I've never been a big fan of "The View". A bunch of female know-it-alls, celebrity big-mouths, nosy windbags, all talking over each other in a mass frenzy, making a TV show that sounds like Friday night bingo at the St. Peter's Lion's Hall. Too much noise for Tuesday at noon, thank you very much. Still, when I occasionally get a break from Treehouse, I sometimes tune in (for lack of any alternative).
"The View" has played a merciless game of musical chairs with it's hosts, and has changed the lineup of "regular members" more often than Destiny's Child. The original cast was tolerable-ish, with their various Master's degrees, at least demonstrating maturity, professionalism, and restraint most of the time. Unfortunately, that changed seasons ago, when ABC started thinning the herd of intelligent people and replacing them with morons.
Case in point: Barbara Walters, in her infinite genius, hired Elisabeth Hasselbeck.
Maybe she seemed harmless in an intellectually-useless kind of way. After all, when she started her stint on "The View", she openly admitted to being uninformed about politics, and just generally naive and inexperienced in life. She probably served as a great ratings-magnet; a pretty young girl from a popular TV show, yahoo! Whatever the reasoning, there she sits, and therein lies the problem.
I can't say with certainty, but in my opinion, there is good reason to believe that Elisabeth Hasselbeck is the stupidest, most ignorant person alive.
I haven't decided if her harping and ranting is the most annoying and mindless noise pollution ever recorded, or if it is perhaps the finest comedy on daytime television. A bad case of foot-in-mouth disease at best. Rosie was obnoxious, but at least she made valid points that she could back up with facts. Elisabeth, whose impeccable credentials include a season on the most contrived reality show in history (where she came 4th), a degree in Fine Arts (majoring in "large paintings"...WTF?? That's a major???), and designing sneakers for Puma, has suddenly become the voice of a nation? An expert in governmental affairs, ethics, and foreign policy? LMAO...I don't think so, dear. A few months in the wilderness without shaving your legs and judging the Miss Teen USA pageant only makes you an expert in irrelevance.
Here's just one example of her rationale, my personal favorite little nugget of wisdom from the incomparable Mrs. Einstein herself: On the topic of lowering the legal drinking age from 21 to 18, Elisabeth disagrees with the idea, but thinks the law should allow 18-year-old soldiers returning from Iraq to drink at their leisure. Also, while they're at it, the government should design a program to wean high school students into drinking, so that they can properly gauge their alcohol tolerance when they go to college. (LMAO....I'd love to see that law pass on the floor of the House. The Hasselbeck/Yale/Lohan Mandatory Underage Alcohol Consumption Bill For The Success and Betterment Of University Binge Drinking.)
As a far-right-leaning, very conservative Republican, she opposes gun control, ending the war, the morning after pill, and most other Democratic ideals. Her position on those topics should be respected and heard, but not shoved down the throats of other hosts, guests, and viewers alike. Her maniacal defense of George W. Bush comes off like a student defending her father the Principal. (Could she be the love child of GWB and...let's see...possibly Farrah Fawcett?!?! That would explain so much....) It almost seems as if she's been so brainwashed by Republican propaganda, that she's about to start her own church or something. The Church of Bush. (Hey, that would make a pretty good skit for Saturday Night Live, EH starting a church dedicated to the teachings of GWB, not unlike Tom Cruise and his Scientology bull&%$#......sorry, I digress....)Anyway, the bottom line is, it's fine to have strong opinions, but it's unprofessional to be rude and catty to people who disagree with you, as is so often the case on "The View" when Elisabeth opens her pie hole.
And I'm not alone in my judgement of this chick. The website www.fireelisabethhasselbeck.com has a mission statement, a petition, and a purpose.
As a disclaimer in my own defense, for people who might say this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black, I am very aware of my lack of knowledge on many (most?lol) topics, and I can admit that. I don't pretend to know it all, and I don't subject millions of people to my self-righteous bickering on national TV five days a week. (Only online in this blog occasionally....)
I'm not sure how to end this rant. I'd love to put something witty and catchy and humorous, but those characteristics aren't in keeping with the Elisabeth Hasselbeck theme. So I guess I'll just say, I think she may be the devil, which means apparently the devil doesn't wear Prada after all. She wears Puma.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Thursday, October 4, 2007
28 is the new 40
I went out Saturday night and had way too much to drink. It had been so long since I had done something like that, that I had temporarily forgotten how much my alcohol consumption tolerance has decreased since my younger days. It's now Thursday, and this is the first day since my night out that I feel back to normal. Pretty bad - a five day hangover, courtesy of six short hours of excess.
As I lay with a throbbing headache and nausea early this week, I began to think of how unmistakably old I feel. Back in the day, I could have drunk twice as much, stayed out half the night, and been fine the very next morning. What happened?? I'm still in my 20s!! (Not for much longer, granted, but still technically.)
So I started to take note of things that show my age and my place in life, and how having kids, being married, and growing up can make a 28-year old feel much, much older.
-- see above (5 day hangover)
-- I remember being 18 and taking two hours to get all gussied up, preparing to go to the liquor store, and hoping against all hope that the clerk would not ask me for ID. Now, though trips to the NSLC happen very seldom, they usually involve swinging by on my way home from the grocery store, dish-pan hands and all, frazzled hair and "mom jeans". And if the clerk asks me for ID, I strongly consider leaping over the counter and kissing him/her passionately on the lips.
-- My adult bedtime is much earlier than my teenage curfew.
-- Nice looking, young waiters call me "ma'am".
-- Going shopping used to be about enjoyable browsing and exciting sales, but with two squirming kids in tow, it has become an exercise in efficiency, patience, and survival.
-- Speaking of shopping, time, age, and experience have taught me a very important lesson: it's a courageous mother who braves Wal-Mart on Family Allowance day.
-- The make-up compacts, movie ticket stubs, and money previously found in my purse, have been replaced with an adequate supply of napkins, an emergency granola bar, and 16 dinkies.
-- Martha Stewart is my idol. And not for the purposes of bringing humor to this blog, I mean it. She's a genius and I love her. I'm serious.
-- My dream vacation, instead of including wine and dancing and romance, now involves hiring a babysitter, renting a hotel room, and sleeping for an uninterrupted three days.
-- Song stuck in my head in 1997: the new Backstreet Boys song. Song stuck in my head in 2007: the theme song from "The Backyardigans".
-- I can successfully feed a dog, wrestle a 2-year-old, tune out a 9-year-old, chop a green pepper, fold towels, make a phone call, and ponder the topic of my next blog - SIMULTANEOUSLY.
-- At times when I get mad at the kids, I give myself pause when I hear myself using the same threats my parents used on me...in the exact same menacing tone.
-- I am more aware than ever that toilet paper, soap, and milk do not just fall out of the sky. Until you're on your own, you don't realize that these items have to be purchased.
-- The end of summer and the beginning of the school year are suddenly cause for great celebration.
-- Richard Gere has gone from "old guy my friend's mom likes", to "oddly sexy".
-- There are only three sure things in life: death, taxes, and massive, unrelenting piles of laundry.
-- A lot of responsibility comes with being Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy.
-- I am fairly well-versed on the topics of "High School Musical", B-Daman, and Grand Theft Auto.
-- Who would have thought I could derive so much unabashed joy from throw pillows, kitchen appliances, and a nice console table?
