Even though she isn't blood...

I received her annual Christmas card yesterday.  I am talking about the wife of one of my late birth uncles, Charlie.  As an adoptee, I started to wonder about my birth family about 43 years ago (Wow!!)  Back then, there was no internet so it was an unrelenting slog through city directories and phone books, but I was lucky that mine had been a private adoption through a lawyer.  The Children's Aid helpfully would not grant my parents a child because theirs was a mixed marriage; Daddy was Catholic and Mum Protestant.  Feature that!  You can't.

Anyway, I casually asked my Mother one day, apropos of nothing, who had handled the adoption.  After she told me, I wrote the firm a letter and forged my Father's signature to get my file released.  It worked, but all that was there was her name and occupation -- no address, nothing.  But at least I had a surname, which allowed me to send $5 to the Ontario government to obtain her birth records for geneological purposes (you used to be able to get this easily).  This gave me her mother's maiden name, McKegney, and where she had been born; that turned out to be Marysville, a small town just outside Kingston.  At a dinner in Kingston a while later, I met an older woman with the same name as my grandmother's maiden name, so I asked her if she knew a Catherine McKegney.  "No, but I did know a Katie Latimer," she replied.  Bingo, I'd found my family!  

I told her my tale of search and she gave me the names of two maternal uncles saying, "They'll be so pleased to meet you."  So, I called and eventually met up with them and learned all about my mother, who had died just a year before at the age of 49.  Let me tell you, that hurt.  Nevertheless, I eventually found and met Shirley's (my birth mother) brothers and sisters.  

All this to say, Shirley's sister thought I was just after money and warned her kids to stay away from me.  One brother was civil, but the other effusive and thrilled because he had worshipped Shirley and considered me the closest thing to her.  (Apparently, when she did marry, she was unable to have any more kids, so I was her only issue.)  

So, long story short -- or is it short story long? -- Helen, Charlie's widow, and I always exchange newsy Christmas cards and I received hers yesterday.  That made my day.  She is the last connection I have with Shirley, for which I am very grateful.  So, Merry Christmas!

Shirley Latimer, my birth mother, taken about the time she had me.

Her obituary, above.

The search for my birth father wasn't as successful.  Talking to Shirley's best friend, I learned he had been a semi-professional baseball player in the border circuit -- which is how he had met my mother.  They had only one date, but that resulted in me, a scandal at the time.  So, off Shirley was shipped to the Salvation Army Bethany Home in Ottawa, where I was born.

Learning he had been an umpire in the American League of Baseball and armed with his name, I sent a request to the League's office in New York for some information about him.  I learned he had been married at the time he was with my mother -- oops! -- was living in Buffalo and had four children -- five, including me.  Sadly, he had no interest in meeting me, so that was that.  But my search allowed me to learn from whence I came and that was something.  

   

   

Do they suffer from too much money?

With all the super-wealthy professional athletes taking "mental health" breaks these days, I began to wonder what the problem was.  And then it hit me, it must be caused by the one thing they have in common:  Lots and lots of money!  If that's the case, they might try giving a bunch of it away, no?

The latest to suffer from this affliction is Bianca Andreescu, who just announced she was withdrawing from the Australian Open to, "reflect".  On what?  What to do with all that dough?  After winning the US Open, she bounded into the Australian last year full of vim and vigour, only to get clocked by an unknown in the second round.  Was she spooked by that?  What if it were to happen again?  So, she punted the tournament and will be reflecting for the foreseeable future.

Then there was Naomi Osaka, who needed a mental-health break and pulled out of the French Open, after losing the US, because of all those annoying pressers professional athletes are required to give after a match.  Hey, them's the rules, if you play professional anything, you are required to face the annoying media and answer bothersome and pesky questions.  When asked what happened today?  A simple, "I lost, or she played better than I today," would have covered it.  Unlike Pete Sampras, who used to say he had stomach troubles, or wasn't up to his normal game, whenever he lost.  The words, "He was the better player today," never left his lips.  Never.  In any case, it all proved too much for Naomi, so she too bolted.

Now, Robin Leher, goalie for the Las Vegas Golden Knights, has announced he can't face playing in the Olympics and won't be going.  Apparently, his psychiatrist recommended he take a pass.

Sticking with sports, the Vancouver Canucks just fired the GM, assistant GM, head coach and assistant coach in one fell swoop.  Boom, just like that.  Well, I guess if your team has been skunked in the last 15 games and sits in last place, any owner would have done the same.  Me?  I would have simply traded the goalie because he's the one on the ice not stopping the pucks.  Apparently however, according to B, it's more complicated than that.  He says it's the defence's problem because they aren't stopping pucks from getting to the net, where the goalie still can't seem to stop them getting in.

