An incredible legacy and reminder to enjoy the now.Read More
It's a dark time for journalism #journalismmattersRead More
Today is an opportune day to learn about, remember and be inspired by great women everywhere. Enjoy a look back at female Nobel Peach Prize winners. Happy International Women's Day.
Happy Valentine's DayRead More
What an insane four days. Quebec City. #muslimban. lowercase-kkk on the NSC. Sally Yates fired. From the Department of Hope and Cheering Up:
Three Beautiful Human Minutes by Asger Leth
A Volvo ad that will have you reexamining your priorities. Shout out to philosopher Alan Watts - that's his voice you're listening to. Watch, then go live fully.
The Dutch are funny! Hilarious welcome to Donald Trump.
That's it for this week, folks. Lots of love, sut
Reflections on goings and comings to start the New Year.Read More
Those who know me won’t be surprised to learn that I spent about six hours this past weekend watching "Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life." I’m something of a fan of the original series. My daughter would say that this is putting it mildly.
My brief review: kinda disappointing. There were great moments tucked into too many small bits. I feel like Amy Sherman-Palladino didn’t take the nine years from the end of the show to now into account. When we last left Rory, she was heading off to ride Obama’s campaign bus. Lorelai and Luke were getting back together. Paris was off to Harvard. And yet, enter 2016 and it’s like Sleepy Hollow, rather than Stars Hollow: nobody's evolved; it's all same old, same old. Lorelai and Luke are living together like it's 2008. Rory is floundering and sleeping with Logan, who is engaged to someone else. This is something a 23-year-old might do, but at 32? Paris runs a fertility clinic. I thought by now she would be ruling the world. Lane is working at her mom’s. What? It all stinks. And that ending. So 2007. Those last four words might have made sense back then, but now? Please.
The most satisfying story arc for me was Emily. She grew and changed. This probably has to do with Edward Herrmann dying and Amy Sherman-Palladino having to take into account that Richard Gilmore would not be physically present for the series. Go Emily!
Ok. ‘Nuff said. Like I said, there were still some great moments. The best, for me, was when Lorelai called Emily and told her about her most memorable time with her dad. I cried. No, let me correct that. I cried ugly. It was a moving story, and Lauren Graham told it perfectly. But I think I bawled because I was thinking about my dad, and how much I miss him. He died on April 22, 2011.
I was lucky enough to have a ton of wonderful times with my dad. When we were little, he worked during the week, but he went full-on parent during the weekend. On a typical Saturday, he’d pack my sister, brother and me into the car (a Chrysler), and after a brief stopover at the hospital where he’d check on patients, he’d let us have the run of a bookstore, mostly Duthie’s or Woodward’s. On Sundays, we’d head off on adventures. I remember Horseshoe Bay, before there was a ferry terminal. And the brunches at his aunties, where tables groaned with schmaltz and herring, bagels and cream cheese, and vodka. My dad told us stories, too. There was one about Chinese emperors and lychee fruit. To this day, I won’t each lychees. Sorry, Dad.
During the last few years of his life, my dad would come to our house for dinner three to four times a week. My mom spent much of the winter in Palm Springs, and I think he liked the company. He would sit on the couch with Fred, our dog, watch PBS News Hour, kvell at the grandchildren, talk, eat and go home. These dinners were quiet moments. Nothing much happened. Except that, in retrospect, everything did. It seems that the universe was giving me the chance to collect memories to store of my dad, and for this I will be forever grateful.
I miss my dad. Thank you, Gilmore Girls, for reminding me of that.
Nooooo, say it isn’t so!!! Then sudden deflation. That was my reaction to the CBC News alert that popped up on my phone announcing Peter Mansbridge's was retiring after close to 30 years as anchor of The National.
Word spread quickly. The minute my husband walked through the door he asked, “Did you hear Peter Mansbridge is retiring?” Facebook exploded, and my friend kindly thought to tag me with a crying face on his retirement post.
Most people know me as an ardent fan of The National. Not many nights go by that I don't fall asleep to my necessary dose of Canadian-style news. I've been teased about this by my friends for years. Most don't quite understand my choice of nighttime television — especially given the array of tempting reality shows and available escapism.
Peter — we're on a first-name basis — has become like a pair of slippers for me. Comfy, familiar and dependable. I know he's going to be there every night at 8 or 9 or 10 — whatever time I can catch him. The authoritative sound of his voice, his take-charge yet nice-guy way with the At Issue panel, the way his eyes twinkled when he chuckled with former weather person Claire Martin. I'm going to miss it all.
He's had quite a run. According to the CBC, Peter has, "covered 14 federal elections, hosted eight Olympic ceremonies and conducted an estimated 15,000 interviews, sitting opposite countless Canadian and global leaders, along with numerous personalities from the worlds of politics, sports and entertainment."
Peter commands a newscast like nobody's business, and he's been rightly recognized by viewers and his fellow journalists as one of the best there is. That said, I've been disappointed with some of Peter's interviews. I thought he got his lunch handed to him by uber-intelligent criminal lawyer Marie Henein, who represented Jian Ghomeshi, and recently he was unnecessarily callous and sensationalistic with former cabinet minister Hunter Tootoo. But outside of some slight imperfections, he's still done an outstanding job at the helm of the CBC staple.
Truth be told, I remember vividly when Barbara Frum retired from The Journal. I'm really dating myself with that one. But she held the same place in my heart, and I was sad to see her go. Who knew I would come to love Peter just as much? And now who'll be next? Rosemary Barton? Mark Kelley? I'll have to stay tuned.
If you live in the Pacific Northwest, then I need to interrupt your incredibly busy life for a few words about earthquake preparation.Read More
by Sarah Gayda
I’m writing from an altitude of 35,000 feet en route to Detroit from Vancouver. I’ve never been to Detroit before. My sister, who immigrated to a suburb about an hour outside Motor City, is turning 40, and I’m attempting a birthday surprise.
Growing up, I have fond memories of surprise parties. I remember hiding behind sofas and trying to disappear into curtains while the room resounded with giggles and shushes. The lead up to the big day was always nerve-racking. Was someone going to let something slip? Most of the time, I just avoided our surprise target in fear I would be the one to blow it.
When my brother suggested we descend upon our sister for her birthday, I was all for it. Little did I appreciate how difficult a true surprise has become in this day and age!
Letting things slip has never been easier. There’s the real possibility that a friend will wish me a great trip on my Facebook page. Or that someone will comment on the “Happy birthday, sis – wish I could be with you to celebrate” I posted on Instagram to fake her out. Or perhaps she will intercept one of the many text messages floating back and forth between her husband and me, as we coordinate the details of what restaurant we are to surprise her at.
Social media is now an established mode of constant two-way communication. For our clients, it offers indispensable channels for brand building and messaging. I’m pressed to even remember what a communications plan used to look like without it. But, wow, does it make pulling off a successful surprise party hard!
I wonder whether I’ll be greeted with a smiling, “I kinda knew you were coming.” Or perhaps I’ll witness the emotion that comes with true shock and awe. Stay tuned.
I arrived at the Toronto airport only to discover that my flight to Detroit was cancelled. Frantic attempts to book another flight failed, so I rented a car and drove four hours. I missed joining my brother at the restaurant, but showed up before midnight to surprise her at home. And yes, she hadn’t a clue. Now that deserves a post on social media.