Road Trip to Glacier.

So, I know I start way too many sentences with "so" and "anyhow", and I also use far too many exclaimation marks. Really! I also use commas completely wrong, and too often, but they say to write the way you talk, and that's how I talk. Actually, I don't think they say that, I think they say to write about what you know, but whatever. This is how thoughts leave my head and also how they leave my fingertips. So here you go. My three day road trip to Glacier National Park, written as if I was talking to you.

First, a tiny bit of background. Don't worry, it's short and sweet,  and if you're not interested then just cruise over to the next paragraph.

Glacier National Park was designated as a park in 1910, and in 1932, Rotary Club members convinced the United States and Canada to join Waterton (Canada's park) and Glacier together to become the world's first International Peace Park. In 1995 it became a World Heritage Site.  However, Native Americans first arrived here roughly 10,000 years ago. It contains 762 lakes, 24 species of fish, 71 types of mammals, 277 species of birds and 1132 species of plants! There are only 25 glaciers left, down from an estimated 150 in the mid-19th century. Don't tell me that global warming isn't real. There is also one mountain called Triple Divide Peak, which straddles the Continental Divide and sends water three ways...towards the Pacific Ocean, Husdon Bay and Gulf of Mexico watersheds. I guess it could be considered the Apex of North America! Anyhow, that's my history lesson.

We left Cranbrook early, hoping to beat the heat, however the weather was gray and cloudy and the rain started before long. Not a downpour, but just enough to make everything cold and damp and to make everyone cranky. (By "everyone", you can probably guess I mean me.) The border crossing was quick, only two other vehicles ahead of us, and as we glumly drove through the gloom, we spotted this:

So, umm, seriously, what would you have done? Exactly.

All their whiskey, brandy and eau-de vie are distilled on site. We tried a wheatfish whiskey, I did not like it....too strong and burn-y. We tried a fireweed bourbon, I did not like it...too strong and bourbon-y. We tried a pear eau-de-vie, I did not like it at first....tasted like moonshine, but 32 pears are used for each bottle and it had a fabulous pear aftertaste. And we tried Daughter of the Sun, a cherry brandy with 22 pounds of cherries in each bottle. Ummm, yeah, I could still be sitting there today...it was spectacular.

So, feeling somewhat fortified and warm, we continued on and in no time we were here.

 

I love these wooden signs, they look so...original? I am somewhat obsessed with anything from the 1930's, 1940's and 1950's and I get all sappy and maudlin when I'm lucky enough to be able to see, and stay at places that are evocative of those years, so excuse any blathering prose that might come flowing from my fingers.

I was surprised that the entrance fee was $30, whether you were staying a day or 7 days, it was a set rate of $30. I thought they'd have a day rate, but I guess it's just easier to charge one price at the door. I have to say, the whole park was immaculate, and you could see renovations and upkeep going on everywhere, so the money does get used in a good way.

So, we stayed in a little cabin called Glacier Motel on the Bluff....built in the 1920's! Oh my god, it was awesome! Tiny, tiny, tiny. One queen bed, a small desk with a chair. A small closet area to hang a jacket or two. The bathroom had an itsy-bitsy sink, toilet (of course) and a small shower, no tub. It was very dated, wooden panelling, single pane window that didn't open, and it rattled when Steven touched it, I think the caulking was from the 1920's too. I believe a strong wind would have blown it right out. No TV, no wifi, and just one small lamp. It was perfect. 

It was on a steep bluff (thus the name) and overlooked the Flathead River. This was our view from the back. It was a nice way to relax after driving through the rain. By this time the weather had cleared up, still a bit gray, but no more rain, so we went for a walk along the top of the bluff. The path was at the edge, within a foot or two I'd say, and no guard rail. I was pretty sure I was going to catch my foot in a gopher hole and go cartwheeling down to the bottom, but all was well.

We decided to go to the visitor centre in Apgar (which is the little town at the beginning of the park) and get some maps. I can't function in a new place without a map. I'm being serious, my sense of direction is non-existent, I get lost in a hotel hallway.

We waited in a short line to talk to a Park Ranger/volunteer and the fellow whose line we ended up in was about 3 or 4 hundred years old. I could hear him talking to the kidlets in front of us and and I could also feel my eyes getting ready to roll out of my head and bounce right out the door. He was annoying and slow. Well, my apologies to the powers that be, that was ignorant of me because when we got up there he asked us where we were from and I said "southern BC" and he said "Oh, give me a town". I said "Cranbrook" and he said "I was born and raised in Fernie." (Which, for my non-BC friends, is an hour down the road from Cranbrook, Steven was born and raised there, we were married there and both our kids were born there.) Turns out that he and Steven have loads of friends in common. Can you believe that? He gave us some great tips and hints about seeing the park, and as we were leaving he glanced around and reached under the counter and discretely held his hand over mine, and gently dropped these into my palm.

 

It was sweet, and I felt like such a cow for my earlier impatience. 

