Gin's Blog

September 11...nine years after its notorious designation...the good, the bad and the ugly

2010-09-11T15:06:00.000-07:00

What I remember most about that dreadful day is the heartbroken voice of my dear friend Pam on the phone. Had I seen it...did I know...? I was at work...at my desk...and at that point, radio over the internet was a new notion. I had a radio...tuned to CBC. Candidly, it would have made a small difference as so many of the media outlets had transmission equipment on the towers.

The other thing I remember is the clear, strong voice of the Vice-President who ran our group benefits business. One of our clients was in one of the towers. A corporate analyst was positting that we might avoid paying claims since this horror was - technically - an act of war. Upon hearing this ludicrous suggestion, our VP leaned into the speaker phone and said clearly, 'I am sorry...I was at my cottage over the weekend. Did I miss the announcement that we had declared war on Manhattan? We'll be paying our claims.' In the weeks that followed, we amended terms and conditions to cover the paramedics and police officers and firefighters who went to help - much the same way we adjusted wording during SARS to cover quarantine. It made me exceedingly proud of my company and my colleagues and has kept me in their service.

In the days that followed, I remember the silence on the 401. On a normal day, you see the planes once you reach Guelph, Milton, and Missisauga. They're over your head when they approach from the west...you look up at them approaching from the east. My night classes started when the planes were still on the ground and the eerie sensation it gave me to drive to class and see no planes...to drive home and see no trail of lights hovering in the sky...frightened me. On Thursday when the first planes were back, I pulled over to the shoulder and wept. So did many other people.

I also remember - with immense gratitude - my friends at CBC and The Hamilton Spectator. CBC told the story of the planes all over the country, Gander, Newfoundland particularly. The Spec made it personal telling the story from John C. Munro airport in Hamilton. Surprise guests. Made welcome and protected so a tragedy wouldn't magnify. Gander was once Canada's welcome point. When planes needed to stop for fuel, the stopped at Gander (as they did in Shannon when they were going east). The horror resurrected Gander - and I do not offer that word lightly in any way.

There is a wonderful saying - those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat its mistakes. It bears repeating today.

The misguided men - and forgive me, but again, I choose that word with specific intent - who committed this atrocity were no more representative of Muslims than Ian Paisley and the foppish pastor from Florida are of Christians. Rather, they are the sad reminder that those who behave with malice and evil in their hearts - and that is most certainly how they behave - do a lasting and destructive disservice to the gentle, thoughtful multitudes who practice the true directives of their chosen denominations. The attention bad actors are rewarded with encourages continuing bad behaviour.

Before I tell you about my friends who are Muslim - whom I am blessed with and whom I am fortunate to know - let me tell you about Catholics. Irish Catholics...Canadian Catholics...and what it's like to be an object of suspicion and derision. If you're a Quebecer or an Acadian or a Metis, feel free to offer your curiously parallel experience.

My father was an Irish Catholic from the south of Ireland. His neighbours in the first house he owned in Canada were - kid you not - a Northern Irish Catholic and a Southern Irish Protestant. He adored them. And his lesson to his children - always and unremittingly - was that intolerance and hate had no place in his house. While he would tell you about just provocation for uprisingings and protests and rebellions - and he did - the notional 'they' whether government or religion or group - was not something to be equated with the nice people next door. Ever. It was an unbelievably valuable lesson and at the time it was offered, I had no idea how many ways it would play out.

My mother, on the other hand, is a Canadian. Even so, being Catholic in a small, largely Protestant community set her apart. When I commented on some lovely tiger lilies - the big, orange ones - she once told me that was what people planted when she was a child to quietly let others know they were Protestant - and perhaps Masons as well. The notion of marking territory in that way is foreign to me. I don't typically think of Canada as being a country where distinctions are so clearly marked. I am wrong for thinking that way.

A dear friend of mine tells the story of her grandfather's discussion with the school board he served on - within the past 60 or 70 years - when there was objection to adding a Catholic to the board. He believed that moving in that direction was fair and just. It didn't make him many friends at the time.

So that is the experience I share with many of my students. They are, largely, phenomenally educated professionals who have come to Canada hoping for new lives and better opportunities. Many are Muslims (so I luck into that lovely noodle pudding during Eid sometimes!).
Often, they are disappointed. I try not to be one of their disappointments.

I know - to a smaller degree - about being observed with fear and uncertainty. But the stories I heard from both my parents remind me this is a tradition in so many places.

I gave one of my students an article about the fear so many people had about John Kennedy. A writer for Esquire was combing Texas archives as he researched a book on Lyndon Johnson. What he found astonished him - and not in a good way. Comments about Kennedy as a covert operative seeking to disrupt civilized society. Sound impossible? Change the denomination...and know this continues to be shameful.

For Al Smith who ran for President in 1928 after serving successfully as Governor of New York, the backlash about a Catholic running for President must have been a shock. The story most often repeated - that was whispered about Smith - was that he intended to dig a tunnel to the Vatican and that he'd take his orders from there.

The fuss about a Mosque in Manhattan reminds me a great deal of the fuss about some Carmelite Nuns who once dwelled cloistered at Auschwitz, praying contemplatively for all the sorrows that had gone before. They were pitched - and let's agree, they were victims of shallow political currents and appeasements on all sides. Not much changes.

My friends who are Muslims - and I have many, as I do friends who are Jewish and Christian, cheerfully agnostic, and uncertain - are gracious, delightful, kind people who bless my life. They are my colleagues, my students, my friends and acquaintances. They are people. Nice people.

For those who like to muse what would Jesus do?- in conversation, and on bumper stickers - the answer is simple: Love your neighbour as yourself. There are no footnotes and there is no opt out clause.

The Rolling Stones had it very right in Sympathy for the Devil. There are so many instances of evil let loose - and encouraged. Edmund Burke made the point equally well: All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.

What so many people did faced with a horror beyond understanding was the right thing. At Gander and Hamilton and other airports, ordinary people made strangers welcome. They fed them and consoled them and took them home and cared for them. Again, thanks to my friends at CBC, we hear some of those stories regularly - about strangers who became the dearest of friends through the saddest of circumstances.

So while I look at this day as a sad one in so many ways, I look at it as an encouraging one as well: a small cadre of men committed a terrible, vicious act...and in response, a selection of ordinary people the world over responded with kindness and care. Evil didn't triumph, nor will it if we continue to beat it down with civility, humanity and decency.

of lucky breaks...and absent friends...as a sweet old collie leaves us...

2010-05-20T20:38:00.000-07:00

I am far from being a religious creature...although a number of times today, I have been in converation with St. Francis and St. Roche. I think they were listening.

As an added bonus, I had the good fortune to hear the laughing and reassuring tones of Mary Hynes on Tapestry today as I was driving home for a last visit to the vet with a good friend. http://www.cbc.ca/tapestry/whatistapestry.html The lovely minister from Georgia talked about being charged with the care of God's creatures. It was well timed...

I like to believe that none of us wishes suffering on any other creature. I am certain nobody wishes so much as discomfort on any one whom we love. In this, I am rarely disappointed.

It's true that when you believe in rescue - of any sort - you wear your heart on your sleeve...and often as not, it gets a bit bruised. It is equally true that what you gain in the process is well worth the bruising that proves inevitable.

Just over four years ago , an 'old' collie arrived at the Hamilton Animal Control. Not the humane society, the pound...where abandoned dogs and cats and birds and bunnies are left...frequently. The lovely people there knew - logically - that a 10 year old collie was not quite the 'catch' that lures anxious people to adopt. But they also knew a sweet dog with such bright eyes was worth a risk. I thank the Good Lord for those gambling souls every day...and I will continue to do that.

So they called Collie Rescue...http://collierescuenetwork.com/
Jennifer called us....

We are - admittedly -failed foster parents. If they come, they stay. No questions asked.
It makes us less than ideal volunteers, but here and there, it makes us helpful.

She was - as Jennifer the Animal Control Officer warned us - old. At least ten. She had some separation anxiety...and her teeth needed some work...but she was a gracious old lady.
So home she came.

She never moved fast, really. She did, however, move purposefully. When focused, she could bump her brothers out of the way with intent. Often, she did.

She was lovely. When she did her first spot on Animal House Calls for Collie Rescue, she was a poster child. When she last went for grooming - four weeks ago - the folks at the 'spa' said she was the best looking of our collie kids. They weren't wrong.

Perhaps, most important, she was happy. She barked at squirrels with vigour (although the squirrels never went far when it was just her...)....she loved Timbits...and hot dogs...and walks in the park, during which she sang. The dulcet strains of 'woo' repeated in assorted harmony.

She had - up to this last week - such very bright eyes.
She laughed.

And she was always a reminder that old is not over...that it might take time to get somewhere, but accomplishing the journey was a worthy pursuit even if it was a little longer in the making.

She was never any trouble.
A tooth out here...a cyst off there...that was the extent of the medical maintenance for the Betty White of Collies. Until last week.

But even then, there are times where - if you pay attention - you know it's not a case of silver linings in a cloud...but a little cloud in the silver linings.

Things unfolded quickly...so she didn't suffer.
She was blessed with kind and loving caregivers - who roasted her chicken, and changed her blankets, and ran her neuro assessments to see if maybe - just maybe - there was some odd possibility that this was not a sinister and final affliction. And everyone so very much wanted a miracle.

Perhaps, in an odd way, we all got that answer to our collective prayer.
There was a warm Sunday in the yard to enjoy...
There were friends Shannon and Janice checking on her and feeding her and changing her so if the time was short, it was comfortable and at home.
There were Carrie and Evan - her peeps - sitting with her and reminding her how much she was loved.
There were Dr. Sharon, Dr. Pat - her good pal Kelly - plus Melissa, Patty and Nicki - and her gentleman caller, Austin the lab - looking for puzzle pieces and keeping her always comfortable.
That, my friends, is nothing to sneeze at. We should all be so blessed.

And while it was a tough day - for all of us - for Amber the collie, it was a good day.
She had more names than any collie we've ever known. She came with Amber...which became Amber Dolly...and Dolly...Dolly Doodle...and Dolly Roo - and Woo - which was almost the sound of her bark. She was Baby Girl to many of us...and Hey You to Dad...

Each call of every name got that same flash of bright eyes...a wag of a tail...and a smile.
And that, is worth everything.

So while the day is tough - and it is - it is so very worth the four years of hilarity and delight she brought.

