I have just finished reading a Letter to the Editor in the National Post today, written by one Simon Dermer, of Toronto. I am not sure where to start: is it arrogance, ignorance, sarcasm, or superciliousness? Is he pompous, narcissistic, pretentious, or humorous? Or is it just another example of the "me, me, me" world we live in?
First, to put it in context - there was a write-up about Bob Rae, our NDP turned Liberal MP, who apparently bumped one of the "peasants" (those of us who are shafted to fly economy class at Air Canada) by walking up to the gate at the last minute with his Super Elite card waving like a magic wand.
Some people have been upset about this, but here is what Mr Dermer opines: "Let Bob Rae eat his cake in peace". "As administrator of the Air Canada Super Elite Members Group on LinkedIn, I am answering the call to provide some much needed context. Far from marginalizing economy passengers, we Super Elites cross-subsidize them, for we are the airline's most valuable customers. Moreover, we set the standard for service for we are also the most demanding. Indeed our influence, refined expectations and impeccable taste drive the high standards to which all passengers have grown accustomed. Though we can't take credit for the peanut ban, we do claim wins like little pickles in every lounge. If Bob Rae is enjoying signature molten chocolate lava cake with vanilla bean ice cream en route, take solace in the fact that tax dollars are reducing the cost of your fare and improving your service experience. So when you see us up front eating better food, don't begrudge. A simple thanks will do."
Methinks Mr. Dermer is living in the brain fogged world of entitlement. First off, most Super Elite flyers do so on the backs of their employers who are the actual buyers of tickets and who pay the exhorbitant prices demanded of Air Canada's Business class tickets. They are not playing with their own money let alone with a full deck!
On domestic flights, there are probably no more than 12 entitled souls placing their posteriors gently on the leather seats of wide and deep lazyboys to stretch out their entitled legs and knees, while enjoying their tasty tidbits, invisible to the peasants who dare not even glimpse the sumptious luxury. Many of those 12 individuals are flying on points anyway so what gain for AC? One has to ask who is really paying for the fuel and salaries of this "illustrious" airline?
In the meanwhile, the peasants in the back have been herded into long line-ups of between 45 minutes to an hour at check-in counters, to deposit our one bag allowance of 50 lbs (in suitcases weighing 10 to 12 lbs themselves) after diligently checking in on-line. We shuffle along one foot at a time, while 2 or 3 trusty groundstaff do their best to slow down, hamper and hinder our progress - all they need is a cattle prod next. (As an aside, if we have paid the exhorbitant price to check two bags, why do some poor peasants scrabble on the floor transferring the 1 lb overweight contents from bag 1 to bag 2. Can someone please explain how this is saving fuel, ....but maybe it's a union issue....and we dare not go there.)
From the line-up at the check-in counter we make our way to the same long, slow line-up at security (heaven forbid, we don't blame AC for that one though). Then it's the same long wait at the gate on hard seats (if you're lucky enough to get one). Once the call for boarding has been made, the next hurdle is lining up with the throngs of other peasants pushing and sidling to get through the bottleneck at the front, then hopefully passing scrutiny from the unsmiling, suspicious person checking your boarding pass. If you're lucky, you can then move on to the next line-up scrambling to get on board. If you're not, you will regularly be pulled aside to be told that your seat has changed and given to a more deserving pax - you're now sitting in some middle seat at the back of the plane (ie, some Elite status person who is far more important than you needs your seat, even though you booked the seat and confirmed it weeks or months ago), or your seat has been given away because they are overbooked. And don't try reason with the automaton - they are really not interested in your needs. Also don't try asking questions - firstly they won't be at the gate till the last minute in their efforts to avoid you, and secondly, they just don't care enough.
Finally you're on board - your mission is to get your on board luggage stowed - quite an Olympian accomplishment as size and weight and quantity regulations are all but ignored by flight attendants - so you can count yourself lucky if you have overhead space. Then it's time to plop yourself down in your uncomfortable, dirty, tiny seat and hope that the a/c, light, and onboard entertainment actually works at your station. Then you wait for the person ahead of you to jerk his seat back so that it is inches from your nose (I am still waiting for an injury for the person who sits with head forward - perhaps reading, or trying to reach for something on the floor - quite likely to produce a head injury!).
