsibility there.  No, Harkness dumped all the blame on my dear uncle.  Looking back, I can remember Uncle Elgin smoking a little more and having one-too-many now and then.  The stress was killing him.  But did he ever talk about it?  Never.  A completely class act.  I absolutely adored the man.

But back to the clutch.  In the sixties, the clutch was a long, rounded affair, with a stubby pedal.  The gears were not in between the seats, they were attached to the steering wheel.  It was neutral, then down to first, up to second and back down to third.  There was no fourth gear, just reverse.  I can still hear the sound they made as he changed them.  And I can still see the fedora he always wore to work.  He was the reason I learned to drive a five-speed and the reason I taught three of my four children to drive a five-speed.  I mean, if you're going to drive a car, you need to know how to drive a five-speed.

Elgin was transferred to National Revenue before he retired.  I remember waiting to make a presentation in the deputy's boardroom when I worked there.  Looking around, I saw photos of all the DMs from....forever.  Spotting Uncle Elgin, I immediately found a chair right under his photo and immediately felt calm, cool and collected.  He -- along with my father and my Uncle Rollie -- was one of the greatest guys you could ever meet. 
    

 

Great people

We have met lots of wonderful people since we moved to Calgary -- can it be more than three years?!  How can it be?  But it is.  Two of the most charming are "P and M D".  They hosted a marvelous "Celebration" dinner party last Friday at a local Italian restaurant and we were fortunate enough to have been invited.

Let me tell you a bit about P and M.  Born dirt-poor in Ireland, they married, emigrated to Canada, worked, worked and worked and raised a large family.  Then -- because they are very smart -- they became very, very rich, but the wonderful thing is none of it has gone to their heads.  They are the same down-to-earth souls they have always been, which is why we get on so well.  Devout Catholics, they support many priests and have built a fabulous mountain camp for underprivileged children; some of their priest friends were also at the party -- naturally. 

This gathering was mostly family and extended family, so we were thrilled to have been included.  The food was fabulous, the live orchestra was perfect and the wine flowed.  Some people are naturally "real" and P and M fall into that category.  This shindig was to celebrate their 55 years of marriage.  Can you believe that?!  I don't think we will reach 55, because both of us had false starts, but I am sure we will make it to at least 40 -- unless I kill B first!            

The ugliest of the ugly..........

Fashion has hit rock bottom........seriously.  Here's something from the "fashion" section of The Globe and Mail.  This is such an unsophisticated, uncivilized and ugly outfit.  Actually, it's not even an "outfit" because nothing "fits".  Sad.............

Absolutely nothing matches, nothing.  And what crap does she have on her feet?  So unserious.  Seriously.