Wednesday, December 7, 2016
Food Challenge update - so much salt
I was expecting to go hungry this week while taking part in the Karma Project's Eat The Math challenge. I'm not.
There are plenty of calories in the box provided by the group for me and the other participants to dine from. Plenty.
The problem is the quality of those calories. It's a lot of carbs, not much fibre and vast, vast quantities of salt.
I won't go into the issues I'm having with the lack of fibre, but I was unable to sleep Monday night with blood pulsing in my ears and a weird headache, which I'm attributing to the half of a box of mac n cheese and the 600 mg of salt I consumed in one sitting. I saved the second half for lunch yesterday, with an additional 600 mg of salt. Last night's selection was the ramen noodles, but I skipped the 'flavour pack' when I realized it was 1350 mg of sodium in the form of salt and MSG. I'm all for an awareness raiser, but I'm not going to poison myself with that much salt two days in a row.
My takeaway from the experiment so far: people who need donated food aren't getting particularly good stuff. While I get that beggars can't be choosers, it's bizarre that people who most need a clear head and health to get themselves out of a tight spot are the very ones who will not get the nutrition needed to do so.
Another takeaway: I've had offers from a lot of kind people to augment my food box with lunches and coffee and dinners, and I so appreciate it. (especially the coffee part!) But I wonder about the social connections of people who are in enough trouble to need help from the food bank. If you don't have friends and family to feed you in times of serious want, that's a deeper level of trouble than not having cash to put food on the table. I've spent quite a bit of time imagining the chain of events that would put me in such a spot.
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Why You're Not Getting a Christmas Card this year
The perfect is the enemy of the good, that's why.
If I am to send out Christmas cards, they really need to be made by my hands, the address in calligraphy and each card including a unique, heartfelt greeting with best wishes for your health and happiness. My list has about 75 people on it, and that's just too, too much.
No, I don't make the paper; that would be silly.
The thing is, my embossing table is up high in a closet I haven't opened in a few months and I'm not sure where my calligraphy pen is or whether I have any ink appropriate for such a venture.
I refuse to spend a buck on a stamp to send a card printed in China, the envelope's label printed from my computer, the card containing nothing but my signature, so you're getting nothing.
Just like last year.
Which is weird, because I love, love, love receiving Christmas cards; any card, even if it was printed by children or political dissidents and signed with nothing but your illegible initials. Just as long as there's no image of Santa; I don't know why, but I hate that guy.
If I am to send out Christmas cards, they really need to be made by my hands, the address in calligraphy and each card including a unique, heartfelt greeting with best wishes for your health and happiness. My list has about 75 people on it, and that's just too, too much.
No, I don't make the paper; that would be silly.
The thing is, my embossing table is up high in a closet I haven't opened in a few months and I'm not sure where my calligraphy pen is or whether I have any ink appropriate for such a venture.
I refuse to spend a buck on a stamp to send a card printed in China, the envelope's label printed from my computer, the card containing nothing but my signature, so you're getting nothing.
Just like last year.
Which is weird, because I love, love, love receiving Christmas cards; any card, even if it was printed by children or political dissidents and signed with nothing but your illegible initials. Just as long as there's no image of Santa; I don't know why, but I hate that guy.
Monday, November 28, 2016
The 'Shoulds' as I Eat the Math
Let me start by saying I am offended by food banks. (Goodbye, liberal leftie friends who also graduated with an Arts degree, you need read no further.)
I simply don't think we should have food banks. There, I said it.
What we should have are: wages the poorest can live on and work with dignity. In cases of big trouble, we should have enough counseling and help so that people who were assaulted as children or screwed up in some other way, can hold down jobs and make their own way. If we as a society provide what people really need, food banks could close and the people who volunteer at them and donate to them could get on with whatever they really wanted to do instead.
For that matter, I don't think we should have shelters for women fleeing domestic assault and abuse, either. We should not need them, since people should not be using violence in their homes. But, some people do, so we have shelters, and the world is not the way it SHOULD be, so we have food banks, too.
In some cases, the people who use food banks have made very poor life choices; this is undoubtedly true. In some other cases, the people have made many right choices and things still didn't work out, so here we are.
This morning, a lovely woman who works at the offices at Simcoe County dropped off at my workplace a frighteningly small box of food, which I have agreed to live on, Monday to Friday, next week. It contains what you might think it contains: spaghetti, tuna, mac and cheese, that sort of thing.
Most of the 'food' is stuff which I would not ordinarily entertain in my kitchen. I was raised on a farm and learned to cook in my 4H clubs, so I was the guy in the dorm at university, baking bread in my toaster oven. I'm not entirely sure what Viennese sausages are, much less how one would eat them, and I make my soups starting with the bones of critters I've roasted, so the stuff in the tin will be weird. Looking at the label, it's also crazy salty. There's also peanut butter with icing sugar and hydrogenated vegetable oil in the ingredient list. Yikes.
But, this is the food that goes to the people who have no more choices left.
I have heard people in my family sneer about, 'those lazy scammers' at the food bank, getting free food and not working while they smoke or drink away their disability cheques. But, looking at this box of junky food, I somehow don't think anyone is trying to trick anyone else into giving them free canned green beans (gross!)
I will keep you updated on my progress, as soon as I talk to the organiser, to see just how many herbs I can slip in to these meals while maintaining my status as a member of the experiment.
I simply don't think we should have food banks. There, I said it.
What we should have are: wages the poorest can live on and work with dignity. In cases of big trouble, we should have enough counseling and help so that people who were assaulted as children or screwed up in some other way, can hold down jobs and make their own way. If we as a society provide what people really need, food banks could close and the people who volunteer at them and donate to them could get on with whatever they really wanted to do instead.
For that matter, I don't think we should have shelters for women fleeing domestic assault and abuse, either. We should not need them, since people should not be using violence in their homes. But, some people do, so we have shelters, and the world is not the way it SHOULD be, so we have food banks, too.
In some cases, the people who use food banks have made very poor life choices; this is undoubtedly true. In some other cases, the people have made many right choices and things still didn't work out, so here we are.
This morning, a lovely woman who works at the offices at Simcoe County dropped off at my workplace a frighteningly small box of food, which I have agreed to live on, Monday to Friday, next week. It contains what you might think it contains: spaghetti, tuna, mac and cheese, that sort of thing.
Most of the 'food' is stuff which I would not ordinarily entertain in my kitchen. I was raised on a farm and learned to cook in my 4H clubs, so I was the guy in the dorm at university, baking bread in my toaster oven. I'm not entirely sure what Viennese sausages are, much less how one would eat them, and I make my soups starting with the bones of critters I've roasted, so the stuff in the tin will be weird. Looking at the label, it's also crazy salty. There's also peanut butter with icing sugar and hydrogenated vegetable oil in the ingredient list. Yikes.
