Rose's Cantina

Embed from Getty Images "What is the secret to a successful marriage? Don't get divorced." -- Olivia Harrison I've been thinking about Olivia's wise words, spoken to camera when she was asked how it was that she and George Harrison stayed together when other rock and roll marriages failed. She spoke these words after talking about his well known infidelity. As she said, "Women liked George. And George liked women." Her voice cracked, yet there was strands of love in those words. We move ahead. We persevere. For better, or for worse. Scott and I have been together for 14 years now, and are approaching our dotage together. Both of us were married twice before, he to a childhood sweetheart who cheated on him, and then to a woman who used to make him sleep in his car. I got married the first time when I was 24, and did so simply because everybody else was doing it. Two months after we said our vows, my husband cheated the first tim...

Embed from Getty Images The old man celebrated his birthday last week with two mouthfuls of a cupcake, then slid back into oblivion. He had made it to 88, accepting congratulations of staff and family in the hospital. As I sat in my chair, I wondered if it had been worth it. Seeing him here in diapers, catheterized, his leg swollen to twice its size, his once barreled chest sunken, his arms the size of breadsticks, we all wondered when it would end, if it would end badly. We certainly knew this was not the ending of his choosing. The man had been a Master of the Universe, a wealthy man who had been able to retire in his 50s and spend two decades moving back and forth from his posh condo in Ottawa to his posh condo in Florida. There had been cruises, sumptuous dinners out, fine clothes and the latest electronics. The wife had died years ago, but the man was fortunate to find a new beauty, a good solid woman who didn't want him for his money, just his compan...

Embed from Getty Images The Martini Ranch, aka Hy's Steakhouse,* was once the bastion of mandarins and politicians, a place where nobody blinked over a $300 luncheon bill. Soon, it will be a Walmart, or a Baby Gap. The chattering class has spent the last week pondering its demise. All the networks have been busy interviewing the last Hill journalists still with a pulse in this city, wondering what it all means. How could a stuffy dark place with absolutely no ambience, with a menu that offers no hint of leafy greens, possibly go down? A lot of the talking heads are offering such opinions as the culture has changed and journalists and politicians don't drink the way they used to.  Some of them are actually blaming poor old Jim Flaherty who presumably kept the place going on his tab alone. Alas, Jim swims with the fishes, and no longer eats cow on a plate. Why did Hy's fail? I'll tell you why. The real reason for the fall of Hy's and other high pri...

We've been through a terrible few months with Scott changing jobs three times, and with my work prospects going into the tanker. Things are getting slightly better: we've hopefully resolved a long-standing tax dispute, Scott is back to work at a nicer dealership with some prospects of getting back to his own field working in television, and my employer has finally assured me that my job is safe -- for now. Not only that, but both of us are within striking distance of the Canada Pension Plan, our debts will all be paid off by the fall, there is no prospect of doggie death (cross all Milk Bones) and my friend Jennette has been given good prospects on her cancer recovery. It's not exactly smooth sailing but we're getting there. We should be excited. As the saying goes, "we been down so long it looks like up to us." But there's another side to the story. When a family has been experiencing massive economic uncertainty and upheaval, its members are...

I began a romantic relationship with Scott Troyer when he was only 11, though I'd known him since he was about five when I first encountered him drinking at the National Press Club. I was a much older woman. I must have seemed ancient to him upon our first meeting, when I was 22, just as a dog would look at a human and say, "man, that broad is old as the hills." Despite an age difference of nearly four and a half decades, we took a leap of faith and got married at a time when many Jewish boys were having their bar mitzvahs. It seems to have worked. This year, we celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary. On February 29th, Scott will be celebrating a big birthday. He'll turn 15-years-old. Later this year, I will turn 60. I've realized the age gap is looking more distinct the older we get. I'm getting creaky, he's still spry. I shelter in the house while he drinks beer and throws the Kong for Finnigan in all kinds of weather. Enough about...

Embed from Getty Images In eight weeks, give or take, we will be welcoming our second grandchild, another girl, who is giving my daughter more than a little trouble these days. Kennedy is growing like fescue grass on a Scottish golf course and that's caused problems. My daughter Marissa learned a few weeks ago that she has gestational diabetes and now has to test her blood sugar and give herself insulin shots. Thankfully, this kind of diabetes is treatable and won't hang around after the birth, but it's created a tricky living situations for Marissa who was hoping to experience the pre-natal gorge of all the food groups she's denied herself over the past few years. I've admired her discipline, and it hurts me to see her these days all blown up like Gwyneth Paltrow in a fat suit. She is swollen from head to toe -- even her tiny perfect nose has grown three sizes. She's virtually unrecognizable! But she's happy, and that's all that count...

Embed from Getty Images My life -- or should I say my career -- flashed before my eyes yesterday as I got down to apply for my Canada Pension. I want to take it when I turn 60 in July instead of waiting for the full amount in five years. I've seen too many people get to pension age, then croak a year later. I'm not taking any chances. As expected, my contribution form is a hot mess. From 1974, when I first started working part-time to now, I only maxed out my contributions 12 times. Usually, I was too poor to qualify, and so the other 32 years were marked "S" for sad and self-employed and "B" for below average. I felt like I was back in public school and I was failing. So my CPP will be a drop in the bucket, and the only person who will benefit will be Scott, at which point I will be dead. He'll have just enough money to incinerate my old ass, while he's enjoying his CBC pension (paltry because he's splitting it with his ex...