By now it was suppertime so we drove down the hill to a local restaurant in West Glacier. Steven had fish and chips, which he said were pretty good and I had this:

Does it look gross? That's because it was. I ordered a chicken wrap, and this is how they make them. I know it looks like tuna or salmon, but it was chicken. It had dried cherries in it, and cilantro. Not a combo that works well. The dish beside it contains potato salad, which was kind of ok, not great, but edible. Steven had a side of coleslaw with vinaigrette with his meal, and I'm pretty sure the oil was rancid. So, just so you know, don't order those items when you visit. It was the West Glacier Cafe.  And my pickle was soggy too, to top it off. Look at it, lying there all limp and curled up.

But still, a lousy meal away from home is still better than a lousy meal at home, and everything is an adventure. We wandered through the grocery store (with more craft beers than I have ever seen in one place) and the gift shop, where I bought some huckleberry tea. Then we went back to our little cabin-from-the-past and went to bed. 

We had the alarm set for 7am, everything I had read about the park said that the earlier you go, the better, all the parking spots fill up super quick and if you want to stop for photos, lunch, hikes, whatever, any time after 11am generally means the parking is hard to find. We heard the neighbors leaving early, so we decided to get up and hit the road. I was up by about 6:30...which, for those of you who know me, is incredible. We had a muffin at the same cafe as last night (the only place handy) and it was pretty dry, and they only had Coffee Mate, no cream! Luckily we had a cooler with us, and we had some strudel, buns and kelibasa for later.

Ok! Let's hit the road! There was just a short line up, maybe 5 or 6 vehicles in front of us at the entrance, and as we climbed higher and higher the skies got bluer and bluer. The speed limit is generally about 25 mph, some spots a bit more, some a bit less, depending on where you are in the park. The traffic was minimal, we had lots of time to slow down and gaze, and all the good pull over spots for photos were empty.

I had my camera ready for The West Tunnel....the pamphlet says "Imagine the time and manpower it took to bore through this mountain using 1926 technology!" Which, ok, yes, that's true, but anyone who has travelled through BC has seen tunnels just as old and 10 times longer. I'm not complaining, we chuckled about it because we were expecting something truly spectacular.

As we drove higher, we could look down into the valley below us and it was like we were above the clouds. It was a pretty amazing sight, and my pictures don't do it justice. It looked like a giant being had packed the bottom of the valley with cotton batten and tucked it in neatly at the edges of the mountains.

The Triple Arches are considered an architectural and engineering marvel, they allow the water to flow under the highway without any eroding of the banks, and I did think that they were pretty amazing.

This is Bird Woman Falls, 492 feet! The arch below the road allows the water to flow freely

without eroding the sides of the road. I mean, it's a looooong drop down if the road washed 

away. 

This picture (below) shows how the road twists, and the steep drop-off at the edge, and

how little guard there is at the side. Not for drivers with vertigo!

Before long we arrived at Logan's Pass, which is the summit. There is a large parking lot, a visitors centre, washrooms, areas to sit and have a snack (bring your own...no food sold here) and it's also the start of a huge amount of hiking trails, which was on my agenda, thus the need to get a parking spot. As I mentioned, we were told that parking is at a premium at around 11 am. We were there at 9-ish, and it was packed. We were so lucky to get a spot. It's kind of a shame that there isnt more room, really, but the park can only expand a certain amount. People were driving around and around and you could see the stress on everyone's face as they'd just miss a spot. We pulled in, and there was a vacant spot right in front of us, and we grabbed it.

So off we hiked! The weather was quite cool, in a perfect way, because the climb was all uphill. Not in a Macchu Pichu type of climb, but uphill nonetheless. There were people around, but not a lot, considering how crowded the parking lot was. I don't know where everyone was. 

The trail started off through alpine meadows that were loaded with flowers. I've never actually seen an alpine field filled with flowers before, at least not like this. It was just gorgeous. There was Indian Paintbrush, fireweed, purple asters, white daisies, yellow daisies,  buttercups and a wild snapdragon type of thing, as well as things I didn't recognize.

There were little streams running down the hills, and flowers everywhere.

It was interesting to see snowpack with flowers growing right beside it. 

We could see goats on the hills as well. It was very "Sound of Music", and if was a braver woman I would have twirled around and sung the iconic song, but even I have my limts. It was enough embarrassment for Steven as I laid on the boardwalk to take a picture.

As we hiked higher, the crowds lessened. The first mile or so was on a boardwalk in order to keep people off the delicate land, so it was an easy walk, and nice for older or less healthy folks.  

We eventually got to Hidden Lake, look at the colour! Actually, I learned that the colour of glacier- fed lakes is from silt called "glacier flour"

"The silt is created when rocks underneath the surface of the ice are grinding from the movement of the glacier. The rock flour is very light and stays suspended in the water for a long time, as it's too light to sink, but too heavy to float to the surface. The sunlight that reflects off this rock flour is what gives the lakes their spectacular turquoise blue or green colour."  The colour was fabulous, and the water was ice, ice cold, baby.

