HEROINE WITHOUT A HELMET

Are we women drawn to helping others whom we don't even know, no matter the danger we might put ourselves in? 
 Ask yourself:
Do you create your your own dare? Think of your experiences, your drives that plunged you into the unknown. how long did you think about it before actually doing it? Not long, right? What happened? Did you have to sacrifice pieces of friendships by doing it? Did others disdain you for your courage that they did not have?

Has the terrible visited your health, and the journey into deterioration gets worse every day as does the pain? Are you still working on climbing up that daunting mountain to make your health better? Do you despair when you slip back down a bit?

Has hope gotten you through the day or simply that you do not know what will happen to you that day. You are a heroine with little protection, and that defines you: valiant, strongly independent and full of tears to shed fears that do nothing to shield you from anything. You see, you are a heroine without a helmet. Embrace it, as you are a rare remarkable human being; you just don’t know 

THE HIBERNATION OF TALENT

Are you one of the many who think that playing an instrument or singing (even in the shower) is not your forte – that ‘Chopsticks’ and humming the doorbell are as good as it gets for you?

As for dancing, you do it in front of the TV when Ellen DeGeneres invites you to join in -- as her sidekick.  No threat there; she can’t see you. Nor can anyone else -- once you’re inside a pitch black dance hall, crammed with crazies wired to show the world they can hip hop, samba, crunch, even belly flop right into the lap of an unsuspecting wall flower. 
You can still feel the pain when a humourless oaf known as ‘big foot’ decided you had an enticing big toe, and stepped on it. Ouch!  That pain still lingers -- even though it happened ten years ago!

Painting is far more peaceful, but you opt for the kind that comes from a gallon because painting a room is no sweat-- well maybe a little -- if the ventilation is poor. (More about your painting stint in school soon follows).

Acting is something you’ve considered. You’ll accept a role - as a rock. You’ve considered taking photography at Algonquin College, but that would mean buying a camera and umpteen lenses. 

Clearly, you’re suffering from IMOOTS (I missed out on talent syndrome). Growing up, you believed that talent was reserved for special people, given to them by God or passed on through the genes. You claim talent eluded you from the get-go - that you belong to the land of bureaucrats, business boys and bean counters,  occupations not exactly brimming with artistic zeal.

Sadly, people who perceive themselves as talentless take it as an irrevocable fact - confirmed since childhood. For example, your parents were told by your piano teacher after a year of lessons (possibly longer, depending on how greedy the teacher was) that they were wasting their hard earned money, that you had no musicality at all. Of course she left out the part about yelling at you every time you hit a wrong note. So your parents informed you in a rather blunt manner: “No more piano lessons; your teacher says you have no talent.” Being a trusting child, you believed them.

Dancing lessons were out for you since your older sister already had that one wrapped up in her pretty pink toe shoes tutu and leotard. 
 But wait! None of your siblings had tackled theatre; things were looking up, until the first time you walked out on stage and broke out in a nervous rash.

Painting percolated in your mind intermittently, but you were young and had no idea what to paint; your mind drew a blank. Thank God for grade one art class. At least they gave you some paints, and they told you what to draw, such as a dog, cat, house or the person sitting next to you.  But let’s be honest: the lesson was really about how to tidy up after you finished your finger painting.  During one nifty brush painting class in grade five, you recall the teacher coming around, complimenting you on the dog you had just painted. Without warning, her happy smile quickly turned into tight-lipped anger when you told her (without meaning any harm) that the ‘dog’ was actually her face, and that the ‘snout’ was her nose!

In my grade seven class at Broadview Avenue Public School, we were making clay ashtrays, putting them into the kiln after we had painted them. The teacher selected mine to show the class. I was beaming. She then announced with great drama in her voice:  “This is how not to make an ashtray.  I was crushed and swore off art forever.

But, life doesn't do ‘never’. Twenty years after the ashtray trauma, I discovered talent is a trickster, and that the past can be your invisible stalker - if you let it. You can be five years old or fifty when talent pops out. Surprise!

