High Flyers

Last April was cold, wet and stormy. The purple martin house that stood on this property for thirty years came crashing to the ground during a particularly violent storm. Unfortuanately one bird was caught inside the house and died.  (Catastrophes in North Pelham 5/14/10)

The other seven birds seemed to be in shock and stood on the ground staring at the house for hours. They didin't even react when I approached them. It was terribly sad. They stayed around the site for several days but by the time the weather had cleared and the brand new bird house was up they seemed to have disappeared.

I was worried they wouldn't be back.

But this photo was taken this week. I counted over twenty of the cocky little guys swooping and buzzing around the bird house. They are having the time of their lives, chirping loudly to each other, terrorizing the cats and gobbling up all of our mosquitoes. (I've read that scientists say they don't eat as many mosquitoes as people think they do, but I can tell you - they eat enough.)

In the late afternoon they take off for Lake Ontario where they have their big feed high above the water and then at dusk they get back in time to dive bomb the cats, Squeaker, Bonny, Claude and Martha Stewart as they head out on evening mouse patrol.

Martins are a type of swallow. They winter in South America. The males are black with a purplish sheen while the females are lighter. They are a clear marker of the changing of the seasons and that is probably why I like them so much. I await their arrival anxiously in the spring and I'm always saddened to see them leave in the fall.

But in between their arrival and departure, during these hot, muggy summer nights, they are a source of endless joy.

Francie's Instructions for the Care and Raising of your Martin House

Niagara Wines vs Toronto Whines

Here I am auditioning for the "Shake Off the City" campaign. 
This is how real Niagarans drink wine in vineyards.

David threw a stone and hurt Goliath's feelings.

That seems to be the upshot of this whole Toronto/Niagara advertising war kerfuffle.

I mean really.

George Smitherman, Toronto mayoralty candidate makes a personal trip to the Niagara Parks Commission chairman to deliver a letter complaining about an ad campaign? Surely there were more important issues in Toronto. Smitherman should win the contest for sniffing out the best photo ops not the job as the mayor of the largest city in Canada.

The television commercials, called "Shake Off the City", were intended to bring more Torontonians (and their money), to Niagara. The ones I saw were inoffensive. A young couple being splashed by a car in the big city, confronting a wall of graffiti, having a bike wheel stolen, etc. The camera would then quickly cut to a scene of one of the fun things they could be doing in Niagara instead.

Now, I must say, it really depends on your definition of fun. The first one I saw showed a young couple sitting at a small table in the middle of a vineyard that looked as if it had been vacuumed, drinking Niagara wine.  It was the middle of a hot, sunny day. My reaction was a headache and nausea.

What kind of an imbecile would come here for the humidity, the ticks, heatstroke and a hangover?

But never mind. I read in the St. Catharines Standard last night that ticket sales have gone up by 40% for Niagara attractions. But not because of the ad campaign.  It was because of all the complaining and whining that the Toronto media and politicians did.

"We couldn't afford to buy this (kind of publicity)," was the comment from the Parks Commission.

Throw that stone a little harder next time, David. Niagara could sure use another economic boost.

 

Location! Locaton! Location!

Paradise in Pelham! Private acreage, pond.

Watch for cats from this quiet, safe and serene setting.

Open concept. Hardwood floors and so much more.

Get up close and personal with  this gorgeous home 

in Niagara's wine country.  Located in the quaint hamlet of North Pelham.

Contemporary interior design. Neutral decor.

Fun fixer-upper. Stunning panoramic views

of the Niagara Escarpment. Backyard has southern exposure

and unlimited swarms of flying insects. Lots of character.

Nothing to do but move in! Cute and cozy

with very functional main room. Backs onto

healthy Linden tree. Private entry.

Not a fly by. Must be seen. Near barn,

open rolling landscape. Enjoy the privacy of this 4 season

property. Colourful. Mounted on cat-proof metal pole.

One of a kind! Luxurious! Spacious! Move in condition.

Well maintained by previous owner. Close to grasslands.

Easy access to bug supply. Immediate possession.

Absolutely No Disappointments Here! 10 sq inch floor with

front fly out. Main floor, open, bright, high ceiling

room for growing family . Unlimited fledgling fly space.

