Me and the Bee

Last week, I had the opportunity to participate in a spelling bee competition. The event was coordinated by a local charity whose programs include, among others, Adult Literacy; part of this agency’s funding is provided by the Lanark County chapter of the United Way. I volunteer as a Board Member of another non-profit organization called the Ontario Early Years Centre/Children’s Resources on Wheels. Since we also obtain funding from the United Way, our group received, and accepted, an invitation to participate in this fundraiser. There were a total of five teams, most with 3 team members. The team in the picture here was representing a youth services group for a local community.

I thought I should get ready so I rented Akeelah and the Bee which is an awesome movie about the Scripps National Spelling Bee Competition in the USA. Akeelah is an 11-year old girl with a gift for words, who attends an inner city school in Los Angeles. A series of events lands Akeelah in the school's first-ever spelling bee to avoid detention. She sweeps the contest, qualifying for a place in the regional spelling bee. Under the mentorship of Dr. Larabee (played by Laurence Fishburne), Akeelah earns her place at the Scripps National Spelling Bee and brings some unexpected, but much needed attention to her school. The movie tells an inspirational story of how Akeelah's desire and belief in herself influences the lives of those around her including her mother, her classmates and her coach, Dr. Larabee. Oh, and me too.

As inspiring as the story was, I have to admit it made me more than a little nervous. The kids in the movie study and spell words I’ve never heard of before like elucubrate and pulchritude (and those were the easy ones I could remember and spell here in my blog). The words we got at our spelling bee were much easier -- effervescent, fluorescent, aubergine, matriarchy, pharmaceutical. Words not normally hard to spell, particularly if your computer is set to auto-correct and your spell-checker is functional. That said, the word accommodation was on the list and I almost always spell that one wrong.

The trick, it turns out, isn't spelling the word correctly, but rather saying the letters correctly into the microphone. Some of those words are l-o-n-g and if you get distracted, it's pretty easy to lose your place. I had to close my eyes and see the word choreography in my mind's eye while I spelled it into the mike. I felt like a dope but -- hey -- whatever works. You have to concentrate because the rules dictate that you can start over, but you can't change the order of the letters that you have already spelled. What good is that? If you make a mistake, you can't self-correct.

We quickly exhausted the word list and were soon presented with a list of words that nobody uses in polite conversation. We really could have used a 12-year-old Scripps speller on our team. As it was, it was me and the ED at the Bee. We spelled our words correctly but when it came to reciting the letters into the microphone, our fearless leader misspoke. Unable to self-correct was the stinger for our team.

We brought home the bronze.

Happy Birthday Baby!

This week my daughter celebrated her 10th birthday. Remember when you were 10? Me neither. I can barely believe that she's 10 already. She's my youngest...my baby. I hate cliches as much as the next person but, wow, seems like only yesterday she was (insert adorable baby behaviour here).

She was an easy baby to care for. She rarely fussed, allowing me to dedicate my full attention to her busy, toddling brother. I remember once going out the door, locking it and starting for the car before I remembered that she was fastened in her carseat inside the front hall. I quickly returned to the house with visions of her red-faced and wailing in protest but, no, I found her waiting patiently for me to return.

She has a gentle spirit and a kind heart. She leaves a distinct impression on anyone she meets whether that's a teacher, a friend, a relative or a visitor. I worry sometimes that she is too compliant, but every now and again she exercises her will and it helps to ease my mind. She doesn't like it when people use poor table manners, swear, act mean towards others, or commit any other equally despicable social faux pas. She almost always uses her best behaviour and expects all others to do the same.

She doesn't think I'm cool, but she does think I'm funny. She doesn't think I have any sense of style, but she'll still let me buy her clothes. She normally takes very good care of her personal possessions but she doesn't keep a tidy bedroom. She smiles when I sing out loud, but she says I have a terrible singing voice. She worries like an old lady but she mothers like a pro. She dresses like a diva, but she refuses to accessorize her hair. She is wonderful.

She reminds me of the inherent good in others, the innocence of childhood, and the timelessness of grace. She's a lesson I learn everyday. She has a beautiful soul.

Happy Birthday Baby!

Corporate Criminals - Part II

Killing Me Softly

Yesterday I talked about corporate criminals behaving like bullies on the international schoolyard. I mentioned Dow Chemical, Lockheed Martin, Phillip Morris, DynCorp and Ford Motors and gave an accounting of their (alleged) sins. I wrote to tell you that Chevron takes home the prize for worst offender in the world. It is, without dispute, Public Enemy Number One.

Originally, I was thinking that I would create an entry to do my part and influence consumer activity but I hadn’t even gotten to Coca Cola or Nestle by the time I ran out of steam. Greedy corporations make me angry, which makes me sarcastic, which makes me tired. That said, today I thought I should finish what I started. So here are more greedy corporations you can feel good about hating.

Caterpillar is a company that manufactures heavy equipment. There’s a Caterpillar distributor in a town near our house. Each Christmas they put some equipment on the front lawn, drape it in Christmas lights and put a plastic Santa in the driver’s seat of one of their bulldozers. It’s cute. Meanwhile, back in Peoria some enterprising salesman at home office is counting his commission after selling bulldozers to the Israeli army. The Israelis use the equipment to destroy Palestinian homes – usually after they’ve violently evicted the occupants, though occasionally when the families are still in residence. Incidentally, the Israelis aren’t keeping this fact a secret from Caterpillar. Caterpillar is charged with contracting with known violators of human rights.