We walked a bit further, towards the clouds you see, and then we headed back to the car.

I stopped at the visitors centre for a quick bathroom break, and I thought for a moment that I was having altitude sickness hallucinations as a stall door opened and three, yes three, identical little girls came out. It was either triplets, a vision, or a scene from a Stephen King book, because they were very solomn looking, covered with adorable freckles, hair in pigtails and wearing little matching cotton sundresses. If I'd had water in my mouth I'd have done a classic spit-take.

When we got back to car, I told Steven to take five while I got a drink, organized my camera, fixed my sandels and whatnot, but the frantic rush of vehicles to line up for our spot as soon as we got into the car made us decide to just quickly go. Vehicles were zooming towards us, and two large SUVs stopped, one to the left and one to the right. They were both ready to pull in, eyes glaring at each other and engines revving as they inched forward. Meanwhile, a tiny import was trying to squeeze through to weasel his way in. Cars were also behind us, wanting to pull in directly behind us as we pulled out. Whoever was going to get our spot was totally dependent on us....whether we backed out, pulled out to the left, or pulled out to the right. I felt very powerful. I sort of wanted to grab the cooler, get out a snack and settle on the hood of the car for a little break, but I think that may have caused unrest and riots. We left in the direction to give a Toyota our spot. 

So,  Logan's Pass is about half way through, and as it is the summit, we were now on a gradual decline, but the scenery was still pretty incredible. This is tiny Wild Goose Island.

Stopped for a quick roadside lunch once we reached the bottom. 

So, then we left the park, headed north, and re-entered the park at a smaller entrance, so that we could head to the area called Many Glacier. There is an astounding hotel there, built by the  Northern Railroad in 1914-1915. Yowza!  This is a view of the hotel, from the dock, and below this is the view from the hotel itself. Can you imagine opening your hotel room curtains in the morning and seeing that view? Double yowza.

The lake is called Swift Current Lake, and as we were driving in, I noticed the river beside 

the road and it was flowing at a furious rate. I commented "whoa...look how swift that

current is." and to my amusement I saw a sign that said "Swift Current River." I felt

pretty smug, actually.

After this, we left the park again, headed south, and re-entered further down in the area known

as Two Medicine. Back in day, before the Going to the Sun road was completed, Two Medicine 

was the primary destination for travelers coming from the East. (Not like the Far East, but just eastern US and Canada)

It was just as beautiful as all the other areas, and we decided to treat ourselves to a boat cruise on St. Mary Lake. The boat we were on was called The Sinopah, and guess what? It was built in 1928! I was ridiculously excited about this. It hadn't had any "issues" since 1938, so I felt pretty safe. 

Breezy and relaxing, beard hairs blowing in the wind.

We were allowed to stand on the bow of the boat, so of course you can all guess what

I wanted to do, but I totally restrained myself from the ultimate cheesy outburst.

After a reasonably informative tour (learning about the Blackfeet Tribe that originally settled here,

and I say "reasonably informative" because you know half of what you hear isn't true) we had to 

end our tour of the park and head to Kallispell for the night.

We drove around the perimeter of the park, to the south and back up to Columbia Falls and down to Kallispell where we had an excellent steak dinner at Winchesters, even though the picture

looks like it's not so tasty. 

And that's it. The trip is worth taking, it's one of the top ten beautiful drives in the world, and it should be on every ones "To Do" list. I didn't think it was as terrifying as people say, but it was most assuredly  as breathtaking as I've heard.

Fin. 😊

The Hell known as Telus, or, "Companies that make me cry with frustration"

I will try to make a long and boring story short and interesting. I'll try doing it in bullet style.

-PVR is going all pixel-y and herky-jerky. ( I didn't say I'd use proper technological terms.)

-Phone Telus....wait on hold for days.

-Have to do all sorts of reboot shit with someone from another land.

-Finally set up appt for technician to come here to my actual house.

-Guy shows up, replaces faulty PVR.👍

-I might add, he replaced a sleek little model with an ancient cumbersome thing. 👎

(A few short weeks go by. We go on a little vacation, PVR-ing many shows.

You guessed it. Return home to find all shows unwatchable)

-Repeat the first 6 steps not once, but TWICE. As in, two more technicians and two more PVR's

-Feeling uncontrollable rage at constant loss of TV and the explanation that Telus "only has refurbished PVR's as they are slowly getting away from satellite completely."

-Also uncontrollable rage at wasting days waiting for someone to show.

-Fellow tried to talk us into Optik, which we didn't really want as that involves digging a trench to lay conduit. Telus has dug in our yard before, with horrendous and disastrous results. 

-As 4th PVR starts to go screwy, we decide to go Optik.

-Phone Telus and the guy says someone will be up soon to lay conduit.

-Two weeks go by....nada.

-Phone Telus, guy says conduit not needed....already there.

-Set up appt for guy to hook up Optik. Saturday between 8-10 AM.

-3 o'clock.....still no guy.

