The way it still gets done in The Valley

St. Mary's Cathedral in Kingston was packed this steamy afternoon for the High Funeral Mass offered for Archibishop Francis Spence who died last week at 84. We decided to go down for it because Catholic gatherings of this magnitude don't happen often anymore. It did not disappoint. No fewer than 50 priests from all over The Valley prosessed in, preceded by 10 Bishops, an Eastern Orthodox Patriarch, 50 Knights of Columbus, 20 Knights of the Holy Sepulchre and the current Archbishop, Brendan O'Brien. It was very moving. And the music! Literally divine.

The wonder of a gathering of the Catholic clan is that no matter your rank today, everyone knew you "when". That's what makes it all such a comfortable and familiar tribal experience. Little old ladies from tiny, local hamlets button-hole lofty bishops and lecture them as if there were still in short pants. That old saw, "Once a Catholic, always a Catholic," sprang to mind. No one pulls rank because they can't. Oh yes, the procession is formal, hierarchical, proper and impressive; that's the ritual part. But the reception following sorts everyone out; that's the "democacy" part. Archbishop O'Brien is still just little Brendan from The Valley, whose parents half of the gathered elders knew well.

Basically, you can't be a "revisionist" at a Catholic wake. You can't pull the wool over anyone's eyes. Humility is forced upon everyone, with your Valley ranking prevailing. Just after telling "little Brendan" which end was up, the diminutive, old lady sitting beside me upbraided her hen-pecked farmer husband for getting her tea instead of coffee. "You got me tea instead of coffee," she complained. "But you always drink tea," he said, hoping that would do the trick, that she would leave him alone to enjoy the three pieces of cake he had piled on his plate. "Yes, I know I always drink tea, but today I said coffee, so take back this tea and get me some coffee." And he did.

There she sat, all decked out and resplendent in her best ancient hat, her finest antique suit, her hardly-darned thick stockings, tucked into well-polished, archaic black boots, ruling her invincible and unassailable roost. I just had to talk to her:

"You can't do anything right can you," I said to the husband, laughing. "No he certainly can't," the wife shot back. But then they both burst out laughing and so did I. "I have a hearing problem," he pleaded, to no avail. "I think you have a listening problem, not a hearing problem," I added. "That's exactly right," the wife said. "He never listens to a word I say." I bet he hears "breakfast, lunch and dinner" when you call them out, I added. "Oh my word! He certainly hears those words!" I assured her that I, of course, had a perfect husband. More uproarious laughing. "Oh I am sure you do! He looks like a real treat!" More screaming and guffawing. It was such a lot of fun. You can't take yourself too seriously at a wake like that. No one permits it.

On the way this morning, we stopped for lunch in Gananoque, a picturesque little town on the St. Lawrence. What memories flooded back! Memories of our trips with the kids when they were little, before we started going to the cottage. Back then we would rent an old-fashioned little cabin, crank up the coleman stove and make tea, hotdogs and corn-on-the-cob during a week that was idyllic -- as only a "roughing it" holiday can be.

Much later, one of our children went to Queen's for four years and it was such a treat to visit several times a year. As we drove home this afternoon, I realized this would probably be the last time I would visit Kingston, or Gananoque, or Brockville. The last time I would revel in The Ottawa Valley with all its delightful and unique enchantments. A huge wave of sadness overtook me. I will be leaving my roots here, but not what they nurtured.

Nevermind, the future beckons and I am ready for Calgary!

At the risk of boring you.........

.....the noisy mess surrounding the raising of the US debt ceiling has highlighted a big problem down there. Americans just don't get the whole distribution of wealth thing. You know I am going to start back in on taxes, but that's the way it has to be. Otherwise you have big, expensive jails filled with people who instead should be on welfare because it's cheaper in the long run. You have people incarcerated who should really be raising their own kids -- all because the rich don't want to re-distribute their fantastic wealth. So you have kids growing up to be criminals because their parents have been in jail, leaving them to be raised at great peril on the streets........and on and on it generationally and dangerously continues.

Simplistic? Maybe. But the re-distribution of wealth -- yes taxes -- is the only way any society can function efficiently. The problem is that Americans don't trust government -- unless it is delivered in the form of sheriffs, guns, law enforcement and jails. These trappings and apparatuses they support and pay for, but trusting government to look after the poor? No siree! They want criminals locked away -- unless, of course, the criminals work in investment banks and the like. It's OK if I rob you, but not if a street criminal commits the offence.


The irony is that philanthropy is huge in the US, but it's private. Rich Americans decide themselves who to give money to. Why? To avoid taxes, plain and simple. Full circle here. The tea-party republicans and their ilk don't want government to decide how wealth gets re-distributed. No, they want to personally decide their countrymen's fate on a dollar-by-dollar basis. Who prospers and who doesn't is up to the rich. Trust me, Brad Pitt is not building houses in New Orleans because he wants to help his beleagured fellow American. Brad Pitt is building houses in New Orleans because he wants to look good and avoid taxes. The people he is helping at the suggestion of his accountants are a serendipitous side-bar. And that goes for Roger Federer, who lives in Dubai, and every other rich movie star, rock star and athlete who does the same. They don't get that the free society which allows them to make all that money -- the society that builds and maintains the roads they drive on, the water they drink and the toilets they flush -- is financed by taxes.

