People ask, “Why the sad face?” You had to ask?! I’m not enjoying my life all that much because others forget to ask themselves how they might feel in our position and act according to the laws of decency.
I’ve been on the receiving end of an endless stream of criticisms by people who reverse engineer radio signals from our home. All they need is your phone number and address and people with the technology can eavesdrop through remote access technology. You do not need to have a crumb of emotional intelligence or sensitivity to know how to operate radio equipment. The building manager in this sub-par rental accommodation who was once a carny and Elvis impersonator has no problem with it but he can’t fix a tap properly.
Because they need you to be in a room with a radio or computer or cell phone, those behind this treatment have an interest in sustaining these restrictive quarters because if there were more space in our home there would be rooms without radio access. We’re crammed in tight with our technology for their convenience! I’ve had tech savvy people tell me this is quite true and in no way paranoid on my part given the interest shown to my work by Hollywood directors in the past on high profile message boards.
With the public leeching us in this manner, we don’t get the public support we need to approach lawyers for business deals and the Canadian voting public more or less has given those responsible free access to our intellectual property in exchange for letting the Canadian Government use us as unpaid laboratory specimens. There are frequent bouts without grocery money so they can study the effects of fasting on live human families; there have been a series of robberies and illegal detentions under false pretexts. We live in absolute terror!
I’m getting some flack about our bed time lately from those who mind our business instead of their own. Those who do not homeschool have taken it upon yourselves to compare your crack-of-dawn lifestyle with ours because you know my son Daemon (15) has been staying up past midnight then sleeping in past noon for the last few months.
I think the most remarkable thing we forgot to observe while we were making this our business and writing front page articles about the science behind adolescence and sleep, is the fact that last summer, my son was kidnapped, tortured, poisoned then returned home by this government. When they let him return he was in the early stages of throat cancer. That right there ought to silence even the most ardent disciplinarian, never mind the fact that last summer, he had no leisure time because he spent the entire season in a state of shock and terror.
Some said they thought it was like summer camp for him. Those are the same people who threaten to kill us because they make stock market gains from giving people cancer with unregulated, toxic consumer goods. Sad reality is people are bribing newspapers to censor complaints and differing opinions. People only pretend to care about those who get news coverage and according to reporters we don’t qualify because that would embarrass too many people involved in this scenario. If our fellow countrymen gave a damn they would support us in a tangible way that made a difference to our circumstances.
I am forced to work endless hours into the night on practically a daily basis for over a decade now in order to counter the venom originating online from those who fail to observe US antitrust law. I’m lucky if I get 4 or 5 hours a night. As my regular readers know, circumstances dictate that I share a room with my son and daughter so we can pay our rent due to the measly income we have.
This, as I have shown the public, is due to the fact that there is an agenda to deny my family services such as compensation for the work I do online, and the fact that my family is on display 24/7 for the purpose of public education. I pull in tens of thousands of hits a day. Others make satisfactory income from advertizing dollars through Google but someone is forcing programmers to tamper with my stats and people online pretend not to follow me when they hang on my every word and that of my whole family by means that I never approved. No consent was given and my publishing of address and phone number was simply a desperate measure to quell wicked, false rumors spread by the wife of Microsoft founder Bill Gates. At least if the public can hear for themselves that I am a gentle, clean, responsible mother, the danger of her defamation abates sufficiently that we do not fear for our lives!
One might think given the degree of stress we’re under we might be compensated at least enough to have our own bedrooms but no that’s not the case. We live in cramped quarters; we are prevented from sleeping comfortably and anyone who’s ever slept on a bad mattress understands the agony we suffer which results in protracted insomnia or else a very low quality of rest each night. Combine this with my work online in the same room, also due to limited space in our residence, and you get a recipe for exhaustion.
Pardon me if it sounds haughty but my guess is the majority of North Americans live in vastly different circumstances because nobody gives a damn what they say in the privacy of their homes and there’s no corporate espionage transpiring. Therefore those who do not suffer the same indignities cannot judge our sleep habits legitimately and in doing so they only admit they have no respect for privacy laws but also lack the simplest judgment skills and compassion. In essence it’s a wonder my son can sleep at all given the direct impact of the abhorrent behavior of these same people who are making an issue of his bed time!
Then there’s the fact that prior to this government kidnapping my son on several occasions to try and silence my Internet posts, we had no problems with insomnia and we had respectable bed times. In the last foster home stay they never checked to see if his teeth were brushed and his lights went out. He suffered acute separation anxiety from having all contact with his family cut off for 7 months by his captors. That’s why when the woman who ran the house he lived in lent him a laptop, he stayed up all night in his street clothes on the top of his blankets playing video games. I cannot imagine how much stress my son would have to have flooding through his system to cause that sort of behavior.
When you are the cause of a problem you do not then get to stand judgment against those who suffer at your rough hand. If anything he deserves commendations for the strides he’s made in his trauma recovery since his return as many of the bad habits he picked up were far worse than late night computer use and I like to choose my battles. (Would it kill them to say, “Great job, Christina, hope you feel better Daemon”?!)
If I could earn revenue through my blog traffic that would be excellent but I made the mistake of telling Bill Gates I did not want blood money and it so happens those in charge of Silicon Valley like to do things a certain way and as a result for decades they’ve hired programmers who are complicit with a certain agenda on an exclusive basis. Because I do not surf porn or play sex games online and evidently because I feel it’s a sin for organized crime within our government to murder underprivileged children, I am excluded from a government gravy train.
