Autism Myths Debunked

Tears

I came to Canada on March 24, 1990. My intention was not to stay in this country. It grew on me and I grew here. I was not a child when I came here. I was already 29 years old. But I was child in heart, and I am to this day. What this country thaught me is generosity. It taught me tolerance.It thaught me that people who are different are the same. It taught me the rule of civility. It taught me with its wide big space that only sky it the limit. I love this country just the same as I loved the country I grew up in - my beloved Yugoslavia. It taught me that tough times are just phases in my life, and that "please and thank you" are not just the phrases. I travelled to Vancouver and Montreal, and Charlottetown, and Ottawa. I live in Toronto. The most multicultural city I have ever seen. When I go back to my love - my always the most Loved Belgrade, I bring to peace two contintets, two loves of mine, and I suffer. Why the worlds I live in are so different: we speak diifferent language. My son cannot speak my mother tongue as well as it would be required for him to say words of love. But love is in his heart as well as mine. Canada is space - big country with beautiful nature, big trees, lakes, mountains. It is space with big blue sky, people from every corner of the world. Where I came from - looking from the plane landing in Belgrade, it is warm, welcoming and true. I wish this love of mine for people does not have borders. I speak foreign language, but my undestanding of human malaise is without borders. It is raining tonight in Toronto. Give me a hug. Give a hug to those who you love. I came here more than 20 years ago, and it was yesterday. Sky here and there when it rains is not the same. Tears are the same everywhere.

Invisible Girl

She came with high hopes and dreams to new land of opportunities. Only four days before she disappeared, she was trying to get into more advanced classes in English and French at Forest Hill Collegiate in Toronto. Mariam came to Canada only two months before school started, but she was already involved in the community by attending Dragon Boat Races organized by YMCA newcomer program, she loved Toronto libraries, and walks in the parks with her family. Family that she only started knowing again upon arrival to Toronto in June of 2009. For more than five years, Mariam and her brother George were separated from parents who moved to L.A.,California and then to Toronto, Canada in search for better life for their children. Events in Republic of Georgia at the time of their departure were not promising. It was the dawn of breakup of Soviet Union, and Georgia was going through political turmoil. Mariam's father Vakhtang got visiting scholar position with university in California. Mother Lela went with him, leaving children - Mariam and George, 12 and 10 then, with relatives. The family was close knit and children were safe there. While Vakhtang and Lela struggled to stay in States, they realized that they will never be able to establish themselves there to the degree that it will be possible to bring their children. They decided to move to Canada, and under "skilled immigrant" program got their landed immigrant status. It seemed at the time that their dream was coming true.

On the faithful morning of September 14, 2009, Mariam left for school with her brother George, the last person who saw her. They parted at the northern entrance to Forest Hill Collegiate, mere five minutes walk from their home on 20 Shallmar Blvd. Mother waved them good bye in front of the elevator on the 7th floor where they lived at the time. She will never see her daughter again.

In the days after Mariam's disappearance the most baffling thing for police and everyone else was that no one saw her on that day, nor anyone in the school with almost thousand students saw her, not only on that day, but in previous week when the school started. Monday, September 14, 2009 was actually the fifth day of new school year. The school started previous week, and it was a short week, that started on Tuesday, September 8, 2009, day after Labor Day. Mariam became invisible girl, who disappeared into thin air, until her backpack was found about a month later, close to another high school, but more that 2 km away from where Mariam was last seen. And then for more than two years nothing.

Finally, her remains were accidentally discovered under 401 overpass, in the ravine that is part of the golf course. The same ravine is adjacent to Earl Bales park that she frequented with her family in the summer of 2009. The place where her remains were found is about an hour walk through the paths in that ravine. Did she walk through the park, and ended up in the strange place, and walked up the overpass to see where she was? No one saw her. Did she walk on the busy street up north, towards highway, no one saw her. There is no security camera footage anywhere in the area that shows her image anywhere. If she walked on the overpass, how come no one saw her? Would that not be unusual to see pedestrian walking on the overpass of busy highway? Was it late at night? Where was she hiding all that time?

Mariam was invisible girl who disappeared one day in Toronto. In this big jungle of concrete and big parks. In this big place with so many people, and no one remember seeing her. What has become of all of us?

Please say hi to your neighbour today. Please be kind to others and yourself. Please be vigilant, be observant, be kind. Kids, be kind to new kids in your school. Be kind to those who are different for any reason. Include them. Do not allow that another beautiful young person becomes invisible victim of our own

self indulgence and arrogance.

