An Open Letter to our School Board re. transportation.

October 6, 2011

Dr. Jennifer Adams, CEO, OCDSB

Dear Ms. Adams.

My two youngest children attend Devonshire School and have since Kindergarten.  I can truthfully say that Devonshire has always provided outstanding teachers, involved Principals and excellent school grounds and facilities.  I am very pleased to report that both of my children speak excellent French thanks to the English French Immersion program offered from SK-onward and they have been privileged to attend many extra-curricular cultural and athletic programs throughout the school year thanks to a devoted school council.

If there was one issue that has remained a constant over the past seven years that we have attended Devonshire, it is the issue of transportation, both to and from school. 

The total attendance of Devonshire and Connaught Schools is just under 600 students between the ages of five and twelve years old.  The Ottawa Carleton District School Board policy no. 068 TRA has allotted a total of only two buses to be shared between both schools.  As each bus can only hold a maximum of 72 students, you can imagine there would be a substantial shortage.  This fall, for instance, over 50 families applied for an empty seat on one of the two buses; only twelve were awarded.  Of that twelve, a pitiful three of those seats were for Devonshire students.

The OCDSB transportation policy indicates that for the ages of six and older, the maximum distance acceptable to walk to and from school be less than 1.6 kilometres from school.  To put that into perspective, Devonshire School is located on Breezehill, almost equidistant between Gladstone and Somerset Street.  We live on Cambridge Street North, also equidistant between Gladstone and Somerset.  The route to and from our house and the school, much like the other fifty families without transportation, consists of heavy road-construction and street closures, crossing major intersections such as Preston and Bell Street and unfortunately still inherent to our area, street crimes and gangs.   Crime statistics, as reported by the 2009-2010 Crime Trends for Somerset ward 14 indicate that during the 2009-10 year there was a reported 3 homicides, 2 attempted murders, 306 assaults including sexual assaults, 6 abductions, 170 criminal code traffic violations and 105 drug offenses.  

To add to the issue, there is little to no childcare in this area to speak of.  A small after-school program is offered at Devonshire and Connaught Schools but the waiting list is long; long enough in fact that my daughter has been on it since before she was born!  Hintonburg Community Centre had filled up before the 10-11 school year had even let out and our own Plant Bath Community centre does not offer any after-school programming for its residents.

This fall, my daughter started first grade this year; no doubt an exciting time in the life of a six-year old.  In order to accommodate my School board policies, I have had to take a reduced work week, thus cutting my annual income by over 20%. 

I, like most parents of Devonshire and Connaught schools enjoy living in the downtown core; the access to all of the best that this City has to offer is practically right at our doorsteps and for the most part, that is why we live here.  Sadly, raising and educating our children here however, is becoming more and more expensive, inconvenient and problematic.

I am not ignorant to the financial woes of the OCDSB; having worked in non-profit and the Public Sector for ten years I am well versed in cost-cutting, however, and I say this without equivocation, not one single cent should ever be spared in the area of health and safety of our children.  Making a six year-old child walk the streets of the downtown core for a total of nearly 4 kilometres each day so that she can gain an education is akin to third-world infrastructure and should not, nor will not, be tolerated by any parent, much less over one hundred parents in Canada’s Capitol City.

 I have fulfilled my obligations as a parent; I have bought the requisite school supplies, the lunches, the wrapper and nut-free snacks, the non-laces, non-marking indoor and outdoor shoes, I have ordered and paid for the milks and the pizzas and even donated extra snow-suits to families in need.  For the most part, my child is well rested, has eaten a peanut-free breakfast and knows the rules of the playground.  Check, check and check.  Now, the responsibility is turned over to the School Board.  The OCDSB must fix this situation immediately.  Whether it means adding more buses or creating a street-safe program that provides escorts and cross-walks, it is the responsibility of the OCDSB to do as their credo states, “meet the individual needs of the students, parents and the community at large”[1]. 

I am more than happy to further discuss this situation, should you have any additional comments or questions.  In the meantime, I will continue to drive my daughter to and from school, morning and afternoon until you have resolved this urgent matter.

Sincerely,

Kathryn Moore

213 Cambridge st N

613-286-1529

CC.

The Joint Steering Committee of the OSTA

Deborah Kuffer, School Principal, Devonshire School

Jennifer McKenzie, Public School Trustee

Diane Holmes, Ottawa City Councillor

Paul Dewar, MP, Ottawa Centre

Gerry Nott, Publisher and Editor in Chief, Ottawa Citizen

CBC Ottawa Morning News

Ottawa Police Department, Somerset Ward

---

[1] As quoted on the OCDSB website under “about us”.  www.ocdsb.ca/ab-ocdsb/pages/default.aspx

Another (?!) Sex Post - this one's diffrent though, I swear...

During a scheduled break at work today, as per usual, I am perusing the world news on theGlobeandMail.com and don’t I happen to come upon an article about how our beloved Austrian movie star/Governor/Terminator has a ten-year old love child with one of his household staff. Now, I know its California, and I know he’s pretty darn irresistible, but seriously people, what the eff is going on in the world of sex?


It was only about 18 months ago that we found out the truth about Tiger Woods…then a few months later, Jesse James. For what seems like an eternity we have been hearing about the Pamelas and the Parises having ‘sex tapes’ and somehow these innocent loving embraces being ‘leaked’ to the internet for the whole world to see. Does no one have ANY shame anymore? Has the moral thread of our society become nothing more than a dusty piece of pocket lint?