What about the players' jobs here?  Aren't they supposed to play their best for all the money they're paid?  Apparently not.  One was quoted as saying, "We were waiting for something to happen in the locker room and it didn't, so the coach had to go."  Waiting for something to happen in the locker room?!  The only thing that should be happening in the locker room is a shower.  The rest needs to happen on the ice.  

I'd still get a new goalie.  But now a veteran of the game over many years, Bruce Boudreau, will run the bench.  His ultimate stated goal?  "We just want to get into the division finals."  He actually said that his goal was not to win the Stanley Cup, just to get into the division finals.

Hard to believe, but there you are.  No Canadian team now expects -- or even aspires -- to win the cup.  Jean Beliveau and his ilk are spinning in their graves.

Note:  In case you think I am hard and unsympathetic, you're right. In many cases I can be.  

  

 

Brilliance at the school board

In a stunning moment of virtuosity, the director of learning services at the Calgary Board of Education said, "Literacy and numeracy are the building blocks of a successful educational journey for our children.  We need to set them up with a strong foundation."  (My first question is, are we setting up "literacy and numeracy", or does he mean "our children"?  He means the latter, but actually said the former.  You'd think a guy with his job would at least have had that right, but he didn't.  Sorry, I digress.)

Wow!  What a revelation!  Frankly, that explains everything that's wrong with most school boards today:  Too many "experts" being paid too much money to sit around, think up and spew out new hair-brained strategies such as "Discovery Math".  When someone explained that one to me, I nearly fell off my chair!  Apparently, kids learn how to "discover" correct answers, while getting marks for parts they may stumble upon and get right, even if the answer is wrong.

Beat that!  You can't, or maybe you can.  A while back, these same "experts" did away with phonetics in teaching kids to read.  "Sound it out," was what every teacher I had said when one of us stood up to read aloud in class.  Now, however, kids are supposed to just read whole words without bothering to know what sounds make them up.  Huh@!%#$%^##!@!?

When my kids were in elementary school, I had to tutor them in grammar because they didn't get it in class.  If you can't read or write your native tongue, you are in big trouble for the rest of your life.  During my career -- well, not really a "career", just a string of jobs -- the fact that I could write was a huge asset.  Even though something might not have been my job, someone would say, "Give that to Nancy, she can write."  

When I was head of consultations for GST, I was asked to write the departmental consultation policy.  The fact that it only took me a day or two stunned my boss so much he had to crap on it.  "These are just words on a page," he said, implying that no one could have come up with anything that good in such a short time.  (Seriously, everything one writes is made up of words on a page, but hey, why not insult someone with the remark?)  Much to his chagrin, when it was shopped around the branch for comment, it got nothing but praise; not a word was changed.  He emerged looking the dunderhead he was.

Another gesture I am convinced helped put my name forward for that job was when I sent the ADM a sympathy card when his very odd wife died.  To me, that was the normal thing to do, but when the position in question came open, he must have remembered the card and said to the DM over a round of golf, "Why not put Nancy Marley-Clarke into that job?"  I also went to the funeral parlour to pay my respects to the DM when his sister died.  I believe that paid off too.  These gestures show respect and civility -- all assets when you are doing consultations with pissed off merchants who don't like the GST.

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A word about the sham of panels, working groups, Royal Commissions and white papers.  Read today that the ombudsman -- or it is "ombudsperson"? -- for Canadian veterans has released a report slamming the federal government for leaving so many broken vets hanging out to dry.  The government didn't want to help them in the first place, so someone came up with the tried-and-true, sleight-of-hand known as the ombudsperson to "look into the mess" and come up with immediately-to-be-shelved-and-ignored recommendations.  

Same thing happened with the sad journey of Murray Sinclair and his incestuous band of roving investigators schlepping around the country holding "hearings" known as the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Girls and Women Inquiry.  They came up with 99 urgent recommendations -- or was it 199?  Anyway, no one's done anything about any of them because they never had any intention of doing anything in the first place.

Same thing happened with the report five years ago into why there was so much sexual harassment and assault in the military.  What did they do?  Appoint yet another judge to do yet another inquiry into yet another mess.  Sexual assault and harassment happens in the military because, hey, it's the military.  Get it?  

The cynicism of this government is breathtaking and yet, Canadians put them back in.  As for the Conservatives, poor old misguided O'Toole's latest move is to demand an investigation into allegations of harassment and bullying in Conservative MP Shannon Stubb's office.  Doesn't he have other things to do -- like proving to Canadians he is ready to govern?

Now, the new defence minister, Anita Anand, is declaring she is going to revolutionarily change the culture of the military and the perfect guy to do this is General Wayne Eyre.  He may be, and good luck to him, but why did it take months to confirm him from his acting role?  Oh yeah, they had to interview every, single person he had ever worked with to be sure there were no salacious lurking female skeletons in any of his past closets.  It's all such a mess.             