I can't count how many talking heads I watched on tv over the last few days who were adamant that taxes were the cause of the problem, not the solution. They forget that the Great Depression was overcome by huge government programs, in other words: taxes! I don't know where these bobble heads think the money is going to come from? Rich businessmen getting richer and not paying taxes will not do the trick. Britain realized this was the way to go. Prime Minister David Cameron has now raised goods and services taxes to 20% to get the country's fiscal house in some kind of order.

Happily, we don't operate that way in Canada. I am beginning to grasp "economics" and how it relates to our everyday lives. The underground economy is no friend to any country. As B says, participating in the underground economy is like saying, "I don't support Canada." The economy isn't "out there", with us "in here". The economy is us, taxes are us and together we all work for Canada.

This may be my last tax rant, but don't count on it.

Why I don't play golf

So hot, we went to the golf club for an early dinner. Eavesdropping as usual, I overheard a conversation which pretty much summed up why I don't play golf. The wife said to the husband: "Last Thursday I finally hit the perfect shot. When he saw it, your father said we had to analyze the divot to see how it happened. That was so helpful. We got down on our hands and knees and saw the direction of the divot and the depth and it really will make a huge difference when I try to hit another shot like that." I kid you not! Admit it, you golfers reading this are thinking, "Gee maybe that's not a bad idea." You are, I know you are!

The husband replied, "The key to golf is never to talk when you're playing a round. I believe silence is the key to a good game." The wife shut up. I always say I would rather go out on the first tee and set fire to money.

So there you have it, folks. Golf is a mystery, wrapped up in an enigma, enveloped in a riddle....or whatever that expression is. I figure it is pretty much unplayable. The problem is physics. The club is too long and the ball too small. You just can't hit the blessed thing. A cruel joke perpetrated on the rest of the world by the mischievious Scots.

The local paper today carried a facinating article about the first golf writer, Canadian Arnold Haultain, who wrote 'The Mystery of Golf', published in 1908. Apparently, it remains the definitive verdict on the game:

"Golf resolves itself into this: It is not a wrestle with bogey; it is not a struggle with your mortal foe; it is a physiological, psychological and moral fight with yourself."

In the end, Haultain in his quest to unravel golf's deepest mysteries, is forced to concede defeat:

"The ultimate analysis is hopeless," he concludes. "As hopeless as the ultimate analysis of that of metaphysics or that of the feminine heart."

So, that's why I don't play.

The new BLOC

Sadly, the NDP is much in the news lately as a result of the failing health of Jack Layton. It started me thinking about the NDP and its recent rise to new heights in the federal arena. The NDP is actually the new BLOC, thanks to the huge support given it in Quebec. As I have said, federally Quebec votes for the party it thinks will gain the most $$$ and influence in Ottawa. After a good number of years, the parochial BLOC morphed into a gathering of lame-duck whingers, so Quebeckers bounced to the NDP -- much to the surprise of Mr. Layton. Hence the impressive showing in this Parliament.

Now a Quebecker has been acclaimed interim leader. That may help, but I doubt it. If Quebec doesn't get what it wants, it will switch its vote again. Maybe this is good news for the Liberals? No clue.

Formed in 1932, the NDP began as the CCF -- the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation -- a western rump party disgruntled with mainstream politics. But the NDP became a national party under Tommy Douglas; the BLOC did not. So, as I say, the BLOC is now the NDP in the House of Commons and the NDP in Quebec is the new BLOC.

Why do I watch?!

The Batchelorette continues unabated. Why do I watch? It is just one hideous scene after another, but I cannot tear myself away. Last night Ashley was down to three guys when suddenly, one bailed during dinner -- just before she was about to present him with the invitation to at long last bed her. I mean, the guy didn't even get through his first course. Imagine, putting up with her vapid personality and average looks for weeks and then tossing it all in at the moment of truth. Or maybe he was the smartest guy in the room and just could not stomach a phony one-night stand. Whatever, off he trotted, leaving Ashley sitting at the table completely clueless. You could see the trace of panic and terror in her eyes, as she realized, "What if the other guys dump me?!" Now it's up to Ben/JP to duke it out.

So, one night she does the dirty with Ben and the next she switches to JP. How is that real? And neither guy seems to mind that she's simultaneously head-over-heels with the other! Every date is......."just the best ever. With Ben I feel so relaxed, he's the real deal." Split seconds later it's........."With JP it's just the best ever. With JP I feel so relaxed, he's the real deal." It is so unsightly, but absolutely riveting. She spends most dates smacking, licking and pursing her lips, while she asks dreamily, "What was the best moment for you today Ben/JP?", gazing lovingly into her own reflection in their eyes and tugging on her forelock for the millionth time.