Recently on Tapestry a former Anglican Bishop talked about heaven...and his dog...and how he knows that when he gets there, his dog will be the surest sign he is safely home. I know she is...and when I go, I will be packing TimBits....'cause she will certainly be expecting them. And so she should.

happy mothers' day...to mothers...and aunts...and friends...

2010-05-09T17:06:00.000-07:00

I had the great luxury of hanging out with my Mother today (capital intended). And because I am blessed to have her - close by, in good health, in sound mind - I am reminded that sometimes, gifts are more important than presents. It's one of the brilliant lessons my mother taught me, and on Mothers' Day - but hopefully, on every day - I hope that brilliant woman knows how valuable those lessons have been (and continue to be) to me.

My Mother taught me that sometimes, white lies are okay. When I was a very little kid (really, really little) and my poor mother needed a break, she would sneak down the hall without shoes on because if I heard her heels, I'd know she was going somewhere. Sometimes, bait and switch is an important lesson in preserving your quality of life.

My Mother taught me the importance of patience. Two of the three of us were not easy children - by a long shot. I may hold the title for being most difficult. I hope she agrees the time she invested in me was worth it because she is one of my favourite people on the planet and she is more than my Mother, she is my friend.

My Mother taught me a love of reading - and let me read anything I liked because she knew reading anything would teach me to love reading everything. She read to us all as children (the purple Winnie the Pooh...about the birthday party...where Pooh and Piglet get Eeyore a honey pot and a balloon -empty and burst - but Eeyore loves them anyway; The Sleep Book - a Jedd is in bed...and the bed of a Jedd is the softest of beds in the world it is said...he makes it from pom-poms he grows on his head...). She bought me comics. We trade books now. How great is that.

My Mother taught me to do the right thing - even when people think you're crazy to do it.
I watched her give back too much change...and walk back into stores when she hadn't been charged for things. And when I do it now and I see the stunned look of incredulity on the faces of the folks who I walk back too, I think it was an important lesson.

She taught me to pay my taxes. And to be grateful to have the opportunity to pay for schools and roads and hospitals. She's fun to cross the border with because she presents her bills and calculations to the border patrol...and some who have Moms like her smile and wave her through.

My Mother taught me to value dear friends. She has played bridge with a wonderful group of women for as long as I remember. There is never a family event that those women are not central to - and they are as devoted as she is, particularly when the chips are down. I love them all and I love running into them as they are fabulous company.

And I love the women who are like that for me: Pam, Carole, Louise, JoAnn and JoAnne (they travel in packs), Mel, Carrie, Kathy and Ruth.

My Mother taught me the importance of faith - even when you're not sure you believe. She does. I wish I did more...but I have no doubt that Churches and Synagogues and Mosques and Temples...and all the Mothers who pray therein make us better people. God Bless Them All.....

My Mother taught me the importance of devotion. She flew to her dying sister, managed her aging mother, sat with her dying sister-in-law - when the situations weren't easy or convenient or comfortable. And she was brilliant every time.

My Mother taught me it's important to call...even when you're not sure you have something to say because sometimes just the comfort of your voice - and the gift of thinking about someone - is more important than you know.

My Mother taught me it was okay to not always be right. To admit you're wrong...even it it's just to yourself...and to learn along the way. Now that was a good lesson.

My Mother taught me to type. She told me if nothing else, it would give me a chance to earn an honest living. It has helped me in every job I had...including when I was the production manager for the engineers' paper and held my middle finger over the delete key.

My Mother taught me to laugh...boy, is that handy.

My Mother taught me to dress appropriately...I wish I could take her to the office and to school.

My Mother taught me that while clean is critical, tidy is negotiable. Dust never killed anyone. Really.

My Mother taught me not to be afraid of spiders (name them all Charlotte and look for Wilbur...but don't bring the pig home). I rescue them out of my bathroom and talk to them all.

My Mother taught me that adventures -big and small - are to be had. Day trips to little spring ponds....drives to watch the swans...treks to San Francisco...they're all the things memories are made of. My first memory of an adventure with her was to see a summer parade on James Street in Burlington...with ice cream. It was wonderful.

My Mother taught me that among your friends and relations, diversity - of culture, of opinion, of approach - is a good thing. You'll be better fed - in body and mind - if you take that approach.

My Mother taught me loyalty. My Father was not an easy man, but she loved him fiercely and she misses him every day that he's no longer with us. As they grew old together, they grew together and in later years, I was amused at what good friends they were. Before he knew he was ill, she did...and while she never approved of his smoking or drinking, we never went to Niagara that she didn't return with Marlboros and beer. In his final weeks, she coaxed him with lobster and Velveeta and anything else she could think of. When he was gone, she was resolute on only one detail: he had always talked about a pine coffin and a shroud in Ireland...and that was what she insisted he have.

My Mother taught me the importance of current events - local and beyond. Reading the hatched, matched and dispatched - along with the headlines - tells you all you need to know before you start your day. Also, it gives you something to talk about!

My Mother taught me the value of sacrifice. Dogs are not her thing. You wouldn't know it from the way she treats my Father's dog...or from the number of trips she's made with me to the vet.

My Mother taught me the importance of education - and she and my Father both saw that their children had a good one - and believed it was our duty to give that back.

My Mother taught me it was important to vote - even when the options aren't great. There are few duties you have to society - and many people made an ultimate sacrifice to make this possible. It's only once every few years so even if you decline your ballot, go.

So when I asked if she'd like to go to brunch, she said she'd rather stay in, cook, and do the New York Times Crossword Puzzle. So we did....then we went looking for shoes. I got an iPhone (she won't even email)...she got Ibuprofen. And we had fun.

Did I mention adventures?

Thanks Mom....

halton paramedics in haiti - real friends doing real good for real people

2010-01-24T12:23:00.000-08:00

The past 12 days have been difficult ones for many people: for the people in Haiti - and those with family there. Some people have the skills and ability to help now (and many are doing just that), but others will be needed later so we need to be sure we don't forget.

At lunch the other day, a friend observed, 'Days fly...but years drag...' and he made a good point. Right now, immediate medical support and supplies tops the hit parade for the folks in Haiti; but, next month...and next year...and three years from now, that need will remain as pressing. It will just be a different need.

A good friend of ours, many of his colleagues, a pastor and three brilliant doctors are on the ground at University Hospital in Port au Prince. Another Burlington resident has kindly started a Facebook site - Halton Paramedics in Haiti - to keep family and friends up-to-date on their daily efforts. The photos show what words can't: a mother watching a child being treated, an injured person watching those who are offering care, places that have suddenly become clinics, but were recreational spots before. The site is open - join it and go take a look.

Another friend noted the other day that she wished she had medical training so she could go help now: I told her to hold that thought. Now, medical skills top the list of needs, but six months and a year from now, other skills will be needed too. Teachers and engineers and builders and many other folks as Haiti is resurrected (not an accidental choice of words, might I add). There will be something for all of us to do to keep attention on this place and to be sure we don't turn away from the need that will change but grow.

I was quite cheered to read that both The Gap and Levis maintain operations here - and that they were actively working to assist their employees. Remember that. Why can't Haiti replace China (I am happy to rant about China as cheap goods from China blunt development in Haiti, South America, Louisiana and Ontario - to name a few spots who could use the trade)?

I'm equally cheered by the calm voice of Lawrence Cannon - our Foreign Affairs Minister. His regular updates - although the news is not always good - are sincere and gentle. I am not always a great fan of our current government (okay...rarely) but you earn respect in shifting circumstances for simply saying, 'We don't have perfect answers and where our answers are wrong, we'll fix it.' Wouldn't it be nice if we all remembered that when we are not in the teeth of crisis. (That is not a question...it's an observation...)

Let's all mark our calendars for one year from now - 2011. Let's see if we remember Haiti when the benefits are done and the CNN staff have gone on to the next assignment.

Feed the Children Canada is waiting for the ports to reopen so the can ship a container of clothers and supplies. Canadian Physicians for Aid and Relief (CPAR), a smaller charity remains in Africa, tending to many people whose needs have become less pressing to the international community for the moment, but whose needs are pressing to them every day.

One year...mark your calendar...and don't forget in between....

Resolved...I might make...and even keep some resolutions this year

2010-01-09T11:47:00.000-08:00

My wise and lovely friend Cynthia and I were trading notes over the holidays. She suggested for good measure we make no resolutions this new year.

Generally, I don't...the same way I don't tend to go out New Year's Eve: first, making resolutions is like giving up chocolate for Lent - it's just going to plant the seed of yearning in your mind; second, waiting for New Year's to plan a change is the original procrastinator's dream (especially if there is no specific year attached...)

So I wouldn't qualify these as resolutions so much as intentions...and some might blossom into realities...

I am going to take more pictures...
I am going to spend more time with the delightful nieces and nephews I've been blessed with...

I am going to learn to use the new camera - and I am going to ask for help when I need it. (MPB...Peter J. - consider yourself warned)

Just for fun - and for salving my sanity - I am going to play more Scrabble...(Skip? Cynthia? Josee? Mark? We all good with that?)

I am going to walk more...up stairs at work and around the block with Master Shadow.

I am going to make time to read things I want to read more frequently and with fewer interruptions. Everything from Jeremy's postings (along with the fine links to The New York Times) to Dr. English's new book on Trudeau (Just watch me! or perhaps Just Read Me...)

I am going to name more of the birds who hang out here to go with Tink the Woodpecker. My mother always told me woodpeckers had voices like little bells...and when Tink started hanging out and chatting, I understood what she meant. We'll see if he'll sit for a photo.

I am going to see more of my favourite people and simply delight in the pleasure of their company.

I am going to take more day trips with my Mother...who also fits into that category of favourite people who are good company and make good conversation. It's not lost on me that not everyone is fortunate enough to come to a point where parents become trusted friends so I am going to take advantage of this good fortune. Also, I am going to get that woman to Montreal.

I am going to go visit Toronto more often...and I AM going to Louise's pub.

I might just be brave enough to make jam (or jelly this year...) Jasmine will help, I know, and she won't even point and laugh.

I am going to learn to let go of the little things more often and with a flourish.

If the jam goes well, we'll discuss the banjo possibility.

I am going to take Mike's advice and concentrate more on the students who bring me joy rather than the occasional runyons who cause me grief. There are many students who bring me joy...and I am going to tell them that more often.

A history course might be fun....

Squash might come up nicely around the rocks at the front...

The Sunday New York Times...at least every second Sunday. Coffee from Cafe du Monde to go with it.

I am going to write more personal notes and letters.

I plan to continue believing in magic...and enjoying it when it happens.

