At My Mother's Table

My mother's table has been sitting in my garage since last July. We moved it here, along with a U-Haul full of stuff, after she went into a nursing home. I brought it home for my middle daughter who knew she would need a table when she got her first real job and her first real apartment. 

My husband and I already have a lovely oak table, rebuilt by my father in law for us shortly after we married. He found it at an antique store, had a new skirt milled for it, and refinished it. I refinished it again not so long ago. It's a solid table, and it was built with love. But it is also small. So when Elizabeth got her apartment, we decided to give her the smaller table and use the larger one ourselves. 

Family Christmas

My mother's table has a heavy oak pedestal and a solid round skirt and 4 original leaves. Pulled out to its full length, it seats 14 comfortably as it did many times in my parent's house when our whole family was together. 

Cookie decorating

My parents bought the table from an estate sale when I was a kid. I have no idea where it came from. I refinished the top of it a lovely golden brown when I was 17. It hasn't been refinished since. And after we set it up in our living room, taking three of us to hoist it upright, I could see it needed refinishing again. One side was particularly worn and I realized that was the side where my mom sat-alone- for the past few years since my dad's death.  The finish was worn down to nothing by the caregiver's vigorous scrubbing.

I wondered if I should refinish it the same golden colour or a darker brown to match the sideboard and china cabinet?  Elizabeth said she preferred the brown. The stain at the hardware store did not have samples, so the kid in the paint department kindly tested at least 7 kinds of stain for me. None were golden brown. I finally settled on a darker brown called "Colonial American."  

Dad rolling out pie crust.

I love refinishing furniture. I don't do it too often and I'm too impatient to do a thorough job, but it's rewarding to see a solid piece of of craftsmanship regain it's original appearance. And as I scour and scrape and sand the table, I think about its past. A myriad of activities have taken place at my mother's table.  It's been the setting of breakfasts and coffee klatches and family dinners and staff parties. Many pie crusts have been rolled out by my dad on it's surface. Dozens of cookies have been decorated. Hundreds of figure skating costumes cut out.  I have stood on this table to have a hem measured. So many hands of canasta played until deep into the night. I've set it countless times, using the everyday china and cutlery- and the fancy china and silver. I discovered a small circular indentation- and remembered the little cylinder of metal used in making self-covered buttons. It must have slipped and left this mark. I left it alone. The table needs its battle scars.

Finally, the top of the table is smooth and bare. The sides and base will have to wait for another day. I spread on the dark brown stain and wait, then buff it off with a cloth. Then repeat. The patches scrubbed bare by Lilya over the years will not accept the stain, no matter what I do. After the second coat, I wait again. Lo and behold -the table is the exact same golden brown as it has always been. 

Canasta night

My mom and dad are both gone now. I don't know when my entire family will sit at my mother's table again. When they do, it will be ready.

Fear of Fifteen

As the "Fight for $15" continues, I hear a lot of scary stories from people in my part of the world. They are afraid of so many things. Mostly, I think, they are afraid of change. After all, this is a province that elected the same government for nearly 44 years, and before that, one party was in power for 36 years.

I hear anecdotes from people who base their opinions on stories about this and that. For instance, an article mentioning three restaurants that shut down in Seattle was proof that minimum wage increases led to job loss, despite the fact that the restaurant owners in question had named other reasons for their demise, and one specifically stated it was nothing to do with wage increases. I guess a personal story is easier to relate to.  It has power. It is easy to understand. It doesn't require looking at facts or statistics. Because, to quote former premier Jim Prentice, "Math is difficult." There are a few books out there on this topic, for instance Dan Gardner's Risk:The Science and Politics of Fear. 

But anecdotes are not evidence. 

Source: Doucouliagos and Stanley (2009)

I prefer to look at statistics and research when trying to decide what to believe, especially when it comes to the potential effects of government policy. Dozens of studies going back decades have found that an increase in the minimum wage does not lead to job loss. A recent study looked at employment in the restaurant sector in the U.S. over a 16 year period, comparing employment in 1381 counties. The study found no employment effects of minimum wage increases. In Britain, 140 studies have shown the same thing.  Meta-studies (“studies of studies” that pool the results of a large number of research papers)  found that that minimum wage increases had little to no effect on employment and one worldwide study even found that minimum wage increases led to increased employment.

B.C. froze its minimum wage for 9 years. When it raised it in May 2011, the Fraser Institute claimed that would lead to over 52,000 job losses- a 16 per cent decline in employment. Completely wrong. Instead there was a 1.6% decrease in employment for people aged 15-24. At the same time, 1.1% of that age group went back to school, which they should have done anyway.

Governor of New York Andrew Cuomo recently stated that a low minimum wage actually results in tax-payers subsidizing the fast food industry. Because fast food workers cannot live on their income, they need food stamps or turn to social services for income assistance. Because they are poor, they are far more likely to be sick and use Medicaid or in Canada, public healthcare services.