But, this is the food that goes to the people who have no more choices left.
I have heard people in my family sneer about, 'those lazy scammers' at the food bank, getting free food and not working while they smoke or drink away their disability cheques. But, looking at this box of junky food, I somehow don't think anyone is trying to trick anyone else into giving them free canned green beans (gross!)
I will keep you updated on my progress, as soon as I talk to the organiser, to see just how many herbs I can slip in to these meals while maintaining my status as a member of the experiment.
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
Homey House
They say a house is just not a home without a dog, and I found out over the last year, that 'they' are right. Our beloved Weimaraner, Emma left us in April of last year, after ten years of laughter and love and runs on the trails of Collingwood. Since that horrible day, our house is very quiet, very empty and frankly, very clean. As Emma slipped away, I swore I would not open myself up ever again to the kind of heartbreak that comes with losing a marvelous pet.
For the last 16 months, my sweetie and I have been doing a lot of traveling and had a lot of weekends away; we've been having a blast without worrying about finding a caregiver, or being home at any certain time.
Even so, one day in March, I started making inquiries, and two weeks ago, our puppy was born. She's one of ten, and we don't know which one will be ours. Last time, we let the puppy 'pick us', if that makes any sense and we're eager to loll on the floor in a puppy swarm, meeting the charmer we will spoil horribly for the next decade or so.
Don't get me wrong, I think the Humane Society does wonderful work and I have heard the people who recommend rescue, but we want the breed we want, with its quirks and quandaries, and this new puppy is from the same line as the dog that brought us ten years of joy and laughs. Plus, we want to bring up baby from the beginning.
Thanks to technology, I've seen her and her nine siblings as they opened their eyes, took their first steps and ate their first solid food. I have made anyone who comes near me peer at the online videos and make googling noises as we exclaim about the puppies' little bellies and gorgeous coats.
So, indulge me a little after the first of October, when little Petunia or Matilda or Gretchen or Gigi or whatever her name is going to be, comes to live with us.
I'm already in love and I haven't even met her yet.
Friday, August 12, 2016
The Lonely Struggle
Barack Obama famously said of Donald Trump, "It's just not cool to not know stuff." but sometimes it's not all that cool when one does know stuff, either.
I am on a personal quest to have the place where Collingwood's young people jump down into the water, you know, the spot behind the grain terminals, called its proper name.
It's not a pier.
It's a quay, pronounced key. Piers are on stilts, quays are land formations, whether man-made or natural, altered to accommodate the docking of boats.
Seriously, Google it if you don't believe me.
Once you know it, you can't un-know it, but be aware, when you start telling people you're going to the quay to jump into the water to cool off on yet another blistering summer afternoon, they will cock their head like a dog when it hears music. "Huh? What's a key?" And then, like me, you will get to sound all pompous-like, explaining the difference between a quay, pier, wharf, and dock.
No matter what, you're going to sound like a know-it-all.
Maybe I'll just call it the harbour. Spelled with a U, dammit!
Monday, August 8, 2016
Kids These Days
I'm on the far side of 40 didn't get to have children of my own, so I should be sitting on my front porch, quietly breathing obscenities at the kids I'm pretty sure are playing Pokemon Go down the sidewalk, but instead, I'm being astounded at the amazing people my near and dear are bringing into this world.
Between now and Friday, I'm learning how Rugby 7s is played, since I'd like to look like less than a dotty old aunt when my lovely niece kicks some butt at the Ontario Summer Games with her team. This kid nearly made it onto the Ontario team, keeps a straight-A average, devours fiction and paints terrific little landscapes when she needs to chill out.
Last Friday, a knock on my door brought a surprise visit from a cousin who lives in Calgary and his two children, both of whom, even though they're 9 and 7, can tell complete and funny anecdotes about their lives, who sat patiently while the grownups talked and were generally a delight.
Saturday, I watched in awe as another niece's five children played in a creek at our family reunion, the older ones keeping an eagle eye on the baby twins as they toddled about, one of the little girls charming my Sweetie by jumping into his lap for a cuddle, after being astounded that she and he share a first name. The three older kids, all younger than seven, dutifully made the rounds saying goodbye to us old farts as they headed home, with a, 'it was nice seeing you" said with full eye contact and hugs.
Later in the day, the nine year old daughter of another friend astounded me with a delightful story told with a beginning, middle and end, a punchline and no 'um's or 'ah's. She was charming and articulate and pretty much adorable.
With 90 days left to the US election, I've been fretting about the future of North America and indeed, the world, but I somehow think, with the band of smart, merry and kind young folk I saw this weekend, we might be just fine.
Between now and Friday, I'm learning how Rugby 7s is played, since I'd like to look like less than a dotty old aunt when my lovely niece kicks some butt at the Ontario Summer Games with her team. This kid nearly made it onto the Ontario team, keeps a straight-A average, devours fiction and paints terrific little landscapes when she needs to chill out.
Last Friday, a knock on my door brought a surprise visit from a cousin who lives in Calgary and his two children, both of whom, even though they're 9 and 7, can tell complete and funny anecdotes about their lives, who sat patiently while the grownups talked and were generally a delight.
Saturday, I watched in awe as another niece's five children played in a creek at our family reunion, the older ones keeping an eagle eye on the baby twins as they toddled about, one of the little girls charming my Sweetie by jumping into his lap for a cuddle, after being astounded that she and he share a first name. The three older kids, all younger than seven, dutifully made the rounds saying goodbye to us old farts as they headed home, with a, 'it was nice seeing you" said with full eye contact and hugs.
Later in the day, the nine year old daughter of another friend astounded me with a delightful story told with a beginning, middle and end, a punchline and no 'um's or 'ah's. She was charming and articulate and pretty much adorable.
With 90 days left to the US election, I've been fretting about the future of North America and indeed, the world, but I somehow think, with the band of smart, merry and kind young folk I saw this weekend, we might be just fine.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Questions
If Orlando was ISIS, what was Newtown?
If Dallas was Black lives Matter, what was Colorado Springs?
Shooters are never clear about their motives, except in Umpqua, Charleston, Isla Vista and Montreal.
Since San Bernadino was Islam, what was Aurora?
So many places, all devastated. But what does it all have in common? "No one can think of a way to stop this trouble," I say sarcastically. It's must be a religion that's to blame. Definitely a culture.
