The Canadian Health Care Battleground: One Soldier’s Story

I’ve talked about the interesting quirks in our marvellous Canadian health care system before. I got lots of comments from people with stories of their own experiences with our system, the American system, the UK system.  None of them are even close to good.  I also got at least one very vehement comment  uncategorically defending the Canadian health care system as the best in the world.

Okay, so those of you who also follow Zoom’s blog know she has been living a health care nightmare for a long time now. She’s pretty much at her wit’s end and needs help – help that they tell her is still years and years away.

First, she was diagnosed with breast cancer and went through months and months of waiting and a whole passel of crazy tests that scared the shit out of her with “indications” of more widely spread cancer and/or more severe tumours. Then they let her wait for what seemed like forever while thoughts of imminent death ate away at her psyche. Then “oops” turns out all those tests where false positives. She then she was actually happy to “only” have a little breast cancer.

Meanwhile, and concurrently (perhaps because of the unimaginable stress) a chronic back problem shifted into turbo gear and she began experiencing excruciating and ongoing back and leg pain. A protruding disk in her back has grown to such an extent that it is almost entirely blocking her spinal cavity. (We won’t even discuss the years of off and on back pain that went before which no one bothered to address).

So they’ve been giving her hundreds of dollars worth of pain killers and anti-inflammatories (Because it’s all free in Canada!) and a shiny new handicapped parking sticker because she can’t really walk anymore. In her own words:

So I don’t walk. I lie on my couch, eating painkillers and anti-nausea drugs and anti-inflammatories. I sleep when I can. I read. I think. But mostly I just lie around, waiting.

Waiting for what? Well. This is the crazy part. I’m waiting to either get on a waiting list or to become permanently disabled as a result of waiting too long.

My doctor’s been trying to get me an appointment with either an orthopedic surgeon or a neurosurgeon, but she’s being told that here in Ottawa, orthopedic surgeons have two-year waiting lists. I’m not even on a waiting list yet.

My doctor says my situation is urgent but it’s not yet an emergency. I will be escalated to emergency status when I lose bowel or bladder control, or when I lose the ability to voluntarily lift my toes toward my knee (foot drop, it’s called, and it’s not as innocuous as it sounds).

It’s insane.

I’m going to end up addicted to narcotics because of this. (Zoom has had issues with addiction in her youth) The painkillers don’t eliminate the pain, they just dull it as long as I’m lying down. Walking is still excruciating. The painkillers are addictive, so I have to choose between addiction and constant severe pain. What kind of choice is that?

She can’t work. She can barely look after herself. She’s going to lose her house and end up on welfare and/or disability.  She’s still a young woman and this is all so unneccesary.

She needs to see a surgeon and have the surgery NOW. By the time she gets on  a waiting list in 2 years (if she hasn’t offed herself in desperation by then), she’ll have consumed so many chemicals that her body will never recover. She will also have developed so many other health problems by then that she’ll be on waiting lists for every specialty under the sun.

This is health care?

So now she and her friends and family and fellow bloggers are going to make some noise  – write some letters, make some calls, complain and find some options somewhere — anywhere else if none of that works. (Contacts, suggestions, advice, assistance are all gratefully accepted).

Sadly, she’s not the only one in a situation like this or even in a situation worse than this, but she’s the one we know.

She’s the most patient person I know and would never dream of trying to jump a queue to get attention ahead of someone else. And she never gets angry. But she’s angry now and she’s suffering enough and frightened enough to step on and over whoever she needs to in order to get that surgery.

That’s a horrible image.

But it’s how our system works. Athletes, politicians, those with connections are getting the care they need and quickly. For the rest of us it’s a savage free-for-all. And what interesting nuances that phrase has.

Fuck you, Best Health Care System in the World.

Other Related Duties

When I was very young, I used to love to watch reruns of The Dick Van Dyke Show which first aired in the early 1960s, but went into reruns well into the 1970s. Along with Dick Van Dyke, the show also starred Mary Tyler Moore, Carl Reiner, Sid Caesar, Richard Deacon, Jerry Paris, Jerry Van Dyke, Morey Amsterdam and Rose Marie. Some of those people you might have heard of; some maybe not.

