Friday 30 December 2016

2016 New Year's resolution follow up

This year I made a resolution to start drawing again. I stopped when I graduated from college. Though to be fair, I only started drawing again when I wanted to get into college. I needed to get back into school, because I didn't want to work in kitchens anymore and I was academic scorched earth. The term St.F.X. used was "dismissed".

There was also something about being banned for five years, but with my newly drawn portfolio and the assistance of my art-school grad spouse I was back in four.

Applied Communication Arts stands as my favorite year of school and also the year that taught me I had no business being a graphic designer. I switched to public relations. Bullet dodged. I did some illustrations during my PR workterm for a brochure series and put my pencils away. Need fulfilled. New job obtained.

It stayed that way for 15 years. Adult colouring books came on the scene and I remembered that I liked colouring (drawing, same eyes, same hand, just a little more knowledge in the application).

The key to a good New Year's resolution is to pick something you like doing that you don't currently do and pledge to start doing it. That's how this blog happened. I pledged to write, which I was doing anyway, I just wouldn't let anyone else read what I wrote (work writing is a whole other ballgame). It was a big, anxiety-laden deal for me so I made it my resolution for for 2015.

I also resolve to lose 25 pounds every year, but that's not something I like doing and never accomplish. I remain an exceptionally well rounded (too well rounded) figure.

To succeed at resolutions pick something you like and do that. For 2016 I pledged to start drawing again.

I started with a trip to the dollar store for a pad and coloured pencils. I wanted to colour and Georgia O'Keefe is my go-to for colour.

I'm sure there's people out there who don't need grids and outlines, but I'm not one of them.

No automatic alt text available.

Map it out. Fill it in.

No automatic alt text available.

The final picture is what's important.

No automatic alt text available.

 Bowie died and I gave portraits a go.

Image may contain: 1 person

Then Lemmy died. I bought nicer pencils. See how much richer the blacks are. I'm getting back into the swing of things and the illustration is better. He's still too pretty, though.

Image may contain: 1 person, drawing


I bought nicer coloured pencils and went back to my BFF, O'Keefe.

No automatic alt text available.

I love the grain in water colour pads. Even with nicer gear, this is still a very inexpensive hobby.

No automatic alt text available.

They were framed. Shawn came with a matt cutter. It makes framing cheap and easy.

Image may contain: 1 person, indoor

Then summer came and life happened and nothing drawing happened until I decided I wanted to make my music teacher, whose school is predominately made up of youngsters, a homemade present like all the other kids. (They probably don't do this anymore, I am old and remembering my own ill fated piano lessons.)

My music teacher taught me some Amy Winehouse songs, so I drew her Winehouse. This is also the first drawing I've ever signed. I thought it was good enough.

Image may contain: 1 person, drawing

My New Year's resolution for this year is to keep writing, to keep drawing, and, new for 2017, keep singing. I feel these things make me a better me.

I would also like to lose 25 pounds, but as long as I keep up with the other three and my mind and all my body parts work, I'm okay with being exceptionally well rounded for another year.

Thursday 29 December 2016

2016 "The Good and the Bad"

No automatic alt text available.
Snapdragons grow through a broken sandbag

A note from an old friend, entitled "2009 'The Good and the Bad'", appeared in my Facebook memories this morning. It was a deeply personal and unflinching account of a difficult year, but despite that, the note ended positively and with gratitude.

2016 has been a very difficult year.

It will always be the year my sister died. I feel I exist in this Schrödinger's cat exercise where my sister is dead and I am grieving interspersed with moments where I forget and all is well. 

The latter is fleeting, because I know my sister is dead. I watched her die. I felt the utter absence of the electric thrum of her pulse through the fistula in her arm. I watched the man who loved her for the last two decades do the same.

When speak of her passing, I say she was unable to live any longer, which is true, but I suppose that is true of everyone who dies.

My sister was my hero. She was one of many heroes that died this year.

We lost a poet and a princess, stardust and metal, a Greek god and a prince, a beloved villain and a stinging butterfly. Our mockingbird fell silent.

We lost the lives of tens of thousands of men, women, and children to wars with no winner.

We saw reason and self-interest abandoned for false promises and false messiahs: $350 m a week to NHS! Make America Great Again!

We expanded our vocabularies to include "alt right" and "post truth", defining things that should not exist.

Dark days for sure, but as the poet said, "There is a crack, a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in."

For everything that is awful in the world, there are people the world over trying to make things better. From the leaders who open their borders to the doctors and nurses without them, all the way to the grandmother knitting mittens for refugees, there is light.

There are people willing to stand up and say I am my brother's keeper.

In my own darkest days of the year, I was enveloped in the exquisite care and compassion of strangers. The women who cared for my sister extended that care to us as we waited for the end. For that, and for having witnessed their love and affection for my sister, they have my eternal esteem.

There is hope, even in the worst of it. I have hope that the fighting will stop. I have hope that peace and love will prevail over violence and hatred. I have hope that recent electoral upsets, while devastating, will put an end to apathy and inspire engagement among the disillusioned for a better future.

There is compassion. If there is a New Year's resolution I could make for the world, it's that we all try to be a bit kinder and a bit more understanding than we were yesterday.

And there is love. When the priest shook my hand at my sister's burial I was crying. He said that tears were a representation of how much we care. This year has presented no shortage of things to cry about, but it has also seen us united in shared grief.

Grief is a crack inside us, it lets the light, the love we feel, shine outward.

Friday 9 December 2016

It's been a month and it's almost Chistmas

Image result for you never know what someone else is going through christmas

I am not one for tying grief to dates. I mean the first birthday they weren't here to celebrate. The first Christmas their sock wasn't hung.

The first year that they weren't here anymore.

The second year. The fifth and so on.

But it's been a month.

It feels like yesterday and forever ago.

It's easy enough in the beginning. Duty takes over. From the get go there's calls to make, emails to send, a funeral to plan, clothes to collect, and clothes to buy when geography comes into play.

There's an obituary to write. Both my biggest honour and the worst thing I've ever put into words.

There's trips to the mall and trips to the grocery store. Tabloids to stare at while standing in line contemplating those "you never know what someone is going through, be kind" memes on Facebook.

At that moment, you are the meme.

