Showing posts with label Canada. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Canada. Show all posts

Thursday, November 9, 2017

Abandon Canada? Excuse moi!

CREDIT: Graeme MacKay


The following is a response from a question I was asked to answer on Quora:




I’m sorry that you had to even ask the question: it bespoke a fear. Never good in any situation.

If Canada were allowed to deport a Canadian citizen, I think many Canadians would come up with someone they’d like to deport: Justin Beiber high on many lists.

Your husband wants to be heard. So you listen.
If you get a chance, perhaps ask him what country he is comparing Canada to?



People lose their jobs all over the world. I assure you, it is not a regional specialty. In my city, we’re dependent upon oil, and that’s the risk we take if we’re employed in that industry that likes to dip and peak at various times.

Perhaps your husband doesn’t like his career choice? Maybe it’s time to go back to school and do what he really wants to do or always wanted to learn.
I’m not sure whether even other Provinces in Canada have them, but in Alberta, the provincial government does have means to support those wanting to change careers.


Perhaps you live in the city where housing or rent is much more expensive than in the rural areas.
It’s only a hunch, but with the fast pace of Amazon expansion, he could get in the food or agricultural business. With the world’s population continuously expanding and borders bulging, food is something that will always be in demand. Restaurants tend to be risky and finance averse (lenders are wary).

Finally, take your husband to a Remembrance Day service on November 11th - it is a time we honor those who have fought on our behalf and the world to be a better place for Canadians. It is a Saturday. No excuses.




I’d almost guarantee that he’ll feel more proud of being a Canadian and appreciate a coffee at Tim Horton’s afterwards to ask him what he’d rather do or where he’d rather be.

Monday, December 5, 2016

Ranting like a NINKOPHpoof



Is there such a word?
I sure think so.  Or made into one.  Why not?  If the social media universe allows me to be myself, then I can think myself, alone, in flighty thought, I will, why not give it a try?


Imagine the power
if it were to be embraced.  Others think it is a much kinder, gentler way from calling someone an asshole, or bitch, or one I’m fond of WWW for wicked witch of the west.  I live in the West.  In western Canada.  In a world caught within the western culture.  Of cowboys, of proud Indians (probably the last community to withdraw from that historical reference to the indigenous roots),  of manners, of two-stepping, of rodeos, of oil, personal pride, upstanding behavior, neighborly, dance stomping, square dancing, pancake griddle-in, beer and coffee guzzling, good-nature and optimism in ample supply kind of people live here.   





My hometown Calgary
whom I love with the same passion I had at 18 to come to the city of my own choosing to start my road on the path of education to continual knowledge improvement.  There are mostly the good things about it and the good people within it that envelopes me with a sense of contentment and a sigh.  


I love where I live but I want to vacation more
As only a Canadian could possibly know, Danish never admit, while the Swedish show aglow:  that there is a really special, peaceful, calm time when the first light of snow falls in the evening, against the backdrop of a very dark sky.  Or even sometimes more beautiful with the Northern Lights.  





I’m pretty proud of being a Canadian too.  I’m more qualified than most and I’m not boasting.  I was a miniature Canadian Ambassador starting at 8 years old.  There were no rules or any guidebooks to follow except having the proper etiquette and manners befitting royalty or a very young lady, who grew up wearing gloves and a hat every Sunday for years before that.   We moved to Germany when my father was tasked to go there to be among the airplanes for the military.  In the eyes and ears of an 8 year-old, it wasn’t any more complicated than that.


As a Canadian living overseas in those days, shortly after the man walked on the moon, for the glorious first time, holding the world captive.  Its no wonder I think that optimism can simply be a byproduct of having the right life and the right people around me.


I was very fortunate to be a tag-along-little sister to go to Holland to stay with the Dutch head of amateur hockey’s daughter.  Neither one of us speaking the other’s language, but communicating somehow.


If I was a snotty little entitled gum popping, belly flopping, outrageously rude lil gal that is suited more easily for this day, I would not have been invited, not been able to create such a memorable experience.





So I’m happy to be Canadian.  The wonder of the first sprinkle of snow softly falling, reminding us that the Holidays are around the corner:  when we see friends and relatives we have seen in ages, give gifts and be so full of wonder at a gift of any kind.  Who would trade that experience of the smell of baking floating around your house that foretells the event of Christmas, where people are sharing and caring, where families put aside their differences and any anger to be drawn together to be together to celebrate.  Of what they celebrate has certainly lost its way in recent years.  Myself not immune.  


