We Done Good

Image via Wikipedia

In the summer of 1988 I went on a biking holiday in rural Bavaria. It was a particularly lovely part of the world, full of forests and rivers, farms and alpine meadows. Most of the population was Catholic. Many homes had a religious mural covering one outside wall and it was not at all uncommon, although somewhat discombobulating to our North American eyes, to be pedalling past a farm that had a life size crucifixion sculpture of Jesus and the two thieves looming over a cultivated field.


When the people greeted us, they didn't say the German equivalent of hello, they said, "Gross Gott," (God is great).

It made it hard to believe what had happened there fifty years earlier.

The bike trip ended in Munich and If I remember correctly the bus trip to Dachau took about twenty minutes.

Dachau was the concentration camp where, along with the usual atrocities and gassings, the Nazis carried out their medical experiments . Only one of the barracks that housed the prisoners is still there but everything else from the S.S. camp headquarters to the crematoria, is maintained as a memorial.

I don't know what I can say about a place where more than 30,000 people were tortured and murdered except that I had a sick feeling that I was standing over Hell and was relieved to leave.

In the 1930s the writing was on the wall long before the first concentration camps opened and many Jewish people tried to get out of Europe.

Just before war broke out a ship named the S.S. St. Louis set sail for North America carrying 937 Jews. To our eternal shame it was refused entry by Canada. The ship was forced to return to Europe where one third of the men, women and children died in the holocaust.



Another boatload of frightened refugees arrived on our west coast last week.

Ignore, the moaning and groaning and grousing that you are reading and hearing about it if you can.

This time we did the right thing.

An Apology From (fairly close to) The Heart

On my sixtieth birthday, my friend, (who is six weeks younger than I am), said

.

I denied being in any such place but she kindly pointed out that:

from 0 to 9 years we are in our 1st decade

from 10 to 19 years we are in our 2nd decade

from 20 to 29 years we are in our 3rd decade

from 30 to 39 years we are in our 4th decade

from 40 to 49 years we are in our 5th decade

from 50 to 59 years we are in our 6th decade

and

from 60 to 69 years ... jeesh!

I took it well though.

As a 7th decade girl I began to blog.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Yesterday my friend, (who is still six weeks younger than I am and apparently way better in math), sent me an e-mail with a rather sarcastic comment.


I guess I have been taking a few people into the 7th decade before their time.

For some reason I had it in my mind that because a 59 year old person is in his or her sixtieth year, he/she is in the 7th decade.

Not true!

A 59 year old is still a 6th decade person.
















An older 6th decade person.






















Actually the oldest 6th decade person possible.

















But never mind. I apologize to all 59 year old persons.  And I will change the definition of a 7th decade girl on my next post.

I'm a Canadian And So Is My Hat

I was quite interested to read that the English, who are expecting an influx of Olympic tourists at some point in the future, are being trained to identify a Canadian standing in a crowd of Americans.

That's quite a feat.

I continued to be impressed right up until I read that their method of determining nationality is to scan our bodies for little Canadian flag pins.

Jeesh.

Canada, we've gotta ditch those things.

Identical twins who don't like being mistaken for each other don't wear minuscule pins that nobody can see, then complain that no one can tell them apart. They opt for a major difference in wardrobe.

If we want to be identified as Canadians then we need to look Canadian.

Personally, I'm rather partial to those red rubber maple leaf hats that you see on television during times of great national pride, like whenever we beat the American Olympic hockey team. They should be issued with our passports.

They can be made to fit over turbans, niqabs, police riot gear helmets and your grandmother's new perm. Sort of a one size fits all rubber toque. 

Some of you may remember the year the Heritage Minister, Sheila Copps, mailed a Canadian flag to everybody in the country.  There was a bit of a national melt down over the cost, but I'll bet somebody in the Liberal party still has the mailing list she compiled.  Rather than wait for people to apply for passports, maybe we should all be issued our red rubber maple leaf hats right now.

After all, you never know when the Americans will want to play hockey.

In the case of a national emergency you can also make your own hat. 
This one cost me $0.62.

*

For Tummy and Soul

Café, bakery, gift shop: Nature's Corner, 302 Canboro Road in Ridgeville.

Right on the corner of Canboro and Effingham Streets.