I’m not professing to be a prude or anything; occasionally, after a few spritzers I may be coerced into some closed-mouth kissing with the lights on, but I really think that the entire pre-teen and adult world has gone completely bananas for the intercourse. I mean, it doesn’t event seem to phase people like Tiger and Jesse that the entire free world (and I’ll bet most of the non-free world) to know that they are sex-addicts. SEX ADDICTS!!!! SEX. ADDICTS. I could never even work up the nerve to walk into the adult section of the video-store and these people’s mothers, fathers and children are all aware that they can’t get enough of the biddness?!

In all seriousness, its not the whacked-out* behaviour of the egomaniacs that I cant get along with; I suppose if you’ve won every PGA Championship in the world for like the past ten years, then there is only one more logical thing to do…that’s none of my business. The part that is starting to get under my skin is that this attitude towards sex has become so lax that sexual behaviour, sexual suggestion and sexual vocabulary is now accepted as ‘everyday’. Primetime television shows nonchalantly throw around sexual innuendo as though there was a sex-sponsor paying them for how many times they can fit the word into a 22-minute segment.

I don’t have any cold-hard* studies on this stuff, but I can tell you this; you can buy thong underwear for a seven year old girl, as well as high-heeled shoes. And I don’t mean those plastic, costume shoes like we used to get handed down from our older cousins; I am talking about pumps, people!! In an equally if not worse move, retailer American Eagle recently designed a padded bikini for children. Why a child is wearing a bikini is beyond me. Why grown-up bathing suits are padded is also a mystery. Why American Eagle is employing pedophiles in their design department should, nay, MUST be a matter of public interest.

I am deeply concerned that as a race, we are becoming completely desensitised to what is acceptable behaviour and that before long, there will be nothing ‘private’ to our lives at all. I shudder to think what the next step is in sex-shock value, (I am still very alarmed and puzzled by a few things I saw in Burn After Reading) and moreover I am frightened to think of what age my daughter will be when she is concerned about her pantyline or how many pounds she can shave off by wearing her Dora dress with a pair of two-inch heels.

*no pun intended

France Post

Just when you think you have us figured out, we pull the rug out from under you again! Yep, that’s right…all those invites to fancy summer BBQ’s, 5 à 7’s on the terrace, evenings on your yacht…consider us OUT. We will be wine mainlining tasting in the Loire Valley. Suck it babies!!!


Tee-Hee…don’t worry, I am not going to be that gloaty about it, but man we are excited. Normally our summers consist of long, glorious sun-filled weekends at our family cottage about an hour East of here. Yes, there is BBQing, yes there is 5 a 7-ing (although perhaps it is somewhat elongated on both ends) and yes, there is some boating, albeit not yachting, but this time it will all be in FRENCH! And you can’t argue that everything isn’t better in French; poodles, kissing, toast, fries, bread, quarters…C’est toujours magnifique!

The way this came to be is that we are members of an online house-exchange program called Global Home Exchange that basically posts your home and a few pics of the interior. People can contact you if they think they might want to come to your city or town. While you may not think people want to flock to this conservative little corner of the globe, Ottawa is in fact a bit of a hotbed for the house exchanges because of the Library and Archives and the medical facilities such as the Heart Institute, so there are always a number of professionals looking to spend some time here. (What it is that professionals get up to in this stifling heat and humidity, we do not know). We, on the other hand, will go almost anywhere to escape such professionals and the aforementioned heat, including, as our ad indicates, Europe and the UK at almost any time of the year for almost any length of time.

So there it is! I have great, if not HUGE intentions of documenting every blessed moment of the trip for your reading enjoyment; from the see-through X-ray machine at the airport to the cheese and bread induced constipation, not a single detail will be spared! Attachez vos ceintures, mes ami(e)s!

The "Completely Irrelevant to Whatever You're Doing Right Now" Post.

Things I could easily go the rest of my life without hearing about every, ever, ever again:


1. Anything with the last name Kardashian.
2. People in or from or around Jersey Shore.
3. Farmville, jewelled blitzes (or something) and your horoscope.
4. Any of the ‘Idols’.
5. The word ‘anal’; mainly used in the context of a person being uptight or strict, but really, I would prefer not to hear it at all. It sounds yucky and conjures up unpleasant images.
6. Olives.
7. Your unpleasant time spent at Airport Security; Dudes, it’s their job. They’re trying to stop planes from blowing up and flying into buildings. Ten bucks says you’re not so hot at your job either.
8. What you dreamed about last night.
9.‘Yeppers’ and ‘Meh’ . Not necessarily in that order.
10. Why it is you don’t run/swim/bike/work out/practise yoga etc… It continues to baffle me as to why people feel the need to explain their laziness to me. Yes I’m judging you, but really, move on.

On a less crabby cow note, here are some things that I can’t get enough of:

1. PK Subban.
2. Jerry Seinfeld.
3. Hemp seeds.
4. My sweatpants; this may be surprising but I got my very first pair EVER in 2010. It was love at first wear.
5. My iPhone. Lame, but true. It’s like, just when I think I’m done praising this little guy, a new app comes along that I don’t know how I have lived without all this time!! Just last night I found the Epicurious app and once again, HOW did I go all this time without it?!
6. Tapas. MMMMM, MMM! I loves me some tapas.
7. Travelling. Anywhere, anytime.
8. Café Lattes. I do have a tendency to go a little Cramer on them, but when kept in check, I remain fairly calm.
9. Adele, Arcade Fire and Florence & the Machine. In that order.
10. Hot Yoga.

The School Post

The following text contains seriously strong views on parenting which some readers may find offensive. Reader discretion is advised.


