Rose's Cantina

Embed from Getty Images Scott and I went out in search of a patio last night where we could socially distance and meet a new friend I found on Twitter. The Byward Market was out. It's always a carwash and I had no expectation that it would be any different on a warm and beautiful Friday night in Ottawa even in a pandemic. I suggested we find a place near my new friend's home which is close to the hotels in the northwest area of downtown. She made a reservation at the Baton Rouge on Albert Street. When she called they said it was good she made a reservation; they were turning away walk-in traffic. That sounded responsible, so we climbed in the Subaru and headed down. Scott turned onto Bank Street from Sunnyside and we were pleasantly surprised to see the Barley Mow, one of our old haunts, was full but not packed. They had added some tables in the parking lot and it seemed very safe. I know that about the Mow. They have always done a good job of keeping the place in good ...

Now that Pearl has decamped our house for a life of fancy treats and pool parties, it's time to read the new room. In just a few days, we went from a household of dogs that seemed to run on energy drinks to one that looks like a cannabis bistro. As I write this, Sophie and Viggo are both lallygagging under the kitchen table, opening an eye now and then when I get up to stir the soup. Occasionally, Viggo, the 90-pound lab, tries to hump Sophie the pint sized pug, who reacts by lunging at him like a disturbed rattlesnake. He takes it all in stride, and lopes over to the table and falls from a great height in sleep mode. The first day after Pearl left for the Logans, I was heartbroken. I hadn't felt that sad in a long time. Rehoming a dog, especially one as special as Pearl, is not a decision one takes lightly. I felt like my heart had been blenderized and  was sinking into my toes. It's been nine months since the fighting between our nine-year-old pug and Pearl, th...

I recently applied to become a volunteer contact tracer as part of my personal effort to keep the COVID-19 bug at bay. The federal government's application process bordered on the ridiculous. The first twenty questions, designed obviously to weed out the riffraff, asked applicants if they were: epidemiologists, social scientists, social workers, medical students, pharmacists, and so on and so on. I didn't qualify in any category. Instead of making me feel empowered, and useful, filling out this questionnaire made me feel bad about myself.  After checking no, no, no for thirty minutes, there was a final question which was basically, ok riffraff, what makes you think you would qualify as a good contact tracer? "I have more than 40 years experience as a journalist," I wrote. "I can find anybody." There is no better training to be a contact tracer than being a newspaper reporter or a television chase producer. The job is basically finding people who do...

Embed from Getty Images On the day the planes hit the World Trade Center in New York, my entire view of the world changed. I had been going through some really rough stuff, trying to raise a small group of hellions who were out of control; desperately searching for work when there was none; and hanging on to a house I hated, one which I had bought irrationally post-divorce. It often felt like I had stepped in quick sand and it was all I could do to cling for dear life onto what was left of the solid ground. Every night, I would sit in the living room and stare at a tree in the middle of the green space behind my house, and imagine building a fort, and just going there to live. I wanted to be in a place where nobody could find me, not the collection agencies, or the ex, not even my beloved children. Instead, I just sat there with a bottle of wine in one hand, and a self-help book in the other. Then the planes hit and the entire world was turned upside down. My kids came r...

Like most old codgers, I'm a bit reluctant to embrace change of any kind. Call me what you like: individual, contrarian, stupid. But this is a trend I had to follow because I know, like it or not, if I don't, it could kill me or somebody else. I do it for the same reason I put on a seat belt, or don't get in the car after a night of drinking. Because I am part of a society that values the taking on of personal responsibility. I am a Canadian who pays taxes to make sure no one goes bankrupt because of illness. I believe in the public good, in the social safety net, and giving a hand others. I am a mother, a grandmother, a wife, and a friend. Just an ordinary Canadian. I don't carry a gun, but I'm happy to carry a mask. In 2009, I got really sick with a coronavirus called SARS when I was working at an Ottawa hospital. I've never been that sick in my life. I didn't wear a mask, or gloves, or even use hand sanitizer. And I got terribly sick. The ...

Those of you who are forced to "social distance" will be happy to know that it will get better. The children will eventually grow up and move into their own cocoons. The pets will die, and your husband will leave you after listening to you beak at him for 18 months.  Then you will have peace, real peace. No more fighting over the remote. You will be able to eat everything you want and not care if you can no longer see your feet in the shower.  And Trump will be gone, so you'll have that. He will have succumbed to his Adderall addiction, syphilis, or the chemicals in his spray-on tan. Trust me when I tell you that. I have never lied to you.  In the meantime, I am here to keep your spirits up.  You see, I know how to socially distance. I have been in social isolation since 1984. Today's assignment is called the Cupboard Challenge. ™  It will involve having a look in your pantry and your freezer, then making a plan to either ...