Photo Gallery Update

   Some of these pictures are brand new. Some are not quite so recent. The shots taken in Quebec City were framed on Thanksgiving weekend, 2005, but they're none the less beautiful for being a little late to appear. This wonderful old city is a step back into history.
   You'll find Port Perry-ites sporting out on the frozen Lake Scugog with ice skates and motorbikes, of all things. I've heard of snowmobilers heading out onto the ice, but motorcyclists staging races out there is new to me. When the sport enthusiasts or anyone else want to thaw out, a great place to go is The Pantry Shelf, a cafe that is one of my favourite places to enjoy a delicious noontime repast. Clean and inviting, the cafe is staffed by some of the most friendly women you'll ever meet.
   If you're a patriot of the true north strong and free, like me, you might like the pictures of your flag showing off its scarlet and white beauty on a crisp winter day.
    I've even got an offering for those of you with a penchant for graffiti. Done by a group that has the city's blessing, these graffiti are in no danger of being cleaned away. The particular "wall adornments" you'll see here are really graffiti with attitude!
   So, come into my parlour and stay a while! Kick your shoes off, settle back, and enjoy perusing my pix.

To Lower the Barriers

   I read a newspaper article the other day that was one of the good ones - you know, the kind that can restore your flagging faith in humankind. It was about Godisa Technologies and their solar-powered hearing aid. Their objective is " to develop practical technologies for developing countries and to create employment and training opportunities for hearing disabled people."
   They are the people who developed the breakthrough that is the SolarAid, the wolrd's only sunlight powered hearing aid and now manufacture it south of Gabarone, Botswana, in their shop where deaf workers are involved in the process. They have developed a solar power battery recharger for the world's first rechargeable button-cell batteries (also of their devising.) The more common disposable zinc hearing-aid batteries currently find their way into the garbage at the rate of 175 million every year. Godisa's batteries can be recharged up to 300 times during their approximately two year lifespan. This, of course, helps to bring better hearing within reach economically for those in developing countries. The hearing aids themselves do the same. My Mother was recently fitted with hearing aids which cost $3,000.00 each. Godisa's aids cost less than $100.00.
   Godisa, which means "to do something which is helping others to grow" in Setswana, is more than living up to their name. They currently transfers all their technologies for free. Godisa technicians will be travelling to South America, the Middle East, and the Indian subcontinent, to help with establishing facilities there as well. The Botswana government would like to patent the technology, but Godisa's general manager Modesta Nyirenda says they have no plans for a patent and will continue to make the technology freely available, in order to achieve their goal to"lower the barriers to better hearing for economically disadvantaged people."
   Good on you, Godisa.

The I. A. Files

   

No, not the "X" Files, but something even worse - the "Idiot Alert" Files. Take heed, people. Read the following and then run screaming.

   Let's start with the OPP officers who had souvenirs made to mark the night of Sept. 6, 1995.
    I am usually to be found right up there at the front of the fans cheering for the police force. They willingly take on a job that doesn't include sufficient danger pay, in my opinion; but having said that, let me also add that in every group, including the police, there are to be found the idiots who tarnish the good name of every other group member. These officers are just such morons.
   The constabulary of whom we speak had mugs and T-shirts made to commemorate the police operation of the night that ended with the death of native activist Anthony Dudley George at the hands of an OPP sniper at Ipperwash Provincial Park. The articles were made within days of the event. The shirts bore the OPP insignia, the letters "ERT" and TRU" for the emergency response team and tactical response unit involved at Ipperwash, and a white feather. The mugs bore an arrow through an OPP crest.
   At a public inquiry into the death of George, former Ontario Solicitor General Robert Runciman said he was personally offended by the "macho stupidity" shown by the officers. It would not be impossible to determine the officers involved. Why isn't there any news about them being held accountable in some way?
   Native leaders are incensed at the total lack of sensitivity and respect shown, especially by use of the arrow and feather which they employ to symbolize fallen warriors. The symbols are just too specific for them to have been used without precise knowledge of their meaning. This points the finger squarely at the officers responsible as insensitive idiots.


   Let's move on now to the second example of idiocy unchecked.
   I recently took on the position of volunteer tutor for an adult dealing with literacy issues. We filled out the forms for a course from the Independent Learning Centre, here in Toronto. My student signed on the dotted line and paid the fee for the course and then we waited for the material to arrive. Tutor book, student book and several tapes arrived a couple of weeks later and we got started on the work. The package sent to us included instructions on how to make contact with a Learner Services Officer at a set time in the course framework. I tried the number given and got a message which told me to enter the last five digits of the number for the person I wished to reach. I tried every number on the forms we were sent. Every one brought the same results. The recorded voice returned, telling me the number was incorrect and advising me to try again. I went to snail-mail next and addressed a general plea for help
to-whom-it-may-concern, informing them of the problem with the phone number. I received an answering letter yesterday, saying the phone number we were given "has not been in service for several years". Duh.
   Does no-one check on this material before it is sent out to see that it is actually worth the fee they charge? They do not hesitate to set a price tag on their material. What price can the students set on the ineptitude of the idiot(s) at the Learning Centre responsible for this lesson on how to do things just right?

