Rose's Cantina

  In December 2020, John and Cindy Simpson's German Shepherd, Gypsy, gave them an early Christmas gift -- five glorious little puppies. She sadly lost three -- not an unexpected event in a litter.  Five were still enough, and their busy Niagara-on-the-Lake house was filled that Christmas with joy mixed with the scent of mama's milk and puppy poo. The pups were a welcome addition during a pandemic where it was difficult, if not impossible, for the Simpsons to gather their large extended family which now included another great-grandchild. John settled with being a surrogate mum to the little pups who snuggled with him in bed after they filled their tummies with mother's milk.  Like most grandparents, John and Cindy missed the constant chatter of toddlers and rowdy adults who arrived on cue every Sunday for a feast of mashed potatoes, veg, and roast beast.  But quiet was probably why they needed.  Both John and Cindy were recovering from emergency surgery. In Augus...

  I bought my first cookbook in 1974, when I left home for the first time. It was entitled, Chatelaine's Adventures in Cooking, and it was our generation's Cooking for Dummies.  Adventures in Cooking  was big in its day especially for girls like me who were never taught to cook at home. By the time I became interested in preparing meals, my mother had long since lost her desire to make homemade food. Instead, she filled the freezer with TV dinners that she left for me when she went to work.  I loved cooking shows back in the 70s, and I was hooked on Graham Kerr,  The Galloping Gourmet, w ho had a cooking show on CTV. Kerr was   a New Zealander, half in the bag, my mother used to say, who made everything with clarified butter and wine.  What did my mother know, I sniffed. Vera, the queen of Swanson mystery meat and thin gravy. I wanted chicken cordon bleu, not instant mashed potatoes. I was determined to learn the kitchen skills, and not be a slav...

On the eve of Ashley Simpson's birthday, her parents learned that the RCMP ignored a call from hunters who found her belongings up a mountain near Canoe, BC. The pair were grouse hunting just weeks after Ashley's disappearance in 2016, and they discovered a pile of clothing on the ground which included pink shirts and jeans, CDs and makeup. Most ominously, they also discovered a piece of mail addressed to Ashley Simpson. The couple shouted her name, but heard nothing. They weren't carrying cell phones, and didn't want to tamper with the evidence, so they rushed down the mountain and alerted the RCMP.  "I got really bad vibes," Kendra Toner told Indigenous News .  The RCMP did nothing, according to Toner who went back up the mountain a couple of weeks later and found the pile scattered along the road, and run over by cars. She didn't see the piece of mail. Could the cops have picked it up? Unlikely, considering the pile of belongings were still there. Flash...

I spent the last three days sitting at this computer hitting refresh while pressing the redial button on my phone. I was trying to get through to the government in hopes of getting the new Canada Recovery Benefit (CRB) which is designed to give an economic lifeline to people with no work.  The first day, I gave up; I kept getting bumped out of the queue by the many, many Canadians who were also trying to get relief. When I did get through, I had to tell my story to at least six government employees, including one who  sounded like he was still drunk from a Thanksgiving feast. My story is not unusual. I was a contract employee with the federal government making a good wage, and was booted out because I'd reached my allowed days. I had to wait for nearly a year to reapply for work, and had exhausted my employment insurance. The month I was eligible to go back to work, COVID-19 happened and public servants flocked to the safety of their homes and cottages, and there was no hiring...

  When I found out that John Turner had died this weekend, I went looking for this letter which had been gathering dust in the back of my closet. It was dated September 13, 1984, and it was given to me a few days after his failed bid to win the 1984 federal election by my boss, Peggy Dillman Taschereau, who was the Chief of Correspondence for the Prime Minister's Office. Everybody got a letter. I got two -- one that was filled with flowery and gushing language, and this one that I had written myself. I preferred my version -- crisp, unsentimental, to the point -- and I threw the other one out. There was no great ceremony, no tea and cookies with the great man himself, just this letter to remember the 79 days I had worked for Turner as a correspondence assistant. I had, in fact, never met the man who had succeeded Pierre Elliott Trudeau as Prime Minister of Canada. That was fine by me. I  wasn't a sycophant, not even a political militant; I was just a hired gun who got paid to ...

On the afternoon of April 27, 2016, Ashley, her boyfriend and a friend went up to Margaret Falls which was a popular spot for tourists and residents of Salmon Arm, British Columbia.  This photo was taken that afternoon.  She was never seen again. The night before, Ashley shared a post on Facebook. "If someone can fall asleep knowing you're crying, knowing you're hurting or didn't get home safe, they don't care for you." And then. "It's time to move on." Please share the hashtag: #JusticeforAshley Somebody knows something. There is a $10,000 reward for information about what happened to her. Please someone come forward. Don't be afraid. We can protect you.

Two days before Ashley went missing, she posted a meme on her Facebook.   This meme.  She knew something was wrong. She signalled it to her friends and family.  She was in a bad relationship, and she sent out a few texts to friends and family. Ashley was getting out. As I said, two days later, she was missing.  Days later, the men who were with her on the last day of her life decided to tell her mother. Days. There were three of them who went up to Margaret Falls that day. Only two have lived to tell the tale -- the boys who took her up there, who drank with her, who talked with her, and yes, who fought with her, are all still walking around with zippers on their faces.  They say they have no idea what happened to her, that she had somehow got up in the morning and left with nothing, no money, no car, nothing except a pink suitcase which has never been found.  She was going home, they speculated. Yeah, right. Home was a...