Are You Readng This, Eric?

   I am writing this entry for my physiotherapist, Eric Huller. He practises his art here in Toronto, so if you live hereabouts, and need some physio, I want you to know that you couldn't find anyone better than Eric. Look him up in the phone book.
    I have been visiting his clinic in Don Mills for several months, since I sustained injury in a September car accident. I went in there with problems in my neck, my lower back, and my right shoulder, so the recovery was made more complicated than any one of those on its own would have required. Through it all, Eric has helped to provide a reason to persevere. I have never met anyone who gets more mileage out of the word "good" than does this man! He will begin to manipulate one of your joints -shoulder, or whatever- into some position that you swear is impossible for the human anatomy to attain. When you start seeing stars, he pushes it one little bit further, and then says "goooooood" in the gentlest, most encouraging voice. The sound of that voice, coming at the same moment as the contortions he has pretzled you into, leaves you totally bemused. You miss registering half the complaints you are actually entitled to, because you're just too busy trying to figure it all out. How COULD you complain about something good?
   Eric has tremendous people skills. I think he should run classes on those skills for other medical practitioners, too many of whom are sadly lacking in the aforementioned qualities. He chats and laughs with his patients, and frequently bursts into a line or two from a song, before he goes on to sharing anecdotes from his family life. All of this, of course, is to distract people from the fact that something hurts, and help them get past it. I have seen his face creased into a huge smile, and I have seen his eyes filled with genuine concern for the people he treats. He is indeed a special person, and a past master at his art. Thank you for being there, Eric.

Dust off the Cup!

   Adrienne Clarkson, our governor general, has made a good suggestion. Her idea is to award hockey's Stanley Cup to the winner of a women's challenge series. One hell of a good idea, Adrienne! I just can't see all the good ol' boys of winter buying it. They would probably argue that it's only for men's teams, tradition and all that, you know.
   The sport itself is not for men only. In fact, with the NHL screwing up the whole season this year, there's only "girls of winter" at the national level, left on the ice. Why don't you guys show us exactly where it is written that Lord Stanley's cup has to be hoisted by male hands? If you can't do that, then maybe it's time to loosen your petty strangle hold on the award, and share it with people who are still playing the sport.

Kicks and Horse Hair

   Do you know what the indentation at the bottom of a wine bottle is called? There are several theories as to why the indent is there, including that the recessed bottom shape relieves the pressure that builds in champagnes and sparkling wines. Since not all wines are potential explosives, however, this can't be the reason. No matter why it's there, it is called a "point" or "kick". I just stumbled across that bit of trivia. Did you know? Use it as an ice breaker at the next party.
   Also from the world of wine comes the job title "sommelier" meaning the member of the restaurant staff who can best advise you as to which wine will most compliment the entree you have ordered. I love the etymology of this word. It makes its way to the elegant modern usage from the Old French word for a position of considerably less refinement. Although spelled in the same way, the meaning was very different. A sommelier was the officer in charge of provisions, which often made him the pack-animal driver. Relax! You don't have to check the glass rim anymore for horse hair before you take that first sip.

For You, Penny

   When you first meet a person, especially if you both are young, you may see only their face, initially. It can take a while to see past their eyes and their smile. You might spend the first part of your knowing each other, missing other parts of the complexity that makes them who they are. But when a friend has graced your life for as long as Penny has mine, you can look at them in leisure, and see the patina of perfection in every part of them. The simple act of washing dishes can become a study of grace and finesse when performed by the hands of a dear friend. I invite you to photo gallery 26 to see my tribute to the inherent ability of my friend to take the ordinary and make it beguiling.

TeeHee!

   We've been making our way through the cold of the winter, with temperatures like today's minus nine Celsius. It's not really that bad, as far as I'm concerned, but there are many who think it's about as bad as it could be. These are the people who are just too much the pantywaist to get into a cold car. DUH! It is winter, folks! Anyway, in order to spare themselves the reality of the season, they go out to their driveway, start their car and then head back into the house, leaving the car locked and running. The idea is that they will come back out a while later and slip into the comfort of a vehicle suitably warmed up for their delicate little constitutions. They don't care about the exhaust fumes they are thoughtlessly pumping into the air we all breathe, and they obviously don't listen to admonitions aired regularly by Toronto's constabulary. The police issue warnings that there is a gang of thieves who operate in this city each winter, targeting the "warm up the car" dummies. Cars that have been targeted the most are the BMW X5, the Acura MDX, and the Lexus RX330. Says a member of the Toronto Police Special Investigation Services, leaving your car running like that is like handing your keys over to the thieves. I think it's a laugh. For all their "smarts" in getting their finances around to the purchase price of such a car, the owners are still damn stupid in their refusal to acknowledge the cold of the season. They deserve to come back out to the driveway and find an empty spot where they left the car running.
` It looks good on you, you morons!

The Better Way?

   The TTC, Toronto Transit Commission, bill themselves as "the better way" in trying to encourage riders to leave their cars at home and get on board. They currently move 1.3 million people around Toronto every day. As impressive as that figure might seem, it should be higher. It could be, if the TTC were more readily accessible to people with special needs. At the moment, only 22 out of the 64 Toronto subway stations are wheelchair accessible.
   "The TTC is committed to making its services accessible in order to better meet the needs of seniors and people with disabilities in the City of Toronto" is how they phrase it on their website, but there's a fly in the ointment. The TTC is considering putting off the construction of elevators in two stations, York Mills and St. Clair, as part of a package of proposed budget cuts. Those two stations were targeted for the construction because of the demographics in the areas they serve. The aging neighbourhoods have 22 to 25 per cent of their residents over the age of 55, and therefore likely to be facing increasing problems with mobility.
   What about the area residents who face those difficulties right now? What are they supposed to do, when they need to go shopping, or get to a doctor's appointment? "Hopping on the bus" is an impossibility for far too many. How is that right? The government subsidizes events like Caribana so that people can play for a few days each year, and yet it can not make up the extra needed to help these people live their day-to-day lives with independent dignity. I know an immediate reaction to that statement will be that Caribana generates income and the tourism industry would suffer if we lost the event. It seems to me that getting these people out and about more freely could generate income too, on a more steady, year-round basis. Making the TTC "the better way" in reality would also help generate those higher ridership figures that the Commission is constantly seeking. Those among us with special needs should be equally entitled to transportation around the city, something the rest of us take for granted. They shouldn't have to beg for it, any more than the rest of us do.