The Coca Cola Company has been around since 1886 and is responsible for producing the world’s most popular soft drink. Remember the commercial they aired back in the 70’s where a handsome and diverse group of vocalists sang, “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing” while holding bottles of coke in their hands? Didn’t that make you feel good about Coke? Yeah, me too. That feeling subsided when I read that Coca Cola is an industrial leader in the abuse of workers’ rights. Worse still, they’ve been accused of kidnapping, assassination and torture. Here are some statistics from Global Exchange’s website:

• 8 union leaders were killed between 1989 and 2002 after protesting labour practices in Columbian bottling plants;
• hundreds of workers have been kidnapped, tortured and detained by paramilitaries who use intimidation tactics to prevent the workers from unionizing;
• Coca Cola extracted 1.5 million litres of deep well water in India severely depleting groundwater and creating shortages that would affect thousands of people (the water was bottled and sold – Dasani and BonAqua);
• Coca Cola re-sold industrial waste to farmers for use as a fertilizer knowing that it contained hazardous lead and cadmium;
• Coca Cola regularly denies health insurance to employees failing to help stop the spread of AIDS in Africa.

Coke, It’s The Real Thing. Well, it’s some kind of thing anyway. I’m posting a link that will take to you Wikipedia’s list of Coca Cola brands. I’m proposing a boycott. Easy for me to say, I don’t drink Coke.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Coca-Cola_brands


I love chocolate. When I saw Nestle’s name on the list, I was scared. It was kind of like finding out that your kid was in a fight at school. You feel disappointed and you want to know what you can do to make things right. I found out Nestle was founded in the 1860’s by a pharmacist who developed food for babies who couldn’t breastfeed. It wasn’t until the 1920’s that Nestle expanded into the chocolate industry. Remember the Nestle Quick Bunny? He was always trying to steal the kids’ chocolate milk. What a character.

Here’s something you may not know…Nestle knowingly buys cocoa beans from farmers who use children illegally as labourers. Global Exchange quotes estimates from the US State Department suggesting that “approximately 109,000 child labourers work in hazardous conditions on cocoa farms in what’s been described as the worst form of child labour.” Save the Children have been involved, as has Unicef and the International Labor Rights Fund. Nestle agreed to end the use of abusive and forced child labour by 2005 but have not done so as yet. According to Global Exchange, Nestle is one of “the most boycotted corporations in the world.” If you want to join in the fun, here’s a link that will take you to a site listing all of their brands.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Nestl%C3%A9_brands

Incidentally, you should know the Nestle has the dubious honor of being the subject of my daughter’s grade 5 social studies assignment. What more could she ask for, a scandal involving chocolate and children. Her presentation was passionate and inspired and so she earned an A-. Today, she prefers Cadbury to Nestle.


Wal-Mart got a mention in yesterday’s blog, but I thought I should share more details about the accusations on Global Exchange. Wal-Mart is accused of workers’ rights violations, labour discrimination and union busting. Wal-Mart is the largest retailer in the world with over 5000 stores and nearly 2 million workers giving it substantial commercial clout. While this kind of influence could serve as a platform for good, Wal-Mart has lowered the bar by routinely putting its own interests above its workers. I found it interesting to know that Sam Walton received the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President George H. W. Bush in 1992. I guess the CEO of Dow Chemical was unavailable.

Last, but not least, Pfizer stands accused of “killer price gouging.” This is neither new, nor should it come as any surprise. The Pharmaceutical trade has been getting a lot of press these days. Ask any AIDS activist to explain how greedy pharmaceutical companies inflate their products to get rich at the expense of the sick and dying. This is, by far, the most appalling of crimes. I’m not sure how the corporate hot shots at Pfizer sleep at night – scratch that, I’ll assume they take Unisom ®. To make sure that nobody gets a piece of their pie, “Pfizer and other drug companies have refused to grant generic licenses for HIV/AIDS drugs” to impoverished nations whose patients spend up to 70% of their monthly wage on medicine. It takes a special kind of evil to take money from the poor.


Consumerism is a word that describes the relationship between what we buy and the effects it has upon how we feel. Because of this, now more than ever, people strongly identify with the products they buy.

With this in mind, remember that every dime you spend has power. Every time you buy a product from one company, you are by default, choosing not to support their competitor. When many people withhold their support, businesses falter or change models to adapt. They try to win back "consumer confidence." So, if you feel like a chocolate bar, why not buy a Cadbury? It’s a little more difficult to apply a consumer strangle-hold on Lockheed Martin and Dow Chemical. After all, what am I going to do, cancel my Christmas orders for Napalm and Trident missiles? Maybe not, but Dow also makes products for home use. Products also manufactured by other companies.

If you believe, like I do, that every one of your actions has an impact, you naturally feel obliged to act deliberately and will probably think twice before making a purchase. If you cannot be inspired to act out of a sense of duty, perhaps what I have written will offend you enough that you will decide to "stick it to the man". Either way, I hope you decide to share your hard-earned money with companies that choose to have a conscience rather than rewarding those that don't.