There is a lot of misinformation about who minimum wages earners are. The stereotype is that they are teenagers who don't really need the money. In reality, most minimum wage earners are are full time ethnic minority women who live on a wage that puts them below the poverty level.

In the minds of some, the working poor are lazy good-for-nothings. They are poor because they deserve to be. They don't understand what work means. Some of these people will tell you that minimum wage jobs were never meant to be full time permanent jobs. They were meant to be entry level jobs that would encourage people to work harder and get better jobs. Yet minimum wage employees do important work. Society relies on them to serve us coffee and ring up our groceries and take care of our kids and our aging parents, to say nothing of the working poor outside of Canada who grow and package our food and manufacture most of the goods we own. These people are far from lazy. 

In real terms, the minimum wage in Canada has only increased by one cent since 1975 while the wages of the people at the top steadily escalate. Income inequality is increasing dramatically, especially in Alberta. Especially for women. In Alberta, the top 10% of tax-filers in 2012 made 50.4 of all the income earned in the province. In a province where the CEO of an agricultural company makes over $23 million a year and the president of the U of A makes more than 1.1 million in compensation (all the while saying "the university can't withstand more cuts"), in a country where a hockey player makes over $16 million, I have to wonder why anyone resents their Timmy's clerk making over $19,000 a year.

Our minimum wage in Alberta is $10.20/hr (liquor servers $9.20)- the richest province in the country, with one of the lowest minimum wage levels. While only 2% of wage earners make minimum wage, nearly 300,000 Albertans make less than $15 an hour.  That is not a living wage. If raising the minimum wage doesn't lead to unemployment, it does lead to one thing. It leads to a better life for the poor.

And a better life for the poor is good for everyone.

My Reconciliation Includes

Truth and Reconciliation

I say it's complicated.
Others say it's not.
It's black and white
It's classic good and evil.

My history and your history is anything but black and white.

And while aboriginal and non-aboriginal Canadians try to reconcile their differences so too do I try to reconcile historical truths with the truths I know.

Letter about Wabasca Residential School, 1935.

Residential schools. Terrible things happened there. Thousands died. Thousands more ripped from the arms of their loving parents. Children who were denied love. Children who grew up not knowing what a family looked like. Children who grew up ashamed of their language and their culture. Children and their children who became adults who suffer the painful inter-generational effects to this day.

The "Sixties Scoop." Thousands of aboriginal children taken from their families in Canada in the 1960s, many with the mistaken idea that these kids did not have a family that would love and care for them. A whole generation of kids, victims of transracial adoption. A generation denied its heritage. Kids who as adults now don't know where they belong. People who now suffer identity crises and mental health issues after growing up outside of their own culture.

How do I reconcile what I know with those truths?

Some of Grandad's young friends in the Far North

Because I know people who worked in residential schools who were not evil people. They were good people. People who were trying to help. People who did not beat or abuse their young charges. People who tried to teach them the skills to succeed in Canadian society. People like Heather who taught in a residential school in Wabasca in the 1960s. As kind a woman as you will ever meet. People like my grandfather, an immigrant from England, who volunteered in the 1950s in Inuvik while he worked for the Bank of Commerce. In his spare time, he taught gymnastics to young Inuit boys. A gentle funny man who enjoyed working with kids.

My brothers, sister and me.

My brother and sister were adopted by my parents in the 1960s. My parents married late in life and did not expect to have any kids after I was born. They applied to adopt. They were asked if they would be interested in an aboriginal child. They said of course. They would take any child who needed a home. My brother came from Penticton Indian Band and my sister from the Tsawout First Nation on Vancouver Island. Although they grew up knowing they were aboriginal and adopted, they also grew up in a white house in a white neighbourhood with the accompanying values and culture. And they grew up with love.

I have a letter my mom wrote to my sister. My sister was speaking on cross cultural adoptions at a conference. My mom related a story about my brother.

When he was about four he said, "Mom, I'm not an Indian, am I? I don't want to be." We had never kept this a secret but a ten year old had taunted him I guess. This was in the sixties and he hadn't seen many aboriginal people except in Cowboy and Indian movies, so I said "Are you thinking of the movies where the Indians fight the Cowboys? Where they are barefoot, ride horses and carry bows and arrows?  He said "yes."  I explained that the pictures were of olden days and that all people are different today...

Just once, he said, why can't the Indians win?

Looking back, we cannot imagine our lives without our four children...They are all well educated and gainfully employed and now we have grandchildren. Most important, all of them have learned that people are people and cannot be judged on race or other differences but only on the values they hold.