And the suspects! We never know their motivation, unless they live, like Dylan Roof, James Holmes and Robert Dear,caught alive, not blown up or shot dead. Micah Johnson and Omar Mateen, not so much.
I say sarcastically, I just can't see any patterns here. Nope, none at all.
If Dallas was Black lives Matter, what was Colorado Springs?
Shooters are never clear about their motives, except in Umpqua, Charleston, Isla Vista and Montreal.
Since San Bernadino was Islam, what was Aurora?
So many places, all devastated. But what does it all have in common? "No one can think of a way to stop this trouble," I say sarcastically. It's must be a religion that's to blame. Definitely a culture.
And the suspects! We never know their motivation, unless they live, like Dylan Roof, James Holmes and Robert Dear,caught alive, not blown up or shot dead. Micah Johnson and Omar Mateen, not so much.
I say sarcastically, I just can't see any patterns here. Nope, none at all.
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Je Regrette Rien
It was just a few days later, my own mother, who's hale and hearty and turning 74, was talking to some of her friends about her extensive travels ('everywhere they speak English, plus Scotland!'), and I chimed in that I'd love to take a "Jane Austen" trip someday, perhaps looking at the houses where the movies were shot, seeing where the author lived and wrote. I do love Austen's work and I read all six of her novels every few years.
Not two hours later, Mom called to tell me about a trip she had seen in the travel section of the newspaper. It was to England and Wales, including Bath, which is where Austen lived for three years, (two of them happy) and which was the setting of Northanger Abbey. My immediate reaction was to say no. It was too expensive, and my husband would not want to come along, plus I could tell it was going to be a "Q-tip bus ride": white-haired old ladies farting and shuffling along, plus from what I understand, a lot of being rushed from place to place. Even so, I told Sweetie about it as part of a conversation about mothers in general and the heartbreak our friends were facing. The next thing I knew, at Sweetie's insistence, I was writing a big fat cheque to my mom to cover my half of a week on a blue-hair bus trip.
It was a red-eye to the UK, and the trip was indeed set mostly on a bus: Windsor Castle to Stratford Upon Avon (literary? check.) to York, Liverpool, Llandudno, Conwy, Chester, Snowdonia National Park, Ludlow, some other places in the north of England and south of Wales, Bath and back to London. There was a castle or cathedral to look at every day,sometimes two. They call these trips ABCs: Another Bloody Castle, or Another Bloody Cathedral. There were indeed some old ladies with canes and complaints. My mom (apart from the snoring) was a marvelous traveling companion. She's funny, although I think she's going a little deaf. That, or she simply ignores a lot of what I say, which is equally possible. (Probable, actually...) She's also sometimes silly, but she's willing to walk 90 minutes to look at Buckingham Palace even though she's seen it before, and willing to be dragged through pubs as I taste the local beers, and willing to check out local grocery stores, because I find the little differences, fascinating.
I'm grateful to have traveled with my mother, and I will do it again, since the very night before we left, Sweetie and I went to a visitation with the family following the death of my friends' mom. Her shattered husband and daughters will never again get a chance to see the world through her eyes.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
Honesty in Accounting
The stories about the latest crisis unfolding on a native reserve far, far away are front and centre in the newspapers again, and I have been involved in some kitchen table conversations with various friends who have a lot of opinions about what has happened and what hasn't, in places like Attawapiskat.
Some of what I have been hearing in recent days is tinged with racism, and some of it is just simply misinformed. I confess to a lot of ignorance on these issues, too, so I went looking at the money part of the equation, leaving aside the questions that arise from the legacy of residential schools.
There are widely varied public reports of how much federal money actually flows to Attawapiskat each year, but from what I can gather, is it's somewhere about 100 million dollars a year. That's 100 million dollars annually to cover all the housing, all the health care, including mental health services, all the education, all the roads, water and sewer services, any firefighters, plus salaries for the people who provide all of the above to the about 2000 people who live there.
Let's compare, shall we? The budget for the municipality where I live was 66.8 million dollars this year for road and sidewalk plowing, asphalt, recreation facilities, salt, firefighters, salaries and services, but not for education or health care for the 18-thousand people who live in Collingwood.
My local hospital's budget is around 300 million from the province, but that figure doesn't include doctors' pay. I have no idea what is spent on the twice-a-year doctor appointments my husband and I average. There are also at least five mental-health counsellors working full time in a facility near the hospital; is there a way to know what it costs to house them, in addition to their pay?
The province pays for the nurses who work at the hospice. The province also subsidizes a lot of daycare spaces, while the feds are increasing the payment to parents this coming July to somewhere around 5K per kid per year, depending on your income.
The county spends another 300 million or so on things like welfare and operating the social housing units in our town, picking up trash, recycling and compost, and let's not forget the county-run old age home and the county-designated roads, which require plows and salt.
Do you know how much is shelled out on your kids' schools, including the salaries of teachers, support workers and janitors? How about the buses? I'd love to have a dollar figure per kid across Ontario, but I bet it's somewhere around 150k per child, and let's not forget the millions that flow to colleges and universities before you pay the tuition.
If only we could compare the raw dollars and then consider how much more it costs to do things up north before suggesting that the reserves are wasteful or corrupt or stupid.
It's possible some of the millions going to places like Attawapiskat is indeed wasted, but I'd wager if it were all added up, the number of dollars spent per person down here is much, much higher than what is spent on our fellow Canadian citizens on reserve.
Furthermore, after the report that came to Collingwood's town council recently about a dire lack of available information about the sale of half of COLLUS a few years ago, no one in this town should have even one word to say about a lack of reporting or mismanaged record-keeping elsewhere.
Some of what I have been hearing in recent days is tinged with racism, and some of it is just simply misinformed. I confess to a lot of ignorance on these issues, too, so I went looking at the money part of the equation, leaving aside the questions that arise from the legacy of residential schools.
There are widely varied public reports of how much federal money actually flows to Attawapiskat each year, but from what I can gather, is it's somewhere about 100 million dollars a year. That's 100 million dollars annually to cover all the housing, all the health care, including mental health services, all the education, all the roads, water and sewer services, any firefighters, plus salaries for the people who provide all of the above to the about 2000 people who live there.
Let's compare, shall we? The budget for the municipality where I live was 66.8 million dollars this year for road and sidewalk plowing, asphalt, recreation facilities, salt, firefighters, salaries and services, but not for education or health care for the 18-thousand people who live in Collingwood.
My local hospital's budget is around 300 million from the province, but that figure doesn't include doctors' pay. I have no idea what is spent on the twice-a-year doctor appointments my husband and I average. There are also at least five mental-health counsellors working full time in a facility near the hospital; is there a way to know what it costs to house them, in addition to their pay?