It was a sit-com, but caused big controversy in the 60s because Laura Petrie (Mary Tyler Moore) wore slacks around the house instead of a dress like a good sitcom housewife.

The premise of the show was that Rob Petrie (Dick Van Dyke) was the head writer of a TV variety show called The Alan Brady Show (Carl Reiner as Alan Brady).  Rob would spend most of his day in this great writer’s room with his co-writers, Buddy and Sally. The room, as I remember it,  had a sofa (where Buddy would sleep away most of the day) a kitchenette and a typewriter. The three of them would toss around ideas for that week’s show and one of them would type them up.

They had lots of laughs, some pratfalls and many of arguments about what was and wasn’t funny. There were, of course, regular conflicts when Alan Brady would ask them to do outrageous and impossible things and/or when work life would overlap, interfere and impact on Rob’s home life and vice versa.

Anyway, I always thought Rob, Buddy and Sally had absolutely the best jobs in the world. I reckoned when I grew up I was going to spend my days lounging around on sofas in a TV writer’s room and dream up crazy stuff that would be made into hilarious television programs.

I practiced writing stuff and making my younger siblings act it out. I practiced lounging around on sofas. (Which is very  difficult when you’re a kid). I worked hard at English and Drama classes in school, I read a lot and kept writing. Somehow though, over time, the whole TV writer idea sort of faded into the realm of “nice childhood fantasy.”

My first job out of university was as a copywriter for an ad agency in Toronto. It was pretty big time and had some very exciting moments, but mostly it was incredibly brutal. They figured they owned you body and soul and it wasn’t long before I knew that that wasn’t how I wanted to live the rest of my life — especially when my room-mate landed a completely fabulous, chillin’ federal government job. I couldn’t believe she was getting paid more than I was and was working half the hours and had no aggravation at all.

So I went to work for the government. (It was just that easy back then). Because of their excellent training and learning options, I  did a lot of additional schooling to get qualified to work in communications. Then I got to do some writing again, but it was kind of dull and sporatic and I spent most of my time doing other communications-related stuff, of which I wasn’t particularly fond.

Then I came to Ottawa and ended up doing something completely different which was so excrutiatingly boring, it just about brought me to the brink of diving in front of the O Train. (My own fault – getting transfered to Ottawa was more important at the time than the actual job).

Anyway, for years I kept thinking, “If only I could get a government job in an interesting department where I could do nothing but write all day — that would be as close as I could ever get to my nice childhood fantasy job, except in the real world and with benefits.” 

In February of 2008 that very job was advertised. I applied. Eighteen months of tests, waiting, interviews, waiting, assessments, waiting, reviews, waiting, references, waiting paperwork, waiting, waiting and more waiting and then last week I signed the letter of offer. I start on Monday.

I’m not sure what to expect exactly. I have an idea of what to expect formulated from what I know of the job and the department. It could be just what I envision. It could be better. It could be worse. I’ve been with my current department for 11 years, so it’s all a little daunting; but in a mostly good way. If nothing else, it comes with a significantly higher salary, so how bad could that be, right?

I guess I’ll find out.

What did you want to be when you grew up?

How close did you come?

Canada Day 10 + 10

Tomorrow is Canada Day! (Yay).

Canada is a pretty cool place to live.

As Rick Mercer says:

There are almost seven billion people on this planet and we make up around 33 million of them. The odds of a random citizen on this earth being Canadian is about half of one per cent. It’s a long shot that delivers a hell of a jackpot. 

Being Canadian means we can worship whoever and however we want. Which is why when we meet a member of the worldwide church of the Raelians (who worship a holy trinity of UFOs, extraterrestrials, and tantric sex), we shrug and say each to their own. 

Being Canadian means we are each protected under the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. In Canada, Harold can marry Samantha, Carol can marry Johann and Ahmed can make an honest man out of Frank.

 But we’re not just a bunch of  laissez-faire socialist tree-huggers. We also do important stuff and creative stuff and interesting stuff.  For example, here are two lists of 10 interesting things about Canada

10 Important Things Invented by Canadians

1. The Blackberry (sorry)
2. Botox (really sorry)
3. Bloody Caesars
4. Superman
5. The Zamboni
6. The Zipper
7. Pacemaker
8. 5-pin bowling
9. Plexiglass
10. Velcro

 You could almost make a seedy pulp fiction story out of that list of items.

