CUPE Local 3903 vs. York U and McGuinty

It is no secret that strike action is France’s national sport of choice. It seems that this sport is gaining in popularity. One particular strike that has especially caught my attention is the York University strike in Toronto.

Hubby and I have been following the York University strike since we have first heard of it from our dear friend Melissa. It sparked many memories for hubby, as he lived through an almost identical strike during his last year at York.

I normally try to stay neutral. Hubby is usually found leaning toward the opposing side of unions’ negotiators. Hubby’s recollections in regards to York’s labour relations have made me lean starkly toward CUPE. The recent actions of York, McGuinty, and the police have cemented my position.

Retrospectively, York’s conduct in this conflict has been strategic at its best, and appears as bad faith negotiations at its worst. Their presence at meetings appears to be nothing more than a guise of a supposed intent to negotiate, whilst they waited for McGuinty to step in. It seems they never wanted to collectively move forward, disregarding the cost to enrolled students and academic employees. (Historically, York was always more pugnacious than its GTA competition. With the ascent of Lorna Marsden to the office of the University Presidency, however, these inherent tendencies developed a new quality.)

McGuinty’s conduct has been counter-productive and seems to be driven by blatant populism instead of good policy sense. In my opinion, by introducing the back-to-work legislation he more than merely pushed on boundaries. He has obliterated them with implications that have set worrisome precedence.

BTW-legislation brands a workforce as an essential. However, it appears that what constitutes an essential service is virtually un-scrutinized by the public. As it stands, any striking workforce can suddenly become an ‘essential’ service if they annoy a large enough number of people.

Unlike elementary- and high school, attendance at a university is not required by law. The university has a set of paying customers (the student body) who can freely decide to take their business elsewhere if they find the labour relations eradicate the opportunity cost of not attending an alternate choice. Despite its grave impact on the quality of education (less bang for buck), I see no reason for the government take legislative action in this conflict.

The police’s conduct as ‘keeper of the peace’ during a recent street demonstration of striking CUPE members has been mind boggling. (Not to be misunderstood, I am in favour of the use of tasers and similar non-lethal tools when a situation dangerously spirals out of control.) I believe the police, in their handling of the striking individuals, did not maintain impartiality and acted on public displays of pre-supposed, private opinions. I can easily imagine that there were some disorganized attempts to antagonize traffic flow for the purpose to making a bigger impact but that does not justify open threats to use tasers and excessive police force against people exercising a constitutional right. I doubt that anyone in that crowd fit the profile of a potential violent trouble maker and that the described police action was warranted.

In short; the “negotiators” at York have been stubborn, antagonizing, stonewalling arses. The police have been bullies and thugs. McGuinty and his back-to-work legislation have blown the ideal of collective bargaining back to the stone age. My sympathies go out to the TAs, GAs and contracted faculty at York University. All this seems extraordinarily un-Canadian.

The Right to Privacy and the Right to Smoke

I feel as if I am in a bit of a moral pickle. Or, to be more precise, lawmakers in Ontario (and Nova Scotia) should feel as if they are walking a fine line. In these two provinces, it is illegal to smoke in your car whilst carrying passengers 16 years of age and under.

Please do not misunderstand me. I am a non-smoker, vigilant in my efforts to minimise the amount of smoke that my children are exposed to. I have gotten into shouting matches with people who have the audacity to blow smoke into my children’s faces in designated non-smoking areas. The few members of my family who still smoke know better than to do so whilst in the company of my children.

Where I feel uncertain is in this new law’s über-intrusive nature. In essence, this law prohibits you from partaking in what is otherwise considered an acceptable act whilst in the confines of your personal, privately-owned space.

Now that this law has passed, why not take it a step further? Why not fine the pregnant woman who failed, or even worse, refuses to quit smoking? Why not ban smoking in the company of children altogether? It does not matter whether you are in a small space, such as a car, where the concentration of cigarette smoke is higher, or your living room, where such concentrations are not as strong. Either way, you are exposing your child to toxins.

Furthermore, what of the people who smoke regularly at home, in the presence of their (grand-) children? They are doing much more harm to the children than the cigarette-smoking taxi drivers who are likely to never see the children again.

My question, however, is how much privacy can be surrendered in the interest of a greater good. Where does it stop? And who is making sure that it stops?