The province pays for the nurses who work at the hospice. The province also subsidizes a lot of daycare spaces, while the feds are increasing the payment to parents this coming July to somewhere around 5K per kid per year, depending on your income.
The county spends another 300 million or so on things like welfare and operating the social housing units in our town, picking up trash, recycling and compost, and let's not forget the county-run old age home and the county-designated roads, which require plows and salt.
Do you know how much is shelled out on your kids' schools, including the salaries of teachers, support workers and janitors? How about the buses? I'd love to have a dollar figure per kid across Ontario, but I bet it's somewhere around 150k per child, and let's not forget the millions that flow to colleges and universities before you pay the tuition.
If only we could compare the raw dollars and then consider how much more it costs to do things up north before suggesting that the reserves are wasteful or corrupt or stupid.
It's possible some of the millions going to places like Attawapiskat is indeed wasted, but I'd wager if it were all added up, the number of dollars spent per person down here is much, much higher than what is spent on our fellow Canadian citizens on reserve.
Furthermore, after the report that came to Collingwood's town council recently about a dire lack of available information about the sale of half of COLLUS a few years ago, no one in this town should have even one word to say about a lack of reporting or mismanaged record-keeping elsewhere.
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
Panama, Shanama- the COLLUS Papers
We're going to need a bigger bus, what with so very many people being 'thrown under the bus' in the Collus Papers scandal. Full disclosure: no one but me is calling it that, but a girl can hope...
To catch you up, Collingwood's town council hired a lawyer to put together a map of how decisions were made regarding the sale of 50 percent of the town's utility, COLLUS. The final vote to sell was in January, 2012; half the utility is now owned by Powerstream, which owns and operates the electricity systems in Newmarket and Barrie and a few other places.
The report was delivered last week at a 2pm town council meeting that was standing room only. I got there early to secure a seat. In addition to interested citizens, a former mayor was there, along with at least three former town councillors. So was the rabble-rouser who got released a chain of emails between Ed Houghton and John Brown through a Freedom of Information request. Brown is currently the acting CAO for the Town of Collingwood. Houghton was the President of Collus when the town decided to sell off half the utility. Houghton was the town's acting CAO for about a year starting about three months after the decision about the sell-off was made. He remained the head of COLLUS during his tenure at town hall and is still the President and CAO of the half of the utility the town owns.
The lawyer's report basically says he couldn't actually offer up a 'decision tree' or a map of what happened, because either there are no records, or no one will give them to him. The report says there is no paper trail of decisions about the sale, no way to know how the decision was made of offer up 50% of the utility, and also that no one ever does a 50/50 sale of a utility, and he's been involved in dozens of these types of transactions. The report expressed consternation that a town would sell an asset for 8-14 million dollars (depending on how you do the math) with no real records of how the decision was made, in spite of repeated attempts to get those records.
During the 'questions' part of the meeting, one town councillor laid the blame for 'information gaps' at the feet of the former head of Collus, Dean Muncaster, who died two months after the deal was made. Another member of town council tried to blame Ed Houghton, although Houghton's name was spoken aloud only one time that I could count in the meeting, which I found very, very odd since he's front and centre at both the utility the town owned and town shortly thereafter. I was left wondering, is he Voldemort or something?
Emails leaked in that FOI request appear to cast blame for a lack of records from meetings on the Mayor at the time, who is still the mayor, saying that at the end of the day, final decisions were hers.
Now, a blogger in town whose LinkedIn page lists him as working for the Ontario Municipal Water Association, where Ed Houghton is now the Executive Director, appears to blame the town or the town clerk for bad record-keeping regarding the sale. Ian Chadwick the blogger was also a town councillor during the time of the sale, and his post also blames the current acting CAO because...rudeness. He suggests the lack of records could be blamed on spelling errors and a lack of politeness in John Brown's email correspondence requesting information about the sale.
So, that's four. So far. Yup. Definitely gonna need a bigger bus. Or at least, bigger tires.
To catch you up, Collingwood's town council hired a lawyer to put together a map of how decisions were made regarding the sale of 50 percent of the town's utility, COLLUS. The final vote to sell was in January, 2012; half the utility is now owned by Powerstream, which owns and operates the electricity systems in Newmarket and Barrie and a few other places.
The report was delivered last week at a 2pm town council meeting that was standing room only. I got there early to secure a seat. In addition to interested citizens, a former mayor was there, along with at least three former town councillors. So was the rabble-rouser who got released a chain of emails between Ed Houghton and John Brown through a Freedom of Information request. Brown is currently the acting CAO for the Town of Collingwood. Houghton was the President of Collus when the town decided to sell off half the utility. Houghton was the town's acting CAO for about a year starting about three months after the decision about the sell-off was made. He remained the head of COLLUS during his tenure at town hall and is still the President and CAO of the half of the utility the town owns.
The lawyer's report basically says he couldn't actually offer up a 'decision tree' or a map of what happened, because either there are no records, or no one will give them to him. The report says there is no paper trail of decisions about the sale, no way to know how the decision was made of offer up 50% of the utility, and also that no one ever does a 50/50 sale of a utility, and he's been involved in dozens of these types of transactions. The report expressed consternation that a town would sell an asset for 8-14 million dollars (depending on how you do the math) with no real records of how the decision was made, in spite of repeated attempts to get those records.
During the 'questions' part of the meeting, one town councillor laid the blame for 'information gaps' at the feet of the former head of Collus, Dean Muncaster, who died two months after the deal was made. Another member of town council tried to blame Ed Houghton, although Houghton's name was spoken aloud only one time that I could count in the meeting, which I found very, very odd since he's front and centre at both the utility the town owned and town shortly thereafter. I was left wondering, is he Voldemort or something?
Emails leaked in that FOI request appear to cast blame for a lack of records from meetings on the Mayor at the time, who is still the mayor, saying that at the end of the day, final decisions were hers.
Now, a blogger in town whose LinkedIn page lists him as working for the Ontario Municipal Water Association, where Ed Houghton is now the Executive Director, appears to blame the town or the town clerk for bad record-keeping regarding the sale. Ian Chadwick the blogger was also a town councillor during the time of the sale, and his post also blames the current acting CAO because...rudeness. He suggests the lack of records could be blamed on spelling errors and a lack of politeness in John Brown's email correspondence requesting information about the sale.
So, that's four. So far. Yup. Definitely gonna need a bigger bus. Or at least, bigger tires.