I am going to keep talking to strangers - even if it's just in passing - and smiling at people to see what happens. Usually, they smile back. Often, it becomes contagious.

I am going to enjoy occasional Bejeweled Marathons...Trailer Park Boys...Two and Half Men and Saturdays at the pub without feeling guilty about the joy of leisure or laughter. Both are good for the brain and the heart.

I am going to revel in the Year of the Tiger starting in February...because a Leo born in the Year of the Tiger will never get a better chance to teach the world to purr.

So there!

as the last clancy brother leaves us, some thoughts about the immigrant experience...and roots

2009-12-04T23:06:00.000-08:00

It's funny how news creeps out...even across oceans and continents.

I tripped over the announcement late this evening that Liam Clancy - the last surviving member of the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem - had died. And I must admit that it while I wasn't entirely shocked, I was - as the Corrie folks would say - gutted.

For many of us whose parents were Irish immigrants, the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem were a connecting fibre. Eire or Ulster...Yank or Canadian...Catholic or Protestant, the four fine minstrels were a touchstone.

They appeared in equal turns at Massey Hall in Toronto and Carnegie Hall in New York. One of their famous album covers features a photo of the four of them - with Tommy Clancy holding his arms in the air...the cover is black and the title is simply 'Live...At Carnegie Hall.' To this day, the album sells on Amazon, Chapters and iTunes. I have a number of the songs on my iPod.

They were, in their way, the original fab four. Two Tommys, a Liam and a Paddy. I have all those in my Butler family...repeated almost precisely in each generation. They were friends and fans of Pete Seeger - who is acknowledged on some of their albums and in most of their writings. On their double album, the final track is Liam - God Rest You - announcing, "Pete's gonna sing 'This Land...' They appeared - kid you not - on Dylan commemorative albums.

Perhaps more, they're etched on the hearts of far flung Irish descendants who know them through their albums (really, the vinyl ones), appearances on the Today Show each St. Patrick's Day, and visits to local venues. I remember vividly the drives to Massey Hall in Toronto. To this day, when I drive to the Big Smoke and I pass under the railway track on Yonge Street, I'm humming those songs, even when it's early in the morning (before the break of day) and I'm off to a meeting. It sticks with you...

I found myself in Washington on St. Patrick's Day a few years back. My official meetings done, off I went on on a Sunday evening to an Irish pub. I was sipping my Smithicks when the singer started up...and when I found myself standing next to a priest. The singer was good, but the verses were off...and by off, I mean not the Clancy rendition. The priest and I traded glances....and shook our heads a bit. 'What can I get you, Father?' I asked. 'Jameson dear...and a song sheet for our friend, like Liam and Tommy.' I told him the whiskey I could do but the bigger miracles were his. We had a lovely chat and with the Clancys and Makem as our common interest, we crossed a number of international borders...and eccliastical approaches.

My father was the youngest of his generation...depending on who you believe, the baby of 10...or 13 ...or 20. He left Ireland for Canada at 15...came to a sister he adored...a brother he revered but didn't know as well (20 years separation will do that to siblings)...and a place he could hardly imagine. His children are all proud Canadians...with great love for the Emerald Isle...who were taught to be open minded.

My parents' first house - in Burlington, Ontario - was a lovely spot with a front and back garden.
The neighbours on Wellington Avenue were Irish...he a Protestant from the South and she a Catholic from the North. My father bloody adored them...and he'd explain gently to us that in his day, in his Ireland, that would never have happened...but that it was never to be an issue in his Canada...

If you're at all familiar with the lyrics of The Old Orange Flute - a Clancy and Makem staple - you'll have no doubt where I'm taking this.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVlbenGJ8u0

Before I was old enough to understand why it was important, my father used to say it was history...but not to be repeated...it was different. When I brought home my Mister (25 years in 2010 and who knew - our anniversary was the same day he landed)...the Orange Brit...his sole comment was (based on the lad's size) 'Eileen, we might need more meat....' For a fellow who grew up with limited exposure to many cultures and things, he was remarkably and reasonably progressive.

My only trip to Ireland (so far) was with him. It's a big family...and I was not prepared to go without an ambassador...and a tour guide.

My idea of Ireland was shaped - in large part - by the music. Roddy McCorley...The Patriot Game...Red Head Mary...(I know...none of the expected regulars...go figure!) I met a couple of lovely cousins....briefly...before arriving 25 years later at their end.

When I did arrive (on the heels of a curious relation who made Canadians a bit unwelcome), three things made me a credible presence: first, my firm belief that I NEEDED to buy the first round to pave the way to good karma (that's equally true in the US might I add); second, my unwavering conviction that I was a guest who appreciated being welcome but by no means felt that was a given; third, my exposure to the Clancys and Makem...when lyrics were up in the air, on occasion, I knew the answer.

Every Friday night, my father sang those songs. I listened. I love them still.

When we sat in a sweet cousin's house and discussion emerged about song lyrics, I said quietly, 'Well, the Clancys and Makem sing it this way....' My cousins laughed...but agreed....

My father taught me many things...
Integrity...application....faith... (he was better at this than I will ever be)...equity...
And much of what he taught me was reflected in the songs of the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem.

When I go - and I will - DJ has a list....
I'd like a wake....with some music....including the Parting Glass and Roisin the Bow.

For our friend Liam, let's dwell on The Parting Glass which he sang so well....

Oh all the money that ere I spent
I spent it in good company...
And all the harm that e're I've done...
Alas it was to none but me...

There's much more...but that will get you doing (and I can't indent those...)

Wrap me up in me oil skins and jumpers
No more on the deck I'll be seen
Just tell me old ship mates
I'm takin a trip mates
And I'll see you one day in Fiddlers' Green.....

Goodnight Sweet Prince
Flights of Angels guide thee to they rest...
And if you don't mind, say hi to my Dad...and ny Uncle Tom...who taught me to adore you this way....

it's the great pumpkin charlie brown...and from our perspective, it has been great...

2009-10-12T15:16:00.000-07:00

If the great Canadian pastime is complaining about weather (and it is), it's been a great year to be a Canadian passing time with complaints. Weather casters and their critics have been referring to the clement months of 2009 as the 'summer that wasn't.' There is some truth to that: it wasn't scorching...it wasn't humid...it wasn't all the things we all usually delight in complaining about in the brief weeks where there is no hockey. (And in our neck of the woods, where we adore Jim Balsillie, where there is something in Toronto that the TimBits league would laugh at, hockey remains a distant possiblity....)

To paraphrase Snoopy (one of the great literary minds of our time), it was a dark and stormy summer. The skies opened, the air cooled....

Even so, the growing season is what you make of it.
And this year, we did a little experiment....with pumpkins.
Our soil is mostly clay. We've been dumping in peat moss and triple mix and PC Black Earth and manure in the hope of coaxing the yards into something productive. The results are mixed, but it is kind of fun.

So when my sweet friend Pam and I got to talking last spring, it occurred to me that pumpkins might be a really good idea. They throw down good roots (which help to break up clay)...they send forth winding vines (reminiscent of those grown by the Gruesomes in Bedrock, but not so effective at deterring the neighbours who park on the lawn....)...and there's always a chance at something to harvest.

So armed with a package of seeds, a hose, manure and optimism, I sallied forth some time in half past June. It was a little late, but again, it was a rookie adventure in urban farming.

In went the seeds....

Up came some shoots...

And then - miracle of miracles - blossoms. A bunch of blossoms.

My sweet neighbour Carrie and I considered them...at length...pondering whether they'd become delicacies for Rascal and Bandit over time. But the blossoms continued.

The raccoons left them alone (really, they prefer cat chow and bananas) and over the course of the summer, the blossoms continued. We did get expert advice suggesting that pinching the blossoms would promote better and larger fruit. We took it under advisement...and left the vines to blossom. They were lovely.

In time, we started to notice that the vines were looking shrivelled...but that proved to be a good thing. Lurking under those spindly shoots were tiny little pumpkins.

The one in the garden became a buffet. While we blamed Rascal and Bandit, we came to discover that the gourd gourmet was, in fact, Awesome the Possum. He enjoyed it regularly over many weeks. With luck, he's left some seeds that will return next year.

The one near the bird bath remained ungnoshed...as did the one near the driveway (mercifully, unsquished while the neighbour was doing NASCAR maneuvers over the lawn).

The sweet neighbour (smile and wave, Miss Carrie, smile and wave) suggested leaving the sweet little globes where they grew. While they are too small for pies or Jack-o-Lanterns, they might prove ideal for reseeding. She makes a good point...

The experiment has been a success and it was fun to watch over the course of the summer. We can't carve Junior, but that's okay.

We went up to the dairy farm at the top of Hwy 5 - Sutland Holsteins - and bought Junior some friends. This way, when he drops seeds over the winter, he'll know what he's aiming for next year.

things you begin to ponder when your friends begin appearing in the obituaries...

2009-10-04T06:26:00.000-07:00

For as long as I can recall, my parents (and grandparents) have been newspaper subscribers. I remember my Grandpa Hastings reading the comics to us when we were little (which sure gives you the idea that reading - and papers - are fun). I also remember my parents reading the classified section - occasionally known as the hatched, matched and dispatched. We've often joked that if we're not named in the departures column, we might as well carry on and go to work.

Late last week, on of my favourite colleauges from the college posted a message on his Facebook site noting he'd lost a dear friend. I posted a message of condolence to him, but as the details surfaced, he and I realized we had a 'six degrees of separation' circumstance. His friend of more than 15 years was my friend from high school. And so the process of finding others who needed to know (so as not to be surprised after the fact - which happens too often) began for us both in wide and different circles that met a little in the middle. We'll likely see each other later today at the funeral home.

But the loss of any one of us only makes sense in the context of the connection you shared with that individual and the adventures you enjoyed.

George was one of my favourite free spirits who moved among distinct and seemingly disconnected groups. He was witty...and charming...quick thinking and quick speaking in one of those ways where the rapid quips always made sense. He was gentle with others: I don't recall him ever saying an unkind thing about anyone. How often can any of us say that.

He was the high school president championed by geeks and football players. He was a talented photographer. He was a smart man - as street smart as he ever was book smart - who was content to just be rather than do. I don't recall him ever saying he wanted to 'be' something at the end of his studies. What he was, however, was a lot of things to a lot of different people.

One of my favourite road trips was one I made with George, our friend Ed, and a girl one of them was sort of dating. I can't honestly recall which of the guys it was, but she didn't last long. I was the fourth to even out the group. We often did that.