10 Amazing Facts About Canada

1.  Canada has the longest coastline of any country in the world – 243,042 kilometers (151,019 miles)
2.  70% of the world’s maple syrup is produced in Quebec
3.  Canadians consume more macaroni and cheese per capita than any other country in the world (Go KD)
4.  The sun shines non-stop for the 3 summer months in parts of the Yukon and Nunavut Territories
5.  5,231,500 Canadian adults speak both French and English fluently
6.  Canada has one of the lowest population densities in the world – 3.2 people per square kilometer
7.  There are 2.5 million acres of wheat growing in Canada at this very minute (Go Toast)
8.  The West Edmonton Mall is the largest shopping center in North America and the 5^th largest in the world. (It was the world’s largest mall until 2004) It covers 570,000 square meters. There are over 800 stores, parking for over 20,000 cars and employs more than 23,000 people. (Okay, this one is kind of embarassing)
9.  The Rideau Canal, Ottawa becomes the world’s longest skateway during winter months – 7.8 kilometers (4.8 miles)
10. Canada has the world’s the highest tertiary education enrolment (And still I had to look up what “tertiary education enrolment” meant)

Happy Canada Day!

10 Best Things About Teenagers

I may complain every once in a while about young people and teenagers, but really, I find them interesting.  Really! I had a lot of fun being a teenager and I can only hope they’re having as much fun being young. And that they’ll look back on these years fondly. And that they’re making the most of their wonder years. Because it’s a very unique time in a person’s life. I love meeting and (ever so briefly …..”please go now”) chatting with my daughter’s friends and participating in my daughter’s teen years.

 Because:

1. Teenagers keep you young.  In an effort to not totally die of embarrassment should one of their peers accidentally see you in close proximity to them, they do their best to keep you dressed and coiffed  in the hippest possible manner and try to keep you up on music, movie, TV, technological and linguistic trends – taking into account your incredible oldness, of course. And their crazy, innocent, naïve, hopeful view of the world often rubs off on you. So that’s all pretty cool.
2. Teenagers are so supremely alive. They are just bursting with life and growth and hormones. They have an entire world of possibilities ahead of them — and don’t they know it! The world is their oyster. They still believe absolutely anything can happen. They are invincible. It’s all kind of exciting in a scary, scary way.
3. Teenagers are so easy to shop for. No more traipsing around Toys R Us for whatever stupid thing is being advertised between bouts of teletubbies. Nope. Now, nothing says I love you, teenager person like cold hard cash. In fact, they want nothing from you except cold, hard cash. (Or ATM gift certificates). Simple.
4. Teenagers aren’t around much. They have a million social engagements and manage to get to most of them without any parental assistance. So, no more chauffeuring kids around. No more organizing and coordinating play dates. No more hanging around playgrounds while your kids fall off stuff.
5. When they are around, teenagers mainly just sleep a lot. Most teens need 8-10 hours of sleep a night and are not at their peak until late morning. So, in many ways it’s like having the house to yourself except for that smelly room at the end of the hall that you never dare go into. And the food that keeps mysteriously disappearing from the fridge.
6. Teenagers are so intense and passionate about everything. The first part of the teenage brain to fully develop is the emotions center. So they can start the morning madly in love with life and everyone in it and by the end the day can be fully prepared to slit their wrists in abject despair. As a parent, it’s best if you can pretend to have no emotions at all, just to balance things out. Teenagers certainly don’t appreciate any displays of anger, worry, sadness or happiness from you. It totally freaks them out. So be mellow. (More about that at #10).
7. And then again, teenagers can be completely blasé about something you’re sure they’ll be over the moon with glee over. “Hey, XUP Jr., how about we plan a trip to Paris some time this year?” She’s busy texting. And without even missing a keystroke or looking up says, “Why? What’s to do there?”
8. Teenagers, in short, are very unpredictable. They keep you on your toes. They keep your mind active, thinking of ways to surprise them, shock them, and (my personal favourite) embarrass them.[1]
9.  And just when you think you’ve pretty much got a handle on this whole teenage thing; just when you think you’ve figured out how to maintain just the right distance from them, and savoir faire around them, they surprise the hell out of you by coming to snuggle up next to you on the sofa and spilling a big, heavy secret. Or crying on your shoulder because of some injustice done to them. Or having a lovely dinner ready when you get home from an extra-long day at work and greeting you with a big hug, calling you “Mummy”.
10.  Finally, and most importantly, teenagers provide an always available excuse for drinking. Not a day goes by that there isn’t some drama that needs the edge taken off of, and/or some amazing new thing that deserves a bit of celebration. And really, can you ask for more than that from your kids?