Monday, April 4, 2016
Thought Experiment
Just for fun, try this little game with me today:
Take everything you've read about the Ghomeshi case as it relates to presumption of innocence, balance of probabilities, and reasonable doubt -- all the articles, tweets, facebook posts, commentaries and columns. Collect them up and let them float around in your head for a few seconds. Got 'em in there? Good.
Now, replace the charge of sexual assault with impaired driving and do a gut-check on your reaction. Does it change anything? Why or why not?
Those accused of drunk driving automatically lose their licence for a week. Their car is impounded before they ever see the inside of a court house.
If they are acquitted, they do not get that week back, and they still have to pay the price of impounding the car and the tow truck fees. They might lose their job just for being accused. Their names are made public.
But, it's drunk driving, not sexual assault, so we believe the police that charge the drunks before we ever have a trial.
I'm not suggesting we take away anyone's due process; I'm saying we already have, and doing so is not as unprecedented in our legal system as some would have you believe.
Hey, I'm on TV! OK, cable. Tune in to the Penny Skelton show on Rogers 53 tomorrow to see me in fake eyelashes, talking about the fallout from the Ghomeshi case with Penny and Alison Fitzgerald, the ED of My Friends House shelter.
Take everything you've read about the Ghomeshi case as it relates to presumption of innocence, balance of probabilities, and reasonable doubt -- all the articles, tweets, facebook posts, commentaries and columns. Collect them up and let them float around in your head for a few seconds. Got 'em in there? Good.
Now, replace the charge of sexual assault with impaired driving and do a gut-check on your reaction. Does it change anything? Why or why not?
Those accused of drunk driving automatically lose their licence for a week. Their car is impounded before they ever see the inside of a court house.
If they are acquitted, they do not get that week back, and they still have to pay the price of impounding the car and the tow truck fees. They might lose their job just for being accused. Their names are made public.
But, it's drunk driving, not sexual assault, so we believe the police that charge the drunks before we ever have a trial.
I'm not suggesting we take away anyone's due process; I'm saying we already have, and doing so is not as unprecedented in our legal system as some would have you believe.
Hey, I'm on TV! OK, cable. Tune in to the Penny Skelton show on Rogers 53 tomorrow to see me in fake eyelashes, talking about the fallout from the Ghomeshi case with Penny and Alison Fitzgerald, the ED of My Friends House shelter.
Friday, March 11, 2016
Tricks
I have fallen for quite a few tricks in my day, happily none of them involving spiked drinks or serious trouble, but I admit to a certain gullibility.
But recently, I've been smartening up. I have figured out a few things, which leads to other revelations.
Hiking is really just walking.
Snoeshoeing? Also just walking.
Curry and stew are really the same thing.
No one cares that there's a difference between cottage pie and shepherd's pie.
Cheap and frugal are the same thing, but the word choice is revealing.
But recently, I've been smartening up. I have figured out a few things, which leads to other revelations.
Hiking is really just walking.
Snoeshoeing? Also just walking.
Curry and stew are really the same thing.
No one cares that there's a difference between cottage pie and shepherd's pie.
Cheap and frugal are the same thing, but the word choice is revealing.
Wednesday, March 9, 2016
It's the Economy, Stupid
Donald Trump is getting a lot of attention for his racist, sexist, xenophobic remarks, but he's talking about more than that, and it might just be all that other stuff that's getting him the support that has stupefied so many of us.
Have you actually listened to any of his speeches? Beyond the water-throwing, disabled-mocking, wall-building and race-baiting, there is some substance.
This week, I spent several hours I can never get back watching Trump's speeches online, and I now totally get why he's getting so much support. It's not the racism, or at least, it's not JUST the racism. Trump talks a lot about the economy, and very few commentators are addressing the failings of the system that Trump talks about at his rallies.
Trump is saying out loud what a lot of people in the US have felt for quite some time: they are being screwed over.
Corporations have made out like bandits under free trade, but regular folk lost out. Those who have kept their jobs are now doing the work of the people who lost theirs, with no increase in pay. Many others are working three part-time jobs with no security and no stability, because of the way big companies do their 'just in time' staffing.
A lot of people in the US are no better off today than they were a decade or even two decades ago. Many have gone backwards financially. They know the banks, the corporations and the already-wealthy have done very well, and they have now figured out that the system is gamed against them. The house is always going to win, even while their house is 'underwater'. Trump is vowing to bring back the good times, when a person could make a living by working hard, not just by being born rich or with connections. He has tapped into the hugest fear most of us have: that our kids won't be better off than we are.
It remains ironic that Trump himself is the child of wealth even while decrying the graft of the ruling elite. He's also vulgar and rude, but being a loudmouth jerk doesn't take away the ring of truth to what he says about many Americans: things are not good for them and things are not getting better for them under the systems and policies currently in place. He's acknowledging the electorate's pain, often in a crude and ugly way, but acknowledging it nonetheless and no other candidate on either side is doing that.
Trump likely will not be able to fix the problems even if he does win the vote in November, but he's seeing and speaking a fundamental truth for the vast majority of Americans now: the American Dream is a chimera for all but a very few. The people who have lost out are blaming a government the voters know is no longer of or for the people, and they're looking for someone to set things right. Trump is popular because he's saying he's the one to fix it. He's promising to be a savior, and that's something US voters are willing to embrace.
Frankly, I am astounded and grateful that with all the anger and all the loss Trump is tapping into, that the people he's speaking to are are still willing to put their trust in voting for change. Think about all the guns down there.
Have you actually listened to any of his speeches? Beyond the water-throwing, disabled-mocking, wall-building and race-baiting, there is some substance.
This week, I spent several hours I can never get back watching Trump's speeches online, and I now totally get why he's getting so much support. It's not the racism, or at least, it's not JUST the racism. Trump talks a lot about the economy, and very few commentators are addressing the failings of the system that Trump talks about at his rallies.
Trump is saying out loud what a lot of people in the US have felt for quite some time: they are being screwed over.
Corporations have made out like bandits under free trade, but regular folk lost out. Those who have kept their jobs are now doing the work of the people who lost theirs, with no increase in pay. Many others are working three part-time jobs with no security and no stability, because of the way big companies do their 'just in time' staffing.
A lot of people in the US are no better off today than they were a decade or even two decades ago. Many have gone backwards financially. They know the banks, the corporations and the already-wealthy have done very well, and they have now figured out that the system is gamed against them. The house is always going to win, even while their house is 'underwater'. Trump is vowing to bring back the good times, when a person could make a living by working hard, not just by being born rich or with connections. He has tapped into the hugest fear most of us have: that our kids won't be better off than we are.