Thanks for your time.

Corporate Criminals Part I

Companies We Love to Hate

My daughter came home with an assignment from school a few weeks ago. Her grade five class is studying the topic of human rights and so her assignment was to collect two or three articles on that topic. The articles could either discuss the protection and preservation of human rights or present a case involving the violation of human rights. As usual, I turned to the Internet for information. I downloaded a few articles but realized that a 9-year old was not going to be able to passionately prepare and deliver a presentation on either women’s rights or wrongful imprisonment. I had to find something more compelling; something she would relate to and understand. I continued my search.

Within a few short minutes, I stumbled across a website called Global Exchange. The headline was, "Most Wanted" Corporate Human Rights Violators of 2005; Take Action for International Human Rights Day! The web site features 14 companies that are, according to this site, the worst human rights offenders in the world. Interestingly, 13 operate out of the United States of America. Tsk! Tsk! Corporate America.

Global Exchange points out that several of these companies “are being sued under the Alien Tort Claims Act, a law that allows citizens of any nationality to sue in US federal courts for violations of international rights or treaties.” Does anyone else find it ironic that the USA has taken the initiative to establish legislation that allows any citizen of planet earth to sue corporate criminals in an American courtroom? Would an American court really rule in favour of, let’s say Turkish Nationals suing Coca Cola for damages? Am I being too cynical? Maybe, but I can’t ignore the fact that most of the defendants would be citizens contributing to the salaries of court employees while many plaintiffs have never even stopped by to visit.

As you can imagine, I was hooked on the topic and had to learn more. Again, I offer my opinions here as a summary of the information I found. I was compelled to corroborate only one of the charges (involving Nestle) but otherwise did no fact-checking and offer no expertise on the subject. Once again, I simply find it to be a fascinating topic and I had to tell you about it.

The Global Exchange website offers a real who’s-who of Corporate America. The list includes big names like Caterpillar, Ford, Lockheed Martin, Phillip Morris, Chevron, Dow Chemical, Coca Cola, Nestle, Monsanto, DynCorp, KBR (a subsidiary of Halliburton Corp.), Pfizer, Suez (Paris, France) and Wal-Mart.

Some names I would have expected to see on this list. Dow Chemical for instance, is involved in chemical weaponry. It’s pretty hard to get on Santa’s “Nice” list when you build an empire marketing Agent Orange to war mongers. But let’s not feel sorry for Dow just yet…after all, they provided pesticides to Saddam Hussein despite warnings that these products could be used in the manufacture of chemical weapons. (By the way, does anyone know if Bush looked for weapons of mass destruction in Dow’s warehouses?) How is this even possible with current trade laws? I mean, really! Which actress got detained at the airport because she got caught travelling outside the US with fruit in her purse? Does she know about this?

As with Dow, it’s hard to be popular and be the largest military contractor in the world like Lockheed Martin. Let’s face it, if you profit from war you may walk away with the big cheque, but you have to know that somebody else is leaving with the congeniality prize. The difference between Dow and Lockheed Martin, however, is that Lockheed Martin operates primarily on Pentagon contracts; $21.9 billion to be exact (I’ll assume that there’s a clause there somewhere preventing them from selling to foreign enemies like Dow did). When business gets slow, Lockheed Martin has been accused of flexing its foreign policy muscles to get things moving again. What a resourceful strategy. You just don’t see that kind of passion in other markets.

I’ll bet that Phillip Morris has called this list “home” for the past few years or so. It was no surprise to see the name or the charge – aggressively marketing lethal products. I quickly scanned the list for Beretta, Colt or Smith & Wesson, and when I didn’t see them I wondered if maybe I was missing the point. Regardless, it begs the question…Isn’t it time that Phillip Morris did the world a favour and closed their doors? For those people arguing in support of the commercial benefits of the “smoking industry,” can we agree that underpaying illegal immigrants to harvest romaine lettuce instead of tobacco would offer continued employment (albeit under-employment) to an existing labour pool? That’s what you’re worried about right, putting people out of jobs? Wal-Mart can buy all the cigarette factories and turn them into sweatshops so that American children can be exploited too. I mean, why should the kids in China and Indonesia get all the jobs? Isn’t that reverse discrimination?

DynCorp is a private security contractor accused of endangering lives, environmental devastation and sex trafficking. This California-based contractor specializes in providing mercenary services to protect the international interests of statesmen and big business. A whistle-blower went to the courts in 2001 with damning testimony regarding DynCorp’s involvement in rape, sex trafficking, slave trading and in the illegal weapons trade. I’m trying to picture DynCorp’s employment application form. Hell, can you imagine their company Christmas party?

Ford Motor Company is there on the list. Poor Henry’s probably turning over in his grave. Ah Henry, you try to do a good thing for an industrialized nation and look what happens. Well, if the conspiracy theories are correct, Ford’s fuel economy has actually decreased since the Model-T which has driven fuel needs and prices through the…um…hole in the ozone layer. Call me crazy, but Ford isn’t nearly as easy to dislike as, say, DynCorp. It would be easier for me to dislike people who drive Fords; especially the young testosterone-drunk men that tailgate me in their big, V8, 4x4 trucks. I bet the employees at DynCorp all drive Ford Super Duty Trucks. By the way, I drive a Chrysler. If I find out that anyone at Global Exchange drives a Ford, I’m going to be very, very disappointed.