Add your personal touch to this dignified home

with attractive floor plan.  Ammenities inclue faux chimney

abd fortified pole mount.  Single bluebird moms welcome.

*

Adam and Eve Redux

So God created humans in His own image; in the image of God He created them; male and female He created them.

Genesis 1:27

Image via Wikipedia

According to geneticist, Spencer Wells, there really was an Adam and an Eve. They are known in his circles, as Y Chromosome Adam and Mitochondrial Eve .

Evidently every man on earth is descended from a fellow who lived in Africa 60,000 years ago. The reason Spencer Wells and his fellow geneticists know this is because every man passes Y chromosomal DNA from father to son.

Something called Mitochondrial DNA is passed from a mother to her male and female children so the female evolutionary chain can be traced as well. Every human is descended from a woman who also lived in Africa.

I was astounded by this information. A little disappointed that Y Chromosome Adam and Mitochondrial Eve probably weren't a couple but, jeesh, who could complain? At last I had the answer to the question that plagued my Sunday School years: Who did the children of Adam and Eve marry if they were the first humans?

The answer?

Well there were lots of other people around in those days - well maybe not lots, but enough to provide mates for the first family. But those poor souls, well, their family lines died out over the years. Only Y Chromosome Adam and Mitochondrial Eve's DNA survived.

So if you are living somewhere on planet Earth reading this today, then you are a descendant of Adam and Eve and you are my cousin!

But it's okay. You don't need to send me a wedding invitation.

No. Really.

It's okay.

More information can about this fascinating project can be found at WWW.NATIONALGEOGRAPHIC.COM/GENOGRAPHIC

It Just Isn't Canadian

Image by nosha via Flickr

A Canadian has always been a person who agreed with the opinion of the last person with whom she or he spoke. That gave rise to our well-deserved reputation as being a particularly polite group of people. Everybody liked us. If we had personal opinions, we kept them to ourselves until the rest of the world went home.

That isn't to say there weren't Canadians with opinions. That's why God gave us Rick Mercer and Christie Blatchford, after all.

The problem is, thanks to easy access to facebook, twitter and blogger, every single Canadian  has an opinion on everything now. Which might be okay except we don't agree on anything and nobody knows how to compromise because most of us have never had opinions before.

Take the outpouring of vitriolic comments about the G20 fiasco in Toronto. Like a dog with a bone, we just keep shaking it. But we aren't getting anywhere. Nothing new is being said. Not one mind is being changed. It just goes on and on.

I tell you, this business of having opinions, well, it just isn't Canadian.

I think we should quit talking about it, let the civilian-led police inquiry happen and then see where we are.

That's my opinion.

Not that I expect anyone to agree.

Sunday Morning

I take a lot of comfort in the bible stories that I learned as a child but I no longer go to church. I am  interested in Creation Spirituality. With apologies to those who have a deeper understanding of its precepts, here is my understanding of the four paths:







Via Positiva

Finding God in nature and in people and in what people create.

Falling in love with a robin's song or Beethoven's Sonata,

the Inuit igloo or Christopher Wren's cathedral.

It is being in awe of being here.

Via Negativa

Finding God in the darkest shadows.

Finding the murderer, the rapist, the terrorist, the sexist, the molester,

the racist, the lesbian, the gay man, the straight person, the fascist,

 the police officer who threatens arrest for blowing bubbles,

within ourselves.

Facing the pain and darkness and then letting go.

 

Via Creativa

The third path comes out of the first two paths.

We create from our experiences with the light and with the dark.

We are all called by God to be artists,

to trust enough to give birth to our own words and images.

Write. Paint. Speak. Dance. Act. Sing.

Via Transformativa


The last path is about balance.

The struggle for balance in the world is the struggle for justice.

It isn't about righteousness, it is about homeostasis and the universe.

The sharing of food, medicine and health care,

the quest for clean air and water, education

and respect for people, animals and the earth.


This path brings people together to give thanks for being

and being together in the struggle.

Welcoming the Second Sister

In the early days of the earth, Corn was so pleased to be able to feed the people that she asked the Great Spirit if there was anything else she could do to help humanity.