It remains ironic that Trump himself is the child of wealth even while decrying the graft of the ruling elite. He's also vulgar and rude, but being a loudmouth jerk doesn't take away the ring of truth to what he says about many Americans: things are not good for them and things are not getting better for them under the systems and policies currently in place. He's acknowledging the electorate's pain, often in a crude and ugly way, but acknowledging it nonetheless and no other candidate on either side is doing that.
Trump likely will not be able to fix the problems even if he does win the vote in November, but he's seeing and speaking a fundamental truth for the vast majority of Americans now: the American Dream is a chimera for all but a very few. The people who have lost out are blaming a government the voters know is no longer of or for the people, and they're looking for someone to set things right. Trump is popular because he's saying he's the one to fix it. He's promising to be a savior, and that's something US voters are willing to embrace.
Frankly, I am astounded and grateful that with all the anger and all the loss Trump is tapping into, that the people he's speaking to are are still willing to put their trust in voting for change. Think about all the guns down there.
Monday, March 7, 2016
Joking away the Blues
Things have been pretty bleak in my world over the last while, with several tragedies for people close to me and a bizarre grouping of strange losses and other odd happenings.
My spirits were lifted this weekend when I heard a subtle and very post-modern joke, which only some people get right away. Here goes:
A male feminist walks into a bar.
He couldn't help it; it was set so low.
Bwaaa haaa haaa! Happy IWD
My spirits were lifted this weekend when I heard a subtle and very post-modern joke, which only some people get right away. Here goes:
A male feminist walks into a bar.
He couldn't help it; it was set so low.
Bwaaa haaa haaa! Happy IWD
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
Just what do I do, Anyway?
I find it funny and telling when people sneer about "the media". Especially when they sneer about it to me, a member of it.
Most people would never mention to their dentist any belief about a possible connection between their child's expensive braces and the doctor's new car, but no one spares much concern or contempt for my profession. Which is cool, since, as a journalist, I prefer openness and honesty.
As newspapers shut down their presses and the future of TV news continues to be debated by the CRTC, a curtain was pulled back recently on journalism as a whole in this country, courtesy of one Ezra Levant, who has previously testified under oath in court that he's not a reporter, but who insists he is one when it comes to his attendance at news events at the Alberta legislature.
The Rachel Notley government admits it made a mistake banning Levant from its newswers. They weren't wrong, entirely, but it was a mistake to give Levant any fodder for his ongoing smearing of anyone with whom he disagrees, or with whom he is paid to disagree.
The imbroglio has raised the question of just what constitutes journalism in a free and pluralistic society like ours, and there have been various and sundry answers, the most oft-quoted one being, "if you say you're a journalist, you are are one". That's as good an answer as any, since there are no rules governing journalism, only traditions, which are in the midst of massive change.
I am profoundly uncomfortable lumping myself in with the likes of Levant as a journalist.
And yet we are both journalists, and here's the secret about why: there is no such thing.
My electrician husband had to do an apprenticeship over the course of several years, and then take a licensing exam before he was genuinely an electrician. Before becoming teachers, my teacher friends had to take a year of college, for which they were eligible only after achieving high enough marks in an undergraduate degree. The plumber who unclogs the poop in your pipes has years of training, a certification exam and a college that can take away his licence if he does a bad job and collects enough complaints.
But we journalists, we who put information and ideas into your head, we need no credentials to do so: no high school diploma, no degree, no licence; there is no governing body, and there isn't even a requirement to display good grammar or syntax, not officially. Unofficially, a degree helps, and so does good syntax and grammar, along with the art of cold calling and being a fearless questioner. But there are no legal or otherwise 'real' requirements, and certainly not if the outlet of your reportage is your very own website, blog or podcast.
Here's another secret: generally, news conferences are open to the public, because we journalists, well, we ARE the public. Nothing more or less, not really.
Journalists act as surrogates for you, Mister and Missus John Q Public, asking the questions you might ask if you had the time or inclination to ask them. We provide information you don't have time to collect for yourself, and in my case, packaging it for you top and bottom of the hour as you get ready for your day.
We find out stuff, some of the very serious ones among us ferreting out information about corruption and graft, others us trying to provide for you some information that will have an impact on you or that might interest you, whether that impact is on your wallet, your heart or your mind, or even if the interest is in your neighbour's kids.
We go to town and township council meetings and tell you what happened, but we also meet with the proprietors of new businesses and talk with the organisers of events and activities. I arrive at work each day aiming to tell you what you need to know as the day goes by, and I try to entertain you a little bit at the same time.
Levant doesn't seem to be interested in edification. He seems to follow the likes of radio shock jocks in the US like Rush Limbaugh or Ann Coulter, in whose commentary high volume and repetition generally take the place of demonstrable facts. Levant used to have one of those ranting shows on Sun TV until the channel shut down for lack of viewers. Now, he has a website, which may or may not have fewer viewers. He was and remains apoplectic at the election of an NDP government in Alberta, and has been railing about what he thinks is the Notley government's incompetence since before it was sworn in. His opinion of Justin Trudeau is even lower. He called Trudeau's father a "slut" on live television. The Sun network apologised, but Levant himself has not.
Levant's list of offensive remarks and half-truths is very, very long. And yet he calls himself a journalist, and this week, many other people who also call themselves journalists, backed him up.
Their reasoning was thus: if we start saying who is and who is not a journalist, and start getting rid of the rules surrounding the openness of our democratic institutions, then we're in the kind of trouble imagined in A Man For All Seasons, where Sir Thomas More argues about providing the devil with the same justice as the rest of us. We need to protect the devil just as much as ourselves, for the safety of all.
I'm tempted to agree, but part of me doesn't. Journalist poseurs trading in half-facts and sorta-truths should be called out.
The question is, who's going to do that job while the 'journalists' are busy trying to uncover the truth about everything else on your behalf? In an open and pluralistic society, citizens have responsibilities, too, and one of them is a little bit of critical thinking. Which, considering SunTV has shut down for lack of viewers and Levant is reduced to ranting on website, seems to be working out just fine here in Canada for now.
Most people would never mention to their dentist any belief about a possible connection between their child's expensive braces and the doctor's new car, but no one spares much concern or contempt for my profession. Which is cool, since, as a journalist, I prefer openness and honesty.
As newspapers shut down their presses and the future of TV news continues to be debated by the CRTC, a curtain was pulled back recently on journalism as a whole in this country, courtesy of one Ezra Levant, who has previously testified under oath in court that he's not a reporter, but who insists he is one when it comes to his attendance at news events at the Alberta legislature.
The Rachel Notley government admits it made a mistake banning Levant from its newswers. They weren't wrong, entirely, but it was a mistake to give Levant any fodder for his ongoing smearing of anyone with whom he disagrees, or with whom he is paid to disagree.