Since those infamous days, I have made a series of handmade wooden books, shaped as trees, snowflakes and the sun. I dared to illustrate them myself, even ink in my poetry.  All 200 of them were sold – the first one having been purchased by the curator of Queens University -- to my utter astonishment. The point is, no one told me to make such things or not to. Their creative entry into this world was born from an intense desire to express my love of nature in a tangible manner.  

My desire to create an educational board game all about colour and our universe resulted in my creation of a colour wheel forming the tail of ‘Professor Peacock’. Kids landed on colour squares, picked up a matching colour card and tried to answer the question on the card. This game, titled ‘The Colour Jungle” demanded months to create; it was a labour of love. I somehow had to get that idea realized, and thus the game (never marketed) was born.

Eric Hoffer, the great twentieth century philosopher, wrote: “We are told that talent creates its own opportunities, but it sometimes seems that intense desire creates not only its own opportunities, but its own talents.”  So, a passion to express is the prime provenance of talent.

All of us have talent; what you do about it is key – how do you respond to it? Are you a nay-sayer or a yeah-sayer? Luckily, as adults, we are free to explore the myriad of talents hibernating inside us.

I never predicted I would take up the banjo at the age of 49!  Making three banjo CDs certainly came as a shock to me and everyone who knew me as a piano gal.  Talent is an unpredictable visitor. It’s never too late to explore your ‘heart ideas’ through an art. Don’t give up when talent turns from exhilaration to exasperation.

Gustave Flaubert said: “Talent is a long patience; originality is an effort of will and intense observation.” Many of us give up. I did several times, but I always returned to the task at hand, and each time I did, I realized talent never leaves you. You leave it. Life gets in the way; you get tired.  Stanislavski, the pioneer of method acting used to tell his students: “inspiration is a minute part of talent; the rest is perspiration.”

I can recall practising a really difficult bar of a Bach fugue. I realized I would never get it right. I could rip up the page, bang endlessly on the ivories, or walk away and wait until the desire to express that piece in its entirety returned, and if it didn’t, so be it. I waited 5 months to revisit that bar; I deeply wanted to play that piece, and now I do. Desire gave me the will to overcome the technical challenges. You see, it was not miraculous god-given talent that enabled me to master (to some degree) that piece of music. It was motivation, a state of mind and the desire to express it. Goethe said it best: “Talent finds its happiness in execution.”

Ross Schorer, a former student of Arthur Lismer (Group of Seven), now a highly sought-after art teacher believes everyone is an artist, but self doubt gets in the way. “Many people are afraid of expressing their talent; they risk rejection. It starts as a kid: a family member dismisses the painting you just showed. I know everyone has talent; it can be coaxed out any time. My job is to bring it out of burial. Once this talent is freed, the individual can paint.”

Talent ‘talks’ to you. Release it from hibernation. 

DO NOT STAY AT MYRTO HOTEL IN ATHENS

Nightmare hotel reserved through Booking.com.

I bought through Booking.com a two- night stay at Myrto Hotel (note that sometimes it’s called Myrtos) God forbid there might be two of these hellish hotels.

Judging by the photo of the room on Booking.com, I was supposed to get a double size budget one, I thought things would be okay.

Never judge a hotel by its Booking.com cover photo - or at least in this case. The room was so tiny, my rather small suitcase was not able to fit in it. The bed was so small with no room to get out of it except if you wanted to bang your legs against the side wall.  

There was no space at its end, or sides or head. There was just a shelf  at its end with a small noisy fridge on it; no place to put your clothes; no place to move to get into the bed or out of it. And by the way no window as it shows in the photo. No side table except a tiny gnome size-one -- not big enough to put my small laptop on. The plug sparked and damaged my mouse.  There was no hot water except if I wanted to wait an hour before the boiler would work to make it hot. That’s what the kids downstairs running the hotel told me. Now these kids were nice and tried to help as much as possible, but how do you put a broken hotel back together?

These downstairs folks were young, very nice but there was no manager on site. Oh by the way, the elevator sounded like an airplane about to take off. It was so loud and groaning all night long I could not sleep at all.

Worse still, when I asked to change rooms there was no manager around at all or ever.