A New Record

   Here's a story that needs to be read over and over again to those people who have been sitting around the table in the NHL talks. They need to be given personal copies so they can study them, and maybe even sleep with them under their pillows. It might not hurt to shred one copy each of the story and sprinkle the little bits over their morning bowl of cereal! Those people have entirely missed the point of the game they supposedly love. They have forgotten that it is a game, after all, and meant to be played for the sheer joie de vivre of making your way down the ice, stick handling that puck toward the net. It is meant to be entertainment for those on the sidelines - memories for those who used to participate, whether on or around the back yard rink, or an NHL arena. It is meant to be a source of national pride, not a source of inexcusable greed. The players are meant to lust after the thrill of the game, not after the dollar bill.
   The team that just skated off the ice yesterday had it all right, every little detail of it, right from the beginning. Brent Saik, the team's man-on-a-mission, was injured before the first puck was dropped. The top of his middle finger was sacrificed to the Zamboni. Not to be deterred, Saik got it stitched up and immediately hit the ice. He and his teammates skated for the love of the game, for the thrill of victory, and for a higher purpose. These players took to the ice on February 11th, on a rink in front of Brent Saik's home, in Sherwood Park, east of Edmonton. On Saturday, they passed the previous 203-hour hockey game record set by a group from Ontario, and decided to keep their skates laced up a little longer to safeguard their new record. Just after noon on Monday, they had logged 240 hours, and that was when they finally called it.
   Their love of the game was obvious, and they certainly achieved their victory, but what was their higher purpose? Saik, the man who initiated the marathon, had lost both his father and his wife to cancer, and he was hoping to turn this marathon to more than one use; conquering the Guinness Book of Records, and helping to conquer the disease. He and his teammates have done both. They raised over $50,000.00 for cancer research. They helped to take away a little of the bitter dregs that the owners and players have been dumping in the Stanley Cup. They are the spirit of Canada's game, and the NHL should study their story, and heed their example.

When Is Hot Hot?

   My other half and I were having yet another round in our ongoing discussion of Toronto's weather. Today's installment was precipitated by his use of the car heater. The great weather gods were giving Toronto a temperature of minus 3 degrees Celsius today, with a wind chill factor of minus 10 degrees Celsius. I like it. He hates it.
   We were settling into the car for the drive home after doing some grocery shopping, when he reached for the heater controls. He set them to his comfort level, forgetting that I am a true daughter of the north, and winter is my favourite season.The hot air came blasting out of those vents with force sufficient to blow my shoulder length hair straight back, I swear! The temperature was set up high enough to instantly melt any mascara I was wearing and set me scrambling for the zipper pull on my jacket. I was desperate to loosen up the neck before I succumbed to the furnace-like atmosphere, and melted down off the seat and onto the floor mat. When I complained about how hot he was making it, he told me that I have no idea of what hot is. Hubby hails from village #57 in Guiana, you see. Says he to me,"In the summers there, you would leave footprints when you walked down the road because of the heat melting the tar."
   So it's hot where he came from. I'm not arguing that. I'm just wondering when (if ever!) this man is going to acclimatize to the weather here. He begins to complain about the weather "turning cold" in September. Toronto's position at 44°N latitude brings an average temperature then of what I consider a downright balmy 16 degrees celsius, 61 degrees Fahrenheit. His homeland, however, boasts year-round averages that range from 79 Fahrenheit to 87 Fahrenheit, and his complaining about the "cold" here continues until May, when we get back to the temperatures we left behind in September.
   When we head off to bed at night during the winter, I'm enjoying the time of year when I think the sleeping is best, but getting the bed covers right for the two of us can be a real challenge. He prefers to have so much covering that he is lightly sweating, at all times. I prefer to sleep with the windows open just a tad, and I'm comfy with only half of the blankets that he needs. If he rolls about during the night and brings some of his blankets over to my side of the bed, I wake in a panic, thinking there's a fire in the room! When I realize it's just him and his blankets, I calm down for a moment, and then start wondering all over again - when is he ever going to get used to the winter?
   There must be some people reading this who hail from sunnier climes, just like my mate. What's your take on all of this? Can the sons and daughters of the sun ever grow to welcome the winds and snows of winter?

Look Through My Lens!

   I have some more shots to share with you. Last Thursday I wondered over to the nearby park as the morning rush hour was at its peak. With me, I took a brand new Fujifilm FinePix S5100, my Valentine's Day present. It was crisp and cold out, with a wind chill factor that made wrapping up warmly a necessity. With the proper attire, however, it was a wonderful walk, and it felt good to be out there. A soft snowfall was what had first enticed me to go out, but it stopped as soon as it had achieved its end, and the clouds were quickly blown away, leaving the clear blue arch of the heavens to serve as the perfect backdrop to some of my photos. The bravehearts of last fall's red foliage were there, still holding steadfastly to their branches, even though all their companions had long ago given up the struggle.They made such a dramatically bold contrast to the winter colours, that I had to frame them over and over again.
   The pieces of equipment in the children's playground all stood quiet, each one sporting a dusting of snow. The bench put there for adults to sit on while they watch their little charges frolic about seemed to me to be the only piece that looked lonely and empty. The pieces for the children, like the little frog, bumble bee and horse, all had such a look of gleeful anticipation to them. I am sure that each time a young rider frolics on them, they leave behind a treasure trove of happiness that the toys store up, hoarding it, and feeding on it until the next rider arrives. Look closely at them. You'll be able to see that the smiles are more than just painted on features.
   I love my province, my country - my Canada. Each of the seasons here sports scenes of beauty, but to my eyes, winter offers the most breathtaking of them all.