-- If you watch enough Treehouse, you'll find yourself thinking about the strangest things...like why Frank & Frank aren't in Special Ed, why Toopy hasn't addressed his obvious gender dysmorphia issues, and where the hell Max & Ruby's parents are.
-- No good comes of any conversation starting with the words "Visa", "Nova Scotia Power", or "Revenue Canada".
If you can't relate to at least one of the points above, I have to assume you're a single, childless, independently wealthy socialite with no responsibilities. Your obliviousness would almost be refreshing.
But for those of you who can relate, know that you're not alone. Lots can happen in 10 years, and, though we may not be capable of the same rowdy raucousness we once revelled in, we wear our stains and hangovers and stretch marks and frazzled hair like badges.
I've had my fill of freshman nonesense, and I'm glad that 28 is the new 40.
(I don't have the energy to have it any other way.)
As I lay with a throbbing headache and nausea early this week, I began to think of how unmistakably old I feel. Back in the day, I could have drunk twice as much, stayed out half the night, and been fine the very next morning. What happened?? I'm still in my 20s!! (Not for much longer, granted, but still technically.)
So I started to take note of things that show my age and my place in life, and how having kids, being married, and growing up can make a 28-year old feel much, much older.
-- see above (5 day hangover)
-- I remember being 18 and taking two hours to get all gussied up, preparing to go to the liquor store, and hoping against all hope that the clerk would not ask me for ID. Now, though trips to the NSLC happen very seldom, they usually involve swinging by on my way home from the grocery store, dish-pan hands and all, frazzled hair and "mom jeans". And if the clerk asks me for ID, I strongly consider leaping over the counter and kissing him/her passionately on the lips.
-- My adult bedtime is much earlier than my teenage curfew.
-- Nice looking, young waiters call me "ma'am".
-- Going shopping used to be about enjoyable browsing and exciting sales, but with two squirming kids in tow, it has become an exercise in efficiency, patience, and survival.
-- Speaking of shopping, time, age, and experience have taught me a very important lesson: it's a courageous mother who braves Wal-Mart on Family Allowance day.
-- The make-up compacts, movie ticket stubs, and money previously found in my purse, have been replaced with an adequate supply of napkins, an emergency granola bar, and 16 dinkies.
-- Martha Stewart is my idol. And not for the purposes of bringing humor to this blog, I mean it. She's a genius and I love her. I'm serious.
-- My dream vacation, instead of including wine and dancing and romance, now involves hiring a babysitter, renting a hotel room, and sleeping for an uninterrupted three days.
-- Song stuck in my head in 1997: the new Backstreet Boys song. Song stuck in my head in 2007: the theme song from "The Backyardigans".
-- I can successfully feed a dog, wrestle a 2-year-old, tune out a 9-year-old, chop a green pepper, fold towels, make a phone call, and ponder the topic of my next blog - SIMULTANEOUSLY.
-- At times when I get mad at the kids, I give myself pause when I hear myself using the same threats my parents used on me...in the exact same menacing tone.
-- I am more aware than ever that toilet paper, soap, and milk do not just fall out of the sky. Until you're on your own, you don't realize that these items have to be purchased.
-- The end of summer and the beginning of the school year are suddenly cause for great celebration.
-- Richard Gere has gone from "old guy my friend's mom likes", to "oddly sexy".
-- There are only three sure things in life: death, taxes, and massive, unrelenting piles of laundry.
-- A lot of responsibility comes with being Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy.
-- I am fairly well-versed on the topics of "High School Musical", B-Daman, and Grand Theft Auto.
-- Who would have thought I could derive so much unabashed joy from throw pillows, kitchen appliances, and a nice console table?
-- If you watch enough Treehouse, you'll find yourself thinking about the strangest things...like why Frank & Frank aren't in Special Ed, why Toopy hasn't addressed his obvious gender dysmorphia issues, and where the hell Max & Ruby's parents are.
-- No good comes of any conversation starting with the words "Visa", "Nova Scotia Power", or "Revenue Canada".
If you can't relate to at least one of the points above, I have to assume you're a single, childless, independently wealthy socialite with no responsibilities. Your obliviousness would almost be refreshing.
But for those of you who can relate, know that you're not alone. Lots can happen in 10 years, and, though we may not be capable of the same rowdy raucousness we once revelled in, we wear our stains and hangovers and stretch marks and frazzled hair like badges.
I've had my fill of freshman nonesense, and I'm glad that 28 is the new 40.
(I don't have the energy to have it any other way.)
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
The Color Purple
I saw the funniest political cartoon the other day. It was a huge picture of Oprah breastfeeding a baby Barack Obama. (Whoever writes/draws those things is a genius of John Stewart proportions.)
Oprah Winfrey is a very interesting subject. There is no middle ground with this woman - people either love her and adore her, or they despise her and want her off the air. But one thing is for certain: everyone knows who she is, and everyone has at least some opinion of her.
This is what I think.
I think women are much bigger fans of Oprah than men are, and I think there are two main reasons for this. First, Oprah is intimidating. She's a big personality, loud, unabashed, honest, rich, successful, powerful, with a zero poop-tolerance. She does not back down from dealing with tough issues that most people would choose to ignore. These traits must be difficult for some men to deal with. It is much easier for them to just call her names and roll their eyes at her, than it is to admit that she might just be more woman than they could handle, and could wipe the floor clean with them. Men have issues with that kind of thing. Sorry, men.
Secondly, Oprah attributes a great deal of human behavior to emotional and psychological influences, things that plenty of men don't want to discuss. "Mushy girl stuff" doesn't usually appeal to their practical nature, and Oprah loves talking about mushy girl stuff.
Anyway, I digress.
After laughing hysterically at this political cartoon, I started thinking about people's impression of Oprah. One thing that you often hear discussed, frequently, is that Oprah is racist, something I think is completely untrue. I know I'm supposed to be saying African-American (at least I think that's the politically correct terminology), but for the sake of not having to type those 16 characters over and over again, I'll use black....that should be ok for me to say since she often refers to herself as black. Oh well, I'll take my chances.
Oprah is black. A great number of her guests are also black. Plenty of the causes she supports and projects she's involved in have to do with issues in the black community. That this leads people to believe she's racist is complete hypocricy. I'm white. If someone told me to invision a woman who had been beaten by her husband, or a man who's beaten the odds and thrived with a severe disability, I would automatically picture a white woman and a white man. This has nothing to do with me being racist, it has to do with a tendancy to initially relate to people of my own race. It's not because I think that no black women are beaten by their husbands, nor is it because I don't think a black man could overcome a disability. So when Oprah's producers approach her with an idea for a show about great current musical performers, she might be first inclined to book Alicia Keys, where Dr. Phil might automatically think of Justin Timberlake. And when she's trying to book guests for a show about working mothers, the mothers she first pictures are probably going to be black. Do you see what I mean? It's about relating and familiarity and habit, rather than an intentional snub to white people. Maybe I haven't given the greatest explanation, but I'm sure someone catches my drift.
I also feel it necessary to mention how, 1)she is equally hard on every race and ethnicity when she smells B.S.; 2)she is eager to praise every race and ethnicity when she witnesses greatness, and; 3)she can do whatever she wants, since it's her TV show, and millions and billions of people are going to watch it regardless of what she does.