Breakfast on Booking.com looks yummy. Well, old cornflakes cold coffee and sticky white yogurt was there. I had placed my coffee cup on the wood table whose top instantly toppled, flipping sideways into a 90- degree angle, thereby spilling my stale coffee with the cup landing on the floor. This was becoming the Twilight Zone. I felt unsafe.

 I left the hotel at 1 am the second night and slept at the airport to catch my 7:30 morning flight back home

I now know why the Russian owners were never in sight. They were back home drinking vodka no doubt and laughing all the way to the bank while we poor helpless Myrtos Hotel victims were feeling like we had landed in a hovel of horrors. No one can walk in off the street and book a room at this hotel. You have to go through Booking.com.  get the money before they see it is their modus operandi.

Shame on Booking .com for not investigating this hotel and using false photos to get clients to book at this shabby hotel – one  that I would not even put Norman Bates in!

Getting Older, Getting Wiser, Getting Ailments

Life is a bowl of cherries, and when we’re young, those cherries are beautiful and shiny red. As we get older, it seems those cherries begin to shrivel, turn brown and leave a musty taste in your mouth. Before you know the bowl is full of cherry pits. 

Let’s face it, our bodies seem to do the same thing, yet our minds (if there is no clinical illness) are soaring ahead with all kinds of fantasies, new ideas for our third career, even wishing we could travel the world and stay in the most unique accommodations. Some women even wish they could bear children at the age of 60. 

Why is this? Why are our bodies not in sync with our minds?

 I believe as the body ages, God wishes us to remain happy, and so we compensate for our physical ailments by allowing our brain to be flooded with renewed zest. Have you ever noticed how cheery and childish in a fun way older people can be. They say whatever pops into their heads, and they also reveal many of their wishes for escape. Maybe this is what keeps us going. In the end, it would seem the imagination is our most powerful engine, not our brain. So when those aches and pains set in, get your mind into the zone of great escapes, great dreams, perfect love for those you do love and send a lot out to yourself as well. I suppose the most harmonious way to age is keep fit, accept your new ailments, and all the adjustments you must make, and laugh, laugh, laugh.

BOOM BOX MUSIC COMING FROM THE CAR AND DISTURBING OUR PEACE

I love music, but there’s a time and place for it. Of course, please sing if you wish on the sidewalk. In the Czech Republic, people at any moment can simply stand and sing opera. How gorgeous! Moving and splendidly evocative of an epic period shining with stunning compositions that please the ear. And these spontaneous outbursts of vocal beauty are shared with us at normal hours during the day – not after 11 pm. Please play your instrument spontaneously if you want if the music is not heavy metal, but don’t inflict your radio music on me as your car whizzes by or comes to a halt at a red light. It is utterly intrusive. Worse still, my ears are treated to enormous radio pounding at all hours of the night, including and at wee hours of the morning. So I can’t sleep, and hundreds more on my block can’t sleep. This is noise pollution at its worst,. It’s enough to turn us off pop stars, because their fans are wrecking my right to have peace. What is it about people who think they must share their music with the entire street? I say, police should be monitoring this after 11 pm. Or do we need to educate more and create a course on correct decorum and civil behaviour regarding music. Whether the car window is up or down, the radio play comes blasting out. It’s bad enough we have cell phone conversations in public. Now it’s music in the car. What’s next?! Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Unachieved Talents Can Cause Frustration … but should they?

I’ve met so many talented people in my life – not only through my 17-year-stint as an arts’ columnist for a Montreal newspaper, but in so many casual encounters.

In more cases than not, the majority of people have expressed varying degrees of frustration at not being able to make it their life’s work. They can’t get recognition; they are not famous; no one appreciates their work, but mostly I hear the dismay at carrying a day job that has nothing to do with their artsy dream to achieve and be known for their art.



I’ve met bus drivers who sing gorgeously, corner store owners who play classical violin stunningly, daycare workers who paint passionately with excellence to match.

I, myself am somewhat of a creative person, having made 3 CDs with my songs accompanied by banjo and full band, created a board game for kids, written books for kids adn adults,  but despite public performances, and TV stuff etc,  no one really knows this. Am I frustrated? Not at all. I thank the lord that I was gifted talents that I acted upon - which did take a lot of hard work and persistence to get where I wanted to go. Yes, there a several film scripts buzzing through my head, - some even getting to the treatment stage and perking interest in a producer, comedic skits that drill holes through our society and evoke belly laughs (I think), but the fun of having a talent is having one or two or more and using them to fulfill your own imagination and need to enjoy yourself.