Aim Straight and Fire Away!

   Maurice Blackwell, a defrocked priest, was found guilty on Thursday on 3 of 4 charges of sexual abuse that took place in the early 1990's. Blackwell could face up to 45 years in prison. Dontee Stokes, his accuser, stood and pointed at him, in the courtroom, during a particularly emotional part of his testimony. Stokes had stood once before to point at Blackwell, but that time there was a firearm in his hand.
    In May 2002, at the height of the abuse scandal in the Catholic church. Blackwell had come forward before with his accusations, but had been given no credence. On May 13, 2002, Stokes drove to Blackwell's Reservoir Hill home, asked for an apology and, when he didn't get one, pulled out a .357 Magnum revolver. He shot the priest three times. Stokes, now 29, was acquitted of attempted murder but convicted of weapons violations, and served his time in home detention.
   I know, we can't have people taking the law into their own hands. It escalates out of control, and vigilantism is not a state in which to live, but I have to tell you. When I read about the incident with the magnum, it was the same as that scene in the movies ... you know, the one where the downtrodden hero rises up against the injustice he has been forced to endure; the one where the audience cheers out loud for the underdog when he finally exacts retribution.
   The defence have spent much of their time trying to discredit the accuser, and portraying him as a troubled man who deals with mental difficulties. No duh, you idiots. What do you think some of the possible effects might be when you're abused by a person you're supposed to be able to trust? Anyway, no matter what demons Stokes may have to deal with, it is not Stokes that is on trial.The defense seems to be forgetting that Blackwell was stripped of his church authority in 1998 after he acknowledged he had a sexual relationship with a teenage boy in the early 1970s. Stokes has got it right.
    The priests of the R.C. church have enjoyed too many centuries of privilege and being above the law of the land. It is time that they were brought back down to the earth they tread, on ordinary feet of clay, just like the rest of us. It is time they and the behemoth institution they serve realize that they're getting it all wrong. They claim to serve Jesus.Exactly how are they doing that when they use the cover of the church to facilitate their stealing innocence? Sexual abuse does exactly that. It can leave a legacy of harm that will never be totally expunged from the life of the one they abuse.
    "Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers, that you do unto me." To those pariah-priests: wrack your brains, and see if you can figure out what that quote, attributed to the one you claim to serve, is supposed to mean.

Gentlemen, Start Your Laptops!

   Yefim Sheynkin , director of the Male Infertility and Microsurgery Center at the State University of New York at Stoney Brook, is telling men that his advice is "... not (to) use a laptop in the laptop position." It seems that as little as twenty minutes of laptop use on a lap can raise scrotal temperatures by nearly two degrees Fahrenheit, and any temperature raise over two degrees is enough to reduce sperm count markedly. After an hour, the temperature rise can be as much as six degrees. The good doctor feels, after his studies on the question, that there is a possibility that continued laptop use can cause permanent damage, and so he advises "a need for caution." So guys, if you're thinking of fatherhood somewhere down the line, rethink where you put that handy-dandy laptop.

Happy Birthday

Yesterday was the 40th birthday of our country's distinctive red and white maple leaf flag. Red and white were proclaimed as Canada's national colours by King George V in 1921. In 1964, a specially struck Senate and House of Commons Committee looked at three designs selected from many submitted, and decided to recommend the single-leaf design. It was approved by resolution of the House of Commons on December 15, 1964, followed by the Senate on December 17, 1964, and proclaimed by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, Queen of Canada, to take effect on February 15, 1965.
Most Canadians look at our flag with pride, but there are some who were less than pleased with its introduction, and who cling still to that dissatisfaction. For a look at our flag from the other side of the flagpole, read this article from the London Free Press. I happen to be one of those who loves the flag. It's a grand sight, on a windy day, to see the flag furling and unfurling its splendour against the backdrop of the sky. As my contribution to the birthday celebrations, I'll share a few flag facts with you.

The National Flag of Canada on the Peace Tower is 457.2 cm long and 228.6 cm wide. Canadian flags are always twice as long as they are wide.

The maple leaf, on the flag of Canada is an artistic rendition. The design was developed so that, when the flag waved in the wind, it would look like a real leaf. The leaf has 11 points, but there is no symbolic meaning to those 11 points.

The white square in the centre of the National Flag of Canada is the same size as the two vertical red bars on either side combined.