214 Adelaide Street West Toronto

Oh well, I was in the Toronto's "Entertainment District" last night. For all these years that I have been living here ( since 1992 ), I was there maybe a couple of times. Only once it was for an evening out. Other times just passing by. Last night was different. I was chaperoning ( not really, I sat in the car basically for almost three hours ) my 16 year old son who attended the party at "Vola" club at 214 Adelaide Street West. You may ask why did I even bother to give him ride, since there is good TTC access to the area? Or maybe why did I decide to wait in the car for almost three hours so that I can take him home? Stop wondering now. Entertainment District is notorious for violence, even murders. Bystanders died there from gun shots not intended to kill them. So I chose my sanity over possible embarrassment that my action could be for my son.

I dropped him of there around 9 pm, and was lucky to find parking spot on the next street ( I believe it was John Street ). I put 1 dollar in parking meter, since my son was not sure if he wanted to stay, so I promised to him that I would wait for about an hour to see if he wants to go home, and if not, I would leave and he would come home on TTC ( pressured by him and "embarrassment" thing that is I guess huge at his age ). So, I happily parked the car, put the money for about 20 minutes, enough to go around the corner and check out the place. I should mention I guess that it was raining and it was cold ( not very cold, but cold enough to be better dressed than I was). I walked across Adelaide Street and noticed the lineup of young girls in super mini skirts, with no jackets, no umbrellas, no socks, high heal shoes, something you see in strip clubs. I was, I have to say this, shocked. This was high school party, organized by one, I guess, entrepreneurial  student ( tickets at the door 25.00!!!).  Did the parents of these girls see them before they left? Did they know where they were going? When I saw this I was determined that I will not leave that place until I see my son coming out that door. It is not that I was worried that these girls will get cold, since it is their parent's job. I was more worried about male behaviour around these scarcely clad young females, whose only defence from showing their underwear was barely covering it skirt. Say I am old, but I really do not care. This place was reeking of "not safe" scents.

Not being able to stand anymore in the rain, and possibly raise suspicion about what I was doing there, I went back to the car. I sat in the car for about an hour, witnessed parking control towing a nice white car, and two huge big ( should I say overweight ) parking enforcement officers walking with the flesh lights, checking the cars, and giving tickets. I was safe. I paid parking and I was sitting in my car. They could not harm me. But, it is winter, and it became cold in the car, so I turned the engine on, only to discover that I was low on gasoline, and plus I was not supposed to idle. What to do to pass the time and not freeze? I decided to put some more money in the parking meter ( I hate when I pay for more time than I use ), and I walked back to Adelaide Street ( meanwhile my son called me to let me know that he liked it and he wanted to stay longer ). Right next door to Vola, there is cute little Mexican restaurant - Tequila Sunrise (Cantina and Grill). Of course it was nice and cozy inside. I ordered the cheapest item on the menu - Tortilla Chips and Homemade Salsa ( $ 4.50 ) and read Eye Weekly - free newspaper, in which I read about candid look at health care system in Canada and native women rights. I was probably an odd one there, with my glasses, reading newspaper at 11 pm, but what other choice I had? There was some nice Spanish (or was it Mexican?) music ( not sure ) playing for some time, until few young people came in, and that changed it to some hip hop. I left the restaurant and headed to my car, to check if everything was alright. It was still there. Enforcement parking officers were just leaving the scene ( I counted three towed away cars ). I sat in the car a little bit longer, called my son on the cell phone - no answer, called again, and again, and again. Finally he called me and said that he would be leaving "close to midnight". 

I decided to re park the car closer to "the place". I was able to find a spot on Adelaide close to the entrance to the club, when one young man started shouting something. In minutes the police officer showed up, and dealt with the situation. I was hoping that he would stay for a bit longer. Honestly, I wanted to approach him and ask him to go and get my son outside, because all what I could hear was loud music and yelling. But I refrained from that. It would really be too much, but I am telling you what goes through mother's head.

The night ended this way: they could not find my son's jacket at the coat check. He called me from inside to tell me that he would have to wait until everyone leaves ( which is like 3 am ). I begged the security guard who was looking after line up ( yep there was still line up at close to midnight ), and he said that he could not let me in. I told him something like: "I am 50 years old, why would I want to go in ?", and he gave in a bit and let me on the stairs. My son came out without jacket, it was snowing, and they were adamant that he cannot have his jacket because he can "pick any jacket he wants". I offered my credit card, I asked to speak to the manager, but to no avail. I wanted to ask them is it that they believe that I came there to help my son steal someones jacket??? But I did not and we left without jacket, it was heavily snowing, and I can tell you that I was really happy that I made it home without an accident.