There's wakes and food coming from every corner.

The funeral.

The burial was a week later, because of the cremation. I told my brother in law that I was glad it was the following week, because it was one more thing we could do.

One more way we could be there for her.

The burial came and went. She is to the left of our father, which is perfect. She's left handed and he's right handed.

We went into a cabin in the woods for four days during which I thought all kind of catharsis would happen. Turns out you can't will that. I was better for it, but not even close to what I wanted.

Because I was still horribly sad and horribly emotional and weirdly sentimental.

I am not a sentimental person. Stuff is stuff. I bought the perfume she used to wear. I don't even like perfume.  I gave it to her daughter. I cried when I deposited her last CPP cheque in her bank account earlier this week (FYI the government will pay you for the full month in which you die) and I've cried a bunch of other times.

Crying is okay, there's no shame in it. I've been told that a lot. Mostly when crying. But it's on good authority, sadly from far too many people who have known far too much loss. Grief is a representation of how much you cared.

But it's not the only measure. My sister had a zeal for life. She was exceptionally kind and exceptionally positive. She lived in the here and now and she embraced the act of living as fully as anyone could, no matter an ever growing list of limitations.

I was Christmas shopping yesterday and I came across a pewter ring that said "celebrate life". Foreign sentimentality reared its head again and I bought it. It was $9 and it's staining my pinky black, but that's okay too. I have clear nail polish to coat it with when I get around to it and soap until then.

It's the message that's important.

Celebrate life.

Don't read this and feel sad for me. For her, yes, but not for me. I've got that covered.  But what you can do is be kind. Be kind for her and be kind for me.

The last time I had Sher out for dinner we went to the Townhouse Pub. There's a couple tight doors to get through and her chair had grown in size with her disability. A bar patron jumped to the occasion. He said it was okay to run over his foot. As with lots of things, it just took backing up and taking a second run at it, but he was there, in the moment, doing all he could to be kind.

There's people grieving the loss of sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, husbands, wives, and friends this Christmas.  Let's honour them all by being kind. Everyone will be the better for it.

Sunday 4 December 2016

Dear Kellie

This image came from an email. I looked online for it so I could provide a link to an image for credit purposes, but Kellie is just not that popular.


Dear Kellie,

I've been watching your fundraising campaign unfold through the emails you send.

This last one struck a chord. You said that the handling of the Syrian refugee program has been a disaster since day one. I could not agree more, though we will disagree on the start date.

Remember back in 2015 when your Conservatives were in charge of it? And how your party intentionally delayed refugee settlement until a dead kid washed up on a beach and made you guys look bad?

I agree, the actual refugee settlement – not the Conservatives bullshit do-nothing strategy – but the one that got Syrians on Canadian soil may have cost more than estimated, but for The Canadian Values Queen, that should be A-O-fucking K*. We've taken nearly 30,000 people out of harms way – over half of them children.

What can be more Canadian than going to bat for humanity in times of war? Why, we had beautiful ceremonies all over the country last month for doing just that. There was wreath laying and two minutes of silence nationwide.

There's certainly no Canadian pride to be found when we stayed on the bench; and we've already done our share of bench warming.

I get it, Kellie, based on your parliamentary performance to date you're pissed that we're spending money on foreigners. Well to that I say your party spent a shitload on foreigners too. Remember the G$ summits? For that gazebo-laden extravaganza, your Conservative government spent $1.1 billion on a party for global elites.

At $13,000 a refugee, we could have rescued almost 77,000 people with that money. Instead the Muskoka cottages region got a makeover. Be still my patriotic heart.

And Kellie, lest you write me off as one of those "elites" you rail against. I don't have a medical degree, nor do I have a medical specialty or an MBA. I don't have surgery privileges at an O.R. and I have never taught a class at university let alone held a chair. I have never served a public office and have obviously never achieved the lofty title of cabinet minister.

I sure as hell haven't run for leadership of a federal party.

I went to community college and I hail from and reside in a province your old boss described as one of "cultural defeat". Remarkably, I get up and go to work every day to a job where I earn a fraction of what you do, like the majority of Canadians, including those evil "elite" that work in the media, and act as a taxpaying cog in the wheel that keeps this country going.

You can huff and puff and spit all you want about the "elites", Kellie. Fill your boots. Engage in whatever cognitive dissonance it takes you to get through your day, but don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining.

When it comes to being an elite, you're at the top of the pile and your pandering to the lowest common denominator cements your elite status. It's a bloody lot easier to toy with people's emotions than it is to have an actual fucking plan.

It's the very elite in you.


*My apologies for all the swearing, I blame my non-elite lack of class.

Monday 14 November 2016

Sheri Anne Balawyder 1968-2016

Balawyder, Sheri Anne (Kell), 48, of Loch Katrine, Antigonish, passed away on November 9, 2016, at the R.K Nursing Home.
Born in Durham, Ontario, Sheri was the daughter of Brenda Kell and the late Leo Kell.

A spirit of joy and laughter, Sheri gifted us with her company for as long as she was able. Always ready with a big smile and never one to complain, Sheri lived her life in a way that serves as an inspiration and a template for all of us. She taught us to live bravely and courageously in the face of indomitable hardship, to seize hold of all the good that remains rather than the regret of what is lost, and to love, to laugh, and to enjoy each day as it comes.

Sheri will forever live in the hearts of her daughter Jessica MacDonald (Arthur Pettipas), husband Bernard Balawyder, mother Brenda, sisters Janet Phinney (Brett Phinney), and Peggy Kell (Shawn Dalton), brother Ron Kell (Evie Kell), nephews Leo and Logan Phinney, Jake and Ben Kell, and step-son Dennis Simms (Sammie Simms).

We express our heartfelt gratitude to the nursing staff of the R.K. who embraced Sheri as family.

Visitation will be held Friday from 2–4 and 7–9 p.m. at the C.L. Curry Funeral Home, 135 College Street, Antigonish. Funeral Mass will be Saturday at 11:00 a.m. at the Saint Ninian Cathedral Parish, Antigonish.

In memoriam, donations may be made to the Multiple Sclerosis Society of Canada and the Kidney Foundation of Canada.