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[1] The other day, downtown, we ran into “the hottest guy at her school” .  I must admit, for a teenaged boy, he was very cute and very Fonzie cool. However, it was about 92 degrees and he was wearing thick black jeans halfway down his ass with a good 6 inches of his black boxers on display. He and XUP Jr. stop to chat. He’s sweating like a pig in a sauna, complaining about how freakin’ hot it is. XUP Jr. wisely points out that he should have worn something cooler. He says he left the house early and didn’t know it was going to be so hot. I pipe in with, “Well, why don’t you take those jeans off and just wear your boxer shorts?” The poor boy turns beet red XUP Jr.’s eyes almost fall out of their sockets and onto my Birkenstocks with unspoken horror. “Could you just please stop talking now!!” She hisses at me. I reckon my day’s work was done.

Have You Seen Peppy?

Most awesome photo blogger, Robin, has a newish cat Peppy, who has wandered away from central command (click here for details and photo). If you’re in the Centertown area of Ottawa, please keep your eyes peeled.

Thanks

Attitude Adjustment 101

Every summer our offices get invaded by students on work terms. And just because I use the word “invaded”, I don’t mean to imply that this is necessarily a bad thing. It’s fun having some fresh, young blood around — watching them getting up to their zany student antics. It kind of livens the place up. Yes, it does.

However, (and you knew there had to be an “however”, right?) –  however, I think it would be a good idea if schools (or maybe even parents) in charge of these lovely young people’s education gave them all a brief workshop on office etiquette before they foisted them onto the workplace.

Yes, some of them are brilliant and very efficient and polite and hard-working and business-like. But a hell of a lot of them don’t seem to have a clue. So, I propose a short half-course called Attitude Adjustment 101. It would cover the following:

Module 1:  Dressing for Work. No matter how casual an office might be, it is never a good idea to look like you just stumbled in from a night on the beach. Short shorts, flip-flops and tank tops are really only appropriate if you wish to work in the offices of a surf shop. While many office drones enjoy looking at sexy, firm young flesh, you don’t want to overwhelm them with all of it at once. (There will also be a day-long seminar on why clubbing clothes isn’t what grown-ups mean when they say “dressing up for work”).

Module II: Telling Time: We understand that it’s been a long time since Kindergarten, therefore this module will review and refresh the concept of time and why workplaces are all hung up about it. We will look at your right to party your face off at night vs still having to arriving by 8:00 am to work the next morning. Some questions that will be addressed are: Is it fair? Is it really so wrong to start work in the afternoon? And, if you have to get ready to go camping for Friday night, what’s wrong with leaving work at 2:00?

Module III: Doing as You’re Told: Students in their second year of post-secondary education are, of course, more than ready for upper management positions, so why are they expected to do filing and photocopying on their work terms?  Your heads are filled with all the knowledge and wisdom of the ages and people insist on treating you like hired help. How to cope with this humiliation will be given careful examination.

Module IV: Acting Interested. Naturally, once you graduate with a degree from our esteemed institution of higher learning, you are going to fall into an exciting, well-paid and glamorous career. At that time, you will be perfectly free to sneer at those saps who slave away in a boring old office day after day. How to stop yourself from doing that while you’re actually working with them for a summer will be covered in a workshop by a well-known guest speaker. We will look closely at the urban myth that a year or two after graduation you will come crawling back begging for a job.

Module V: Earning What You’re Worth.  It is indeed, barbaric of work term placements to have to work for only double the current minimum wage while useless old people in the same office as you are earning way more. A comprehensive workbook will be distributed outlining the methodology used by most work places to determine promotions, salary increases and advancement in the organization. The puzzling concepts of full-time permanent employment and extensive experience vs summer jobs will be explored in-depth.