Another by the by: how does one assume the 'brace' position in peasant class - I guess it doesn't really matter - after all, we're just the peasants - plenty more where they came from.
Settle in for the flight - squish your spine and hips as far back as they will go, drag your knees up a little, and try to rest your head on the most uncomfortably positioned head rest for your journey of 45 minutes to Ottawa - thank God it's short you can almost hold your breath on that one, or God forbid, the 5, 4 or 3 hours to Vancouver, Calgary or Halifax, where the only way to get through it is to close yourself off in your imaginary cubicle, squeeze your eyes shut, and pray it ends soon, or delve into a book and pretend you're not really there. Oh wait for it - here's the announcements ... what was that I heard? "We are here for your safety and comfort". What planet do you live on!!!! My safety will not be up to you - if we crash I will most likely die along with all the others .... and my comfort???? you've got to be kidding me!
I will be lucky to be offered water, and if I haven't brought my little brown bag with my own little Subway sandwich on board, I will have to go hungry as I could not eat the overcooked pizza, or wet bread, wilted tomatoes, and brown lettuce sandwiches that AC pretends is real food. And they're getting so hard to please - only visa so that they don't have to trouble themselves counting up the cash, figuring out the change and balancing the accounts. They complete a cursory walk up and down the aisle once or twice and then it's behind the curtains in the galley (On a recent flight from Frankfurt to Toronto, I actually heard one attendant berate a father who came to collect his two-year old child who had the affrontery to toddle down the aisle to the galley during the 8 hour flight: "Take your child away, this is our time to relax". Excuse me?!)
So much for service - perhaps Mr. Dermer should climb on over and hob nob with the peasants for awhile before he makes claims of service that we should be thankful for. For me, it's more like shades of being a minion in the noble/royal kingdom of Marie Antoinette and Louis XIV - I have to watch out that I don't get swept out with the rest of the garbage, but then again - at least I've kept my head!
Click on this to check out the USA Passenger Bill of Rights - hoping Canada will follow suit.
http://www.budgettraveladventures.com/traveltips/travel-news/passenger-bill-of-rights-expanded-in-2011/
Spoken as an ex-flight attendant, ex-Super Elite member, and reluctant frequent flyer in AC's cattle truck at the back.
Perhaps you just have one too many peasants back there?
We survived a renovation and love living with the results. The
house has been updated and modernized with new light fixtures, hardwood floors
and a new stairway. The bathrooms and
kitchen have granite counters and all the rooms look fresh with a new coat of
paint. The only thing left on the wish list
is a new front door. Cleaning is a
breeze and storage has been vamped up so that we even look more organized. 
Remembrance Day is particularly poignant when you work in the school system here in Canada. Children of all ages and in all grades tackle specific projects and assignments for weeks in advance of the special day. Their work culminates in imaginative and creative presentations, dramas, posters, artwork, and chorals on November 11. It makes your heart glad to see students as young as 6 and all the way up to the graduating class of Grade 12 immersing themselves enthusiastically in holding onto the memories of sacrifice and bravery of soldiers in all the wars past and present. 
At the school, ceremonies are held in the company of old warriors and young soldiers in uniforms bearing medals. It tugs at your heart strings when you watch them salute in honour of those who have fallen. It is truly remarkable to witness the respect given by the young who are largely untouched by the strife and mayhem of war. 
My wish has finally been granted. My fairy godmother has arrived at last and waved her magic wand in front of my pumpkin. Now, every second week, I close my eyes, make a wish on a bright star in the night sky and, hey presto! the next day my pumpkin of a house is sparkling clean.
After 33 years of maid-free marriage we have finally taken the plunge. Two angels come every second Thursday and transform our house from dismal to delightful in a few short hours. They get into corners and crevices where I would never think of going. When I am the cleaner, some of corners that I do see, I measure in terms of "will someone else see that?", "is it worth my energy?" or "will it really matter so much if I leave it for another week?" My specialty is cutting corners, whilst my fairy godmothers appear to head in for the tackle and spruce them up.
You know that Fall is well and truly here, and the freezing hands of Winter cold on its tail by the time Halloween comes round. This year we have foregone the gutting of a giant pumpkin in favour of a lightweight styrofoam look-a-like that lights up at the flick of a switch - safer, cleaner, and far less energy draining. The black cat - all arched back and fangs, the huge black spider dangling down, and the scary wreath deck the porch in anticipation of bunches of munchkins trailing pillow cases and garbage bags for all their goodies. 