When my brother and sister each turned 18, they met their birth mothers and chose to live near them for some time. My mother never expressed any concern with their choice. Their birth mothers attended their weddings. My sister now lives on the Tsawout Reserve, three doors away from her birth mother. She herself has an adopted aboriginal son and is an adoptions worker. I can't say whether adoption ruined my siblings lives. You would have to ask them. But I think I know what they would say.

My husband and I are both teachers. We worked in the NWT for two years where we taught aboriginal kids. Wonderful, creative kids. Many of them lived in atrocious conditions- some of them did not get enough to eat. Others lived with alcoholic relatives who went on month-long binges, leaving young kids to fend for themselves. Others were sexually abused by family members. Five young people committed suicide in a five month span in a town of 450 people. We did our best with these kids. We fed them. We visited their homes. We talked to their parents and uncles and aunties and grandparents. We communicated with liaison workers to find better living conditions. Did we try to assimilate these children into mainstream Canadian culture? Were we part of a tradition of cultural genocide? Perhaps. But I also know it is the only place I have ever worked where I truly believe I made a difference. It mattered that I was there.

Today, I am a distance education course writer. My course materials include lessons about residential schools and aboriginal issues. I hope one day to assist with building courses in Aboriginal Studies for all Albertan students, including my First Nations students who tell me "I don't understand what land claims are" and "Can you explain treaty rights again?" And while I do that, I ask myself who am I to teach kids what it means to be aboriginal? Maybe right now, I am the only one.

History is not black and white. It is a place of shadows. It is gray. It is not simple. I know there were atrocities committed. Perhaps my protestant guilt has led me to where I am today in my relationship with aboriginal people. Perhaps it is how I was raised or who my parents and siblings and students are. Or maybe just simply my humanity. Whatever it is, my reconciliation includes looking at my own history and knowing that somewhere between our good intentions and their evil effects is truth. And I have made my peace with that.

Celebrate Democracy

If you have never worked at an election before, I highly recommend it.

There is something almost sacred about it.

One person after another enters the polling station, presents ID, receives a ballot, chooses a representative, and drops their slip of paper into a box. There is no chatter. People often seem lost in thought, absorbed in the seriousness of voting.

The atmosphere is at once respectful and festive, tense and friendly, nervous and hopeful.

On Tuesday I worked as a scrutineer in a largely aboriginal community hours from any major centre. The polling station was in the college. There was a sign telling people to take off their muddy shoes and they did, walking in stocking feet into the room to vote. Old and young, with wheelchairs, canes, and with babes in arms.  In they came, in a steady stream. One by one they cast their ballot and left. I had no idea who they were voting for until the votes were counted.

At a previous federal election, I worked as a poll clerk. New Canadians came in, voting for the first time. Many had never been allowed to vote in their native land and were proud and excited to cast a ballot. One gentlemen almost panicked when he thought his name was not on the elector's list. I wondered where had he come from- what had he witnessed to cause such a reaction?

The vote count itself is conducted with complete transparency. The name of the chosen candidate on each ballot is read out loud, the ballot shown to anyone who wants to look, the totals tallied by poll clerks and scrutineers from each party who check for accuracy. Even though those working the election are from different parties, there is a feeling of teamwork and respect for the end result. Everyone believes in the process. And to anyone who says the results must be rigged, you have not worked a Canadian election.  

A serious business, voting. A grown-up thing to do. Something that makes me proud to be Canadian.

Do the Right Thing

So this guy says "you just don't get it," referring to my position on Alberta's NDP. Apparently I do not understand the "economy".

Here's what I DO get.

In 2001 the corporate tax rate in Alberta was 15.5 %. The economy was booming.  In 2007 it dropped to 10%. Another thing happened in 2007. The first deficit budget. For past 7 years the corporate tax rate has been the lowest in the country, steady at 10% and the province has run a deficit for those same 7 years. Coincidence?

In every budget you have revenue and expenses. As anyone who has watched "Till Debt Do Us Part" knows, if you choose to reduce your income, you can either cut expenses or go into debt. The PCs chose debt. The Wildrose choose cutting services. The NDP choose to increase revenue-from those who can clearly afford it.

Pouty millionaires club. 

On Friday PC donors raised $800,000 for the Prentice campaign. These wealthy business people have enjoyed their cosy relationship with the government for decades and now fear they will lose their undue influence. On the same day this fundraising dinner was held, 5 millionaires held a press conference to support the PC party, telling Alberta voters to "think straight" and  threatening, among other things, to withhold their (tax deductible) donations from the Stollery Children's Hospital if the NDP is elected and they have to go back to the corporate tax levels of 7 years ago- a mere 2% increase on their profits.

John Cameron of Keller Construction. 

"I can't afford a raise in taxes...
Why is it always the corporations?
Why is it always? Why? Why is it me?"
Keller donated $16,000 to the PC party.

