An Unreported Crime

This is the frightening story of an unreported crime in southern Ontario.

It happened at a Friday night fish fry.

Families placed their orders as usual. 

 

But someone took more than the allotted two packets of tartar sauce.

The fish fryers looked everywhere for the culprit.

The people at the picnic tables eyed each other suspiciously.

The news that a crime had occurred was passed from person to person.  

But, like so many crimes in Canada, it was never reported.

 

So the government decided to spend 13 billion of our tax dollars on prisons.

In the meantime while you still have some money,
enjoy your fish and chips with a little homemade slaw on the side.


Yum!

 

A Wolf at Canada's Door

Image by Smithsonian Institution via Flickr

In the last few weeks three people have forwarded me an e-mail message concerning old age pensions and refugees.

If you get the same e-mail, and you probably will, it has evidently been circulating for years, the message is clear and simple. Middle class Canadians are sitting around like a bunch of spineless dunderheads while the Mongolian Horde, the Yellow Peril, the Red Menace, Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan, the whole Spanish Inquisition, Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, Idi Amin and 2000 of his favourite wives, and maybe even a few rogue kangaroos from Down Under are coming to Canada and stealing our pensions.

The anonymous writer of the e-mail makes the claim that a 'simple refugee' to Canada receives $28,920 annual income from the government while an old age pensioner 'who has contributed to the development of our big, beautiful country' during forty or fifty years receives at most a measly $12,144.

Jeesh!

I decided to do a little research and this is what I learned from The Canadian Council for Refugees:

In Ontario refugees are entitled to a one time set up allowance to cover things as clothes, certain household items and the set up of a phone. If you want to picture this, think of the stark interior of the home of the missing Toronto teen Miaiam Makhniasnvili.

Other financial assistance may be given for one year and is received only if they don't have their own financial resources. The exact amount depends on the size of the family and is tied to the social assistance rates. In Ontario, for example, a single person receives $635 a month.

Refugees also are required to pay the Canadian government for their transportation to Canada and interest is charged on the loan. They often start their new life here with a significant debt.

Refugees are the downtrodden of the world, the persecuted, the starving. They often face torture and death in their homelands. Ashtiani, the Iranian woman who was threatened with an unjust death by stoning, would be an example of a refugee if she was allowed to come here.

E-mails like this one are cruel and mean-spirited.

It seems to me there's wolf is at our door, Canada, and he's big and bad all right.

He's also an anonymous coward with no compassion. 

A Yukon Ghost Story

I taught with an older woman named Marion when I was in Dawson City, Yukon. Her husband, Joe, was retired and their children were grown. We often gathered at their log house during the long nights. This is a story she told us.

In the 1950s Marion didn't teach school, she stayed at home with their two small children. The family lived on the outskirts of a tiny, isolated Yukon settlement.

One winter day Joe and a co-worker came across the frozen bodies of two men and their dog team in one of the rivers. They had fallen through the ice. Because some of the indigenous people in the Yukon believe that the soul wanders the earth forever if the body is not buried properly, Joe and his friend laboured long and hard to cut the corpses free and tether the stiff bodies to their vehicle.

But what to do with them? Because they had died in unusual circumstances the deceased had to be sent to Whitehorse before they could be buried, but at 40 below zero and with hundreds of kilometers of gravel road to travel, it was easier to say that than to do it. There were no funeral homes or morgues in the small community and the bodies couldn't be left outside for animals to gnaw.

Joe brought the frozen cadavers home and put them in his garage.

He was called out somewhere in the middle of the night and Marion was alone with her babies when she heard Bang! Bang! Bang! coming from the garage.

Terrified, but determined to protect her children, she pulled on her parka and mukluks. She said she was sure their visitors had thawed and were trying to get into her house. But when she opened her door she heard the men harnessing their dog team and a few moments later she heard them mush on down the trail.

The bodies were sent to Whitehorse the next day for autopsies and eventually returned to their community for proper burial.

Was it a dream? A post partum hormonal disturbance? Or did Marion actually hear the spirits leaving on their final dog sled journey?

I don't know - and Marion and Joe are both gone now, too.

Something to ponder...

Shame on You, Air Canada - A Commentary

Image via Wikipedia

Veiled Muslim women must uncover their faces at airport security checkpoints.

It's common sense and I wouldn't be blogging about it again*, except that I read that Air Canada is worried about offending people and is not bothering to match the faces behind the veils to their passport photos. (Veiled Security, Sunday Sun, 8/01/10, Brian Lilley, Bryn Weese)


The Canadian public's right to safety is what matters here. If the priority is a woman's facial modesty over the security of hundreds or even thousands of people, then veiled women should not fly.

There should be no arguing this point.

Nor should we be arguing about whether to ban the niqab altogether.

The state should not have the right to tell women how we can or cannot dress.

The greatest shame in this story belongs to Air Canada. Rather than take high road, apologize and take immediate steps to tighten security, the company threatened the whistle blower with a lawsuit after he posted a video that showed two veiled women boarding an Air Canada, Montreal to London flight, without being checked.

I think he should get a medal.

In the Berry Patch

  

The Berry Patch is in Ridgeville, 398 Canboro Road between Fonthill and Fenwick.

 Enter through the open doors on the left.  Inside you will find a small gift shop and the reservations desk.

(Yes you need reservations.  905-892-4209.)

 

Although the restaurant is set back from the road, it isn't likely that you will miss the homemade sign that sits out in front.

There is no indoor seating at the Berry Patch.  Everyone is seated on the big veranda.  The tables are always set with fresh flowers and sprigs of other growing things.

Asparagus and fresh Lake Ontario lobster crepes! 

A leisurely, yummy summer lunch in the heart of Niagara!

Homemade vegetable soup, salad, crepes, cheese scones.

But this is the real reason I go to the Berry Patch! 

Those scones are warm! 

Note the two kinds of jam and the whipped cream! 

They specialize in desserts that are made with Niagara fruits and berries.

Life doesn't get any better than this!

P.S.  Just kidding about the lobster.

P.P.S. They're from Lake Erie.

***

Porn in North Pelham

The people who run Blogger, (the site where I post m y blog), have introduced a new 'statistics' tab.

I'm forever checking it because I can see where people are when they are reading my blog. (I mean the country they are in, not the room in the house). If someone reads my blog in a certain country, the bloggerfolk shade it green for me. The more people who read it, the darker green that country appears on a map of the world on my screen.

We aren't talking big numbers but I do have more hits coming to my site from the US than from Canada. I figured that most were likely ex pat Canadians. I pictured them drinking whiskey in seedy hotel rooms and weeping with homesickness as they read my poignant tales of life in the old sod. In my mind each one looked terribly handsome, sort of like a down-at-the-heel, young Burton Cummings.

Burton Cummings via last.fm

Occasionally I get one or two hits from the UK. Naturally the 'stats' tab came out after I dissed the Queen a few times. It hadn't occurred to me that Blogger was international.

I've also had hits to my blog from Germany, the Netherlands, France, Russia, Japan, even one from Latvia.

Last week I had one from Brazil and in my head young Burton Cummings morphed into Antonio Banderas for some inexplicable reason. (I do know Antonio Banderas is from Spain not Portugal.)

Anyway, I was feeling quite good about things until I noticed one of the referring sites to my blog was http://www.buypenisenlargements.us/  International shoppers at www.buypenisenlargements.us are being sent to MY blog by mistake?

And I thought all of those countries were shaded because I could work an adjective.

Jeesh.

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.

*