Thank You Justin...Thank You Dave...Thank you JESUS!!!!!

Have you ever met someone and felt like they've always been there.....nebulous, fleeting dreams of things to come....the missing piece? I can scarcely dare to imagine that it has materialized......it really exists....

Baconnaise!!!! Yes, go ahead....dare to believe....surrender to the hope that it really does mean the bringing together of Bacon and Mayonnaise in holy union. I don't trust anyone who still has dry eyes at this point, but if Baco-Mayo is not enough, (prepare yourself) there's bacon salt!! GOD BLESS AMERICA!!!

Justin and Dave are the two proud bacontrepreneurs at J&D Foods in Seattle, WA. They left their careers in high tech (incidentally after one of them won $5000 on America's Funniest Home Videos) to take on a pork strip mission because they, too, believe that EVERYTHING SHOULD TASTE LIKE BACON!!! They have created Baconnaise, Bacon Salt and even Bacon Lip Balm!!!

There is no end to the frontiers of American Invention.....or to the grateful feeling I will have for the brave Ottawa Firefighters who will remove a wall to get me out of my house after I eat a case of Baconnaise straight from the jar. But troubles are for another day; today is for celebrating all that is possible; today is for Baconnaise. Baconnaise, you complete me.

www.jdfoods.net

Lessons on Listening at Detroit Metro...

Theresa is a rotund woman of simple intelligence. She munches on mini-Ritz sandwich crackers as she tries twice to strike up a conversation. I am watching the Mormons congregate with their baby strollers around the ticket counter in Detroit, which has become part of my annual pilgrimage back home to Idaho, via Salt Lake City. For a large woman Theresa has a dainty way of brushing the Ritz crumbs from her lap, like a far different kind of woman might smooth the pleats of her tailored trousers. Despite my standoffish posture and lips that are naturally shaped like a frown, she's determined to strike up a conversation. A slight shift of my eyes in her direction starts the sweet, lilting small talk. I feel guilty that it grates on me like microphone feedback. It's not her fault that flying exposes the mood I call "generally pissy". I have a lot on my mind. She's on her way to Colorado to see her daughter who just had her second child. Her first child's unexpected arrival is apparently what landed her in Colorado with her boyfriend who makes a "darn good living" in the oil fields. She says that she loves those babies so much and can't wait to see them. I feel like Theresa is worried. I assume it's the daughter's "sitch", or then perhaps the next narrative which enlightens me on her son (the high school football player) who has torn his rotator cuff and might not get to play for the rest of the season. But she is just thankful that he'll be o.k. and it's not the end of the world. She sits straight and her voice gets stronger when she mentions her older son. He gives her reason to worry, as he's currently stationed in Iraq. Theresa is visibly very proud. When he came back from basic training he would take the garbage out and say "hi" to the elderly neighbor without even being reminded. He called recently (a little down) to tell her that he misses the way she used to get up early to make his breakfast when he worked at the gas station. He tells her not to worry, that he isn't seeing much action. She thinks he's lying. Just when I know that she sure has her share of worry, she says that her husband has just been laid off from General Motors. She rustles in her seat and folds her arms when she explains that she can't understand why he lost his job but "them fancy executives who make the decisions sure didn't." Her husband is a big, quiet man who worked in a transmission plant. She's worried that he'll forget his heart medication while she's gone, even though she put sticky notes on his boots. I can picture him hunched quietly over his pot roast in the evening, somehow comforted by the hum of Theresa describing her day of volunteering at the book fair. Similarly, I find a strange comfort in hearing about her common (yet profound) life struggles. I am lost in this thought when I notice she has stopped talking. I inwardly chastise my manners for seeming distracted and am about to invite her to continue when she fastidiously folds up the bag of Ritz, looks around nervously, and confesses that she's a little nervous about fitting into her seatbelt. I reassure her that she should be fine, but that she can just snag herself an extension from the front if she's worried. She seems comforted by this and explains that the hormones she's taking have really caused her to put on weight. I make a self-disparaging comment about not needing the help of hormones and she laughs; I'm glad. She doesn't ask about me, nor do I volunteer. But she looks at me knowingly for a moment and apologizes for carrying on. I tell her I've enjoyed listening, and I have. I realize I don't do it often enough.