It's pretty hard to feel sorry for multimillionaires. It's just a bit hard to sympathize with guys who say "Why is it always me?" when it's clearly never them- they are the ones receiving government contracts and tax breaks. Especially when we live in a
province with the highest income inequality in the country. When these are MEN telling us what to do-in a province with the highest gender wage gap in Canada. When we live in the last province in the country to increase minimum wage above $10/hr.  A province that - despite being the "economic engine" of the nation- still insists on a minimum wage that is below the poverty line.

As a teacher, my salary has been frozen for 3 years while the cost of living has increased by over 5%. Tuition for my 3 university students has nearly doubled. Did I reduce my donations to worthy causes?  No. Because was raised to do the right thing whatever government was in power.

Oh, I get it all right. 

I get who has been controlling the provincial agenda.

And now it's time for change.

Time to do the right thing. 

Family

Margaret, John and Marion with brother
Bobby who died as a child.

In 1912 my ancestors on my mom's side of the family came from Brantford Ontario to  homestead in the Appleton district near Beaverlodge Alberta.

My great-grandparents Charles and Eliza McNaught travelled by ox cart from Edmonton along the Edson Trail to Grande Prairie along with their daughters Betty and Marion, my grandmother. Daughters Isabel and Margaret stayed behind to finish their schooling, but joined the family the next year along with Charles's sister Janet, called "Aunt Nin" by my mother and aunt. Their son John, a graduate of the University of Toronto, was teaching in Manitoba at the time.

When they arrived at their plot of land, a stake in the ground told them they were home. They were treated to a salad by the farm wife next door, Mrs. Mortwedt. My grandmother told me it was made with red leaf lettuce and a dressing of brown sugar and vinegar and it was delicious.

McNaught Homestead

How different  their new lives must have been from the ones they left behind. They left a farm and a large comfortable house just outside Paris, Ontario. My grandmother walked away from her dream of becoming a nurse- she had just been accepted
into nursing before they left. They were in search of adventure and opportunity and a drier climate for my great grandmother, or so I have been told. And they found it all in the Peace Country. They soon became pillars of their community, building a home, planting an impressive garden (including aspargus beds!), setting up their own tennis court, starting a ladies basketball league and bringing in other aspects of civilization to their new home. Every fall they hosted a "ghost walk" on McNaught Lake.  It is said that their home was the centre of community gatherings and I know their daughters broke many hearts!

John McNaught

My grandmother never became a nurse. She fell in love with a charming British orphan, my grandfather George Martin, who worked nearby at the Bank of Commerce in Lake Saskatoon.

Soon war was declared, and my grandfather and Uncle John were off to the front, soon followed by my grandmother who worked in a munitions factory in England during the war.

Uncle John wrote many letters to my grandmother and to his relatives back home during the war. His letters home from the front were chilling-both for what he included and what he left out. He was gassed at Ypres. Upon return to Canada, he was unable to work indoors due to the injury to his lungs and he joined his parents in running the family farm. An academic and a gifted writer, who might have become if he had not been injured?

John on the Nose Moutain
Expedition, 1937

Margaret was the first teacher at the new Appleton School and continued to teach in the area. Junior High and special ed were her areas of specialization. She had a wicked sense of humour and raised turkeys among other things. Isabel became a teacher and married late in life, continuing to teach grade one after her daughter Liza was born and her husband Judd Perry unexpectedly died. She loved nature and knew the names of every plant which she delighted in explaining to her young visitors. She was an avid photographer with her own darkroom.

During the Depression, John and some other Beaverlodge residents formed a riding club that went on many excursions into the mountains.  I have a 12 page diary of one of those expeditions, to Nose Mountain, along with accompanying photos I plan to turn into a book some day. Humour and adventure and love of the wilderness feature prominently.

Betty's artistic talents were encouraged by her family, who sent her off to study at the Ontario College of Art under Arthur Lismer and A.Y. Jackson of the Group of Seven. She later taught art in Calgary and then returned to the family homestead where she continued to paint and sculpt and teach art to others for the rest of her life. Her work has been displayed in art galleries across Canada and she inspired generations of people to pursue artistic endeavors.

John and Noel's wedding

Upon the death of his father, John took over the homestead. Late in life, he married Noel Cameron from New Zealand. John was a prolific writer whose diaries and letters now form part of the South Peace Archives in Grande Prairie. The McNaught homestead -its buildings and 160 acres of land-was donated to the Prairie Gallery by Noel in 2002 and is now owned and by the McNaught Homestead Preservation Society. It is a designated historic site that is being lovingly restored for future generations.  The society holds its own ghost walk every Hallowe'en.

My grandfather returned to banking after the war. He and my grandmother and their little family of two girls lived in many small southern towns, eventually landing in Edmonton. Upon retirement, they bought the property across the road from the McNaught homestead and lived there until they died. My cousin Peter lives in the old house and my cousin Erin lives next door. They are active in preserving the old homestead, along with several of my relatives who live in the area.

