Argo(not)

"The only difference between reality and fiction is that fiction needs to be credible." - Mark Twain

It's hard to believe that this year's Academy Award winning film Argo is still causing so much upset north of the 49th parallel.  It was gripping and suspenseful.  It was a great way to spend a couple of hours.  That it was fictional doesn't make it an less entertaining.

For those who don't know, let's set the record straight about what really happened during the 1987 hostage crisis in Tehran.  The CIA had very little to do with the rescue of the six Americans who found refuge in the homes of Ken Taylor, the Canadian Ambassador to Iran and John Sheardown, another Canadian official.  Jimmy Carter, who was the American President at the time of the incident told  CNN, "Ninety percent of the contributions to the ideas and the consummation of the plan was Canadian. And the movie gives almost full credit to the American CIA. And with that exception, the movie is very good. But Ben Affleck's character in the film was only in Tehran a day and a half. And the main hero, in my opinion, was Ken Taylor, who was the Canadian ambassador who orchestrated the entire process." 

The Canadians never considered  closing the Canadian embassy and abandoning the six Americans who had taken refuge under Canadian protection. The pretend trip to the bazaar to scout for filming locations never happened.  Ken Taylor's wife bought the plane tickets to Zurich from three different travel agencies without encountering suspicion.  There was no last-minute cancellation of the mission by the Carter administration. There was no confrontation with security officials at the departure gate. There was no attempt to stop the plane by Iranian guards. The role played by Alan Arkin of producer Lester Siegel is entirely fictional.

As I said earlier, Argo is a great piece of fiction.  It's about as true to life as The Sound of Music is to the story of the Von Trapp family.  I love The Sound of Music.  That it is fictional doesn't stop me from watching it every year.  If you want history instead of entertainment, you might want to pick up a copy of Robert Wright's book, Our Man in Tehran. Come to think of it, the real story of what happened in Tehran is pretty gripping too.

Dark Humour

Roses are Red
Violets are Glorious
Don't Sneak up
On Oscar Pistorius

A friend posted this little ditty on Facebook after Oscar Pistorius was arrested for the murder of his girlfriend.  I have to admit, it made me laugh though I felt a little guilty.  The death of Reeva Steenkamp is hardly a laughing matter.  She was a beautiful young woman who didn't even get a chance to see the prime of her life.  So why did that poem tickle me and who thought to write it in the first place?

Do you remember when Leon Klinghoffer was killed in 1985?  The wheelchair bound man was shot twice and thrown overboard by Palestinian terrorists when they hijacked the cruise ship Achille Lauro.  It was a horrifying act that shocked the world.  What I remember though, was by the next day, there were a whole lot of Leon Klinghoffer jokes going around.  The one that sticks in my mind is "What do you get when you go into a bar and order a Leon Klinghoffer?  Two shots and a splash."
I remember how hard I laughed when I heard that joke.  My reaction still makes me feel ashamed.

Likewise, we all heard the ghoulish jokes that followed The Challenger explosion, some of them so dark I can't even repeat them.  One of the milder ones was "Did you know that NASA has a new space drink?  Ocean Spray - it was their second choice because they couldn't get 7-UP."  I didn't laugh at this particular set of jokes because somehow they didn't hit my funny bone but I don't blame those who did.

I almost get the jokes about the misfortunes of others that are self-earned. I didn't feel badly for Tiger Woods when he was the butt of every comedian's jokes after his philandering became public.  Even then, there came I time when I thought the jokes needed to stop.  He had fallen hard off his pedestal but there was no need to continue kicking him while he lay at the bottom.

Laughing at tragedies seems odd though as we continue to do it, it must be a very human act.  Maybe, in the face of horror, it makes things tenable for a moment or two.  Too bad, the respite doesn't last.

 

Celebrating Marg

"Gold medals aren't really made of gold.  They're made of sweat, determination, and a hard-to-find alloy called guts." - Dan Gable

A week or so ago, our dear friend Marg was the recipient of a Queen's Diamond Jubilee medal.  The medals were presented at a big ceremony at Roy Thompson Hall.  As we weren't all able to be in attendance, last night we had a small dinner party to celebrate this great accomplishment.  

Marg has known since December that she had been selected for this honour but she didn't tell any of us until January.  She didn't want to seem boastful.  She asked the Member of Parliament who called her to tell her about the award, if he could just put it in the mail.  Of course, he said "no".  This is the part of this story that makes me sad.  Winning a Queen's Diamond Jubilee medal is a big thing.  Marg should have felt it was absolutely fine to celebrate herself.  If it had been me, I would have shouted about it from the highest mountain-top.  