I hope that next party in Entertainment District will be never again.

Oh, by the way, my son said that he had good time, he danced, talked to some people and all in all he thought the evening was a success ( minus the jacket ).

The Fall of B92

Like anything else in Serbia these days, B92, the symbol of free media during 90s is just a shadow of what it had been before. The barometer of how Serbian folks are doing is, so called, "Forum B92" where few moderators are pretending to be avantgarde by banning anyone who sounds nationalistic or chauvinistic. But it is just a farce. They really do not care. They are doing it because they think that by doing it they are somehow better than those they are banning from the discussion. To me, they are just the same, no different than anyone who says that Srebrenica did not happen. I say this because, in reality they are doing nothing to bring those who are responsible for atrocities to justice. I despise them, just the same as I despise those who want to prove that war crimes can be justified.

Here is few words about so called "free media":

http://www.slobodnavojvodina.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=302:b92-dont-call-it-independent-media-anymore-please&catid=49:english&Itemid=62

"Death of independent media in Serbia was obvious years ago. Still, some foreign correspondents and media are referring to the news coming from B92 as it is independent source of information from Serbia. If we dig deeper into reporting from B92 media house and compare it with reality in Serbia nowadays, one will find disturbing facts."



"For B92 to survive this harsh political climate in this obviously rogue state which is still harboring war criminals and had never said sorry for all the atrocities it has done to their neighbors or its own citizens, it was the only way to continue. On the other hand, by “selling their soul” B92 became a “soft” supporter of the regime which is nurturing nationalism and chauvinism and makes them no different from the mainstream nationalistic and government controlled media any more."



"Even their website forum and blog became so heavily censored that no other, but nationalistic and regime friendly ideas can see the light of the day. So please, in future reports, do not call B92 independent media for the fact, it is not any more."

Fraudulent science

Finally the charade is over. It is not MMR vaccine that causes autism.

Where is Jenny McCarthy now?

http://www.stopjenny.com/

Do people with autism want to be "fixed"? Why is everyone searching for the cause or cure instead of embracing these human beings for who they are: beautiful people who are different than majority and from whom we have so much to learn.

Stop Jenny McCarthy and those similar to her who spread the propaganda that autism is terrible disease that has to be cured.

Support those who ask for giving persons with autism a chance to become members of society in any way, shape and form they can become.

Human rights for persons with autism now!!!!!

The Happiness Project

This is title of the book I am reading. The author is Gretchen Rubin. I came across this book in my local library on the shelf for "Best bets". It means I cannot renew the book and I will have to return it today. I am only on the page 84 of almost 300 pages. I procrastinated in reading it last week, and procrastination is actually one of my favorite topics lately. I even made Power Point presentation for my family about procrastination.

Now back to my topic about happiness. After I gave this presentation to my boys here, they seemed totally unfazed. I do not know if me telling them that what they do is called procrastination will make any difference right now. But, I believe that all experiences that we have in our life, including me giving this presentation to them, shape somehow who we are or who we become. Act now! Do something meaningful. Enjoy now, as Gretchen Rubin says on page 84 of her book.

p.s. You may think I am procrastinating now, but you are wrong: there is laundry in the drier. So the perfect time to guilt free blogging is while doing laundry :)

Cooking with love and love for cooking

For me it goes both ways. In my tiny kitchen I find solace that is hard to find anywhere else. When it comes to cooking I do not know about procrastination. It is always good time for me to cook. I love cooking and I rarely follow the recipe. If I do, it makes me really nervous, I usually screw up something and it does not turn out to be the way I want it. Well, I do follow recipes sometimes, it sometimes turn out to be OK, but I always modify something as I usually do not have all the ingredients the recipe is calling for. This is what I hate the most about recipes because in each and every one of them is an ingredient that I do not have. So, I cook "from my head". I do not think that I am able to make the same meal twice, because I always make it differently. Ingredients may be similar, but I add them in different order, I add different quantities, and I try it as I cook and decide what is the next step.