So here she is, Ms. O, publicly supporting a presidential candidate for the first time in her career, and he's black. Well guess what, I'm inclined to support Barack Obama too, and I'm white as the driven snow. Though I suspect our main reasons for liking him are different, I think we have one reason in common. Racism is a huge issue in the United States, even moreso than in Canada, I believe. What better way to turn all the back-woods, bigoted hillbillies on their ear, than to elect a black president? This might be an irresponsible reason, but it is excused by the fact that Mr. Obama is very intelligent and qualified, making him, in my opinion, an excellent candidate for Leader of the Free World. The fact that he's black is just icing on the cake for me, as I'm sure it is for Oprah as well, irresponsible or not.
I think racism is immature and petty. There are plenty of white people I love, and probably an equal number who I wish would get shot with a ball of their own snot. There are plenty of black people who are accomplished and outstanding, and plenty who are a pain in the ass. Character has nothing to do with race, and when people start to judge others based on character instead of race, the world will be a well-oiled machine.
It wouldn't matter if she was purple, I love Oprah. She's a smart lady with a good heart. I don't think she's racist at all. In fact, I think we share the same view of racism.
And what woman doesn't want to have something in common with Oprah?!?
Oprah Winfrey is a very interesting subject. There is no middle ground with this woman - people either love her and adore her, or they despise her and want her off the air. But one thing is for certain: everyone knows who she is, and everyone has at least some opinion of her.
This is what I think.
I think women are much bigger fans of Oprah than men are, and I think there are two main reasons for this. First, Oprah is intimidating. She's a big personality, loud, unabashed, honest, rich, successful, powerful, with a zero poop-tolerance. She does not back down from dealing with tough issues that most people would choose to ignore. These traits must be difficult for some men to deal with. It is much easier for them to just call her names and roll their eyes at her, than it is to admit that she might just be more woman than they could handle, and could wipe the floor clean with them. Men have issues with that kind of thing. Sorry, men.
Secondly, Oprah attributes a great deal of human behavior to emotional and psychological influences, things that plenty of men don't want to discuss. "Mushy girl stuff" doesn't usually appeal to their practical nature, and Oprah loves talking about mushy girl stuff.
Anyway, I digress.
After laughing hysterically at this political cartoon, I started thinking about people's impression of Oprah. One thing that you often hear discussed, frequently, is that Oprah is racist, something I think is completely untrue. I know I'm supposed to be saying African-American (at least I think that's the politically correct terminology), but for the sake of not having to type those 16 characters over and over again, I'll use black....that should be ok for me to say since she often refers to herself as black. Oh well, I'll take my chances.
Oprah is black. A great number of her guests are also black. Plenty of the causes she supports and projects she's involved in have to do with issues in the black community. That this leads people to believe she's racist is complete hypocricy. I'm white. If someone told me to invision a woman who had been beaten by her husband, or a man who's beaten the odds and thrived with a severe disability, I would automatically picture a white woman and a white man. This has nothing to do with me being racist, it has to do with a tendancy to initially relate to people of my own race. It's not because I think that no black women are beaten by their husbands, nor is it because I don't think a black man could overcome a disability. So when Oprah's producers approach her with an idea for a show about great current musical performers, she might be first inclined to book Alicia Keys, where Dr. Phil might automatically think of Justin Timberlake. And when she's trying to book guests for a show about working mothers, the mothers she first pictures are probably going to be black. Do you see what I mean? It's about relating and familiarity and habit, rather than an intentional snub to white people. Maybe I haven't given the greatest explanation, but I'm sure someone catches my drift.
I also feel it necessary to mention how, 1)she is equally hard on every race and ethnicity when she smells B.S.; 2)she is eager to praise every race and ethnicity when she witnesses greatness, and; 3)she can do whatever she wants, since it's her TV show, and millions and billions of people are going to watch it regardless of what she does.
So here she is, Ms. O, publicly supporting a presidential candidate for the first time in her career, and he's black. Well guess what, I'm inclined to support Barack Obama too, and I'm white as the driven snow. Though I suspect our main reasons for liking him are different, I think we have one reason in common. Racism is a huge issue in the United States, even moreso than in Canada, I believe. What better way to turn all the back-woods, bigoted hillbillies on their ear, than to elect a black president? This might be an irresponsible reason, but it is excused by the fact that Mr. Obama is very intelligent and qualified, making him, in my opinion, an excellent candidate for Leader of the Free World. The fact that he's black is just icing on the cake for me, as I'm sure it is for Oprah as well, irresponsible or not.
I think racism is immature and petty. There are plenty of white people I love, and probably an equal number who I wish would get shot with a ball of their own snot. There are plenty of black people who are accomplished and outstanding, and plenty who are a pain in the ass. Character has nothing to do with race, and when people start to judge others based on character instead of race, the world will be a well-oiled machine.
It wouldn't matter if she was purple, I love Oprah. She's a smart lady with a good heart. I don't think she's racist at all. In fact, I think we share the same view of racism.
And what woman doesn't want to have something in common with Oprah?!?
Monday, August 27, 2007
If I Had A Million Dollars....
One of today's big headlines: "Single Winner in $314 Million Powerball Lottery"
Imagine. $314 million bucks now belongs to one person. Could be an old lady with a bunch of really lucky dogs. Could be a college senior who will now be drunk until February. One ticket, probably costing about two dollars, and that one person's life is changed forever.
My husband and I often talk about what we would do if we ever won the lottery, as I'm sure everybody has. Now don't get me wrong, I'll never ACTUALLY win the lottery, largely because I don't play (I don't have any luck - like I say, I wouldn't win at Bingo if I was the only person playing). Like the convenience-store-gamblers say, "You'll never win if you don't buy a ticket," so I've resigned myself to that fact, but it still doesn't stop us from daydreaming about it.
Just think about it for a minute. Let's say you're a family with a couple of kids and you win a much-needed million dollars. What would you really do with it?
The first sensible thing to do would be hire a financial planner, right? That's always been my train of thought, but maybe not with ONE million dollars. Give me a half hour and a big truck, and I could spend that much at Wal-Mart. So no financial planner for this amount. First, let's pay all our bills. The average Canadian family is over $70,000 in debt. So let's say you pay off your bills, your car, your credit cards, and your student loans, and let's say all that costs you $100,000 (which it probably doesn't...paying off every single debt would probably cost a lot more, but let's just go with a nice round number). And let's say you sold your house, getting rid of your mortgage. So you're at square one, with no debts whatsoever.
What do you do first? Plenty of people would say "build a house". As anyone who has built a house knows, this venture is very expensive, often more expensive than buying. And this new house wouldn't just be ANY house, it's your DREAM house, right? Come on, you're a millionaire!!! Can't be a millionaire and build a 1200 sqaure foot bungalow! So by the time you buy a nice piece of waterfront property, get all your permits, pay for your labor, materials, furniture, etc, etc, etc,...you're out about...hmmm...I'd say about $400,000. Possibly a bit less if your dream house is not that fancy, possibly more if it's a real palace. So half of your money is gone already.
Now of course you're going to need a new car. At least one. A millionaire can't be seen driving around town in a Kia! So let's say $50,000 on some fancy new wheels (not including the GTO you promised to buy your husband if you ever won the lottery...and not including the two old muscle cars he wants to buy and restore for your two boys for when they're older...and not including a minivan, which you kind of need anyway). On second thought, maybe I need to revise that number to $100,000. Five vehicles will be very expensive, and I can afford it now, being a millionaire and all.