This is getting to be a very long entry so I’m going to finish up by announcing today’s winner and continue tomorrow in Part II – Killing Me Softly, because you won’t believe what I have to say about Nestle, Caterpillar and Coca Cola. Drum roll please. And the winner is… Chevron.

At first, my opinion of Chevron was that it would be pretty hard to be involved in petrochemicals without getting your hands a little dirty. I changed my mind though, when I realized that Sunoco and Exxon Mobil managed to keep their names off the list. In fact, it appears that Chevron is the undisputed champ of all environmental contaminators and human rights violators in the world. Yes, Chevron is the Muhammad Ali of corporate criminals except their “Rumble in the Jungle” left behind billions of gallons of toxic contaminants and few, if any, adoring fans. The phrase used by Global Exchange to capture the extent of their ecological impact was “Rainforest Chernobyl.” Yikes!

In an ingenious move, Chevron outsourced its complaints department to the Nigerian militia in 1998, when they contracted the services of soldiers to protect their pipeline and their reputation. This deadly partnership is allegedly responsible for the deaths of several protestors engaged in non-violent demonstrations. A stellar example of how things can go from bad to worse.

Way to go Chevron, you’re the champ!

See kids, everybody is good at something.

(….stay tuned for tomorrow’s dramatic conclusion.)

A Few Words on Golf

I have one good game of golf every year. Perhaps ironically, it is the one I play by myself after a long winter of not thinking about golf. It is also the one I choose to play alone so that I don't hear "you looked up" umpteen times in one day.

My parents own a golf course in Lanark County. It's called Dalhousie Glen. The picture above shows the 2nd hole taken from the trees at the 3rd tee. The views on the course are sensational, especially near the end of the season.

I don't own my own set of golf clubs so I usually borrow my husband's. I'm 5'9 and I find a lady's club a little short. I could probably try to adjust my swing but, frankly, I'm not that devoted. For any non-golfers, adjusting your swing is roughly the equivalent of reducing your shoe size by one. It's uncomfortable and causes frustration, irritability and pain. It's usually just easier to find a comfortable pair of shoes and try to match them to everything in the closet. Same with my golf swing. I get along fine as long as I look for courses to match my ability. As a matter of courtesy, I steer clear of courses where I may encounter the ubergolfer. You know....

Ubergolfer (pronounced: ooh-burr-gaul-fer)
The loudest, most obnoxious of the anthropoid golfers, the ubergolfer is characterized by its swollen head and unnaturally large mouth. Unlike its cousin the "able-golfer" the ubergolfer is distinguished through peculiarities in its brain anatomy. The cerebellum which helps coordinate movement (balance and muscle coordination) is putter-shaped in the ubergolfer and is known to cause involuntary, repititious golf swings both off and on the course. The frontal lobe (controls problem-solving) is shaped like a driver and lacks the capacity for self-correction though it over-compensates through the correction of others; the pre-frontal cortex (determines personality) is under-developed and is thus attributed to the ubergolfer's personality deficit. Years of evolution have resulted in adaptations in the ubergolfer's accessories so that bags, hats, clubs, etc. are emblazoned with the letters P-I-N-G. This is nature's way of warning other anthropoid golfers that coming into contact with the ubergolfer will result in irritation; prolonged exposure may even cause vomiting. The ubergolfer is semiterrestrial. While harmless on land, the ubergolfer can become aggressive and unpredictable when encountered in sand or water.

I am not a serious golfer and I think I demonstrate that when I leave the clubhouse without either scorecard or pencil. I am, however, sensitive enough to know that my lack of reverence can be offensive to others. I observe golf etiquette in so far as it will impact the games of other players (e.g. I let faster groups play through) but I generally disregard the rules of golf. I suppose it should come as no surprise then, when I say I rarely get invited to tournaments.

In my view, the objective of any leisure activity is to have fun. With that in mind, here are my friendly tips for the novice golfer on how to enjoy a game of golf:

• Buy a nice pair of golf shoes. It's not going to improve your game but - hey -- new shoes!
• Find a small, friendly golf club that doesn't scream hoity-toity when you pull into the parking lot. Avoid any course that has a parking lot full of Mercedes', BMWs, Lincoln Navigators, etc. These are the ubergolfer's preferred mode of transportation. Might I suggest you try Dalhousie Glen?
• Before you leave the parking lot, dump all your clubs on the ground. Pick up your driver, your putter, your wedge and your nine-iron and put them in your golf bag. Throw all the other clubs into the trunk of your car.
• Go to the clubhouse and buy one dozen previously-used golf balls. DO NOT buy a box of brand new balls. You'll feel much better about leaving a $1.00 ball in the water hazard versus a $4.00 ball. Besides, your telescopic ball retriever is in the trunk of your car.
• Grab a package of wooden tees. Don't bother with the plastic tees even if they claim to compensate for your crappy swing. They don't. If they did, the guy behind the counter would be on the pro circuit instead of here trying to peddle plastic tees to you.
• Exit the clubhouse without taking a scorecard and pencil; keep telling yourself that they are the devil's instruments.
• Proceed to the first tee paying close attention to anyone who may be in your immediate vicinity. If you get there with another party, let them play first. Trust me on this. If you have to sit there for an hour while parties come and clear the first tee, do it. If you need to stall, take your driver out of your bag, throw it over your shoulders and drape your hands over either end. This position is called "the warm up." Swivel at the waist or bend left and right a little every now and then.
• When the last group clears the fairway, grab the driver and four balls out of your bag. Drive each of the balls into the fairway. Proceed to the ball that is closest to the green provided that it also offers the best lie and collect the other balls (if you can find them). This is called "best ball."
• Alternating between your driver and iron, continue to swing at the ball until it lands on or near the green. If you over-shoot, grab your wedge and aim back toward the green OR pick up the ball and toss it in a light, underhand motion from the apron. Tossing the ball can loosely be interpreted as a Bisque which can also be loosely interpreted as cheating.
• When your ball finds its way to the green, grab your putter and go to the hole. Pull the flag from the hole and lay it on the green in a position such that it will serve as a backstop for the putt that you are about to miss. Line up your shot. (You can walk around and pretend to "read the hole" if you want to impress anyone looking on, but make sure you don't trip over the flag and attract unwanted attention.)
• Employing a pendulum-like arc, tap your ball with your putter until it drops into the plastic cup. Smile knowingly as you bend at the waist to retrieve your ball and nod deeply as you replace the flag in the hole.
• If you absolutely could not help yourself and you took a scorecard against my advice, tally your score for this hole. To do this, you will need to: add up all your shots; subtract the ones you tried to make with your wedge; and divide that number by the number of balls you have left from the start of that hole -- remember, you started with four.
• Proceed to the next hole and repeat. When you get tired, return to the clubhouse. If you fail to complete the course, remember to reduce the score of you game by the total par of the remaining holes. For example, if you are playing a par 3 course and you quit on hole 12, you reduce your overall score by 18.

Remember, like the old saying goes, "Golf is like sex. You don't have to be any good to enjoy it.

I Feel Petty, Oh So Petty....

I’m cranky.

I spent an hour and a half doing math homework while I hammered away at the knot burning a hole in the back of my neck. When I couldn’t take the pain any longer, I begged my son to deliver a flurry of karate chops to my too-tense shoulders. When he went all crouching dragon, hidden tiger on me, I sent him back to finish his ratios and sweetly summoned my daughter. At my request, she retrieved the rolling pin from the kitchen and did her best to roll out the rigid muscles. It got me off the couch long enough to navigate my way through the bedtime routine.

Why can’t I carry my stress in my abs or my pecs? I have one tight muscle in my body and it’s not doing anybody any good by being so damn conscientious! Where’s the justice in that? Why can’t I have stress and perky breasts? How about stress and a stomach I could bounce a nickel off of? No. I have a bump in the back of my neck and I think we can all predict how that’s going to turn out for me. If you need me, I’ll be in the belfry.

Showers are over and we’re all cuddled together in the big bed smelling like melons and cucumbers. I’m trying to relax with the aid of an orthopedic pillow and my daughter is driving me crazy with her cryptogram. Cryptograms are NOT fun. They’re not even fun when I’m happy and they are especially irritating when I’m crusty. They are torturous time wasters that were invented by cruel and evil men. A word to the wise – if you intend to buy a book of cryptogram puzzles for yourself, make sure the answers are in the back. If you are an American trying your hand at a cryptogram, hide your handguns; if you are Canadian, hide your beer. You will go nuts trying to crack these mind-twisters…unless you cheat…which is what I did tonight because I’m too grumpy for the pretense of patience.

Want to hear something ridiculous? Here’s the solution to her cryptogram:

“Please recall when you last consumed sufficient kohlrabi. This most important question evidences how cryptography can drive one mad.”

I had to read it twice. I thought it was another cryptogram. It’s not clever or funny or satisfying. If you are going to commit hours, if not days, decoding a 19-word message, shouldn’t it say something like...“You will find ten thousand dollars buried under the elm tree at seventeen Fisher Avenue. Don’t forget your shovel.” or even “If you picked up a paintbrush instead of a pencil, jackass, you could have painted your house by now.” Shouldn’t there be a reward of some kind; a laugh, a lesson, financial freedom?

Everybody is tucked into their own beds now. My kids appear to have survived my crabby mood without any permanent damage. I have great kids! I’m relaxing in bed as the team from CSI Miami hunts down another psychopath and I notice that about 80% of the time, Horatio Cain (played by David Caruso) is looking at the ground. Isn’t it strange that he doesn’t look people in the eye? Do you think he writes his lines in chalk on the pavement next to his mark? What is that about?

Enough! I’ve had it! I’m done complaining. I’m going downstairs to find a Tylenol and, if I have to, I’ll chase it with the pomegranate cooler I rescued from the cottage cooler. You have my promise that tomorrow I’ll turn over a leaf. If we’re all lucky, it won’t be poison ivy.