I would hope people congratulate themselves for doing what they like to do, and not feel good or that they have fulfilled your talent only if others see what you have created.

The world is a lonely oyster; you are the pearl inside. Open it and don’t wait for others to compliment your shining pearl. You know it’s there! And that’s good enough.

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TACTICS FOR LIVING IN A CULTURE OF VIOLENCE

When the president of the United States demonstrates that it's okay to shove aside another person, no matter how important that person is or how unimportant he is, the message is clear. Even at a NATO meeting, violence is okay. After all, violence is a marker for saying: I only count, and I get what I want and I’ll do anything to get it. After all, what’s pushing? I’ll tell you: it’s a degree of violence. The noble Prime Minister of Montenegro opted not to push back. He’s a non-violent man. (Watch it on YouTube)

The event shows, it’s okay to push a person aside; if it’s even okay to do that at a prestigious NATO meeting, it surely is okay to do it on the street or sidewalk, especially if you want to get ahead – as Trump showed the world.

This infant ignoramus looks like an adult, but he doesn’t act like one. Nor does he string a sentence together without repeating his phrases.

So now that we’ve established that violence comes in many shapes and degrees, let’s chart out a tactic to protect ourselves.

Walk fast and walk with your elbows sticking out. That way, you can elbow someone first before they do you.

Take long strides and wear a look of grave determination on your face.

Carry your pepper spray where it is visible for all to see.

Test it out if you want to on anyone or try your recently purchased taser gun. If the police can do this, why not us? They serve and protect us, so we should do the same for ourselves, right? They're  supposed to set an example, right?

Terrorism is here, and it also exists on the streets of daily life. Watch the behaviour of people. They are blind to others. They have little sense of space, let alone any verbal curtsy or quietness of speech.

 Violence is the new norm. But do yourself a favour. Never allow yourself to get used to it. If you do, you’ve lost your only true weapon: humanity.

RIDING THROUGH THE HOOPS OF RYANAIR

Simple question on live chat with Ryanair Will I get a seat if I do not do a pre-selection – which led to will I get on the plane at all even if I did buy one. Which then led to more chats which led to the fact that Ryan Air does not tell you this: when you purchase on line you will have to pay 50 Euros at the airport if you do not come with your boarding pass in hand. After you pay on line you have to go through the check-in process on line to get that boarding pass. Shouldn’t they tell you this after you pay?  Shouldn’t they say: Okay, you’re set but you MUST check in and here is the link to do so.” (But they don’t and many unsuspecting buyers get caught at the airport having to pay .

I think anyone who is using Ryanair for the first time should go on their live chat, and ask away.

The check in must be tricky because there’s even a YouTube link as to how to do it).

No, folks it was only by asking more and more questions that happenstance r0 hours later after asking a simple question that I found this out. And guess what, it is nto as easy as one would think. In fact, it is like a game show: if you make a typo error you have to start from the beginning, and if you do it less than 4 days before boarding you won’t get on – perhaps. Worse still, the gate at the airport announcing your flight with Ryan Air comes up only about an hour beforehand, so do not be late. In fact, the first 100 passengers lining up get their bags on free, but the others many not. They say, you get what you pay for. In the case of Ryan Air you pay but you don’t get. Admittedly, their tickets are darn cheap, but the stress level of knowing if everything is really going to work out for you in the end is not worth it. I’m still debating if I want to purchase my ticket to Chania form Athens with them. It depends if I feel like gambling that day. Be very very careful. Google Complaints with Ryan Air. Good luck! 

 

HOW TO KEEP A RELATIONSHIP TOGETHER

A hand-man/woman’s guide to maintaining and enriching a roommate relationship.

They say necessity is the mother of invention. I have learned that moving in with someone out of necessity as a roommate requires a lot of skillful flexibility. I moved in with a man whose health was deteriorating who I did not know well, and yet we have both learned how to get along and keep our friendship intact. I realize that if people in a marriage could apply what we have learned to apply, a relationship might endure.