Obama turned me into an emotional chameleon

When Wolf Blitzer announced over the beautiful performance of Air and Simple Gifts that it was already past noon and Barack Obama officially became the 44th President of the United States, I sighed. It was a sigh of relief, hope, and happiness. Being the sap that I am, I also shed a couple of tears.

When President Obama stumbled on the oath, I laughed. I have no doubt that there are those ridiculing him on it, but I took it as an unintended gentle reminder that he is human, just like the rest of us. I found it quite endearing.

As President Obama gave his inaugural address, I was entranced. It was very well written and equally well delivered. I only spoke once during the speech. After Obama said "...we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist", I breathed the word wow. I think that is my favourite phrase from the speech. It is so picturesque.

At the end, I gave into the tide of emotion and cried. In the time frame of about half an hour, my children curiously watched their mother sigh, gently cry, laugh, watch the television zombie-like, returned to life to breathe a single word, turn back into a zombie and, finally, cry once again. They must think I am crazy!

How about you? How did you feel during the swearing-in and the address? Did it turn you into an emotional chameleon?

A bittersweet day...

...Not because Bush is leaving office, though. That's the sweet part of the day. The only thing bringing my mood down today is the burial of my mother-in-law's dog, Bijou. Even though she was not our dog, we all still loved her as a part of our family. As much as this hurts us, today is not the day to blog on the loss.

Like much of the rest of the world, my home is filled with the voices of reporters covering Obama's inauguration: depending on where I am, CNN on television, and NPR on the radio. My poor toddlers are confused as to why they are denied their daily time playing on Kids' CBC (confused, but not upset - they happily went to their rooms to play with their legos). I am as excited today as I was when Angela Merkel was sworn in as the first female German Chancellor. Now, if you would kindly excuse me, I have got to get the rest of my chores and errands accomplished in time to witness history in the making!

English-English: Hash, Gash, and Stone

As every Bridget Jones fan (such as me) would attest, North American-English differs quite a bit from English-English. You know; washroom vs. loo, trunk vs. boot, and so on. Knowing this, I was still mollified by the sheer diversity when I moved to Germany, where the English of choice is of the British variety.

I received my awakening shortly after the move, when I needed to leave a message on hubby’s cell/mobile phone. I got the usual spiel: “You have just reached the O2 voice mailbox of (…) After the tone, record your message. To end, press hash, or hang up.”

What hubby would later hear is my short message, followed by some cursing whilst I pressed several random buttons. The problem was that I did not know what the hash key was. Was I supposed to look for a button on the telephone with a hemp plant on it? Or perhaps a button with a hash brown on it? Turns out that what I knew as the pound key is called the hash key by the Brits. Am I the only person in world that calls it the number sign key?
NB – I realise that the pound key would have been the logical choice. My mind, however, was at the time fried from the information overload familiar to amateur expats everywhere.

My next lesson on English-English came from hubby, who told me you do not call garbage garbage in the UK. You call it gash. Is that not a large, bleeding, cut wound? Not in the UK!

Then there is the measurement of weight in stone. Do bathroom scales in the UK tell weight loss in brimstone or granite? I was always tickled by this. We are living in the digital age, yet the Brits give the impression that they still hang out with Fred Flintstone. In fact, I purposely did not learn how that system works, so as to not lose the image of Wilma standing on a digital scale...
Fred: Honey you look great!
Wilma: Thanks, but I didn’t lose 4 stone like I hoped… I only lost 2 stone and 2 pebbles…

My Family

Whilst browsing my cousin's baby blog, I ran into this cute family sticker widget. Allow me to introduce the stick people version of my family to you =)

Puppy Love

In Langenhagen, Mika and Anna-Lena are in love. Following the overwhelming emotion pouring out of their hearts, they decided to elope. What better way to celebrate your love is there than to get away from the record low temps in Germany and tie the knot in Africa? Along with Anna-Lena’s sister (the planned witness to their wedding) they packed their bags for time under the sun and started to make their way to the airport.

Oh, and the betrothed are five and six years old. The witness is seven years old.

Aw. If this is not puppy love, I do not know what is.

As always, there are those grumpy sourpusses who claim that the parents of these children are irresponsible. After all, how could they let their children get out so easily during the night?