It's grand to have been brought into the world having so much to say. It's even quite fun to have the bold confidence to say it in ways that make others want to listen; laugh and be entertained. And I suppose it's easy to assume that we who speak freely and loudly, with wildly waving arms and cartoon expressions have the world by the tail. And sometimes I think we just might. :) But sitting there (albeit with initial reluctance) listening to Theresa made me think about the extroverted politicians and decision makers all over the world who are pontificating on these same issues: Iraq, the economy, parenting, health. I wonder if they, too, have sometimes failed to stop and listen. Hell, while I’m on my cloud of infinite possibilities, what would happen if they were here listening to Theresa as she brushes the crumbs off her lap?

There was something lasting about that melancholic moment in Detroit Metro, surrounded by screaming babies, hearing about sacrifice and struggle from someone who steadfastly forges through her life for her family. I don't know if Theresa's son made it back from Iraq, or how her younger son's rotator cuff healed up. I'm not sure if her quiet husband is somewhere building a hell of an American made transmission, or if her daughter is doing o.k. in Colorado with the two babies. I truly hope fate smiled on all of those things; but somehow, regardless, I think Theresa's alright. And we will be too.

The Bus Strike, Ronnie Reagan and The Strongly Worded Letter

The legality issues of these two strikes are different, but the 'jist' works.....

On August 3, 1981 nearly 13,000 of the 17,500 members of the Professional Air Traffic Controllers Organization walked off the job, hoping to disrupt the nation's transportation system to the extent that the federal government would accede to its demands for higher wages, a shorter work week, and better benefits. At a press conference in the White House Rose Garden that same day, President Reagan responded with a stern ultimatum: The strikers were to return to work within 48 hours or face termination. 11,000 strikers who refused to return to work were terminated and barred from ever being rehired. The public showed little support for the controllers, who were already making salaries well above the national average.


1. As an employment counsellor I have a hundred clients who could do (and would be grateful to have) a bus driver position, even with just their BASE salary. It's pretty cavalier to hold out on strike when the economy is tanking and thousands of the people who ride their buses every day are working part-time, contract, and entry-level jobs.

2. I could make $20,000 more a year if my boss would allow me to add 12 hours onto my work week. That would spring for a lot of popcorn and beer! Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen. I can lament...still not going to happen.

3. I called the union "terrorists" and people balked. They wouldn't even agree not to block school buses!! Who does that? (Insert mawkish, righteously indignant voice) "Interfering with the education of the little children...the future generation...." It's like beating a baby seal or tossing your McDonalds bag out the window on the Queensway....you just can't do that.

4. Man, the first day back to work is going to be a charmer!! With all my talk about Canadians being polite, I think I'd rather repel into the Koyunbaba to shovel bat shit in Turkey than face Ottawans stepping back onto the bus that first day. And I can picture the typically benign, passive mini-vanners donning bitter faces as the brandishing of the post-strike, one-finger salute ripples throughout the city. It could be marvelous!

5. When the union-loving hippies aren't even behind you there's a problem. Ironically, the people who are most likely to politically support a strike are the people who actually use the bus to get around....the liberal fervor is jumping ship! It's a sign.

6. Never underestimate the satisfaction that comes from composing a strongly worded letter to your local official:

Dear Mayor O'Brien, (larry.obrien@ottawa.ca)

For the past several weeks I have attempted, along with everyone else, to be patient as the City attempts to negotiate with the OC Transpo drivers. For the most part, people seem to be making due, pulling together to find transportation solutions, and 'waiting it out'. However, when the complex issues related to the Transpo strike are compounded by the inefficiency of other city services it becomes quite difficult to remain patient.