We drove to Buffalo to see -- wait for it -- The Jacksons. It was a terrific show although it gave us a first taste of what it was like to be a minority in a crowd (not a bad lesson, might I add). It was loud and fun and a great story to tell earlier this summer when Michael Jackson also made a surprise departure.

As many of us were chatting yesterday, we all talked about how easy it is to fall out of touch. How long it had been since we last talked - never mind saw each other - and we hope to do this more frequently, so we aren't making the rounds of calls the next time somebody we've loved leaves us. With luck, we'll keep that promise to ourselves.

Oddly enough, George's was one of the yearbook quotes I always remembered. I don't know why. It was a quote from the Grass Roots song: Sooner or later, love is gonna get you.

George was actually the object of many girls' affections when we were younger. Smart girls, pretty girls, popular girls. He was deft - and kind - about rebuffing them. He appreciated their interest, but wasn't keen to get caught I suspect. From the number of devoted folks who seem to be feeling George's loss, it looks like love did get him and carried him along. I sure hope so...
Later today, I'm going to put that song on my iPod and when it plays, I'm going to remember my friend George. Then, I'm going to call and email some of the others just for good measure.

http://www.lifenews.ca/thespec/profile/55579--petrovic-george-gabriel

block that call...shred that junk...firms for which i have no affection...

2009-09-20T13:04:00.000-07:00

I spent a good portion of my Friday evening shredding mail. Pulling the paper bits out of the envelopes that are not recyclable (ah, plastic...I loathe you in almost every form...). It made me think a bit about the firms that intrude on my time - by phone and by mail most often.

The alleged no call list is - I'm told - hard to get onto and harder to enforce.

I appreciate that people earn their livings this way, so I am prepared to be polite -- to a point.

Why so many firms want to push me past that point, I can't be certain; however, I'll do them the great courtesy of being polite and not naming those who either provide such dreadful service or intrude with such vigour.

The firm from which I rent my water heater hired another firm to market its other services. At least I presume that's what the water heater folks intended, but as I never got to that part of their canvass, I can't be sure. The phone rang. I answered it. The 'click' I heard first suggested it was some sort of telemarketing firm and that was confirmed by the canned message naming the 'communications' firm whose rep was calling.

A fellow (note deliberate choice not to use gentleman) came onto the line with a fine imitation of Tony Soprano's best, 'Hey...how you doin'?' I asked who he was and what he wanted, which prompted him to explain, 'Hey, I'm tryin' to be polite here.' Really? Good thing he explained that because my idea of polite isn't some anonymous voice I don't know calling to chat without offering identification -- like this will coas me into buying whatever he may be selling. (To quote from Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, 'Are you on commission? Remember me? Huge mistake!)

But wait, it gets better.

Again, I asked who he was an what he wanted.
At that point, he named the firm who supplies my heater (and whose marketing department hired another firm to extend our business dealings) and said with thinly veiled disgust, 'You do realize you're one of their clients.' Oh, I do...as will they, when my next quarterly bill lands and I use their alleged customer service line to draw this scintillating exchange to their attention. I affirmed that I did know that, but again asked what he was calling about...and got to listen to him tell his compatriots what a winner he had on the line. At that point I hung up.

It's doubtful I would ever have purchased any other service from the original firm, but had that been a possibility, their 'marketing' effort convinced me not to err in that way. What a great investment on their part.

Similarly, a credit firm continues to send me solicitations on an all too regular basis.

Their direct mail piece comes complete with a little, fake, plastic card showing what the card I could have from them might look like. That means I have to open the envelope, take out the paper, tear off the plastic card then begin the process of separating and shredding the solitication pieces I do not want.
Oh boy! That will make me love you!

In the case of the charities who lead the list of truly intrusive, I most dislike the one that insists on sending me a nickel with its pile o' paper and name labels. If the labels don't guilt me into it (along with the notepads, crappy pens and magnets), that nickel is sure to make me cave. I actually have donated to this charity. Usually, I sponsor someone participating in an event to raise funds for this group -- but their ongoing stream of junk I must manage convinces me to make that sponsorship my only contribution.

I like the firms who offer me the option of getting their news and junk via email. I can read their news or hit delete and not be worried about generating waste I didn't ask for in the first place.
I don't mind firms who send me a calendar once a year as part of an ANNUAL request for support. (I do, however, mind the ones who throw that calendar into a cycle of monthly mailings.)

I gave you money once...that does not connote interest in a continuing relationship on my part.

The competition is fierce...and my time is limited...the more you annoy me, the less likely I am to recommend you or continue to support you.

Plus I have a masterplan...I am going to start mailing it BACK...maybe with some of the other pieces I get just so the sender can pay the return freight. Maybe that will convince them to ease off a bit. I doubt it, but if nothing else it will let me share the magic of their inconvenience.

spelling tricks...not an adventure for the feint of heart

2009-07-28T19:20:00.000-07:00

You must smile with wry enjoyment at the cheery souls who don't feel the need to spell with any concern for accuracy or consistency. Most times, the text foibles you trip over are a little like a stone in your shoe: they stop you with a wince for a minute, but you move along.

But every so often, you're graced with a thigh-slapper that stops you in your tracks.

Don't think so?
Try this at home...
Sit Spot sit....
Easy enough.
Add the random 'h' in and see what happens. For your safety, grab your roll of pick up bags before trying this at home...

I liked the hiccup that suggested this...

The union has gone to binding medication.

Speaking only for myself, let me say, "OUCH!"

This is not a benefit I'm keen to pay for...but maybe that's just me....

Binding mediAtion -- while not a walk in the park -- still seems a preferable alternative.

The best one I've seen in a long time came in on a resume last week.
Let's be clear...it came in on a resume for an alleged writer. For that reason, it's not fierce to expect some semblance of spelling.

Said writer offered details about occasional submissions to assorted editors and employers under this heading:

FREE LANCE

Who is Lance?

More importantly who has him in some sort of bondage in a basement.

And do we actually know Lance objects to this in some way?

One appearance is a typo that merits a certain brief mocking and chuckling.

But the second reference suggests the writer is either making a tacit offer or doesn't know any better. It's become a legend in some circles --not to mention one heck of a moniker.

I am glad the adventure that has been the screening of the candidates is coming to a close.

What people will offer as 'professional' detail on their resumes baffles me...

I do not need to know that applicants are hosts or hostesses of any sort...nor that they are talented professional tattoo artists, breastfeeding coaches...flying yoga enthusiasts...nor any sort of political hangers-on. What any individual does in his or her free time is his or her business...but offer those details sparingly....and always ask this question, 'Is this what the hiring firm intends to pay me for if I get this job?'

No PUBIC RELATIONS specialists need apply.

the scourge of screening candidates...57 in...

2009-07-20T19:37:00.000-07:00

Typically, I like a good gamble. Really, I do.
And admittedly, screening for a contract colleague is like taking your Dad's best friend's son to your high school grad: nobody imagines it's likely to be permanent, but in a pinch, it might have to do.

Canada's one-year maternity leave is usually a boon to the process. A contract of a year is a reasonable length for a candidate to get into a role, make a good impression, and convince a team not to part with him or her. If all else fails, it's enough time to wrack up a few serious references and collect a tasteful parting gift.

It's a good theory.
In practice, it's not so glowing.

A lovely colleague left to commit maternity last summer. We all realized nobody could replace her, so our expectations were limited. We posted...and waited....and since our posting said 'writer with samples' we expected some degree of literacy. After round one, we decided the alleged candidates didn't really understand we meant EXPERIENCE writing. We noted PROFESSIONAL samples .

A reasonable person might surmise that this bold statement would be duly noted. That reasonable soul would be sorely disappointed.

We are three screenings in now.
We've had issues of fit...better offers...and applicants who just can't read.

In the current lot <59>, we have an intriguing and diverse selection.
We have a keen finance applicant who wants to do something called Quants. Even with the updated Webster, I can't quite figure that.

We have -- wait for it -- a grand total of four (4)(iv) who reference writing. Two are junior...two are of questionable stability. One refers to himself/herself exclusively in the third person. The last memorable character who did that was Bob, the character on Becker. Memorable, by the by, is not always a good thing.

With all the good folks who are on the market, you'd think one might blossom out of this growing pile.
I live in hope...there's enough manure at the moment to cover Don Corleone's impressive tomato plot.

I might go apply for something new myself...I wonder if 'want to be a neurosurgeon' or 'enthusiastic interest in delicate nuclear technologies' will lift me out of a pile....

in training for the woofstock walk...

2009-05-27T17:12:00.000-07:00

Don't let the laid back appearance fool you...this is one serious pooch...and he's counting the days until June 14. Fresh off his tour to CP 24 where he made his poster child debut, he is gearing up for a return trip to the big city.

Woofstock takes over the blocks around the St. Lawrence Market the weekend of June 13 and 14. Our friends from the Collie Rescue Network always have a booth. Foster did a stint there one year (and loved the location right next to Shopsy's!). Last year, Shadow was scheduled, but serious heat interfered. This year, he plans to make up for it.

If you like dogs of any type, Woofstock is a must-do experience -- at least once. www.woofstock.ca (Beware...there's sound....) Candidly, the site's no great shakes other than offering directions, but the day is a blast.

I like it because while I'm prepared to admit that I'm oddly devoted to my pets, I am not even closing in on the pet people who are really out there. Really. Woofstock kindly reminds me of that each year.

I don't dress my pets to resemble me...in fact, we have a long-standing agreement: they wear what they grow. They share what they shed. I don't ever yearn for a fur coat because I have a different style of one every day. I revel in the fashion adventure of it all....

My pals walk. On their own. Even the cats.

Companions content to be carried in a purse are scary.

Basset hounds dressed in tutus (really...every year...) convince the Alderman Collie Contigent they got reasonably good people. (I suppose we should be greatful that they don't have toe shoes on the poor dogs as well!)

I do admit to collecting hats and t-shirts there. I hope to get my paws on the best one I've seen to date, 'AT THE END OF THIS LEASH WALKS A TAXPAYER WHO HAS RIGHTS TOO'

So this year, we are at the booth, but we are also walking. The route's a couple of kilometres long...so to be sure we don't embarrass our Collie Rescue pals...and to be true to the Legacy of Lassie, we're in training.

The cheering section (aka Foster and Amber) will train with us...a bit.

They're both 10+ so they prefer to share their wisdom but pass on the action part of the show.