And the prize winner in today's list of idiots run amok --- the voters who elected Stephen Harper last night. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

Mehendi

   Yesterday my youngest daughter and I went to a women's health show. Perhaps the best part of the experience was when she and I sat down with a mehendi artist to celebrate ourselves with a little traditional adornment. The artist drew patterns on our hands with a mix of dried, powdered henna leaves, water and a little lime, using a cone applicator that looks like the one used to ice a cake. The application had to be allowed to dry and when the henna came off, an orange-red pattern was left behind. The art will last from one to two or more weeks, depending on where it is situated and how much "wear" it is subjected to. This is the artwork that was painted onto my daughter's hand.

Take a Deep Breath!

   Read the entry below about who's going to carry the Canadian flag in the opening ceremonies of this year's Olympics and see how you feel, fellow Canucks. If either one of the protagonists get you a little hot under the collar, you should be aware of this.
   Research at the Touch Research Institutes, University of Miami School of Medicine has shown aromatherapy to be more than a smoke screen. Alertness, mood and math computations were assessed in 11 healthy adult subjects before, during, and after an aroma session with the scent of lavender. The fragrance was shown to have a significant transient effect, improving the subjects' mood, helping them feel more relaxed and even helping them to do the math more quickly.
   Lavender has a long history of use by humankind. The Romans enjoyed washing with lavender. It is used to line garden paths and to symbolize good luck in bridal bouquets. People make lavender potpourri, and bath preparations. They even brew drinks like lavender wine with it, and indulge in the creamy decadence of lavender ice cream. Little wonder, I suppose, that the smell of it can have a calming effect.
   Obviously, there should be no more math tests given without first suffusing the classroom with the scent of lavender, and sprigs of lavender should be affixed to the lapels of Don Cherry and Catriona Le May Doan.

Someone Get Catriona a Pillow!

   Apparently several of Canada's top athletes have taken the step of specifically asking NOT to be nominated to carry their country's flag in the opening ceremonies at the 2006 Turin Winter Olympic Games. This brought immediate reaction from Don Cherry, who made his feelings about their action clear during a CBC Newsworld interview.
   Cherry's take on the whole thing is that those athletes "not proud to carry it should be ashamed of themselves." He pointed out the likelihood that such a thing would never happen in the States, and you know he's probably exactly right. Whatever else you may feel about Americans, you have to acknowledge them as a people not at all abashed to declare a love of their flag. Cherry had a comeback for those athletes who declined in advance because they say they need the time to prepare for their event, those who say that carrying the flag would likely detract from their performance. "That nonsense about getting prepared --- how long does it take? A little walk around. Come out and say you don't care..." Obviously, Cherry has little patience and even less respect for those athletes who have declared themselves uninterested in the honour.
   Catriona Le May Doan, Canadian speed skater who won gold at the games in 2002, and also carried the flag then, felt the need to jump all over Cherry's head. Says little Ms Catriona, the one who should be ashamed is Cherry. "Marching in the opening ceremonies is exhausting. An athlete saying 'no' is doing it because they want to be at their best for their country. We should be saying 'thank you' to them for not jeopardizing that."
   You might feel the need to give your head a little shake to clear it after reading that line of flowerbed fertilizer. Then you might be interested to know how the last ten flag bearers from Doan back to Nancy Greene fared after their "exhausting" ordeal of carrying their country's flag in the opening parade. In 2002 Doan won gold. 1998's Brassard and 1994's Browning failed to place. 1992's Daigle won gold in speed skating. 1988's Orser won silver in figure skating. 1984's Boucher won two gold and a bronze. 1980's Read and 1976's Irwin both failed to place. 1972's Magnussen won silver in figure skating and in 1968, Nancy Greene won gold and silver in skiing. Were they all "SUPER-ATHLETE", faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than mighty Atlas? Maybe not, eh? Maybe they were proud to be given the honour of representing their country in the opening ceremony as well as in competition, rather than being solely focused on the ego-centric pursuit of first place.
   To acknowledge Doan as speaking with the voice of experience when she speaks about the grueling and 'exhausting' ordeal of carrying that flag, maybe there should be some changes made to the way Canada's finest athletes make their entrance at the Games' opening. She says it was OK for her to carry the flag because her race wasn't for almost a week after the opening. Obviously, any athlete who is going to compete before the week is out should not be expected to undergo this harrowing experience.
   Perhaps another change could be made by utilizing the events held before the Olympics, the ones that determine membership on Canada's roster of competitors. For those afraid of exhaustion, the first runner-up at each of those events should go to the Olympics as well, with the athlete they lost out to. At the opening ceremonies, those runners-up should pull that athlete around the Olympic venue in a little red wagon. Maybe each wagon could even be equipped with a widdle bwankie and a pillow, in case the ceremonies drag on too long. We could even have Doan pulled along in front of the tired contingent, crooning a lullaby so the little sleepy-heads could catch 40 winks and stave off any threat of fatigue from the long hike around the venue. Of course, all of this effort would simply go to waste if we still insisted on an athlete carrying the flag, even from his/her comfy position in their little wagon. Not to worry, I have a solution for the conundrum. The wagon of the "flag carrier" could be emblazoned on both sides with the proud standard of the true north strong and free.
   There, Catriona, problem solved. Now if you could just get that nasty-wasty ol' Don Cherry to say he's sorry, I'm sure you would feel all better.