Having held parental status for almost sixteen years now, (insert sound of astonishment and awe at how fresh and youthful I look) I have had my share of opportunities to observe some rather remarkable changes in how we are treating our ‘Leaders of Tomorrow’ and quite frankly, I have some concerns.

Unless you are living in Communist China, (in which case I am pretty sure you won’t have access to this blog anyways and if you could get access to the WWW, I would understand fully if my Blog weren’t the first thing you Googled and bookmarked) you may have noticed that is was back to school time a few weeks ago.

Here is a sampling of some of the correspondence over the years between myself and the kids’ teachers:

“Simon needs large Zip lock bags for his letters from the Teacher. The ones he has are traditional seal. Please send secure-lock bags instead”

Dear Simon’s Teacher: Were you planning to send home killer bees? Molten lava? What bloody difference will it make what kind of Ziplock bag he has? Update from the Kathryn files; I never see any of those letters until at least four days past the due date anyways so save yourself the trouble, save me the $4.45 and in case you missed that Oprah episode, save the Albatross.

“Simon’s gym shoes have laces. Waiting for Simon to lace up his shoes is holding up the class. Please send velcro shoes”

Does Simon’s writing and reading also hold up the class? Here’s a thought, teach Simon to lace up his shoes. Teach all of those corner-cutters in the class to lace their shoes. Am I the only person who has nightmares about our soldiers being killed on the battlefields because they couldn’t lace up their boots before the enemy advanced? Or the next Madame Curie tripping over her laces and thus spilling the cure for cancer down the drain all because up until that day in the lab she always wore velcro?

“Elizabeth is very independent and doesn’t always want to play with the other children”

Um, yes. Have you seen the other children? At least three of them have peed their pants, they all have crusted-over nostrils (most sad are the five year-old girls in HIGH HEELS) and not one of them even knows who Barack Obama is, much less can point out his home-state on a map. Try not to think of her an independent. Try to think of the other children as morons. It’s what I do.

Grade one math test:

Question: 3 + 4 =

Answer: Г (backwards 7)

Teacher marks it as incorrect.

Grrrr.

“Your child’s grade four teacher has a banana allergy. Please refrain from sending bananas or banana-based products in your child’s lunch”

Dear Teacher: Keep your chalky fingers off my kids’ lunch and there shouldn’t be any problems. You’re a grown-up, he’s nine and quite frankly after eliminating peanuts, nuts, anything in a wrapper and glass bottles I am fresh out of ideas.

“Simon needs duotangs in the following colors: sky-blue, navy blue, light blue, cyan, black, grey, orange, yellow, canary, goldenrod, white, beige, red, purple, violet, green, hunter green and chartreuse”.

Simon has a mother and father who have far better things to do than hunt high and low looking for leprechaun duotangs. Please find enclosed 18 white duotangs and a sharpie.

Many of my friends and family are educators. I want to finish this blog by emphasising that I have absolutely no ill-feelings for teachers whatsoever. I whole-heartily admire the work they do and am the first person to stand up and admit I could never possess the patience and will it must take to shape the young minds of tomorrow. The instances sighted above are merely excerpts from our experiences with an over-stretched school board trying to simplify their life while overly complicating the parents’ and, I believe, depriving the children of some of their learning experiences.

The Summer in a Nutshell Post

Holy Mother it has been a long time since I’ve been here…what the heck is going on? Oh, right… a nervous breakdown, three kids, the last of which started school last week, a new job, a new house, two weddings and another on the way, ten pounds and another bloody stinking ankle sprain. Where to begin…


Well, yes, I went off to the Olympic Winter Games in Vancouver. I never wrote about it, blogged about it or even spoke about it much to almost anyone so don’t feel as though you’re in the dark. For seven weeks I lived in the Olympic Village, ate lunch with Syd the Kid, consumed a LOT of McCafé and missed the entire last season of Lost. Enuf said.


The kids are great; Nicholas has his first real job, (by real, I mean not working for his dad) at Kunstadt Sports. He loves it and although I have not been in to spy on him, is I am sure a natural. He has always been very at ease around people and is a master at shooting the daily crap, so no doubt will be Manager by Christmas. Simon played soccer all summer, worked for his dad and surprisingly avoided injury, which for him is a major accomplishment. Elizabeth was lured by the siren song of the Eastern Townships pony and is now in regular lessons. Oddly, she seems to have no trouble communicating to the horse that she is in charge.

Started a new job in August; I am the Facilities and Operations Technologist for the Canadian Museum of Civilisation as well as the Canadian War Museum. Ahh…the great Canadian dream to move to Ottawa, ice-skate to your government job and live no more than six feet from a Tim Hortons…Yup, I have sold out. What can I say…the pension rocks, the benefits are great and from my office I have the single best view in the City. Suck on that Syd. Seriously though, the job is going well enough…The people are nice, all the work is in French and most importantly people seem to dress well; It’s amazing how just being ‘on the other side’ makes such a difference.


Yes, another house. Pics and updates on that one to follow. It’s a lot of work, but stunning underneath it all. Kinda like me


As mentioned, we have attended two weddings this summer; they were both equally beautiful and touching and as such deserve their own post, along with one for the final wedding of 2010 in October. Stay tuned.

Ten pounds and another bloody ankle sprain. Blerg. Piece of advice from me to you; don’t wear your work heels for the riding part of your commute. There is a reason that you often see people wearing runners or flats on their bikes. That reason is ankle sprains. As such, running has taken a major backseat. In the front seat? Cheese.