The imbroglio has raised the question of just what constitutes journalism in a free and pluralistic society like ours, and there have been various and sundry answers, the most oft-quoted one being, "if you say you're a journalist, you are are one". That's as good an answer as any, since there are no rules governing journalism, only traditions, which are in the midst of massive change.
I am profoundly uncomfortable lumping myself in with the likes of Levant as a journalist.
And yet we are both journalists, and here's the secret about why: there is no such thing.
My electrician husband had to do an apprenticeship over the course of several years, and then take a licensing exam before he was genuinely an electrician. Before becoming teachers, my teacher friends had to take a year of college, for which they were eligible only after achieving high enough marks in an undergraduate degree. The plumber who unclogs the poop in your pipes has years of training, a certification exam and a college that can take away his licence if he does a bad job and collects enough complaints.
But we journalists, we who put information and ideas into your head, we need no credentials to do so: no high school diploma, no degree, no licence; there is no governing body, and there isn't even a requirement to display good grammar or syntax, not officially. Unofficially, a degree helps, and so does good syntax and grammar, along with the art of cold calling and being a fearless questioner. But there are no legal or otherwise 'real' requirements, and certainly not if the outlet of your reportage is your very own website, blog or podcast.
Here's another secret: generally, news conferences are open to the public, because we journalists, well, we ARE the public. Nothing more or less, not really.
Journalists act as surrogates for you, Mister and Missus John Q Public, asking the questions you might ask if you had the time or inclination to ask them. We provide information you don't have time to collect for yourself, and in my case, packaging it for you top and bottom of the hour as you get ready for your day.
We find out stuff, some of the very serious ones among us ferreting out information about corruption and graft, others us trying to provide for you some information that will have an impact on you or that might interest you, whether that impact is on your wallet, your heart or your mind, or even if the interest is in your neighbour's kids.
We go to town and township council meetings and tell you what happened, but we also meet with the proprietors of new businesses and talk with the organisers of events and activities. I arrive at work each day aiming to tell you what you need to know as the day goes by, and I try to entertain you a little bit at the same time.
Levant doesn't seem to be interested in edification. He seems to follow the likes of radio shock jocks in the US like Rush Limbaugh or Ann Coulter, in whose commentary high volume and repetition generally take the place of demonstrable facts. Levant used to have one of those ranting shows on Sun TV until the channel shut down for lack of viewers. Now, he has a website, which may or may not have fewer viewers. He was and remains apoplectic at the election of an NDP government in Alberta, and has been railing about what he thinks is the Notley government's incompetence since before it was sworn in. His opinion of Justin Trudeau is even lower. He called Trudeau's father a "slut" on live television. The Sun network apologised, but Levant himself has not.
Levant's list of offensive remarks and half-truths is very, very long. And yet he calls himself a journalist, and this week, many other people who also call themselves journalists, backed him up.
Their reasoning was thus: if we start saying who is and who is not a journalist, and start getting rid of the rules surrounding the openness of our democratic institutions, then we're in the kind of trouble imagined in A Man For All Seasons, where Sir Thomas More argues about providing the devil with the same justice as the rest of us. We need to protect the devil just as much as ourselves, for the safety of all.
I'm tempted to agree, but part of me doesn't. Journalist poseurs trading in half-facts and sorta-truths should be called out.
The question is, who's going to do that job while the 'journalists' are busy trying to uncover the truth about everything else on your behalf? In an open and pluralistic society, citizens have responsibilities, too, and one of them is a little bit of critical thinking. Which, considering SunTV has shut down for lack of viewers and Levant is reduced to ranting on website, seems to be working out just fine here in Canada for now.
Friday, February 12, 2016
Careful What You Wish For
I've been a feminist since I was about 14 and picked up at my high school library Susan Brownmiller's amazing book, Femininity. I was a snaggletoothed, awkward and (I felt at the time), homely child, and had actually been looking for a guidebook to becoming more feminine. Instead, I picked up a polemic on the patriarchy and I was almost immediately a convert to the cause of gender equality. Oh, Irony, thy name is public education.
Later, I took a degree in Women's Studies, with a minor in Canadian history before attending journalism school.
My feminism is of the same variety as my father's, and he acknowledged out loud in the 1990s that he was a feminist when I told him the definition of the sometimes controversial word: a belief that men and women should have the same rights, privileges and responsibilities.
My dad came to his conclusions about fairness while watching his parents navigate their life in the 1940s, 50s and 60s: his mother and sisters toiled in the farm fields alongside my Grandpa, and then back in the house, Grandpa and the boys sat while Grandma and the girls made the meals and tended the house. My dad observed this and thought it wasn't fair that the women had double duty. My mom, with a similar upbringing, tells me they together decided that each of them should only have the one job, and thus was born what looked like a very traditional marriage, but one that was more modern that it might have appeared from the outside.
I give this background as my bona fides as I illustrate my confusion and upset at the sex assault trial of Jian Ghomeshi, as the testimony of three women was parsed on the witness stand, and many pundits suggest a serial predator with bizarre predilections is about to get off (pun intended).
Generally, rapists and beaters have used one or all of three defences in court: "bitches be crazy", "women lie", or "she's a slut". Rape shield laws were created in Canada in the '90s to shut down the last one, but the other two were on very plain display during this trial, and the women testifying gave the defence plenty of fodder.
No, a woman shouldn't have to be a virgin in long pants lept upon from the bushes, calling 911 even while she's being raped to secure a sex assault conviction. Furthermore, four people telling strikingly (pun intended) similar accounts of events involving an accused should add weight to the testimony of each. (although reading accounts of the testimony, the fraction three-fifths kept drifting into my mind...)
And yet.
I go back to the definition of feminism: equal rights, privileges, and responsibilities.
We women can't expect special treatment while also demanding equality. We can't say we're delicate flowers entitled to withhold information in court at the same time we demand pay equity. Some of the commentary on the trial seems to come from people who think we women shouldn't need to be honest on the witness stand, since we're different from men. That's a dangerous argument in a society where 'different' has so often been translated into 'less'.
While there are special circumstances surrounding sex crimes, we must know that demanding less of women is also accepting less for women.
All that said, what kind of creep keeps every communication from every woman he ever dated over the decades, even the ones who he only went out with once or twice? Here's who: the kind of man who knows he might need it. Ghomeshi's hoarding of information tells me he knows damn well what he does is wrong and he has been preparing this defence for decades. Which could explain the small smirk that flashed across Ghomeshi's face as he left court yesterday. He was getting off. (no pun intended)
Later, I took a degree in Women's Studies, with a minor in Canadian history before attending journalism school.