A Fall Day Unwrapped

There's something about this time of year. The air seems cleaner and the sounds more crisp. Views become vistas painted with the colours of autumn. I love the Fall! When it arrives, it's warm and sunny and dry and spectacular.

I spent a weekend at our cabin on the lake a few weeks ago. I woke early to stoke the fire and drive away the dampness that had settled in overnight. I cracked open the curtains and scanned the shoreline to see if I had any visitors. A blue heron was standing watch at his post in the marshes, grand and still among the bullrushes. He is somewhat of a permanent fixture here in my little slice of heaven. I expect him to be here when I come. He's my unknowing companion in the dawn. I could hear a loon though I could not see him behind the morning's mist; it sounded to me as if he was closer to the head of the lake. I remember feeling relieved to hear the distant call because his visits to our shore generally mean that we can expect to see rain.

I wrapped myself in a comforter, quietly opened the sliding door and took a seat on the deck to listen and watch and smell the day arriving. The mist was thick that day. It changed the way the morning sounded. The usual songs of birds and boats and late-season cottagers were smothered by the mantle of fog. I closed my eyes against the morning and listened to the water lapping at the shore just a few feet away. Silently I gave thanks for having this sacred place. It offers me serenity I have yet to find anywhere else.

The sun rose to my left and tugged at the mist with invisible fingers as though unwrapping an especially delicate gift. As the morning eased itself into the lake, the mist receded and unveiled its view to me. The trees on the shore made me think of artist's paintbrushes, waiting to meet the canvas with fiery strokes of red and yellow.



I snuggled deeper into my polyester cocoon and snapped pictures of the day awakening. I'm not sure why I thought I could capture that day with a camera. There are things in this world that must be experienced to be appreciated - a hug, friendship, a great book, daybreak.

As the last few tendrils of mist rose from the lake, I watched the blue heron pluck his breakfast from the yielding waters. In one swift and graceful moment, he broadened his wings and hoisted himself above the bullrushes. I stood and unfurled myself as my companion disappeared behind the treeline. Inhaling deeply, I caught the faint and airy scent of wood smoke as it fell to me from the chimney above.

I listened to hear the stirrings of children inside the cabin. Muffled giggles and shuffling footsteps told me that my day was about to intersect with theirs. I pulled my comforter across my chest like a too-big cape and gave silent thanks for another spectacular day in my own piece of heaven.

Very Little Is Needed to Make a Happy Life

The first thing that I see when I wake up every morning is a wall-hanging that reads:

“Remember this, that very little is needed to make a happy life.

– Marcus Aurelius.

It reminds me that I don’t need an expensive house or a new car or designer clothes to be happy. It hangs next to a drafty, old window that needs to be replaced in a room that is in desperate need of a makeover. The quote reminds me that I can be happy in my faded old jeans as I curl up on my salvaged sofa to re-read my favourite old books. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to live in a beautiful house among beautiful things, but I wouldn’t trade the quality of my life for the quality of my possessions. Not now. Not ever.

Six years ago, I realized that my life was badly out of balance. I remember driving home early one Saturday morning after working a 21-hour day. My project was not complete, my team was still at the site, and I remember feeling resentful that I was forced to leave without finishing but I didn’t have a sitter and I had to be home for the kids. I don’t recall the exact moment when I realized I needed to make a change, but it wasn’t long after that day that I tendered my resignation.

I joined a new company in a part-time position so that I could spend more time with my kids. I chaperoned class trips, I registered the kids in sports, I made home-baked goods for lunches and otherwise doted upon my children. Suddenly, things picked up at work. I filled in for temporary vacancies, I took on more responsibility and before long I was working full-time (and then some) spending more time working and less time at home. Seems I was repeating old mistakes and I was right back where I started. I left my job. Again!

Before making my decision, I asked my kids how they felt about me leaving my job. I warned them that sacrifices would need to be made by all of us. There wouldn’t be a lot of new clothes; there would be fewer parties, less activities, no summer camps, and no sports for awhile. After some thought, and many questions, they decided they could be happy spending time instead of money. I have great kids!

We spent the entire summer together. We went on day trips to local tourist attractions, played a lot of games, talked, and spent time just listening to one another. I learned that when I ask my son to do something, he will do it even though his first reaction is to protest. That is, he will do it provided that it is a reasonable and respectful request. I learned that when my daughter raises her voice to me, she often turns away and smiles in a way that makes me think she is proud of herself for standing up for what she believes in. I am secretly proud of her too, because she is normally so shy and compliant.

The kids are doing well, though I think sometimes they wish they could have it all – the parent and the paycheque. In the last few months, my kids have learned that:
- money doesn’t come from bank machines;
- libraries have the same books as Chapters but without the expense;
- picnic lunches can also be “happy meals;” and,
- water comes from a tap…for free.

The time we spent together this summer was incredibly precious to me and, I believe, to the kids as well. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. When they returned to school in September I was so deeply sorry that our time together had ended, I found it difficult at first to move forward. Maybe it was because I knew deep down that it was a once-in-a-lifetime summer. It is unlikely that I will ever be able to offer that kind of time to my children again and, even if I could, the kids will soon reach an age where they prefer to fill their time with something or someone other than Mom.