The Shopping Post

Here's a list of things I bought lately and how I feel about them;


1. Lululemon's Run Zoom Crops. Yes, they look great (possibly not as great on me as little Miss Legs in the pic there) but they are not, in any way intended for anyone who, a) has an ass or b) intends to take thier ass with them on a run. Why? because they shimmy down and you spend the better part of the run hiking up your pants and let's face it, we don’t need anymore excuses not to run.

2. These fantastic 'choose your length' leggings from Aritzia. LOVE these. They come in a super-long length for those bitches with really long legs but they have three little tiny stitch lines at below the knee, knee, and above the knee length so you can cut them to whatever length suits you the best. It's genius!!!!!! They don't fray or stretch out of shape. On a recent trip where I bounced through five airports in three days I wore the same pair over and over again and they held their own. Approx $20.

3. Bras from Victoria's Secret. What can I say, get your ladies in one today. They're sexy, comfortable and supportive. They're like a wonderful gay friend, but for your tits. Although the website is super fraught with ridiculously fake breasted women in poses that no women has ever been in, it is easy as pie to manoeuvre; details about coverage, cup size, padding levels are all at your fingertips. I have a bunch of different styles but have not ventured to the strapless variety. Will do so this summer though; stay tuned.

4. Mr.Clean Magic Eraser. Bought a pack of two last week and tested them out on fingerprint stained doorways and coloured-on walls. While the sheer joy of cleaning was definitely a major highlight, I'm not entirely certain this qualifies as 'magical' in any sense. I mean, it cleans things, but not any better than good old-fashioned soap and water. I suppose there is something to be said for the soap always being in the eraser and not having to reapply, but really, no big whoop.

5. 'Northern Songs - Canada's Best and Brightest' CD. I actually bought this at Starbucks in Vancouver, and apparently the coffee icon has the exclusive rights to its' sales, so you may have a hard time finding it, but if you are so lucky as to track down a copy, it will be well worth the hunt. It's a great Sunday afternoon collection of Canadian singers and songwriters; the Band, Feist, Rufus Wainright, Cowboy Junkies and of course Sarah Mc to name a few.

Further to these items, I am happy to fully endorse AirCanada's Cheese and Crackers plate from the on-board cafe, Glee (the television program, not the emotion), any Bosch appliances, C2 paint, the iPhone and a venti-triple-non-fat-skinny-latte, unless I'm in the UK in which case, stick to the Illy.

The Breville Post

Ring-ring, ring-ring.


“small, privately-owned kitchen-crap store in the worst location in the City; Brittanie speaking”

“Hello, my name is Kathryn Moore. I have an espresso maker that I purchased from your store five months ago and it doesn’t seem to be working”

“oh really? What kind is it”

“Breville”

“oh. Well have you called Breville”?

“no. why would I do that? You’re the vendor”

“yes, but we don’t handle any warranty issues. You have to take that up with Breville directly”.

Short pause.

“Well, what about returns or exchanges then? How do I go about returning what is now nothing more than a large piece of metal that is sitting on my kitchen counter”?

“Well, do you have your receipt”?

“As luck would have it, I just threw it out”.

“oh! Well in that case I don’t think we can help you”

“I paid by credit card; can’t you trace it”?

“sigh…yes. I will need the exact amount you paid, the date you bought it and the card number”

“well, the date is easy as it was a GIFT for my husband’s birthday and the card number is bla bla bla, but I do not have the amount. You should though as it is your bloody store and I would expect you to know the prices of your merchandise”

“sigh…I can probably look it up with that information, but it will take a while. I have a terrible headache”.

At this juncture, there are a few lessons to be learned:

1. If you name your child Brittanie, no one will ever respect her. Brittanie is the name of a Highland Terrier or Barbie’s BFF. A close second to naming someone Brittanie is naming someone anything that ends in “ie”, especially if there was an original spelling of “y”; Beckie, Cathie, Amie, Carlie, Jade.

2. Before you complain about your headache to your customer who is caffeine deprived, take a moment to let that thought pass. Perhaps lie down a moment.

“Brittanie, maybe I should speak with your manager or the store owner. Are they in”?

“I am the store manager ma’am”

Two sentences; two major injustices:

1. Brittanie is a store manager. If Brittanie is the manager, one shudders to the depths of ones’ soul to think of who the pions are?

2. Mrs. Moore is NOT old enough or Southern enough to be called ma’am. This combined with the low caffeine level is not going to improve Mrs. Moore’s relationship with Brittanie.

Pause. The sound of a stack about to blow is audible.

“Maybe I can take your number and call you back once I find the receipt Mrs. Moore. Shouldn’t take more than a few days”

Brilliant. A few days. Without coffee.

Several days of caffeine deprivation pass. The phone rings.

“Mrs. Moore, this is Brittanie from the small kitchen-crap store. I have managed to locate a copy of your receipt.”

“Good for you”

“If you would like to come by the store I can give you a copy and you can send it to Breville in Montreal; They should be able to help you”

“You can‘t be serious”

“Yes ma‘am, I am. We don’t normally deal with Breville directly but I hear they are very easy to deal with“.

WTEFFINGEFFING EFF?

Click.

A series of seriously unsatisfying rounds of telephone tag between Mrs. Moore and the lovely people at Breville ensue.

Mrs. Moore leaves for business. Ten days pass. Mrs. Moore returns on a Tuesday evening, jet-lagged and exhausted. The large piece in idle machinery is still on the counter.

Mrs. Moore orders it into the car, dives through the City and walks into the kitchen crap store. Brittanie is at the cash. Wielding a 26 pound hunk of machinery and a serious scowl, Brittanie recognises Mrs. Moore immediately. What follows is a nasty, but brief altercation resulting in Mrs. Moore tossing a new Breville Espresso machine into her trunk and fondly admiring to this day.