Foster would pound the pavement with glee (he still dreams about Shopsy's) but Miss Amber likes to have company so Fozzie is prepared to let the youngster loose.

to rescue a collie-ish dog named leroy...

2009-04-14T10:46:00.000-07:00

It has been pointed out to me more than once that certain feline folks are over-reprented compared with their canine siblings. They're easier to photograph...particularly when they're a-snooze...which they are a good eighteen hours a day and change.

While the dogs are willing subjects (provided a TimBit, a Marrobone or one of those jazzy liver snacks from Barn and Fitz are being offered), they're a little trickier to settle...unless you have professional assistance. Shadow -- the biggest of the beasts -- is making his TV debut today on Animal House Calls. He is -- in the words of Seth the Linguistic from UCSD -- schtupping -- for his friends at Collie Rescue.

In truth, Shadow doesn't quite qualify as a rescue since he went from a fabulous first home to here. A serious illness in his original family meant a bunch of people moved home to help run a business and care for their family member. These kind people were worried that their friend was being neglected. They told some friends. Those friends told our GO train friends. He came to be Foster's pal.

Smart lad that he is, he figures helping out the folks who find homes for other collies is a smart move. It means there are fewer with the potential to become siblings. He makes a good point.

The Collie Rescue Network is a small group that's entirely volunteer. They put the roots in grass roots. They take in collies and collie crosses then find them homes. They need volunteers to drive, foster, fundraise -- pretty much everything.

Right now, they have a particularly tricky situation: a dog named Leroy. He's only two and he's a smooth collie cross. He has a condition called Osteochondritis Dissecans. In layman's terms -- very dodgy shoulders. He's cartilage is malformed so it hurts and it puts him at risk of losing his mobility. The good news...it can be fixed; the tricky news...it can be fixed for about $2,600. So Shadow is off to do a publicity spot...and he'll walk at Woofstock...and we'll see if we can get Leroy adjusted.

Animal House Calls is a fun show.

Amber did it last year -- and met lovely Monica Kim from E! Canada. Monica is a very elegant woman who loves dogs. Amber liked her. Stairs, however are a challenge for Amber so her more nimble associate is doing the 2009 tour.

Just as well.

He's got broader shoulders so he can carry some weight for Leroy.

To the Big Smoke!

CBC is my ipod consultant...what does that say about me?

2009-01-18T12:10:00.000-08:00

I am not a technology luddite...really.

Being without my cell phone ranks neck-and-neck with finding I'm without my watch...
it's wrenching and makes me feel like I'm walking around without all my clothes. That last time I suffered a cell casualty (note to file: unlike Oreos, cell phones will not generally survive a dunk in tea...although they will reliably utter the same snap, crackle and pop sounds we associate with a popular cereal...)

The Irish cousins taught me to text -- a handy little pursuit I've learned to love.
In a pinch, I can take a photo with a phone...and I have a dozen of the inside of my car that prove that. I lost the striking one of the elk from Banff during the sad tea incident.

The i-Pod adventure is one I've grown fonder of as I go. I tend to think of different additions
my collection requires while I'm driving...and I tend to forget what I thought it would be a good idea to add by the time I've navigated the last Highway 6 cut.

Hence, my affinity for certain CBC programs and personalities who have put me
onto some of the best and newest additions to my collections. Andy Barrie was an early i-Pod devotee...and shares his favourites regularly. Emma Lee (That Sinking Feeling) was his suggestion...and I replay that one often.

Michael Franti and Spearhead hit my shuffle after Michael had a very thought-provoking discussion about spirituality with Mary Hynes on Tapestry. Say Hey I Love You is a brilliant track -- and it's impossible to hear it without wanting to tap your feet.

Then I discovered the team at GO post the songs performed by their musical guests for free downloading. They feature a lot of new talent -- which has been pretty impressive so far -- but they also regularly host performers including Molly Johnson and Martha Wainwright. Not bad folks to include on your playlist.

My total index is...eclectic. Clancy Brothers selections (keep in mind, official training for St. Patrick's Day opened yesterday, January 17 - please don't tell my Sainted Mother)...The Cure...The La's (whose brilliant track There She Goes Again is actually a devoted tune about - kid you not - heroin. I got that from Terry O'Reilly - also at CBC - who hosts a show about advertising called the Age of Persuasion. Perhaps someone should tell those nice kids Sixpence None the Richer - the Christian band who made the cover of this one popular in the late 90s).

Lyle Lovett can coexist peacefully with The Northern Pikes. Johnny Cash and Kris Kristofferson fit in nicely too. The Charlie Brown Christmas songs are a good fit too.

It's curious how many artists pair lively little tunes with lyrics so far from lively that you can't get your head around it. Lyle Lovett's LA Country probably gets top billing for this in my books. So there you are, humming along with this energetic, twangy tune...until you realize it's all about a stalker who follows his old girlfriend to LA and splatters her all over an altar as she's marrying someone else. But you still can't help singing it...cheerfully...

Emma Lee is a bit the same. That Sinking Feeling coaxes you in with a great melody but it's all about a woman who goes about merrily rehabilitating romantically bruised boys. As soon as they're back on their feet, they're gone. But you smile singing it. The poor girl should start fostering cats or squirrels or something because if this keeps up, she'll need the company.

I can hardly wait until Rex Murphy starts offering up his suggestions...
After all, he taught me to Twitter (sort of...)

the joy of buzzword bingo...

2009-01-11T15:27:00.000-08:00

In the first week of the new year (albeit, just before real Christmas, which we non-Orthodox creatures refer to as Little Christmas), I found myself in a meeting room on one of those cheery conference calls most of us thrill to...

The call was with a vendor...keen to sell us a service (and candidly, we are keen to explore that possibility). The two faceless spectres who initially floated onto the line knew one of our colleagues...who was on the line from another location. I sat in a windowless room (but mercifully, one of the warmest rooms in the building) with a particularly bright and noble colleague.

Admittedly, these exchanges are tricky for people who have never met.
Vendors want to convey knowledge...enthusiasm...empathy...
In the absence of eye contact and samples, the common currency of the exchange becomes the dreaded buzzword.

In my world, buzzwords rank (in no particular order) slightly atop fleas for their power to irritate. Like fleas, they're more a nuisance than an affliction. Like fleas, they're far from fatal, but they are -- in the words of the immortal Tommy Makem and Liam Clancy -- prolific; left unchecked, they travel, reproduce and afflict others who spread them as well. Pity the vet doesn't treat this one.

I spend two evenings a week (most weeks) teaching language and communication.
Early on, my students learn the difference between affect (change, cause or persuade) and effect (n. result, consequence; v. to mount legislation or effort toward change) so they needn't default to the dreaded impact.

Similarly, my close colleagues know the third utterance of an errant 'impacted' in any meeting will prompt me to smile, interject sweetly, explain the four things impacted can describe (wisdom teeth lodged in jaws, tumours lodged in human bodies, ore deposits lodged in land and -- my personal favourite -- the anal glands of small mammals full of nasty matter and requiring manual expression) then ask which the speaker means in reference to our clients or colleagues.

So there I sat on a bleak winter afternoon on the end of a tinny VoIP phone as the firm's representatives spoke to their capability. In truth, the earnest representatives were keen but not offensive.; still, they couldn't help themselves.

I was ready for the standard selections: leverage, optimize, high-level (having nothing to do with height...meaning notional...without detail...)...
Feedback is one that cracks me up: it's NOISE emitted by a poor connection in a stereo (a now defunct technology). Feedback sounds pained and unpleasant...so how did it come to mean 'comments we want from our clients and prospects'?

Time-box (or it's cousin, timeline) as a verb was new to me, so it got a good spot.

My bright and noble colleague watched me scratching out what he initially took to be notes. I asked reasonable questions so he know I was 'engaged' in the activity...but part way throught the penny dropped. He muted the phone.

'Hey, you're playing buzzword bingo!' he observed.
'I'm not playing,' I observed, 'I'm winning.'

He might briefly have thought about chastising me, until the vendor's team tiptoed into acromym territory. Suddenly, we were confronted by an unexpected SOW. We looked at each other and neither of our collective experiences got us past a visual image of a pig. 'Excuse me,' I interjected, 'Our phone cut out for a moment there. What was that last thing you were going to send us?'

'A SOW,' came the earnest reply. No easy out on this tussle.
'I'm sorry, but what is that?'
'A statement of work....'
Who knew? For one brief, shining moment, I really thought I was going to get to put lipstick on a pig.

My noble associate might have let it go until we tripped over a mumbled sequence neither of us could untangle and since it was repeated we felt translation was required. 'Excuse me, but was that VLT or BTM you said?' This time they provided concurrent translation: BPM or business process management -- their 'core' business.

At that, my noble associate snapped...and started adding words and checking subsequent references with gleeful abandon.

Iterations
Deployment (of the non-military variety)
Dashboard (of a non-automotive type)
Optimize
Paradigm
Scalable functionality.

Say it with me campers, "BINGO!"

I can hardly wait until our next call....

in praise of the office cookie exchange...

2008-12-17T19:19:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine is a brilliant foodie...and brilliant is an understatement....
So when she kindly invited me to participate in her annual office cookie exchange, I was thrilled...and terrified.

While I eschew many girlish pursuits, I like baking...and cooking in general.
That having been said, I worry about participating in these sports for public consumption.

Still, I tested my recipe -- Button Cookies as brought home many years ago by my sainted mother.
I just like them.
The aroma...the colour...the taste.
I tested them...with great success....then the official baking began.

So when the first lot (on new jazzy sheet) hit the oven...and the butter began leaching out of the dough...I was crushed. Batch two did the same...
Then I realized how to cut a quarter of a cup out of butter and we started again. Batch three was the charm. After the office lots were complete, the original batter beckoned...and with some tricky chemistry (more sugar and flour...) all was well. The other halt pronounced the default batch quite tasty...and elicited the support of friends who agreed (always consult a consultant who can bolster opinion with independent assessment).

Off I went to the official exchange...
And what I heard from all the accomplished participants was the same panic...hot ovens...tempermental recipes....panic....

Let me start by saying, the other cookies are brilliant...and when the recipes follow, I'll share 'em.

Office adventures of any sort are not high on my hit parade, but this was fun!
And rumour has it that next spring, summer and early fall there will be jam, salsa and produce just for fun! Now that's worth getting out of a cubicle for....

the letter P...brought to you by the evil muppets masquerading as parliamentarians

2008-12-07T16:33:00.000-08:00

Where to begin, where to begin?
Pinheads springs to mind...
It's the sad hangover of having studied Political science (why yes, all the P's will appear in capitals just to underscore the point...): I EXPECT BETTER

Prorogue...glroious little turn of phrase...but emphasis on the world ROGUE in all that....