    

He was the Chancellor

 I'm talking about Carleton University, where they named a building after him.  Now, the dunderheads who run the institution -- including the president, Benoit-Antoine Bacon -- in a breathtaking display of "cancel culture", have decided to remove Gordon Robertson's name from the building.

This is outrageous and led by a group of knuckle-headed students, natives and rabid devotees of the victimhood industry who can't even use google to see all the good work the Honourable Mr. Robertson did when he served as Commissioner of the Northwest Territories.  He followed his boss Prime Minister Mackenzie King's instructions and travelled there to see how and where best to ensure the Inuit (Eskimos back then) got an education.  This meant relocating them, which was logical at the time.  Now, it's apparently an outrage and the man who served as clerk of the privy council from 1963 to 1979 is being vilified -- along with every other Canadian leader who tried to educate the natives, including Canada's founder Sir John A. Macdonald.

This has to stop.  B worked for Mr. Robertson, as he always called him, in federal-provincial relations from 1977 until the latter's retirement in 1979 and was part of the elite team put together to patriate and write the 1982 Constitution Act -- no small feat because it involved working with all the provincial premiers, as well as constitutional lawyers from Britain.  Now, that would have been a real pandora's box to figure out, but it is one of B's proudest achievements.

Wouldn't it be nice if students stuck to the kniting and simply got an education, instead of trying to re-write history and cancel everything that's good about this country.

   

   

Christmas story

 My friend, Bob, sends the most wonderful stories at Christmas every year.  I will share a few, here's one:

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Unexpected Christmas by Marguerite Nixon

We were well over half way to our farm in East Texas when the storm broke. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed and a tree fell with a great ripping noise. When the rain poured in such a flood that we could not see the road, my husband drove on to what seemed to be a bit of clearing deep in the piney woods.  As we waited I sensed we would not get to the farm that night to celebrate Christmas with our family. We were sitting there, miserable and dejected, when I heard a knocking on my window. A man with a lantern stood there beckoning us to follow him. My husband and I splashed after him up the path to his house.

A woman with a lamp in her hand stood in the doorway of an old house; a boy of about twelve and a little girl stood beside her. We went in soaked and dripping, and the family moved aside in order that we might have the warmth of the fire. With the volubility of city people, my husband and I began to talk, explaining our plans. And with the quietness of people who live in the silence of the woods, they listened.

"The bridge on Caney Creek is out. You are welcome to spend the night with us," the man said. And though we told them we thought it was an imposition, especially on Christmas Eve, they insisted. After we had visited a while longer, the man got up and took the Bible from the mantle. "It's our custom to read the story from St. Luke on Christmas Eve," he said, and without another word he began:

"And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger . . . "

The children sat up eagerly, their eyes bright in anticipation, while their father read on: "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night." I looked at his strong face. He could have been one of them.

When he finished reading and closed the Bible, the little children knelt by their chairs.

The mother and father were kneeling, and without any conscious will of my own I found myself joining them. Then I saw my husband, without any embarrassment at all, kneel also. When we arose, I looked around the room. There were no bright-wrapped packages or cards, only a small, unadorned holly tree on the mantle. Yet the spirit of Christmas was never more real to me.

The little boy broke the silence. "We always feed the cattle at 12 o'clock on Christmas Eve. Come with us."

The barn was warm and fragrant with the smell of hay and dried corn. A cow and a horse greeted us, and there was a goat with a tiny, wooly kid that came up to be petted. This is like the stable where the Baby was born, I thought. Here is the manger, and the gentle animals keep watch.

When we returned to the house there was an air of festivity and the serving of juice and fruitcake. Later, we bedded down on a mattress made of corn shucks. As I turned into a comfortable position, they rustled under me and sent up a faint fragrance exactly like that in the barn. My heart said, "You are sleeping in the stable like the Christ Child did."  As I drifted into a profound sleep, I knew that the light coming through the old pine shutters was the Star shining on that quiet house.

The family all walked down the path to the car with us the next morning. I was so filled with the Spirit of Christmas they had given me that I could find no words. Suddenly I thought of the gifts in the back seat of our car for our family.  I began to hand them out. My husband's gray woolen socks went to the man. The red sweater I had bought for my sister went to the mother. I gave away two boxes of candy, the white mittens and the leather gloves while my husband nodded approval.  And when I was breathless from reaching in and out of the car and the family stood there loaded with the gaiety of Christmas packages, the mother spoke for all of them. "We thank you," she said simply. And then she said, "Wait."

She hurried up the path to the house and came back with a quilt folded across her arms.  It was beautifully handmade; the pattern was the Star of Bethlehem. I looked up at the tall beautiful pines because my throat hurt and I could not speak. It was indeed Christmas.