The Great Spirit considered her request and eventually formed a beautiful doll out of the husks of the corm plant and gave it to the Iroquois children. The doll's face was so lovely that as the children passed her from village to village, all of the people commented on her beauty.

Eventually the doll became very vain.

The Creator is not pleased by vanity and told her to be more humble. The doll agreed to try, but one day when she was walking by a river she saw her own reflection and stopped to admire herself.

In anger the Great spirit sent a screech owl down to earth and the owl swooped into the river and stole the doll's reflection away. The doll was never again able to see her own face.

*
To remind their children to think of spiritual and community values, rather than of themselves, Iroquois corn husk dolls continue to be made without faces.

The Second Sister

The second sister, Corn, arrived in Niagara this week and the corn is particularly tasty

but while I was reading various versions of the corn husk doll legend

I came across this sobering Iroquois prophesy.
Very disquieting when you consider the terrible oil spill off the coast of 'turtle island',(North America).
 Something to keep in mind as we enjoy the corn harvest this year.

Tears ran down the old, old, woman's cheeks, for she could see far into the future.


'Corn is sacred, everything that grows is sacred,' she said.
'But I warn you, there will come a time when the sons of your sons will forget this. Then hunger and sorrow will return to the world.'
She shook her head. 'It will not end until - unless - their grandchildren learn once more this lesson - the only lesson that is worth remembering: how to love and respect the Earth.'

---Iroquois Indian legend

I Spy

I don't know why CSIS isn't pounding on my door begging me to work for them.

Who is better equipped to be a spy than a middle-aged woman in a non-descript car? I tell you, I could drive right into Stephen Harper's bedroom and have my way with him and the Mounties would never find me.

I know the visual on that one isn't pretty but I'm trying to make the point that If CSIS is hiring, then I'm their woman.

The spy car is so non-descript that even I can't find it.

I managed to prove that yesterday, (again), when I went to the gym. My gym is on the second floor of the Superstore. The Superstore, in case you haven't been to it, is the huge grocery/department store that has shopping carts the size of hospital beds.

Anyway, after my class had finished and I had managed to find the door, I made my way into the Manitoba sized parking lot.

As I started walking down a row of cars I began to notice that the parking lot was full of cars identical to mine. And horrors! Most of the people in the vast parking lot searching for their vehicles were middle aged women who looked just like me! We all had our car finder beepers going and the place sounded like a Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote impersonator convention.

All I could think about were those penguins in Antarctica. All the birds are identical, but parents and offspring still manage to find each other in the middle of a snowstorm at a bizzillion degrees below zero.

Unfortunately GM hasn't made that skill a component of their vehicles and until they do I think somebody should invent a device that, when pressed, causes a personal flag to be raised over your car.

Or better yet, every car should be sold with a chauffeur and free valet parking.

Better make your offer quick, CSIS, with all these great ideas GM is gonna want me bad.

Here I am in my clever cat disguise,
demonstrating a get-away-quick spy manoeuvre.

Welcoming the First Sister

The earth began when Sky Woman peered through a hole in the heavens. She was pregnant and lost her balance and fell through the hole to the water below.

The animals saw her coming.

They quickly took the soil from the bottom of the sea and piled it onto the back of a giant turtle so that Sky Woman would have a soft landing.

Today we call this Turtle Island, 'North America'.

After Sky Woman landed she gave birth to a daughter.

When her daughter grew up she fell in love with the West Wind and became pregnant by him. She died while giving birth to twin boys.

Sky Woman mourned for her daughter and then buried her in the earth on Turtle Island.

Out of her grave grew three sacred plants—

corn, beans, and squash.

These plants, known as

the Three Sisters,

are precious gifts from the Great Spirit, and provided food for her people, the Iroquois, and later, for all of humanity.

 

***

The First Sister

These beans are from the garden that belongs to my brother, Mark.

He doesn't use chemicals so all I needed to do was rinse them when I got home.

 

I steamed them and added butter,

and a little wild rice, and a little salad and a little cold smoked salmon.

Oink.

*

The Stoning of Ashtiani

When I was a small girl I was quite sure that if I ever found myself living in ancient, biblical times and was in danger of being stoned, I would save myself by running away.

No one ever explained the finer points of stoning to me - likely because no one knew.