Making Amends

   On the same note as the entry below, let me give you another one on the theme of it's-never-too-late.
   An Austrian arbitration court has urged the return of five paintings by Gustav Klimt to Maria Altmann, the heir of the former owners from whom the paintings were stolen by the Nazis.
   The case came to court seven years ago with a 1998 Austrian law requiring federal museums to review their artefacts for any that were seized by the Nazis and were being held without remuneration having been made. Austria's culture minister, Elizabeth Gehrer today agreed to abide by the court ruling but has asked that the paintings be allowed to stay on public display as national treasures.
   Altmann is the niece of Adele Bloch-Bauer, the subject of Klimt's 1907 portrait painting, perhaps one of the most famous works by the artist. The estimated worth of the gold-encrusted painting is considered to be approximately $150 million. Minister Gehrer says there is no way for the museum to pay the price, but she is hoping for some sort of arrangement whereby the display of the painting might be continued. Altmann has no problem with the works remaining at the gallery so long as restitution is made.
   It remains to be seen what the two sides will agree to, but it does illustrate my point. Making an effort to right a wrong should never be avoided with the excuse that it is too late.

Too Old to Die?

   Clarence Allen met his maker yesterday, in spite of pleas he had made for clemency. He was killed by lethal injection, in a California prison, becoming the oldest person the state has executed since 1976. Allen was trying to use his age and state of health as a bargaining agent in his quest for the kind of treatment he never concerned himself with for others. Legally blind, hard-of-hearing, and confined to a wheelchair, he argued that he was too old and feeble to be executed.
   Allen was already behind bars for a killing when he extended his malevolent reach beyond those bars and ordered the killing of three witnesses to his crime. You just know he showed no concern for the health or age of any of the three whose lives he ended. Whether he handled the murder weapon with his own hands, or not, his hands were equally stained with blood. I am not surprised that such a one as Allen should ask for mercy, the one quality he never exhibited. It is the classic schoolyard bully behaviour, taken to violent adult extremes. I have seen it too many times. It never ceases, however, to make me shake my head in sad incredulity.
   Allen deserved exactly what he got, wheelchair or no. Perhaps, just to show no harm meant, the officials could have given the injection while he was still seated in his wheelchair, you know, to acknowledge his infirmity and the difficulty he might have had maneuvering himself out of the chair. We're all decent folk, right?
   As I say, Allen met his maker. I am sure his maker turned aside in disgust.

Somebody Gonna' Get a Hurt Real Bad!

   Sometimes you just need a laugh, know what I mean? If you're looking for a real side-splitter, you're looking for stand-up comedian Russell Peters' routine on the approach taken by different cultures to the use of corporal punishment as part of child-rearing. Serious stuff? Peters uses his mastery of racially diverse accents and mannerisms to serve up a hilarious look at the issue. Peters is an Indian-Canadian comic who has been nominated for 4 Gemini Awards, been featured on the Comedy Festivals in Montreal and Winnipeg, and toured extensively through North America, Asia and South Africa. He's making a name for himself as a comic who's not afraid to take on stereotyping and bigotry. The way that he does it allows the audience to laugh along with him, and maybe even to rethink a former belief or two. Take a look at this and see what you think.