These days I’ve been busy trying to find a way to make a life as well as a way to make a living. This time, I promised myself, I won’t make the same mistakes I have in the past. I’ll figure out some way to go back to work if, and only if, I can do it without slipping back into my old workaholic habits. There are things that are more important to me than my job; my kids, for example, my health, my growth, our community, our collective spirit.

Until I figure out what next to do, I’ll read and write and look for inspiration in the everyday. I’ll curl up on my second-hand sofa and sip my tea while I cut coupons from this week’s paper. When the sales flyers come and taunt me with beautiful living rooms and new furniture, I’ll flip through my Summer 2006 Scrapbook and remember why I chose a more modest lifestyle.

I’ll remember that very little is needed to make a happy life.

Rock-it Man!

Last night, my best bud and I went to see Elton John in concert at Scotiabank Place in Ottawa. She bought me a ticket for my birthday last month.

The show opened with Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding, as 15,000 screaming fans welcomed Captain Fantastic to the nation's capital. Somewhere during the first verse of Benny and the Jets, I decided that this was, without question, the best birthday gift ever!

Sir Elton John is, in my opinion, one of the finest entertainers of our musical history. How else do you explain a career lasting over 35 years? There are only a handful of artists that succeed to this level and last night, it was clear to me why and how this marvel of a musician has endured.

For a man whose image was built upon outrageous costumes that have included, in the past, chicken suits and dresses, Sir Elton's outfit last night would be considered boring by some, tasteful by others. Looking grand in a pop-formal ensemble that featured a modestly-bedazzled jacket and brilliant red shirt, Elton John appears to have traded in garish for glamour. Outfit aside, he did treat us to a few showy antics during "The Bitch is Back" including a diva-like pose on top of his baby grand followed by a mule-kick from his piano bench. It wasn't necessary, and it probably wasn't even safe at his age, but it made this wonderfully quirky man all the more endearing.

One of last night's many highlights for me was the revival-like performance of Take Me to the Pilot, featuring a breath-taking introduction as Elton John thundered on the keys of his piano at a speed that seemed humanly impossible. Praise God and Hallelujah! And, while it's not my favourite song, last night's rendition of "Rocket Man" made me believe it might well be one of Elton's favourite songs. His face lit up as he repeated time after time, "I'm a rocket man, I'm a rocket man...." Yes you are! And I think you will be..."for a long, long time". Yes sir, you rock it man!

The band with Elton John included drummer and vocalist Nigel Olsson, guitarist and vocalist Davey Johnstone, Bob Birch on bass, John Mahon on percussion, and one-man orchestra Guy Babylon on keyboard. The technical crew who was not (and probably never will be) introduced, deserves praise for delivering effects that allowed Elton to sing his own backup vocals during the theatrical climax in Rocket Man.

The concert included favourites like Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters, Daniel, I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues, Sorry Seems To Be the Hardest Word, Daniel, Tiny Dancer, Crocodile Rock, Don't Let The Sun Go Down on Me, Philadelphia Freedom, Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting), and my favourite song - Levon. He also included in this concert series, the title track to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, saying that it has been years since he performed the song.

Mid-concert, Sir Elton introduced his new album titled The Captain & The Kid. With something sounding strangely like an apology, he introduced and played new tracks from that album including Post Cards From Richard Nixon, Tinderbox and The Bridge. Incidentally, the song The Bridge is worth the cost of the entire CD - the gorgeous harmony in this song nearly brought me to tears. I haven't heard these tracks on the radio, but trust me when I say that this album is sure to offer some new favourites for Elton John fans.

After over two hours of auditory bliss, the concert closed when Elton John dedicated his famous hit "Your Song" to me...well, to everyone in attendance, but he said "to each one of you," so I'm going with that. It was a beautiful gift and I accept it with thanks.

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And a note to Sir Elton John:

My parents are huge fans that have followed your career from its very beginning. I have inherited their adoration as surely as if it were part of my genetic makeup. Your music is familiar, and in its familiarity I find reassurance, inspiration and passion. You have captured and coloured our social and political history in a way that only enduring artists are capable of doing. To echo your own words, "I thank the Lord, there's people out there like you." You make the world a better place.

Vitamin Pee?

My 12-year old son came to me last night to complain about his feet and how sore they were. He normally discusses his personal health issues with his dad but, you know, sometimes when you feel crummy, you just want your mom. His feet were red, swollen messes and it was clear to me that he had a mild case of Athlete's Foot (in his case Athlete's Feet). Never having suffered with this ailment, it was difficult to commiserate. I could only recall memories of my older sister suffering through numerous bouts of Athlete's Foot during her childhood. I gave him a hug, helped treat his immediate symptoms and promised him that I would find him a cure.

As with most Internet searches, my search engine returned hundreds of thousands of great links to resources for Athlete's Foot including: medical encyclopedias; photos (by the way, I'm passing on lunch today); products; literature (kudos again to Amazon's marketing staff); and, personal web sites and blog entries on the topic. I plan to take Medline's advice and visit my pharmacist to discuss an appropriate non-prescription cream, spray or powder that will relieve the pain, swelling and itching. I will follow Wikipedia's advice and continue the treatments even after the symptoms disappear to prevent re-infection from dormant, yet persistent, fungi that linger in footwear too expensive to throw out.