Monday 7 November 2016

A love song for my sister Sheri



It wasn't until my late teens that I was grown up enough to be friends with my oldest sister. Born one day before her seventh birthday, I joke that I've been stealing Sher's birthday thunder for as many years as I've been alive. If she minded having her birthday overthrown, she never let me know.

She's always been kinder than me.

Before we were friends, I worshiped her from across the hallway in our house. Tall and impossibly thin, she had better legs than my Barbies, thicker hair and a bigger grin. She wore make-up and white-musk perfume and listened to metal and Meatloaf and the Rolling Stones. In an entirely myopic household, she had contact lenses. They made her humongous green eyes blue.

I wanted to be her.

Sher got me my first job when I was 15, working with her in a fish and chip shop in the mall. She taught me to work. I taught her to be more reserved when it came to filling job vacancies with family members.

She never fired me.

The first time I was went to a bar was with Sher. Bored and on Christmas break, we tested our father's patience to the point where he gave us his blessing to head off to the bar in a light snowstorm. We drank beers, we talked to boys, we went home.

It was spectacular.

As I got older, our friendship solidified. In my university days, her household was my safe place. She was light of heart, a free spirit, always up for adventure and never one to complain. Her daughter and future husband were of the same mind. I counterbalanced that with the doom-and-gloom angst of a liberal arts education.

The free spirits always won.

Our family has polycystic kidney disease (PDK). It's hereditary. Sher was diagnosed with it around the same time our father was having a transplant. It was never much of a concern when we were younger, there were four kids in our family, two with PDK and two without. There were enough healthy kidneys to go around.

My brother came up first. The thing I struggled with the most was knowing that if I gave up a kidney, I wouldn't have one for Sher. He was my brother and she was my BFF long before there was such a thing as BFFs.  But Sher's kidneys weren't failing and my brother's were.

I gave him my spare.

After my surgery, Sher and her husband came up to visit with their not-cat-friendly malamute. She had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis five years before the transplant. At the time, she was in a wheelchair and I was laid up on the couch. Our spouses were off somewhere. We agreed the malamute could eat my cat if it lacked the survival skills to stay where Sher could wheel to defend it from her chair. She was an adept wheeler in those days.

The cat made it. Split open, the laughter nearly killed me.

It's bad enough to have one life threatening disease, but to have two is too much for one person. I feel it is too much for one person to witness from the sidelines, let alone to be that person. That I couldn't give her a kidney became a moot point. Multiple sclerosis ruled her out as a transplant candidate.

But we endured, because she endured. Spectacularly.

And she has spectacularly endured. Through the endless invasive tests, through the loss of mobility that had me smiling at her in her hospital bed until I could go home and howl with grief over shin bones poking up like razors in what used to be better than Barbie legs. Through injections, seizures, infections, dialysis, paralysis and a mind that gaslights itself, she has spectacularly endured.

She taught me that grace and dignity are a state of mind.

She has enriched the lives of everyone around her, and even saved a life or two.

The head nurse at the home told me late this summer that they were refocusing Sher's care from aggressive treatment to a regime of comfort and compassionate care. She was quick to point out that Sher's still Sher. She is light of heart. She is free of spirit. She does not complain.

A little while ago, my brother-in-law asked her how she felt about the possibility of having to stop dialysis. She said she thought everyone would be okay. He asked her how she felt for herself. She said she was tired. She said on the upside, she would get to see our father soon. Also, her obsessively devoted dog Lucky.

Sher is is my sister and she is my friend and she is my heart. Wherever I've been she's been my safe harbour, she's been my home. Given a hundred years I will never be as strong as her, but I am strong enough to let her go.

Dialysis has ended and palliative care has started. My heart is breaking, but keep telling it that Sher is tired. There is no one more deserving of a rest.

I love you Sheri.

Monday 10 October 2016

Second Presidential Debate Or What in the Hell Did I Just Watch?

(Rick Wilking/Reuters)
Some observations on last night's second presidential debate.

Trump responds to audio recording of him bragging about forcing himself on married women by calling it "locker room talk". What locker rooms does he hang out in? San Quintin?

Trump compared avoiding venereal disease to his own personal Vietnam in the 70s. He cheated on his first wife with his second wife and his second wife with his third wife. If there is a moral high ground to be found here, it's in the woman who has honoured her marriage vows for over 40 years, not the guy whose current wife is literally the third model.

Trump says if he becomes president he will throw Hillary Clinton in jail. If Trump is trying to channel Reagan he's doing it wrong. Reagan may have propped up banana republics, but he sure as hell didn't turn his own country into one. Trump spokesperson Kellyanne Conway later said Trump's comment was just a "quip". If that's what passes for a clever comment in the Trump camp, they possess the collective wit of a bowl of dog food.

After ducking the chance to go first like a little kid on a high diving board, Trump has a plan for healthcare. It's called "something" and it involves removing borders to increase competition and eliminate monopolies. This might be the first fiscal-conservative statement Trump has ever made, because his solution to healthcare is free trade. The same economic policy that Trump says is destroying America will result in the "finest health care plan there is." I wished for more time, just to see how much irony he could shovel down the same hole.

For Muslims seeking inclusion under a Republican president, sorry, according to Trump, the bombings you had nothing to do with are still your fault. But you got a witty hashtag, #MuslimsReportStuff, and you are with nearly 70 per cent of Americans that aren't angry old white Christian dudes. Welcome.

Don't even get me started on the Syria question. Shoot down your running mate, partner with Russia, Assad, and possibly Iran? Sneak attacks at night? My god why didn't anyone think of that before? After two minutes of Trump talking foreign policy it's fairly clear that anyone who has watched a Tom Clancy movie adaptation or read a newspaper or a book has a better grasp on it than he does. Trump ended by saying Aleppo had already fallen. It's like a business bankruptcy, but instead of writing off bad debts, it's human beings.

The breakdown of lies told by candidates on this debate is 33 Trump : 5 Clinton. Last debate was 34 Trump : 4 Clinton. On this measure I will concur with Trump base and camp, he absolutely won both debates. No one lied more than him.

Trump is no conservative, he is an overindulged man child with the morals of an alley cat and a decades long history of racism and sexism. If this is the standard bearer, GOP, you've gone from the grand old party to the gross old party. Republicans, you need to fix this and you need to fix it now.