Course Text

There’s Something About an Aqua Vitae Man

[1]Some of you are probably wondering what to do with all that surplus liquor you stocked-up on in anticipation of the LCBO[2] strike. The shelf life of vodka is only 12 months, after all!!

Fortunately, I’ve unearthed some handy ways to use up those crates of Stoli, because lord knows you’ll never be able to drink it all.

1. You can clean mould and mildew from your bathroom by spraying a little vodka, leaving for 5 minutes and then wiping clean
2. Vodka will also clean:
   • Eye glasses
   • Jewellery
   • Vomit stains from clothing and carpets. Simply spray, rub and dry
   • Soak a soft cloth in vodka to remove bloodstains and DNA from most surfaces
3. Vodka will dissolve glues to help remove bandages and bumper stickers
4. A bottle of vodka attached to your resume will help you land that great new job
5. Vodka is an excellent beauty aid:
   • Use as an astringent for your face
   • Mixed with shampoo to really cleanse the scalp, remove toxins, stimulate hair growth and fight dandruff
   • Drink 10 -15 ounces to make your partner or blind date more attractive
6. Vodka also has many medicinal uses: 
   • Pour some over an area affected with poison ivy to take the poisons out
   • Swish some around your mouth to ease toothache
   • Drop some in your ear to ease earache
   • Rub some over your chest and back to get rid of fever
   • Wash stinky feet with vodka to get rid of nasty odour
   • Dab some on wounds as an anaesthetic
   • 2 ounces of vodka will improve your thought process ½ hour after drinking
   • 6 ounces of vodka will make you think your thought processes are on fire as you regale one an all on your theories of the time/space continuum.
7. Kill bees and wasps by spraying them with vodka.
8. Kill soft-skulled people with a well-aimed vodka bottle.

A lot of the above are actual, laboratory-tested uses for vodka. Some, not so much.

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[1] Aqua vitae was the original vodka back in middle ages Rome.  The reference in the title, for those of you who weren’t around in the 60s is to the TV ad jingle for Aqua Velva  - There’s something about an Aqua Velva man. Interestingly, Aqua Velva has also traditionally been the beverage of choice for hobos.

[2] The day before the scheduled LCBO strike, they raked in the most profits in their history. They reckon they sold $60 million worth of booze on June 23^rd. You know there are only 13 million people in Ontario, right? That’s almost five bucks worth of booze for every man, woman and child in the province.

Crisis Averted!

So, as of midnight today, the Ontario Public Service Employees (OPSEU) working for the Liquor Control Board of Ontario (LCBO) were supposed to go on strike. It’s the closest they’ve ever come to actually striking, so it’s been a terrifying few days for a lot of people, it seems.

The strike has been looming for a while and I guess the main issue is that LCBO is hiring more and more part-time and casual employees and less and less full-time employees. Anyway, the strike deadline was extended at the 11th hour, so while theoretically we still have the possibility of an LCBO strike, it’s unlikely to happen. 

For people outside of Ontario (or Canada in general)  who don’t understand how crazy the possibility of an LCBO strike has made people, a little background.

In Ontario, and most other Canadian provinces, if you want to buy bottles of alcoholic beverages you have to go to a provincially owned and operated store. In Quebec you can buy beer and wine in the dépanneurs (corner stores) and grocery stores. Some other provinces, like Alberta allow privately-owned liquor stores. But most of the alcohol sales in this country are controlled by the provincial governments.

In Ontario, as far as I know, the only places to buy liquor is an LCBO outlet. Individual wineries are only allowed to sell their own product and  The Beer Store (a conglomerate monopoly owned by a variety of international brewers are only allowed to sell beer).

An LCBO Strike would  also affect bar owners, hotels and restaurants who, as I understand it,  have to purchase all their hard liquor through LCBO.

Wineries and Beer Stores would not be affected by an LCBO strike. And Ontarians that live close to Quebec, Manitoba or the US could just hop across the border to buy liquor.

