Rose's Cantina

Sixty-three years ago today, my mom had just put a roast in the oven, when the bun decided to come out instead.  The day was as hot and sticky as a cinnamon bun; it was Dominion Day as they used to call it, and Vera was irritated that baby Rosalie had ruined her holiday. It was the first time, and it definitely wasn't the last. Even though I was actually born on July 2nd, not the real holiday, the grand day was being celebrated on my birthday because it was a Monday. I got a kick out of that. The government moved the holiday in my honour. That was the law back then, to celebrate it on a Monday so people could get a three day weekend. Not like today, when Canadians celebrate what is now called Canada Day on whatever random day it falls on. Like a Wednesday, or worse, a Tuesday. That seems so wrong. In 1956, because it was a holiday, my dad was probably in the pub hoisting a few when he got called to the bar. Vera always knew where to find him. He was either under a car wo...

This morning, I broke my reading glasses, first thing. So I went to the dollar store and bought four pairs for seven bucks. The lady insisted that I pick from her private collection which was under the counter. These glasses were two bucks each instead of one. Oh well, what's a little splurge on a girl's 60th birthday? In my younger, pre-senior days, I would have taken the glasses-breaking-thing as an omen of doom. But today I saw it as an opportunity to get reading specs in a variety of colors. They'll match the bedazzled sweat suits that are on my bucket list which includes among other things, bus trips to yarn factories, sing-a-longs, bingo games, mall walking, visits to the Experimental Farm to take in some corn shucking demonstrations and flower arranging. Oh, let me clarify. That's the bucket list of things I have no intention of doing now that I've entered the sixth decade. I'm not that kind of senior. I am an arrested 17-year-old who can...

Embed from Getty Images Scott and I entered the Chinese Year of the Monkey with great expectations. This was gonna be our banner year. Wealth, wisdom, maybe a little mirth -- we were on our way. So we celebrated Scott's 60th birthday in high style, thanks to my son Stefan who treated us to a buffet of wonderful treats at Kelsey's, where Stef and his girlfriend Angele work. He also bought us wine, beer, and a bit of whiskey. Indeed, the Chinese New Year was off to a great start. We're both Monkeys, 1956 edition, in the Year of the Monkey. What could possibly go wrong? Lots, it seems. Since the beginning of the year, Scott has meandered from one bad job to the next. My own employment is also in peril, as the Canadian publishing entity where I edit medical journals has been bought by a company from India. That means instead of having monthly paycheques now, pay day is always a surprise. As in, surprise! No cheque this month! Things aren't looking up f...

When I told the gang at the Press Club I was pregnant, they just looked at me like I had two heads. "You're having a baby?" Ok, I guess I didn't measure up back then as motherhood material. In fact, if I am to be perfectly honest, I didn't ever think I'd be a mother. I didn't really like kids that much. So me being pregnant came as much a surprise to me as anybody else. The pregnancy was a bi-product of a relationship I was having with Mr. Big. I actually wanted to have Mr. Big's baby, and so there I was, nearing 30, unemployed thanks to Brian Mulroney's trashing of all us good Liberals, drifting. A baby seemed like an ok thing to do until I found something else. And so it was I began the three decade journey to where I am today. Startlingly, I am a mother of three and grandmother to one and a half children. (The second one, the Baby Flo will be hatched sometime in April.) Tomorrow marks the birth date of my first spawn, Nichola...

#125911633 / gettyimages.com The bailing on my Canada Day party began in earnest in the morning, with the first phone call and rumbling of thunder signaling that trouble was coming. Brenda had a stomach bug. No worries, totally understandable, nobody wants to scarf Adam's hot sausages and have to re-examine them on the way up. Then Ray called to say he didn't like the weather reports much, and quoted Environment Canada, that ace predictor of the climes, which warned that we in Southern Ontario were on a tornado watch. What the? Since when is Constance Bay hugging the banks of the Niagara River? Then my daughter called to say her bestie boy was stricken by flu-like symptoms, leaving me wondering if she and Brenda were just trying to get their stories straight. Rapidly, it became clear that we would be eating slaw til my next Canada Day celebration. Imagine Canadians who are afraid of a little rain. It's certainly not the image projected by CanLit or th...

Even in the womb, my daughter Marissa was a gift. Before I got pregnant, I was struggling to lose the baby weight I had packed on during my first two pregnancies and was just beginning to lose some. In vitro, Marissa became my personal trainer. During the nine months Marissa camped out in me, I actually lost that baby fat. By the time she emerged, I was a scrapping size 10. Nobody, not even my doctor, could explain that. She was born on this day, 24 years ago, in the stinking hot tub we call Mississauga, Ontario. It was so smoggy that day, we couldn't see Lake Ontario which was just down the hill on the way to the hospital. Even then, she was an impatient girl. She could barely wait for her father to get home from the city and was stomping on my backside with her little imaginary stilettos. Let me out, she seemed to be saying, the world needs to meet me. Four hours and she was out, and perfect, a tiny little six pound two ounce charmer. That's wh...

It was my daughter Marissa's 24th birthday celebration yesterday. Wouldn't you know it? I forgot to charge my camera. No matter, she wasn't the star of her own party anyway. Finnigan kept barking in her ear and drooling on her clothes. Fortunately, Marissa knows enough not to wear her good clothes over to our house. Here is Finnigan giving me a stick. So much for those pants. When the party was over, the hounds decided to settle in for a small libation.   Too bad Sophie can't hold her wine. All in all, we had a fabulous time. Too bad Marissa and Jeff missed the after party. But they were on hand when Finnigan decided to do his favorite party trick.  