Allow me to explain a few things to all of the Brittanies, the crappy-kitchen store owners and everyone working in any customer-service field.

When Mrs.Moore made her initial phone call to complain about her espresso machine, there was only one correct response;

“I am sorry to hear about this trouble you are having Mrs. Moore” (I actually prefer Ms.Moore, but I am nothing if not flexible). If you would like to bring your machine in we will gladly replace it for you.

This response would have had the following after-effects:

Mrs.Moore would have been very satisfied with this level of customer service; she would have ranted and raved about what a lovely girl Brittanie is* and what a fine store she works for. These reviews may even have resulted in further business for this little store. Certainly Mrs. Moore would have made an effort to shop there at least one more time**.

Mrs.Moore would not have spent several days in a sleepy, cranky haze, thus endangering the lives of all who cross her path.***

Brittanie may not have cried herself to sleep that night, questioning her job, her life, her very existence in this cold, heartless world.****

Mrs.Moore would not have bored you with this terrible dialogue some months later.



* This would not have precluded the name Brittanie to be referenced at future dinner parties and friendly get-togethers as a prime example of a stupid name.

**To be honest, this may not be entirely true. The store is located on a one-way street with limited parking and Mrs. Moore is terribly lazy.

***okay, Mrs. Moore may have still been cranky, but not so sleepy.

****Note the use of the word may. Mrs. Moore cannot be certain that this does not happen for poor Brittanie on a twice-weekly basis. Brittanie strikes Mrs. Moore as a bit of a loser who judging by her age and neck-line foundation is probably a self-loathing sadist, but this is in no way Mrs. Moore‘s problem

The New Year Post

Ahhh, 2010 is upon us at last. After countless primary school years of 'what will it be like in the year 2010' the mystery is revealed. No more clocks with hands, fat kids everywhere, insurmountable debt abound and every single dinner conversation is now halted by a Googlesurf. On your phone. Which now replaces your land-line. January first. The first day of a whole new year; a whole new decade, in fact. I suppose it seems appropriate to compile a list of resolutions for myself; a list of promises to me, or you, or a Higher Power of deep inner reflections of myself and ways that I feel I can shine a little brighter, be a better person, make a finer imprint on the world. Well, I'm not gonna. The fact is, I'm pretty satisfied with me, just the way I am. Sure, I could be thinner, faster, kinder; I could donate more (any) money to charity, adopt a pet, foster a child in Africa; I could stop shoveling my driveway snow out into the street for the plow to deal with, I could even stop 'reply-all'-ing, but if I did any of those things, well then I wouldn't be me. And I like me. And I think that most people should spend a little less time making sure-bet failed promises of ways they can improve themselves and spend a little more time accepting the person that they are. So in light of my commitment NOT to change, here is an odd list of things I have never done, nor do I feel the need to do, whatsoever: 1. Let's get the dirty business out of the way right off the top; I have never been to any sort of strip club, male or female. For one, I have a daughter and the idea of anyone paying to see her naked body is purely and entirely sick and revolting and two, because the thought of seeing a dancing naked male body is enough to make me want to pour Drano in my own eyes. 2. I have never been to Burger King, Wendy's or A&W. I'm not on higher ground here, I just have never been. I love a Big Mac, but in the world of fast food, that's where it ends. Whoppers, square hamburgers and anything "Teen" are not part of my repertoire. 3. Seen ET, any Star Wars (except the original one), the Princess Bride or the Sound of Music. I don't like movies about things that aren't even remotely real. Aliens on bycicles, giant white angora camels, singing midgets, Austrians...it's all too 'hokey-poky' for me. 4. Stayed in a hostel. I always thought I wanted to, and during my last EU trip, I had it all planned out (that is to say, it was on the to-do list). Then I found out that when you check in to a hostel, THEY HAND YOU YOUR BEDSHEETS. To PUT ON YOUR BED. YOURSELF. Suffice it to say, I have scratched hosteling off the list. Ibis is about as close to self-catering as I`m prepared to go at this point I think. 5. Had anything pierced(other than my ears) or tattooed. I just feel like disfiguring my body is something I would only want to do when my body starts to fail and is going to look pretty nasty anyway. My ears are no longer pierced. I think that as long as your list of what you have done and what you will still do consists of more than five things then you`re on the right track. Here's to you, just the way you are! Happy New Year! Happy New Decade!