As soon as the sun sets, the weird, wonderful and wackily dressed, trot up to front doors in the neighbourhood with a chorus of "Trick or Treat". Of course, never expecting anything other than handfuls of candy plopped into ever growing sacks. Little ladybugs, bees, princesses and Elmo's eyes grow wide if you challenge with "Trick". On the other hand, vampires, soldiers and zombies eyes roll up in the teenage signal for the bored "whatever". In all cases, loot bags are thrust forward anyway and all beat a hasty retreat once the prize is in their possession. Be sure to give the teenagers a nice load of chocolate or candy - the more satisfied they are, the less likely you will wake up to eggs drooling down the brickwork and toilet paper wrapped creatively around your trees.
This year, we bought two boxes of chocolate bars well ahead of time. Big mistake! It was far too easy to sneak a bar every time you walk past the offending enticement. The pounds were settling in on the hips before I asked husband (he of much greater discipline and willpower) to hide the loot far enough away that the "Eat me, eat me" voices could not be heard. Still had a hard time resisting, and spent some fruitless nights tiptoeing around with a torch peering under couches, opening drawers, lifting pillows and crawling under beds. Felt like the Pink Panther!
A conversation that hardly ever comes up in genteel or regular conversations, however, is the topic of extraneous hair. No-one tells us at 21 that at 51 or 61, the invisible down fleetingly seen in occasional sunlight when you're young, turns into black, wiry tensile cable visible from three yards (to all those under 40, with their pristine vision). We stand, bespectacled and squinting, in front of mirrors that magnify, painstakingly plucking the offending wire from our chins and upper lips. As hormones dwindle, we become frequent flyers at the local beauty parlor, where we willingly and desparately undergo the torturous delights of facial waxing, leg waxing and that other waxing in the nether regions - although most of us oldies usually forego that pleasure unless we are off on the annual vacation, where we can anonymously and inconspicuously don the ubiquitous full piece bathing suit, which hopefully rides low enough so that no eye popping may occur from the younger set. 
And woe betide that you should have daughters - at least they're honest and actually tell you that you have black hairs sprouting and curling from your chin. Three growing close together allows you to contemplate braiding as a statement, but convention usually dictates otherwise. Not to speak of the humiliation as she tells you to go get the tweezers and then proceeds to pull away, all the while lecturing about "you shouldn't have let it go this far! But what is one to do? Even with glasses the little beggers are hard to see.
The aha moment swept me up with excitement - off to the electrolysis lady - who is sure to wave her magic wand and rid me of my problem forever. Oh, the shock and terror when I finally lay down for my 30 minutes of problem solved. No fairy godmother waving her magic wand for me! She might as well have been dressed in leathers and carried a whip - does anyone know the pain of having a needle jabbed through seven layers of epidermis, down the hair follicle to the root, and at the end of which experience the hair-raising jolt as electricity buzzes the poor hair in such a manner so that it jumps right out of its skin. The worst part - some of those little hairs have no intention of budging, so dominatrix lady zaps you a few more times for good measure. Now that is one hair follicle - imagine another hundred of the little soldiers! 
For a garden that is far less than half an acre, we sure do attract a lot of wildlife. Squirrels and chipmunks have set up apartments in the tree trunks. We have blue jays, cardinals, juncos and chickadees who empty our bird feeders daily. There are a few pigeons, and a duo of wood doves who had a pair of beautiful babies this last spring. We have skunks who wander by, and bunnies who hop in for a munch every evening. They all love the watering hole, the feeders and the fresh food we leave out for their dining pleasure. 
By far our biggest residents are the two raccoons who have built their home in our pergola, well camouflaged by a flourishing wisteria. These nocturnal animals swish down like firemen on poles in the evening, and waddle off to try their luck dining at our local restaurant. Unlike the chipmunk who shoots up the vertical iron pole on which the feeding station hangs and successfully gobbles up seed, these lumbering creatures are destined to fail. Pretty persistent though - they try acrobatics from the tree branches, only for gravity to kick in and head them tumbling to the ground. Then they try climbing the 2 cm diameter pole, hanging on with fingernails locked - to no avail - they just can't make it to the feeder. In the end, defeated and still hungry they climb the fence to, hopefully, greener pastures. They must do ok, because they return to their perch to forage another day. 