Now we have our dream house and our dream cars. What about a nice vacation? St. Tropez, anyone? Let's go! Flights, hotel, meals, entertainment, insurance, souveniers, ground transportation.....hmmm...for four people, plus a friend for my son, plus someone to watch the baby so we can go out for a night or two while on vacation....I'll say this trip would cost an easy $25,000.
So now we're back from vacation, and we need to get down to business with this money. Our kids will, if they know what's good for them, be going to college someday. Considering how much it cost when I went, I'd be surprised if a million dollars would pay for it all in 2016. But let's put aside $100,000 for each of the kids, as I'm sure that will pay for tuition at least. And let's also assume our two kids are going to each have two kids of their own, so we have to put aside a few bucks for the grandkids too...let's say $25,000 each? There's another $100,000.
Hold on now, I better tally up these numbers. Hmm....I only have $175,000 left. Didn't I have a million dollars just a second ago? I didn't even go shopping yet!
Ok, now we have to make a few investments for the long term. $50,000 on the right stocks should do it, I think.
So that leaves me with $125,000. Still seems like a lot of money, but I have to give some away. And, being as their "favorite" sister/brother/aunt/neice/cousin/etc is now a millionaire, nobody is expecting $50 in a card, if you know what I mean. So let's figure in at least ten people, and give them $10,000 each. There's another $100,000.
Now I have $25,000 left, plus whatever I got for selling my house. I haven't given any money to charity yet, I haven't paid for the upkeep, maintenence, and operating costs of my fleet of vehicles and my huge, electricity-consuming house. I haven't paid my taxes. I haven't even bought groceries yet.
Suddenly one million dollars doesn't seem like very much, does it?
Winning $1,000,000 in the 6/49 isn't the same today as it would have been twenty years ago. Many of us have spent a million dollars and more in our lifetime, and certainly aren't rich. It makes you wonder if winning that much would really be enough. Surely, if I won a million dollars, I wouldn't be building a house worth five-hundred grand, but when you hear that someone won the lottery, they're automatically "The Rich People", and they're expected to live a certain lifestyle. I have a feeling that a millionaire's only brother would be a little bitter getting $10,000. And $50,000 doesn't seem like very much to invest on your future. So these numbers I have used as examples might be skewed somewhat, but we can all agree on one thing - it doesn't take long for money to disappear. If not on houses and cars and vacations, it would go somewhere else, and fast. To live the life of a celebrity, to have every material possession we want, would one million dollars be enough? Probably not.
Still, if anyone has a spare million they're willing to part with, I would be happy to take it off their hands.
Imagine. $314 million bucks now belongs to one person. Could be an old lady with a bunch of really lucky dogs. Could be a college senior who will now be drunk until February. One ticket, probably costing about two dollars, and that one person's life is changed forever.
My husband and I often talk about what we would do if we ever won the lottery, as I'm sure everybody has. Now don't get me wrong, I'll never ACTUALLY win the lottery, largely because I don't play (I don't have any luck - like I say, I wouldn't win at Bingo if I was the only person playing). Like the convenience-store-gamblers say, "You'll never win if you don't buy a ticket," so I've resigned myself to that fact, but it still doesn't stop us from daydreaming about it.
Just think about it for a minute. Let's say you're a family with a couple of kids and you win a much-needed million dollars. What would you really do with it?
The first sensible thing to do would be hire a financial planner, right? That's always been my train of thought, but maybe not with ONE million dollars. Give me a half hour and a big truck, and I could spend that much at Wal-Mart. So no financial planner for this amount. First, let's pay all our bills. The average Canadian family is over $70,000 in debt. So let's say you pay off your bills, your car, your credit cards, and your student loans, and let's say all that costs you $100,000 (which it probably doesn't...paying off every single debt would probably cost a lot more, but let's just go with a nice round number). And let's say you sold your house, getting rid of your mortgage. So you're at square one, with no debts whatsoever.
What do you do first? Plenty of people would say "build a house". As anyone who has built a house knows, this venture is very expensive, often more expensive than buying. And this new house wouldn't just be ANY house, it's your DREAM house, right? Come on, you're a millionaire!!! Can't be a millionaire and build a 1200 sqaure foot bungalow! So by the time you buy a nice piece of waterfront property, get all your permits, pay for your labor, materials, furniture, etc, etc, etc,...you're out about...hmmm...I'd say about $400,000. Possibly a bit less if your dream house is not that fancy, possibly more if it's a real palace. So half of your money is gone already.
Now of course you're going to need a new car. At least one. A millionaire can't be seen driving around town in a Kia! So let's say $50,000 on some fancy new wheels (not including the GTO you promised to buy your husband if you ever won the lottery...and not including the two old muscle cars he wants to buy and restore for your two boys for when they're older...and not including a minivan, which you kind of need anyway). On second thought, maybe I need to revise that number to $100,000. Five vehicles will be very expensive, and I can afford it now, being a millionaire and all.
Now we have our dream house and our dream cars. What about a nice vacation? St. Tropez, anyone? Let's go! Flights, hotel, meals, entertainment, insurance, souveniers, ground transportation.....hmmm...for four people, plus a friend for my son, plus someone to watch the baby so we can go out for a night or two while on vacation....I'll say this trip would cost an easy $25,000.
So now we're back from vacation, and we need to get down to business with this money. Our kids will, if they know what's good for them, be going to college someday. Considering how much it cost when I went, I'd be surprised if a million dollars would pay for it all in 2016. But let's put aside $100,000 for each of the kids, as I'm sure that will pay for tuition at least. And let's also assume our two kids are going to each have two kids of their own, so we have to put aside a few bucks for the grandkids too...let's say $25,000 each? There's another $100,000.
Hold on now, I better tally up these numbers. Hmm....I only have $175,000 left. Didn't I have a million dollars just a second ago? I didn't even go shopping yet!
Ok, now we have to make a few investments for the long term. $50,000 on the right stocks should do it, I think.
So that leaves me with $125,000. Still seems like a lot of money, but I have to give some away. And, being as their "favorite" sister/brother/aunt/neice/cousin/etc is now a millionaire, nobody is expecting $50 in a card, if you know what I mean. So let's figure in at least ten people, and give them $10,000 each. There's another $100,000.
Now I have $25,000 left, plus whatever I got for selling my house. I haven't given any money to charity yet, I haven't paid for the upkeep, maintenence, and operating costs of my fleet of vehicles and my huge, electricity-consuming house. I haven't paid my taxes. I haven't even bought groceries yet.
Suddenly one million dollars doesn't seem like very much, does it?
Winning $1,000,000 in the 6/49 isn't the same today as it would have been twenty years ago. Many of us have spent a million dollars and more in our lifetime, and certainly aren't rich. It makes you wonder if winning that much would really be enough. Surely, if I won a million dollars, I wouldn't be building a house worth five-hundred grand, but when you hear that someone won the lottery, they're automatically "The Rich People", and they're expected to live a certain lifestyle. I have a feeling that a millionaire's only brother would be a little bitter getting $10,000. And $50,000 doesn't seem like very much to invest on your future. So these numbers I have used as examples might be skewed somewhat, but we can all agree on one thing - it doesn't take long for money to disappear. If not on houses and cars and vacations, it would go somewhere else, and fast. To live the life of a celebrity, to have every material possession we want, would one million dollars be enough? Probably not.
Still, if anyone has a spare million they're willing to part with, I would be happy to take it off their hands.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
The Home of Our Hearts (if not our careers)
It probably seems like I'm harping, but I love Cape Breton. In my opinion, there is no greater place to be from, and no better place to live.