This infamous Thomas The Engine that gobbles up billions in tax revenue like a steam roller, cannot find a happy medium between the mother and whore dichotomy because Melinda Gates is a homely, oversexed simpleton and she’s the model they use for their business strategies. She’s the standard by which we judge the responsible parent and there is sufficient evidence to suggest that if you disagree with her you risk your life through a variety of means including tampering with your grocery items, pharmaceuticals or street drugs as the case may be. (We have survived numerous food poisonings at the hands of unscrupulous foreign food workers who lack the language skills to understand my writing, whom she manipulates with lies of our ignorance and racism.)
The problem really is that the woman is dense and lazy. She has no hobbies outside of meddling in the affairs of others and getting laid if what I hear is true; she hires someone to do everything for her and is loose in her sexual politics. I am told I “lack maturity” if I fail to engage in schoolyard sex games with the political class because I believe in privacy and I’d rather crochet dog diapers than see Jean Chrétien naked. In elementary school that’s forgivable but results in demerits; on such a massive scale you get a deterioration in the fundamentals of civilization.
The way everyone ignores me and stares in awe at my verbalization of these utterly shameful disclosures only serves to reinforce the negative impression our political class is making on the very public they are paid to serve and protect. It’s this stogy, holier-than-thou pretense that allows them to fleece us but we’re onto you idiots. Clearly, Melinda Gates is an overly permissive role model for women and opts to expend energies which ought to be redirected elsewhere into pursuits of an indelicate nature. (I’m not the one the men secretly refer to as, “Linda Lovelace”.) The plagiarism is getting ridiculous; the empty threats tiresome and the fake “super square billionaire’s wife” exterior is flaking off like last week’s pedicure.
So when you tuck your own kids to bed this week, try to remember that under ordinary circumstances my family goes to bed at normal hours. We’re overtired; we’ve got aches and pains from these sleeping arrangements. Remember how badly we miss our mattresses and our own rooms with our own work space; remember we have health problems that make this all the more painful for us. We feel like we’re living in a prisoner camp and nothing short of the complete cessation of the campaign to blacklist us will resolve the matter or quell our suffering.
Suggestions we sell ourselves on the bawdy market are preposterous; we’re simply not cut out for that and we have a right to choose our own path in life provided the skill is there. I’ve proven myself a capable parent, teacher, graphic artist and influential writer. I’ve proven myself to be chaste, so it’s a far cry. I’m not saying women who have different lifestyles deserve to be unemployed but if you’re going to pressure someone at least it ought to be a plausible outcome. I’m sorry if Melinda Gates lied to people about my character but I should not be punished because she compromised you into exposing yourselves as philanderers. I am not the one who has set the moral standard for the last 20 years. As a woman who has been prevented her whole life by the powers that be from earning an income independent of an emotionally abusive ex-husband and family, I have every right to call out Melinda Gates and her fellow members of organized crime— these so-called, “feminists”, on their bigoted, fraudulent employment policies.
This comment was cut from the Hamilton Spectator— where they refuse to cover the crimes my family was subjected to due to all these dirty dealings. It was first published under an October article about teacher’s rights.
Clearly, Prime Minister Harper would intervene by calling the RCMP if he were not in this up to his cotton balls. In fact, the RCMP terrorist investigation unit are the ones who informed me he was accepting bribes to hush this up. All I can say is he his kids had better look over their shoulders for the next few years… why should we be the ones having all the fun?!
One thing I can tell you is I know my son. When you’ve watched someone grow from an infant to a pre-teen, you get to know their little quirks and things about their bodies, their diets, all that stuff if you pay attention, and I pride myself on being an attentive Mom. I know my daughter gets diarrhea when she eats apricots. Fresh, dried, jam— makes no difference. It doesn’t need to make sense that’s just how God made her. I know my son gets skin rashes when he eats bread. Apricot, diarrhea, bread, skin rash. We’re all human— we’ve all had these things at some point in our lives. Not mentioning that does not make us more than human. Anyone who’s ever been elbow deep in baby diapers knows that.
When you’re a homeschool parent, you can multiply your knowledge of your child’s individual needs several times over because your knowledge of your kids is enhanced from all the one-on-one attention. I know my son, Daemon well, I know that when my son gets a skin rash, it’s from something he ate or else from something unholy he breathed in, or even from something he’s not eating that he needs to eat because the people feeding him could not be bothered to follow my instructions to make sure he’s healthy.
I don’t need an allergy test to confirm what I’ve seen with my own eyes dozens of times. All I need is faith in my own faculties and the agreement of those closest to me. When a mother has seen the reaction take place like clockwork many times over, we can no longer dispute the correlation. The kids are ordinarily bright enough to know not to eat stuff that makes them sick. End of story. The question is, “What do you do when a group of strangers takes your kid away and disregards all of your wishes as a parent to sustain the health and happiness of your kid— demanding you follow some preordained government protocol that ordinarily only applies on a much larger scale simply because you’ve been robbed of your privacy?”
Raising kids properly is a job in progress. They don’t leap from the womb morally and physically superb. We cultivate those things in our children day by day— it’s the big secret we all think we can steal from Christina. Dedication and attention to detail are not innate— they are the result of unflinching, never-ending commitment to excellence that never falters. Only love can fuel that sort of effort. Only family can love one another enough to get there. It makes no difference to me if my children and I are flawed if our love for one another is perfect. We can learn to love one another’s imperfections the same way we love our strength, if only because they are what makes us unique.
