The Real Cost of Medicare...

I was chatting with a good friend - an American who has spent much of her adult life in Canada, married to a Canadian. During our conversation, she mentioned the current US medicare debate and how sad it made her.

It's hard for me, as a Canadian, to understand why so many Americans don't want everyone to have medical coverage, I said. To me it's totally illogical.

They think the cost is too high, she replied.

Her comment made me think of my recent trip to Hawaii. At the Ala Moana Shopping Center, I remember watching several ladies pick up empty soda cans to take to a recycling station several blocks away.

It wasn't unusual to see dusty, sunburned beachcombers gathering cans to cash in at the recycling depot. But these ladies looked different. I stared at them for a few minutes because I had never seen anyone hobbling along like they were. Something was obviously wrong with their legs.

I remember thinking - if these ladies were in Canada, would they be walking like that? Or would a doctor long ago have fixed whatever their problem is? Can they simply not afford to get treatment for whatever ails them?

If so, the cost of a country's health insurance can't simply be counted in dollars and cents. Surely one must factor in lost potential: the loss to society of everything that these women (and others like them) could achieve - if their medical problems weren't holding them back ... If they could afford the treatment they needed...

HOME is...??

I've heard say: "Home is where the heart is." And that is certainly true, especially when you're away from home and feeling homesick.

When I was a teenager, I remember my mother saying: "Home is the one place where they have to let you in." (I can only assume that some days she wished she didn't have to!)

These days I'm enjoying being at home. The summer was hectic with weekend events, family reunions, and visits with friends. Now that life has returned to a low-key NORMAL, I'm relishing the luxury of just being here at home - doing as much (or as little) as I feel like doing. I don't have many demands placed on me - as long as there is food in the fridge and clean clothes in the closet.

If I were to describe what home is like for me today, I'd say: "Home is where I need to be to recharge my battery."














My energy level been on LOW POWER for a while now - and it needs a serious recharge!














Home has the wonderful ability to do just that!

Small Decisions

My son and I were driving to a dental appointment across town.

Look - see that house, I said, pointing to a tidy brick bungalow on one corner. Dad and I looked at that house when we were house hunting before you were born. I don't remember why we didn't buy it... I think the back yard was too small. But just think, if we had bought it - this would have been the neighborhood you grew up in.

And I'd have all different friends, he replied.

Yes - you would have gone to different schools.

We continued driving in silence, reflecting on how a small decision - like buying a house in one neighborhood rather than another - determined so much.

I thought about other decisions, forks in the road, that have altered on my life...

Studying humanities at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver when I was 18 instead of attending San Diego State College (where they offered the degree in journalism that I wanted)...

Going to Israel for an exchange year ... (and staying for 10)...

Moving to Montreal (where I met my husband)...

Every day presents us with potentially life-altering decisions! It's probably good that we are often oblivious to them. Otherwise, the burden of deciding even small things could be too much for us to handle!

Jumbo Raisin Cookies (Almost) Like Grandma Used to Make

It was my uncle's 95th birthday... What could I give him?

Perhaps a taste from the past. I hunted high and low for one of the cookie recipes his mother (my grandmother) used to make, and come up with this one that I think originated with her.

(But true to my cooking style, I couldn't simply replicate the recipe - I had to change it!)














These raisin cookies have a soft almost cake-like texture.

I should add that the recipe is quite large - it makes about 75 cookies - so a big mixing bowl is needed.

Jumbo Raisin Cookies

1. Add 2 cups of raisins to 1 cup of water in a saucepan. Boil for 5 minutes - then set aside (to cool).

2. Cream together 1 cup of margarine or shortening and 2 cups of sugar - 1 cup of brown sugar and 1 cup of white sugar. (Next time I would try using a little less, probably 1 1/2 cups, as the cookies were quite sweet. )

3. Add 3 eggs to the margarine-sugar mixture and beat well. Then add the cooled raisin mixture.

4. Add 1 teaspoon of baking powder, 1 teaspoon of baking soda,
1 1/2 teaspoons of cinnamon plus 1/4 teaspoon of nutmeg and 1/4 teaspoon of allspice. (I didn't have any allspice, so I added ginger instead.) Mix well.