The Travel Post

I have done some travelling in the past four years. Not travelling like that hot little British guy on the Discovery channel, (no bug-eating or drinking my own urine or anything)but I've gotten around. I think I'm a pretty good traveller, not because I'm ever prepared or on time, but because I bloody love it. I would like to impart a few words of advice, should you be about to drive 2 hours or travel across Europe with nothing but a ziplockbag and a wad of Canadian Tire bills. The whole 'be at the airport 1 hour before domestic flights, 2 hours for international and three hours for intercontinental flights' is a conspiracy. The Airport (who is the pimp to the airlines) want you there waaaaay ahead of time so you can spend money in their kiosks and bars. They want you to drop 12$ on last weeks' issue of Hello Canada and then pound back nine watered down drinks in the airport bar before boarding their avian whoreplane where, now bitten by the booze-bug will be thirsty for more super-inflated drinks. Take it from me, that bird is not leaving on time, so show up when you're good and ready. They'll wait. Why do you think they're always calling people's names in airports anyways? When your luggage doesnt turn up at the terminal where you land, consider it valet service for your bags. In fact, if you can, skip out of the airport and go directly to your hotel/host's house. The airline will DELIVER the bags to you the very next day! It just saves you having to lug all your unneeded crap though the streets. A word of caution on this one though, pack a pair of undies in your carry-on and be prepared to spring for some deodorant when you arrive. No one likes a stinky guest. In a hotel: Don't even look at that top bed-spread. Peel it back, lay it on the floor and pretend that the last eight seconds didn't happen. That revolting piece of fabric has more fluids on it than the backseat of a varsity team bus. Steer clear my friends. Also in this category is the glass-wear in the bathroom (they never get washed) and the remote control. Without getting to graphic, the remote control is what the other hand is holding. That's all I'm going to say about that. So now that you cant sit on your bed, have a glass of water and watch some TV, whatever will you do? Make the hotel know you are there. Leave your bags in the lobby to be carried up. Ask for more anything from the front desk; towels, shampoo, whatever... These people are there to see to your needs and you don't want to disappoint them. If you are flying Air Canada and this is an overseas flight, you have just scored the mother load. Make friends with the flight attendants!! Have a few bevvies!! Have a few more!!! Maybe take a tour of the second floor staff quarters of a 747!! Maybe do NOT have a three way with two of them, no matter how much they insist. But do have a few more bevvies, score a sweet 3$ blanket for free and find Daniel Craig on your private set-back TV. Curl up with him and your soon to be pounding hangover and try not to think about your desolate, workaday life that you will be preparing to descend into in about 20 minutes. When you get home, do the laundry right away. I know, I know, it sucks, you hate laundry, bla, bla, but at least at that very moment you have some sense of euphoria left in you and you will be less inclined to climb into that dryer and close the door behind you. I have more tips to impart, but they mostly involve KLM flight attendants, what not to order on the plane, what movies to avoid and what not to pack, both carry-on and checked luggage. Those tips seem like a later post. Happy travels!!

The Home Post

We have just returned from a weekend my my parents house. At a certain point in your life you have to stop calling it 'home' and start calling it 'my parents' house'. When it was 'home', there were three children living there. We only had one bathroom, which by today's standards would qualify you for sub standard living conditions. Every single friend you wanted to call was 'long distance' and there was no such thing as 'walking 'round to the store' as Beaudry's was five kilometers away. You literally could not see the forest for the trees - a situation which has not improved despite my dad's numerous chainsaws and grandsons now on the scene. When it was home, I was little and young and everything was bigger. The yard was big, the house was big, my parents' friends houses were big. The cows across the road were big and even my parents themselves were big. Now I am big and all of those things are small. In the wintertime we used to shovel off the deck outside the kitchen. The deck was impossibly vast and as such, tons of snow piled up and it took countless hours to shovel this over the edge of the second-floor deck into an Everestial peak miles below us. When we were finished, my dad used to pick us up, hoist us up over the railings and drop us into the snow...a veritable 7 or 8 second drop to the fluffy white pile below. The deck has now been replaced by an addition and in retrospect, I don't think the deck could have been more than 10' x 12' and at most was about 10' off the ground in the summer...likely about four feet once we had piled up the snow. There are now two bathrooms at my parents' house, although one of them makes a funny noise when you flush and neither of them are to be 'used' for fear of backing something up or running out of water or 'breaking' the toilet... The cows are no longer very big either...they too have been replaced by smaller beef cattle; easier to manage I think and likely a better market. I am quite sure my dad couldn't pick me up and hoist me over the railings anymore either, which is just as well since I'm pretty sure that all that 'hoisting' when i was young dislocated my shoulder and now it aches when I sleep funny. I still hear the mice in the walls when I sleep in one of the funny little off-chute bedrooms and I love, love, love the smell of the fireplace and the wood stove. Even in the summer. But now it is not home. Home is where my bathroom has rules of its own and instead of mice you hear sirens. There are no cows for miles around, but if cats could produce milk or meat...on second thought, that's just gross. And now the only place that is 'long distance' is my parents house.

The Food Post

Here is a list of the candy I have eaten since and including Hallowe'en: 46 Rocket candies; my single favourite candy EVER. 13 mini Caramilks; mostly the two-square variety, but some just singles. One entire KitKat bar; Gimme a break, gimme a break, break me off a...peice? Yeah, right. Three triangles of a Toblerone bar. Not the store-counter variety; not the movie-theatre size; the AIRPORT size. Who is thinking these things up, anyway? Those bars are ginormeous! I think they're sold in airports beacuse in a pinch they could be used to jam under the airplane tire to stop it from rolling away from the gate. Seven mini bags of Doritos; thank-you Shannon and Kris. Eleven Starburst. Twelve mini boxes of Smarties; all colors. Some may have melted in my hand. Beyond that, my dinner tonight consisted of a white-bread peanut butter sandwich and this week I have only yoga'ed and gym'ed once. Needless to say, between the dwindling daylight, the fact that there is less than 100days until Opening Ceremonies and my 'special feminine time' this is truly my Perfect Storm. If anyone has non-perishable food items (like Mars bars or popcorn) I am accepting donations.