These people are hurting my son because not only do they not love him, they loathe him for being related to a woman who is not from their greater perception of family— the inner circle of left-wing “democratic communism” they built from the pitiful, shattered dreams of post WWII mother-loathing “feminism”. Not only do we hate mothers, we hate people who don’t hate them. Never-mind the fact that our own mothers gave us reason to hate them and theirs did not— it’s not a rational mindset. Passion and reason cannot co-exist in that sort of a democracy; there’s no room for knowledge there— we’re unwittingly guided by fervent prejudice and childhood trauma. And while I do feel compassion for these people, the horror I feel far outweighs any sense of sympathy for them.
How could they not see the pain they’ve caused us in the name of “freedom” and “democracy”?
Just so you understand why I’ve been dragged through this hell, I’m a homeschool parent. I chose to forego my career when my daughter was born and I teach my own kids because I felt that giftedness was not addressed well in the school system and I could not afford private tutors. Sure, I failed to plan my family; to establish my career before my firstborn— and yet I need to ask you all since when this was a crime worthy of the death sentence? I choose to see the miracle of birth not as a curse, but a blessing! Why, in such an affluent, modernized society, must we be penalized for the miracle of birth and family?
Every so often, some nosy neighbor whose children are flunking out in school decides to take out her frustrations on my family and report us to the Children’s Aid Society for the heck of it. We’re a little bit too well-dressed, or a little bit too happy. We’re overly polite, we read a bit too much for their liking. It’s something homeschool parents have to put up with because legislators in this country are biased against private education. In the past, they call us up, they interview me, then close the file. It’s painfully obvious I’m doing a great job. The kids are happy, they are well educated and capable— most people are impressed if anything by this, especially given our modest circumstances.
Hamilton Ontario, the town where all this occurred, is the one where all the mental patients, misfits, brain-injured and undesirables of Ontario, Canada are shipped off to die. over 75% of everything horrible I’ve ever experienced in my life from complete strangers has happened in this town. I ended up here because the rent is cheap, and unlike my home province of Quebec, Ontario is run by entrenched interests whose economic foundation is not in Canada. You cannot shake a stick in Ontario without hitting a Crown-affiliated secret fraternity. And no— you do not get into government in this town unless you so lean far left your brains are literally pouring out of your left ear.
And thus, the Hamilton courts justified stealing my son away from his loving family by saying my son had “academic deficiencies” because I home school him. It made no difference what was true, and what was false. The psychological evaluation CAS insisted on our son performing that Justice Pazaratz, our resident “Gypsy” Judge, referenced in his ruling, was handed to him seconds before the commencement of the hearing but he made no issue of that. (Hamilton CAS affiliates could show up in court with children’s entrails dripping from their cuffs and he would never bat an eye.) He did not have time to note that my son’s math tests for the evaluating psychologist (without a PHD) were in the B-range on a bad day, and that it was heavily suggested in the report our son, Daemon had significant apprehension trauma— caused by CAS’s failure to observe their own mandate, his consent rules, the human rights code or any of that nuisance we call law— that adversely affected the results of his personality test.
We don’t ever factor in the mistakes we make— all 627,000 members of CUPE, Canada’s largest professional organized labor force, can do no wrong, and they decided together, presumably through their combined, anonymous access to Internet message boards, that my family was to endure this complete disregard for the laws of this province; for our human rights— to satisfy some popular disdain for the conservative family politics I promote in what ought to be the privacy of our own home if the Canadian Radio and Telecommunications Commission were not mixed up in all manner of God only knows what!
As a result, my son was forced to attend public high school by Hamilton CAS this September. He has an A average so far in high school and his math teacher said he was advanced when he was tested; that I must have done very good job teaching him. Instead of admitting they made an error and returning him, they now insist my daughter and I move out into a woman’s shelter so Daemon he can live with his father.
As to the rash on my son’s nose that developed while these “public servants” exemplify their own unique brand of “childcare” onto our lives, it’s a prime example of how “democratic communism” works. “Why should they have the privilege of living in a lower economic bracket while we force them to pay taxes for our public schools?” After 5 years of living like a refugee in my birth country, my answer leans increasingly towards, “STFU or I’ll nuke CUPE headquarters”.
I don’t care if the social worker says the doctor she brought him to didn’t notice the rash— she did not point it out to the doctor and he is afraid to complain because whenever any of us complain about anything wrong the Children’s Aid Society does to hurt us, there are the mental health allegations. (According to them, all people with conservative family values are insane.) Nor did she ask for a second opinion from another doctor when I complained the rash went ignored by them and therefore was never treated. Normally, when there’s a problem, and it’s visible, and one doctor ignores it, you go to another for a second opinion, then a third if that’s still not getting you results. I’m sorry but that’s common knowledge. For a social worker to simply shrug her shoulders and dismiss the matter while my son is still sick— is what we call NEGLIGENCE. Here is the email his “family worker” (not registered with the college of Social Workers of Ontario) sent me when I tried to get help with the problem:
Hello Christina and Aaron,
I am replying to your recent email to let you know that Daemon was seen this week by a physician and there were no visible rashes nor did Daemon raise any health concerns.
You mentioned that he had a chest infection from the toxins he was exposed to at White Oaks. I am unaware of any chest infections and I do not believe that he was treated for such.
The Society is unable to reimburse you for your purchases. The foster home was provided with the vitamins as well as a copy of the instructions you provided.
The Society would like to move forward with the plan for Daemon to reside with Aaron once you have moved out of the apartment.
Just a side note, Meeta has not been receiving your emails as you have the spelling incorrect.
She can be reached at email@example.com. There is no “E” in Bains.
