Old age is challenging enough and an epidemic of scammers targeting seniors is making it a whole lot worse.

In recent weeks, close friends have fallen victim to greedy and shameless people who target the aged and prey off their generosity, trust and limited technical skills.
This is not a new experience for our family. In her late eighties, my mother became the victim of fraud by mail, which robbed her of her money but, more importantly, her dignity. Police described the practice as epidemic.

I’m not often embarrassed to be a Canadian.

But it happened two weeks ago when the head of our military was reduced to defending his sterling reputation to reporters and politicians, who dragged his name through the mud over his use of government aircraft.

Kingston’s Writers Fest was exciting, thought-provoking and rich in talent! This four day event held downtown at the Grand Theatre, Holiday Inn and Queen’s University, reads like a who’s who of writers, sponsors and author patrons. I bought passes to three events and wished I’d gotten more tickets. The Fest has workshops on everything ranging from stories for children and teens to stylistic hints and serious adult topics. I chatted briefly with the Artistic Director Merilyn Simonds and asked her why Kingston was able to get such high calibre talent.

It was the summer of extremes and maybe it’s just as well it’s over. A visiting aboriginal friend reminded us recently that her people believe winter is mother Earth’s opportunity to rest under a blanket of snow and awake refreshed and renewed in the spring.I feel like I could use a little bit of that rest myself.

I think it would be really cool if there was still a milk man. Some guy in a white hat who happily rung your door bell and gave you the good stuff whenever you needed it. Instead, I’m always out. Milk in my home goes faster than a kid chasing an ice cream truck. If I bought enough to last us the week, there wouldn’t be any room in the fridge for anything else. It would be cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I can hear the happy squeals already. But, being a responsible mother, I better not do that. Although, sometimes it’s temping. But I digress, back to the milk man.

It’s the bottom of the 4th, my team is down by 10 runs and we’re pumped; this is one of our better games.
This summer I joined a baseball team and we stink. Thing is, we don’t care, we’re having a blast. The only points we have are spirit points which means we’re really good at being loud even though we’re really bad at catching pop flies. My 12 year old son, who has been to two games, says he won’t go to another one. It’s not that he doesn’t like to watch us lose, he just can’t handle that we don’t care.

The local daily newspaper did us a big favour recently when it raised the issue of the need for full-time city councilors. It was a blessed relief from complaining about the heat—but equally a waste of time.

This city needs higher paid, full-time councilors like we need bigger and noisier parties on Aberdeen street and more congestion on the Causeway.

How is it that our national game could lead to our national shame?

We are known around the world as polite, civilized and generous people and a few hundred hooligans who tore the guts out of downtown Vancouver won’t change that.

The cows aren’t coming home to the prison farms but get ready for a hen coop in your neighbour’s back yard.( Not to worry—it has to be at least four feet away from your property line.)

At the time of writing, we have nine days to go in the federal election and I don’t know whether to laugh
or cry. What I do know is that working in a local campaign is a test of stamina and an act of courage and I
congratulate those from all parties who did so. It is not for the faint hearted.