The Voter's Voice

   I was visiting a workplace last week, where I was having a little chat with the receptionist. Her lunch break was about to start and so the young man who spells her off arrived, and plunked down in the chair. "Are you going to vote?", asked she. "Nope", says he. "I'm not interested in politics. I never vote."
   First of all I thought, god, what a stupid attitude. If this silly, shallow individual were to find himself suddenly in the midst of the mayhem and unrest in a country the likes of Iraq, his attitude toward the privilege of casting a vote might very well change, but what a shame that such circumstances should be needed to jolt him out of his complacency.
   Secondly, I thought, what a difference from someone like him to someone like Amal Chaaban, a reporter with the Al Watan monthly, in Alberta. She has entirely the right approach to the election. In a recent interview she conducted with Deputy Prime Minister Anne McLellan, she asked questions that drew McLellan out on issues such as National Sovereignty and Canada's presence in the North. Referring to George W. Bush's admission of wiretapping without court orders, she asked McLellan to address the issue of personal privacy, and even got her around to the epithet hurling that has been going on in the House of Commons. Chaaban ended her reporting on the interview with McLellan by exhorting Canadian voters to make themselves aware of what the party platforms are, so that they can make an informed decision, and then "go out and make your voice heard."
   It might be good for that uninvolved young man if he could sit down for a chat with Chaaban. The minute the election is over is the first minute the country will begin to live with the decision made on that day. If the results of the decision are not to the liking of that young man and so many others like him, that is when they'll begin their bitching about the government. Why do they wait until it's too late to raise their voices? The rest of us who get ourselves out to the polls don't want to hear them then. If they don't raise their electoral voice on the 23rd, they should damn well shut up afterward. As Chaaban says, "The voter's voice is truly the only voice that counts in this or any election."
   Make your voice heard on January 23rd. Go and vote.

I Have a Dream ...

   Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day; a day to remember the great man - his words, his deeds, and his dream of equality and peace. Maybe more than just a day for thoughts, this should be a day for action. Look around yourself today and see if there is someone there to whom you have been a little less than inclusive, a little less than friendly. If you're seeing someone like that, could you make the effort today to extend yourself in friendship? Just a smile and a word or two is all it would take. Share a moment of harmony and light your own little candle against the darkness that swallowed up Martin Luther King.

The Dalai Lama and Neuroscience

   This month's issue of "Discover" magazine has an article on page 9 titled "The Dalai Lama Speaks the Language of Science". In it the reader is told that the wise man "endorses both research and religion as equally valid paths to truth". Because of his open-mindedness, and of course, the respect in which so many hold him, he was invited to speak in November 2005 at the annual meeting of the Society for Neuroscience in Washington, D.C., an event that drew more than 30,000 researchers.
   The announcement that he would be present and would address the gathering drew immediate response. An online petition was started to demand the cancellation of his speech, and six planned presenters withdrew their posters. Others championed the address as an attempt to break down the barriers that divide religion and science. The Dalai Lama addressed these divisions and called for harmony between religion and science.
   If the man was espousing open-mindedness, I fail to see any reason for the supposedly open and inquiring mind to object to his presence at the meeting. Perhaps those that do, object from a basis of arrogance. The scientific mind may someday have to acknowledge that human science is not omniscient; that there is a limit to our ability to know and explain. Perhaps there will always be a tiny grey area where religion and science would do well to tolerate each other in the better service of humankind.

Scientific Odds n' Sods

   This just in, folks! The United Kingdom's Royal Society has published research findings that confirm bats with bigger testicles have smaller brains.
   You may wonder why someone spent research time and funds on that one. You wouldn't be alone. You might also wonder if there is going to be a similar study conducted on humans. You wouldn't be alone on that one, either. Alas! No such study is planned. Perhaps because the preponderance of the research population is male, and the possible findings are not something they want to chance unearthing. Perhaps because the need to somehow measure and take into account the subjects' perceptions of the, um, size in question would be simply too daunting a task, the study will be postponed indefinitely.


   While we're on the subject of "why the hell did they bother?", here's another little nugget for you. Two researchers, Victor Benno Meyer-Rochow of the International University Bremen and Jozsef Gal of Lorand Eotvos University in Hungary, have determined that penguin projectile defecation requires 8.7 PSI of pressure. Their work earned them the Ig Nobel prize for fluid dynamics.


   The world's first face transplant has taken place in Amiens, France. In an operation that lasted five hours, tissues, muscles, arteries and veins were taken from a brain-dead donor and attached to the lower face of a woman who had lost her nose, lips, and chin after being mauled by her own dog. Doctors are saying that the patient will neither look like the donor, nor like she did before the mauling, but that she will have a "hybrid" face. Of course, there are the usual concerns over whether her body will accept the transplant, or not. She will also have to deal with all the immuno-suppression drugs and their side-effects, but if the procedure can be perfected, think of the incredible, incomprehensible difference it would make, for instance, to those horribly disfigured by burns.
   There are many raising issues of ethics over the procedure, because the transplant has to be taken from a donor whose heart is still beating. Fears over everyone rushing to yank the plugs on life-support systems will have to be dealt with, of course, but I have to say I can't really see any difference between transplanting a face or a heart. Either you object to the entire transplant concept, or you accept it. Why would you make a difference between certain body parts?
    Liver and kidney transplants are old hat now, as are blood transplants, but they all are procedures that raised eyebrows when they were new. Such steps are never undertaken lightly, but once they are developed, neither are they ever again shelved. Now that this new wrinkle in the fabric of medical technology has appeared, all that is left is to iron out the wrinkles. No-one can stop it moving forward, any more than they can stop the work on cloning.