This ideology is great in theory, but sometimes it isn't very practical.
It's no secret that Cape Breton isn't where you go when you're looking for a good job. Just the opposite - so many locals unwillingly relocate in order to find one. My brother loves Cape Breton, and yet he toils in Alberta, like so many others, making money, living, and missing home. Look at all the working parents who have to leave their families in Cape Breton to make a living out West for months at a time, sometimes longer, just because there isn't enough opportunity at home to sustain themselves.
During my workforce days years ago in Cape Breton, I never really had a problem getting a job because, for awhile at least, I was in the food service industry. Lowly waitress to some, but I defy you to find me a more profitable minimum wage job. I counted on tips as part of my take-home pay, and without them I would have been on welfare, like so many other people I knew. As I got older and moved to the city, I began to look for a job which utilized my (very expensive) education. In the Metro Halifax area, those jobs are a bit easier to come by, but in Cape Breton, they're almost non-existant. This is what leads me to my latest rant, as I completely understand where all the displaced Cape Bretoners are coming from, now more than ever.
My husband has a good job, and I've been on indefinite maternity leave for a few years. I decided recently that I would like to go out into the workforce again, and we prepared ourselves for the ramifications of that decision. This is what we discovered: for me to put my baby in day care (which we would have to be put on a waiting list to acquire), and to have my older son receive after school care, would cost a minimum of $45 per day. Per day. That equals $225 per week, and that's money I have to make just to justify leaving the house. It would cost even more on days where my oldest son has no school.
Then figure into that the money I would need to spend on clothes for work, the extra expense of packing four different lunches, transportation to and from the sitter, and then to and from work. The stress of getting two kids up and fed and packed and dressed and ready at the crack of dawn, and finding the time to make myself look presentable as well. I also have to take into account the loss of stability we now get to enjoy, since my youngest spends all day at home with his mom, and his brother gets to come home every day after school.
I ask you, is all of that worth $7.50 per hour?
Imagine that daily ritual, figure in the expense, and ask yourself if making $56.00 per day, before deductions, is worth it. That's $281.25 per week, again, before deductions. After deductions, it would likely cost me more to go to work than it does to stay home.
Sadly, there are plenty of you who don't have to imagine it at all, you live it every day. When I look on the JobBank today, there are 33 available jobs listed, which I can tell you is the most I've seen in a long time. Of these jobs, the majority are in the Port Hawkesbury area, making it even costlier for those in rural surrounding communities to get work. A full 23 jobs are either part time, seasonal, or term positions, and 28 of the 33 posted jobs are either minimum wage or just above. Only 2 jobs are significantly more, both term positions, and both in the $10 per hour range. The wild card is a job with the local Regional Development Agency, which requires 3-5 years of experience as a General Manager of a Transit System. I'm assuming, since it says the wage is to be negotiated, that the person they hire will be paid quite a bit more than $10 per hour. That's great for the person from Sydney or Halifax who will apply and transfer here to take the job. The online offerings this week are comparable to the normal selection, though there are usually fewer jobs available in the off-season. Welcome to the Strait Area.
And so how are we expected to live, to raise our kids, to get ahead in life, as the cashier at Dollarama? I mean no disrespect to those people toiling away at their jobs, just making ends meet, or maybe not making ends meet at all. On the contrary, I have the utmost respect for people who are ambitous enough to get out of bed every morning and go to work every day at a job that they despise, underpaid, overworked, disrespected, and discouraged. To have paid the Nova Scotia Community College lots of money for a diploma in Office Administration, and to be cleaning rooms at a hotel in town for $8.00 per hour. To be on your feet as a retail sales clerk for eight and nine hours a day, and to not be able to afford to send your kid camping with his friends because you're broke after you pay your babysitter. I feel for all these people, because I've been there before. I'm fortunate now that I'm in a position where I have a choice, but so many other working parents don't have a choice at all, they have a responsibility to take care of their families, and they do it, like it or not.
So after searching and debating and pondering, I've decided to stay home with my kids instead of getting a job. A second income would have been nice, required maybe, but not at the necessary cost.
To all of you who are working hard, I admire your resolve and determination.
To the government of Nova Scotia, take notice. People who are residents of a region with high unemployment are often thought of as lazy, but really that is probably not the case. We need jobs that pay us for the work we do, that allow us to support ourselves and our families. There isn't much point in discouraging people from moving to Alberta and staying in Cape Breton - you're not leaving us much choice. A power bill, a litre of gas, and a carton of milk costs just as much for someone making $15,000 per year as it does for the guys at the mill who make $80,000. Giving us a break on the cost of day care would be nice, but even that doesn't help the people with no children. We need the government to raise the minimum wage, give tax break incentives to companies for paying higher salaries, and create jobs for qualified individuals. The time is now, so that all people living in the Strait Area, and in Cape Breton, can prosper and stay where they belong - HOME.
This ideology is great in theory, but sometimes it isn't very practical.
It's no secret that Cape Breton isn't where you go when you're looking for a good job. Just the opposite - so many locals unwillingly relocate in order to find one. My brother loves Cape Breton, and yet he toils in Alberta, like so many others, making money, living, and missing home. Look at all the working parents who have to leave their families in Cape Breton to make a living out West for months at a time, sometimes longer, just because there isn't enough opportunity at home to sustain themselves.
During my workforce days years ago in Cape Breton, I never really had a problem getting a job because, for awhile at least, I was in the food service industry. Lowly waitress to some, but I defy you to find me a more profitable minimum wage job. I counted on tips as part of my take-home pay, and without them I would have been on welfare, like so many other people I knew. As I got older and moved to the city, I began to look for a job which utilized my (very expensive) education. In the Metro Halifax area, those jobs are a bit easier to come by, but in Cape Breton, they're almost non-existant. This is what leads me to my latest rant, as I completely understand where all the displaced Cape Bretoners are coming from, now more than ever.
My husband has a good job, and I've been on indefinite maternity leave for a few years. I decided recently that I would like to go out into the workforce again, and we prepared ourselves for the ramifications of that decision. This is what we discovered: for me to put my baby in day care (which we would have to be put on a waiting list to acquire), and to have my older son receive after school care, would cost a minimum of $45 per day. Per day. That equals $225 per week, and that's money I have to make just to justify leaving the house. It would cost even more on days where my oldest son has no school.
Then figure into that the money I would need to spend on clothes for work, the extra expense of packing four different lunches, transportation to and from the sitter, and then to and from work. The stress of getting two kids up and fed and packed and dressed and ready at the crack of dawn, and finding the time to make myself look presentable as well. I also have to take into account the loss of stability we now get to enjoy, since my youngest spends all day at home with his mom, and his brother gets to come home every day after school.
I ask you, is all of that worth $7.50 per hour?
Imagine that daily ritual, figure in the expense, and ask yourself if making $56.00 per day, before deductions, is worth it. That's $281.25 per week, again, before deductions. After deductions, it would likely cost me more to go to work than it does to stay home.