Who are we?

We are our genetics and our environment and all the factors around us. We are the result of opportunities gained and opportunities lost. We are the result of relationships foreordained and unexpected. We are the result of enduring love and broken hearts.

We are where we live, with all its quirks and challenges.

We are not just who were taught to be but also who we learned to be through example and experience and the lack thereof.

Knowing who we are comes in part from knowing where we came from.

My daughter Jordan, her great great aunt
Isabel, Betty McNaught and Jordan's second cousin
Mia Freeman,

IF

If…

With apologies to Rudyard Kipling

If you are happy with cabinet ministers giving themselves 30% pay increase while freezing teachers’ wages

If you like driving hundreds of KM to see a doctor

If you enjoy highway potholes that can’t be filled due to cuts at Alberta Transportation

If you think democratically elected school boards should not be allowed to use reserves in times of need

If you agree that our natural resources should be sold out from under us so corporations can profit

If you enjoy paying a “healthcare levy” that goes into general revenue

If your corporation benefits from the lowest tax rates in Canada

If you blame yourself for Alberta’s financial woes

VOTE PC

If you want smaller government

If you can afford to jump the cue because you can afford privatized health care

If you can pay thousands in tuition for your kids to go to private school

If you think climate change is a myth

If you think your wife belongs in the kitchen baking a pie

If you don’t care what postsecondary education costs

If you think nonprofits should deliver mental health services

If you think industry should monitor itself

VOTE WILDROSE

If you want corporations to pay their share through increased royalties and corporate taxes

If you want teachers and nurses to be paid what they deserve

If you want decent class sizes and support for kids with special needs

If you think school fees should be eliminated

If you want appropriate monitoring of pollution and environmental protection

If you want quality, free, universally accessible health care

If you believe Alberta belongs to Albertans and not foreign corporations

VOTE NDP

Dear Mr. Risinger

I really don't know what possessed me, Mr Risinger. 

I don't know what was going through my head. 

The last time we spoke I told you I was proceeding with small claims action against United Airlines after my family's fiasco at Christmas. My instincts told me to NEVER FLY UNITED. But then I chickened out. Or maybe I should say cheaped out. Or I just got lazy. And as much as it shames me to admit, I took the $150 voucher you offered and flew to Austin for my spring break.

"Really," I told my husband. "What happened to us on our return from Panama must have just been bad luck. Let's use the vouchers. What are the odds they will screw up again?" He agreed. It just wouldn't happen again. And besides, we left ourselves several hours of wiggle room if there was another delayed flight. Really, what were the odds? Well Mr. Risinger, as it turns out, the odds were good. Pretty damn good. In fact I'd venture the odds were about 100%.

Our flight was scheduled to leave Edmonton at 6:20 a.m. on April 6. On the day before the flight, we took the dogs to the kennel, checked in online, checked the flight status at least five times, and went to bed. 

At 1:14 a.m. I received a text. 

Your flight on Apr. 6 (UA3488) from Denver to Edmonton has been canceled due to flight crew availability. 

Well Mr. Risinger, although I hadn't learned my lesson after the massive Panama City-Costa Rica-Newark-Phoenix-Edmonton cock-up, I did learn something-"Don't go to the airport and expect United to help you." So I booked an alternate flight via San Francisco online. It added three hours to the trip, and as I flew over the Golden Gate Bridge I thought of the new slogan for United that my son had dreamed up. "United:Taking you places you never dreamed you'd go!"

In fact I had a little chuckle to myself as I updated my Facebook status with those very words. And then I breathed a little sigh of relief. Yes, United had messed up once again. What were the odds of it happening again on that very flight? Well Mr. Risinger, as it turns out, the odds were pretty damn good. In fact I'd venture to put the odds at about 100%.

So. We spent an enjoyable few days at our Airbnb in Travis Heights, took in some great live music, ate some good food, saw some sights and enjoyed the sun. The day before our flight was to leave, we checked in online and checked the flight status over and over again. United's website assured us there was no record of delays or cancellations for this flight. But once again, just a few hours before our flight was scheduled to leave, I received another text:

Your flight on Apr.10 (UA3530) from Denver to Edmonton has been canceled due to flight crew availability.

Now this time I wasn't quite so casual with my re-booking. We absolutely HAD to be in Edmonton by 1:30 the next day for our daughter's university graduation. I looked at the United website. There were no flights that would get us to Edmonton that day. Panicked, I phoned and got cut off twice. We headed for the airport with my husband on the phone. He told the agent that we would travel across the country and back but please just get us to Edmonton. 

Meanwhile I started checking Expedia for any possible route, including travelling to Phoenix or Las Vegas or Vancouver or departing out of Houston. Basically any route I could find. All the while cursing myself for not following own advice, freely offered to anyone who would listen, my advice to NEVER FLY UNITED. Finally my husband was told the only route was to overnight in Denver and fly to Seattle and then Edmonton the next morning, arriving at 12:39. Impossible to get to downtown Edmonton from the airport in time for my daughter's ceremony.