This is without a doubt the tastiest, heartiest, healthiest vegetable soup in Niagara.

To go with it, I chose a wonderfully frothy Matcha green tea latté

from a large selection of fair trade and organic teas and coffees.

Egg salad on fresh whole grain bread - to drool for!

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

I fell in love with this sour cherry, hand rolled whole wheat pastry crumble pie.

The pies at Nature's Corner are filled with fresh Niagara fruit.

A basket of fresh fruit bread!

Heaven.

I wish my blog had an aroma tab.

I buy Nature's Corner Granola for snacking.

But Nature's Corner isn't just about delicious, fresh, local food,

it is also about being a fair trading partner.

These products are from El Salvador.

If you are gift shopping, don't forget to look up.

You'll find great purses suspended from the ceiling

as well as some surprises.

This cheery little doll watched us have lunch from her perch in the corner.

And make sure you look down, too!

The perfect gift could be anywhere!

Actually, you'll find a selection of unusual, unique gifts wherever you look.

This is Carol. She owns and operates Nature's Corner.

She also raises money to help disadvantaged people in El Salvador. 

This is also Carol.

We can help make the world a better place by supporting her.

And we can enjoy a mighty fine lunch in the process.




Carol's mission is to provide products for her customers that help sustain the social and environmental needs of farmers, families and communities of developing countries.


Fair Trade Makes Sense.

Videos of Carol's recent trip to El Salvadore can be viewed at

www.youtube.com/?v=6RpCRZ24efw

*

Holier Than Thou

Image via Wikipedia

The problem with having opinions is that sooner or later you are going to meet up with someone who disagrees with you. That's okay if that person is the type who never helps little old ladies across the road, but what if that person is someone you like and respect?

It can be very discouraging.

Yesterday at the gym, I bumped into a former co-worker. She's definitely the type to help little old ladies across the street, thousands of them at a single street crossing would be my guess - that's how nice she is.

But as we chatted she mentioned how much she and her husband had enjoyed and been amazed by the Body Works Show in Niagara Falls. (That's the funeral home that went on the road with the plasticised corpses).

My open mind closed with a loud clang and I let loose with a mini lecture from my oscillating lectern.

How annoying for her.

But the thing about kind people is that they know how to smooth ruffled feathers and make a gracious exit. We parted amiably.

Later during my usual six hour hunt for the spy car in the parking lot, I had lots of time to think about it. About changing people's minds, not plasticised dead people, although that comes into it.

After my blog about the Body Works show, (S.O.S,. 4/12/10), I followed up with a letter to the St. Catharines Standard. In the letter I suggested that perhaps local politicians and dignitaries (and certainly the ones who brought us Body Works), would like to make arrangements to have themselves plasticized so that when they died they could be used as chess pieces on the giant chess board at the Pen Centre Shopping Mall.

The Standard didn't print my letter.

Jeesh.

I thought I made a good point, tasteless maybe, but worth visualizing.

But for all of my efforts have I ever managed to convince anyone to see things my way?

Nary a soul. 

So I've resolved to change my evil ways. Forget Christie Blatchford and Christina Blizzard. These days I'm all about St. Ursula and Mother Theresa.



Now feck off, will, ya. I'm busy.

It's Time to Vote!

Well, what do you think?


I've been doing some renovating as you can see. Lots of paining and wallpapering, (you can see the great wallpaper that blogger picked out at the edge of the blog).

So is it too wombish?

I have been bothered by the bare naked white of my blog for some time. I tried to soften it with some colours during my last renovation but it just didn't feel like me. I kept getting Sunday School knees* when I looked at it. But I liked the template and I was also worried about changing everything right in the middle of somebody's read, so I kept it.

But a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do.

If you caught my blog yesterday you might have noticed those anaemic birds up in the corner. Couldn't stand 'em. I'm all for birds, just not stuck in one place on my blog day in and day out. Today I decided to go back to a simpler template and experiment with colour.

So?

Let me know what you think. The survey box is up on the right.

Feel free to comment or make suggestions. 

Thanks!


*In the 1950s Sunday School was always in church basements and little girls were not allowed to wear long pants to church. My skirt covered the tops of my legs and my socks covered the bottom but my knees were always so bloody freezing.

*

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.