Case in point, on my daily commute across the city I have seen only one snow plow since the strike began (I nearly blew kisses). The condition of the city's roads has been as bad as I've seen, even with only moderate snowfall. There seems to be less salting/sanding in addition to the epochs between plowing. I do not have evidence that there have been more accidents due to the condition of the roads of late, but at the very least this is adding to the insane commute times and parking woes faced by drivers during the strike.


Is this related to the strike? Has the city altered their snow removal regiment? Has everyone with a driving job in the city decided to stay home in their jammies and watch the soaps? Are the plows being kept from the roads by strikers....or by the increase in traffic? Regardless of where the culpability lies, it is my sincere hope that both of these issues can be resolved immediately. AND I would like to express my support of the City using a strong arm to return these services to the people who pay for them. I'm sure a short read on the Presidency of Ronald Reagan would provide a suffice solution should the drivers reject the offer this evening.


Thank You!

Ten Resolutions That Were Not.....

I am absolutely certain that I have, on several occasions, met the Christmas Grinch. I've never understood that. Christmas has food....chocolate and booze food! Christmas has presents! Personally, I identify much more closely with the New Year's Grinch. I think evil thoughts about the people I see through gym windows at 6:00 a.m.....sending me subliminal messages that I should think about changing my life. Suddenly the McMuffin, Double-Double, and the Aero bar I'm coveting in the glove box go from being little packages of happiness to being suspect. Then the resolving begins.....and I am forced to annoy myself until March 10th when I give up the whole damn mess. So, this year.....meet me, the underachiever. I treat you to the seven resolutions that were not:

1. Exercise: Nope, not going to do it and neither are you. We always say it. There's just something about the new year that jars us into jerks of progress. In the end, all that comes from it is sweating and swearing as I haul my cookies up six flights of stairs, spend$500 in workout gear, gym memberships and magazines. That is not conducive to number two, which is to....

2. Spend less money on plastic junk (and the like): So, "You don't become a millionaire by skipping on lattés" says the millionaire....and shopping is about the only exercise one who foregoes resolution number one gets. Additionally, it makes me happy and less abrasive to those around me (which has been suggested by more than one therapist). Therefore, the resulting depression is not conducive to number three, which is to....

3. Wake up earlier and enjoy the beautiful stillness of the morning: The only joy I find first thing in the morning is knowing that I can sleep seven minutes longer every time I press the magic time-warp button. I don't like mornings; they don't like me. My sister says, "We're a good lookin' family, but we all look like the Geiko cave man until 10 a.m." So, it's best just to sleep through it. Rising at dawn and going for a brisk walk with Rover might work for some people, but it just makes me want to snap their neck and poison Rover for barking like a freak when I'm trying to sleep for seven more precious minutes....sigh...this stress is not conducive to number four, which is to....

4. Drink less: Uh, ya...maybe not. I mean, Jesus, even Jesus tapped the spring. Drinking is a necessary pre-requisite for number five, which is to......

5. Be more patient with people (specifically strangers): I am patient, I just don't like morons. They're everywhere. I have more than my share of "duh-freaking-duh Kari" moments....but I actually saw a woman try on shoes in the Walmart line up as she was being checked out. Jolly good for all of us, they were a bit loose and she asked if the cashier could call someone to bring her a smaller size! Then Moron Number Two entered stage left....the cashier who actually did it! I was in line with 50 other people with arms full of plastic junk and beat up boxes of candy that needed wrapped and delivered in the next 24 hours! But this is negative, which is not conducive to number six, which is to....

6. Be positive: Ah, jeez, I can be positive! Really! I even have moments of cheerleader like enthusio-optimism, complete with hand clapping and arm motions. But the sad truth is that I'm rather enjoy complaining. I also suspect that I'm funnier when I'm cantankerous. This is not to mention that my blog suffers when I have nothing caustic and critical to say, which is not conducive to number seven, which is to...

7. Blog more regularly! O.K. So, this one I might try to keep....at least until March 10th!

Happy New Year!