Rose's Cantina

In November, I will graduate from Carleton University as part of the Class of 2019. As always, I'm a bit late. Forty years late. Oh well, I was busy back in the late 70s forging a new career for myself. I didn't have time to finish that journalism degree. To the taxpayers of Ontario, who bankrolled my education, I offer my sincere apologies. I was just so excited to get out into the world, I had neglected to complete my "thesis". And I meant to finish it, I really did. But life got in the way. Career. Motherhood. Singlemotherhood. Yadda, yadda. Never got around to it. Kids, take this as a lesson. You can't go back. After I lost my job due to my lack of educational credentials this past spring, I realized that I needed that degree. I couldn't qualify for all the jobs I was qualified for. That piece of paper was a deal breaker, the difference between me being a bona fide public servant, and a Walmart greeter. Truth is, I don't have my Grade 12 d...

It's been three long years since Ashley disappeared into thin air, three Mother's Days for her mom Cindy, three Father's Days for her father John.  There has been little progress in her case, no body, no arrests, only disturbing rumours. But I have to say, I'm cheered by all of the volunteers who continue to hunt for Ashley in the air with drones, on the ground with ATVs. As anyone connected with Ashley's case knows, there is plenty of bad in the world, but there's also plenty of good. This week, John and Cindy cheered another great development.  One of our family members has given $10,000 to post as a reward for information leading to her whereabouts, or information that leads to the arrest of any person(s) who might have done Ashley harm. That's going to make a few people nervous, I'm guessing, and maybe a few people scared. The perps might have thought they got away with murder, but people talk, don't they? Other people k...

As a family member of Ashley Simpson , I welcomed the release this week of the Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls by the federal government.  https://www.mmiwg-ffada.ca/ I hope that it helps.  Clearly, it's taken too long to do a 'deep dive' into why so many women and girls have been savaged, raped and murdered at home, and when they go out into the world. My main hope is that the police in these rural communities get more resources, and better training, because until this happens, more women and girls will be slaughtered and never found. I feel so deeply for the Indigenous community, and for their stolen sisters. It was, in fact, the First Nations community women who embraced Ashley as one of their own. That is their way, they show their wisdom, doggedness and commitment to righting the wrongs of the past. They are so strong and their spirit should make the rest of us ashamed for not caring enough, or not educating ourselve...

Embed from Getty Images I was teaching my puppy, Viggo, to pee outside yesterday when a man motioned to me to come to the fence. He introduced himself as the local Conservative candidate and asked if he could count on my vote. Wiping the pee from my hand, I extended it, and he handed me a pamphlet, my first in the run-up to next fall's federal election. Poor fellow. Who convinced him to run against the McGuinty Dynasty in Ottawa South? I felt sorry for him, so I decided to allot him five minutes of windbaggery. Clearly he hadn't realized to whom he was speaking. Fly meet spider. "What's your climate plan?" I asked. A smile spread on his Cheshire mug, and he began to extol the virtues of his party's plan to cut The Dreaded Carbon Tax. "I've been hearing from your neighbours that many people detest the Trudeau Tax," he began. Given the fact my house is surrounded by crackheads and cranky pensioners, I have no doubt. I also have no ...

Embed from Getty Images It's hard not to give up when you get old. Last week, I attended my own going away party, which was pretty much a preview of the wake I can expect when I'm dead. "Thanks Rose," one of the managers said. "We really enjoyed your stories." I looked around the room, and realized that I should have stopped showing pictures like this one to my coworkers. Here I am with an 80 plus year old with a nose that is actually drooping from the weight of old age. Jean Chretien and I go way back, I tell them. Then I realize half of them don't know who Jean Chretien is. That's because the entire federal government is now being run by millennials, little people with tiny little bodies and hair that would scare most combs. Most of them weren't even born when I worked in the Prime Minister's Office. I'd tried to explain the Constitution to a few of them over coffee once, but I couldn't be heard over the pings on the...

Every spring, the rivers run, the soil shifts, and the landscape changes. For most Canadians, it's just evidence of climate change. But for murder investigators in the Okanagan, for the drone pilots and ATV drivers, and particularly for the relatives of Ashley Simpson, it makes it harder to look for her last human remains. Three years ago, my cousin was a vibrant, 32-year-old nicknamed Gypsy for her meandering ways. She was up for any challenge: the catching of the biggest fish, snowboarding in a bikini on a dare. The dark haired beauty was fearless in all manner of things, especially in her love of her big family. Today, she remains just a memory, a snapshot in the eyes of the public who see her posters, and hole in the hearts of her mother and father who try desperately to hold out hope that she will be found. Her mother Cindy says the grandkids are always asking: have they found Aunt Ashley in the woods yet? What is she supposed to say to them? What is she supposed to ...

PHOTO BY JEAN-MARC CARISSE In the fall of 1980, I got a job writing briefing notes for the National Liberal Caucus. I heard about the gig from an old Ottawa Journal buddy who bought me a beer at the Press Club.  That's how you got jobs in the 80s, sitting in the games room, smoking and playing snooker. Not like today when you need a Master's degree and a French diploma to go to the bathroom in Ottawa.  I wasn't particularly political. You might say I leaned left, more NDPish, but I was looking for a new opportunity. After the Journal folded, I'd worked freelance for the Ottawa Citizen chasing musicians around the city and writing a column about them.  My year of Carrie Bradshaw, without the nice shoes. A year of that was enough.  Both my liver and my ears needed a rest. I hadn't realized that, drinking-wise, I was pretty much jumping from the pan into the flames. In those days, booze flowed freely on Parliament Hill. You could get a drink an...