Look at this picture (above) I snapped with my cel phone during our most recent visit and you can see it’s not my imagination that something is terribly wrong with Daemon’s health. You don’t get rashes like this out of the blue unless something else inside is sick. I’ve seen him with a rash like this before but only a small one in the crease of his nose. Never in his life has it been allowed to get this bad! My son was initially given a kidney ultrasound when CAS broke the law and forced him into custody last May. That doctor diagnosed him with inflamed kidneys because they were literally protruding from his sides when he was examined. This is because days prior to the arrest, the whole family was food poisoned.
What I heard through the grapevine was that the meat supplier for the health food store we shop at was bribed to poison their entire beef supply with full knowledge we ate it on a regular basis. That would be due to the fact that people in this country have little respect for anti-competition laws! It should be noted that I treated the problem and when he was re-examined at a later date, my son’s kidneys were no longer swollen. The problem was never treated by a medical doctor. I imagine these people would have allowed it to progress to full blown kidney disease if I had not intervened. Someone needs to explain how that’s competent care!
I do not expect the social workers to have my knowledge about childhood illness prevention but I’m treated like an hysteric for preventing illness and meanwhile people who let it happen right under their noses are never held responsible! And it’s nobody’s fault if they are not told that a healthy diet can limit your chances of illness but I think that’s common knowledge. Rarely do I see families neglect to bring their kids to the doctor when their kids are sick or have rashes and that sort of thing so why is it OK when government employees are negligent!?
Here we have a chart of care payment for CAS employees that is clear evidence foster parents pull in more money for sick children, which is what we could easily term an economic incentive to neglect children for profit. (This is not an Ontario document to the best of my knowledge, but it appears the rates are similar all over the continent and I cannot find one for our region on the Internet). On what planet did that become acceptable, much less civilized behavior?!
Given this diagnostic history, the fact that I have repeatedly informed these people my family suffers from Multiple Chemical Sensitivity— one might think these people would take the rash a little more seriously!? I understand they’re offended because I retaliated by attempting to access the complaints process we are legally entitled to but look at the mission statements on the CUPE web site.
The president of the local chapter saw to it personally that my son was arrested so she could protect her right to this so-called “democracy” that pits left against right as though only Canadians who are insiders have a right to live and breathe in this country— to say nothing of the conflict of interest presented by a monstrosity whose one hand is in our children’s pants while its other hand is selling them pharmaceuticals for deliberately orchestrated behavior and health problems:
The Canadian Union of Public Employees (CUPE) is Canada’s largest union.
With around 627,000 members across Canada, CUPE represents workers in health care, education, municipalities, libraries, universities, social services, public utilities, transportation, emergency services and airlines.
A strong and democratic union, CUPE is committed to improving the quality of life for workers in Canada. Women and men working together to form local unions built CUPE. They did so to have a stronger voice – a collective voice – in their workplace and in society as a whole.
Together they have won the right to negotiate their wages and working conditions; to stop arbitrary action by employers; and to speak out without fear of reprisal.
CUPE members are service-providers, white-collar workers, technicians, labourers, skilled trades people and professionals. More than half of CUPE members are women. About one-third are part-time workers.
CUPE is a modern, dynamic and sophisticated union with more than 70 offices across the country.
Workers, united through CUPE, have the clout and expertise to deal with the growing complexities of our global economy.
The motives were quite simple! They abused our progeny Daemon because we had the nerve to behave as though our privacy was being grossly invaded when the long, significant history of previous CAS files closed due to malicious allegations from far-left leaning community members came to light. All the women on my file lean heavily to the left; they are pushing to give full custody to my left-leaning ex-husband regardless of the fact that they themselves said repeatedly in court I am not abusive and there are no child protection concerns. One of the women who’s in a relationship with his current caregiver is an employee of the Hamilton Police Service, who refuse to return our son or investigate these horrors even though they grossly breeched his consent rights when they took him from us, and clearly enforce the whims of CUPE members without any regard whatsoever for the law. My handsome young son might strike them as ripe for the sex-trade, given their political and economic ideals— and it is evident to me that we are, in fact, nothing but lambs to the slaughter to this government as a result of our beliefs. It makes no difference to them if they drive us “lambs” to suicide because all we are is fresh meat to these people.
For the record, here is what the Education Act of Ontario says about compulsory school attendance— it’s anybody’s guess what “satisfactory” education means but my guess is anything above an “F” average falls well within the norm:
Given the fact that the Harper administration calls all the shots here, and he claims to be “Conservative”, I feel a need to question what exactly his definition of the term, “Progressive” might be! A “conservative” prime minister who accepts bribes from Crown-sponsored far-left economic interests to suppress the health and safety of his own people is a TRAITOR, not a leader!
Just so you all know, I wrote Queen Elizabeth years ago about my family’s circumstances and she could not be bothered to acknowledge my letter. Prince Charles did not hesitate to respond indirectly through some press release that suggested I was little more than a nuisance for him to toy with in his spare time. I’m certain that Her Majesty forfeited her role as leader of this country when she let loose this hell spawn of hers to intercept correspondence addressed to her and not her neer-do-well son, Charles. Seems to me the reason he shall never ascend to the throne is that he has already usurped his mother’s role as monarch— in his roundabout, insidious manner, and made some very poor choices because he figured the anonymity afforded him by his little Internet playground would be everlasting. I propose she buy some sprayfroam insulation to block up the mouse holes in Buckingham Palace if she wishes to continue her dubious reign over the moral minority— her own personal flock of shorn sheep for the slaughter.
After all, what’s good for the goose, is good for the gander!
Telling it like it is does help when it’s misinformation that caused the crimes to begin with.
Originally posted on Calgary Herald:
When a gunman recently shot and killed Jaime Orellana in the northeast neighbourhood of Winston Heights, officers swooped into the community and arrested a suspect in a nearby field within minutes.