5. Then add 4 cups of flour (I used 2 cups of white flour, 1 1/2 cups of whole wheat flour, 1/4 cup of wheat germ and 1/4 of psyllium - for added nutrition and fiber.) Mix well.

6. Drop batter on greased cookie sheet - one heaping teaspoon per cookie - and bake for 12 - 15 minutes at 400 degrees Fahrenheit (200 degrees Celcius).

7. Remove cookies from pan and cool them on a rack before eating. Enjoy! (Come to think about it, I think my mother - and possibly my grandmother - cooled freshly-baked cookies on brown paper bags that they opened up and spread on the table.)














Happy birthday Uncle Erhardt!
(Hope you enjoyed the cookies!)

And thanks - Elizabeth - for the great picture!

Gone!

I stepped outside this morning with a pile of newspaper to be recycled, glanced to my right ... and wondered why the veranda looked so spacious. I then realized that the wooden chair I had painstakingly put together earlier this summer was GONE!














Someone had simply walked off with it! In fact, two people probably did the deed, as the solid wooden chair was heavy and awkward to carry.

My immediate reaction was shock and disbelief ... Then, as I stared at the empty space where the chair had been, I became a little teary ... then insulted ... then sad that there were people around who were MEAN enough to just walk up to my house and STEAL something that belonged to ME!

Why does this always bother me? I wondered... It's only a chair.

It's not as if it's the first time I've been the victim of theft. Experience should make it easier - but it doesn't. I've had my identity stolen, a purse snatched, and a car broken-into. One of the family bikes, lying on the ground beside the house, was also taken once.

I shouldn't be shocked, I tell myself. These things happen. In fact, I had thought about the possibility that the chair could be stolen. I remember thinking - as I was putting it together - that I should write the address on the underside or between the slats... I don't remember whether I did it or not. I also remember asking myself if it wouldn't be safer to keep the chair in the back yard, out of plain view.

But I decided to leave it where it was, on the front veranda - where I could sit and watch the rain without getting wet - because I didn't want fear to dictate how I lived.

But now it's gone and I'm sad - probably because I (again) feel less trusting about the world I live in. Trust is a pretty basic need. Maslow ranks it as number 2, after the need for food and shelter. We all need to feel safe and secure.

But for now, there's really nothing I can do - except let it go - and pray that the thieves will somehow feel a sense of remorse... so that they won't want to steal again.

Re-styling Clothing: Practical and FUN

Joy in creativity motivates us to do strange things!

How else can I explain the fun I had restyling several pairs of pants I no longer wore into Capri pants?














... And the pleasure I derived from wearing them?














They are nothing special - but they're so comfortable, I've worn them constantly all summer!

When I was in university, I had a landlady who was an avid knitter. Every year I would watch her pull apart some old sweater she had knit for her son several years before, wash the yarn to get rid of the kinks, then use it to knit a sweater in his current size, adding stripes and designs with new yarn, as needed, to have enough.

Why don't you just buy all new yarn? I once asked her.

She shrugged. I like this yarn. It's a good quality - it washes well. Why buy new yarn when I can use the old?

But the time you waste, knitting and re-knitting...

Oh, I enjoy it!

Like her, most of us who re-style clothing do it for the creative challenge it presents - and the satisfaction of seeing something old re-used!

When did DOING NOTHING become a CARDINAL SIN?!

I was driving past a cyclist yesterday, when the thought occurred to me that if I rode my bike to run errands in the neighborhood, I wouldn't have to worry about taking walks to get exercise.

Then just as quickly, the-part-of-my-mind-that-resists-exercise countered: Well, you wouldn't get as much done.

How much do I need to get done? I asked myself. Yes, I'm always busy and often on the run. I always seem to be doing something: gardening, housework, cooking, shopping. And I always feel as if I'm playing catch-up with the things that need to be done.

Why can't I just slow down - and be happy with doing less?