And drink! In every scene everyone is pounding it morning, noon and night. It's cheers to this and I'll drink to that! Every now and then our Ashley shrieks or squeals when she stumbles upon some fabulous and brilliant insight like, "Isn't this place unreal! I have never seen water so blue! Whee, a helicopter!" Ben/JP now profess to be madly in love with her.......or at least starting to maybe feel that way, a bit, for sure, probably.

And then Ryan shows up. What a loser! "Ry", as she calls him, appears out of nowhere just to be sure she really did dump him. After two days of mooning around on his own, staring into crashing waves and deserted space, he realizes that yes, "Ash" really did dump him. But he actually needs another dose of full-on, frontal rejection to get it. She has to make a special trip to his hotel room to tell him again to his face that, "I just don't feel that special something that I have found with Ben/JP." Nevermind, he grabs her in a passionate embrace and she returns it! I thought the guy was going to burst into paroxyms of balling as he watched her stumble away, her unfortunately-bowed legs tottering on high heels. He had to turn away from the camera, it was so pathetic.

These guys are now "totally in love with Ash" -- despite not having spent one real moment with her during the entire show. Always made up and dressed to the back teeth, she meanders around movie set locations munching gourmet food and tossing back yet more wine. Wait 'til they see her with a hangover and PMS!

Can't wait for next week.

Someone finally called it

Thirty-one years ago, when I worked there, the Public Service Commission had long since ceased to be the watchdog and guardian of the merit principle. The member of the deputy-ministers' club who headed it back then was enthusiastically disinclined to challenge or question any appointments being promoted by the fellow members of his exclusive club. Afterall, he socialized with these mandarins and toadied to many. So, challenge he did not -- much to the frustration of those of us still young and idealistic. The Chair of the PSC was an ombudsman and an Officer of Parliament and the Commission itself reported directly to Parliament. Nonetheless, he was a weak leader, in my never-to-be-humble opinion. Sadly, his successors followed suit, as far as I can tell.

So, it came as no surprise to read today that an ombudsman had to be appointed to oversee this ombudsman PSC and low and behold, they discovered the books were cooked, so to speak. What did surprise me was that it took 30 years to figure it all out. I remember in my youthful zeal writing a report to my boss, stating that the merit principle had been set aside in order to redress historical wrongdoings in the staffing of jobs in the federal public service. In other words, the merit principle was being manipulated so that women, francophones and ethnic minorities could be placed in positions which otherwise might have eluded them.

When that memo hit my boss' desk, the roof came off! Man, it was as if I'd pulled another Igor Guzenko! You'd have thought I'd uncovered a mass state secret that threatened the lives of thousands! He literally came running down the hall and burst into my office, slamming the door. He was scared silly that "The Chairman" might catch wind of this fact and be insulted. That, ladies and gentlemen, was one of my first indoctrinations into how the public service worked. No one ever told the truth to superiors. G-d forbid! No, everything was spun to show the Minister in the best possible light. That was the beginning of my settling into the culture that enveloped me my entire career. After that, whenever I spoke up -- much too often, I am sure -- my career took a bit of a beating.

The fact that I ended up where I did was a bit of a miracle. Happily.

A faint tickle on the scratching of the surface

That's how one immigration lawyer described the 1,800 illegal residents being asked to forfeit their "Canadian" passports. And even at that, Canada being Canada, they will be given a chance to appeal and have a federal court hearing, so they aren't exactly being given the bum's rush. Apparently, these 1,800 don't even live in Canada, but rather have fraudently obtained Canadian passports, using criminal "consultants" -- or co-conspirators, as this lawyer put it -- to make it appear as if they do.........things such as fake residences, fake mail, fake accounts....all managed by well-paid criminals here. Not wanting to live here but wanting the passport, they come to Canada for a few hours and then jet back to their tax havens. With a majority, the Harper government is moving very quickly to get this mess cleared up. Hear, hear. No new laws will have to be written, no new bills passed. No, Canada will simply have to finally begin to enforce those already on the books.

As I have said, Canada is a country of convenience and a Canadian passort highly-coveted. In fact, that little, mainly ignored Crown on the cover of your passport represents freedom, tolerance and the rule of law to every border guard and immigration officer wearing a uniform in every corner of the globe. And with so many terrorists in the United Kingdom, thanks to Britain's previously-held realms, a Canadian passport trumps a British one any day.

Speaking of the Crown, 'The Telegraph' recently published a very lengthy and detailed article on what the Monarchy costs each Briton,versus what it brings into the public coffers. Fifty-one pence versus billions. With a gold standard like that, why anyone objects to Her Majesty is ludicrously beyond me. As for those Canadians pushing for a republic, they understand neither the Canadian Constitution, nor the place of the Crown in it. It is very unfortunate Canadian schools stopped teaching Canadian history. If they hadn't, people who think the Canadian legal system is based on the Charter of Rights and Freedoms would have to give their vacant heads an edifying shake.