October has become known as the month for communities across Canada to get into the swing of raising money for cancer research. We have the annual Terry Fox Run - a wonderful human being who set across Canada on one good leg and one prosthetic to raise awareness and cash for research in the 80's. Unfortunately, he died at about 20 years old, but left a legacy that has continued to raise millions in donations each year. 
This time round he has surpassed even himself - we now have a brand new cedar gazebo that we can utilize for at least 3 seasons of the year. It's big enough to house an outdoor lounge suite so that we are sitting comfortably in the shade, protected from the sun and rain. Again due to his talents, we have electricity wired in so that we have light to read by in the evenings, an electric mosquito zapper for early spring and a heater for fall.
I have just finished reading a Letter to the Editor in the National Post today, written by one Simon Dermer, of Toronto. I am not sure where to start: is it arrogance, ignorance, sarcasm, or superciliousness? Is he pompous, narcissistic, pretentious, or humorous? Or is it just another example of the "me, me, me" world we live in?
Today - a not so early start - woke up to a sea view - with the water lapping quietly in the bay. Breakfast - once again, fresh fruit: including prickly pears, passion fruit and papaya. A little scrambled eggs - 'oeuves revueltos' and our usual cafe con leche. A quick drive to Libertados Resort Hotel and Pier - climbed down into a speedboad and donned a life jacket to speed our way to the nature reserve called Las Balletas Islas - islands that are wildlife sanctuaries for migratory birds like the Peruvian pelican and Peru booby, Humboldt penguin, terns, egrets, cormorants and a spectacular little bird called the Inca tern. 100's and 1000's of birds circling, calling, diving, resting and generally doing what birds do on rocky outcrops that hardly seem able to hold them up. Saw sea lions and dolphins too. Different types of seaguls that we have never seen before.
After our sea adventure, it was on to a nature reserve in Ica outside Paracas to take in the desert dunes - very similar to Jordan's desert with red, black and yellow colours full of oxides and iron ore - walked in the sand and thin pieces of shale cracked under our feet. Further down the coast - went to the cliff edge to view "La Catedral" a rocky outcrop in the sea, that used to look like a cathedral, but after the devastating earthquake of 2007 that demolished the surrounding towns of Pisco, etc - the Cathedral arch plunged into the sea, changing the landscape forever. Cracks in the cliff edge still show the dmage of the earthquake. The towns themselves are still rebuilding a picking up the pieces.
The landscape, for the most part, is bleak and stark - sand dunes climbing out of the sea and miles of desert that stretched on forever, with the occasional dots of villages and towns. A glimpse of rural life outside Lima - feral dogs, tuk-tuks (tricycle taxis), cyclists peddling with huge woven baskets full of wares that threaten to capsize them. Mothers sitting on front porches with children clipping mounds of cotton. Agricultural fields green with avocados, artichokes and asparagus, and also maize, oranges, onions and potatoes. Stop for coffee at Chincha and also had a delicious empanada pollo - well worth it and would do it again.
At 10.30am we arrive at Pisco airport for our 11am flight to the Nazca Lines. The plane is a 12 seater single engine filled with 10 Japanese tourists and the two of us. We trundle down the runway to a quick lift off for a 40 minute flight to the site. Scenery on the way: desert and the foothills of the Andes highlighted by a long black streak that is the Pan American Highway making its way south to Chile. Feeling very happy - cloudless blue sky and onto another destination that can be crossed off the bucket list. 
Feeling very unhappy - pilot starts performing steep acrobatic turns and dives to give us "the best view of the Lines". My stomach lurches as he starts the sharp banking turns and tight circles round to see the Lines. I did manage to see the whale, the astronaut and the hummingbird. The rest is a blur. I just closed my eyes and heaved for the rest of the trip. Used four airsick bags and thought I was dying. Patrick took video and photos of each feature - maybe I'll get to see them without feeling green sometime in the future. I don't think the Japanese tourists were that thrilled with me either. I so badly wanted to see the Lines, but please don't ever talk about them again - the thought makes me feel quesy all over again.