Lattes for Literacy

   OK latte lovers, please mark Thursday January 19th on your calendar. It's a day to head to your nearest Starbucks, indulge your preference and do something great, all at the same time. With no more effort than it takes to lift the frothy concoction to your mouth, you'll be helping people all across Canada. On that day Starbucks will donate 100% of the purchase price of any size latte to Frontier College to support literacy programs. What a great way to spend a couple of dollars!

Do I Regret This?

   Those words are taken from the apology made by Canadian Prime Minister Paul Martin on Wednesday in an interview broadcast on Fairchild Radio in British Columbia. He was addressing the issue of the head tax when he said, "As I have said many times, do I regret this? The answer is yeas. Do I apologize? Yes."
   The head tax was charged on Chinese immigrants from the 1880's to the 1920's, and was intended to curtail Chinese immigration to Canada. Originally set at $50.00 a person, the tax was raised in the early 1900's to $500.00 a person. Since that figure was equal to the amount it took the average Chinese Canadian worker two whole years to earn, it did present an incredible obstacle to anyone trying to bring their family here. The tax was stopped 80 years ago, but its effect is looming large in today's election campaign.
   Martins' apology was an informal one. Many in the Chinese community are demanding an official apology in the House of Commons, and making it into an issue that could sway the outcome of the January 23 vote. The Chinese Canadian National Council lists 20 constituencies where Chinese voters could carry the vote, depending on how individual candidates respond to them and their demands for the apology and monetary compensation.
   The head tax was definitely a wrong that needed to be set right, but I am not so sure that voters should let the utterance of an apology determine where they mark their choice on the ballot. As a teacher, I have had the experience times past counting of the student who is the rotten apple bound to spoil every barrel s/he contacts.The problem was always that so many of these individuals mastered the pronunciation of the syllables in the words "I am sorry". That's all it was to them, a string of syllables they didn't even assemble into words in their minds. They had no more meaning or reality to them than a three-dollar bill. Some of the kids didn't quite catch on to the acting that would have added that wonderful finishing touch, so their apologies were given in sullen tones. Some of them however, could clean up on Academy Awards night. Their apologies came complete with smiles or crocodile tears, whichever they thought more likely to sway the listener. The past masters could even manage a tremulous smile of gratitude through their tears as the apology was accepted. All of this came sometimes mere hours before the next offense. Many a politician is no different than those students.
   Why is it being made into such an issue right now? Why does the apology have to be given right now, and used as the basis on which voters will accept or reject a candidate? Why doesn't anyone on the Chinese Canadian National Council see the the issue as less than relevant to this election? Certainly, the head tax is not something that should be forgotten. It is a wrong that was done, absolutely, and a ceremonial staging of a full, official apology with members of the Chinese community there to accept the government's olive branch should be enacted ASAP. But it really has very little to do with the campaign right now. The platform of the parties is what should sway a voter. Their stands on current issues such as gay marriages, funds for education and medical care, and everything else that makes up the government' involvement is day-to-day life is what should sway a voter. The issues of history are not going to make or break the daycare that young parents in a particular riding rely on, but government funds, or the lack thereof, could do exactly that. That is what any voter should have in mind on January 23.
   We ignore the past at our peril. We must learn from it, or be doomed to repeat it. It is also true, however, that there comes a time to lay the past to rest. Now is not the time to concentrate all our mental energies on resurrection of a past issue. Don't confuse the dead with the living. There is no future in that.

A Good Read

   I've been making my way through several offerings of the literary world lately. Some were not even worth following through to the second chapter, let alone the conclusion. Some have been readable but never riveting. One has been superlative. That one is "The World, The Flesh, and The Devil", by Reay Tannahilll.
   The story spans the years from 1411 to 1437 and is set primarily in the midst of the strife that beset Scotland at that time. Ninian Drummond is the heroine of the piece and the reader watches her mature from an about-to-be-married seveteen-year-old to the mother of three sons, all by the man whom she has loved despite her marriage to another and events that seemed sure to set them at each other's throats.
   Gavin Cameron of Kinveil is her counterpoint, an urchin who rises from the anonymity of genteel poverty to be the Chancellor of Scotland and the one man in whom the beleaguered King James of Scotland feels safe to place his trust. There is much swashbuckling and intrigue before the dust settles and everything comes our right, at least for a couple of the characters. There is also so much that is believable and involving in the main characters that it becomes a book you'd rather not put down until you've found out what happens to all of them.
   Ninian must deal with heartache, with loss and helplessness in the face of warfare that wages no matter how she tries to stop it. She does so with all the strength and determination she can muster, while occasionally giving into the grief that anyone would experience in the face of what she endures. That's what makes her someone to empathize with.
   Gavin sets out on his journey through life with a tunnel-vision determination to rise above his station and gain power and wealth. Quite to his surprise, he also gains the ability to feel doubt, just like the rest of us. He falls in love, in spite of his best intentions. How many of us have had that same experience? Ninian and Gavin are so very much the people-next-door, in spite of their having lived centuries ago, and having been involved in the chronology that is the stuff of history books. Tannahill makes them characters that you care about.
   At 634 pages in length, the book is enough to satisfy the craving for a novel of length, something you can get your teeth into, but not so long as to make it unwieldy, not so long as to give it time to drag its feet. Tannahill is a superb storyteller. Get a copy of her writing and treat yourself to a good read.