-Guy shows at 4 (after a multitude of nasty calls to Telus) He had been delayed in an area with no service, at at least that's what he told the Telus girl who phoned him. ('Scuse me? You phoned him? I thought he was in an area with no service)

-Anyhow, guy arrives at 4 and says "where's the conduit?"

-Mighty cursing is heard. 

-A few days later yet another guy shows to hook up the Optik and wonders where the conduit is.

-Guy was almost as apoplectic as me.

-I will be brief now:

-Phone a higher up guy. He says conduit is there. Phone another guy. He says of course it isn't....a trench needs to be dug. Phone a lady. She says "are you going to install the conduit yourselves?"

-Husband is having a coronary and says something like: "I could fucking do it with a teaspoon faster than you guys."

-Back and forth calls ensue.

-Hear a noise outside early one AM.

-Look out and see a Telus truck vanishing into the twilight.

-Telus box  on corner has been opened (and not shut properly.)

-A piece of what appears to be shoelace is hanging from the old Shaw Box attached to the house 

(Oh Shaw....how I despised you in the past, little knowing that your lousy service was still better than Telus)

-Phone a guy to ask what's up with the shoelace and the vanishing truck....could it be true that the conduit was there all along?

-"Impossible" he snaps at me. "That cannot be. You need a trench."

-A few days later, many phone calls later, a guy appears.

-He looks and says "yup, conduit was there. Someone fished the line thru"

-I feel veins enlarging in my head.

-10 AM he starts.....4 PM he leaves.

-While hooking up the basement PVR, he comments that "oh...desktop computer not wireless? Sorry....no Internet for you. Need a new computer or fixilator-card "(I made that word up as I have no idea what he said)

-I feel my hands clench and facial tics appear.

-I do have to say, though, he was friendly and sympathetic and a really nice and decent guy.

-Meanwhile, many of the phone calls from our end were complaints about shoddy service, lack of service and poor business practices. 

-End result being an awesome deal on our monthly bill and a substantial credit on our account.

-Go to check the exciting new channel line-up to find we are missing more than half the channels.

-Find that we have LESS channels now than we did yesterday.

-Extremely cranky calls are made.

-The buck is passed to higher and higher Telus folks, but no one can make a decision. 

- Waiting for a call tomorrow.

If there is a Hell, Telus is definitely part of it.  

Bill said so.

I have made a few comments about the latest hair style for men known as man-buns. I think they look ridiculous and I dislike them. 

Then, I felt bad because really, it's only hair and who cares, and who am I to be judgemental about some strangers hair anyhow? 

On one hand I feel I should be able to say how much a certain style irks me (mens pants hanging down around their knees is a major one) and on the other hand, I like to think that people should be able to do what they want with their hair and their clothes and it's none of my business.

And mostly, I don't  care. And then I feel guilty when something strikes me as ridiculous and I want to make a statement. Rock and a hard place.

Meanwhile, I'm reading the new Bill Bryson book, "The Road to Little Dribbling" and chapter 12 starts like this:

"For some time, I have believed that everyone should be allowed to have a dozen or so things that they  dislike without having to justify or explain to anyone why they don't like them. Reflex Loathings, I call them."

And then he goes on to list his Loathings.

What an awesome concept. My guilt has vanished. I can say, without having to justify my feelings, that man-buns and the men who wear them annoy the shit right out of me. All of them.

Every. Single. One. 

And now I'm pretty excited to come up with a few more things that I can publicly scoff at at and feel no shame.  I love you, Bill Bryson.

Are they serious?

The new trend is to be offended by everything. 

It's nearly impossible to speak publicly anymore without offending someone. I am really very happy that I'm not in the public eye at all. I'd be afraid to open my mouth without an interpreter and a lawyer by my side. 

Some words are assuredly vulgar and just don't need to be heard in public, but the variations are awfully hard to keep track of.  

I can say "she is a woman of colour" but I can't say "she is a coloured woman."

There's a petition out there to change the name of the retarder in a vehicle. True fact.

Topics such as abortion, menstrual problems, birth control...did you know it's not PC to call them "women's health issues" anymore because trans people can't get pregnant? 

Things that are "strange"can also be "weird" or "odd" but they can't be "queer" anymore.

I don't even know how to speak anymore. On one hand, I feel as if it's no skin off of my nose to use words that are not offensive, I have a good enough vocabulary to use non-offensive terms. Why upset  people for no reason? But on the other hand, why should I have to tip toe around (what I observe to be) overly sensitive people who are just looking for a reason to be pompous and offended? 

It's getting completely ridiculous. Honestly. Here's today's news, and it's everywhere:

And....

 "Well?" you ask. "What's the horrible thing that Trump called Cruz?"

Oh....my.....God....he called him..a, a, a......(whisper) a pussy.

Ok. Number one, Trump didn't actually call Cruz a pussy at all. A woman in the audience shouted out that Cruz was a pussy, and as Trump laughed, other people were hollering "what did she say?" and Trump said "She called him a pussy". 

And Number two, it was meant to be an insult to Cruz in the same vein as calling him a wimp or a wuss or a baby. 