Sadly, there are plenty of you who don't have to imagine it at all, you live it every day. When I look on the JobBank today, there are 33 available jobs listed, which I can tell you is the most I've seen in a long time. Of these jobs, the majority are in the Port Hawkesbury area, making it even costlier for those in rural surrounding communities to get work. A full 23 jobs are either part time, seasonal, or term positions, and 28 of the 33 posted jobs are either minimum wage or just above. Only 2 jobs are significantly more, both term positions, and both in the $10 per hour range. The wild card is a job with the local Regional Development Agency, which requires 3-5 years of experience as a General Manager of a Transit System. I'm assuming, since it says the wage is to be negotiated, that the person they hire will be paid quite a bit more than $10 per hour. That's great for the person from Sydney or Halifax who will apply and transfer here to take the job. The online offerings this week are comparable to the normal selection, though there are usually fewer jobs available in the off-season. Welcome to the Strait Area.
And so how are we expected to live, to raise our kids, to get ahead in life, as the cashier at Dollarama? I mean no disrespect to those people toiling away at their jobs, just making ends meet, or maybe not making ends meet at all. On the contrary, I have the utmost respect for people who are ambitous enough to get out of bed every morning and go to work every day at a job that they despise, underpaid, overworked, disrespected, and discouraged. To have paid the Nova Scotia Community College lots of money for a diploma in Office Administration, and to be cleaning rooms at a hotel in town for $8.00 per hour. To be on your feet as a retail sales clerk for eight and nine hours a day, and to not be able to afford to send your kid camping with his friends because you're broke after you pay your babysitter. I feel for all these people, because I've been there before. I'm fortunate now that I'm in a position where I have a choice, but so many other working parents don't have a choice at all, they have a responsibility to take care of their families, and they do it, like it or not.
So after searching and debating and pondering, I've decided to stay home with my kids instead of getting a job. A second income would have been nice, required maybe, but not at the necessary cost.
To all of you who are working hard, I admire your resolve and determination.
To the government of Nova Scotia, take notice. People who are residents of a region with high unemployment are often thought of as lazy, but really that is probably not the case. We need jobs that pay us for the work we do, that allow us to support ourselves and our families. There isn't much point in discouraging people from moving to Alberta and staying in Cape Breton - you're not leaving us much choice. A power bill, a litre of gas, and a carton of milk costs just as much for someone making $15,000 per year as it does for the guys at the mill who make $80,000. Giving us a break on the cost of day care would be nice, but even that doesn't help the people with no children. We need the government to raise the minimum wage, give tax break incentives to companies for paying higher salaries, and create jobs for qualified individuals. The time is now, so that all people living in the Strait Area, and in Cape Breton, can prosper and stay where they belong - HOME.
Back To School
Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's official - summer is almost over. This weekend at Wal-Mart, I was greeted by a huge wall of school supplies. The end is near.
In a way, I'm looking forward to the beginning of the school year. At the very least, it promises to lessen the frequency of the "I'm bored" speech I have to hear every day. Thousands of dollars worth of tvs, vcrs, dvd players, mp3 players, gaming consoles, toys, bikes, skateboards, rollerblades, sports equipment, on and on and on - and they're bored. All of them, sitting in their houses, driving their parents nuts with "I'm bored". Twenty-eight degrees, sun splitting the rocks, pool, trampoline, a dozen friends nearby, and "I'm bored". When I was nine, my parents sent us outside after breakfast and didn't see us again until supper, when they usually had to come looking for us. Kids these days, I don't know if they want us to dress up in clown costumes and entertain them all day, but they certainly don't seem to realize how lucky they are. My son didn't believe me when I told him that going for a walk was something us "old folk" used to do for fun. Perish the thought.
Anyway, as much as the prospect of school is relieving to me, there is one aspect that makes me cringe: packing my son's lunch.
At my house, we have a hot lunch. It's probably not fancy, it's probably not elaborate, but it's hot. Every now and then I make sandwiches, but usually it's Kraft Dinner, chicken noodle soup, hot dogs, or something of the like. When packing my son's lunch for school, I like to ensure that he eats something hot there too. Again, nothing fancy, but a can of ravioli, a pizza pocket, even leftover steak subs from supper. I would think that a school would try to accommodate students and parents in this pursuit.
But no. Now the rule is "no use of microwaves", no heating food at all. Last year, the first time I sent my son to school with a container of leftovers to be heated, it was returned with a note that said not to send something like that again, and that I owed the cafeteria $3.20 for the meal they gave him as a substitution. I was not pleased.
So that leaves me with two choices: no hot food, or buy from the cafeteria. The latter might be an option if it were a little cheaper, but show me someone who can afford to spend $20 per week on grease food, plus pay for snacks and drinks on top of that, PER CHILD, and I'll show you someone who doesn't realize how rich they actually are. I won't pay it, and I'm sure the majority of parents can't afford to pay it either.
The other option leaves me with a very limited menu of cold food. One day I sent him with a bag full of chunks of pepperoni and cheese, and he told me the cafeteria workers had suggested his mother send a more balanced, nutritious lunch. Nice. Again, I was not pleased.
And what's left? Ok, sandwiches.
Let's see...he's allergic to tuna, and doesn't like egg or chicken salad. Sliced ham, flakes of ham...maybe turkey if things are really desperate. And this is what he's supposed to eat every single day for hundreds of days? A sandwich made with meat that's been soaked in brine for weeks? He is not pleased, nor do I blame him.
When I was a kid, we took a peanut butter and jam sandwich to school every single day, and we didn't complain. I can say this loud and proud because every other kid had one as well. The flavor of jam might have varied a bit, from strawberry to raspberry perhaps, but that was about as exotic as it got.
But that was twenty years ago.
Now, lunch time at an elementary school is much different. My kids don't have PB&J every single day for lunch when they're at home, so I don't expect my son to eat it every single day at school either. But even if I did, I wouldn't be allowed. No peanut butter. No peanuts. No nuts of any kind. Nothing that has ever come into contact with anything resembling a nut. No peanut butter on toast in the morning for breakfast, as the smell of peanut butter on a child's breath is apparently harmful as well. No homemade peanut butter cookies, or any other cookie with walnuts, pecans, almonds.
I'm sure parents of children with peanut allergies think the peanut ban is a nessessary step for a school to take. And I know that peanut allergies can be very serious, if not deadly. I feel for these parents and children. But 1 child (maybe) in a school of 450 students, and a common household food is banished from our lives? It's not anthrax, it's peanut butter. It's not airborne, it's injested. If you're allergic, don't eat it. If your child is too young to take the necessary precautions, the teachers and staff should be responsible for ensuring the student does not come into contact with any nutty substance. My son is allergic to seafood and shellfish, and his throat closes over when he is exposed to either of them in any form. I don't expect the schools to go on a witch hunt for tuna lovers, nor do I expect the school, it's staff, it's students, and the parents to change their eating habits and grocery orders; I expect him and his teacher to be aware and careful.
I may seem insensitive, but that's just the way I see it. I've spoken to many, many parents who feel the same way. People hesitate to admit it, but banning peanuts, or any other food, is a bad precendent to set. What's next, banning chips for the kids battling childhood obesity? Banning windows for the kids allergic to pollen? In my thirteen years of school, there was not a single peanut fatality. Was it just a fluke that everyone survived? Or was it that, back then, nobody seemed to overreact the way they do now, people didn't go to such drastic measures, and we all turned out just fine? It may be a bit taboo to even complain about the peanut patrol, but too bad. Someone has to do it.
However, all the complaining in the world doesn't rid me of my lunch-packing woes. I want to give my son a proper dinner without putting myself in the poor house, is that too much to ask?