Passionate Pizza

   OK, so last night you did the "will you be my Valentine" thing, and he or she said "yes!". Now what's the best way to keep the momentum going? Feed your love a passionately potent aphrodisiac, in the form of a pizza!. The word "aphrodisiac” comes from the name of Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love. Dr. Alan R. Hirsch, Neurological Director of the Smell and Taste Treatment and Research Foundation in Chicago, conducted a recent study in which he determined that the smell of a cheese pizza served as an aphrodisiac, increasing male romantic interest by five per cent. (Don't you wonder exactly how he measured that?)
   Let's look at a few of the potent ingredients that could be involved here, starting with tomatoes. Those little red goodies are called "pomme d'amour" by the French, or "apple of love". Good starter, eh? Of course, once you've got the tomato sauce spread over the crust, other toppings need to follow.
   Do you like garlic? This fragrant member of the genus Allium has been touted as an aphrodisiac by the Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, Chinese and Japanese. Be generous with the garlic.
   How about a few olives? Olive oil is said to be an aphrodisiac. Rumour has it that green olives work their magic better on men, while black olives are the right ones to serve to women if you want to test their amatory properties.
   Onions are pretty common fare on a pizza. If you have previously eschewed them on yours, it's time to reconsider the pungent Allium cepa. Ancient Hindu texts praise the use of onions as integral to the art of making love. Thousands of years ago, pharaohs forbid the celibate priests to eat onions, in case they got too sidetracked from their job at the temple!
   You'll want to add some herbs or spices to that pizza, I'm sure, and basil is a great one to start with. In fact, you might want to stop there too, once you know about the claims made on its behalf. Basil is there on the list of substances thought to boost sex drive, but it's also believed to enhance fertility, so be careful with the use of it. Two is company, but baby makes three, and that's a crowd you might not want, just yet!
   Some of you are convinced by now, I'm sure, but for you skeptics in the crowd, here's the proof positive you've been awaiting. Pizza is indeed a potent aphrodisiac, as witnessed by the readiness of a product development team in Iceland to spend money and time on this. We all know Iceland is a small country to start with, and damn cold into the bargain. How can they ensure the Icelandic population maintains a growth rate? The product developers in Iceland are currently working on a pizza made with foods known to be aphrodisiacs. Their "prototype passion pizza", is being tested by consumer groups this February. Look out world, "pizzagra" is on the way!

For Feline Fanciers

   My husband alerted me to this site. If cats touch something in your soul, like they do mine, you've got to see this.

http://www.amazingcatcollection.com/index.php?page=1&disp=date

Two New Photo Galleries

   Photo gallery 23 and 24 have just been added to my collection. If you love snow amd winter landscapes, take a minute to have a look. If you're not familiar with snow, these pictures will give you an idea of what you're missing. If you have made its acquaintance, and have chosen to live somewhere where snow is absent from the weather patterns, go and gloat over what nature dumps on us Canadians!

Take This One to Heart

   Doctor Steven Woolf, director of research in the department of family medicine at Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, Virginia, says achieving racial equity in health could have saved five lives for every one life saved by medical advances. "An analysis of mortality data from 1991 through 2000 shows that technological advances in medicine saved 176,333 lives, while equalizing the mortality rates of whites and African Americans could have saved 886,202 lives," Woolf wrote in an article published in the December issue of the American Journal of Public Health. Using African Americans as the reference population, Woolf's research showed that during the same time period, age-adjusted mortality rates for white males and females were an average of 29 percent and 24 percent lower, respectively, than the rates for African Americans. The mortality rate for African American infants and adults aged 25 to 54 was more than double that of whites. The methodology and calculations compiled by Woolf's group can be read at:

http://www.vcu.edu/fp/research/AJPHaddendum.pdf

   Granted, these particular numbers are for the U.S.A., but Canada is rarely very far behind our neighbour to the south. Adjust for the differences in population, and you might have some disturbing stats to add to Canada's profile. In the States, an alarming number of people do not have access to health care because they can not afford it, and a disproportionate number of them are black. The mistake we can not allow ourselves to make in our response to Woolf's findings is the assumption that the health care system in Canada would rectify any such disparity problem. Here in Toronto, for instance, the most urgent care needed is available to all without anyone pulling out their wallets. No-one will be turned away from the emergency room to die on the sidewalk (at least, that's how the theory of OHIP works). After you're finished in "emerg", though, things can get dicey. Continuing treatment as outlined to obtain the best results possible can mean that you'll need money to slap down on the counter. If you don't have it, your treatment plan is going nowhere. Want an example? I saw one just a couple of weeks ago when I took my mother to her appointment with the otolaryngologist. My mother is really hard of hearing and needs hearing aids in both ears. She also has really small ear canals and any wax is constantly being pushed against by the hearing aid, so it can not drain away and quickly becomes a problem. She has to have her ears cleaned every two months in order to give those aids the best chance to work well for her. The doctor told her on this last visit that OHIP would no longer pay the fee for any more than two cleanings a year. She would now have to pay $11.00 for each of the other times she needed it done. That's not much, you might say. Why would anyone complain about paying $11.00? Ask that question of someone who has to use a Food Bank.
   I think the same is true here as in the States. The quality care, and the "best available" goes to the wealthy, and in both countries the majority of those with money to spare, are white. We can not allow complacency about Canada's atmosphere of equality to blind us to the truth that good health is less readily available to minorities and the poor. We need to work just as hard at equalizing access to resources, as we do at researching and developing medical advances. Until we do that, growing up healthy is going to continue to be an elusive dream for too many of our citizens. February is supposed to be the month to show you care. Let's work at showing we care about everyone who calls this country home, and stop the gap from claiming any more victims.

Chocolate Health Food?

   Want to buy a health-conscious gift for you significant other this Valentine's Day? Give 'em a dark chocolate bar, and follow that up with a cup of coffee! Coffee and chocolate products contain a range of polyphenolic antioxidants known as flavonoids, that can help maintain a healthy heart and good circulation. They may also reduce blood clotting, which can lead to heart attacks and stroke. North Americans drink a lot of coffee, so it represents their top source of antioxidants from food. Polyphenol levels in dark chocolate are extremely high on a weight basis. A 40 g milk chocolate bar contains more than 300mg of polyphenols, but dark chocolate has more than double that. Since the expectation (based on past sales) is that more than 36 million heart-shaped boxes of chocolate will be sold for Valentine's Day, there must be a lot of "chocolate health food" lovers out there!

Louis John Sutter

   Mr. Sutter died on Thursday, at the age of 73. His family was the epicentre of the impossible - six of his seven sons played in the NHL, and stayed involved after their playing days had ended. For so many families, it never gets any further than the impossible dream, but in this family, they have lived the dream. The six brothers, Darryl, Brian, Duane, Brent, Ron and Rich Sutter have all laced up their skates to play on NHL ice. Four of them have served as captain of their teams, and collectively, the brothers have played for or coached 13 different NHL teams. On October 30, 1983, Duane and Brent of the New York Islanders played Ron and Rich of the Philadelphia Flyers for the largest total of Sutter brothers in any one game! Mr. Sutter should have written a book on instilling the work ethic in children. He obviously knew how to do it just right!