Good God. Even CNN is doing the pussy-dance, calling it "The p-word"

When the word "pussy" has to be bleeped by news reporters, and is considered vulgar, we are in trouble.

Bunch of pussies. 

Quick trip to Calgary.

We had two quick Calgary trips this January. Both involved doctor appointments, so we were limited as to what days to go, meaning we couldn't plan around NHL games or even WHL games, or any other event. As it turns out, the days we were there had nothing exciting going on.

We did a little walking through the city:

We also ate at a nice brew pub, the dinner was good, but not picture-worthy. I had a beef dip, Steven had fish 'n chips. The dessert however, was so good! Maple-bacon deep fried mini donuts. Gooey, rich, sweet and sticky.

On the way home, both times, the weather was both sunny with dry roads, cloudy with slick roads and blizzard-like with treacherous roads. Traveling in the Rocky Mountains in the winter can be white knuckle all the way.

  

One Big Dog!

Hockey Skills.

(By the way, I didn't take this picture, it's from the Lethbridge Hurricanes website...that's the team we BEAT)

Winter Update.

I haven't been up to anything exciting this winter, thus the lack of new blog entries. 

Here, however are some photos that I've taken on my daily walks.

I took this one, of the snowflakes, while I was waiting in the truck at a gas station. Just goes to show how you can find beauty anywhere.

Well, I'll be darned.

 Today is my birthday, so of course it makes me think of my mum. It's been years since my mum died. 18 years as a matter of fact. I can still hardly talk about her without welling up with tears. I can say things like "Oh, my mum used to do that/enjoy that/sing that....", and I'm fine, but I can't actually discuss her in anything longer than a sentence without becoming extremely emotional. I had always thought that eventually the pain would fade away, but holy cow, not in the least. So, rather than cry in front of people (eeeeek! A huge fear for us introverts!) I generally try to not talk about her too much.

But because I want her memory to live on, I feel the need to tell little stories and anecdotes about her, and writing them down is the easiest way. 

She was a minimalist before the term was ever bandied around like it is nowadays. Partially because we moved so often that it was near impossible to be any sort of collector at all, and the less you have the easier it is to pack up and move, and partially because she was just not very attached to "things".  She had a few ornaments that were special to her...a pair of ceramic ladies on horses that were a gift to her mum on her wedding day, some pieces of jewelry that were also her mothers, and a pair of cufflinks and a tie pin that her dad wore on his wedding day...that sort of thing. 

She did have a collection of books, not a whole lot, she was one of those people who would re-read a favorite book over and over. I didn't inherit that from her....I very seldom re-read a book. However, everywhere we moved to, my dad would build her bookshelves to display them in....built-in to fit whatever kind of a house we were stationed in, and she would add a few more, but mostly we were library folk. 

For someone who was a photographer by profession she didn't even have many photos stashed away. A few small albums of me growing up, some wedding pics of her and my dad and a few from her Airforce days.

So, after she died, there was very little to go through and to have to get rid of. I mean, all the furniture and that sort of stuff was still going to be in use by my dad, so it was only her personal items, and she didn't have a lot. It was still horribly painful to go through her clothes and to decide what I wanted to keep....some belts and scarves, a spring jacket, a few ornaments that my dad asked me if I wanted, all her awesome and eclectic jewelry and that's about it. Like I say, the other items were all things my dad would continue to use. I'll bet it didn't take me two hours.

Anyhow, to make a long story short, after my dad died, 10 years after my mum, amongst his things was a small silver box with "Ruth" written on it. I opened it once, probably 10 years ago, and quickly glanced through a few pictures, what appeared to be some cards (Birthday and Mothers Day cards from me over the years, I was actually surprised she even saved those... as I say, she was not into sentimental savings) It just made me too sad to look, so I just put it away.

However, today I was thinking, and I was pretty sure I had seen this in there....went searching, and sure enough, my birth announcement and hospital wrist band. Awwwwww......kinda means even more to me since I know it must have meant a lot to her.

It's a what?

Today I saw an ad for a Golden Doodle, for $950. "Wow", you say, "Is that a golden cheese doodle? An odd item for sure, but hey, gold is pretty pricey, and whatever floats your boat."

No. I mean a mixed breed dog. A mongrel. A mutt. But give it a fancy name and "Boom!" You now own a designer dog....worth mega-bucks.

My friend, let me explain,a fancy hyphenated name does not turn a mongrel into a purebred. But give a cute puppy a cute name and someone will pay big bucks.

It seems to mostly be oodles of poodles. Labradoodles, golden doodles and schnoodles, just for a start. Then there the oodles of poodles crossed with smaller dogs; malti-poo, cockapoo, Yorki-poo, , peke-a-poo.

....I don't know where it ends. Nor do I know how to spell the names, mostly because there is no official spelling because there is no real breed.  They are made up! I want to cross an Elkhound with a poodle and tell people my dog is elk poo.  That might make it funny, but it doesn't make it a breed. Would you spend $500 on Elk Poo? No? But on a Golden Doodle? Yes, please. Ai-yi-yi....