I was asked on Quora to answer a question, or maybe I was drawn to it somehow.  All I know is I got that twitch and clicked on those keys and expressed myself, not suppressed myself.  Here is what you got to the question:







Why do Canadians say sorry so much?

Because there is one thing most, if not all, Canadians will admit: that they’re much politer to other countries than they are to each other. In fact, a new friend or a new employee may be cherished and considered more valuable than old or older ones. We are sorry we lost Carney to the U.K. but the timing was right for them with BriEX around the corner. Yes, we are known more as a giving Nation, than selfish. That isn’t what it means to say you’re sorry. We are sorry that a lot of our talent gets moved to the United States, except for a few of them like Michael Buble and Bryan Adams who remain. I’ve never heard William Shatner say “I’m sorry” about anything, least of all that he IS Canadian. As far as Justin Bieber goes, well, he should be sorry for the normal antics that your typical 22 year-old lad mischief he is going to get into, and we Canadian just wish he could be ignored, because we know its a phase that he will get through. Although, I’m not sure we’re sorry when most of those shenanigans are done offshore and away from home. Yes, we hope he’ll meet and marry a sweet Canadian girl, even French Canadian gal if it means he’ll settle down, a bit … OR a lot more!

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gXwwmU

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2g3Bvhs

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gwyFT2


Ranting like a NINKOPHpoof



Is there such a word?
I sure think so.  Or made into one.  Why not?  If the social media universe allows me to be myself, then I can think myself, alone, in flighty thought, I will, why not give it a try?


Imagine the power
if it were to be embraced.  Others think it is a much kinder, gentler way from calling someone an asshole, or bitch, or one I’m fond of WWW for wicked witch of the west.  I live in the West.  In western Canada.  In a world caught within the western culture.  Of cowboys, of proud Indians (probably the last community to withdraw from that historical reference to the indigenous roots),  of manners, of two-stepping, of rodeos, of oil, personal pride, upstanding behavior, neighborly, dance stomping, square dancing, pancake griddle-in, beer and coffee guzzling, good-nature and optimism in ample supply kind of people live here.   





My hometown Calgary
whom I love with the same passion I had at 18 to come to the city of my own choosing to start my road on the path of education to continual knowledge improvement.  There are mostly the good things about it and the good people within it that envelopes me with a sense of contentment and a sigh.  


I love where I live but I want to vacation more
As only a Canadian could possibly know, Danish never admit, while the Swedish show aglow:  that there is a really special, peaceful, calm time when the first light of snow falls in the evening, against the backdrop of a very dark sky.  Or even sometimes more beautiful with the Northern Lights.  





I’m pretty proud of being a Canadian too.  I’m more qualified than most and I’m not boasting.  I was a miniature Canadian Ambassador starting at 8 years old.  There were no rules or any guidebooks to follow except having the proper etiquette and manners befitting royalty or a very young lady, who grew up wearing gloves and a hat every Sunday for years before that.   We moved to Germany when my father was tasked to go there to be among the airplanes for the military.  In the eyes and ears of an 8 year-old, it wasn’t any more complicated than that.


As a Canadian living overseas in those days, shortly after the man walked on the moon, for the glorious first time, holding the world captive.  Its no wonder I think that optimism can simply be a byproduct of having the right life and the right people around me.


I was very fortunate to be a tag-along-little sister to go to Holland to stay with the Dutch head of amateur hockey’s daughter.  Neither one of us speaking the other’s language, but communicating somehow.


If I was a snotty little entitled gum popping, belly flopping, outrageously rude lil gal that is suited more easily for this day, I would not have been invited, not been able to create such a memorable experience.





So I’m happy to be Canadian.  The wonder of the first sprinkle of snow softly falling, reminding us that the Holidays are around the corner:  when we see friends and relatives we have seen in ages, give gifts and be so full of wonder at a gift of any kind.  Who would trade that experience of the smell of baking floating around your house that foretells the event of Christmas, where people are sharing and caring, where families put aside their differences and any anger to be drawn together to be together to celebrate.  Of what they celebrate has certainly lost its way in recent years.  Myself not immune.  


I was asked on Quora to answer a question, or maybe I was drawn to it somehow.  All I know is I got that twitch and clicked on those keys and expressed myself, not suppressed myself.  Here is what you got to the question:







Why do Canadians say sorry so much?