You see, there is no running away. The sinner is first trapped by being buried up to the neck in dirt. The executioners then throw rocks at the condemned person's head until her brains are splattered across the ground.

The reason I know these details is because during this past week I read three articles about an Iranian woman named Ashtiani who is going to be executed by stoning sometime in the near future for the 'crime' of adultery. Ashtiani has already been lashed ninety-nine times. Ashtiani has a seventeen year old son.

There is no proof of her 'crime'.

What can you and I do about it? We can tell her story.

Theo Caldwell@sunmedia.ca, St. Catharines Standard, Thurs. July 8, 2010 said he would like to see her face on more t-shirts than Che Guevara. He said if a 'fraction of the energy evinced by those who showed up at the G20 in Toronto to protest the evils of globalization...were instead directed toward... not hitting women with rocks until they die, we'd be getting somewhere."

A good man protects women and children. These are not good men.

I have always supported the fact that our troops are in Afghanistan. Under the Taliban women and girls have no rights to education or health care and are vulnerable to the same insane justice system that Ashtiani faces.

We can't turn away now.

Note: I have just read that 14 hours ago Iran reported from its London embassy that Ashtiani will not be stoned to death. She may be hanged instead. This was not reported inside of Iran where 15 other people await death by stoning.

Doing the Right Thing

Image via Wikipedia

At one point last Sunday night I was trying to ease the spy car out of the parking lot and onto Clifton Hill. But thousands of people were in Niagara Falls - it was the American 4th of July holiday weekend. I watched the two young police officers who were working hard to direct road and foot traffic safely out of the congested area. Both were dressed in black and they weren't that easy to pick out of the crowd. I became a bit alarmed for their safety.

When I was finally able to squeeze into the street, I rolled my window down and told them that they needed to put their vests on.

They both frowned and eyed me with suspician.

Finally - probably after running my face through his mental photo gallery of known sixty year old female, Caucasian, Canadian terrorists, one said, "We already have them on, Ma'm." (Or, 'mom', hard to tell with all the street noise.)

By that time though, I was through the intersection and there was no going back to tell them that I meant orange traffic safety vests not the Kevlar bullet proof vests.


Sometimes, it seems that the public's communication with the police is like that. Messages get crossed or misunderstood.

Sometimes lines get drawn in the sand.

The Toronto Police Service Board's decision to hold a civilian led inquiry into the G20 events has done a lot to ease the tension.

Wise move.

And the right thing to do.

Party Like It's 1812

Image via Wikipedia

Not long ago I read an interesting comment about the war with the Taliban. It was written by an American. He asked why his country hadn't learned from its experiences in Canada and Viet Nam that an enemy cannot be defeated in 'his' own country.

Canada?

It took me a minute. And I live in the part of the country that was occupied by American forces 200 years ago. A part of the country that is already gearing up for a big bicentennial celebration of the start of the War of 1812.

The other shoe fell yesterday when I was in Niagara Falls, Ontario with some friends from the Yukon who were passing through on their way to a hiking holiday in Iceland.

The night was sweltering, the crowds were enormous and as we shuffled down Clifton Hill looking like the throng of brain-fried zombies in Stephen King's 'Cell', my friends, Chris and Gary, commented about how much the place looked like an American theme park.

Later over ice cream, Gary, who is from Virginia but has lived in Canada for many years said he thinks that Canadians are going to be going to be disappointed. He thinks that because of all of the financial cutbacks in the US and, (mainly), because the War of 1812 wasn't a glorious victory for the Americans there isn't likely going to be much celebrating going on south of the border in 2012.

I sat there and looked look around at Planet Hollywood, McDonald's, Starbucks, Movieland, Marineland, Ripley's Believe it or Not, etc., etc.,

Jeesh!

Americans, I think, need to redefine 'glorious victory'.

Depends on our Police

Of all the comments and questions I heard about the G20 Summit the only one that I spent much time wondering about was when a friend asked me whether I thought the police officers were wearing Depends.

I remembered watching the news clips that showed them arriving by the bus load in Toronto. Dark clad, unsmiling people turning away from the cameras, bending down to pick up their kits then heading into the hotel. I imagined the frightening items that were in those kits - batons, guns, tear gas, gas masks, pepper spray, shields, helmets.