It seems like rushing around is one of the characteristics of our age, at least in our Canadian society. I remember a friend telling me that his company got him a new computer every 6 months or so - whenever a faster model came out. They didn't want him to waste any of his time at work. If a faster machine enabled him to accomplish more, they got it for him.

How did people live a hundred years ago, before electricity became commonplace? Did they accomplish less than we do? People worked hard from dawn to dusk, but then they rested - candles were expensive. Did they get less done?

I think about my daughter who, during one year of her university studies, was active on the executive of a youth organization. Planning weekend retreats and other activities left her with less time for school work - but - paradoxically - her marks at university were higher that year than any other!

Is it possible that, in our rush to accomplish so much, we actually accomplish less ... in the long run?

Maybe, instead of bemoaning the dusty living room and stressing about whether I'll manage to transplant some flowers in the garden today, I should just give myself permission to sit for an hour or two and watch the changing shapes of the clouds, like I did as a child. Or maybe I should read a book - just for fun.

Maybe, like my daughter, I'll be surprised at how much gets done in the end!

Words to Live By

Do all the good you can,

By all the means you can,

In all the ways you can,

In all the places you can,

At all the times you can,

To all the people you can,

As long as ever you can.

I recently came across this quote by John Wesley. Though written more than 200 years ago, his words still seem to be a worthy goal or mission statement.

How different our world would be if our only motive and desire would be to do good at all times to each other!

A Gourmet Train Ride

We pampered ourselves this summer on the Mt. Orford Express, a gourmet train ride, that originates in Sherbrooke, Quebec, in the hilly Eastern Townships.














We arrived at the station around noon.
All the cars on the train are dining cars:














We sat in the upper level of the domed car, to have a better view.














The food was delicious... For lunch, we had sandwiches and salad...














... and, of course, dessert!














We watched rivers, lakes and woods pass by, as we ate.














The train stopped briefly at Magog, on Lake Memphremagog, so we got off and walked around. Here is a view of the train from the tower that overlooks the area. (We didn't see the lake monster which supposedly lives in the water!)

Visiting Sherbrooke Quebec

One of the fun things we did this summer was travel to the Eastern Townships of Quebec, to Sherbrooke, Terry's home town. The streets here can be hilly - I'd hate to have to drive (or walk!) here on an icy winter day.














We stayed in a downtown bed and breakfast, in a suite called the Cour de Versailles.














Four- course breakfasts were served in their sunny breakfast room:














We started with yogurt (juice and coffee)...














Then the fruit cup - almost too beautiful to eat...














Omlette with sun dried tomatoes (and toast or croissant) ...














There was even dessert (cream puffs, fruit and chocolate covered raisins)!

Feeling thoroughly pampered, we set off to rediscover Sherbrooke.














Here is the beautiful old Hydro Quebec office building where Terry's Aunt Glenna once worked (viewed from a sidewalk cafe across the street).














The B and B was also within walking distance of the old train station, now a central market square, where we caught the Mt. Orford Express, a gourmet train ride...

(More about that tomorrow!)

With Just a Push of the PANIC Button...

There are powerful buttons around these days.



















Our car came with this remote control key that has buttons to unlock the car doors or open the trunk. On THIS side of this handy-dandy device, there is a red alarm button - a PANIC BUTTON - which I have never used on purpose! But occasionally I have brushed against it, and been shocked to find the car alarm go off and the lights begin to flash...

You can use that at night in an emergency, one of my neighbors informed me. If you sleep with your car panic button under your pillow, your car alarm can signal a call for help!

(Mmmm... Not sure it would work for me. With my luck, I'd accidentally push it and wonder which neighbor was disturbing the peace!)

Another powerful button - a PANIC BUTTON of sorts - is the redial button on the phone.

Two nights ago - at 2 am - our telephone rang. Now who could that be? My husband said, rushing to answer it. Hello! Hello!

What do you make of this? he asked, handing me the receiver.

No one was there... But in the distance, I could hear talking. It sounded like my son's voice. I had spoken to him on his cell phone earlier in the evening. Had he accidentally pushed redial - and I was now overhearing his conversation with a friend? It wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

I remembered another PANIC - a midnight call when our son was in his teens.