My roommate and I endured a terrible landlord, floods, no heat and more. We also endured two very different distinct personalities. He is a serious introvert and a sit-in. I am active and a talker. What we have both learned is how to teach one another some survival relationship skills: give space, say hello, compromise on the bathroom, and share the cleaning load, and most of all do not take the other person’s lack of tact or poor habits to heart: laugh, laugh laugh. Use humour to help the person change bad habits. Set the example as well, and verbalize how you have contributed to cleanliness. let them know, you get tired as well. You are grateful  to him/her if she/he would split the burdens/load.

Assume and be proactive in good will intentions from yourself and the other.

If the other keeps on misbehaving in a  truly disrespectful way, call him or her out on it. Let them know that if it happens "one more time", it will be seriously handled. Make a list of changes needed for both of you. This objectifies the issues more.

Most of all, realize that we all live in our heads, and a lot of the times, we fog out on the other. These magic words have worked for us: kindness and thank you: say "thank you" even for little deeds, such as the other washing a spoon YOU used. BE KIND, EXERT PATIENCE! and try to make the other one laugh. NEVER MOVE IN WITH A STINGY PERSON. DO NOT NAG! Do not be nosy either.

Tell the other you appreciate it when he or she allows you to have an off day, but let the other one know, you are not going to be up to par that day.

SHARE SHARE SHARE in different ways. You may share your news for the day. The other may share his/her time to help you with something. Compliment when sincere. Accept the fact that you are a being who lives in his/her mind alone, but the times/activities/opinions that you can share are gifts.

Best of all, do not give up. There will be days, when you loathe the person for being massively insensitive. Be humble and honest about 2-way emotions, as anger and frustration work both ways. If you make the other happy, you feel great too. It takes energy and maturity. The pay-off is you  increase your chances of hiaving a  reliable friend for life – even if you move out down the road.

When is it time to call it quits?
Constant aggravations, two days go by without communication due to hurt and you refuse to initiate why you are not talking ot the other, and when you have reached a limit that you have no interest in recharing. You've had enough! 
Here are my top five features that tell you you must move out because the other is doing this:

BEING CONSTANTLY SELFISH, LYING, STEALING, DRINKING AND ENDANGERING YOUR SELF-ESTEEM. Move out, but always leave with calmness; do not insult the other even if you feel he/she needs to hear your invective.  

Hi all,

Here's Nancy Snipper's travel blog article on her "Love Affair With Merrickville".

Initially, the article was to be about the 1840 Guest House B&B but Nancy expanded her article to include the great attractions and "one of a kind" businesses in our wonderful village. 
The result is her travel blog article at the following link: Nancy Snipper Merrickville Travel Blog Link

I think Nancy has captured the great wonders, attractions and unique businesses of Merrickville extremely well and hopefully will attract many of her Montreal followers to come explore Merrickville.

Have a read.  I hope you enjoy Nancy's vivid tale of her exploits in Merrickville discovering the attractions and the unique businesses detailed in her "Love Affair With Merrickville" article.

Regards, Mike

What will ISIS Do After It Kills Everybody?

                                              
There is no post political after-killing agenda with ISIS. It is a killing machine, and that is its sole purpose. After the total world annihilation it is determined to achieve, what new society will it create? One never hears about its vision after every non-Muslim is skewered, other than kill, kill, kill.

There will be no music, scientific research to better mankind’s health, in every kind of way.

No there there will be just big black hole, but the hole is here on earth, not in space. And it will be filled with the colour red.

What demented aberrations in family upbringing could nurture encourage and celebrate such a loathsome goal?

What kind of mothers swaddled their babies? What kind of men beat up their wives? The cowardly violence is a genesis that surely started in these control-freak families: husbands subjugating wives, beating them, brothers stoning their own sisters, kids following the commandments that would avoid shame even if it meant family killings.

There is no hope for this kind of human. There is no Western wrath enormous enough to match theirs; there is no way to turn these endlessly ill creatures of death around. Just as mankind went form Neanderthal to  fully erect homo sapiens (knowing man), one wonders if ISIS is a collective regression into a homo subspecies whose name has the word  "kill" in its Latin form.