The police response was part of a “major crime protocol” developed in the early 2000s when Chief Rick Hanson was a deputy in the force.
It’s entirely possible officers would have found the suspect without the strategy, but a senior officer said several measures introduced by Hanson, who announced his retirement this week, have given police a better chance of success in the chaotic first moments of a major incident.
“What would have been a very challenging incident for us 15 years ago, we’re now handling in a much better way,” said Supt. Roy Robitaille.
Since Hanson took over as chief in 2007, Calgary has experienced a steady drop in the crime rate in both offences against people and property. According to Statistics Canada…
View original 1,391 more words
Monday, February 16, 2015.
To: Dr. Eric Hoskins, Minister of Health & Long-Term Care
Address: 803 St. Clair Avenue West Toronto, Ontario M6C 1B9
To: Ministry of Community and Social Services
80 Grosvenor St.
Hepburn Block, 6th Floor
Toronto ON M7A 1E9 Canada
Email: firstname.lastname@example.org , email@example.com
Office of the Prime Minister
80 Wellington Street
Ottawa, ON K1A 0A2
Sent to: firstname.lastname@example.org
URGENT: Request for Special Dietary Allowance monies denied through blacklisting and discrimination.
To the Addressees,
I am in receipt of a response to my letter dated Saturday, February 28, 2015, that I initially addressed to Dr. Hoskin’s office, written by the manager of the woman in charge of my Ontario Works file, whose name is Jassmin Isaak-Daniel. I am troubled that this manager, whose name is Lyne Gagné-Renwick, claims a letter I wrote by hand, dated Sunday November 15th, 2014, and asked an employee at the front desk to place in her mailbox at the Central Hamilton Ontario Works office the following Monday was never received.
Furthermore, a letter, also hand-written and dated Sunday, October 25th, 2014, and dropped off at the office the following Monday for Mrs. Isaak-Daniel was also misplaced— and as a result I was denied my rightful Internal Review process to address my family’s grocery allowance, further progressing the impact of inadequate nutrition on the health of my son. Daemon is recovering from trauma and cancer bestowed on him by this very government thanks to corrupt CBC anchors and their false reports to Child and Family Services in the guise of concern for my mental health because I complained when they refused to do a show disclosing the presence of federally banned insulation in Canadian real estate to the public! One might think given the history here that our file would be prioritized, especially in view of our vulnerability and public health issues but shamefully, this is not so.
Lyne Gagné-Renwick writes in paragraph 8 on page 2 of her reply [verbatim]:
“A review of your file also showed that in October, 2014, you had request an review of the decision that was made regarding the effective date of the Special Diets, however, I noticed that the Internal Review was not completed and therefore, you were not provided a response. I apologize for this error on our part, and I have asked the Case Presenting Officer to review your request and provide you with a written response.”
I was on the phone this afternoon discussing my personal finances and happened to mention terrorist threats against Canadians to the office manager of the business in question when I was interrupted by a call from Ms. Isaak-Daniel who failed to apologize for the omission; for never bothering to let me know she received my letter. She blamed it on the new computer system, then on her manager, and I understand there has been difficulty as I read of it in the news, yet I cannot understand how this excuses her for denying us basic common courtesy. In the past there have been unanswered emails and she cited “privacy concerns”, yet I see email addresses are readily available online for upper management of this office. There have also been problems with bullying online by another manager by the name of Ms. Kerri Lubrik, who made LinkedIn inhospitable to us, ganging up with a group of men who sexually harassed me, forcing me to abandon my account there due to political hostilities. My ex-husband was mistreated by the woman in charge of his employment search, who forced him to train for a Taxi license that never materialized and wasted a significant amount of resources on either side.
Today when I called to speak with whoever is in charge of Mrs. Gagné-Renwick, the woman on the phone refused to give me the appropriate channels of complaint. I am not sure whether you have call display at the office or she just recognized my voice but the hostility and prejudice was palpable in her voice. I do not feel this behavior is professional and I find it incredulous, not to mention worrisome as there have been allegations of human trafficking associated with the Hamilton office. It is rumored that a clique of women there will systematically deny services to key targets as a means of extortion to force complicity with this agenda. It would certainly explain some of the attitude I’ve been dealing with. Needless to say, a respectable woman like me would never engage such people.
People are well aware the amount of medical fraud and malpractice we have been victim to over the years since our arrival in Ontario. Hamilton in particular has been a hostile place to live since our arrival and the level of criminal code violations directed at my family have made escape impossible. We have been systematically kept in a weakened state so we haven’t the strength to flee and we have been denied a variety of services ranging from medical to legal services. We have lived in terror while I slowly managed to piece together what was going on with the help of other victims of government corruption I met online.
On 1 occasion when my son was only 4 he was severely food poisoned at a local grocery store and left to scream in agony with a high fever for several hours in a hospital waiting room because the nurse in charge didn’t feel we deserved to have service. (We think the butcher may have dipped the mop he used to clean up animal waste in the soup that day.) On 2 other occasions, I was apprehended under the mental health act due to false allegations by an old landlord who was sexually harassing me when I complained of his failure to accommodate the removal of allergens from the rental that made us severely ill. I was detained for 3 weeks on each occasion when the Healthcare Consent Act clearly states the maximum amount of time you can detain someone is 72 hours and legal help has been impossible to acquire in my defense. I was released “capable of consent” without follow-up treatment and saddled with medically implausible diagnoses because there was never any genuine complaint; people just didn’t want to be held responsible for their own misbehavior.