Because there is one thing most, if not all, Canadians will admit: that they’re much politer to other countries than they are to each other. In fact, a new friend or a new employee may be cherished and considered more valuable than old or older ones. We are sorry we lost Carney to the U.K. but the timing was right for them with BriEX around the corner. Yes, we are known more as a giving Nation, than selfish. That isn’t what it means to say you’re sorry. We are sorry that a lot of our talent gets moved to the United States, except for a few of them like Michael Buble and Bryan Adams who remain. I’ve never heard William Shatner say “I’m sorry” about anything, least of all that he IS Canadian. As far as Justin Bieber goes, well, he should be sorry for the normal antics that your typical 22 year-old lad mischief he is going to get into, and we Canadian just wish he could be ignored, because we know its a phase that he will get through. Although, I’m not sure we’re sorry when most of those shenanigans are done offshore and away from home. Yes, we hope he’ll meet and marry a sweet Canadian girl, even French Canadian gal if it means he’ll settle down, a bit … OR a lot more!

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gXwwmU

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2g3Bvhs

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gK2hiO


Ranting like a NINKOPHpoof



Is there such a word?
I sure think so.  Or made into one.  Why not?  If the social media universe allows me to be myself, then I can think myself, alone, in flighty thought, I will, why not give it a try?


Imagine the power
if it were to be embraced.  Others think it is a much kinder, gentler way from calling someone an asshole, or bitch, or one I’m fond of WWW for wicked witch of the west.  I live in the West.  In western Canada.  In a world caught within the western culture.  Of cowboys, of proud Indians (probably the last community to withdraw from that historical reference to the indigenous roots),  of manners, of two-stepping, of rodeos, of oil, personal pride, upstanding behavior, neighborly, dance stomping, square dancing, pancake griddle-in, beer and coffee guzzling, good-nature and optimism in ample supply kind of people live here.   





My hometown Calgary
whom I love with the same passion I had at 18 to come to the city of my own choosing to start my road on the path of education to continual knowledge improvement.  There are mostly the good things about it and the good people within it that envelopes me with a sense of contentment and a sigh.  


I love where I live but I want to vacation more
As only a Canadian could possibly know, Danish never admit, while the Swedish show aglow:  that there is a really special, peaceful, calm time when the first light of snow falls in the evening, against the backdrop of a very dark sky.  Or even sometimes more beautiful with the Northern Lights.  





I’m pretty proud of being a Canadian too.  I’m more qualified than most and I’m not boasting.  I was a miniature Canadian Ambassador starting at 8 years old.  There were no rules or any guidebooks to follow except having the proper etiquette and manners befitting royalty or a very young lady, who grew up wearing gloves and a hat every Sunday for years before that.   We moved to Germany when my father was tasked to go there to be among the airplanes for the military.  In the eyes and ears of an 8 year-old, it wasn’t any more complicated than that.


As a Canadian living overseas in those days, shortly after the man walked on the moon, for the glorious first time, holding the world captive.  Its no wonder I think that optimism can simply be a byproduct of having the right life and the right people around me.


I was very fortunate to be a tag-along-little sister to go to Holland to stay with the Dutch head of amateur hockey’s daughter.  Neither one of us speaking the other’s language, but communicating somehow.


If I was a snotty little entitled gum popping, belly flopping, outrageously rude lil gal that is suited more easily for this day, I would not have been invited, not been able to create such a memorable experience.





So I’m happy to be Canadian.  The wonder of the first sprinkle of snow softly falling, reminding us that the Holidays are around the corner:  when we see friends and relatives we have seen in ages, give gifts and be so full of wonder at a gift of any kind.  Who would trade that experience of the smell of baking floating around your house that foretells the event of Christmas, where people are sharing and caring, where families put aside their differences and any anger to be drawn together to be together to celebrate.  Of what they celebrate has certainly lost its way in recent years.  Myself not immune.  


I was asked on Quora to answer a question, or maybe I was drawn to it somehow.  All I know is I got that twitch and clicked on those keys and expressed myself, not suppressed myself.  Here is what you got to the question:







Why do Canadians say sorry so much?

Because there is one thing most, if not all, Canadians will admit: that they’re much politer to other countries than they are to each other. In fact, a new friend or a new employee may be cherished and considered more valuable than old or older ones. We are sorry we lost Carney to the U.K. but the timing was right for them with BriEX around the corner. Yes, we are known more as a giving Nation, than selfish. That isn’t what it means to say you’re sorry. We are sorry that a lot of our talent gets moved to the United States, except for a few of them like Michael Buble and Bryan Adams who remain. I’ve never heard William Shatner say “I’m sorry” about anything, least of all that he IS Canadian. As far as Justin Bieber goes, well, he should be sorry for the normal antics that your typical 22 year-old lad mischief he is going to get into, and we Canadian just wish he could be ignored, because we know its a phase that he will get through. Although, I’m not sure we’re sorry when most of those shenanigans are done offshore and away from home. Yes, we hope he’ll meet and marry a sweet Canadian girl, even French Canadian gal if it means he’ll settle down, a bit … OR a lot more!