"M" Muffins

   Boy, have I got a recipe for you! I love these little babies, packed as they are with incredibly healthy ingredients and great taste, too. Of course, I will allow the possibility that they may be an acquired taste. "Can't taste any sugar in them,"says my other half. "Their taste is totally noncommittal" grumbles he, but I beg to differ with him. You might, too, but you'll never know until you try. The recipe makes two dozen muffins, so although they are a little more work to prepare, one session in the kitchen gives you more for your money, since they freeze well. Hubby and I also argue about the name for them. I like "magical" and he prefers "medicinal;" but I think he's saying that with tongue-in-cheek. Anyway, here goes.


Preheat the oven to 375 degrees fahrenheit. Grease 24 muffin cups, or spray with non-stick whatever, or line with paper cups.

*1 & 1/2 c. oat bran * 1 c. wheat bran *1 c. ground flaxseed (yellow or brown, makes no difference) *1 c. whole wheat flour *1 tbsp. baking powder *1/2 tsp salt *1 c. brown sugar (no need to pack, unless you have the same sweet tooth my husband does)

(You can use a coffee grinder to grind the flaxseed.) Measure all the above into a large mixing bowl. Mix together with a fork.

*1 & 1/2 c. raisins, or currants

Use the fork to stir the raisins into the dry mix, being sure to coat them all. Set this aside.

*2 oranges, medium to large, washed, peeled, & seeded if necessary
Put these in a blender or food processor first and whirl them around a little to chop them coarsely.

*1 c buttermilk *1/2 cup oil (I use olive oil, you use your favourite) * 2 eggs *1 tsp baking soda

Add the wet ingredients to the oranges in the blender and mix them well. Pour the orange mix into the dry ingredients. Stir until well mixed, but do not beat.
Divide the batter evenly among the 24 muffin cups. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until they're golden brown and/or a toothpick in the centre comes out clean.
Let them cool 10 minutes in the pan before you take them out, then enjoy some healthy eating.

Because of the high fibre content, these are muffins to drink with -water, juice, tea, something- since their fibre is the soluble type. The flax seeds need to be ground because the whole seeds simply pass through your system undigested. You want to be able to access their alpha-linolenic acid content as well as their lignans. The jury is still out on whether or not these offer protection against certain cancers, but there have been some trials that showed some damn interesting results. There is no deliberation necessary over the benefits of the bran and the wholewheat. If you have left over flaxseed, ground or not, store it in the fridge. You can also sprinkle a tsp over any other breakfast cereal, yoghurt or cottage cheese.

I Need a Fix!

   

I'm going cold turkey!

   No I am not a smoker trying to kick the habit. In fact, it is nothing voluntary on my part. This bout of abstinence is being forced on my by an unfeeling Mother Nature who has seen fit to give Toronto no better than above-zero temperatures and days of rain. What kind of winter weather is that supposed to be?
   

Where's the snow?

   I get this picture in my mind, a way to satisfy the craving. It haunts me. I can't see why it couldn't be OK, just for once.
   I see a sky, heavy with threatening clouds hanging low over the city. I see a huge hand materialize out of nowhere. It takes hold of a zipper pull that appears just as suddenly. It pulls the zipper open, all the way across the cloud-filled sky, and out falls eight feet of snow. Instantly. The last sound is a huge "Whoomph!" and then everything goes momentarily quiet. The zipper disappears and the hand likewise. Then a single voice is heard, raised in loud hosannas and I appear out of the background, cutting a path across the pristine scene with my cross-country skis.
   What a fix.

More Saints?

   If you read my entry "A Man to Canonize" the other day about candidates for sainthood, and found the question of whom to nominate intriguing, you might also find this post a thoughtful read. Check it out.

Angry Offspring of Narcissism

   If you blog, you might be interested in one woman's take on who you are, Check out this vituperative blast from journalist Kathleen Parker.