I think those sourpusses have not been loved enough. In this instance, I think it is safe to say that the children live in a very loving household; unlike this four year old that shot his babysitter for stepping on his foot. Children often reflect their parents’ attitudes and habits. Having said that, hubby and I should probably spend more time explaining that we hug and kiss a lot because we love each other, and that we do not do that with random strangers. Here is my little Romeo in action:


I cannot speak for those sourpusses, however I would much rather have my children piece together a somewhat cohesive plan to elope than violently attack their babysitter.

Happy New Year!!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!

I hope you all forgive me for my extreme tardiness. As you may gather from my previous post, our then-current circumstance promised a chaotic Christmas. And chaotic it was.

It all started on the 23rd. Shortly before lunch, hubby’s cell phone rang. He was needed in the UK and had only an hour and a half to make it to the airport. It was not certain if he would be able to fly home in time for Christmas.


I have prepared for birthdays and Christmases without hubby before. I thought I could handle it. I did not expect that our littlest one would slow me down so much. By mid-afternoon, I had no other choice. With a heavy heart, I called my mother-in-law for help. After a little bit of phone-tag, it was decided that we would celebrate Christmas at hubby’s aunt’s home. All I had to do was show up with our Santa Claus costume. That evening, I snuggled on our couch with a bag of pfeffernüsse and a steaming pot of Christmas tea and watched Love Actually. It was my calmest December 23rd in years.

On the morning of the 24th, I still had not found our Santa outfit. (Our attic remains an enigma to me. I may have packed the boxes, but hubby is the one who arranges the attic. I do not consider myself claustrophobic, but I cannot stand the small, dark, damp and dusty space.)

Around lunchtime, things started to look up. Hubby called to say that he was already waiting on the airplane. His flight would be 80 minutes delayed, but he would make it in time for Christmas and that was what mattered. Hubby’s aunt solved my Santa dilemma – she had an oversized red bathrobe. I just needed to stop by the drugstore to buy some cotton wool for Santa’s beard.

Then arose the battle of the sisters. About 30 minutes after my conversation with hubby’s aunt, my mother-in-law called saying that she was also just called by her sister and their conversation developed into a shouting match. Hence, she was now asking me to cancel Christmas Eve at her sister’s and hosting them myself. This was followed by a lot of he-said-she-said (or, rather, she-said-she-said). Eventually, all communication was done through me, as the sisters no longer wanted to speak with each other.

What Santa left outside our front door.

End result? I hosted Christmas Eve anyway. Hubby made it home on time. My mother-in-law contributed to dinner, as I had done no preparations. Santa did not make his traditional personal appearance, but rather knocked on the door and left the big sack of presents outside our front door. Our four- and five-year-old kids were confused by Santa’s quick getaway, but were satisfied with the explanation that Santa was especially busy this year and couldn’t stop by for long.

Dinner at my mother-in-law's on First Christmas Day.

Because my mother-in-law came, hubby’s aunt refused to come. She also skipped on First Christmas Day hosted by my mother-in-law who, in turn, skipped on Second Christmas Day at hubby’s aunt’s home. Oy vey.

Dinner at hubby's aunt's home on Second Christmas Day.

Thank goodness that our visits with my father-in-law’s side of the family on the 27th and 28th went smoothly. Spending time with our adorable niece makes me miss having a large family, and wish that she did not live so far from us.

Another victim to hubby’s sudden departure on the 23rd was our night at the opera on the 27th. We cancelled because we were not sure if he would make it back on time. Instead of The Magic Flute, at the end of this month we are going to see The Bat (I realise that it is not an opera but an operetta, but I’ll still count it as my first opera.) Hubby has warned me that it is a modern interpretation which he generally does not find enjoyable (apparently modern interpretations do not have the same general appeal that classical staging does), but for a night away from our army of children, we are open to anything.

We spent New Year’s Eve at our friends’ house, who themselves have a son who is four years old and a daughter who is two. It was an evening of firsts for me. This was the first time we truly celebrated New Year’s Eve in four years. They live outside of the city, so it was also the first (somewhat-) quiet New Year’s Eve in four years. I had my first raclette dinner ever, which I learnt is a popular New Year’s Eve dinner choice in Germany.

My first raclette dinner - yum!

The next morning I woke up to a blanket of snow! It was very thin, but a blanket nonetheless. The kids kept fighting over the shovel and broom.


What a wonderful start to the new year. I cannot wait to see what 2009 brings. My kids are already begging for our traditional January trip to the aquarium with Oma.

Now that I am all caught up, how about you? How were your holidays?