My family loves my cooking. I explained them that it tastes so good because "I cook with love". There is no tasty homemade meal if the love is not one of the ingredients. The love is magical. It combines that spices and ingredients in a perfect way. Adding love to your cooking with make your meals to be not only testy, but in a way your vehicle to spread the love.

For tonight I am planning on making the meal called "Turli tava". My son asked me several times to translate this word. We do not have translation of this word into Serbian, so when it is translated from Turkish - turli means "mixed" and tava means "pan". It is Turkish or Middle Eastern dish, but I adopted it through my Macedonian roots. It calls for all different kind of vegetables (mainly eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes, potatoes, onion, pepper) including the main ingredient okra. You can make it to be vegetarian, or with meat. When I make it with meat, I like to buy nice, fresh veal stew. It is fairly easy to make. The most of preparation is cutting veggies, and stewing the meat with onions, before everything is combined and put in the oven to bake for few hours. I like this to be baked in the slow heat to combine flavors. My hubby likes to add few pieces of bacon on top. I am not particularly in favor of this, but I will do it today because he specifically asked for it. This is another thing about my cooking: it is my way or highway. I do not like any suggestions, and like to add things just the way I feel they should be added.

Here is the recipe for "Turli tava"


■1 kg. mixed meat

■potatoes, tomatoes, paprika

■onions, okra

■aubergine, string beans

■1 ground onion piece

■cooking oil, salt

■red mixed pepper

■pepper



Chop the meat and fry it in a pan with cooking oil. Chop the vegetables into small pieces, add the meat and some cooking oil and water. Put enough water so the mixture is boiled and still there is no much left after baking. Add spices and boil for a while. After that put it into a crockery baking dish and bake it on 2000 C for 1,5 hours. Stir the mixture 2-3 times during baking. The food is ready when it becomes brown.

Tuesday Report

Every journey starts with the first step. The same holds the truth when it comes to my understanding of meditation. For a longest time, and I can say, all of my life I resisted even thinking about meditation. It is boring, I thought. How is it possible not to think anything ( this is how I imagined what meditation is)? I cannot be so quiet in my mind, it is too busy to meditate. However, recently I discovered that meditation is not at all what I thought it was. In short, it is not "not thinking about anything", it is just focusing on your own being, your own present state of mind, body and soul. It is acknowledging there are things going on around you, and inside you, but the point is not to let these things destruct you from being aware of your lightness, your highness, your ability to connect to the higher power, to the shining light that we all belong to.

But, there is a problem with that. Now that I know what meditation is, I still do not do it. I am too anxious to let it go, to let go everything around me, to focus on only myself, only my own presence, my own existence. As if I am going to meet with the stranger, someone who bothers me, as if I just cannot stand my own company, as if my own company is burden to me, as if I, me and myself are just a group of those boring people who have nothing new to say to the world. Is this too harsh to say? Maybe, but at least it is honest!

Moreover, although I still cannot make myself relaxed enough to enjoy my own company in meditative state, I am aware of how dangerous is when people try to escape from their own being, their own feeling, their own fears. I may say: I will try to connect with myself, which I think I never did in the past. Will this bring me to a better place?

Yugoslavian Airlines ( Jugoslovenski Avio Transport ) - JAT

It was a sunny day in March of 1990 when I took off from Belgrade "Surcin" airport to Toronto. Cannot remember JAT flight number (although I am sure that I still have somewhere that old airline paper ticket!), but it was DC-10 aircraft. Those were good days for JAT, also dubbed as “Joke About Time”, but known for the finest and best trained pilots and crews in the world. It was not obvious then, that it was actually counting its last days of fame. Soon, the UN economic sanctions against, what was left of the Yugoslavia, came into effect, and as the rest of economy JAT was struggling to stay alive, started renting its fleet and crew to foreign countries. Airport "Surcin" was shut down to international flights, sad but true, for at one time world class city with the world class airline, travelers were boarding buses to be driven to Budapest, Hungary (some 300 km away - or around 5 hours on the bus) or Sofia, Bulgaria (around the same distance) to fly to their destinations. The point of departure was in front of downtown hotel “Slavija”. At any time day or night, one could see groups of tired people with large suitcases, waiting to board the bus, or minibus that will take them to the place from where they will be able to fly. I was among them just one time, in September of 1993, leaving Belgrade to fly out from Budapest via Berlin, on Lufthansa flight to Toronto (with the transfer in Munich); a very long journey for the modern day aviation, especially when flying from the European capital.