Here's a fun fact: These dogs have no breeding standards nor any standardized breeding records, no clubs, and no plan for any of that in the future. Which means, no AKC acceptance letters. So....what's the point? Why go to a pet store, or a back yard breeder or a stranger on the Internet and pay huge dollars when you can simply go to your local SPCA or animal shelter and find something that is just as adorable, just as loving, and SO much cheaper and will (most likely) have its shots and spaying/neutering all done? Plus, you are giving a dog a home.

Now, before you tell me that there are designer registries, let me tell you that those so-called registries are just as made up as the designer cross between a Bull Dog and a Shitztu....in other words, Bull-Shit. They are just fueling mill breeding and fooling the public into thinking they are getting a legitimate breed of dog, and a high quality dog. They say when you mix breeds deliberately to get the best qualities of each, you will get an exceptional dog. Well, they know the same as the designer cross between a Jack Russell and a Shitzu....in otherwords, jack-shit. You can easily end up with a dog that has the worst of both breeds, so their statement is pointless.

So you might get this...a "Canardly". As in "I can hardly tell what she is."

Or, you might luck out and get this: a bull pug. 

Or this: a pitsky. (Pitty-husky)

Now, most of today's purebred dogs were indeed developed from careful combing of different breeds for specific purposes, and there have been amazing results. But we are talking about many decades of careful work, and to deliberately market a "breed" to an unknowing consumer who may not realize that spending hundreds and hundreds of dollars on a mongrel is inexcusable. 

I don't want to offend those of you who own these designer dogs, but come on, your local shelter is filled with these "designer dogs" that are desperate for a home. Go and pick your pet and give it a designer name of your own.

My favorites:

Collie and Lhasa Apso: a Collapso.....- dog that falls down a lot.

Collie and a Malamute: a Commute. Take this dog to work.

Malamute and Dalmation:  a Mutation....a homely dog.

A pointer and a Setter: Pointsetter, good for an Xmas gift.

Bloodhound and Labrador: a Blabrador...a dog that talks too much.

Deerhound and any Terrier: a Derrière...a dog that sits all the time

Keeshond and any Setter: a Keester. Gets along well with Derrières.

Chihuahua and Whippet: a Chiapet. Order them from TV, 3 for $19.99 plus shipping,

And we mustn't forget:

Cocker Spaniel and a Rottweiler: .....well,  a CockRot. (A good gift for a philandering ex)

How about a Cocker Spaniel and a Maltese Terrier? Figure it that one out yourself.

.

(I've heard these over the years...I can't take credit for making them all up, even though I'd like to.)

So dont brag to me about your designer multi-named dog that you take for walks with your designer duds and designer coffee cups. Instead, show me that you genuinely care, and get your adorable mixed-mutt from a shelter.

There is a difference.

The whole situation taking place in Syria (and taking place in the media) is making my head spin. The situation is bad enough, but it's the refugee "problem" that saddens me.

There seem to be basically two schools of thought about Canada letting refugees into our country:

1. No. We have our own hungry, jobless, and homeless to take care of first. 

2. Yes. They are human beings....human beings.....that need help.

And wow, people get extremely vitriolic about it. I actually get an upset stomach when I read some of the comments and then I get angry and I try to voice my own opinion, but I'm just so...so....angry and upset that I can't speak in a calm and sensible manner. I just want to shout "What is wrong with people? When did we become so cruel?  So greedy? So uncaring?" But, having said that, I can also understand the opposing views....a little bit. But wait, read the rest of this before you judge me.

What do I mean by that last statement? It's hard to look at news reports of Canadian citizens that are going hungry, children that are going to school without breakfast. Kids without dental care and decent medical care. Elderly people who are doing without the necessities of life. The thing that upsets me the most: veterans who can't survive on their meager pension. Not enough homes. Not enough food. Not enough....not enough....not enough....

"We need to take care of our own first." 

I get that. I do. But the thing is, if the government doesn't let any refugees in, will they spend that money that they "just saved" on the above mentioned problems? No. They won't. It's not like we have to choose: "hmmm....a few million dollars on Canada's issues, or a few million dollars on refugees?" It's not an "either or" situation. I think a lot of people who are against letting refugees in are not fully cognizant of that fact. If we do not let the refugees in, the money that would have been spent on them will not go towards the issues that Canada is having with their own citizens.  It's not Sophie's Choice. (Google that if you don't get my reference)

And I know that this is an old and tired argument, but it's still valid: Almost every one of us is here in Canada because our ancestors came from somewhere else. Some of us have been here 200 years (and yeah, some have been here 10,000 years, but I'm not getting into that argument) but that does not give us the right to consider ourselves owners of the land. "My family has been here x amount of years, so it doesn't count that we originally came from somewhere else at one time, the point is we don't want you here at all." Where is the logic in that?  And I don't care if your family were immigrants (mine were immigrants from Ireland), not refugees. The point is, they came from another country to make a better life for themselves in Canada.