The Grateful Post

This weekend was the last long weekend of the year. Typically this weekend involves family and either a very long drive back to the Townships or else everyone coming here. This year we took things in a different direction. On Friday night Simon celebrated his eighth birthday with his friends. While it was a bit tricky and somewhat harrowing to hold a birthday party on a Friday night, it worked out really well. Saturday morning, after a long, brisk walk and a visit to Starbucks, we drove up to the cottage to take down the summer effects; Under a clear, sunny sky we raked, brought in the Adirondack chairs and kayaks, dismantled the gazebo etc...At night we rented movies and ate a hearty casserole. On Sunday we drove home and prepared to host our friends for Thanksgiving supper. Besides preparing the meal for 14 people, Elizabeth and I did some fall planting and about six thousand loads of laundry. The evening consisted of, among other things, several bottles of champagne, mountains of food and desserts, excellent conversation and gaggles of children treating my house like a Formula One course. And today is just a bonus day. Groceries are done, the cleaning lady is on her way and the kids had no homework. I will read, grab a yoga class, perhaps go for a hike across the river and eat leftovers for supper. In all, a delightfully perfect weekend but none of it worth anything were I not perfectly aware of how fortunate I am to have any of it. I am surrounded by good friends, wonderful children and a Saint of a husband. I am blessed with not one, but two wonderful places to call home, a challenging and rewarding job and the wisdom to know that it does not define me. I have travelled to some of the most beautiful, humbling places on earth, eaten some excellent meals, drank some wine and laughed until I cried. I have girlfriends that could not be replaced by Deepak Choprah, Oprah Winfrey and Mother Theresa combined and I have a family that, while it is not without it's quirks, I wouldn't trade it for anything. Lastly, of course I am grateful for my own health and that of my loved ones. I know firsthand how quickly it can be taken from you, leaving you feeling powerless and scared.

The problem with being thankful is that I feel that I am testing fate; pushing my limits of what is 'my fair share' of good fortune. As though if someone were to see my list of things that I am thankful for they would say, "hey, wait a minute...that's waaaay over the limit. We're taking some back".

My thoughts this weekend have not been far from those who have had some of their good fortune taken back. Life can be unfair at times and your loss is a testament to that fact.

The Magazine Post

I almost always pick a really long line-up so I can spend a little time perusing the trashy magazines. I love catching up with Jon and Kate and Brad and Angie, guessing who's ass is whose and voting on who wore it best, but my frugal Scottish heritage never allows me to actually buy them, so by just ripping off the best parts of the magazine, I feel like I'm practically earning money. So tonight I make an impromptu stop at the neighbourhood grocer to pick up bread. My line-up is very quick, so there's no time to catch up with my fake friends, but one magazine cover catches my eye and actually makes me laugh out loud. It's a Cosmo or something and it's main headliner in this issue is "50 sex tricks that will drive him wild" 50? Who on earth is a) going to remember 50 anything, much less 'sex tricks' and b) keep them all straight? What if you got them mixed up? I mean, mathematically speaking, if you got your wires crossed you could be looking at like, more than 2000 'tricks'! More to the point, what qualifies as a trick, exactly? Are we talking, like Rod Stewart level tricks or more like, arch your back a bit or brush your teeth first? Now, I am no casonovette; I have not written or read any sexiquette literature, but despite my somewhat limited experience I can say this for sure: The number of men getting out of bed and thinking to themselves, "hmm, I wish that was more amazing" is on par with the number of leprechauns purchasing bridges in Atlantis. The next time you're in the grocery store line-up, take a peek at the covers of these 'women's' magazines. Take note of the headline issues; "make him happier doing this","keep him wanting more of that"...now look at the cover of GQ or Men's Health. Notice a difference? You want a trick for him? Sex on a weeknight. That will blow his mind.

The Dawg Post

We’re saying good-bye to an old friend this week. More than a friend; a member of our family. Morely has been with us for over 14 years. Eight houses, the birth of two children, the loss of two, the move to Ottawa, numerous drunken Christmas parties, vacations at the cottage. Morely has been here for us in our worst moments, has witnessed our biggest fights and arguments. He knows our secrets and our habits; has watched us laugh and cry. I am not one to equate pets with people; I do not feel they are the same. I don’t have framed pictures of my dog at the office; I don’t recount cute little doggie anecdotes. He does not and never has slept in our bed (except after we have left for the day – that’s right Morely, we knew you did that) but Morely was a good, good dog. A face only a mother could love. Simon described Morely as a very ‘fancy dog’. And he was. I don’t know how to say good-bye to a friend like this. I want him to know how much we love him and how much he touched our lives. I want him to know that I could never have asked for a better dog and I feel truly unworthy of his spirit and his kindness. My children adore him and I know what it will have meant to their lives having had a dog this wonderful and fun and gentle see them though their formative years. We love you Morley. As I sit with you today, watching your life slowly slip away my heart breaks at the thought of not seeing you bouncing across the kitchen at the sight of your leash and a plastic bag. I will sit with you until your brown eyes close for the last time because you would do the same for us.

A Few Things I Would Like to Point Out:

1. Ladies: Anything you bought at Lululemon is considered workout wear. Stop wearing those pants with heels. It looks like you left the gym and forgot to change your pants. 2. Men: I know it's not actually 'illegal' to go shirtless in public, but it should be. Your white hairy chest and your pink nipples are more than the general public should have to bear. Furthermore, when you tuck your t-shirt into the back pocket of your jeans and it dangles down like an SOS sign from a burning building, well, I want to run you over with my car. Don't get me started on your armpits either. 3. In your car: We can see you picking your nose. Yep, knuckle deep, digging for gold, tickling brain...your car is not your invisible fortress. 4. In the airport: When the gate attendant announces that 'we will now begin boarding' there is no need to form a 75metre long line that snakes through the airport and holds up other travellers trying to get to their gates. Your ticket is not General Admission. You have an assigned seat and no one is going to take it from you. Why you think lining up is necessary is beyond me. Even more baffling is why you would want to get into that tiny little seat next to your new best friend any second sooner than you have to. 5. At work: Here is a short list of what is unacceptable attire at the office: leggings, flip-flops, clothing with writing on the bum, skirts that stop more that four inches above the knee (yes, even if you have paired them with leggings), low-cut tops, camisoles, spaghetti straps, tube-tops (God, I can't even believe I need to point that one out), Oversized T-shirts, and I don't care what day of the week it is or how comfortable you are at work, it is never acceptable to walk around the office in your bare feet. That's it. A pretty short list actually.