What does the "student fee" pay for? Do a few microwaves use up so much electricity that the school doesn't have it in it's budget to nuke a few bowls every lunch hour? I wonder if the teachers are allowed to use the microwave? (Oh that's right, there's a private one in the staff room.) Should the staff be allowed to criticize parents on their choice of lunches, when the alternatives we're given are so limited? Next time my son comes home with a story like that, I'll be marching down to the school and telling the cafeteria lady to either fire up the microwave or keep her opinions to herself. And probably not in words that sunny and cheerful.
If you have any suggestions for a good lunch, please let me know, I'd love to have a few new ideas. Pretty soon, I'll be sending him to school with bread and butter. Cold bread and butter.
In a way, I'm looking forward to the beginning of the school year. At the very least, it promises to lessen the frequency of the "I'm bored" speech I have to hear every day. Thousands of dollars worth of tvs, vcrs, dvd players, mp3 players, gaming consoles, toys, bikes, skateboards, rollerblades, sports equipment, on and on and on - and they're bored. All of them, sitting in their houses, driving their parents nuts with "I'm bored". Twenty-eight degrees, sun splitting the rocks, pool, trampoline, a dozen friends nearby, and "I'm bored". When I was nine, my parents sent us outside after breakfast and didn't see us again until supper, when they usually had to come looking for us. Kids these days, I don't know if they want us to dress up in clown costumes and entertain them all day, but they certainly don't seem to realize how lucky they are. My son didn't believe me when I told him that going for a walk was something us "old folk" used to do for fun. Perish the thought.
Anyway, as much as the prospect of school is relieving to me, there is one aspect that makes me cringe: packing my son's lunch.
At my house, we have a hot lunch. It's probably not fancy, it's probably not elaborate, but it's hot. Every now and then I make sandwiches, but usually it's Kraft Dinner, chicken noodle soup, hot dogs, or something of the like. When packing my son's lunch for school, I like to ensure that he eats something hot there too. Again, nothing fancy, but a can of ravioli, a pizza pocket, even leftover steak subs from supper. I would think that a school would try to accommodate students and parents in this pursuit.
But no. Now the rule is "no use of microwaves", no heating food at all. Last year, the first time I sent my son to school with a container of leftovers to be heated, it was returned with a note that said not to send something like that again, and that I owed the cafeteria $3.20 for the meal they gave him as a substitution. I was not pleased.
So that leaves me with two choices: no hot food, or buy from the cafeteria. The latter might be an option if it were a little cheaper, but show me someone who can afford to spend $20 per week on grease food, plus pay for snacks and drinks on top of that, PER CHILD, and I'll show you someone who doesn't realize how rich they actually are. I won't pay it, and I'm sure the majority of parents can't afford to pay it either.
The other option leaves me with a very limited menu of cold food. One day I sent him with a bag full of chunks of pepperoni and cheese, and he told me the cafeteria workers had suggested his mother send a more balanced, nutritious lunch. Nice. Again, I was not pleased.
And what's left? Ok, sandwiches.
Let's see...he's allergic to tuna, and doesn't like egg or chicken salad. Sliced ham, flakes of ham...maybe turkey if things are really desperate. And this is what he's supposed to eat every single day for hundreds of days? A sandwich made with meat that's been soaked in brine for weeks? He is not pleased, nor do I blame him.
When I was a kid, we took a peanut butter and jam sandwich to school every single day, and we didn't complain. I can say this loud and proud because every other kid had one as well. The flavor of jam might have varied a bit, from strawberry to raspberry perhaps, but that was about as exotic as it got.
But that was twenty years ago.
Now, lunch time at an elementary school is much different. My kids don't have PB&J every single day for lunch when they're at home, so I don't expect my son to eat it every single day at school either. But even if I did, I wouldn't be allowed. No peanut butter. No peanuts. No nuts of any kind. Nothing that has ever come into contact with anything resembling a nut. No peanut butter on toast in the morning for breakfast, as the smell of peanut butter on a child's breath is apparently harmful as well. No homemade peanut butter cookies, or any other cookie with walnuts, pecans, almonds.
I'm sure parents of children with peanut allergies think the peanut ban is a nessessary step for a school to take. And I know that peanut allergies can be very serious, if not deadly. I feel for these parents and children. But 1 child (maybe) in a school of 450 students, and a common household food is banished from our lives? It's not anthrax, it's peanut butter. It's not airborne, it's injested. If you're allergic, don't eat it. If your child is too young to take the necessary precautions, the teachers and staff should be responsible for ensuring the student does not come into contact with any nutty substance. My son is allergic to seafood and shellfish, and his throat closes over when he is exposed to either of them in any form. I don't expect the schools to go on a witch hunt for tuna lovers, nor do I expect the school, it's staff, it's students, and the parents to change their eating habits and grocery orders; I expect him and his teacher to be aware and careful.
I may seem insensitive, but that's just the way I see it. I've spoken to many, many parents who feel the same way. People hesitate to admit it, but banning peanuts, or any other food, is a bad precendent to set. What's next, banning chips for the kids battling childhood obesity? Banning windows for the kids allergic to pollen? In my thirteen years of school, there was not a single peanut fatality. Was it just a fluke that everyone survived? Or was it that, back then, nobody seemed to overreact the way they do now, people didn't go to such drastic measures, and we all turned out just fine? It may be a bit taboo to even complain about the peanut patrol, but too bad. Someone has to do it.
However, all the complaining in the world doesn't rid me of my lunch-packing woes. I want to give my son a proper dinner without putting myself in the poor house, is that too much to ask?
What does the "student fee" pay for? Do a few microwaves use up so much electricity that the school doesn't have it in it's budget to nuke a few bowls every lunch hour? I wonder if the teachers are allowed to use the microwave? (Oh that's right, there's a private one in the staff room.) Should the staff be allowed to criticize parents on their choice of lunches, when the alternatives we're given are so limited? Next time my son comes home with a story like that, I'll be marching down to the school and telling the cafeteria lady to either fire up the microwave or keep her opinions to herself. And probably not in words that sunny and cheerful.
If you have any suggestions for a good lunch, please let me know, I'd love to have a few new ideas. Pretty soon, I'll be sending him to school with bread and butter. Cold bread and butter.
Not So Merry, After All
Over the past few days, I have been very apprehensive about writing this next blog entry, as I do not want anyone to misinterpret my intentions. Since I have been unable to get this topic out of my head, I'm going to take my chances and write it anyway. I do want to add, however, that I do not know any facts of this case beyond what I have heard in the media, nor do I, in any way, accuse any particular person of being responsible or having any involvement in this crime.
December 2005 was a great time for my family. It was my baby boy's first Christmas, the kids had loads of gifts under the tree, and I made my first big Christmas dinner. At the time, we lived in a nice little subdivision in Timberlea, and we liked to drive around to look at all the brightly decorated houses. On the 27th, my husband went Boxing Day shopping in Bayers Lake, and I baked his birthday cake (he was celebrating his....ahem....seventh consecutive "28th birthday" the following day). I remember looking at the clock several times that afternoon, wondering if I would finish his cake before he returned home.
On the morning of the 28th, the first thing I noticed outside was a police cruiser. Since seeing the police was a rarity on our street, I found it even more strange to see several of them drive by within an hour or two, as well as an RCMP helicopter overhead. When my husband called home from work, I told him about the noticeable police presence, and he dropped the bomb on me: a body had been found in a car parked at the school. A what? A body? In Timberlea?!? I didn't believe him. I humoured him and hung up.