My husband was then asked if he wanted a hotel booked. He said yes, and much to our amazement- well, it really shouldn't have been amazing considering United's track record- we were told we would be charged for our hotel stay, despite the fact the delay was 100% the fault of United. We were also told United has a discount for the hotel so we were getting a deal. That, as I soon discovered, was a flat out lie as the hotel's own website quoted the identical rate we paid.

So...

YEG via Seattle

overnight at the Denver Hyatt House Airport hotel, on to Alaska Air (a lovely airline by the way) via Seattle and then to Edmonton where we arrived on schedule, paid the extra day of parking, and were in our car heading for the grad ceremony by 1:14 with my husband driving the 30 kilometers of busy Saturday traffic like a maniac. He parked illegally and we ran flat out into the conference centre, still dressed in our casual clothes. Thank GOD the mechanical engineers had messed up about something or other and the ceremony was delayed by 20 minutes. Sheer luck.

When I got home, I checked United's website for the flight record for our two cancelled flights. More lies. The "See on-time performance for this flight" link for BOTH cancelled flights states that there is no record of recent delays or cancellations. Maybe that means your airline doesn't keep records? Or recent means yesterday? Is there even a YEG-DEN flight? Or do you just cancel them whenever they aren't full and tell your passengers whatever excuse you can dream up?

Flight was cancelled April 6.

Flight was cancelled April 10.

My experience leads me to believe that December's Panama City fiasco was not just some weird aberration on the part of United Airlines. It's standard operating procedure. Departure times are vague estimates, flight routes are suggestions, and delays and cancellations are the rule rather than the exception. The information on your website is just plain wrong as is the information provided by your telephone agents. 

I can't help but wonder how the world would work if everyone managed their affairs like United. What would happen if parents received a text at 1:14 a.m. telling them school was cancelled because teachers hadn't shown up for work? Time after time after time? Or if we repeatedly shut down hospitals and electricity and telephones and ambulance services and banks and the myriad of services people rely on? 

Anyway. We suffered a great deal of stress from your airline's incompetence. We're out of pocket by $250 bucks. I know we won't get it back. Maybe I will put in a claim. Maybe not.

I just wanted you to know that your airline sucks. 

If you haven't figured that out already.

Shades of the Rolla Ferry

Me and my siblings

My dad had some sayings he would toss out every now and again. "Talk's cheap but it takes money to buy whiskey" was one he apparently got from his dad.

"La-da-di-o" was an expression that caused my mom no end of annoyance for some reason. He used it when he thought people were being a little too fancy for his liking. Or when he was trying to be fancy.

And when my mom had cooked a particularly good dinner and we were all sitting around the table, satisfied and relaxed, he would say "I wonder what the poor people are doing tonight." It was his way of saying he felt rich, even when he wasn't. At least, that's what I always took it to mean.

A similar expression was "shades of the Rolla ferry," a comment that was part of my parents' idiolect, their secret language, built up by years of living together, filled with nuances and history that only the two of them knew.

"Shades of the Rolla ferry" reminded them of a perfect spring day when our family took a picnic to the site of a former ferry not far from our home in Dawson Creek. The weather was lovely. I am sure we had our plaid tin picnic basket and the thermoses in the leather case that my parents had received as a wedding gift. The poplar-clad hills were washed in the green-gold of early spring. Bits of foam blew off the river into our faces. Our loyal dog Pabby made sure none of us got too close to the water. Something about that day held a special place in their hearts and every now and then in the years that followed, when our family was together, my dad would look at my mom, and say "Shades of the Rolla ferry," and she would laugh quietly and nod in the way of couples who have been together for a long time.

"Shades of the Rolla ferry" was their private reminder of a moment when their world stood still. A moment when they were surprised by the simple exquisite perfection of their world.  A moment when a husband and wife looked at their family and knew life was more than they had ever dreamed of.

the road

My daughter's friend Krista recently emailed me for some information about travelling in Cuba. I have been there twice over Christmas-I'm hardly an expert. But I loved digging out information about homestays and restaurants and places to go in Cuba, one of my favourite countries in the world. As I shared email addresses and Tripadvisor reviews, I went on a journey in my own mind back to those family adventures in Havana, Trinidad, Cienfuegos, Vinales and Santa Clara. 

Vinales

In my mind I revisited crumbling colonial mansions and jungle walks and pristine beaches. I thought about the true "Havana gentlemen" who helped us find accommodation and deal with the police. 