To anyone who reads this and cries Crooked Hillary, shut up. Shut your mouth and the shut the mouths of everyone you know who thinks like you. And, less abrasively, to folks who just have a general sense of unease about Hillary Clinton. The Republican party spared no expense and exhausted untold labour in launching what constituted an eight (to 30 year) inquisition into the actions of Hillary Clinton. The witch hunt came up empty. It's over. Hillary Clinton has been in public service for more than 30 years and over the course of those years she did compromised her ideals to find consensus? Absolutely. Because she was working with the same men who thought a government shut down would serve them well.


Sunday 11 September 2016

The WTF in the news last week

Robin Camp
Photo Credit: Provincial Court of Alberta
After some blog avoidance for the last few month when the last post went rogue, I'm going to ease back into the saddle with this entry.

Robin Camp, the Alberta federal judge made famous for asking the complainant in a rape case "why couldn't you keep your knees together?" is fighting to keep his $300+k a-year job. His defense strategy is ignorance of criminal and sexual assault laws, because his Canadian criminal law experience was "non-existent". Despite this, he was appointed provincially to the head of the Domestic Violence Court in 2012 and then appointed to the federal bench in 2015 by then Justice Minister Peter MacKay's flurry of get-'em-in-before-the-election judicial appointments.

In the interest of judicial integrity, or lack there of, Camp's verdict in this case was thrown out prior to to his appointment to the federal bench.  

Camp, who called the complainant "the accused" during the criminal trial, continued to do so during his own testimony and defended his conduct by stating "I think that my thinking isn’t really sexist, but just old-fashioned." Yes, like the old-fashioned attitudes those pesky suffragettes combated nearly a century ago when they wanted to be persons under the law.

He's very sorry though, as anyone would be seeing a prestigious and lucrative career end in disgrace and has faith that he can be redeemed in the public eye by a favourable decision. "I can see the perceived problem. If the council sees fit to permit me to keep sitting, that should signal to the public that I am not such a person."

Wrong again, Robin. If the council finds in your favour, it doesn't mean you're fit to practice, it means that the judicial system that saw fit to appoint you not once, but twice, failed us for a third time.

South of the border, Hillary Clinton is backtracking on a claim that half of Trump supporters are a "basket of deplorable", calling them "racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, Islamaphobic, you name it." Not because it isn't true, but because the anti-politically correct, freedom-of-speech defenders don't like to be called names. Irony: it's a tricky mistress.

Meanwhile, Mike Pence stumping for Trump at the Reagan Library did his best to paint Trump as the candidate to carry on Reagan's legacy. Thirty years after Hollywood celebrity politician declared wars on the poor and drugs, gutted higher education and mental health funding (despite being shot by a schizophrenic), and whose supply-side economic theory of deregulation, privatization, and tax breaks for the wealthy lead to the greatest income equality in American history, Pence is right.  Trump, that over-privileged, unread, orange-stained bigot who has never been told no, is the poster child for Reaganomics. The only thing Pence misses is that this isn't something to be proud of.

And speaking of bigot politics, Conservative leadership hopeful Kellie Leitch has gotten over her remorseful crying jag about the Barbaric Practices Hotline of last election and now wants to screen refugees for "Canadian values". She says Trump comparisons are unfair. Kellie, short of a time machine, there's no way to re-frame your party as giving a damn about either group after the last decade, but you're right, Trump comparisons are unfair. You're not Trump. You're Ben Carson. Exquisitely well-educated and still a fucking idiot.

Locally, Mark Lever, Chronicle Herald CEO, wrote a letter to CH readers on Friday. He's very proud of the work his paper has done in the two months since he wrote his last letter to readers. That makes one. I thought his promotion of Now! Nova Scotia was particularly timely. Because nothing says journalistic integrity like a deluge of advertorial masquerading as news interspersed with fluffy calls to action based on thoroughly debunked social theory. You're never bringing the unionized workers back. Just fucking say so.

And that's the things that made me go WTF last week.

Monday 28 March 2016

Ghomeshi: a post verdict update


MARIANNE BOUCHER/CITYNEWS
I was asked my thoughts on the Ghomeshi verdict after I reposted an earlier blog article I wrote about Ghomeshi when the story broke in 2014. In it, I called Ghomeshi a sexual predator. Has the verdict changed that?

The ruling was, in my opinion, in keeping with the narrow definition of the law. Do I still think Ghomeshi is a sexual predator? You bet. Why? The difference is the space between beyond a reasonable doubt and a balance of probabilities.

Using a measure of beyond reasonable doubt, especially in the absence of any other evidence, requires witness credibility. The witnesses omitted what turned out to be damning evidence in their original testimony. When that came to light, the judge deemed all of their testimony as not credible. The cases also had to be judged on their individual merits, that multiple women reported similar experiences couldn't be factored into the decision.

Using a balance of probabilities, that multiple women reported similar accounts of abuse, that he was accused of workplace harassment, that the complaint was fumbled (most likely to maintain a popular radio star), that he presented such a toxic work environment that a professor felt it necessary to keep interns away from him, and that he was legitimately dismissed from his workplace under the terms of his union contract for his behaviour, all point to him being a predator. I don't need a judge for that.

On a balance of probabilities, that these women omitted all the awkward, after aspects of their relationship with Ghomeshi, the ones that lost them their court cases, also make sense. Why would a woman maintain a relationship with a man after receiving a punch in the side of the head? After being choked? The answer is that women become accustom to rationalizing away unwanted behaviour. It's every woman who doesn't tell a stranger to leave them alone when told, unsolicited, "you'd be prettier if you smiled, sweetheart." It's every woman who let's it go when she's the recipient of unwanted male attention, because she doesn't want to cause a scene with some handsy jerk and she definitely doesn't want to top it off by being called a bitch or a tease. It's every woman who puts up with sexual harassment in the workplace because she's afraid to lose her job or be labeled a troublemaker. It's every woman who stays with a man after he hits her, because he promises he'll never do it again.

It's because when it comes to men and women, the playing field is vastly unequal. Let's take a trip through some recent political and judicial scandals that make that abundantly clear.