ISIS will not be content until the world’s dry earth and seas are brimming blood. They will feel proud only when this happens, knowing they did this, knowing that the impulse to kill can’t be stopped. Hopefully, they’ll turn on one another, and then from our graves we can heave a long eternal sigh of relief.

PUBLIC ETIQUETTE GUIDE

                                                         MissedManners: My litany of  complaints

It’s a sign of our selfish times that people simply ignore the niceties of politeness and consideration; and it starts right before you leave your personal dwelling. Please ladies, stop wearing perfume that overcomes anyone sitting in the movie theatre. Have you ever noticed how  many women think it wise to douse themselves with strong and outdated perfume? It's a stale stench that seems to waft over the entire seating area. Bad enough you have to deal with noisy popcorn eaters and candyphiles with their annoying wrappers. Why do they think, the slower they open the package the quieter it will be? In fact, it just prolongs the earshot agony.


Latecomers to movie theatres think nothing about trampling over you once the movie has started. Even people that arrive on time find it beneath them to say "excuse me" as they step on your feet, passing in front of you to get a seat.

Bus passengers are another bone of contention for me. How about applying some common courtesy – in the form of deodorant?!  It's simply disgusting to sit near a person radiating B.O. instead of a smile. 

Speaking of foul smelling people, smokers reek of stale smoke. I think they should relegate a section in the bus for smokers, so us non-smokers can breathe in ease.

As for sidewalk behaviour, please stop riding your bike on sidewalks that are meant for walking. Even the handicapped speed along  in their nifty vehicles on the sidewalk thinking it's their right to run you over. True, they've been dealt a bad deal, but making me lose a leg out of their anger, is not kindly justice. Sometimes, they come up from behind; there is no bell - nothing to warn you of their speedy approach.

I know everything I say is politically incorrect, or risky, but the truth is, I'm not alone in these complaints. My close friends often greet me with  ominous announcements about the perils they encountered in traveling to my place by public transport.

Courtesy shows class, and class shows consideration, and consideration shows civility – the very foundation upon which we all rely to move without incidence from one place to another on a daily basis.

Now don’t get me started on drivers!

Legislating Language is Unfair

 A while back, you may have seen those lovely looking people on Montreal bus panels - their faces smiling over this message: “La langue française, c’est la langue Quebécoise” – something like that – with a ‘vrai’ in there; or,  written on French classroom walls saying, Le francaise, c’est la meilleur langue.”

It also appears on local French TV stations using a seductive voice-over in an haut-art ad, showing contented, successful people in several professions and trades (note that very few ‘Québecois’ blacks or Asians are presented). Both of these ‘enlightened’ ads are sponsored by l’Office de la langue française. I find it all deceptive. Everyone looks so happy and carefree. The ad with its soft, diffuse lighting looks like it was created by a cinematic art director. But what lies beneath the glow? The Office is actually sending a succinct message, telling all native-born Anglophones and thousands of immigrants that French is the magic bullet. It’s clever subliminal advertising.

We all know that French is the operative language in the province. Isn’t this a platitude, so why did ‘le Grand Frère’ spend lots of money on such an ad campaign? You don’t see in Argentina - where there is a massive mix of languages and cultures – an ad saying: “Espaňol, es la lengua de la Argentina; nor in Germany, Greece, Spain, France or Turkey.’. So what’s up? 

I believe  any "Speak French" ad is a highly visible attempt to remind all ‘outsiders’ that the ‘acceptable’ language is French. Unfortunately, this inference contains a subtext of exclusion: the ad devalues and even debases all other languages and their speakers. If you don't speak it, you don't belong here.

What I find appalling is the fact that this is the same kind of insidious knee-jerk reaction we get in racism. I say we ought never to judge a person by the colour of his/her skin or the language he or she speaks. This is not the way to go. It’s time we went past this. Intolerance is as easy to promote as lighting a match. Clearly, the intrinsic message in the ad is insensitive, and a tad incendiary, since it subliminally and subtly encourages us to think that we ought to disdain those who don’t use French every day in their lives here. It’s high time we begin to use our brains and a tempered heart to seize and appreciate every individual’s uniqueness. This is what defines humanity’s progress. Why can’t we have this message: «Le Québec, c’est la province ou chaque culture et chaque langue sont célébrées: un québécois traverse le monde ici; utilsant le français, ça va plus vite.» (The last part of this line is my conciliation to Bill 101).