It has been now 15 years since sanctions were lifted, but not much progress has been made for the national airline. Yes, it changed its logo, twice. Once to show the name “Yugoslav Airlines”, second time to hide the word “Yugoslav”, where “Y” is actually “J”, because of differences in spelling, in the word Jat.

Yes, it started flying around Europe and other international destinations, but it never flew over Atlantic again. For us who live on this side of the world it means changing the planes in one of the European hubs: London, Paris, Prague, Munich, Frankfurt, Amsterdam. The choice depends which airline has "seat sale". Some complain that passengers flying to the certain places are treated as "cattle", sent to the most uncomfortable terminals to board the aircraft that will take them to their final destination. This may be open for discussion. I personally had both experiences, and not enough flying to determine whether this is true or not. It is maybe matter of perception, but our perception is our reality.

With the loss of my country, I lost the airline, too. The airline which brought me here, now renamed “Jat Airways”, easily mistaken for “Jet Airways”, major Indian airline company. The acronym Jat still has original word in it - "Yugoslav", although the country does not exist anymore. There was some discussion about renaming it differently, but it seems that by keeping the old name, I guess the airline is clinging to the old fame. But those days are long gone by. With the old fleet, depleted assets, next to bankrupt finances, the future of the airline is unknown. We all know that Jat Airways is not the only airline in the world that is struggling, and it is in a good company of Alitalia (another national carrier that needs to be bailed out), and other, around the world airlines, which went bankrupt, or were swallowed by larger and stronger ones.

But what is the sad part of this story is not the reality that airlines are facing these days: the rise in fuel costs, more expensive airport security, more taxes and less passengers who are willing to pay astronomical airfares, the rise of low budget, low cost airlines, and growing army of very unhappy, grumpy passengers. I am sad for different reason. I not only lost the country where I was born, but I lost the airline that brought me here. I had chance to fly only one more transatlantic flight with JAT. It was in October of 1991. The time of Vukovar siege, the height of nationalistic euphoria, only few months before UN economic sanctions shut down Belgrade airport and expelled JAT from the world flying scene. JAT, as we knew it, no more. The airline we grew to love and trust gradually started disappearing from the world radar, just as the country that was her home.

Jat Airways, who knows, maybe they will fly again over mighty Atlantic, but before that they will have to replace their fleet with the newer aircraft that will be safe to fly with. Until then, next time flight to Belgrade will be a long one, exhausting one, with change of planes, going through security couple more times, boarding another plane that will bring me to the place I once called home, the place that I left flying with one of the finest airlines in the world - JAT!

What would happen if you disconnect from the world of technology?

Seriously? Would anyone care? Would the Earth stop moving, because you did not update your Facebook status, or reply the the e mail, or check the latest news? What would happen if you disappear from the Internet for a little while? Are you afraid that no one will notice, and that your presence is insignificant to the lives of others? Maybe?

If we know that it is not so good for us,why we do not think more about how to get rid of this time consuming and time wasting, for our survival totally unnecessary activity? Is it because we are lonely? Some will argue that the more narcissistic you are, the more you will want others to know about you and admire you, so you will be posting things on the Facebook, that will show your persona as cool, trendy, upbeat, creative, and the more "likes" you get, the more food for your ego. But is it that simple? I am flirting with the idea of getting disconnected from the technology, or better to say, part of the technology that I am using for the entertainment, for some time now. I have few reasons for that. Number one, I would like to be a role model for my son, who is spending way too much time on the computer. Two, I would like to have more time for "soul surfing" and finding out what is that exactly what is holding me back, and making me feel depressed at times. Three, I would like to clear my mind for my own ideas and creativity. Four, and so on... I am sure you have your own list of the reasons to quit.

However, this may be harder than you and I have ever thought. Why? For starters, I have at any time at least one computer in my home on. It is hard to quit smoking if the cigarettes are all over the place. Second, even if I turn it off, I will think of the reason why should I put it on ( like I need a recipe, or I have to check the e mail to see if someone important e mailed, or I need to check directions on Google Earth ). Yes, I am very sneaky! So once I am online, the first thing will be to suppress the urge to go on the Facebook, and the longer I hold that urge, the stronger it gets... Bang:

So what are you going to do to save your soul from this menace? Any suggestions? Maybe something similar to AA's 12 step program? Or maybe disconnecting can be easy as 1-2-3 only if you are motivated? I am sending this question to the Universe: How do you become the whole again once you exposed all of you, or all of you want to be you, on the Facebook?