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gXwwmU

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2g3Bvhs

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gwC9oQ


Ranting like a NINKOPHpoof



Is there such a word?
I sure think so.  Or made into one.  Why not?  If the social media universe allows me to be myself, then I can think myself, alone, in flighty thought, I will, why not give it a try?


Imagine the power
if it were to be embraced.  Others think it is a much kinder, gentler way from calling someone an asshole, or bitch, or one I’m fond of WWW for wicked witch of the west.  I live in the West.  In western Canada.  In a world caught within the western culture.  Of cowboys, of proud Indians (probably the last community to withdraw from that historical reference to the indigenous roots),  of manners, of two-stepping, of rodeos, of oil, personal pride, upstanding behavior, neighborly, dance stomping, square dancing, pancake griddle-in, beer and coffee guzzling, good-nature and optimism in ample supply kind of people live here.   





My hometown Calgary
whom I love with the same passion I had at 18 to come to the city of my own choosing to start my road on the path of education to continual knowledge improvement.  There are mostly the good things about it and the good people within it that envelopes me with a sense of contentment and a sigh.  


I love where I live but I want to vacation more
As only a Canadian could possibly know, Danish never admit, while the Swedish show aglow:  that there is a really special, peaceful, calm time when the first light of snow falls in the evening, against the backdrop of a very dark sky.  Or even sometimes more beautiful with the Northern Lights.  





I’m pretty proud of being a Canadian too.  I’m more qualified than most and I’m not boasting.  I was a miniature Canadian Ambassador starting at 8 years old.  There were no rules or any guidebooks to follow except having the proper etiquette and manners befitting royalty or a very young lady, who grew up wearing gloves and a hat every Sunday for years before that.   We moved to Germany when my father was tasked to go there to be among the airplanes for the military.  In the eyes and ears of an 8 year-old, it wasn’t any more complicated than that.


As a Canadian living overseas in those days, shortly after the man walked on the moon, for the glorious first time, holding the world captive.  Its no wonder I think that optimism can simply be a byproduct of having the right life and the right people around me.


I was very fortunate to be a tag-along-little sister to go to Holland to stay with the Dutch head of amateur hockey’s daughter.  Neither one of us speaking the other’s language, but communicating somehow.


If I was a snotty little entitled gum popping, belly flopping, outrageously rude lil gal that is suited more easily for this day, I would not have been invited, not been able to create such a memorable experience.





So I’m happy to be Canadian.  The wonder of the first sprinkle of snow softly falling, reminding us that the Holidays are around the corner:  when we see friends and relatives we have seen in ages, give gifts and be so full of wonder at a gift of any kind.  Who would trade that experience of the smell of baking floating around your house that foretells the event of Christmas, where people are sharing and caring, where families put aside their differences and any anger to be drawn together to be together to celebrate.  Of what they celebrate has certainly lost its way in recent years.  Myself not immune.  


I was asked on Quora to answer a question, or maybe I was drawn to it somehow.  All I know is I got that twitch and clicked on those keys and expressed myself, not suppressed myself.  Here is what you got to the question:







Why do Canadians say sorry so much?

Because there is one thing most, if not all, Canadians will admit: that they’re much politer to other countries than they are to each other. In fact, a new friend or a new employee may be cherished and considered more valuable than old or older ones. We are sorry we lost Carney to the U.K. but the timing was right for them with BriEX around the corner. Yes, we are known more as a giving Nation, than selfish. That isn’t what it means to say you’re sorry. We are sorry that a lot of our talent gets moved to the United States, except for a few of them like Michael Buble and Bryan Adams who remain. I’ve never heard William Shatner say “I’m sorry” about anything, least of all that he IS Canadian. As far as Justin Bieber goes, well, he should be sorry for the normal antics that your typical 22 year-old lad mischief he is going to get into, and we Canadian just wish he could be ignored, because we know its a phase that he will get through. Although, I’m not sure we’re sorry when most of those shenanigans are done offshore and away from home. Yes, we hope he’ll meet and marry a sweet Canadian girl, even French Canadian gal if it means he’ll settle down, a bit … OR a lot more!

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gXwwmU

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2hbrUtS

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2gK7DLa