Who would be calling us at 1 am?!

It was the father of one of my son's friends - and he was in a panic!

Sorry to call you at this time of night - but I was wondering if you knew where the boys are, Charlie's father said. I've tried to call him on the cell phone, but I can only get the answering machine.

Then he told us how, a few minutes earlier, their telephone had rung. No one had spoken to them, but on the other end of the line, he could hear distant voices:

I think they can see us... Oh no, they're after us... Run!! Let's get away!

Was Charlie in danger? Had the boys been attacked?

They came by to pick up a few pylons and a flag, my husband told him. They were planning to play "Capture the Flag" in a park not far away.

Had they encountered serious trouble? Charlie's parents drove over to the park to see.

There they found the group of friends in two teams still trying to capture the flag from each other...

While hiding, Charlie had accidentally pushed the redial button on his cell phone and called home!

Toronto's Harborfront

We enjoyed Toronto's Harborfront on Labor Day weekend...














.... seeing boats large and small...














...cyclists enjoying the sunny weather...














... an air show...














... an outdoor gallery displaying aerial photographs of Canadian forest land...














... and of course, lots of lovely flowers.














Terry watched two Blue Jays games (against the New York Yankees) here at the Rogers Center, while I wandered around downtown.














And of course, no visit is complete without a few coffee breaks and some latte art! (This creation came from Hank's!)

Canadian Medicare - A Personal Perspective

I never gave much thought to medical insurance as a child growing up in Alberta and British Columbia in the 1950s and 1960s. Neither province had medicare at the time, and I remember how suspiciously we all viewed Saskatchewan when this province instituted government medical insurance. There were rumblings in the news: Was that province becoming a little too socialist for comfort? The media portrayed a government-run medical insurance plan as undemocratic... but to people like my father, a car mechanic who at 19 had escaped to Canada from a communist regime - universal health insurance seemed the essence of democracy. I remember how happy he was when our small city of Kelowna instituted dollar-a-day hospital coverage - we would be billed only a dollar for every day we were hospitalized. Was his sense of relief due to the fact that one of my cousins, who was a few months older than me, had been diagnosed with cancer and was spending weeks at a time in the hospital?

Across the country - in Quebec - my future-husband's family was experiencing their own medical ordeal at about the same time. While still in her mid-30's, Terry's mother had developed lung cancer. As the disease progressed, she was hospitalized again and again with pneumonia and then for surgery, as doctors tried to stem the disease by removing more and more lung tissue. Terry's father, an office worker who supplemented his income by working weekends as a waiter, was hit hard financially and emotionally by the burden of his wife's illness. By the time she died four years later, he was left with 4 children to raise alone, and a debt from his wife's medical expenses that he would never be able to pay off. His private medical insurance did not begin to cover all the expenses they had incurred.

When I went to Israel as a university student, any bias I had against government-run medical insurance quickly disappeared. Could I - a struggling student - afford to see a doctor? Of course! Everyone could - it was free!

So when I returned to Canada a number of years later, I was delighted to discover that all provinces had instituted government-run health care plans! The way we pay our premiums changes from time to time. Once, in Ontario, a set premium was deducted from our pay, together with other compulsory deductions. If you were a student, you had to mail your premium in. Now medical insurance is part of our income tax - the amount we pay fluctuating with our income. This past year I paid $600, or $50 a month.

How do I feel about a government-run medical plan? I wouldn't want to ever be without it! When I think about the stress endured by my husband's father when his young wife fell ill, I am thankful that I don't have to wonder - Can we afford to go to the doctor about this? I can see a doctor at any time, without taking my check book (as I remember my sister-in-law doing in Texas). My mother has had surgery for cancer twice in the past 7 years, but we have never had to worry about paying for it.

In fact, I'd go so far as to say that the two most important changes in Canada in the past hundred years are laws guaranteeing compulsory free education for all children - and free government-sponsored health care. Yes, both cost the tax-payer a substantial chunk of their tax bill, but they are both definitely worth it!