I tasted enormous fresh lobster and ropa viejo and mojitos, still mystified by reports of how terrible the food in Cuba is. I smiled to recall the little goats who pull children around the square in Santa Clara and the funny old baseball star who insisted my daughter dance with him one evening. I laughed when I thought about the bad horse who took my daughter on his own adventure in the hills of Vinales. I think of the wide empty highways we travelled in our rental car. I recall the pride of the Cuban people who stood alone against the United States after decades of embargoes. The incredible art and music in every place we visited. The burning of the effigies to the year past on New Year's Eve.  I know Krista won't love Cuba like I love Cuba, but I envy her journey. 

Tallinn, Estonia

My husband and I met at the Vancouver International Airport on Canada Day 1984. Clearly auspicious. After seven weeks in Shanghai (before people went to Shanghai) we got engaged and shortly thereafter, married. 

As my friends and relatives build up their investments, buy new vehicles every year and renovate their houses, my husband and I travel -dragging whichever of our children we can still convince to come with us. 

Turkey

I don't know what it is about the road but I love it. The new experiences and foods and scenery and historic sites and art and music. The people-so different and yet so much the same wherever you go. Adventure. Wildlife. Better weather. I'm bored with routine, I know that. 

Mostly there is the feeling that I've never really belonged anywhere. I've always felt like an outsider and I wonder if maybe, just maybe, if I just travel far enough and look hard enough, I will find a place where I fit in. 

If not, the road will always beckon with its promise of something new around the bend.

Gregg Lake Alberta

The Inherent Vice of the Alberta Advantage

Churchill once said "The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of blessings; the inherent virtue of socialism is the equal sharing of miseries."

Well...we understand capitalism in Alberta. Our economy, fine-tuned after 44 years of "progressive" conservative rule, has led to a greatly unequal sharing of blessings.

Jim Prentice's $71,000 T-Bird

For the wealthy, our booming economy has provided riches far beyond the dreams of most people in the world. Second and third homes that are far more elegant than most people's houses, luxury vacations, club memberships, sky-boxes at hockey games, designer clothes, garages full of vehicles, including "classic cars" that are just owned for show...truly, "the best of everything" as Premier Prentice says. A pervasive "winner take all" attitude with its subliminal message - if you don't have "the best of everything" somehow you didn't work hard enough to get it. You with your median income of $68,000- you don't deserve it. But because we want to be winners, we want to be those people with the T-birds and the clothes from Haven and Holts and the condo in the Grand Caymans, we need to think like those winners do. All Albertans should vote the way they vote.

In a capitalist economy, it's expected that blessings will be unequally shared, and inequality in Alberta is the highest in Canada. In fact, it's higher than it is in the United States. According to Statistics Canada, the top 10% of Alberta's taxfilers make 50% of all the money. Statistics further show that the oil boom in Alberta has really only served to benefit the rich. Wealth has not trickled down to the average Albertan. 1 in 10 Albertan children live in poverty, and half of those have working parents. Food bank use rising, spectacularly. Minimum wage is still the lowest of any Canadian province.

We understand capitalism in this province. Socialism? Not so much. Our brand of socialism is unlike that described by Churchill, in which all share in the "miseries" by contributing equitably to public services that benefit all. Our political leaders do not quite grasp the idea that universal social programmes were set up so that some people can get further ahead by acting in their own self-interest, but no one will be left too far behind. A social safety net  established through our desire for the collective good. Here in Alberta somehow we agreed to a kind of socialism that benefits the rich at the expense of the poor, rather than the other way around. 

Hope Mission, Edmonton 

So not only do we celebrate the unequal sharing of wealth, we also enjoy the unequal sharing of miseries. While all Albertans theoretically benefit from public services, they are not equally delivered. Urban Albertans, with with more doctors and greater access to timely services, receive better healthcare than those in rural Alberta. Southern Albertans have a higher life expectancy than northerners. The wealthy live longer than the poor. Wealthy Albertans, unprepared to wait for surgery or stand in line for 70 plus hours with everyone else in the emergency room, flee to the U.S. for care. Students of the wealthy fare better in school, or their parents pull them out to exclusive private schools. And then these parents send their children to increasingly expensive post-secondaries and the cycle continues. In reality, all Albertans do not receive equal public services.

Nor do we pay for these services equally. A provincial flat tax of 10% hits the working poor and middle class much harder than the extremely wealthy. Jim Prentice's announced "healthcare levy" will hurt the poor much more than it will the wealthy, and as Sandra Azocar of Friends of Medicare says, "Albertans do not need to be taxed, fined or punished for years of PC mismanagement." Low corporate taxes and low oil royalties mean that Albertans are essentially giving away their resources to multinational corporations, both foreign and Canadian owned.

The inherent vice of our political and economic system in Alberta today is that neither miseries nor blessings are equally shared.