There were numerous instances of malpractice besides this so it was effectually impossible for us to have the Special Dietary forms signed by a medical doctor as a result until quite recently, as nobody in their right mind would risk compromising their health and safety in such a hostile environment but I have grocery receipts from well past 3 years ago to prove how costly our diet is. Any reasonable bureaucracy would accept this as sufficient evidence that we are entitled to the S.D.A.
I cannot help it if my family is terrorized; no law-abiding person would fail to make an exception for us when we are frequently starving between meals because our grocery expenses are quadruple what the average person pays for theirs. It’s reasonable to suggest that since Dr. Greenwald signed off on the S.D.A. forms of my daughter and I based on no more than anecdotal evidence, I am qualified to judge whether my son is also in need of the allowance without being forced to subject the poor kid to a stressful medical environment that has proven hostile in the past while he is recovering from severe psychological trauma.
It is callous for anyone to suggest Daemon does not deserve us to make an exception for him in view of his admirable academic performance and behavior even while he was under such tremendous emotional strain! It’s not a joke when a gentle, compassionate child is torn away from everything he knows and loves and held prisoner in the basement of a hostile woman who slanders his loved ones and deliberately exposes him to substances he is severely allergic to. Had I not fought as I did with his captors I am certain they might have ended his life for it is evident now that 20,000 children have died in foster care over the last decade in Canada alone and nobody is held accountable; many of these deaths are never reported and press coverage is muzzled until they die while significant sums in health insurance are collected!
Excuses Mrs. Gagné-Renwick made about legalities of my request for retroactive compensation are refuted by the fact that while Mrs. Isaak-Daniel was on vacation, another employee was willing and able to give us monies retroactive to the signing of our S.D.A. forms.
Lyne Gagné-Renwick writes in paragraph 7 on page 2 of her reply [verbatim]:
“Ontario Works cannot provide payment for the Special Diet retroactively to 2011 as the completed forms were only received in our office in the Fall of 2014 (October 8th, 2014): you were provided this benefit from the month in which your health care practitioner signed the forms (September 2014).”
In response to this I must point out that while Mrs. Isaak-Daniel was on vacation, her replacement sent us a retroactive sum to help pay for our Thanksgiving meal. All she had to do was speak to her manager and she was able to cut us a check within 24 hours on an emergency basis. Why is it that some employees bend the rules during emergencies and others claim the law prevents them from doing so?
I must press you all with the notion that rules were made not to hurt innocent people, but to ensure the smooth functioning of a given business, and yet my experience has shown the Ontario Works office to be anything but efficiently run so there goes any claim to legitimacy in using this as an excuse to further injure us in the name of the rules. Any reasonable party understands that you do make exceptions where people are in need of your help because they are victims of crime. It would be inhuman not to make such exceptions when a family is clearly industrious to extremes and has already suffered a tremendous amount of loss and grief.
If were we eating out at restaurants I could understand this reluctance but the amount of labor involved in maintaining our health on this diet is the equivalent to a full-time job for my daughter, and my struggle to manage this insidious government bureaucracy is equally time consuming and labor-intensive, which makes it all the more insulting when Mrs. Isaak-Daniels appears to insinuate that we are lazy, and others there are rude to us when we call there for help. We haven’t eaten out in many years, we never go anywhere but the grocery store any more since Hamilton City Hall contractors stole our old second-hand SUV because they felt we were greedy for not selling it when we could no longer afford to pay for repairs.
We are tapped out to the extreme and she has played favorites with my husband throughout the file, refused to inform us what monies we might be entitled to if I moved elsewhere with my kids and separated from my ex-husband, making it impossible to plan our departure. Maybe others don’t fully understand what a nervous breakdown is but I’ve had dozens since this group decided to target us. Nervous exhaustion makes the simplest most mundane conflict feel like a physical assault. I regret to say I’ve rarely seen a shred of compassion from anyone in this province and I pray others can try to see this from our perspective.
The money is not coming out of the pockets of the employees in question but they behave as though it is; in fact given the amount of work I do to help clean up this city one might think the S.D.A. debt owed to us is only a tiny fraction of the sum owing, which is in the tens of thousands. Since Mrs. Gagné-Renwick failed to give me the information I requested I still have no clue what the total amount owing might be. I asked her what the total available allowance is including for sugar (diabetes) and she only gave me the sum of the lactose and wheat portions of the allowance. The way she did the math breakdown was badly organized so it was not as easy to read as it could have been if she would use the appropriate software designed for invoices.
I hope I have made a sound argument in favor of compassion and good reason and we can proceed with the payment of this debt in full. I trust my application for ODSP will also be addressed in the near future by reasonable people who understand how stressful it has been for someone in such poor health to struggle with this bureaucracy against all reason.
Mrs. Christina Halasz-Lane, President and Founder, Glass Mountain Inc.
94 East Avenue South #13
One of the things nobody could ever accuse me of is pedantry. I cleave to the golden rules, well, like flame to flame retardant; most reluctantly. This is not because I do not enjoy a degree of order in my life; quite the contrary. This is because my spell check highlights the word, “it’s” even when I use it in its grammatically correct context.
I get this red dotted line underneath the word for no apparent reason and this causes my pea brain to seize up momentarily and contemplate the very foundations of language itself, never mind the rules of English which are notoriously slack when compared to those of many other languages. How is it that we do not “woof” or “meow” like our pets? How did we come to recognize such intricacies of verbiage and to record it with such precision? Stories of ancient glyphs; of knots on strings and stone tablets do not fully explain the marvel of the human tongue.