And you know what? I agree that it's not Canada's responsibility to save the world. But you know what else? No one is asking us to.  Why is everyone saying that? People that are desperate for help are asking us to help them. No one is asking us to "bring them all...bring everyone...open the doors and let the masses in." Stop saying that it's not our responsibility to Save the World. No one said that it was. But you can still help save some.

The general consensus in the reports I've read today is seem to be using the amount of 10,000 refugees. The naysayers seem to think that that is an amount that is going to ruin our country. This is a simplistic breakdown, and I get that it's not statistically sound, but think about it. There are approximately 4000 cities and towns in Canada. I actually thought there would be more than that, but regardless, letting in 10,000 refugees is less than 40 people per town. That's a drop in the bucket. And yes, I know it wouldn't work that way, but it lets you see what a tiny amount of people that is. A few hundred new people in Vancouver? Toronto? Montreal? Ottawa? Calgary? Regina? Winnipeg? That's  nothing.  In a country of +35 million, ten thousand is a paltry amount.

So what is everyone so afraid of?

1. It's going to overcrowd our already broken system.

~Not true. That amount of people is not enough to make a difference.

2. They won't assimilate.

~How do you know that? Some will, some wont. I know an awful lot of people who have lived here for years and years and still speak poor English and celebrate their own culture. So what? They work hard and are proud of living here. Hopefully any refugees who are lucky enough to be able to live in Canada will feel the same. You can't not let someone have a safe life because there are others who have taken advantage of the system.

3. They will take our jobs.

~Which jobs do you mean? Oh, the doctors, teachers, engineers, bankers, scientists? The university educated white collar jobs? Those ones? Oh, no, you mean the tradesmen....all the journeymen carpenters, mechanics, electricians, computer techs. Those ones? Oh, I see, you are referring to the menial jobs that Canadians are clamouring for...the hotel cleaners, chambermaids, fast food workers. Yeah, there are so many Canadians that are just dying to have those jobs. That's why no one is on welfare anymore, everyone is scrambling for those jobs. I hope you hear the heavy sarcasm in my voice.

Face it. Most, most, I'm not naive enough to say all, but most of the refugees who will be allowed in will happily work hard at many low paying, crummy jobs, simply to be able to live a free life. The majority of them will be, as the saying goes, productive members of society. They will be no more of a drain on our society than the tens upon tens of thousands of "real" Canadians who are already sucking the system dry. 

Why wouldn't you be willing to give them a chance?  And you do understand don't you, that our government doesn't just send a plane over and let them run willy-nilly to wherever they want to. Nor do they toss them a Care Card and keys to a furnished apartment along with a pre-paid Visa card. There are steps to take.

How does Citizenship and Immigration Canada decide whether a refugee can be sponsored and resettled?

The decisions are based on:

• documents sent by the sponsoring group, showing that it can adequately support the refugee,
• supporting documents sent by the refugee about the claim for refugee protection,
• other information available to the officer (such as details of conditions in the country the refugee is fleeing and in the country the refugee has taken temporary asylum), and/or
• an interview with the applicant.

To be accepted for resettlement in Canada, the refugee must also pass medical and security checks. In addition, a visa officer will assess the refugee based on whether he or she:

• is likely to establish themselves successfully in Canada,
• has relatives or a sponsor in Canada,
• is able to learn English or French, and
• is likely to get a job.

When a family unit is applying, the officer assesses these factors for the family as a unit.

In some cases, the officer may decide that refugees urgently need protection. In that case, they are not assessed on their ability to establish themselves in Canada.

For sure, it's a possibility that a criminal might get in....someone evil and nefarious...but I don't believe we should ban everyone because of a "what if?". I mean, what if your next door neighbour is right now making a bomb? Planning to go on a mass shooting? Looking at child porn? What if? 

My opinion is, we should not turn everyone away. I think we have a moral obligation to help people who are in such dire straights. Everyone? Of course not, that's foolish. Ten thousand? Why not? Seriously, why not?

I've been asking lots of my friends and acquaintances about this, and again, it saddens me to hear so many of them say "Dont let them in" and yet these are the same people who pretend to be so globally aware, eco-friendly, "it takes a village", and Karma, everyone blathers on and on about Karma and "what goes around...", anti-bullying proponents, eat organic to save the planet, save the whales, save the dolphins, save the burrowing owl, save the fucking sea turtles, but save a fellow human being? "Hell no, it's not our responsibility to save the world......"

It's just sad. 

 

Stuff.

I've been reading a lot lately about minimalism. Becoming a minimalist is described as this:

"It's simply getting rid of things you do not use or need, leaving an uncluttered, simple environment and an uncluttered, simple life. It’s living without an obsession with material things or an obsession with doing everything and doing too much. It’s using simple tools, having a simple wardrobe, carrying little and living lightly."

There is also a great deal of talk about "simple living", which some people say is the same as minimalism, some people disagree. I think it doesn't really matter. You shouldn't live your lifestyle according to labels and titles. 