I am a teacher and I vote NDP

Public schools are messy places. They have to be messy. How else can we take thousands of children from all backgrounds and provide them with opportunities to succeed? In our public schools, boys like the sons of my millionaire friends work alongside the children of minimum wage temporary foreign workers. In our public schools, girls like my northern daughters obtain the foundational knowledge to lead to a PhD from Cambridge or a degree and  a job in geophysics. Schools are complicated. They are far from utopian. But they are full of promise. They are a microcosm of the Alberta I believe in. 

I am a teacher and I vote NDP because I believe in equality. The children in Alberta’s public schools come from all income brackets and from every walk of life. The children of the rich and the children of the poor. Those born with every advantage and those born into the vicious inter-generational cycle of poverty. Children raised by siblings, foster parents, stay home moms, nannies, kookums and moosums. Children with a myriad of skills and talents and needs. These kids do not walk into our classrooms “equal” but when they enter our schools, the rich kids don't get exclusive rights to play with the good toys. All kids are welcomed equally. All kids are treated equally. They learn to recognize value in each other. And I believe that if that kind of equality can exist in a school, it can exist in society.

I am a teacher and I vote NDP because I know there is strength in diversity. Our schools are filled with children of many colours, religions, environmental views, ideological beliefs, cultures and languages. Children of refugees. Children of pioneers. Children of immigrants. Children of Canada’s First Peoples. Children who are co-creators of knowledge and will one day be co-creators of their own society. They should not be put into separate buildings where they only see others like themselves. Our schools and our society will move forward when we hear each others' voices. And I believe that if we can celebrate diversity in a school, we can do so in society.

I am a teacher and I vote NDP because I believe human potential is not something that should be squandered. Society cannot continue to ignore the social capital inherent in our next generation. Students succeed when they are given the right tools and someone who believes in them. When they work hard and are rewarded, they learn what they are capable of and in turn they give back. If we can recognize the potential of each human in a school, we can do so as a province. We can build social capital in our province and that will benefit each and every Albertan.

I am a teacher and I vote NDP because I believe in progress. An excellent fully funded public education is the way out of poverty. Our ancestors knew it and so do we. Many of my students will never be able to “pull themselves up by their bootstraps,” but they will pull themselves up with assistance. That assistance should be the birthright of every child born in this province. It should not be based on the ability to pay, the price of oil, the whims of a charitable donor or the misguided notion that all Albertans, including children, must pay for corporate welfare. There is such a thing as progress. I see it in my school every day.

I am a teacher and I vote NDP because I know that if we value equality, diversity and human potential in our schools, children can raise themselves up. They can make their own lives better while contributing to their communities. Henry Marshall Tory described the purpose of the University of Alberta as "the uplifting of the whole people." But that is not just an educational goal. It is the goal of society. 

That is why I am a teacher and I vote NDP.

Mirror Mirror

"In terms of who is responsible, we all need only look in the mirror." 

What do you see when you look in the mirror, Mr. Prentice? Do you see a wealthy middle aged white man, who by a lucky combination of nature, nurture, social standing and hard work has become rich? Do you see a handsome frat boy, former lawyer, MP and corporate director- a politician who enjoys private club membership and the odd purchase of a classic automobile? Do you see a man who left corporate banking and a reported 7 figure salary to become Premier of Alberta for a mere $207,000? And who do you imagine standing with you as you look in your mirror? Who do you think of when you think of "all Albertans"?  Other white men like yourself who have indeed had the best of everything? 

“Collectively we got into this as Albertans and collectively we’re going to get out of it and everybody is going to have to shoulder some share of the responsibility.”

When I look I look in the mirror, I see a working mom who has helped put three kids through university as their tuition increased by over 50%. I see a teacher whose salary has not increased for three years in a row, while Alberta's politicians voted to give themselves a 30% wage hike. I see a community advocate and volunteer. And when I think of "all Albertans," I think of the legion of public sector employees who have been collectively serving the the young, the sick, the elderly, and the poor of this province. When I think of "all Albertans" I see rural remote residents whose access to health services has steadily deteriorated. When I think of "all Albertans" I see countless volunteers who support women's shelters and homeless programmes. 

"...all of us have had the best of everything and have not had to pay for what it costs." 

We haven't all had the "best of everything," Mr. Prentice. 26,000 Albertans live on minimum wage which until recently was the very lowest in Canada. 1 in 10 children live in poverty. The average earnings of an Alberta woman is 58% of what a man earns-the worst gender gap in Canada. Our province contains the richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor. Our burdens are not equally shared.

Ironically, those who have had "the best of everything and have not had to pay what it costs" are those you have said are off the hook when it comes to paying their share-Alberta's corporations- while those who have never had the best of everything will be hit the hardest when public services are slashed.

The problem with looking in a mirror is that you only see yourself. Stop looking in the mirror, Mr. Prentice. Look outside your window. See that Alberta is not just made up of people like you. See the Albertans you have chosen to serve.