I expect elected Members of Parliament to understand the subtle nuances of Parliamentary Procedure. I'd settle for them understanding that Parliamentary Democracy differs from the Republican version in effect south of the 49th where voters do cast a distinct vote for their Commander-In-Chief then carry on casting distinct votes for all their officials until they get to judges and dogcatchers.

I expect the Prime Minister (ou Le Ministere Premier si vous parlez francais meilleur que je parles...) to behave like a leader of government...and I expect that to be immediately distinguishable from the average, sullen schoolyard bully who Pitches a fit and decides that football will be a five-down game because it's his ball...

I expect that when his minions are Permitted to appear on assorted networks offering their thoughtful Perspectives on issues at hand, they will not arbitarily spit out inflammatory terms including treason and sedition as pouring gasoline on any fire is never a Particularly clever notion.
(But clever is not a word I would ascribe to any of the People we Pay to represent our interests in Ottawa these days.) Last I checked, Canada was a Participatory Democracy where dissenting viewpoints were Permitted and tolerated. (Note: tolerance is in shorter supply than hops and common sense these days...)

While I don't typically vote Conservative I do vote...and let me be clear, I don't like most of the other options either...except the Green one...and the former Rhinos...
And sadly, you can't vote Conservative federally any longer as the Alliance movement has hijacked that option...
And just for the record, I'm reasonably certain I have cast a Conservative vote before...for Gary Filmon...a cool Premier whose son played basketball for the University of Manitoba Bisons...which I know because Proud Dad was often in gyms watching his boy Play.
I like Geddy, Lougheed and Klein...I like Bernard Lord...and Joe Clark was a big missed opportunity for this country...and a heck of an impressive statesman after the fact...
But then, they were all gentle people with manners and sense...kind of Polite...

Sweater Diplomacy is not new to me...
Manitoba invented it...when the Gary Guys (Filmon and Doer) trade wardrobes (the PC wore a sweater while the NDP chap wore a suit -- oh wait, another P...Progressive...what conservatives used to be...)
It's rather like the Principle behind Dr. Suess's Sneetches...if you remove and replace stars on the bellies of those who started with and without them, in the end, you can't tell one Sneetch from the other...

Of the P's in evidence this week, it's hard to tell what's sadder...Polarization (leaving Polar bears to Paddle while their Arctic ice sheets and the economy burn...) which occurs when zealots spin an Poisonous frenzy to Pit extreme interests against one another and Pour gasoline on a fire...

Ah, but we've neglected on big P (with apologies for the suggestion of bodily function...although the breaking of wind might be Preferable to the other hijinx in evidence this week...)

Pusilanimous...weak of timid...in a bullyish Pipsqueaky kind of way...
Parody...what we've been seeing rather than a useful, effective government...
Procrastination...a lead in to another term we've yet to explore...
Principle...not a one in evidence anywhere...Principal...what we'd like to hire Deborah Gray to come to Ottawa and be for a bit...
Paralysis...what occurs when nothing occurs...kinda like now...
How about Parallax....an apparent difference in Position or direction of an object caused when the observer's Position is changed...
And here's a tidy little Phrase...Pay the Piper. Canadian's continue to Pay the Freight while nothing but snarking and fussing occurs...
Partner...no such thing in the halls of government...not any more...
Not with Propaganda flying like holiday greeting cards...
Privateers...highly Partisan Pirates hired by some monarchy or Privileged interests to misbehave Publicly.
Public Interest...gone in one Economic Update (including -- free of charge -- one union busting backhand and a funding conundrum....)

Here's a P with Possibility: Peter MacKay. He's got a good dog...he's got nice manners...he bears indignity with grace and guts...and he's a great favourite of Condoleeza Rice (who ventured to Tim Horton's with him...)...nobody has a Draft Pete site up yet -- a measure of his integrity.

Here's another P that merits consideration...Pigs...no, no, not like that...Napolean and Snowball...check Animal Farm if the reference eludes you...check Pork barrelling just for fun....

But here's the P sure to rule the day...Pathetic...that's what it is...Pathetic...as Eeyore used to intone...

As Winston Churchill once observed, the best argument against democracy (which gives you an intriguing typo demoncracy if you misstrike...) is a five minute conversation with the average voter...but it remains Preferable to most alternatives...

i left my heart in san francisco...and met st. chad...

2008-11-13T16:51:00.000-08:00

On Sundays, The New York Times is my guilty pleasure...although I've only ever been to New York City for a half day meeting...

But in the book section -- along with books -- there it was...something called One Day University.
Had I spent more time in classes during my final years and fewer in The Silhouette office writing articles and pasting up a paper, I could have enjoyed a full term full of classes about Linguistics.
Still, I've only ever once been asked for transcripts....the artilces got me most of my jobs.

But there it was...a Linguistics course....in San Francisco...about word origins...with a doc named Seth Lerer from Stanford. November may not be high season in the lovely city, but it is San Francisco....

When I mentioned it, my Mom said she might go too...a bonus since we haven't been able to get her to travel much since my Dad died.

My brother Paul and his fiance Chris decided to join us although we're counting down to The Lads' wedding in December...more about that later. They are way better travellers than Mom and I are. They're more adventurous...they have a better sense of direction...and they own a brilliant selection of guidebooks.

Chris found us the coolest hotel...the Hotel Carlton...

http://www.jdvhotels.com/hotels/carlton
Hotel Carlton1075 Sutter St., San Francisco, CA 94109, P: 415.673.0242, F: 415.673.4904, Reservations: 1.800.922.7586

It was an absolute find! Close to the BART lines and a nice walk from Union Square.
Mom walked it with us one night and she's a bit arthritic so it's easily doable.

They're a green hotel and the restaurant in the hotel serves a wicked breakfast that's worth staying in for much as I live for Mama's on Washington Square. There's a Rite Aid two blocks over (if your luggage goes on a side trip as ours did) and a great little grocer/liquour store deli a couple of blocks up called Sutton Fine Foods.

When you meet Theo at the desk, tell him his Canadian fan club (the one with the Hemingway cats) sent you. And let me know what you think...

So on to One Day University...
They were knew to me and while the Linguistics section got me, the other speakers I heard were great.

History: Hitler-The Man and the Mystery

Jonathan Steinberg, Penn

Astronomy: A Grand Tour of the Universe

Alex Filippenko, University of California

Linguistics: Inventing English: Where Our Words Come From

Seth Lerer, Stanford

Music: Beethoven's Ninth-the Story of a Masterpiece

Thomas Kelly, Harvard

Dr. Lerer didn't disapoointment...but neither did the others. Dr. Steinberg was brilliant...and Dr. Filippekno - introduced as the Robin Williams of the astronomy world will make you wonder why you never thought to do that with yogurt before....

But in my mind, the final speaker was the most gracious...

What I know about Beethoven, I learned from Schroeder...and candidly, I was planning to duck out.

I'm glad I stayed....

That Ninth Symphony owes its fine tradition (at least in part) to...wait for it...drinking songs. (My Dad was right...) And you don't want me to tip the hand about The Star Spangled Banner. It's hard to be the elegant gentlemen who follows the comedians but this gracious soul did just that. Look him up...

He's just scored a big victory for my trivia team! Small victory for him...huge for us...

But let me tell you about the high point of my trip...

I met two very good friends in that lecture hall. Bill and Janette are local to the area...and two of the nicest folks the Good Lord breathed life into. I met Janette on the morning break and we just hit it off. We spent much of the rest of the day together and these kind folks got me back downtown. When you're a nervous navigator - as I sometimes am - their kindness was a godsend.

The brilliant conversation was an added bonus...and we've been keeping that up!

Here's the other thing...these two have been married...a long time. They have children and grandchildren...but nothing Hollywood has ever shot matches the glow they get when they look at each other across a room. While Janette was talking to one of the speakers, I asked Bill how they met...and he got this little smile and said he'd spotted her on campus at Berkley...and that was it. And his eyes danced as he said that.

So the next time you read about bad news, remember that there are wonderful people writing good news stories with their actions every day of the week...and feel free to be one of them!!

Oh right...St. Chad...

It rained while we were there...a lot...like build an ark rain.

Still, my brave Mother joined us for a trip to the Castro to my favourite book store.

http://www.booksinc.net/NASApp/store/IndexJsp?s=storeinfo

I like the one on Market Street...which has one of the best staff of readers going!

So while we were exploring (if you liked Goodnight Moon...you'll love Goodnight Bush...and yes...that Bush...) we parked Hopalong Mom in a chair. As I was walking up an aisle, I found a book about Saints (tell me my Father ain't hanging about...and I'll tell you why I know he is...)

The first up when Mom opened the book...St. Dymphna! Patron Saint of the insane (and most offices). I didn't know there was a nun who taught my Dad who had that name...'til Mom told me. I have to wonder about a postulant who opts for that handle...

Better still...

The patron saint of contested elections (contested being the key word here...)

ST. CHAD

He was an Irish archbishop in the seventh century...never got to Florida...never voted...

Proving God has a sense of humour...although you had to believe he did...

Aunt Cindy's Other Great Fans....

2008-10-18T06:36:00.000-07:00

Meet the senior members of the black & white brigade -- Mizzu and Memphis. If you look closely at the paws, you'll see these charming girls are polydachtyls - they have extra toes. What's more unusual is that they have extras on all four paws.

You'll also hear these cats called Hemingway Cats. Ernest kept a colony at his home in Key West and as these cats are favourites of mariners (who believe that 'thumb' lets them catch rats that elude other cats) you'll often find them in port cities.

Just after Mizzie is done rubbing her hear on her 'nip, she'll flip onto her back and kick for a bit...

Mem and Mizz won't fight over anything...they'll wait each other out secure in the knowledge that there will always be more...

Mizzu guards her treasure....and after all that adventure, there's only one thing left to do....

To the Super Sleeper!

Aunt Cindy's Magic Catnip Pouches

2008-10-16T18:11:00.000-07:00

My good friend Cindy is one of the most talented people I know...also, she's a church lady.

That's significant on a couple of fronts: first, because she makes - as she would call them - the most incredible selections of tasty treats for assorted church events. Also, she makes sandwiches....amazing and glorious sandwiches. Sometimes, we have office pot lucks just to coax Cindy into a sandwich frenzy. She humours us.