The trouble with getting free stuff on your birthday is that you have to think ahead. I went to Starbucks this morning after my workout and fully expected to get a free non-fat dry capp only to be told I should have bought myself a gift card last week. I knew that, because I've been trolling the Internet looking for all the free stuff I could get on my birthday and the Starbucks website told me that very thing. I just thought it would have been nice for all the staff to get together to buy me one, given that I am such a good customer. They did smile and give me a survey. If I fill it out, I'll get a free drink. Better than nothing I guess. And I can get my freebies elsewhere. I'm going to Red Lobster for lunch with number two son today and you get a free dessert at Red Lobster. You should, given how damned expensive that place is. It will be Red Lobster and a movie this afternoon. I decided that I would treat myself to the cinema for the first time since my first da...

This morning, on my 56th birthday, I woke up literally draped in love. On one side, the man who has put up with me for nearly a decade. On the other, the two dogs, Gordie, the old pug and Finnigan the apprentice. I felt, in a way, like I was part of a love sandwich. Finnie is part kangaroo and his first order of the day is to box me in the face. Then the second part of him, the alligator part, bites whatever part of me which is exposed. (Note to self, must sign up for obedience classes.) We had an interesting Canada Day yesterday. I got to spend most of my evening watching the yahoos over in the apartment building set off fireworks into St. Laurent Boulevard, terrifying drivers and spooking the bright eyed crew making their way to Parliament Hill. We also watched a drug deal going down when a black Nissan Ultima pulled up to the building; a crew of serious-looking guardsmen got out of the car and surrounded it while their boss dropped off what...

Now that was one hotsie totsie Canada Day. We got up early and went to the Ottawa Farmer's Market, bought some beets and some dog biscuits. We then took Shyla's cat to his forever home at her mother's place. Then we high tailed it over to Loblaws and the Liquor Barn for burgers and bevvies for tomorrow's mammoth edition of Rosalita My Senorita's 56th birthday bash. We caught sound of the Snowbirds leaving Parliament Hill. Then we came home and made dog food for the pancreatic pug. Later on, we're going to make a chicken and some grilled vegetables and couscous. May throw caution to the wind and drink a crisp White Zinfandel. Go to bed early. I love Canada Day. It's best served ignored.

These celebrities were born on my birthday, July 2nd. What else do we have in common? Larry David is a whiner, a cheat, a fibber. Check, check, check. Jerry Hall has had a mountain of plastic surgery. I've had Botox. I think I bought a Pierre Cardin blouse once. I definitely bought Scott one of his ties. Yep. Been there. Done that. Got the App. Trust me Lins, eventually everyone smartens up. Happy birthday weekend to all the Cancers. Thinking about you, Di. I think Camilla is an ugly bitchin' hoe, too.

On Sunday, Canadians everywhere will be celebrating this nation's birthday. Or will it be on Monday? Nobody is really sure. I'll be celebrating on Monday, as it is the official holiday and my 56th birthday. I've invited the usual suspects to dine, dance and puke in my rose garden. Actually, nobody pukes anymore and I no longer have a rose garden. Mostly, people will eat what we put out. I always try to do something different and, this year, I'm going to make banana splits and watermelon margaritas. We'll throw in a few sliders, sausages and grilled dog meat. We have a couple of dead dogs in the freezer; we'll just cook 'em up and see if anybody notices. We'll tell everybody it's moosemeat. Seriously, before anyone rats me out to PETA, do you think I would ever do such a thing? NEVER! Unless I was in a plane crash and a pack of Huskies came along and I hadn't eaten for days. Even then. I'd probably eat the pilot first. I digres...

I was thinking about my mother today, as I often do on the cusp of a birthday. It's a way I have of marking time, examining my own life against another's benchmarks. When my mother Vera was the age I will be on July 2nd -- 56-years-old -- she was working in a sweltering factory in St. Catharines making fine knit sweaters for the well-to-do. There was no air conditioning at Warren Knit, which had its factory above the shops on St. Paul Street, the main drag of my home town. Often, the temperature would reach into the 40s, an unimaginable working condition for a woman nearing her third act. Vera also worked shift work, which added stress to her already over-loaded system. But she never complained, just came home and downed about six beers and smoked a pack of cigarettes; maybe she'd watch a bit of television. By the time she reached 56, the heavy and difficult job was taking its toll. Vera had a hard time walking the few blocks to the bus and her back was in ruins, t...

I was noodling around the Net looking for famous people who were born on Leap Day. My husband Scott isn't famous, not famous at all, so I wanted him to be in good company thinking guys like Steve Jobs or Einstein might have been hatched on February 29th. Alas, Leap Day seems to be for losers, thugs, faux celebs and rappas. I submit for your consideration. Jerry, from Parks and Recreation, a guy who can't get any respect, not even from the shoeshine boy. Dennis Farina, famous for playing mobsters and coppers. And once laying Helen Hunt in a mini-series. Antonio Sabato. No further explanation needed. Ja Rule. Whoever that is. At least Larry David was born on my birthday.

A quarter of a century ago, I was spending this day at the Pasqua Hospital in Regina giving birth to my son Stefan Gary Robert Gagnier. The expulsion didn't take long -- four hours -- but man, it hurt. Back labor can be a bitch. Since arriving on this planet, Stef has given me a few anxious moments -- like the time he came through the door and passed out in the mud room -- but mostly he has delivered much, much joy to my life. When I was a single mom, Stef found himself in the position of being the man of the family. He walked the dogs, took out the garbage and was the calming influence in our crazy household. He was always level headed and kind. Today, Stef has become a wonderful buddy to me and Scott. He loves to come over for dinner and watch some strange movie like Hobo With a Shotgun or Black Dynamite . Otherwise, the three of us sit around playing video games, me with the 3DS in my hand, Scott on the big screen playing Call of Duty and Stef on his laptop playing...