The Bully Bylaw

   Five teens in the Alberta town of Rocky Mountain House have been charged with inciting bullying in what is believed to be the first time such a charge has been laid in Canada. The little dears who were charged -- four boys and one girl, all in their early teens -- will either pay a one-hundred dollar fine or have to attend a workshop on the effects of bullying with their parents.
   A note before you read further ... The use of the word "criminal" is not just an idle choice on my part. There are statistics that show bullying can lead to criminal activity. Constable Williams, mentioned later in this entry, says "Kids don't grow out of it, they grow into criminals,".
    If you've been a visitor here before, you may have seen previous entries about the up-and-coming criminals at the school I left last year.The ringleaders have been suspended so many times, it's all become just a joke to them. These kids threatened me with physical harm last year, but were not suspended for that. When I went back for a visit a month ago, there they were, out in the hall, waiting for their latest set of suspension papers. A staff member tells me that they came back from that suspension just long enough to "beat up a kid" before they were suspended again. These kids bring a whole nasty new meaning to the term "bully" and I know from my years in the classroom that they're not the only ones like that. Neither is that school the only one so lax in handling the problem. I have, for instance, witnessed this principal actually talking in a conciliatory manner to the parents of bullies he has been forced to suspend, when his best efforts to brush the problem under the carpet didn't work. He told them not to worry, that he would remove documentation of the suspension from their Scholastic Record before they went to high school. I have never seen him bend so far over backwards for the victims or their families.
   Bullying behaviour is a problem of huge proportions, and has been the cause of more than one suicide. Surely, even one should be regarded as one too many. The problem should be more than enough to galvanize school staffs into action. It was certainly more than enough for Constable Williams. "Up to 70 per cent of the complaints in our schools are bullying-related," said the officer. Constable Dan Williams, a school resource officer at St. Joseph Catholic High School in Edmonton, proposed the bylaw idea to Edmonton police, who approached civic politicians, with the backing of both separate and public school boards, to add harassment to the list of offences already covered by the city's public places bylaw.
   Does Toronto have such a bylaw as Edmonton does? Bigger question still - how many principals would be willing to take matters in hand the way the Alberta principal did? He obviously alerted the RCMP. The principal involved with these kids I'm talking about would rather shoot himself in the foot than have a cruiser parked outside his school. After all, that would tell the community that he doesn't run the nicey-nicey school he wants everyone to think he does. I applaud the Alberta principal and his handling of this situation. I applaud those who brought that bylaw into being. Now I have just one question to ask. In much the same way as those Alberta juveniles could be forced to attend a workshop on the effects of bullying, could the morons in management here be forced to attend talks given by that principal from Rocky Mountain House? Please?

Call an Ambulance!

   Toronto paramedics are said to be threatening wildcat strikes if working conditions don't improve. The biggest part of their being disgruntled is the long waiting periods they must put in at city hospitals, waiting to unload patients they bring in. Their complaint is totally legit. Last Saturday, my mother was taken to Sunnybrook Hospital, with breathing difficulties. She was diagnosed with pneumonia, but not before a wait of long hours to see a doctor. The team that brought her in had to stand idly by and wait two hours before she was even acknowledged as being there. Until the emergency department's personnel begins the process of officially recognizing that person's presence in their domain, the paramedics can not leave. They are hamstrung in their efforts to do their job, and must stand there, knowing that while they pass idle hours someone out in the community could die, because they are not available to respond to the emergency.
   The staff at the hospital have nothing to do with the problem's causation. It is the underfunding of the whole system that is at fault. Mike Harris and his government began dealing the death blow to our medical system, and the subsequent idiots are merely continuing in those same footsteps, despite all their protestations to the opposite. While Harris was in office, there was a good joke going the rounds describing how emergency response personnel feel about how they're hindered by the politicians. Change the names to be relevant today, and you still have a good joke.

   Paramedics are called to a home where they find a man who is having a heart attack. They get him settled into the back of the ambulance and one of them takes the wheel while the other settles in beside the patient. "Don't you worry about a thing, Mr. McGuinty", says the medic. "We had to call around to a couple of emergency departments to find one that could take you, but we got you one nice and close. You just enjoy the ride and we'll have you there as soon as we can.
   "Which hospital said they would take me?" asks the patient.
   "It's in Brandon, Manitoba!" answers the medic.

Bailey the Bison

   Bailey is a male bison who was abandoned at birth by his mother, and adopted by bison rancher Jim Sautner. He and his wife Linda bottle-fed the baby and eventually welcomed him right into their own home when he showed himself to be less aggressive than is the norm for male bison. The 740 kilogram "pet" is sufficiently housebroken to spend extended periods of time in the living-room of their Spruce Grove, Alberta home.
   Bailey has been featured in "People" magazine and made TV appearances, and his fame has spread. It has come to the attention of Jay Leno, apparently, who wants the ruminant to guest on his show as soon as the U.S. reopens its border to live ruminants under the age of 30 months, an event expected to happen on March 30.
   `Run, Bailey, run for your life!
   I can just imagine Lamebrain Leno (read the entry below) having a surprise appearance on the same show. Special for the audience that night, they'll have the equipment to grind meat, and a butcher hidden in the wings. Leno will give the pre-arranged signal and this guy will come running straight at Bailey, brandishing a knife the right size to dispatch the unsuspecting animal to that great bison herd in the sky! Of course, it would all be in good fun, just so the audience could have a laugh, and a chance to see what a real bison-burger looks like! Maybe to keep the laughs going, they could throw the offal in the dunk tank and give Leno a turn at being dunked.