Like all good church ladies, she has ample gifts (and patience) so when craft season arrives, catnip pouches make an appearance. At Casa del Alderman (I'll have my Spanish correspondents check the spelling) catnip pouches are always a hit...and Cindy knows her feline nieces and nephews appreciate her talents. So when I tried to do her a favour by bringing her a BoSox shirt, she played it forward and sent me home with a treasure trove.

There are no safe places to hide magic cat pouches. Zippo. Nadda. I've tried...That having been said you can get a lotta laughs out of a tabby treasure hunt....
See for yourself....

Meet Furio Beans. A dashing lad of seven or so, he arrived a few years back with the name Buttons. Like all our pals, he was an experienced pet when he landed (note to file: if you're leaving your spouse never buy your kids a pet to remember you by...your spouse's next may associate the pet with the ex and our house is way full...plus there are two little kids out there who still think kitty ran away...) He distinguished himself by churlishly attacking some of his new siblings - hence Furio after the assasin on the Sopranos.

When he's not being the crabby tabby (and he is most often a good natured character), he stalks catnip. Up, down, under...no jar or shelf is safe. But he does enjoy it...and he shares....

Fishing in the Cooper Bowl kept him busy for a full evening...and when the pouches started hitting the floor (they're hitting the ground like bags of wet cement!!), it kept the black and white brigade further busy...

So after a tough day, the next time you're trying to relax, Master Beans suggests you stick your head in a bowl...and fish for catnip....

lawn sign diplomacy

2008-10-02T18:25:00.000-07:00

The battle of the lawn signs continues...
One neighbour gets a sign for a party...a nearby neighbour gets a bigger one....or a pair...then somebody else a few doors down gets into the fray. Where do lawn signs go to die after the voting is done?

There's a house I drive by that seems to have it right: a sign from every party...every election. It's quite civil. I wonder what the volunteers and scrutineers think about it. The first sign planter must feel a little thrill when the sign goes into the lawn. The second sign plunker to the post must think it's either the other domestic partner or they've won a convert. What happens when the third one gets there and sees the first two? Maybe Arnold Ziffel lives there and just called the offices.

This morning, the tricolour sign armada stood proudly...Conservative (Reform Lite)...Liberal...NDP. Maybe the Greens and the Liberterians are slow getting out....I do miss the Rhinos...now they were a party.

A few of us in the office know each other well enough to talk about how we vote (we're not competitive about how we poll...and we're all shrewd enough to be a bit cynical about all of the options we have). One of my favourite Conservatives (I have a large collection of Conservative friends...not so many of the Reform stripe) who is clever enough to realize that the lunatics currently running the blue asylum are not as progressive as those the overthrew offered an intriguing thought today: what if a good bunch of us vote Green? His logic was this: we're going to get the same collection of dullards we have now so if we all vote Green, it will send a message that the environment is a serious concern for Canadians.

In essence, the current crew of politicians simply want a sustainable gig (that's almost environmental) so if they see we're voting Green, odds are good they'll take up that cause. I thought that was a brilliant observation. We were voting Green to help them get their deposits back and keep them coming out to play. They seem sane and polite. We want to encourage that and clean fuel...
Plus, my friend Dan the Libertarian isn't running this time. I'd want him to get his deposit back as well....

i admit it...i'm watching the alleged debate from points south

2008-10-02T18:14:00.000-07:00

Gee whiz, but I hope they won't take my passport for this...
I can name all the leaders -- Gilles included -- but the Canuck crew is blessedly boring (except possibly for the fellow who cribbed from the Aussie PM -- crickey!). Our only female leader has a law degree and way more than half a brain.

I wanted to see the shiny Alaskan dollie...
She actually does a reasonable Tina Fey...and she smiles as she's mentioning soccer parents.
I like the moderators who keep asking both of the Vice-Presidential candidates to answer the original questions rather than ripping and pontificating. And when did we start referring to potential Presidents as 'John' and 'Barack'?

What happened in Alaska that we can't say a word ending in 'g' -- runnin' with John (I hope that's not literal, bless their hearts, because he's not up for that...)
OH DEAR LORD SHE'S SAYIN' NEW-QUE-LEUR.....AND EYE-RACK...
What are we gonna do if she offends the EYE-TALIANS...or maybe she'll play to their soccer Moms.
(I'm thinkin' the Italian soccer Moms can take her....)

Smoke and mirrors...bobbing and weaving...
These moderators are better than dog trainers for bringing these candidates back to the ring and making them focus.

How do her lips stay that shiny after she's been talkin' all this time?
Lacquer, it's not just for big hair and stainin' the picnic table any more.

o canada...or melamine: it's not just for pet food anymore...

2008-09-28T15:11:00.000-07:00

When melamine turned up in a slew of pet food in 2007, the revelation provoked the ire of pet owners and North American consumers...and with the same nasty chemical turning up in dairy products and poisoning Chinese children, the cynic in me says that Chinese authorities might well take a different approach to 'investigating.'

I don't even dislike melamine -- other than as a food stuff. I'm pretty sure I own fondue plates (vintage 70s in that mustard yellow that was all the rage the first time fonduing was in vogue). I think I saw melanime on the countertops at Graceland where -- might I say -- it was charming (with appliances I remember seeing on Let's Make a Deal).

Remember, when it was pet food, the 'inspectors' said there wasn't any proof that the addition really had occurred in China...there were middlemen don't you know. Just to be clear, that was the same polite deflection offered a decade before when Haitian children were poisoned by the addition of glycol -- basic antifreeze -- to a cough medicine. Feel free to plumb the 60 Minutes archives for confirmation. The World Health Organization (WHO) took up the cause on behalf of those children but found the factory alleged to have produced the concoction was gone -- just like the car Flounder borrowed from his brother Fred in Animal House....

If you think this about chest thumping and point fingers east, think again.

While Menu Foods took the brunt of the public flogging, a lot of 'premium' name foods got caught in that net. The same folks who offer you smiling vets suggesting they have a better idea what to feed pets are owned by a consortium that produces -- toothpaste (although not the kind you use for Fido and Fluffy).

Mercifully, the collies and cat colony here weren't eating any of the contaiminated lines.
That having been said, when I tried to track down the producers to whom I have funnelled a bucketload of cash over many, many years, it proved a tricky proposition. The bigger the name, the bigger the smoke screen. (Note to file: never let your MBAs create your public face...you'll end up lookin' like Tammy Faye Baker after a rainstorm - God rest her soul)

I like to think consumers aren't stupid...even the crazy ones -- like me -- who dote on their pets.

I won't slash the stinkers who didn't reply (some of their MBAs are nasty lawyers, I suspect...)
I will admit that I have cats on their prescription food which concerns me a little..
Better still, I have found a little digging gets you to companies who are domestic...some close to home...who are only to happy to answer questions...

One firm -- while very responsive -- couldn't confirm the source of their ingredients.

The folks at Nutram (produced in beautiful downtown Beamsville, Ontario) were only too happy to provide detailed lists of ingredients when I asked. They invited us to drop in too (which is a fine excuse to go visit some very nice local wineries...) They're pretty close to having a formula for everyone (I say this as the not-entirely-proud human companion of a cat with irritable bowel whose delicate digestive system is serious business...) http://www.nutram.com/

The collies and most of our cats gnosh Nutram kibble...but like all siblings, they refuse to embrace consensus. As luck would have it, our pals at Ryan's pets often have sample bags...send me your furry, your particular...your unbelievably finicky....and we stumbled on a new option -- Orijen http://www.championpetfoods.com/orijen/about/. Bless 'em, they have sample bags...and when we busted 'em open the black and whites (Memphis, Mizzu and Clemson) and their tabby ringleader (Furio Beans) thought we were offering treats. The sample bags are great -- you can try them without having to make a fifty dollar commitment. Better still, mixing them with existing options doesn't involve something akin to training for an ironman competition.

We've actually had retailers point out that Canadian brands are a little more expensive. While we love our vet (she's a goddess...make no mistake), five bucks a bag versus days in vet ICU (which means the goddess and her kind staff are on extra duty they don't charge enough for) is an economic proposition Keynes himself would question. I trust too, that if anything at my local producers goes doolally (as the Irish cousins say), Stephen Harper, Stephane Dion, Jack Layton, Gilles Duceppe and Elizabeth May won't be covering up the bodies. Call me an optimist....

We stumbled on another hilarious -- and seriously popular -- treat after our first visit to Bark and Fitz. It's a chi-chi kind of place (which creeps us us out a little...) but they have good stuff (the little pink coats and boots notwithstanding).

They turned us on to Barking Mad liver treats. Foster (the Marrobone addict) isn't sold but Amber and Shadow drool when they hear the bag. These guys aren't just great producers, they have a brilliant web site -- and I'm waiting for t-shirts. http://www.barkingmadlife.com/

Foster is our fussy (and slightly off beat) associate. He's the bellweather -- much as Mikey was in the Life commercial. He will eat the liver cookies from Bark and Fitz -- and most of our park pals go bonkers for these. Word of warning: they're rich...and too many resulting in something akin to greased lightning.

Fozzie's other great delight -- and an unexpected one at that -- Shrimp and Grits biscuits that I found in Norcross, Georgia, at Precious Pets. I figured the old boy would turn up his nose but he
was delighted http://www.preciouspetsga.com/ Word of warning: you need the Georgia bit in there or you'll get pet jewels...a pet cemetary (apologies to Stephen King) and a boarding facility. As a bonus, the little strip mall where you'll find this (20 minutes out of Atlanta) is a treasure trove: a fabulous Italian restaurant...a British store (with great tea and Coronation Street collectables) AND a little cafe that serves Sweet Tea and fried green tomatoes (have them together). Norcross is a historic junction that was key in the Civil War so you'll find lots of great plaques and information while you're there...(but Fozzie says the cookies are the high point)...

So while the Georgia imports aren't quite local, they're local to the point of sale...and they're from a small firm that uses stuff like grits...and shrimp...where the proprietors will put you on their email list and remember you when you make return visits...

Hey wait...that's commerce like Grandma and Grandpa knew it...hmm...and they recycled too....

an homage to uncle howard...a middle name for dan rand

2008-09-23T18:44:00.000-07:00

Uncle Howard is one of my favourite colleagues...and a always a contender in the dead pool.
He chastised me for my candidate rating system...he says he needs to speak for the rightish (but not hawkish) crowd. The Stephen Colbertists....

Post away campers...how do you rate 'em?

Dan is penning an epoch...that might be an epic...he needs a middle name for a character...
Not the Palin kind...