In a world this rife with humanity, it is truly a wonder that we are so profoundly capable of misunderstanding one another given the propensity of communication in this day and age. With digital text messages flying around through the ether with instantaneous profusion, one barely has the chance to stop and give the complexity of our interpersonal exchanges a second thought and yet thought is the only thing that can save us from our own folly. How easily the rumors fly; how readily misinformation seeds itself into our collective ignorance.
My imagination is trapped in a simpler time. One that moved at a much slower pace. One in which Queens and Princes and castles were things of fiction, and then there was a real life Queen in a distant land called Britain. She lived in a suspension of disbelief because her life was too fantastical and perfect to behold. And she was sad.
Her Majesty’s face appeared on our money, her stamp of approval on bottles of pricey liquor, my favorite cookies, and other things I fancied. She had a similar hairdo to my Grandma, who, likewise, appeared to me almost angelic as a young child on a good day. A cultivated perfection I felt I might never achieve due to this manufactured suspension of disbelief. My childhood was like the one depicted in, “Pink Floyd the Wall” except without the luxuriant middle class surroundings, and with many memorable moments of levity and profound affection for an otherwise distant maternal figure that I found in my Grandmother.
There was the pouring through old photographs of the strangers who were our relations; my Father and Grandfather among them, that hollowed out my soul and left a hungry, vacant hole where their love ought to have been. I watched Grandma weep on every happy occasion, and sympathy evolved into deep resentment when no comprehensible reason was given as to the source of her profound distress. I was regaled with recounts of war-time traumas that were terrifying yet could not explain the imminent pressure in her life that never lifted.
What made her weep was also the sight of, “beautiful little children”, as though some unforeseen tragedy hung over all evidence of innocence that I was not able to witness. I was hushed and coddled but never included for fear of some great consequence I never could begin to comprehend. If I pressed for further information I was reprimanded.
This scenario repeated itself until profound sympathy grew into resentment, then outrage. I grew apart from everything that was meant to fortify and sustain me. I grew bitter and distant with each month that passed and I found no answer to my queries- queries that could not develop into queries through the vacuum of detachment that grew like a bubble around me. The sound of my own voice mocked me with its hollow echo of unfulfilled belonging. Nothing could penetrate my sorrow and I nurtured it as though it were a shield to protect me from the world of hurt I grew to expect from others when they could not see my pain.
What was it that I could not put into words for her? What was so terrible that she could not confide it in her favorite daughter? She praised me like I was the most coveted object on earth and she provided an enviable stability, but never did the hidden terrors come to light. She poured religiously over her newspaper each day as though its contents far outweighed my portion of her attentions and as a result I also resented the news in all its forms. I detested anything to do with this establishment that robbed me of the feeling of togetherness I so badly longed for since the day I was born. Any inkling of curiosity I might have held for it burned to a charred mess on the mossy, dank floor of my being.
Our Queen grew more weary with each passing decade and not once did I consider what ailed her to relate itself to my own Grandma’s torment. I watched as her new daughter-in-law married the Prince in perhaps the most resplendent dress I had ever seen in real life on the television. I reviled my own existence as I watched this marriage slowly disintegrate from the distant periphery of my dull existence on the edge of poverty. All my achievements were dry and colorless; the honor student status and grades fluttered by like moths from a dusty old wardrobe while my room and person were tidily kept. I was afraid to breathe wrong for fear of offending. I longed to be anyone; anything but me. This whirlwind romance was surreal; nothing in the news could touch someone as insignificant and lowly as myself.
I had recurring nightmares as I sank deeper and deeper into depression. My Grandmother kept me shut away in a broken washing machine filled with plankton and long, blackish reeds that wrapped around my legs, preventing my escape- and I could not see beyond its murky depths. I’m not sure I ever tried to escape; I don’t think I knew my way around outside of it.
My day job as a trained seal I constructed solely for Grandmother’s benefit- so I would not embarrass her. Nothing was for me and I had no idea who I was. Outward appearance was everything and inside I was hollow; the only spark of light came from Nature. Shafts of light tore through the monotony of my washing machine with little wildflowers and dust motes and bugs, birds, grass, the occasional bit of fire. That’s what sustained me until I had my own daughter.
Society and all its pompous trappings never crossed my mind. It was a given that nobody could ever love someone like me. But when I looked into the eyes of my baby girl, I saw my chance to make my world the sort of place that she could always be a part of. Somehow, through my journey to realize that goal I found my own salvation, however meager and pathetic the melee of my relationship with everyone else; my bad marriage and alienation from my own blood, I found my strength in being that person who would never let her down. And then when my son was born, I reaffirmed my deserving of healthy, platonic relationships with the male of the species. In doing so I made him resilient and wise. I learned that when you give out of love, you reap incalculable rewards. I learned the difference between discipline and pride. In our own little universe it no longer mattered what anyone else thought because our love for one another was absolutely perfect even though we were anything but perfect ourselves.
I see the Monarchy as an institution of great reverence and I reflect on my offerings to our leaders with great humility, mostly because I own nothing of intrinsic value to those so wealthy that money is no object. Had it been possible to simply eke out a modest existence on my own terms I might never have grown aware of its presence within the folds of our modern society; among the folds of our newspapers and magazines. When what you own is both intangible and priceless, the notion of it being for sale is not something fathomable. Having known the pits of despair, how foolish would I be to sabotage my happiness, however fleeting, for an evaporating sense of glory?
I live by the expression, “Never judge a man before you walk in his shoes” and in revealing this I must ask my readers how many of you know what it is to be so poor you cannot replace your shoes when they are worn right through? I only ask that people drop their pretenses and admit that maybe the idea of treating others as one might expect to be treated is not such a terrible idea.