My feminism is of the same variety as my father's, and he acknowledged out loud in the 1990s that he was a feminist when I told him the definition of the sometimes controversial word: a belief that men and women should have the same rights, privileges and responsibilities.
My dad came to his conclusions about fairness while watching his parents navigate their life in the 1940s, 50s and 60s: his mother and sisters toiled in the farm fields alongside my Grandpa, and then back in the house, Grandpa and the boys sat while Grandma and the girls made the meals and tended the house. My dad observed this and thought it wasn't fair that the women had double duty. My mom, with a similar upbringing, tells me they together decided that each of them should only have the one job, and thus was born what looked like a very traditional marriage, but one that was more modern that it might have appeared from the outside.
I give this background as my bona fides as I illustrate my confusion and upset at the sex assault trial of Jian Ghomeshi, as the testimony of three women was parsed on the witness stand, and many pundits suggest a serial predator with bizarre predilections is about to get off (pun intended).
Generally, rapists and beaters have used one or all of three defences in court: "bitches be crazy", "women lie", or "she's a slut". Rape shield laws were created in Canada in the '90s to shut down the last one, but the other two were on very plain display during this trial, and the women testifying gave the defence plenty of fodder.
No, a woman shouldn't have to be a virgin in long pants lept upon from the bushes, calling 911 even while she's being raped to secure a sex assault conviction. Furthermore, four people telling strikingly (pun intended) similar accounts of events involving an accused should add weight to the testimony of each. (although reading accounts of the testimony, the fraction three-fifths kept drifting into my mind...)
And yet.
I go back to the definition of feminism: equal rights, privileges, and responsibilities.
We women can't expect special treatment while also demanding equality. We can't say we're delicate flowers entitled to withhold information in court at the same time we demand pay equity. Some of the commentary on the trial seems to come from people who think we women shouldn't need to be honest on the witness stand, since we're different from men. That's a dangerous argument in a society where 'different' has so often been translated into 'less'.
While there are special circumstances surrounding sex crimes, we must know that demanding less of women is also accepting less for women.
All that said, what kind of creep keeps every communication from every woman he ever dated over the decades, even the ones who he only went out with once or twice? Here's who: the kind of man who knows he might need it. Ghomeshi's hoarding of information tells me he knows damn well what he does is wrong and he has been preparing this defence for decades. Which could explain the small smirk that flashed across Ghomeshi's face as he left court yesterday. He was getting off. (no pun intended)
Friday, February 5, 2016
Regardless
why, hello there,
just fyi,
even if i send you a picture of myself in a bikini
or if our email notes were mostly about comical llamas,
you don't get to hit me.
whether i'm a starfucker,
a dimwit,
young and hot or too old for you;
regardless, you don't get to hit me.
if big ears teddy agrees or wants to hide,
whether you paid for dinner and are a big star
or just some regular guy looking for love;
regardless, you don't get to hit me.
if i have hair extensions
or can't tell a beetle from a gti;
regardless, you don't get to hit me.
you just don't get to hit me.
not ever, no matter what I did beforehand or afterwards.
period.
full stop.
just fyi,
even if i send you a picture of myself in a bikini
or if our email notes were mostly about comical llamas,
you don't get to hit me.
whether i'm a starfucker,
a dimwit,
young and hot or too old for you;
regardless, you don't get to hit me.
if big ears teddy agrees or wants to hide,
whether you paid for dinner and are a big star
or just some regular guy looking for love;
regardless, you don't get to hit me.
if i have hair extensions
or can't tell a beetle from a gti;
regardless, you don't get to hit me.
you just don't get to hit me.
not ever, no matter what I did beforehand or afterwards.
period.
full stop.
Friday, January 15, 2016
Hope and Regret
A cousin of mine died yesterday. I found out while at the funeral of one of my aunts on the other side of my family.
I hadn't seen Aunt Hazel in person in at least four years, but got updates from her daughters on her deteriorating condition. She started a long decline about ten years ago, and as her daughter eulogized yesterday, she actually left us a long, long time ago; it's just that her body only followed on Tuesday.
I hadn't seen my cousin, David in quite some time, either. Our families became somewhat estranged in the mid-80s when my uncle took exception to my mom's no-booze rule at family gatherings and they stopped coming to see us. It must have been tough for Mom to put that rule in place, knowing full well what the outcome could be, but she felt the need to protect her children. Morris died from the effects of heavy smoking and drinking about 15 years ago; the last time I saw David and his wife and children in person was at that funeral.
I think of them often, though. David was an OPP officer, and in my line of work, we talk about the cops a lot. I was quite taken with his wife the few times we met. His daughter got a big scholarship a few years ago and I wrote her a letter of congratulations, explaining how her Great Grandmother had been denied the chance at an education, had told me to make the most of mine and would have been thrilled at the achievement. The letter came back because they had moved and I didn't have the new address.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I have always expected that at some point, sometime, there would be a time when we cousins would get together and talk through what happened in our respective childhoods, laugh and joke and become the friends I feel we were meant to be. It's happened with some of my other cousins and I treasure it: adult conversations away from a reunion or funeral when I have discovered my cousin is someone I would choose to hang with even if we weren't related.
But now, it's not going to happen. Detective Constable David Herrington and I will not have that serious talk, we will never laugh about the year he captured every single frog in the creek at my parent's farm. I will not get to tell him the Big Family Secret (maybe he already knew), and I likely won't get to know his brilliant daughter. It's a future I hoped for that I foolishly mourn today.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Puny New Year's Tears
There I was on New Year's Day, nearly drowning in my own tears as I finished the last 30 pages of Miriam Toews' amazing novel, All My Puny Sorrows.
It's a comedy. About suicide. But really, it's about siblings and family and unshakable love and the ties that bind us together. It's brilliant, and swept me up with the power of its writing.
So powerful, I forgot I was not alone as I sniffled and snorted and tried not to sob out loud. I was at a cottage with nine other people, fire roaring, board games being played and hangovers being recovered from, and yet I was totally alone with the characters Toews created on the page, and I was bawling my face off at her portrayal of their grief.
That's the power of books: whether you read them on screen or on paper, there's a minute after you close a particularly powerful story, when you have to take a minute to adjust back to the 'real' world, knowing you're not really the same person you were when you started.
I am usually a voracious reader, but got away from it over the last year or so, caught up in other things, but my new year's resolution is to find more great stories and curl up with a good book most of this winter. However, I feel like I should maybe keep my ugly-cry face away from the public.
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