The idea that a package of adult diapers might have been tucked inside each kit never crossed my mind.

But somehow, as funny as the question was, it did something for me. It humanized the police officers who were charged with keeping the peace for those two days in Toronto.

I didn't like what I saw in Toronto - especially that scene at Queen and Spadina.

I didn't like the way the 'temporary' law came into being.

I do believe we need to have an inquiry into the events.

I do not, however, believe that in Canada the police are the enemy.

I think we need to keep that in mind.

The Third Day

God said, "Let the earth produce vegetation:

seed bearing plants and fruit trees on earth

bearing fruit with their seed inside

each corresponding to its own species."
And so it was.

The earth produced vegetation:

the various kinds of seed-bearing plants

and the fruit trees with seed inside,

each corresponding to its own species.

God saw that it was good.

Evening came and morning came:

the third day.

Genesis 1:11-13

Steve Bauer Trail, Fonthill, Ontario

June 28, 2010

Queened

This past year I did some intense lobbying to have Michaëlle Jean elected Queen of Canada, (okay, only two blogs, but I did chat up a few friends.)

Despite these valiant efforts on my part, our government has apparently opted to stay the course with the British monarchy because the English queen was seen floating around Halifax Harbour yesterday, inspecting the Canadian Navy.

I guess that's okay. Lots of other foreign leaders come and check out our hardware. It seems to be what world leaders like to do when they are not planning new taxes, having illicit affairs, or fighting off their own military .

The problem is that Elizabeth II thinks the Canadian Navy is hers.


It wasn't until the time of the first Quebec Referendum in 1980 that I questioned the British Monarchy's role in Canadian politics.

I was quite frightened by the events of that year. It was a close call and after it was over I watched a tearful René Lévesque promise a 'next time', to his supporters. That was too much. I didn't believe that we could get through a 'next time'.

Rather than lose Quebec, I decided the Queen had to go.

I became an anti-monarchist.

Silly me. Of course we went through it again - fifteen years later and it was a terrible shock when I realized that the Separatists didn't care whether we had the Queen of England or Captain Kangaroo as our head of State. They just wanted out.

"Jeesh!" I thought. "I almost gave up my heritage for nothing!"

But when I went to reclaim those emotional ties to Britain, I couldn't find them. Somewhere in the struggle for a new Canada - I had become a very different Canadian. Not an anti-monarchist anymore, simply indifferent to the machinations of the English nobility. And according to the media, my apathy was and is shared by many others.

So I say, let's get it over with quickly.

Ditch the Queen. Make the Governor General the Head of State.

We've got more important things to worry about, like how to get those ships bobbing around in Halifax Harbour up to the Arctic before the Russians start building houses outside of Pangnirtung.


But, gee whiz, Michaëlle Jean would have been a great queen.

Sigh.

A Bittersweet Memory

By September of 1983 I had been teaching grade five in Dawson City, Yukon for several years. I was in my early thirties and single. The north can be a lonely place for an unattached person so I was quite interested when a fellow teacher told me that her friend, John, had asked her to find out if I would go out with him.

I knew him slightly. It is hard not to know someone when there are only 500 people living in an isolated community. He was my age - a tall, bushy haired, bearded carpenter who did some exquisite cabinet work for people around the Territory.

I told her that I would.

I waited, quite nervously at first, for him to call. When he didn't I started showing up places where I knew he'd be, smiling like an idiot and generally trying to look approachable. It was a lost cause.

Eventually I gave up. Women weren't as assertive in those days as they seem to be now. I went back to my usual life of socializing with the teachers and watching Dallas. Winter slowly disappeared from the Klondike Valley, the ice went out of the rivers, the sun came up and didn't go down and tourists started to reappear.

One Saturday night in May I was caught in a crush of people at one of the local watering holes that was having its grand opening for the summer season. Quite by accident I found I had been pushed against John. We laughed about it and after all that time something clicked.

But it was close to the end of the school year. I was busy with report cards and with planning a trip to B.C. and Ontario to see my family as soon as school ended. We managed to see each other whenever there was time. I wasn't worried, there was always the long winter to get to know him.

The night before I left we had dinner at the Midnight Sun Restaurant. It was a wonderful Yukon evening full of good food, good wine, strange characters and plenty of laughs.