Disconnect now!

It is October, already!

Yesterday was the very last day of September. It is truly unbelievable how this month flew for me. Today I woke up realizing that autumn is here, big time. Although I say I love autumn, because of the most beautiful colors that it paints in Ontario, I love summer more, and I already miss it. I love going to Georgian Bay. My faves: Balm Beach before the fence was built, Awenda Provincial Park, beach number 3, before 5 pm, beach number 4 to enjoy the sunset.

Also, this summer I went to Belgrade and, among other things, had a couple of beautiful beach outings, with my son, to Ada Ciganlija. What I like about going to the beach in Belgrade is that in Belgrade you can have a beer on the beach, unlike here. It really is a bonus, sitting in the shade, on the beach chair, with your feet in the water, drinking cold beer and reading, for example, some trashy Belgrade newspaper, such as "Kurir".




Anyway, now memories of Belgrade look like much better when filtered though the time that passed since I came back. Actually, I was almost sick for a month after I came back. Not really sick, but sick from too much emotions that I cannot digest anymore. As if I was sucked in the black hole, and came back.

Belgrade looks perfect to me now, from the safe distance. What I noticed this time is the fact that I just do not belong there. That's it. But, this being said, I have to mention that my love for Belgrade is really strange one. I love you my beautiful Belgrade, but I do not miss you, not anymore - how about that!

Duncan and the seagull

Today, I will open the window and show you the sky, the sea, the boat, the boater, the piper, and one man's final destination. The story will tell itself in a moment, but you have to pay attention to the seagull, flying with its wings still, soaring the skies, as if he came to the picture to show the presence of the man's spirit, the one whose ashes were about to be thrown in the wind, from the boat, about one and half mile away from the shore. It was a perfect day for the funeral. The day before big storm was coming the boat's way. The piper was the last minute addition. The day before he was happily piping during the cocktail party at the lawn of the local mansion turned into small hotel. It was oysters and champagne party. She, the lady who was about to bury her husband at the sea, took a notice of the piper. His name was Duncan. Her thoughts went back to the time when her late husband's face all lit up in the nursing home, with all his memory lost, but remembered the music when the piper showed up. Duncan was more than willing to come and join the small crew of the boater, the lady, and the minister who will not be able to attend because in the sequence of events, the funeral had to be preformed right away. The storm was coming, and the boater knew that if they do not do it on that day, that late afternoon, they would have to delay it for weeks. So the story goes, telling itself, and you are looking through the window to catch the glimpse of the sea, the boat, the seagull, the piper. "MacCrimmon Will Never Return"

"No more, no more, no more returning;
In peace nor in war is he returning;
Till dawns the great day of doom and burning,
MacCrimmon is home no more returning.

The breeze of the bens is gently blowing;
The brooks in the glens are softly flowing;
Where boughs their darkest shades are throwing,
Birds mourn for thee who ne'er returnest."

And there it was: the sound of the pipes, the sight of the seagull soaring the skies, the boat, not very big one sitting on the bed of sea, awaiting the big storm, the boater, the piper, the lady, and one perfect day for the the ashes of the man to be returned home.

The rain washed out the protest

The picture I took while on my lunch break, on Thursday, June 24. Native Protest. Chanting was: "I stole the Native Land."

Happiness

The happiness comes in little bits and pieces. Like memory sketches of times that in retrospect look better than they felt in real time. Or anticipation of the event we believe will bring us joy. But it is always elusive. The moment you believe you are happy , you start worrying about not being happy anymore when that moment passes. As if present happiness is only achievable when you can totally forget about past and future. But your mind will play tricks on you. It will be almost impossible to continue being happy. Happiness is just a moment in time. It is so expensive to be happy that it makes me wonder how to find happiness in not being happy. Like, I know I am not the best I could be NOW, but I see the potential, and although I am NOT happy, I am happy that I can change and undertake that journey of transformation. Enjoy it and be part of process, Being happy in unhappiness. Pushing yourself to the limits. Achieving in transformation. Happiness is just a dream.