Every Christmas Eve since then, I sleep under that quilt, the Star of Bethlehem, and in memory I visit the stable and smell again the beauty of that Christmas once more.

These letters didn't get in.....

 These letters didn't get into 'The Calgary Herald'.  In my opinion, they should have.....

Dear Editor,

 When checking out last December with my purchases, my mouth fell open when the cashier wearing a Hijab wished me a lovely, warm “Merry Christmas”.  To be greeted in this way by a non-Christian was heart-warming and yet shocking in this day of the secularization of this feast.

 Seeing my surprise, she explained that with my purchases this close to Christmas, she presumed I was Christian and therefore celebrated Christmas.  She added that she simply wanted to wish me Merry Christmas in honour of December 25^th.  That is a true story and if it doesn’t show mutual respect and honour for all in our multi-religious community, I don’t know what does.         

 Nancy Marley-Clarke

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 Dear Editor,

 I agree with the letter writer who lamented the absence of any mention of Advent in current media coverage of the upcoming festive and Holy Season.  The use of the word “Xmas” has also always puzzled me because it erases the word “Christ”, for whom the season was originally celebrated.  Why is that?  Cancel culture at work again?  December 25^th is actually Christmas Day.  It is not “Holiday” day or “Season” day, but happily the infectious joy Christmas exudes has spread and been embraced by all religions and creeds.

A few years ago, a friend gave me a lapel button which says, “Jesus is the reason for the season”.  I wear it to remind me that December 25^th celebrates the birth of the central figure in Christianity.  I am also grateful this date has spread to all corners of Western society, but I would welcome some acknowledgement that “Merry Christmas” need not be offensive, even if you aren’t a believer.

 Nancy Marley-Clarke

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 Dear Editor,

 Calgary’s new mayor Gondek came to office with a PhD in Urban Sociology -- an accreditation that would seemingly equip her well to come up with a solution to homelessness.  Yet she claims she doesn’t know what the answer to this chronic problem is and is looking to the provincial and federal governments to “get this right”.  Really? 

 Please don’t begin your tenure by playing the same tired, old game of shifting blame to other levels of government.  I would posit finding a solution to homelessness in the city you lead is your job, Madame Mayor.

 Nancy Marley-Clarke

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Just sent this into 'The Cochrane Eagle'.  Whaddya bet it definitely WON'T get in?.....

Dear Editor,

 It is wonderful every Christmas when Tom Jackson performs his Huron Carol.  In this article, Stoney Nakoda elder Tina Fox states that thousands of Indigenous children died while attending residential schools.  While this is true, we must be careful to put this number into the overall Canadian context.  According to the Truth and Reconciliation Report, approximately 150,000 children attended residential schools from 1883 to 1996 and during that time, 4,100 died, or 2.73 percent.  In doing some research, I learned that the mortality rate for all children in Canada for the same time period was a whopping 25 percent.

 Both Indigenous and non-Indigenous children died principally from pre-vaccine diseases such as tuberculosis, influenza, yellow fever, pneumonia and gastrointestinal infections.  None of these diseases discriminated based on culture, race or background.  Further research indicates that many Indigenous families brought or sent their children to residential schools in the hope they would get better care than could be given in the isolated areas in which they lived.  As to why many were buried on school property, this wasn’t an attempt to hide the truth, but because many families could not afford to bring their remains home.

 So, as we mourn Indigenous children being honoured by the Rotary Club’s efforts and the Huron Carol, let’s not forget the many more non-Indigenous who died during the same perilous time. 

 Nancy Marley-Clarke

The usual

Now the natives are complaining they aren't given enough money to operate and maintain the expensive water treatment systems they are given because they insist on living in remote communities with no water service.

We know why they insist on living on reserves, money, but with all the billions they are handed every year, why can't they hire people to maintain the treatment plants without demanding yet more funds be put in their bank accounts to do so?

Just as he ludicrously promised to bring in 40,000 Afghan refugees without having a clue how they would be processed under existing rules and laws, Trudeau recklessly vowed to eliminate all water advisories in his first five years in office without any idea about how that would happen and what it would cost.  Forty eight are still in place.  And with a nod to the "new math", they claim to have lifted 119 advisories, but failed to mention that 62 more have been added.  

All in all, they're $138 million short.  Thing is, without maintaining them properly, they will need fixing again and again.  Seems to be no problem finding billions for other countries, but Trudeau can't find the money to fulfill his phony campaign promises.  And speaking of maintenance, Indigenous water technicians -- trained using your tax dollars -- often leave as soon as their training is complete for better-paying jobs off-reserve.  

So much for that strategy.  

Why oh why do people keep voting for Trudeau??!!