But it was the last time I saw him.

John died in a car accident just outside of Dawson City a few days later on Canada Day .

Toronto's Gay Pride Parade - A Commentary from Somewhere in the Middle Class

I hate seeing clips of Toronto's annual Gay Pride Parade being broadcast on the news. It makes me cringe and squirm.

I find it hard to believe there aren't a lot of gay people out there who cringe and squirm, too. Although part of the parade's mandate is that they treat each other with respect and dignity, to this viewer the emphasis seems to be on cheap, casual sex and that doesn't jive with my understanding of what the gay and lesbian community is looking to achieve - the right to lead productive, loving, spiritual lives, without fear or prejudice.

So, do I think the parade should be banned?

Absolutely not.

As a teacher I can tell you that there is too much suffering around the issue of sexual orientation especially for the children of a gay parent. The more often we see non-heterosexual people in mainstream lifestyles and activities the sooner attitudes will change.

Do I think the parade's mandate to celebrate with 'provocative, racy and outrageous events' should be toned down?

Absolutely.

The more in-your-face sexuality people see, the more attitudes will stay the same.

Get a room, guys. Pierre Trudeau said the state has no business being in the bedrooms of the nation. I say the bedrooms of the nation have no business being on main street.

What Every Canadian Needs to Read

I was flummoxed by an e-mail I received this morning. The statement at the top informed me that the message within was so important that every Canadian with a computer needed to read it. (Canadians who don't own computers aren't in need of this information apparently.)

"Now what," I said to myself, "does every Canadian need to read??

Well, here are a few of the things this Canadian would like to read:

1. I would like to read that the first women physicians graduated from medical school in Afghanistan because Canadian troops were there to ensure their safe education.

2. I would like to read that Terry Fox's mother announced that a cure for cancer had been found.

3. I would like to read that the Leafs won the Stanley Cup.

4. I would like to read that someone finally found the identity of the Mad Trapper of Rat River.

5. I would like to read that the Yukon became a province. (Actually I'd like to be there when it happens.)

6. I would like to read that Clifford Olson passed away in his sleep and was no longer an evil presence in our land.

7. Ditto Paul Bernardo.

8. I would like to read that the HST has been cancelled.

9. Since I've never met a First Nations person who attended a Residential School and could talk about it , I would like to read that they had the courage to speak out, that we listened/learned and that we all moved on together.

10. Finally I would like to read that people with hidden agendas had quit writing idiotic e-mails.


For your edification here is the latest subtle effort to increase bigotry and hatred against visible minorities in Canada. This is what arrived on my computer screen this morning:

This one needs to circulate. I think this is one email that needs to be forwarded until every Canadian with a computer receives it.

The year is 1907, one hundred and 3+ years ago

Sir Wilfrid Laurier's ideas on Immigrants and being a Canadian in 1907.

'In the first place, we should insist that if the immigrant who comes here in good faith becomes a Canadian and assimilates himself to us, he shall be treated on an exact equality with everyone else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed, or birthplace, or origin. But this is predicated upon the person's becoming in every facet a Canadian, and nothing but a Canadian...There can be no divided allegiance here. Any man who says he is a Canadian, but something else also, isn't a Canadian at all. We have room for but one flag, the Canadian flag... We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language.. And we have room for but one sole loyalty and that is a loyalty to the Canadian people.'

Sir Wilfrid Laurier 1907

Every Canadian citizen needs to read this!


I'll say we do. In my opinion this message from the first French Canadian Prime Minister - toadying to the English Canada of his time, has no relevance to the reality of our multi-cultural nation of 2010.

Green Garage Sale Blues

Do not take this woman's financial advice.

I arrived all bright eyed and bushy tailed at the Green Party Garage sale just before 8 a.m. on Saturday. I off-loaded a few things from the spy car and presented myself to my betters.

"Here to help!" I announced, proud to be finally contributing some of my time.

"Good, you can stand over there," She motioned in the general direction of a table that was piled high with a collection of medieval torture devices.

"Wow!" I thought as I slid behind the table. "Here's the actual instrument the Inquisition used to rip fingernails off the Satan worshippers." I looked at the small metal contraption with interest.