What about Sophie...
Fredo won't do for a girl (and it doesn't scream longevity...)
Delilah has her charms...

What is it...
And why is that stuck in the middle for you...

choose your own palin-drone (with apologies to the palindrome set)

2008-09-23T18:31:00.000-07:00

Madam I'm Adam...
I'll get you the Panama Canal one as well...

Unless you've been in a coma for the past few weeks you know about Alaska's favourite puck bunny. (I know the Russians...I can see them from here...)

Unless you're calculating right angles with your math teacher (don't stand so close to me!), how you get Trig for a child eludes me...

And I say this as the proud person of Memphis, Mizzu, Clemson and Arizona. But that kinda makes sense. Ask Clark Kellogg.

The five Palin kilets are -- Track, Bristol (like the cream...not the board...but go wild with that...you know you want to...), Willow, Piper and Trig.

http://politsk.blogspot.com/2008/09/sarah_13.html

Halter Grasshopper Palin...of course, I put in Furio Beans (the sighted tabby to get it...)
That was fun...let's try it again...
Opal (our patient) is Wesson Scalper....

John McCain...Steam Fangs...
Hillary Clinton...Meat Notgay (courage Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants...it was a great speech...)

C'mon...Canadian content...
Stephen Harper (the warm, cuddly one...) Tangle Jin Palin...
Stephan Dion...Hump Gizzards Palin...
Okay, we have to go for the trifector on this...
Jack Layton...Gamebird Kelp....

You're on your own for the rest of them, but it is kinda fun...

Hey Mom...thanks for not smokin' lichen while you were considering what to call me....

meet the patient...

2008-09-23T18:17:00.000-07:00

Big pharma is no fool...

For everything you see on a commercial, there's usually a version designed for the canine and feline set.

Your Mama's Celebrex® is Rimadyl® for the doggie set (and v-e-r-y popular with the Labs and Aussies). Here's the best part...if they have the big infarc, the pooches don't get gnarly. And they go happy. The meds ain't cheap but they do work so large in part, if a dog goes from lame to happy to off to chase the butterflies, the dog's humans are happy (read: dogs don't sue). In many respects, it's a win-win....

Opal - our hypertensive old queen - seems to fare well. (See note about the twin goddesses who deliver her care)

More meds than Sofia Petrillo when she was at Shady Pines, but they keep Opal comfortable so that is not a complain. While the right eye is not pretty, it's not been functional for a long time and it's no impediment where eating is concerned. It's not a great image but it gives you a sense of how dark that eye is. We'll get a better one.

(Rule 1: If a pet is eating, it's a good sign. Rule 2: Don't forget rule 1. Cats and dogs are not as dumb as models and starlets. Not ever.)

addendum...apparently, cats do have strokes...

2008-09-23T11:45:00.000-07:00

...although Opal didn't...
She had a blood pressure spike...but some cats do have the all out version (puts me in mind of Opus' pal Bill in many ways...it was a Bloomin' great cartoon...)

As of this morning, the patient was tolerating her meds...and the humans who were coaxing pills into her gullet and firing drops into her eyes. But the kind doctor gave her a -- wait for it -- puddy-cure just in case she gets fed up with her caretakers.

the old cat trends upward thanks to her talented physician (well ahead of wall street, by the way...)

2008-09-21T17:07:00.000-07:00

My veterinarian is a goddess....and I tell her that as often as I can (hopefully I tell her that regularly enough during non-emergencies that she knows I mean this...)

Vets have a tough balancing act: first, they treat the conditions of their patients (some of whom really do bite - literally); then, they have to manage the people attached to their patients. I have to believe that's the tough part.

Our old cat landed at the vet Friday morning after a strange episode. What we've learned is cats don't have strokes...but they have blood pressure spikes...and spikes cause side effects like bleeding and detached retinas. Opal (the patient) hasn't been able to see for years. She has her world blocked out in her head. Path down the stairs to where breakfast is served. Path up the stairs to napping location. Occasional obstacle known as collie. Trek along the couch to food on top of bookshelf (there is food all over for her to get to but that's her place, thank you very much, and just because she's blind doesn't mean you can offer her less than preferred dining space).

We've had regular updates, but this afternoon's was troubling. Blood pressure up. Ocular pressure up. But come see her, said the doctor, and see what you think.

When you're on life nine with two paws on a banana peel, perky is not your usual ilk. There was her ladyship...sitting in her doctor's lap while the doctor tried to type around a cat determined to smooch her chin (try that with your own GP campers and see if it doesn't get you onto CBC's White Coat Black Art in a hurry when they're talking about ethics.)

Ill as she was, Opal was purring and eating and cuddling.
Austin (the clinic lab and social worker) lost an eye to glaucoma was keeping her company.
Except for a grim looking eye (oh man was it sad...), you wouldn't have known Opie had an issue.
Twenty four hours more, we all agreed.

Tonight the numbers are in -- and much improved. If this keeps up, Opal can come home tomorrow.
She and Austin are hanging out for the night. Good company contributes to the recovery process.

So back to the tricky bits of a vet's job...
All those years in school to evacuate impacted anal glands (one of the four places were the use of impacted is grammatically correct)...and remove hair bands and beer caps and cell phones from their patients' gullets. Weekend work very regularly. As many sad endings as happy ones.

It's one thing to be a talented clinician -- but nobody can teach any doctor the most important part -- having a heart and having the courage to listen to it.

Our vet is a wee little slip of a thing. She could fit her whole body into one of my pant legs...probably twice. But she has the heart of a lion and you have to see her wrestle big dogs to see her at her finest.

When she bought a well-established practice from a doctor who was going on to a specialty practice in opthamology, the patients didn't give her grief...but meeting their people undoubtedly had its interesting wrinkles. She had big shoes to fill (in a strictly metaphorical sense...the previous doc who still consults when eyes are in the offing was a delicate creature too) but those shoes fit perfectly.

I've often said to her when my friends were failing, I just don't have the wisdom to do God's job.
None of us does, she reminds me, but God lets you know when it's time. It's really when the animals speak and they always let you know.

With luck, we'll enjoy a little more quiet time with the old dollie yet before she says goodbye.
We'll have to buy her one of those pill organizers...
Hey, do you suppose cats need Metamucil too...ask me in a few days...

Gin

Teaching old dogs new tricks...

2008-09-21T13:11:00.000-07:00

At a conference last week, a great speaker by the name of Steve Crescenzo assured a room full of anxious communicators they could blog. Apparently, he speaks the truth - and his warnings about the proliferation of corporate tripe will make you split a gut. (http://www.crescenzocomm.com/)

I know, I know...it's a tame start. Photos will follow. There may be sound.

I may try to teach the executives at work to do this (which is really not the motivation for this part of the experiment...). Housebreaking wildcats and collies (we're batting about .650 on that count) is good practice for taking this to the office.

There are candidates' lapdogs roaming our neighbourhood unleashed of late. (Apparently, Animal Control can't contain 'em...nor some of the squawking children in these parts...)

We haven't seen a real candidate yet. We should have. The migration of the current trough snouters back to home ridings is complete and the opposition has ponied up alleged alternatives. Then again, you can make the case that in the elections currently underway in Canada (our turf) and the U.S., real candidates are an endangered species who require more protection than the polar bears (who are gonna need large pool noodles and K-rations of seal tartare if these arctic shelves keep collapsing -- but don't let that global warning hijinx boil your blood...just let it keep boiling the oceans).

The campaign volunteers are generally nice folks. I'm hoping for a different hobby in retirement, myself. We have a fairly reliable screening system at our house: the actual candidate gets bonus points for making an appearance (last time, only the Green party guy came to the door in person.)

Our early warning defense system (Foster, Shadow and Amber) let us know when intruders approach: squirrels (which you could suggest applies to the aforementioned candidates - if you don't mind insulting the actual ones with the fuzzy tails), paper carriers, candidates. Once they sound the alert, our candidate rating system kicks into gear.

If candidate or candidate's minion flee at the sound of the collie choir: no points awarded. If you haven't got the gumption to face three yappy housedogs parliament is no place for you (even with Sheila Copps in retirement).
If candidate or minion approaches...retreats...or vaults onto the porch, jam junk into the mailbox and flee in haste: 1 point awarded. Reasonable representation of the flip-flop behaviour that determines the longevity of back benchers in Ottawa. (Did I promise to do something...and reverse...well of course I promised...I needed your vote...you'll forget over four years -- or three if the same government gets in and sees a chance to extend its reign of error.) **Note we will be trying to capture this for later posting. It's fun to watch! **
If candidate or minion approaches...faces collies...knocks or rings: 2 points awarded (minus 1 if they flee at the site of the porch cats).
If candidate or minion speaks and can articulate any reasonable position on any major issue without referring to notes: 3 points awarded. Bonus points for being able to speak to the end of the 40 year mortgage, its value to the overall stability of the banking system, and the hiccups it will create in Calgary and Vancouver - never have to award these, but it's important to know they exist).
Candidate or minion pet dogs, smile like they're sane and utter anything more than 'Can count on your support?>: 4 points. Minus 2 if we ask why and there's no compelling answer. (Hint: three collies at the door, Memphis and Beans on the porch: take a leap and figure the bill to boost fines for cruelty to animals might be a good opening bid....)

Last time out, we liked the Green guy (it's a party...not a politically sensitive description of the man's complexion). He was personable, earnest, sane. We knew he didn't stand a chance but it felt good to tell him he could count on us. The dogs liked him -- and dogs have better sense that most voters. (Option two was the fully-vested-in-the-pension former MP. Elect her campers -- you're gonna pay for her anyway....)

You have to like all the righteous hand-wringing and fretting about the U.S. banking system. Some looks almost genuine. Let's not dismiss the real concern at play: there go a ton of future campaign donations. Some curious reporter might yet check to see which of the defunct firms ponied up for the GOP and the Dems. Some other might check to see if Lehman Brothers execs forgot to before their junior staff got left swinging.

It's actually a simple explanation: GREED.
I get those emails too...the ones touting the GREAT WATCH AT A GREAT PRICE...or telling me if I just take delivery of the cheque the deposed prince of will reclaim his righteous throne and send me cash. (I don't need the imported wife or the pound of Viagara...)
And the difference between the mortgage bubble, the hedge funds, the inflated values of the alleged pillars of the financial sector and those emails: oh, right...we arrest the emailers if we can catch 'em.

Put it this way...four legs good...two legs bad...
If you don't know what that means Google Animal Farm. The George Orwell version.