If you are removing clutter from your house, buying as few material goods as possible, living as self-sustainingly (is that a word?) as possible, yet you take a holiday to an all-inclusive resort, leave a huge carbon footprint, drink yourself silly and buy ridiculous souviners once a year can you call yourself a minimalist? I say, "Sure why not?" We all have different ways to relax and let loose. It's what you do for the rest of your year that counts. 

I consider myself a transitioning minimalist. I've always had a simple wardrobe, I've never had more than two pair of sneakers at a time, I can't tell you the last time I bought dress-shoes ( I'm dead serious....it's been maybe 20 years? I don't wear dress shoes. Or dresses.) I love shopping at thrift stores. My furniture is replaced only when it gets too worn. My carpets are "vintage"....ha, read: "original". I don't feel the need for brand name items. I don't want new stuff if the old stuff is still good.

Although before I eschew all brand name items, I will say that quality over quantity sometimes trumps not buying expensive shit. I spent a ridiculous (for me) amount of money on a pair of good, brand name summer sandals, but they've lasted me over five years so far. They've walked the Malecon in Havana, beaches in Mexico, been inside a giant Redwood in California, tiptoed through sea-lion shit on the Oregon Coast and most recently, wandered through Machu Picchu. Worth every penny. I don't need to have the new, the, trendy type of sandal every summer. I like to look at my worn soles and think of the places they've been.

However, before I start to sound too sanctimonious, let me assure you that this isn't the way I've always been. I used to like stuff, and I wanted stuff. My parents were such minimalists that I suppose I rebelled by being the opposite. As a result, I have shitloads of stuff even though I'm not a "purchaser". I guess I'd have to call myself more of a "saver". I hang on to stuff. Not in a hoarder sort of way though, let's be clear  about that! 

So now I have decided to start getting rid of stuff. That's where the "transitioning" part comes Into play. And I've gotta say, it's not that easy. Well, it's easy once you get started, it's the Getting Started that's hard.

I find it best to do when I'm in a bad mood. It's therepeutic to rip into a closet or spare room while cursing under your breath "Fucking  shit. Look at all this fucking shit.  Garbage. What the hell do I need this crap for??" If you have a big green garbage bag in your hands, it makes it that much easier. Just grab & toss, grab & toss. Don't think....just grab & toss. Haven't worn it in two years? Grab & toss. Keepin it "just in case"? Grab & toss. Ugly gift you don't like? You know what to do.....

Books were the hardest. Anyone who knows me knows that I only want to read. That's all I want to do. (Well, travel too. Read and travel.) I spent an exciting afternoon last winter counting my books. Boxes in closets. Boxes under the stairwell. Boxes under beds. Books shelves inside closets. Dresser drawers full of book because I don't buy clothes. I had well over 1,500 books. Literally. It was very hard to cull them. And I say "cull" because that's what it was like for me. I think I now have about 400 or so, maybe less, and they're all important to me. I'm not at that stage yet (probably never) where I can give up all my books.

As a result I have a spare room chock full of stuff to recycle/take to dump/drop off at a thrift store. Lots of it is Good Stuff. New Stuff. Some Expensive Stuff.  And you know what? I feel fantabulous!  I feel lighter and I want to get rid of more! It's addictive, this cleansing business. I feel happy going downtown and seeing all the stuff for sale and truely not wanting any of it. But I still appreciate looking at stuff. I enjoy browsing through clothes, and going to the jewellery store and looking at sparkly things, I love furniture stores. And oddly enough, for a woman who dispises the thought of weddings. I could spend a whole day looking at weddiing gowns. if you ever want someone to watch you model wedding gowns, I'm your girl! But I genuinely don't want to buy any of it. I'm genuinely happy just to look. And that's really true. And it makes me so happy that I feel that way. 

Then we need to talk about recycling and being more self-sustainable and earth friendly. Yikes, that's a whole other ball game, and I'm slowly learning to play. You really have to choose your battles here though, you can't do it all. At least I can't. Plastic water bottles. Who actually spends money to buy water when it's 2 feet away from you in your tap...and it's free?! Ummmm.....me. I do. I know I shouldn't, and I try to at least buy it from local companies and as seldom as possible and I recycle the bottles again and again. We rinse out and refill each bottle quite a few times, probably enough times so that deadly chemicals have leached through and are coursing through my body. And then we do this:

And we do this:

And we even do this:

Well, ok, no. No, we don't do any of those things. But I might someday. Meanwhile, I do recycle the bottles, and I do use my own cloth bags for shopping and try to buy as much GMO free food, and HFCS free food as I can. I try to walk instead of drive when possible. I try to buy bulk and I try to buy items without excess plastic packaging. I try to conserve water. I could do so much more, but I'm trying.

So while I still have a ton of stuff to get rid of, and many eco-lessons to learn, I'm slowly getting there. I saw a picture the other day of a passport and the caption was: "I'd rather have a passport full of stamps than a house full of things"  and that is my new mantra.