Luckily before I could stick one of my own fingers into the thing to see if it still worked I was distracted by a pair of garage sale shoppers.

One lady picked up a brown mug that came with two plates and a bowl.

"How much?" she asked.

We both spotted the $12 price tag at the same time.

Now I don't know about you, but when I think garage sale I don't think dollars, I think cents. I actually thought that was the whole point.

"Oh ignore that price!" I said reassuringly to the rather shabbily clad woman. I'll sell it to you for a quarter.

"And the plates and bowl?"

I ignored those price tags too. "Oh give me a dollar for the whole bunch."  I was beginning to feel just like Mother Theresa - doing good among the leprous poor of Beamsville.

Her pal picked up a solitary blue mug.

"You can have that for a dime," I said happily, peeling off the original price tag. I was really getting into this garage sale thing.

As a matter of fact I was so into it I didn't notice the two Green Party Members who descended on me the way the RCMP Swat team descended on the nudists at the 'Naked People Against BP' protest march in Toronto last week.

Turned out the prices were real and the ladies I thought were homeless bag ladies knew exactly what they were doing.

I made it to the end of the sale but as I pulled away in the spy car I think I saw them taking up a collection to bribe the NDP to take me back.

And that Medieval torture device? I remembered to ask before I left.

Pasta maker.

Jeesh!  I gotta get out more.

Dangerous Gas Emissions in Niagara

During the recent Niagara - Glanbrook Green Party Garage Sale, a faithful party worker was spotted during his break learning everything he could about dangerous gas emissions.

The Unbendable Cello

Being Greenish, rather than true blue Green, I occasionally feel a bit guilty that I have joined the party and haven't been very active.

So I was feeling quite good about myself after I agreed to pick up a few items and deliver them to our Green Party Garage Sale this weekend. The woman in charge put me in touch with a party member named John who said he had a few things to donate, including a cello.

A cello?

My spy car is not only the most non-descript car in the parking lot, it is also very small. I pictured myself driving from North Pelham to the garage sale in Beamsville with the cello lashed across the hood of my car the way Yukoners carry a dead moose home for butchering.

"I hope it's bendable," I e-mailed him.

"I'm donating some books, some tapes and my unbendable cello," he e-mailed back rather crossly.

I was surprised to find out that the cello fit comfortably across the back seat of the spy car. And it came in a cello shaped back pack! I was impressed. If I any musical talent or knowhow and was twenty again I would have bought it myself.

Anyway, as these things are wont to happen the cello never made it to the garage sale. A friend of a friend wanted to buy it after she saw a comment I made on Face book.

I e-mailed the local Green Party headquarters.

"See if they'll make a cheque out to the Green Party for $50. They'll get 75% back in income taxes."

"Ha ha," I wrote back. "These are dyed-in-the-wool, card carrying members of the Conservative Party. We aren't going to get a cheque from them written out to the Green Party!"

"CONSERVATIVES! Make them pay cash through the nose because of the fake lake in Muskoka!" came the directive from on high.

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" I strapped on the sword of righteous indignation and snapped a salute at the monitor.

A lovely young couple turned up at my house a few days later to look at the cello and the sword of righteous indignation evaporated.

"Well," I said tentatively after they had examined the cello and were making happy sounds.

We all looked bashfully at each other.

I tried again. "Wellllll, John said it's worth $50.

Long pause.

Finally the young man said, "How about $35?"

"I'LL TAKE IT!" I said a little too loudly, relieved the painful twenty second money ordeal was finally over.

"$40," cried the young woman.

We looked at her.

I was almost certain that this wasn't the way it was supposed to work, but I'm a Canadian and we haven't had to barter for things since beaver fur hats went out of style.

"Well, it's just because I don't have any change," she said cheerfully.

It made sense to me.  

We parted on a very happy note. They with the unbendable cello and me with $40 for the Green coffers.

Green Headquarters e-mailed to ask how things had gone.

"Great. I got $40 for it. I'll bring the money to the garage sale or if you would like, I can run it up to Ottawa!"

The humourless reply came back that the money was to stay in our riding.

Jeesh. Ottawa is a two day car ride away.

Don't politicians ever get a joke?

I feel unappreciated. Which way to the Rhinoceros Party?