Leno the Lame-Brain

   Last night, for the first time ever, I watched part of the Jay Leno show. After what I saw, you can bet it will be the last time. What caught my eye initially was him standing beside a motorcycle that had been auctioned off to raise money for the tsunami relief fund. How totally humanitarian. They presented it last night to the highest bidder, the CEO of Waste Management, who had bid over $8000,000.00 for it. Are your eyes misting over yet?
   The next item on the show's agenda was for the house band leader to pay up on a bet he and Leno had made as to who would win the SuperBowl. They had agreed beforehand on a dunking for the loser, but not in the usual water tank. Instead, the loser was to be unceremoniously dumped into a tank of clam chowder. Leno made a great fuss over the amounts of various ingredients that had been used, all in preparation for this flagrant waste of food, right after raising money for people who are likely dealing with hunger as well as all the other after-effects of the tragedy. Russet potatoes were one of the wasted ingredients. Not just any potato, mind you, but specifically russet. "Do you like russet potatoes?", Leno asked the musician before his dunking? How totally moronic. Did it not occur to anyone involved in this show of idiocy that they were indulging in behaviour that belittled and negated their own supposed effort at helping? There is simply no way to excuse the wanton waste that was indulged in last night.

"Wo-Mannequns"

   An article by C. Laurence in the National Post, Sat Feb. 5th, was entitled "Real Wo-Mannequins" and was based on the idea of reality coming to store displays. Says Laurence, the mannequin manufacturers are changing the dimensions of the mannequins in order to keep pace with the "realities of the average American body." The mannequins have been given trade names like "Goddess" and "Sex" and their sales are moving along well in such places as Saks Fifth Avenue, et al.
   Previous mannequin dimensions averaged a size 5 to 6 with measurements of 32A-23-33 stretched out over a 5-foot 10-inch body. When's the last time you took a ride on the subway, or walked down the street and saw yourself surrounded by real women of that shape? The average American woman is a size 14. Do you remember when Sarah Ferguson first came on the scene and was criticized for being a "pudgy size 14"? According to Laurence's article, the average white and Latina woman has hips between 42 and 44 inches, while the average black woman has hips between 44 and 46 inches.
   Now back to these "new and improved" mannequins, the ones keeping pace with reality. They are a size 10, with measurements the article describes as a "curvy 34B-25-35". Now, I know I cleaned my glasses this morning, so I saw the figures right. I just didn't see how they matched. Where is the reality? Why don't they make a whole line of mannequins based on the beautiful Queen Latifah? Make one model to exactly match her measurements when she played opposite Steve Martin in "Bringing Down the House", and make another to look just as she does now that she's fronting Cover Girl, and Curvation. Then use those mannequins to display new lines of clothing that are sexy and flashy, and declare "I am drop-dead gorgeous, EXACTLY as I am!"
   Kim Gandy, president of the National Organization of Women, has reacted to the reality-based mannequins with this statement, "This is a very good thing. We should not put too much stock in a few shop mannequins, but it is a start, and we should hail every bit of progress." Kim, you're playing nice with the big boys of fashion, and I've got to ask why. Why should we "hail" these new dummies? That one word she chose paints a whole picture in my mind. Think back to the gladiators. Can you see them all lined up, before the big show began, facing the emperor, and chorusing "Hail Caesar! We, who are about to die, salute you!" Change just a few details and you'd have a line-up of real women, facing those dummies. They'd have clothing selections draped over their arms, and just before they file into the changing rooms, they'd clench a fist and clap it to their chests, chorusing "We, who are about to find out these clothes don't fit, salute you!"

The Grainger Challenge Prize

   I found this in the March 2005 "Discover" magazine.

   "Today, cupful by cupful, the people of Bangladesh are slowly being poisoned ... by their drinking water. As many as 60 million people - nearly 50% of the country's population - use tubewells that draw water containing as much as 50 times the amount of arsenic considered safe.
   To help solve this massive public health problem, the National Academy of Engineering is offering the Grainger Challenge Prize in the amount of $1 million to the individual or individuals - from profit or non-profit, government or private institution - that design and create a workable, sustainable, economical point-of-use water treatment for arsenic-contaminated groundwater, as found in Bangladesh, India, Nepal, and other developing countries."

They direct anyone who wants more information about the competition to

http://www.nae.edu/awards

Aging Slowing You Down?

   Yesterday, I mentioned the slowed-dwon reaction times of seventy year-old drivers. Here's a little story about Jack Mackenzie of Stittsville, Quebec, to counter that one. This is one Canadian who pays no attention to any of the stereotypes about getting older.
   In 1999, two explorers, Richard Weber, and Mikhail Malakhov, led a nine-member team (including Mackenzie) to a base camp 100 kilometres away from the geographic North Pole. At the age of 77, Mackenzie did up his ski bindings and set out to make the journey. He completed it in less than six days, skiing for five to seven hours each day, and becoming the oldest person to have skied to the Pole. In World War ll Mackenzie served as a pilot for the Royal Canadian Air Force, and in the years since, he has travelled to every continent of the world. The man is proof that growing older does not have to mean growing slow and frail.

Demolition Derby

   No, I'm not talking vehicles driving straight at each other. I'm talking taking down a building in the fastest time, without any equipment or machinery. It's a world record, held by Canada, that I just found out about. On May 11, 1996, fifteen members of the Aurora Karate Dojo in Saskatchewan got together to take down a ten-room house, without the use of any tool. The job was done by hand (and foot!) in a record 3 hours, 6 minutes, and 50 seconds. Gotta' love us crazy canucks!