When I was 16, I roomed with a francophone while studying Québecois French at Laval University one summer – a great experience. The following summer, I went to Glendon College to study ‘Continental French’. I learned French varies - not just the accent, but expressions here and overseas. My Haitian friend Marie from Snowdon claims that her French is the ‘real’ one; she’s a ‘vraie’ Quebecer.

I was nominated for a Mr. Christie award for my children’s book, ‘Les Cinq Sens en Folie’. Bilingual, even degreed to teach, I taught French in Ontario. My first job was in French here. I even taught drama and ESL at the French School, École Mont Royale, many years ago. But an incident taught me that exclusion is not based on language. I was invited by the Quebecois publisher to celebrate at a party. I made a comment (in French) that this is the way it should be: Anglophones and francophones having fun together, though I seemed to be the only anglais there. The cute fellow I was talking to yelled at me I would never be a Quebecer, I wasn’t wanted here. I persisted as I laid into a litany of my ‘French’ accomplishments, including my education, employment and Ottawa friends who were francophone. But I was a tête carrée according to this fellow. He had also written a kid’s book so I thought we had something in common – something to share. I felt rejected and discouraged, and left the party as an outcast. Maybe this incident was an anomaly, but this chap was refined, ‘educated’- Quebec’s pride.

Maybe l’Office needs a second ad that states: «La langue française, on vous admire pour l’apprendre, mais d’être accepté, ça c’est autre chose.»                  

Please Quebec, it’s time you started educating your own about tolerance, since you do have a generous immigration policy here (though the agenda smacks of ‘francisiation’: in numbers there is strength).  

Quebec is uniquely great because of its diversity. Legislating culture and language threatens the most priceless language of all: democracy.

Presidential Debates Would Make the Best Reality TV Series Ever!

Think about it. Opponents and one of them has to get voted off. I think the three debates I witnessed between Hillary and Donald are true reality TV material. Conflict, comedy, accusations and bad behavior, plus the element of learning facts, discerning lies and listening to eloquence and buffoonery simultaneously delivered by two different characters. Now, is this not the quintessential reality TV show?

 

 

 If Trump and Clinton really want to make their money honestly, they ought to franchise out those debates and have them translated into a zillion languages, and this way the whole world would listen - laughing, crying and discussing who really ought to get voted off at the end of the series. November 8^th will reveal the winner. And whoever it is, they deserve a medal for TV showmanship and entertainment value. Sad thing is, these presidential debates are for real, folks.

 

                            Will the next president please accept his or her award?

 

The Worst NON-TRAVEL Travel Surprise

Passport Expiry

OK folks. Take a look at your passport. Where are you heading to and when? 

More importantly what date are you returning home? Expiry date no longer gives you     the right to leave your visiting country a day, a week before that expiry date – not even a month before- not even two months before. In fact, you must scadoodle out at least 3 months before the expiry date -  when your destination is Europe. But if you're visiting the USA from Europe,  you've got to get out 6 months before the expiry date.

The point of this article is this: go on line and the country’s consulate and ask very carefully, how soon must you leave the destination country before the expiry date on your passport kick in.

Note that the official has no right to ask you the number of your passport, just the expiry date.

Costa Rica from Canada demands one month prior. That is another example of each country’s exit expiry peccadilloes

 

Here’s another sneaky thing. If you opt for a 10-year passport – in the case of Canada – and you travel a lot and the pages get marked on every spot by border stamps, you have to get a new one and pay again! So much for saving $40 (the 5-year one costs $120; the 10-year one is $160).

So bon voyage, but that little coloured passport’s expiry date is so important, you may very well expire right at the airline’s check-in counter when they tell you you aren’t getting on the plane today – such as what happened to me yesterday for my flight to Athens, Greece.

 So which one are you here?                              You hit the skids; didn't check the date?                                                                                              
Easy-breezy; checked the date                           
                                                                                 

     or almost made it?