With All Due Respect

   It has been asked why I have the attitude I do toward the Papacy. I could go on and on and on in response, but I could also shorten it down and just give you a couple of goodies as an answer. Let me introduce you to a few of the respect-worthy holders of the papal throne.
   John XII, seated on Peter's throne from 955 to 964 was the issue of an incestuous union between Pope Sergio III and his 13-year-old daughter. When little Johnny grew up, he felt the need for a mistress himself. Whom did he select for the honour? His own mother.
   In 1095 Pope Urban II exhorted the Franks to butcher their way through the Muslim world, beginning five centuries of warfare, that may well be part of today's "inexplicable" hatred for the western world expressed by the militants of Islam.
   In 1209 Pope INNOCENT III (irreverent emphasis my own) launched the Albigensian Crusade against the Christian Cathars of southern France. Thousands were murdered.
   In 1231 Pope Gregory IX gave the Inquisition authority to "deal with" heretics. Thousands more are murdered by the hands of the Papacy. Blood may never have dripped directly from the beringed hands of the pontiff, but those hands were still stained a horrible red.
   In 1415 Pope Gregory XII had John Huss, a vocal critic of papal corruption burned at the stake. Although the pope had guaranteed Huss his personal safety, he is quoted as saying, "When dealing with heretics, one is not obligated to keep his word." Now there's a way to make everyone feel safe. Let them know all they have to do is incur papal displeasure and they could end up toasting to a nice crisp. What a great way to guarantee acceptance of everything the papal office does.
   In 1415, Pope John XXIII was deposed. That's right, he was kicked out of office. I wonder how many catholics know about this one. Amid accusations of even worse charges having been covered up, he was deposed on charges of piracy, murder, rape sodomy and incest. Now there's a man to look to for spiritual guidance.
   In case anyone has stuck with this delightful litany and is readying themselves to protest that all my examples are from days long gone by, let's look a little closer to today.
   In 1864, on the 8th of December, Pius IX issued his encyclical "Quanta Cura" and its accompanying "Syllabus of Errors" in which he condemned any and all attempts people might make to think on their own. He reaffirmed his predecessor's declaration that the idea of freedom of thought was "an insanity" and declared that any who preached freedom of thought and of speech were actually promulgating "liberty of perdition". It's a really backward declaration of intent to control public thought and forbid modernity. Some catholics squirm sufficiently at mention of Pius' blathering to try lessening its impact by saying papal infallibility had not yet been declared. Come on, folks. Shit or get off the pot. Do you accept papal authority or not. Do you really just want to reserve for yourself the chance to declare it acceptable only when it's not too embarrassing?
   Moving right along, we can turn next to Pius X who issued "Lamentabili" and the encyclical "Pascendi" in 1907, in which he condemned modernism. This time he was speaking from a declared (Vatican council in 1870) position of infallibility. What to do with this one, eh?
  On to the 20th century where we meet poor Pius XII, who occupied the seat of Peter from 1939 to 1958. What could this poor soul do to live up to the standards set by his predecessors? What was left that hadn't already been done, and with great style? Well, never one to be defeated by a challenge, pious Pius undertook the actions necessary to gain himself the nickname, "Hitler's Pope". That's right, folks, Pius is the one who made the decision NOT to excommunicate the roman catholic Hitler. Just because he was responsible for the death of millions? Let's not get judgemental here. Maybe Pius felt the papacy had already picked on Germans enough. After all, Martin Luther had been excommunicated for translating the bible into German, so that the faithful could read the words of salvation in their vernacular. How much worse than that could you possibly get? Obviously, Pius regarded Luther as being worse than Hitler.
   John Paul, who pattered his little scarlet-slipper-encased feet about the Vatican from 1978 to 2005, has gone a long way to upholding the tradition established by his predecessors of putting the welfare of the lowest of his flock above even his own comfort. Wrapped in his ermine-trimmed, jewel-encrusted robes, he has declared, for instance, that anyone who uses a condom is sinning against mother church and god himself. Never mind that it could mean the difference between life and death, in more ways than one. For those who dwell in the abject poverty of the third world, the use of a condom could mean escaping the scourge of AIDS. It could mean a mother still alive to look after her children instead of little ones orphaned and thrown onto the mercy of a world for the most part cold and uncaring. It could mean one less hungry little mouth starving for food that the family is too poor to provide. I could go on more and more about this idiot, but let me stop here.
   Of course, there have been men of decency who sat the throne of the vatican, but they have been too few and too far between. There have, however, been no shortage of animals who sat there, beasts in the guise of men who have demeaned the office beyond repair. Even today, the current Pope continues the tradition, sporting finery and eating meals created by personal chefs while so many of his flock starve out in the cold, cruel world. Perhaps they will feel better knowing that at least the holy father is well fed.
   I should respect the office of the Holy See? Why?