Still, there has been unbelievable mayhem in liquor stores across the province. Headlines like this graced our newspapers:

Fearful consumers empty LCBO shelves ahead of strike deadline (National Post, June 23)

Yes, people have been crazed with anxiety about the possibility of not being able to buy liquor. They’ve been stockpiling for days —  weeks even. There has been pushing and shoving at LCBO outlets. Anger, grumbling and fights over the last bottle of Absolut. The LCBO shelves are empty – of everything, even the Sparkling Baby Duck! Homes all across Ontario now feature thousands and thousands of dollars worth of liquor.

People have locked themselves and their loved ones up in basements with their liquor, beating off visitors with sticks. “We only have enough booze for the family. Go away!” they scream. Enterprising gangsters have filled their bathtubs with cheap grain alcohols and juniper berries. People foolish enough to find themselves without liquor roam the streets like zombies ready to kill for a liquor-soaked brain. (Okay, I have no concrete proof that this last paragraph is completely true).

Yes, it nuts that there is so much red tape involved in buying a bottle of vodka and maybe that’s part of what has been pissing people off — that the people who stack those bottles of vodka on shelves and the people who ring up your purchase at the cash register, have the power to decide whether or not you’ll be able to have a cocktail before dinner next week.

Still, as mental as all this is, in some ways I guess this speaks to how freakin’ good we have it here in this country that something so trivial can shift so many people into hyper-paranoia.

Access to liquor isn’t exactly an inalienable human right, is it? Maybe I don’t get it because I don’t really[1] drink hard liquor anymore. Sure, I enjoy a cold beer on hot day once in a while[2] and I have the usual few bottles of wine on hand to accompany a weekend dinner or whatever[3]. And when those run out I could just make the 15 minute trip to Gatineau. And even if I didn’t live that close to Quebec, I’d make do without.

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[1] And by “really” I just mean I haven’t sworn off it or anything, I’m just not that interested in most of it. If I go somewhere and someone offers me a fabulous martini, I might succumb. And by “might”, I mean “probably.”

[2] And by “once in a while” I mean if I’m with a larger group of people. Somehow beer never tastes as good to me unless there’s a group. I don’t know why.

[3] And by “whatever” I mean sometimes after a long day or week I will have a glass of wine all by myself . And by “glass” I sometimes mean “tumbler.”

We’re Not Quite Done With The Olives Yet

Here’s an example of one of the things I really love about blogging. A couple of days ago I wrote about olives and olive oil and not only did  I get great olive-related comments, but I also got excellent recipes, reminders of dishes I haven’t had in a long time, AND, the following comment (reproduced in its entirety)  from a bona fida olive oil producer – Nancy, co-owner of the Temecula Olive Oil Company

(Why does this name remind me of the Abbott and Costello Susquehanna Hat Company sketch?)

Anyway, Nancy’s comment was so interesting and informative that I thought it  worth reproducing here for all the olive oil lovers.

nice post but i would like to set the record straight on olive oil labeling. The IOOC or International Olive Oil Council is the governing body that certifies olive oils in the European countries but not the united states. Since the united States does not recognize the IOOC certification ANY item shipped to the US whether from Italy, Greece, Spain etc can and DOES label its olive oils as Extra Virgin without meeting the standards. The term is strictly used as a marketing term for the gullible American consumers. Additionally, the labeling laws only require that the producers put on the label the origin of bottling so many oils that say Italy or Spain on the front are only bottled there. the olives dont actually come from that country. As an example if you look at a bottle of extra virgin olive oil from two popular store brands “Carapelli and Bertoli” you will see both say Italy on the front label and on the back in VERY small print you will find that they are actually a blend of oils from several different countries such as Spain, Egypt, Tunisia bottled in Italy. Additionally there is wide spread corruption with producers blending in Mineral, Safflower and nut oils to extend the volume and increase profits. Anyone interested in the corruption of this industry should spend a little time researching. Also go to the New Yorker magazine site and search “Olive Oil the slippery business” or visit http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2007/08/13/070813fa_fact_mueller

You mentioned to stay away from California products when in actuality if you know your grower you are safer to buy from us then an importer when you have no idea what you are receiving. We are a CA olive oil grower and use only sustainable practices in our groves. We are hand crafted from tree to table and are the only people in the country with our custom made mill and press. We have taken the old world method of the stone mill and fiber mats and made them 100% stainless steel. My husband sits on the taste panel for the California Olive Oil Council and does all of the olive oil trainings for the Chef students for the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) from Hyde Park New York.