Among the many links, I found a reference to alternative therapies that piqued my interest. You should know that my preference is to avoid unnecessary medical interventions when a more natural, less invasive option is available to me. Naturally (pardon the pun) I followed the link. The title took me by surprise -- Urine Therapy.

I kid you not.

It seems that medical and laboratory researchers have been conducting research on the healing properties of urine which is known to be a source of vital nutrients, hormones, vitamins and antibodies. According to one site, tests using Urine Therapy have been used to treat "cancer, heart disease, allergies, auto-immune diseases, diabetes, asthma, infertility, infections, wounds, etc." In fact, the author of that site talks about her own experience with Urine Therapy's "profound ability" to heal a crippling disease that was, otherwise, incurable.

Please understand that my knowledge of Urine Therapy is limited to a few facts that I gathered (but did not check) during a one-hour search of the Internet. I neither support nor refute claims made about Urine Therapy; I simply find it to be an absolutely fascinating subject.

Articles on the web repeatedly state that urine is NOT a toxic body waste but rather a purified derivative of blood. This is particularly interesting to me since I know first-hand of more than a dozen people who refuse to eat candies from any restaurant's complimentary candy dish. These people agree that the candies in these dishes are all contaminated by urine from patrons who fail to perform adequate hand-washing after trips to the restroom. Do we deduce then that only people who don't wash their hands eat candies from this candy dish? A topic for another day perhaps.

Toxic body waste or not, you're probably wondering how Urine Therapy is administered, I know I was. Urine can either be administered orally (I'll pass on dinner now too) or applied externally. I found several references that suggest that men in India have been ingesting urine for thousands of years and that this practice is not uncommon in the East. No, I don't mean Newfoundland or Rhode Island, I mean the FAR East.

Through my reading, I came to realize that Urine Therapy was not entirely unknown to me before today. I was first introduced to the notion as a household cure for poisonous bites or stings. That is, I have been told that in an emergency, I could pee on a snake bite to disinfect the wound. That said, I grew up on a farm next-door to my loving grandparents who had a makeshift cure for nearly anything but death itself.

My research produced credible sources and compelling arguments in support of Urine Therapy. If you decide to do your own research, you can also use the term "Urea Treatment" to learn about scientific studies in medicine and agriculture.

The truth is, the list of diagnoses successfully treated using Urine Therapy includes some rather daunting diseases -- cancer, hepatitis, multiple sclerosis -- and conventional medicine doesn't guarantee any cures. Wouldn't you try anything to save your life? What if your life wasn't on the line? Would you commit to a daily dose of "Vitamin Pee" if it offered allergy relief? Would you pee on your snake bite?

If my grandfather was still alive, I'm sure he would suggest that my son stand in the shower and urinate on his burning, swollen feet. In fact I'm toying with the idea of printing off an article that suggests this very thing as a treatment just to see how he reacts. I'd probably stop him before he got to the bathroom. Probably.

In Care of Confidence

My niece is 6 years old and I love her to pieces. I call her Em. She started kindergarten this year. We all anticipated that at some early point in her academic career there would be "a scene", trips to the school, calls from the principle, possibly even retaliation on the part of classmates or their parents. Thing is, the teacher loves her and she's doing fine in class. Em's outspoken, bossy, and though she barely stands eye-to-hip with me, she has no qualms about setting me straight when I fail to perform to her standards. I love, and struggle with, her spirit.

Her confidence is (to me) mystical. She doesn't believe that she can't do everything and she'll try anything. It reminds me that we are all born with this incredible confidence that inflates our egos and shapes our self-image. It is our gift...no, our birthright. So what happens?

How do people lose their confidence? Is it really lost ? Maybe it's not something we misplace. Maybe it's something we have that we're responsible for and it either flourishes or flounders in our care. Kind of like our waistline, except with opposite results -- feed it garbage and it shrinks, feed it well and it grows.

I left my job a few months ago to pursue some personal goals that were long overdue. I completed my first course this summer, started jogging and began writing again. At the end of the summer, holes started to appear. As a natural-born wordpecker, I should not have been surprised to see the holes, but there they were and I wasn't making all of them. I peeked into every hole to discover the secret within and uncovered some pretty ugly things crawling around inside.

My first reaction was to question myself. Did these menacing marauders invade the tree through one of the holes I made? How could I forsake my tree? Why my tree? Why me? I fed my confidence grey, rotting garbage until it withered and wasted. For the last month and a half, I have dedicated every minute of my day to ensuring that my confidence feasts on the rotting scraps of self-loathing and self-pity. Until yesterday.

Yesterday I woke up at 5 a.m. for the first time in a month and a half. I find a lot of power in the dawn. It makes me feel strong. It makes me feel disciplined. I read for awhile, made a healthy breakfast and decided that I would put an end to the blame buffet. Time to change the habits -- hence the blog. Let's call it a discovery tool and an accountability measure.

What now? Well, I guess I'll do what I always do -- I rally and rebound. I'll try to sort things out. I'll observe and I'll learn. I'll reflect and I'll learn. I'll live and I'll learn. If I try, I know I'll find the cure for my confidence and restore it to its splendorous self.

As for the tree, I think it can be saved.