According to court documents, Justice Minister Toews had two extramarital affairs, one of which was with the family babysitter, who was of a questionable legal age and who he impregnated. He was also a deadbeat dad who failed to pay child support. All the while serving as an MP and cabinet minister. Following his voluntary retirement from politics, Toews was appointed to the Manitoba Queen's Bench.

Maxime Bernier, Conservative MP, left classified NATO documents at his ex-girlfriend's place for over a month. His ex had longstanding ties to organized crime, sparking international embarrassment over security concerns within the NATO community. For his misdeeds, he spent three years without a cabinet position and is now contemplating a run at leadership of the Conservative Party of Canada.

In 2011, Justice Robert Dewar gave a conditional sentence to a man who told a woman he would drive her to a party and instead drove her down a gravel road and raped her. The woman ran into the woods half naked and managed to flag down a passing motorist for help. In his decision, Dewar described Rhodes as a “clumsy Don Juan” who had the mistaken belief “sex was in the air” and a “heightened expectation” sex would occur. He blamed the woman for dressing suggestively, wearing make up, and wanting to party. After an outcry, the decision was overturned an a new trial order. Dewar was made to apologize to the victim and was temporarily banned from hearing sexual assault cases. As of 2012, Dewar was again hearing sexual assault cases.*

According to allegations (backed up by compelling text messages) Senator Don Meredith groomed a 16 year old girl for sex, a relationship that was consummated when she became legal at 18. At the same time, it also came to light that Meredith's masters and doctoral degrees were bogus. While booted from the Conservative caucus, Meredith still sits in the Canadian senate.

The police arrived at Rob Ford's door after a 911 call for domestic abuse.  Police later witnessed Ford's wife with her face beaten. She refused to press charges against the father of her two children. When questioned regarding allegations about sexually harassing a former staffer, Ford stated he had more than enough pussy to eat at home. Ford was reelected to city council.

Lori Douglas, a former Manitoba justice, made headlines when it was revealed that her husband, without her knowledge or consent, published photos of Douglas engaged in sexual acts on the internet. Douglas was subject to a judicial inquiry that dragged on for four years, resulting in four years of public humiliation and forced retirement.

Helena Guergis, former Conservative MP and onetime Conservative rising star, was forced to resign from cabinet and expelled from the Conservative caucus in April of 2010 for unspecified reasons. Guergis was then subject to an RCMP inquiry and an ethic inquiry. The RCMP found no evidence of criminal wrong doing and the ethics commissioner fined Guergis $100 for failing to declare a mortgage within the 30-day reporting period for MPs, and contravened the MP Code of Ethics when she wrote a letter in support of a business to a municipal politician. That's it. That and her spouse became a national embarrassment to the Conservatives. In 2009, her husband, former MP Rahim Jaffer, was arrested for driving while under the influence and possession of cocaine. In March of 2010, Jaffer plead guilty to careless driving and the more serious charges were dropped. The light sentence caused a public uproar, especially when further investigation revealed Jaffer may have been in the company of escorts earlier in evening he was arrested. One month after the Jaffer verdict Guergis was turfed, her political career destroyed.

The moral of the story is that scandals, even ones that prompt national security concerns or defy principles of justice and the law, can be overcome as long as you're a man. As a woman, your career is over. Even if it's your husband's fault.

It shouldn't come as a surprise though, because when it comes to women's issues, political officials have a long history not standing up for women.

In 1982, MP Margaret Mitchell stood in the House and, in reference to a parliamentary report, raised the issue that one in 10 Canadian women were regularly beaten by their husbands. The House responded with laughter and heckling, right up until a video clip of it aired on the evening news to a public that didn't find wife beating funny. An apology was issued in the House the next day. This could have been a watershed movement for women's rights, but it wasn't.

One of the first actions of the previous Conservative government was to remove "equality" from the Status of Women's departmental mandate. They also slashed the department's budget by nearly 40 per cent, resulting in 12 of 16 offices closing and eliminating funding for advocacy groups, rape crisis centres, and women's health organizations.

The gap between wages earned by men and women in Canada is the eighth largest of OCED countries. In 2009, the laughably titled Public Sector Equitable Compensation Act, replaced "pay equity", widely regarded as a human right, with "qualifications and market forces", and barred female public servants from complaining to the Human Rights Commission about job pay inequity.

The Conservatives scrapped the national childcare program proposed by the previous government and instead ponied up an additional $60 a month in baby bonuses. Daycare costs range from $900 to $1600 per child a month and that is if parents can find a space in daycare. Especially in large urban centers, there's more children than childcare providers. In a 10 year run, the Conservatives created zero new childcare spaces.

The Conservatives appointed an anti-choice MP, Rona Ambrose, as the minister to the Status of Women. Ambrose, in addition to casting her vote behind a bill designed to open the abortion debate, has twice voted against action to address the gender wage gap.

In 2013, the Supreme Court of Canada struck down Canada's anti-prostitution laws as unconstitutional. Chief Justice Beverley McLachlin, in reference to serial killer Robert Pickton, “a law that prevents street prostitutes from resorting to a safe haven such as Grandma’s House while a suspected serial killer prowls the streets is a law that has lost sight of its purpose.” The Conservatives held public consultations, conducted the first ever Canadian sex-worker survey, and then disregarded the results entirely, making selling sex legal and buying sex illegal. So still illegal, and still forcing sex-workers into unsafe working conditions. Still no doubt, unconstitutional, but years away from a Supreme Court decision that says so.

Returning to lawmaker scandals, just one month after Justice Minister Peter MacKay tabled the new anti-prostitution bill in the house, declaring it would “protect those who are most vulnerable by going after the perpetrators, the perverts, those who are consumers of this degrading practice,” an Alberta MLA, who was arrested the year before for attempting to purchase the sexual services of two undercover Minnesota police officers, was welcomed back into the Progressive Conservative caucus.

In 2014, the Conservatives announced income splitting for married an common law couples with children under the age of 18 (but not actual income splitting, it was just a tax credit), at a cost of $2.2 billion, to encourage the lower income earning parent to stay home. The Parliamentary Budget Officer stated that the measure would benefit families with high incomes and encourage women (see pay gap above) to stay out of the workforce. Staying out of the workforce keeps women dependent on their husbands. Marriages end. Husbands lose their jobs. Husbands die. No consideration was given to the challenges women face when they return to the workforce after a prolonged absence. Nor was consideration given to the fact that women with older children who stay home are ineligible for a Canada disability pension, should they become ill. Of that $2.2 billion, divorced and single parents didn't see a dime.