Wedding at St. Lawrence Market

And with permission of Andrej Acin I am publishing this photo here. Thanks to him I found out that this was not a real wedding. It was promotional campaign for travel agency :)



The building that houses St. Lawrence Market was first built in 1831, but burnt down in 1849, only to be rebuilt in 1850 as St. Lawrence Hall, that stands in its place until today. There is some magic around old buildings. Their walls and floors emit the energy of all the times the building has been living in. If you tune in, you can sense old and new times, you can hear steps of those walking those floors decades ago, or you can smell the smells and hear the sounds of the times long gone by. But yesterday, there was more to St. Lawrence Market than just food. In between two meat counters, beside tables where people were eating their take out breakfast/lunch, there was a beautiful scene, almost like from the movie. The bride in old fashioned bridal gown, with tiara, and bouquet of silk large roses, dark pink colour, the groom with the baloon flower in his taxedo, bride's maid in beautiful pink dress (absolutely beautiful pink). And then, the opera singer appear, with knitted red scarf, singing arias from Carmen and other operas... For a moment time stopped and felt as if we all were on the big cloud surrounded with bubbles.




Yes, bride and groom were giving away tiny bottles to blow bubbles. I will call this picture in my mental photo album: Wedding at St. Lawrence Market. Long live bride and groom. They for sure are creative!

Facebook "friend request"

I received recently the "friend request" from someone that I do not know. Curious to find out why this person wants to be my FB friend, I sent the message asking: "Why do you want to be my FB friend?" and the reply was: "Because I love communism... How old are you?". I was puzzled, so I replied: "I do not see what your love for communism have to do with my age?" I think I added: "I am very old:)". I am still waiting for the reply. The individual who sent me FB request has an octopus as his profile picture. I do not know what to think. Maybe it is one of those young adults in search for identity, looking for a sexy communist girlfiend ( which I am certainly not, and I am not even sure how come they did not see my profile picture where I am standing at the entrance of Universal Studios in Florida - with my son). So it makes me rethink joining FB groups - I thought that they unite people around common interests. It never occured to me that it could be place for someone to look for some kind of romance:)

While looking around the Internet, I stumbled upon this link that has nothing to do with my post, but here it is nevertheless:)

http://www.meaningsoflife.com/

Have you filed your taxes?

Here is a bigger picture. If you ever wondered where your tax dollars go, here it is. As you can see more than 25 percent of the income tax revenue goes back to the citizens. It means that the tax dollars are used to fund programs such as Employment Insurance, Children’s Benefits and Seniors Benefits.

Let's look at federal expenses for the fiscal year of 2008-2009.




The Canadian tax system is based on self-assessment. The United States, Australia, and New Zealand also use the self-assessment system. Self-assessment is considered the most economical and efficient way to collect income tax.

Under the self-assessment system, non-residents with Canadian income and Canadian residents are responsible for making sure they have paid their taxes according to the Income Tax Act. Income and deductions are listed on the return so both the taxpayer and the CRA can calculate the taxes the taxpayer has to pay

Below are some of the milestones in Canadian taxation.

Canada first collected personal income tax in 1917.
The organization that evolved into the CRA was founded in 1927.
Starting in 1966, Canada Pension Plan (CPP) contributions were collected from employers and self-employed Canadians.
In 1972, Revenue Canada Taxation began to collect Unemployment Insurance premiums (now called Employment Insurance or EI).
The federal government began to collect the goods and services tax (GST) in 1991.
The Canada Child Tax Benefit (CCTB) program was introduced in 1993.
The Universal Child Care Benefit (UCCB) program was introduced in July 2006.
The Working Income tax Benefit (WITB) program was introduced in 2007.

Even though you may not have to file a tax return, you may want to. By filing a tax return, you could qualify for a tax refund, credit, or benefit. For more information, go to Benefits of filing a tax return.

If you pay more tax than you owe during the year you could qualify for a tax refund. The tax refund cheque is sent out with a Notice of Assessment or deposited into your bank account if you have asked for direct deposit.

Whether you get a refund or not, you may qualify for a tax credit or benefit.

So what are you waiting for:)

One day in March

Wake up, do exercises, eat breakfast ( blueberries with cereal, coffee, one vitamin C - chewable and cod fish liver oil - Norwegian ), check if there is any windchill, stop to hear the bird chirping ( no it is not spring yet, but imagine...), decide what to wear, apply makeup, walk bravely to the new day, think positive, do not give up whatever you are doing.

A note to myself: in spite of other people's schadenfreude ( http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/schadenfreude), be the way you are, continue being happy for other people's successes, as well as your own.

What is your nationality?

I was asked the other day by someone what was my nationality. This is an excerpt from our conversation:

The person: "What is your nationality?"

Me: "Canadian."

The person: "But you have an accent."

Me: "So what?"

The end.