It's Tidbit Time Again

Two little morsels for you today...
First: the sale of KitKat bars is soaring in Japan. In fact, makers are said to be "struggling" to keep up to the surge in demand. Apparently, teenagers there are sure it will help them pass exams. It seems someone there has decided that the name KitKat sounds close to the Japanese "kitto katsu" which is an expression meaning "I'll do my best to succeed". The expression is oft-repeated by students coming up to exams, and since gaining acceptance to university in Japan is such a strenuous undertaking, the students and their parents look for help wherever they think it might be found, even inside the wrapper of a candy bar!
Second: Drivers who talk on their cell phones while they're behind the wheel exhibit the reaction time of seventy-year-olds. Researchers at the University of Utah conducted a study where they tested drivers aged 18 to 25 against drivers aged 65 to 74. There was the gap in reaction time and information processing that you would expect there to be, until the younger group were tested while talking on a phone. Then, the gap disappeared. Says Frank Drew, an assistant professor of psychology who worked on the study, "If you want to act old really fast, then talk on a cellphone while driving!"

It's Tidbit Time Again

   Two little morsels for you today...
   First: the sale of KitKat bars is soaring in Japan. In fact, makers are said to be "struggling" to keep up to the surge in demand. Apparently, teenagers there are sure it will help them pass exams. It seems someone there has decided that the name KitKat sounds close to the Japanese "kitto katsu" which is an expression meaning "I'll do my best to succeed". The expression is oft-repeated by students coming up to exams, and since gaining acceptance to university in Japan is such a strenuous undertaking, the students and their parents look for help wherever they think it might be found, even inside the wrapper of a candy bar!
   Second: Drivers who talk on their cell phones while they're behind the wheel exhibit the reaction time of seventy-year-olds. Researchers at the University of Utah conducted a study where they tested drivers aged 18 to 25 against drivers aged 65 to 74. There was the gap in reaction time and information processing that you would expect there to be, until the younger group were tested while talking on a phone. Then, the gap disappeared. Says Frank Drew, an assistant professor of psychology who worked on the study, "If you want to act old really fast, then talk on a cellphone while driving!"

Honor Lost

   After reading about Saadia Hetaj, and Harjit Singh (see the entry below) I have to tell you about the latest book I read. "Honor Lost: Love and Death in Modern-Day Jordan" was written by Norma Khouri. She grew up in middle-class comfort in Amman, Jordan, but was forced to leave the country because of the events she recounts in this true story. She lives now in Australia, where she is a poet and author of short fiction. Khouri donates part of her royalties to women's organizations working to outlaw "honour killings".
   The book tells of her dearest friend, Dalia, a woman she grew up with, and with whom she shared a sisterly bond. A rendezvous with death is made for Dalia when she meets Michael, a Catholic. Their relationship begins when he comes into the shop where Dalia works, and they have a conversation. Initial attraction to each other gradually turns to love, and the stage is set for tragedy.
   Suspicion is all that is needed for a male relative to kill in order to defend the perceived honour of his family. Using only the published figures (many such killings are later classified as suicides or "accidental"deaths), one Jordanian female is murdered each week by male relatives for disgracing the family's honour. Khouri is careful to affirm here that it is not only women of Islamic families who live with this peril. She says that "Christian women are just as likely to be killed as Muslim women for "dishonouring" their families."
   Two articles in Jordan's Penal Code sanctions these murders, and the perpetrators. Article 340 exempts from punishment those who kill female relatives committing adultery, or who are found in a "situation" of adultery. Are you ready for the definition of "situation of adultery"? It can be simply "talking to a stranger". Article 98 reduces the penalty for the murderer when he has acted "in a fit of fury". Which one of the men is not acting in fury when he delivers the death blow?
   Honour killing is currently regarded as merely a misdemeanor in Jordan. Put it all together and you have a constant, corrosive cloud of misogyny hanging over the head of every female in the country. The men have government-sanctioned impunity to rule the women with an iron fist of narrow-minded cruelty. As recently as August 2001, Abdul Karim Dughmi, a former Jordanian Minister of Justice, declared, "All women killed in cases of honour are prostitutes. I believe prostitutes deserve to die."
   Khouri states her belief that one reason the government hides the true numbers relevant to the practise is that, if they were made public, Jordan would find itself being subjected to pressure from the western world to move its human rights' practises into the current century.That just wouldn't be so comfortable for all those poor Jordanian men who are already so stressed from policing those wayward women with whom they have been saddled.
   When a woman's life is ended in this way, the injustice to which she is subjected is still not over. The common practise is for a forensic exam to be done to determine whether or not she is still a virgin. Even if the medical evidence declares the victim innocent, her murderer will still be regarded as a hero for saving the family from rumours of disgrace. In March 1997, a man killed his fifteen-year-old daughter because he suspected her of having relations with a man, although she denied it. He bashed her head in with a large rock. The forensic exam proved her claims of innocence. The father remains a free man.
   Jordanian society supports these men in their misogyny. When a 20-year-old woman was raped by a neighbour and became pregnant, her brother slashed her throat and abdomen, then turned himself in to the police. His family went to bail him out, bringing a hero's white stallion for him to ride home. He was later sentenced to three months jail time, but was never imprisoned, because he had "served his time" waiting three months, out on bail, for the trial. The author says that she herself would be a target, should she ever return to Jordan. "I have disgraced my family by running away. They would have to kill me to save self-respect..."
   Khouri ends her book with a plea to her readers to get involved. She asks that they send a letter of objection to the U.N. High Commissioner for Human Rights with a request to abolish articles 340 and 98. She also suggests contacting the organization "Equality Now" or "Amnesty International" Some people might be disposed to ask, "Why should I get involved?". Maybe they could find their answer, with just a little rephrasing, in the words of John Donne.

No (one) is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
.................................................

Each (woman's) death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
   

Who Makes these Decisions?