In 2015, an NDP MP sponsored a motion, dubbed "A National Action Plan to End Violence against Women". The motion was to develop a national policy to address violence against women as exists in other countries, like Australia, the United States, and the United Kingdom. The Conservatives voted it down. Even the Minister of the Status of Women voted against it.

Also in 2015, the Conservatives spent nearly half a million dollars attempting to force one woman to dress the way they wanted, but had zero dollars and zero intent towards an inquiry into over 1,000 missing and murdered Aboriginal women, an estimated 300 of which went missing while the Conservatives were in office.

Between 2006 and 2015, Stephen Harper appointed 59 senators, more than any prime minster in history. The argument made in support the lack of gender balance within government is that you only get to elect those who run. The senate is an appointed body and, male or female, any person who meets the requirements can become a senator. Therefore, a gender balanced senate is absolutely achievable. Harper appointed 43 men and 16 women, leaving the gender balance of the senate just slightly worse than when he took office 10 years ago. Perhaps taking stock of his track record, Harper didn't bother to show for the 2015 electoral debate on women's issues.

One of the most telling events in terms of women's lack of standing, was a 2010 decision by the Harper’s government to eliminate funding for abortion, which is legal in Canada, from its foreign-aid focus on maternal health. Several Conservative cabinet ministers confirmed that this ban extended to war rape victims, like the kidnapped Boka Haram girls, and child brides, whose underdeveloped bodies are ripped apart by babies. Five weeks before the decision was announced, Nancy Ruth, Conservative senator and the "Nancy" of the Nancy's Chair in Women's Studies at Mount Saint Vincent University (and of later cold Camembert and broken crackers fame), stood on Parliament Hill before a group of 80 international development advocates gathered in response to the Conservative's decision to eliminate abortion funding from foreign aid. Her recommendation: "Shut the fuck up on this issue. If you push it, there will be more backlash." Ruth went on to say, “this is now a political football. This is not about women’s health in this country.” 

Ruth's message was loud and clear:  keep your mouth shut, don't fight back, because if you do worse things will happen. It's the message of abusers. It's the message of a society that gives men a free pass for bad behaviour while it pillories women. It's the message that makes women brush off sexual harassment in the workplace and it's the message that keeps them from reporting sexual assaults. Stay quiet, suck it up, if you don't it will go worse for you.

It's a message that should have died back in 1982 when the House of Commons laughed at Margaret Mitchell for standing up and saying one in ten Canadian women are victims of domestic abuse. But there is still hope. The Ghomeshi women may have lost in a court of law, but they didn't lose when they launched a national conversation about sexual assault. They didn't lose when they outed a sexual predator and alerted women to stay away from him. They didn't lose when they inspired other women to speak out about assault and abuse.

Canadian women didn't lose when they cast their votes against a government that spent 10 years actively working against them. When Prime Minister Trudeau announced his first cabinet would include an equal number of women and men, "because it's 2015", the virtues of merit-based appointments gushed across newspapers nationwide like so much sewage from a broken pipe. In 20 years of following politics, never has so much been made of merit as it was in the days that followed Trudeau's announcement. But all the editorializing and all the patronizing didn't change the fact that for the first time in Canadian history, cabinet composition is half women and half men. Just as it should be in a country that is half women and half men.



* I'm awaiting the outcome of the judicial inquiry into Justice Robin Camp, who in a sexual assault trial repeatedly called the woman "the accused". During the trial he asked, "Why couldn't you just keep your knees together?" and, "Why didn't you just sink your bottom down into the basin so he couldn't penetrate you?" The 19 year-old victim weighed one hundred pounds. Her attacker, a man in his 30s, weighed 240 pounds. 

Friday 12 February 2016

Bowie Gets Stitches



Unbeknownst to us, Bowie gashed his lip open on something. You would think something like that would bleed heavily, but it didn't even leak. We'd know, his whole front half is pretty much white.  You'd also think he'd show signs of discomfort, but he was his usual Bowie self. It wasn't until I was giving him some rubs and hugs that I noticed his lips didn't match.

I started calling as soon as the vet's office opened. If they have call display, I'm a potential stalker. I got a 12:30 appointment. We arrived early. Bowie got weighed. He still a chunky lad. We saw the tech, we saw the vet, we were presented with a startling estimate and I signed on the dotted line.

I recommended sedating him immediately, knowing Bowie would unleash his inner bloodhound the second I left. They said they don't do that. Only when an O.R. became available would they sedate him. I admired their ethics. I also need to avoid any job that lets me dispense sedatives.

Also to never again feed the dog cookies from the jar on the counter in the exam room while waiting to see the vet. Don't do it. If your dog needs surgery, which ideally occurs on an empty stomach, you won't have to then fess up to the three cookies you swiped.

The vet tech took Bowie away and I made my way back to the reception counter to follow up. I saw the young guy whose conversation with the vet assistant I had been listening to through the other side of the exam room door. He knew very little about dogs and I didn't like the sound of what he did know, but his pup was friendly, healthy, and he cared enough to take the pup to the vet.  A man came in with an English mastiff therapy dog. It was the biggest dog I have ever seen. He was huge! The young guy asked how much the mastiff weighed. His owner said about 200 lbs. I said he looked like a really nice pony.

I watched the clock all afternoon waiting for the vet to call. When she did call late afternoon, it was blissful news all around. Bowie was repaired, his stitches would dissolve, he was a "cheap drunk" who didn't need general anesthetic (or take after his mother), and his bill was just under half of what was quoted. A choir of angels sang. Not really, but it felt that way.  The vet tech would call when he was walking and ready to come home.

My phone rang on the drive home so I continued on to the vet's office. A little brown terrier mix that looked just like Benji met me at the front door. I said to the dog, "Hey, you look just like Benji." His owner said his name was, in fact, Benji.

The tech brought me a very stoned Bowie. He gently swayed back and forth as I paid his bill and received instruction from the vet.