A Man To Canonize

   Some pious head-in-the-sand types have been pushing for the late John Paul II to be declared a saint. They're busily scurrying about trying to circumvent the usual time and paperwork required, and find evidence of the de rigueur miracles supposedly performed by the nasty old man. Why don't they look to someone more deserving of their efforts? If they were willing to take their blinders off and take a closer look at reality, they would not have to set their sights any further afield than the Vatican to find the kind of man they seek.
   Monsignor Hugh O'Flaherty was a Vatican priest during the second world war. He was responsible for saving more Allied lives than any other single person during the war. From a network of connections established before the war, he built a massive partisan network that rescued thousands of escaping Allied POW's and Roman Jews. If you're interested in learning more about the man, sit down with a copy of "The Scarlet Pimpernel of the Vatican", by J. P. Gallagher, or "The Vatican Lifeline", by William Simpson. You could also rent a copy of the 1983 made-for-TV movie, "The Scarlet and the Black" starring Gregory Peck as the redoubtable Monsignor.
   O'Flaherty began the war feeling no particular affinity for either side. He was a son of Ireland who had little use for the British, and once declared, :I don't think there is much to choose between Britain and Germany." Above all else, however, he was a man of principle. His involvement was forced upon him in 1942, when the occupying Germans began a crackdown on the prominent Jews of Rome, and aristocratic anti-fascists. These were people that the amateur golf-champion, socializing monsignor had shared friendship with and he could not simply stand by and see them taken away to their deaths, so he began hiding them in monasteries, in convents, and even in his own residence.
   In 1943, he widened his net of safety to include any of the Jews whom the Nazis had begun herding onto cattlecars for their horrendous last journey. He took in escaped British POW's, and acquired the partnership of Sir Francis Osborne, British Minister to the Vatican. It is likely because of this alliance that the British extended a line of credit through the Vatican bank for the monsignor, to finance his clandestine activities. In no time, the cleric and his network were giving their life-saving assistance to refugees of any nationality or creed who approached them. They had thousands of people wanted by the Nazis hidden away in nearly every catholic building in Rome, on every floor from the cellar to the attic, in every edifice from private homes to seminaries and convents.
   The work of organizing such a large operation, while admirable, is certainly not sufficient grounds to consider canonizing the man. It is rather the danger to himself that he faced, and ignored, in his determination to help, that qualifies him. Colonel Herbert Kappler, the chief of the gestapo in Rome soon identified O'Flaherty as a marked man, and began to look for a way to get past the restriction of O'Flaherty's diplomatic immunity as a member of the Vatican. He hunted the man and set traps for him at every opportunity. The stories about O'Flaherty's eluding these traps are legion. He is supposed to have disguised himself at different times as everything from a nun to a coalman in order to escape capture off Vatican grounds. Kappler's frustration at not being able to apprehend the elusive Irishman even led him to an attempt to have O'Flaherty forcibly dragged off Vatican property by a couple of Gestapo assassins. The Germans were thwarted once again when members of the Swiss guard pummeled them and sent them running.
   The man from Ireland was much more of a humanitarian than the late pontiff from Poland ever was. He risked personal danger every day in order to save the unfortunates marked for death by the Nazis. When did Karol Wojtyla ever choose to set aside his own personal comfort and safety in order to better the world for thousands of the persecuted? Occasional appearances on a balcony from whence he called for everyone to play nice count for naught. Intermittent bleating about praying for world peace were merely whispers to be shredded and blown away by the faintest breeze. They did nothing to ease the suffering of the poorest of his flock. They are the people above whom he is not supposed to place himself. He forgot that regularly, upon donning all the rich trappings of his office. O'Flaherty may have enjoyed his socializing with the elite of Rome, but it never held him back from putting his own life on the line to safeguard them in their hour of need. What is there that Wojtyla ever did to come anywhere close to the good deeds of O'Flaherty?
   Let the numskulls obsessed with canonizing the Pole continue their search for a "miracle", some pair of crutches perhaps, abandoned by an invalid who called upon the intercession of the dead man. His dying may well be the only time he can be said to have taken action to better the world. O'Flaherty, on the other hand, worked at it with a will. In fact, after the war, he is said to have been the only one who regularly visited Kappler, serving a life sentence for his war crimes. In March, 1959, O'Flaherty himself poured the waters of baptism over Kappler, bringing into the fold a soul that had truly been lost to humanity. Perhaps it is past time to inscribe his name on the roll of giants of the roman catholic church.

Welcoming in the New Year

   My husband and I went out for a walk today. We prepared for it by layering for warmth - long johns and mitts, parkas and ear muffs - and by checking that we had spare batteries for our cameras. Then we headed to a nearby ravine to see what visual delights might present themselves to our camera lenses. The sky was heavy with a leaden gray cover and the air was icy cold, but there was no wind biting at our faces, so we walked and walked. It took caution in many places since almost every path we trod was covered by snow laid down over ice. A recent milder spell during which it rained was followed by cold that iced every surface the rain had dampened. It didn't matter. The snow crunched under our boots, carolling one of winter's melodies. It wasn't long before the sounds of nearby traffic had disappeared from our awareness, to be replaced by the sound of birds brave enough to stay the winter, calling from their perches in the bushes. Their song harmonized with the refrain descanted by the river wending its way over rocks, and past its snowcovered banks. We stayed until the cold defeated us, until it had made its way past our defenses of wool and down. We retraced our steps, planning a cup of coffee at home and a leisurely look through the scenes of nature's artistry, daubed in winter's pale pigments. I hope you'll follow the link above and visit my photo gallery. I'm sure you'll find a few scenes to delight!