   Saadia Hetaj, a Moroccan woman who had applied for refugee status in 2000, was escorted onto a plane at Pearson airport on Monday January 31, to be sent back to the country she fled in fear. She and her two-year-old Canadian-born son were parted from her husband by Canada's warm-hearted immigration officials. You know them ... they're the people who let Harjit Singh remain in Canada even though he has been under a deportation order since 1992. That's right, more than a decade!  Saadia Hetaj has only been here for a little more than four years, and there is no backlog of lies and twisting the truth attached to her name. Now stop me if I'm wrong, but there seems to be quite the discrepancy here. Federal government lawyer David Tyndale says that Singh has repeatedly lied to the courts during his 16-year struggle to stay in Canada, and there " is no reason to let him stay any longer". Be warned, you can't get anything past those eagle-eyed devotees of duty at immigration.
   Singh is described in the Toronto Daily Star as being in trouble financially. He owes $57,000.00 in unpaid bills to a previous lawyer. His pizza shop in Brampton does earn him about $3,000.00 a month, but that money, according to the Star article, "is consumed by the mortgage on his upscale home and other bills." The poor dear. How could those cold-hearted bastards at immigration treat this man so badly? Just because he has been caught in one lie after another doesn't really prove anything, does it? All he wants to do is pay that mortgage and own his own status symbol home.
   All Saadia wants, on the other hand, is to stay alive. That might be expecting just a little too much. She claims that she fears her father will kill her on her return, because she walked out on an arranged marriage. Come on, honey, the people down at immigration are big boys and girls. They can see right through lines like that one. A father kill his own daughter? Please. Do you know what's even worse than that ridiculous claim she made? She and her husband weren't even paying the mortgage on an "upscale" home. Now where's the incentive for immigration to let someone like that stay here? Of course, there have been rumours of "honour killings" in Saadia's home country, but they must be just rumours. Not a shred of truth to them, right? There have been rumours of this barbaric behaviour making its way here to Canada, but they're likely just rumours, too.
   Of course, there was that news story about Amarpardeep Kaur Rai, 24, of Mississauga, Ont. She was stabbed in the neck by her father after she refused to marry her cousin. Sounds a little like Saadia's story, doesn't it? It happened right here in Canada, too! He did it because she was viewed as having besmirched the family's honour by refusing the arranged marriage. I'm sure, however, that it was only a once-in-a-million-years thing. Saadia and her husband should stop their whining and accept the decision made by the all-wise officials. After all, they have only her best interests at heart. Maybe in a couple of years, Saadia can get a little cash together, and try the immigration thing again. If she's still alive.

The Rhythmical Resonance of Words

   Here's a total non-sequitur for you. I love words. I love the sounds of words, and the way I can roll those word-sounds around on my tongue, like rolling a sip of fine wine. I love the english language's abundant richness of clarity and precision. Words can spell out a wonder of meanings - fine shades and nuances, like a palette of artist's colours, or the fiery tones of a sunset slashing their way across the heavens. I take great joy in every aspect of the english language.
    I was a teacher for years, and I would tell my students about keeping a dictionary on my desk, omnipresent. They would express amazement, being sure that a teacher would never feel the need to look up a word. Not so. My dictionary is well-loved, and it has the dog-eared pages to prove it.    Looking up any word always places me in temptation's power, however. I may come away with the word I went originally in search of tucked safely away inside my mind, but like as not, I'll find myself sidetracked. As I turn the pages, so often some guideword at the top of a page will pounce on my awareness, grab it and hold like a cat might a mouse. Then I am helpless to get away until I have found the word-morsel and feasted on it; learned the meaning of it and sated my curiosity about the feel of its resonance in my mouth.
   Just before I came here, I was looking for a word that I never found, because as I was flipping through the pages, "perspicacity" threw itself in front of me and wouldn't move away until I acknowledged its presence. I know that word as of old, so I had no need to check the meaning, but I went to the entry, nonetheless, and whispered the word to myself. I turned the syllables over with my tongue and flattened them down. Then I shaped them into a ball that I rolled from side to side, all the while careful not to get any errant consonant caught on my molars. I played with that word, and it gave itself over to the game. For me, words are a continuous stream of pleasure, rising and falling waves that wash the shores of my existence with their wonder.

Just Can't Sit Still!

   Researchers at the Mayo Clinic have just released the results of a study they did on non-exercise activity thermogenesis, or NEAT, as a predictor of obesity. This is the toe-tapping, pencil-twirling, leg-jiggling constant activity that some of us seem incapable of stopping. Apparently, it all goes hand-in-hand with a physique that is unlikely ever to experience obesity. Even small movements like finger drumming can burn calories and contribute to a revved-up metabolism. It may not be a huge contribution, but isn't every whole a sum of its parts? That means that old adage "every little bit helps" is exactly true. It doesn't exactly seem to me to be rocket science, but study it they did. They used 20 research subjects, 10 of whom were obese, and 10 of whom were lean, and they tracked their every movement for 10 days. By the end of the study, Dr. James Levine, the Mayo clinic endocrinologist who led the study, was able to say that obese people "seem" to have a biological need to sit more, NOT that they sit more because they are overweight. In fact, they sat an average of 2.5 hours more a day than the lean subjects did. That can translate into as much as 350 calories a day expended, or stashed away as fat.
   So what's the point of all this? Says Levine, physicians should be urging their obese patients to move around as much as possible. Even without going to a gym, they can still make an improvement. According to David Jenkins, a nutritionist at the U of T, there's a lot to be said for fidgeting! Levine and his cohort are not able to say if the tendency to fidget is pre-programmed in your genes, or learned at an early age. Either way, it points out one more fine tuning adjustment society should make in its child-rearing ways. How many times have you heard a parent admonishing their child to sit still? How many times have you heard kids (who pick up parental attitudes quickly) mock another child who is fidgeting, and ask them if they have "ants in their pants"? We need to change our attitudes toward those who just can't sit still. I've been a knee-jiggler all my life, and I listen to comments about it constantly. I have never been obese, or even close to it. From now on, when someone points out my bouncing knees, I shall look them straight in the eye and announce in stentorian tones of pride, "Hah! The Mayo Clinic says it's NEAT!" Subject closed.