Marg has been working to benefit the autistic community for more than a quarter of a century.  She earned the medal.  It's wonderful that people in the community thought to nominate her for the award.  Too many people who do good work and make significant contributions remain forever in the shadows - their efforts taken for granted or virtually unnoticed.  And yet, we all have the same heart's desire - to be seen and heard.

There can't be medals for everyone.  But maybe we could all try a little harder to make everyone feel noticed and appreciated for their efforts.  If we do that, perhaps then, when one of us gets honoured in the way Marg did, we will feel free to celebrate ourselves.

Congratulations Marg! Well done.  Well deserved.

Benedetto

"The future starts today, not tomorrow." - Pope John Paul II

Pope Benedict XVI surprised a lot of people today by being the first pope in 600 years to resign the papacy.  I think it was a good decision.  While I was a great fan of his predecessor, I haven't been a big fan of Benedict.  I don't dislike him but I'm mainly indifferent to his leadership.  If I was a more devout Catholic, I might feel more strongly but I don't identify very closely with the church any longer.  Though, being Catholic, I suspect is like being a member of the Mafia.  Once you're in, you're in.  You can't ever really get out even if you try.

Benedict is the only pope I've seen in person.  The two times John Paul II came to Toronto, I was out of town.  I saw Benedict XVI speak in St. Peter's Square when we visited Rome in 2009.  I must admit, I was thrilled.  I recall the waves of people in the square chanting "Benedetto, Benedetto" over and over again.  I cried when he blessed us.  But removed from the atmosphere of the Vatican, I could find little to share in the views of Benedict.  He is a traditionalist.  Under his watch, women would remain second class members; priests would never have the right to marry and homosexuality would remain an abomination in the eyes of the church.  It's time to move on.

The Catholic Church now has an opportunity to set a new tone for the century and to lead the world in healing itself.  By electing a younger, less traditional, more forward thinking pope, the church can create an environment of inclusion for all God's children, men and women, straight and gay, old and young.  A new pope can reach out to disenfranchised youth, to other religous leaders, to politicians of all stripes.  He can be the example of living with love and compassion. 

I will remember Benedict XVI with respect.  It took courage to step down and I applaud him for it.  My prayers are with the cardinals who will now be charged with electing a new pope.  I hope to God they choose well.

Wrong Number

"It is exhausting knowing that most of the time the phone rings, most of the time there's an email, most of the time there's a letter, someone wants something of you." - Stephen Fry

Every single morning I get a call from the Ontario Federation for Cerebral Palsy.  If I have my glasses on and can see that's who is calling, I don't pick up.  If I can't see, I pick up and tell them the same thing - "I have no household goods I wish to donate to your charity.  Please take me off your call list."  Just the same, the calls keep coming.  Because they are a charity, they are allowed to call me though my number has been registered on the Do Not Call list.  Today I sent the OFCP an email asking to be removed from their call list.  I don't know if that will help but I sure hope so.

In addition to this daily call, I get a daily call from a far off land offering duct cleaning services.  I used to be friendly in saying "no thanks" but my patience are wearing thin.  Now, I usually just hang up.  I feel bad for the people on the other end of the line who are likely sitting in a call center in India and who I know are just trying to make a living.  But my incessant pleas to be taken off these lists have fallen on deaf ears.  Perhaps they've heard I have the dirtiest ducts in town and they're just trying to be helpful.  

The telemarketing calls that irk me most, always start the same way.  I pick up the phone and hear the caller speaking to me in Arabic.  I don't speak Arabic though I can understand the odd word said in greeting or in cursing me.  When I tell the caller I don't understand, I am either disbelieved or chastized for my lack of language skills.  If by some circumstance, I am still on the line, the caller usually heads into his pitch for cheap long-distance telephone rates to the Middle East or India.  I don't know anyone in the Middle East or India. I have never made a single call to either of those regions.  If it is not a pitch for long-distance telephone plans, then it's normally a plea for donations to a religious based charity.  It feels particularly irksome to me that someone scanning a phonebook for Arabic sounding names presumes to know what my religous leanings are - though admittedly not as troubling as the day two men showed up on my front porch asking to speak with my husband using my last name.  They were clad in outfits I sometimes see in Middle Eastern markets or on television news shows of men in mosques.  I, on the other hand, was in a short skirt and t-shirt.  One of the men turned his back to me rather than cast his eyes on my uncovered skin.  They soon left when I told them there was no man of that name in my household.  