As high-as-a kite Major Tom and I headed for the door, a lady on the young side of senior came in carrying a white miniature poodle. "Look at his eyes!" She said of Bowie, in a heavy French accent. "He's David Bowie!"

I told her that his name was, in fact, Bowie. That we named him Bowie because of his different coloured eyes.

She laughed and gestured to her little white dog. "I have another poodle at home, a black one. Her name is Oprah."

Regardless of gender, we're calling our next dog Sport.

Sunday 7 February 2016

It's the End of the World as We Know It

Unionized newsroom staff at The Chronicle Herald has voted 98.3 per cent in favour of strike action should a collective agreement not be reached in last-ditch settlement talks scheduled for Wednesday and Thursday. (STAFF)
The Chronicle Herald

As of 12:01 a.m. last night, the Chronicle Herald editorial strike entered its third week. The print edition continues to arrive every morning in the office. I check. I look at what's above the fold on the front page and give it a heft. It's thin and light, but it was like that before the strike. It's the most contact I've had with the print edition of the Herald since a weekend at White Point last summer when it was delivered to our cabin. I spent a lazy morning on our little deck reading the news, free of the largely vacuous online commentary of Herald subscribers, and completed the crossword. It was fantastic. I was also on holiday with nowhere else to be and nothing that needed to be done. As for before that day and every day since, my media consumption is entirely online.

I haven't read a printed book in about three years. I read e-pubs on my over-sized smart phone or my less clever Kobo Mini, both of which can hold hundreds of books. The last time for print was a different weekend away at cabin when, in a moment of unplugged nostalgia, I picked up a couple trade paperbacks.  It wasn't fantastic. I had to sit next to a light source and hold the book just so in the evenings to read the text. My phone is back lit, perfect for poor light and my Kobo displays text perfectly under a glaring sun, so I load the same books on both. I couldn't select an unfamiliar word and immediately call up a dictionary definition. I couldn't flip back and forth between the current book the series and the previous ones to refresh my memory of past story lines. Compared to the convenience and functionality of my electronic devices, devices that I once upon a time said would never replace printed books, the printed books were dumb objects. The stories within didn't change, but my preference for how I consumed those stories did. It was a change that came about because something better came a long.

This observation is likely not win me any friends in the journalism community, but printed newspapers are also dumb objects. I know that sounds harsh, but it's true. By virtue of its medium, there isn't a single news story that will appear in print tomorrow that isn't yesterday's news. That isn't good enough, because something better came along. News breaks all day long on the internet.

Now I will be the first to admit I engaged in hand wringing and hyperbolic panic about the death of newspapers, especially when the Herald strike first seemed likely, but I've spent the last two weeks somewhat obsessively learning about the Herald's current financial situation and the financial situation of newspapers everywhere. The newspaper business model that has operated for the last 150 years is dead. Not dying. Dead.

In 1986, the print edition of the Herald had 138,000 daily subscribers. In 2006, it fell to 111,000 daily subscribers. In 2016, 74,000 daily subscribers. The Herald sells more digital subscriptions today, but combined subscriptions only total 94,000; and subscriptions were never a main source of revenue. Subscribers were what sold advertising and classifieds, which in turn, paid for the newsroom, which in turn gave subscribers a reason to keep subscribing.

I don't remember using the printed classifieds in the last decade. A trip through the Wayback Machine tells me that a 2006 Monday edition of the Herald had 394 listings for unfurnished apartments and 87 houses for sale. In yesterday's Saturday classifieds (the big day for classified advertising) there were 22 total rental accommodations and seven houses for sale. This isn't the strike, this is Kijiji. A 2 x 3 inch classified in the Saturday Herald is nearly $300. An advertisement with photos and as much text as you want to type is free on Kijiji every day. You can promote your ad for as little as $8.50.

According to the Chronicle Herald, "North American newspapers are estimated to have lost three-quarters of their classified ads to the likes of Kijiji and Craigslist and half their general ads to the likes of Google and Facebook, outfits that pop them up as clickbait on your device." I would hazard a guess that a significant portion of the remaining classifieds result from obituaries and legislative obligations to publish notices. As for general ad revenue, Google and Facebook offer advertisers better advertising. This is not a grand conspiracy on the part of these "outfits" to deprive journalists and printers of their daily bread, they offered customers a better product and customers took it. This is capitalism. This is why we drive cars, not horses and buggies. (It's also a little myopic to criticize those "outfits" for clickbait advertising while lamenting the inability to sell advertising space.)

Capitalism is why newspapers thrived for most of the last 150 years. Newspapers had the best product. Oh sure, I can drone on about the importance of media as a gatekeeper for government and business and to serve as a voice for the people, but the newspaper business was not birthed and sustained by philanthropic intent, it was to make money. It made a lot of money. The only modern thing about the term "media baron" is the use of the word "media", which has replaced both "newspaper" and "press" in style guides. The barons themselves have been around since newspapers started, that's how they became barons. The movie Citizen Kane, a fictionalized composite of three media barons, is 75 years old.

Since then, the barons' numbers have consolidated greatly. In Canada, a handful of people control nearly all the newspapers. It shows. In the last election, those people endorsed a Conservative government in various arrangements, including ludicrously enough, the Globe and Mail recommending a Conservative government followed by the prompt resignation of its leader (as likely as a unicorn). The actual voice of the people gave the Liberals a healthy majority. If this is gate keeping, the rest of the fence is down.

Now on that front, I know from the same Herald article that it is the largest and virtually the only independently owned English daily newspaper in Canada, but think about that. The rest are gone. Speaking of unicorns, the Herald is one of the last. To be sure, I do not want the Herald to fail, nor do I want anyone to lose their jobs. It's just unreasonable to think that appeals to brand, to history, and to consumer loyalty on either side of the strike are going to somehow offset an obsolete business model.

Journalism is not dead. In terms of informing the people, it's never been so easy to reach so many people in so little time in so many places. No one has to wait until tomorrow to find out what happened in the world today. In terms of gate keeping, the most explosive muckraking (whistle-blowing) journalism in the last decade came from a wiki site run by internet activists. The medium has changed, the filters have changed, the very foundation has changed, but the news will continue. The news organizations that adapt will continue.

It is the end of the (newspaper) world as we know it, but I feel (relatively) fine.