His claim was confirmed on the news that evening. Paula Gallant, originally from Cape Breton, a teacher at Beechville-Lakeside-Timberlea school, mother of a baby girl, had been murdered. I was shocked, confused and horrified. Over the next few days, weeks, and months, I began to follow the story as details were released, as I'm sure most residents of Timberlea did. My son attended BLT, where Ms. Gallant taught grade three. The school, and her house, were so close to mine, that anyone with a good arm could throw a rock and hit either building. This crime was a little too close to home for my liking, a feeling I shared with, I'm sure, plenty of others.
What made it even more terrible for me was the fact that she had a baby the same age as mine. The thought of a mother being taken away from a child that age was heartbreaking. It still is. If anything threatened my ability to come home to my kids, I would scream and fight with such fury that my attackers would probably flee, fearing for their lives. I can't help but think that, while I was baking a cake and looking at the clock in the early evening of December 27th, 2005, Ms. Gallant was doing just that, fighting for her life. It bothers me to think about that.
And here we are, almost two years later, and her killer is still roaming free. Maybe driving past us on the highway, maybe behind us in line at the grocery store, nobody knows. Her little girl is without a mother, her sisters and family are still grieving, and I'm still at home thinking about it, often. As much as I hate wondering what happened to that poor woman, two other points make me even crazier. My preamble and question is this: we lived in a community where everyone knew your business. They knew what kind of underwear you wore by looking at your clothes hanging out on the line. They knew if the neighbors' teenaged kids got home at 3am. They knew if the guy in the blue house had a drug problem, if the lady who drove the white Malibu was cheating on her husband, and if the people with the loud Yorkshire terrier screamed at their kids all the time. After the fact, the neighborhood hairdressers, storekeepers, and busy-bodies whispered rampant speculation and knew all the comings and goings at Ms. Gallant's house. My question is, how is it possible that so many people are so nosy, observant and intrusive, but NOT A SINGLE PERSON SAW ANYTHING THAT DAY WHICH WOULD HELP THE POLICE?? From what I heard and read, whoever was responsible for Ms. Gallant's death returned her car to BLT, a very visible school parking lot, empty during Christmas vacation, and drove away in another vehicle. I'd be willing to bet that, had someone been parked there for an illicit rendezvous of some sort, people up one street and down another would know all the details by the next morning. But how did no one see anything in THIS case, when it matters? Very frustrating.
And another thing. There are cases in the past few years which have not left the forefront of the media for more than a few weeks. The only place I have read about possible breaks in the Gallant case is, sadly, in "Frank" magazine. I'm sure this fact must infuriate her family. Had I been the victim of a horrible crime like this, I like to think that my husband would not rest or shut up until the killer was apprehended. He would be crawling up the leg of Steve Murphy's pants to get on the 6pm news every night, just to remind people of what happened and how they might be able to help. Ms. Gallant's sisters have seemed very diligent, but there is only so much that one or two women can do. It is up to everyone else, Paula Gallant's neighbors, friends, colleagues, and mourners, to keep her case in the forefront of our minds and, hopefully, the media. Someone knows something, and with enough scrutiny, pressure, protest, and persistance, that someone or something will eventually surface.
Until it does, I will keep Ms. Gallant, her daughter, and her family in my thoughts. I implore you to do the same.
December 2005 was a great time for my family. It was my baby boy's first Christmas, the kids had loads of gifts under the tree, and I made my first big Christmas dinner. At the time, we lived in a nice little subdivision in Timberlea, and we liked to drive around to look at all the brightly decorated houses. On the 27th, my husband went Boxing Day shopping in Bayers Lake, and I baked his birthday cake (he was celebrating his....ahem....seventh consecutive "28th birthday" the following day). I remember looking at the clock several times that afternoon, wondering if I would finish his cake before he returned home.
On the morning of the 28th, the first thing I noticed outside was a police cruiser. Since seeing the police was a rarity on our street, I found it even more strange to see several of them drive by within an hour or two, as well as an RCMP helicopter overhead. When my husband called home from work, I told him about the noticeable police presence, and he dropped the bomb on me: a body had been found in a car parked at the school. A what? A body? In Timberlea?!? I didn't believe him. I humoured him and hung up.
His claim was confirmed on the news that evening. Paula Gallant, originally from Cape Breton, a teacher at Beechville-Lakeside-Timberlea school, mother of a baby girl, had been murdered. I was shocked, confused and horrified. Over the next few days, weeks, and months, I began to follow the story as details were released, as I'm sure most residents of Timberlea did. My son attended BLT, where Ms. Gallant taught grade three. The school, and her house, were so close to mine, that anyone with a good arm could throw a rock and hit either building. This crime was a little too close to home for my liking, a feeling I shared with, I'm sure, plenty of others.
What made it even more terrible for me was the fact that she had a baby the same age as mine. The thought of a mother being taken away from a child that age was heartbreaking. It still is. If anything threatened my ability to come home to my kids, I would scream and fight with such fury that my attackers would probably flee, fearing for their lives. I can't help but think that, while I was baking a cake and looking at the clock in the early evening of December 27th, 2005, Ms. Gallant was doing just that, fighting for her life. It bothers me to think about that.
And here we are, almost two years later, and her killer is still roaming free. Maybe driving past us on the highway, maybe behind us in line at the grocery store, nobody knows. Her little girl is without a mother, her sisters and family are still grieving, and I'm still at home thinking about it, often. As much as I hate wondering what happened to that poor woman, two other points make me even crazier. My preamble and question is this: we lived in a community where everyone knew your business. They knew what kind of underwear you wore by looking at your clothes hanging out on the line. They knew if the neighbors' teenaged kids got home at 3am. They knew if the guy in the blue house had a drug problem, if the lady who drove the white Malibu was cheating on her husband, and if the people with the loud Yorkshire terrier screamed at their kids all the time. After the fact, the neighborhood hairdressers, storekeepers, and busy-bodies whispered rampant speculation and knew all the comings and goings at Ms. Gallant's house. My question is, how is it possible that so many people are so nosy, observant and intrusive, but NOT A SINGLE PERSON SAW ANYTHING THAT DAY WHICH WOULD HELP THE POLICE?? From what I heard and read, whoever was responsible for Ms. Gallant's death returned her car to BLT, a very visible school parking lot, empty during Christmas vacation, and drove away in another vehicle. I'd be willing to bet that, had someone been parked there for an illicit rendezvous of some sort, people up one street and down another would know all the details by the next morning. But how did no one see anything in THIS case, when it matters? Very frustrating.
And another thing. There are cases in the past few years which have not left the forefront of the media for more than a few weeks. The only place I have read about possible breaks in the Gallant case is, sadly, in "Frank" magazine. I'm sure this fact must infuriate her family. Had I been the victim of a horrible crime like this, I like to think that my husband would not rest or shut up until the killer was apprehended. He would be crawling up the leg of Steve Murphy's pants to get on the 6pm news every night, just to remind people of what happened and how they might be able to help. Ms. Gallant's sisters have seemed very diligent, but there is only so much that one or two women can do. It is up to everyone else, Paula Gallant's neighbors, friends, colleagues, and mourners, to keep her case in the forefront of our minds and, hopefully, the media. Someone knows something, and with enough scrutiny, pressure, protest, and persistance, that someone or something will eventually surface.
Until it does, I will keep Ms. Gallant, her daughter, and her family in my thoughts. I implore you to do the same.
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