 

The next time a telemarketer calls, I suppose I should be thankful that at least they are calling from the other side of the world and not standing on my porch. 

As We Forgive Those

“Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart.”  ~ Corrie Ten Boom

I find myself troubled lately by the vitriolic comments I've been hearing and reading.  Whether directed at Rob Ford, Lance Armstrong, Beyonce or Oprah, these comments seem to be increasing on the meanness meter - celebrity bashing as blood sport.

I haven't made a secret of the fact I'm not a fan of the mayor.  I think he has behaved unethically and illegally.  But his conviction on violating conflict of interest laws was overturned.  He is still our mayor and we've got him for almost two more years.  A recent audit shows that Mr. Ford has also likely violated campaign spending rules.  Shame on him if it's true.  If he did the crime, he'll do the time but that won't remove him from the role of mayor.  Our city is facing some pretty big challenges.  I don't want to hear another thing about the buffoonery of our mayor.  I want to hear how we're going to solve our transit problems; about how we're going to deal with homelessness, about what we're going to do with our crumbling infrastructures.  Pointing out that Mr. Ford is a buffoon won't fix the Gardner Expressway.

Likewise, Lance Armstrong cheated.  He took drugs and went after those people who talked about him taking drugs.  He said he is sorry and he said he will atone for his actions for the rest of his life.  Maybe he will and maybe he won't.  Either way, he didn't murder anyone.  If he makes things right, he will set a great example of redemption.  If he doesn't, he will be squandering an opportunity to heal himself and his family.  Let's give him some time and see how it turns out.  I'm sending him my best wishes and hopes that he makes the right choices.

So Beyonce didn't sing live at the presidential inauguration.  Why does anyone care?  So Oprah thinks she is a messenger of God.  Who am I to say - maybe she is.  Either way, it's no skin off my nose.  Rihanna is back with Chris Brown.  She knows who he is and she made a choice. Her business, not ours. Lindsay Lohan is in trouble with the courts again.  How sad.  Enough.  Enough.  Enough.  I don't want to hear about it anymore.

Flying in Slow Motion

"The hurrier I go, the behinder I get." - Lewis Carroll

I find myself rushing around a lot lately.  Even though I left myself some extra time to get to Guelph on Friday, I rushed the whole way there.  I kept my eye out for radar and more than pushed the speed limit.  The traffic didn't seem especially heavy but strangely enough, I arrived late.  Yesterday I went to the grocery store to pick up a few items.  Everything has been moved in Loblaws again and I struggled to find the items on my list.  Even store employees couldn't tell me where some things had been moved to.  I didn't need that much and expected to be out of the store in twenty minutes.  I rushed through my shopping, frustrated but on full speed.  When I went to check out, I realized I had been in the store for more than an hour.

Even when I'm not rushing, I feel like I'm in a time warp.  If I sit down for ten minutes to relax, the clock will show that twenty minutes have passed.  And yet, at times it feels like the warp is in reverse.  We went to Cath's on Friday night and though we were having a really good time, I was shocked when a glance at the clock told me it was only 8:30.  I could have sworn it was 11 o'clock. 

I haven't figured out what any of this means.  It probably doesn't mean a thing.  

Thirty-Seven Roses

"Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."  ~Pooh's Little Instruction Book, inspired by A.A. Milne

Thirty-six deep pink roses and one pale pink rose.  That was the gift I brought my sister Cathy yesterday as she wrapped up her long career with Rogers Publishing where she worked for more than 36 years.  One rose to symbolize each year and one to symbolize freedom.

Cath is still pretty young so I'm not suggesting that she is retiring.  I think she'll take some time to regroup.  To destress and restore herself to optimum health.  I imagine for the first few weeks, she won't know how to behave.  After all, in nearly 37 years, she hasn't ever been off work for two weeks in a row.  She may stay in her bathrobe until noon everyday, watching Downton Abby on DVD or doing crossword puzzles.  But I suspect that won't last long.  As Jacob said yesterday "It's the end of the chapter, but not of the novel."   

I don't think it will take her long to find the thing that she is passionate about and when she does, she will jump in with both feet.  Whatever it is, she'll be great at it.  It's a long novel and the best part is yet to come.