We operate three tasting rooms where we offer olive oil education and cooking classes and all of our oils exceed the standards of the IOOC.

The real thing to remember when buying Olive Oil is to know your grower, make sure that you are allowed to taste it for freshness and make sure that it is harvest dated. It is fruit juice and does not get better with age. You should always know when it was harvested or the grower may have something to hide. either the product is old or refined. thank you for allowing me to add some clarification. May Olive Your Dreams Come True! Nancy Curry Co-Owner, Temecula Olive Oil Company 

Thanks, Nancy.  I don’t think I’ve seen Temecula Oil in Canada, but please correct me if I’m wrong because it’s the very next olive oil I want to try.

Oh Mine Papa

Yesterday was the 25^th Father’s Day my father has missed. He died just before Father’s Day in 1984.

Except for a few years when I was very young he was kind of a mean father – in all senses of the word. I have a handful of fond memories of him and he was always there and provided for us and everything, but he was a very angry man; very intense, very anti-social, very broody. I think he would have been much happier if he hadn’t had any kids, or maybe not quite so many kids.

He was madly and passionately besotted with my mother and very possessive of her. I think all those kids took too much of her time and energy away from him.

My father was also a very creative guy with not enough of a creative outlet. I think this left him very frustrated with his life. He would have been happy in a garret somewhere alone with my mum, painting or sculpting or writing poetry.

Instead he had to earn a living and support 7 people.

We used to fight a lot, he and I. About everything. He was often violent, insulting, demeaning. He wanted total control and I was exceptionally unruly. He tried so many crazy things to get me to submit, from whoopings, to yelling,  to locking me out of the house, to locking me in the house, to not allowing me any food, to once sneaking in my room while I was asleep and cutting off my hair – though I’m not sure exactly what that was meant to accomplish. In any case, none of it worked.

I must have driven him crazy.

I hated him and feared him. I loved him and ached for a kind word from him. I was in awe of him and the things he could do; the things he knew; the things he created. And I felt sorry for him because I knew he wasn’t happy and knew he wasn’t doing what he really wanted to be doing with his life. And I knew it was because of us kids and I always felt guilty about that, though I now know that was totally stupid.

And I blamed my mother because she’s the one who wanted a large family and he could refuse her nothing. And because she didn’t seem to get it, or him, at all. Again, totally stupid of me.

And then, a few years before he died he decided he’d had enough of earning a living and spending all his time working. So just like that, he quit his job to pursue his dream. It was kind of scary, but also very cool and very obviously the right thing for him to do.

He changed so much in those last years. He almost became a happy person. And he tried really hard to make amends for the past. So much so that I was very surprised to find out, during her recent visit, that my sister still has nothing but pure hatred for our father. (We had a long, drunken conversation about that and learned a great deal about each other in the process).

But back then, with me, at least, he tried his best to open up some channel of communication. He showed me that he wanted to try and be a good father, if it wasn’t too late. It was clumsy and awkward and more than a little strange, but gut-wrenchingly good at the same time. I hope I was able to convey to him that I understood and appreciated it.

Anyway, we only had a couple of years of this floundering new relationship before we found out he had a terminal illness. My sister thinks he got exactly what he deserved, but man, nobody deserves the long, horrible progression of brain cancer. It was heartbreaking to see him in such pain. To see what he had to go through that last year. To see him become confused and afraid. To see him become so helpless. To beg for death.

This man, who had always been so fiercely strong and robust and healthy was suddenly reduced to something that gutted me each and every time I saw him.

This man never got to see any of his kids become adults. He never saw them get educated. He never knew what careers we chose for ourselves or how we succeeded in those careers.  

He never knew any of his 6 grandchildren. He never got to be a grandpa.

He never got to grow into his wisdom.

He never got a chance to enjoy the dream he finally allowed himself to fulfill. Never got to relax and enjoy the fruits of his labour.

And he’s been without my mother, the love and light of his life,  for such a long, long time.

And he never got old.

Happy Father’s Day, Papa wherever you are.