Saturday 6 February 2016

Everything Bread Recipe (or just plain bread)

 

Last weekend I made "everything bread", which was just white bread coated in everything bagel spice (I love that stuff). It was really good, but more importantly, it reminded me that I have a damned fine white bread recipe. It's fast (in yeast bread terms), it's delicious (verified by others), and it freezes well (only leave out what you'll eat in a couple days).

An unfortunate bit of math made me realize I've been baking bread with this recipe for 20 years. It makes four loaves, because if am going through the trouble to make one loaf, I might as well make four. To that end, anyone has an industrial Hobart mixer and a need for 30 loaves at once, I can give you that recipe, from which this one came.

Bread recipe

4 cups water (hot tub temperature)
1 1/2 tbsp salt
2 1/4 tbsp sugar
2 1/4 tbsp quick rise yeast 
1/2 cup vegetable oil
Flour (at least 10-12 cups, I've never measured it)

Everything spice

2 tbsp poppy seeds
2 tbsp sesame seeds
2 tbsp dehydrated onion
2 tbsp dehydrated garlic (if you can't find it use a tbsp granulated garlic)
1 tbsp course salt

In a very large bowl (preferably larger than this one, one day I will buy myself a proper bread bowl), add the water, salt, sugar, yeast and oil.


Then start stirring in flour by the cupful.
 

When the mixture becomes so stiff you can't stir in more flour, and your hand and arm are tired, dump it out on a well-floured counter top. If you are like my grandmother, scrape every last bit of dough and flour out of the bowl onto what's on the counter, wash and grease the bowl. If you're like me, get the worst of it out of the bowl and give the inside a good coat of flour.
 

Sprinkle flour all over the top of the shaggy mess and start kneading.  It will be really sticky to start with, so coat your hands with flour and lift the dough and sprinkle flour underneath it every few kneads until it finally absorbs enough to stop sticking to everything and you get a nice smooth ball.
 
Both hands and arms should be tired at this point (professional bread bakers have forearms to make Popeye proud). Put the dough back in the floured/greased bowl and place it in a warm spot. I have a bread proofing setting on my oven. If yours doesn't, set your oven to 100F, which is all pressing the bread proofing button does. Leave it there for about 40 minutes.

 

When you come back, the dough will be twice as big. If it isn't leave it for another 10 minutes.
 
Flour your counter and dump the dough on it.


Divide the dough into four relatively same-sized pieces and knead each one into a loaf. The dough will make satisfying squeaky noises as the large air bubbles pop. Make sure you squish them all out or your bread will have holes in it.
 
If you're going the everything spice route, pour a bunch of the mixture on a pan or plate. I used parchment paper so I could pour the leftover spice mix back in the jar. Use another piece of parchment paper to line one big baking sheet or two small ones. If you don't have parchment, grease the pan(s) with butter.
  

Wet your hands and rub them over the top of a loaf to make it sticky and roll it in the spice mix. This works a lot better in theory than in practice, but do the best you can with it. An alternative would be to use a shaker, but I don't have one. Coat the rest of the loaves, or half and half, or just one. It's your bread.

 
Put the finished loaves on the baking sheet(s) and put them in the same warm place you used the last time. Leave them for half an hour or so. 
 
The loaves double in size. If your using the oven to proof them, take them out. Turn the oven to 350F and when it comes to temperature, bake the loaves for 30-35 minutes. When done, transfer to a cooling rack.

 

Eat, share and/or freeze. 

Sunday 31 January 2016

Meatball Soup


 
When I make this soup, which fairly often in winter, we still call it hamburger soup. The recipe originated from hamburger soup, but over the years has become its own soup. I didn't like the ground beef, so it was swapped for Italian sausage. I love marinara sauce, so the seasonings changed and the tomato soup became spaghetti sauce. Everyone needs to eat their vegetables, so the number and quantity of vegetables tripled.

The optional noodles are a nod to the tomato macaroni soup I grew up with and are great for stretching a few more bowls out of a pot, just don't get carried away or you'll end up with a casserole.

This soup freezes extremely well. We eat it a couple times and the rest is portioned into zip-lock bags and poked away in the freezer for lunches and easy suppers.

To ratchet up the comfort-food factor, serve with grilled cheese sandwiches.

Meatball Soup


1.5 tbsp oil
4 cloves garlic
1 large onion
1 large green pepper
3 medium carrots, peeled
3 stalks celery
4 small zucchinis
1 6 oz package mushrooms
1 lb Italian sausage
4 cups stock*
1 28 oz can diced tomatoes
1 26 oz can or jar of spaghetti sauce
1.5 tsp dried oregano
1.5 tbsp Clubhouse Italian seasoning (alternate: 1 tsp of salt and 1/2 tbsp dried Italian herbs)
1 tsp pepper
3 bay leaves
3 tbsp white sugar
1 cup dry pasta (optional)
 Parmesan for serving (optional)

Mince garlic and chop remaining vegetables into a one inch dice.**

In a large soup pot, add the oil and saute all the chopped vegetables except for the mushrooms and zucchinis over medium heat. When the vegetables start to soften, pinch one inch meatballs from the sausage casing into the pot. Saute until the meatballs firm up and are no longer pink. Add the mushrooms and zucchinis. Cook for five more minutes.

Add the remaining ingredients, bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for about an hour, stirring occasionally. If adding pasta, do so at the 45 minute mark. Taste, season as needed, and serve with a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese (a sprinkle of Italian breadcrumbs also works).

*I use reconstituted powdered stock, beef, chicken or vegetable, whichever one I have on hand. If you're a vegetarian, use vegetable stock and the end result of whatever tofu endures to become vegetarian Italian sausage.

**When cutting the carrots and celery into one inch chunks, cut them at a 45 degree angle, they look nicer cut this way. Eat the odd shaped ends. Trim the ends of the zucchini and cut in half lengthwise and then cut each half again lengthwise. Line up and spears and cut in one inch chunks at a 90 degree angle (zucchini doesn't hold a bias cut well with long cooking, so straight cut). Quarter the mushrooms unless they are small, then half them, if very small, leave whole. If you're in a hurry, substitute the veg with a few bags of frozen Italian veg. I haven't tried it, but I can't see why it wouldn't work.