The Christening Post.

Our Nephew is being Christened this weekend. Last night at the dinner table my son (age 7) asked what a Christening was. I started explaining some of the details but before I could get very far, Simon interrupted and said "oh, like in the Lion King when they held Simba up over the cliff" and I said, well, yes...sort of...and then he said "except it won't be a monkey that holds him up". It should be an interesting ceremony for all.

The Smoking Post

The sun is out, the weather is warm and you know what goes really well with those two things? A pitcher of Margaritas and a smoke. It's true. Many years ago that's exactly what I would be embracing every Friday night (well, to be honest, it wasn't just Fridays). It's been 8 years since I had a cigarette and every time I walk past a terrace of people smoking and drinking I am filled with the immortal sin of envy. The truth is, I loved smoking. I loved the smell, I loved the feel of the cigarette in between my fingers, I loved the taste and truly, I loved the way it looked. Say what you want, but smoking is cool. I would like to tell you that I quit smoking for my health or my pregnancies or because my children asked me to do it as their Birthday presents, but the truth is, I was forced to quit by powers beyond my control. Simply put, my body physically rejected nicotine. Violently rejected it. All over the bathroom of a Thai restaurant in the Market. I will spare you the details, but will impart one piece of wisdom from that near-death experience. Don't leave the lid down on public toilets. Especially in Thai restaurants. For those of you hanger-on-ers...enjoy these days. Enjoy the taste of the cigarette paired with the wine after a good meal. Enjoy that perfume on your clothes and that non-existent ten pounds that the non-smokers are carrying around. Of course when winter rolls around and you are still gripped by Cigarette's evil talons, standing in the -35C weather shivering your asses off, I will rejoice in my superiority, but for now, I am jealous. Okay, off for a run!

To Run or Not to Run

I am kicking around the idea of running in the National Capital 1/2 marathon next month. I have run this particular one before so I know what I'm getting into and I can't quite decide if it's all worth it. The fact is, I'm not built for running, really. My bottom is disproportionately large (which is only good for running if you're black. Which I am not). My legs are short and my arches are somewhat low. All of these factors make me more of a Clydesdale than a Thoroughbred, so if I am going to run anything it needs to be for distance rather than speed. Proof in point; my current best 10km time is about 56mins; painfully slow by most standards. Another notch on the 'con' list is that in fact, I hate running. I do it, but I really do not like it. I like the endorphin rush and the time outdoors and ofcourse the joy of rubbing it in people's faces that before they even got out of bed this morning I put about 15kms behind me, but that's about it. Beyond that it's a lot of very sore knees (the last one of these had me so nearly debilitated I practically had to move to the livingroom because getting up the stairs was so painful), sprained ankles (have not recovered from the last type three sprain that left me on crutches for the two best weeks of July) and force feeding myself pasta and bread. (okay, that part is a lie; I love pasta and bread. I could live off of nothing but pasta and bread for the rest of eternity and be perfectly happy). The actual event is not that well put together either, really. For starters it's a loop. I absolutely loathe and despise a loop run. I mean as if running weren't tedious and painful enough without having to relive it. As well, the 1/2 starts at ten o'clock in the morning, meaning that the majority of people finish at noon. Noon. The absolute hottest part of the day. And you can be absolutely certain that up until race day the temperature will never have even broken 20 degrees, but on that Saturday the thermometer will soar to a record setting 31C meaning that during the second time around the loop you're leaping over corpses and vomit. It's very unpleasant.

Ofcourse running the race has it's upsides...there's um...some free bagels at the end (although they're not Montreal bagels, so I'll pass) and I think last year I got a T-shirt or a hat or something. There's that 'feeling of accomplishment' that people are always on about...although to be honest, coming in 2374th is not exactly my idea of a raving success. And since I have almost zero competitive instinct when it comes to these things, I take no pride in coming in ahead of 3627 other people...

Hmm..so to summarize, 1. am not fast. 2. don't actually like running. 3. am prone to injury. 4. don't enjoy the heat. 5. don't like bagels that aren't from Montreal.

Okay, so maybe I'll just go to the waterpark that day.

Star Wars Review

So I have finally seen Star Wars. Yes, the George Lucas film made before I was born. Up until today I had never seen it. This is what I can report. Princess hair-bun is up shit creek. The Nazis are about to blow up the universe. She needs Ben Cannoli to save her because he has the Reckoning or something. She sends the 1975 equivalent of a Facebook update pleading for his return. Luke Skywalker has some free time on his hands and wants to team up with Ben. (don't know why or how these two find each other...I think I was distracted by laundry or something at this part). They track down Harrison Ford who exploits the crap out of them for the use of his jet-thing. There is a golden gay robot and his fat little robot friend. There is a giant furry thing that I think is like a dog, but can walk upright. Together they form a posse and fly around in giant penis-jets until they finally hit the vagina of the giant white ship that the Nazi's have been floating around on. Harrison and Luke get a medal from hair-bun. Can't wait to see the sequel...I am predicting a love interest between Hair-bun and Luke.