We all make mistakes and lord knows I can only imagine what it might be to grow up in the scrutiny of the public eye. The objectivity afforded me by my alienation was significant, after all, and that is my silver lining. The pressure to pander and abandon our principles when others meddle is frequently suffocating, and how much more so when it is the act of thousands who covet. It’s easy to choose poor advisors when the glint of fool’s gold presents itself as a respectable option. I’ve made enough mistakes in my life; I’ve had my share of regrets. I’m not above scrutiny myself and I see the difference between navigating a political climate and managing close relationships. I’d love the chance to teach others the value of close-knit family.
Originally posted on Metro News:
OTTAWA – Prime Minister Stephen Harper says billionaire philanthropist Bill Gates will visit Ottawa next week to discuss further collaboration on helping mothers and newborns around the world.
Canada has worked with the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation on a number of projects and Harper says the Feb. 25 visit will further cement the relationship.
The maternal health project, which was launched in June 2010, has been a key development project for Harper and Canada has committed more than $6 billion to the cause.
In May 2014, Harper hosted an international conference on the issue, committing Canada to support maternal and child health initiatives through 2020.
The meetings with Gates next week will aim at ensuring that the issue of mother and child health remains a global priority.
They will also look at creating measurable objectives to stop preventable deaths.
Canada and the foundation also work together on other health…
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Originally posted on TIME:
Being crowned Queen of England may have been one of the most thrilling moments of Elizabeth II’s life, but at the exact moment of her accession, she was unaware that her royal status had changed. She was, as TIME reported shortly after the event, in a Kenyan tree hut, experiencing another thrilling moment: watching a herd of elephants gather at a watering hole.
Although King George VI died in his sleep sometime during the night of Feb. 5, 1952, the remoteness of her tree house lodgings meant that Elizabeth didn’t learn until relatively late the next day that she had become Queen of the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Pakistan and what was then called Ceylon (today’s Sri Lanka).
George’s failing health over the previous year — he had recently undergone surgery to remove a malignant tumor in his lung — had meant delegating more and more…
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I’ve been observing certain trends of late in other people’s marketing presence. I’m not inclined to pick apart others unless provoked and as it appears to be a group activity I thought I’d make gross generalizations and pepper them with a bit of wild disinformation that could satisfy even the shrewdest of readers not unlike yourself.
One of the things about the Humanities is it’s an abstract field of study. There aren’t any clear markers of our skills in the area because it’s not like the maths and sciences where there are numerical markers to offset any doubt people might have in our understanding of the material. Some areas of learning are what you’d call social. Others, practical.
Some fields have lots of overlap between practical and spacial parts of the brain. Fashion is one of those- not everyone gets fashion even though there’s big money in it. Some of us think the esthetic part of life is an ill-afforded luxury and other people consider it a part of making life bearable. The rest of us don fashion as though it were a uniform or political statement and ironically we get our cues from popular advertisement as to how that’s done even at the fringes. Wearing a suit outside of a business setting these days is an increasingly subversive act.
Those of us in advertising see it as the very bread and butter of modern life and corporate profit. If someone said it was a sin to be in advertising they’d laugh that off as the wild ranting of a madwoman. Some of us believe the vain ought to suffer for their excess. They all have silver hair and live in beautiful old houses. They spend their lives trying to drive mold and pestilence from crumbling castles.
We’ve had an interesting go at capitalism since the WWI era. The sequence of pretty propaganda plays out like the slow seduction of Purity herself; commercialism is a crass suitor and its dull, haunting pursuit nips at our heals like a geriatric plastic surgeon with a scalpel, his lab assistant on heavy pharmaceuticals.
One of my greatest complaints about modern commercialism is its failure to acknowledge its own sorry uniformity. While a new trend may look and feel original, what follows is no different from the Renaissance Movement; it’s defined by a series of increasingly feeble copycats whose quality degrades like a Xerox of a snapshot of a drawing. Blurry and out of focus, the copy of a copy of a copy is a worthless infringement; its sole value for those with a sentimental attachment to its subject.
What’s in fashion at a given era is a reflection mainly of its leadership: the tastes and preoccupation of those with spending power and influence are pandered to by those whose sights are set first upon profit, and then, originality, and finally, on what benefits society. We all like the prestige original thought brings because there’s this perception of genius attached to the sort of creativity that brings with it prosperity. Otherwise we wouldn’t care how our profits were had, unless there was some driving passion behind our economic goals, that is. True capitalism engenders a certain neutrality that places profit above all other ideologies. The movement just never had creative genius to drive it before because it’s extremely rare for the creative to be passionate about business and finance.
I can see why someone would want to be someone else; in fact, we all emulate our role models in life, and what makes them role models and not victims of identity theft and stalking is our acknowledgment of their influence on our lives, and our investment in their comfort. It’s in our own best interests to support that which makes us strong. What is ordinarily strong will weaken if it is mistreated and we weaken with our role models when we mistreat them, or turn a blind eye while others do. Not terribly bright for anyone but the most self-destructive among us!
In a commodities market, something material that is readily available has less intrinsic value than something intangible like intellectual property that’s rare in its insight and creativity. Some things you can’t buy because you’d be too embarrassed to admit you need them. Other things you couldn’t buy because they’re not for sale at any price. Identity is one of those things. You can lease it out, you can fake it but the more you try and steal someone else’s identity, the more ridiculous you look. Incompetence is frequently spectacular. The higher and faster one climbs, the harder they must fall to be reminded where the earth is, and I know where my feet have been. Do you?