Category Archives: British Columbia

No News is Bad News

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The other week I got a message from my oldest daughter sadly mentioning the fire at Ricky’s All Day Grill here in Victoria, a restaurant we used to frequent every now and then when our girls were small. I immediately went to CHEK News’ website to find out about it.

What was curious to me was that my daughter knew about it before I did. I’m a news junkie myself and usually start my day reading the paper and perusing news websites.

So I asked her where she found out about it.

She told me that one of her coworkers saw the story on Facebook in a community called What The Hell Just Happened. Well, that was news to me.

It’s an interesting thing, where our adult children get their news and information these days.

When I was a kid (oh, here she goes!), there was radio and there was television. And, of course, there were newspapers. Radio would have more up-to-the-minute news, usually at the top of the hour. My parents always had the radio on.

My husband’s father was a radio announcer and a news director at various stations, so the radio was definitely always on in their house.

Typically, we would find our parents with their faces buried in the local paper every morning or evening, depending on when they had a chance to read it.

When our family got a television sometime in the 60’s, the news was something you watched at around 6pm every night. So as it turned out, you didn’t know about a lot of events that had happened in the rest of the world until that time.

And of course, during our parents’ youth, back from the 1920’s to the 40’s, sometimes it was weeks or months before they learned about what was going on somewhere else in the world.

Imagine that. Not knowing about a war or an earthquake somewhere far away until long after it had happened.

These days, we have tweets and videos immediately after, or right at the moment of something happening.

And as we have learned over the last few years, this leads to a lot of MIS-information. Sometimes it’s innocent, sometimes not.

This is exactly why we need to be able to trust who is giving us the information. Radio, television and newspaper reporters are trained to research the heck out of any information they pass on as news. Sometimes they get it wrong too, of course, but not for lack of trying.

Sadly, the trend these days appears to be fewer and fewer traditional sources, especially of local news. Smaller newspapers are shutting down everywhere, and television and radio stations are disappearing off their respective “dials”.

The recent news about the 1,300 positions being cut, and the selling or shuttering of 9 radio stations at Bell Media, is a shock. But then it’s not.

Business models are changing as the internet and social media are taking over. So the federal government has passed Bill C-18 in order to force companies like Meta and Google to pay for the news they allow and/or distribute on their platforms.

But now these very rich, mega companies are fighting back and threatening to block Canadian news from their websites. Heaven forbid they should share their gobs of money!

I mean, on the one hand, the advances in technology can be exciting. I read my paper digitally. I can even read the New York Times online because I have a library card from the Greater Victoria Public Library!

I can keep up with what’s happening by following local news accounts on social media. But I’ll watch it on TV too. Because I’m old. Make that “older”.

So is traditional news gathering on its way out? I sure hope not. Losing local news and dedicated, educated journalists and reporters is bad for all of us, young and old.

Which is why I’ll make a little adjustment to that age-old idiom.

No news is, in fact, “bad” news.

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A Trip To Wine Country

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My friends and I have taken wine tours to some of the wonderful wineries here on Vancouver Island in the past, and we will do that again some day. But we recently decided to try the Okanagan, specifically Oliver B.C., for a change.

Wine not?

After some months of planning, we headed out in late September for a 5 day trip to the interior. We initially had some concerns about ongoing forest fires on our route, especially around Hope and Manning Park.

As we travelled though these areas, it was quite sobering to watch the helicopters fly back and forth with their buckets of water suspended below. And the smell of smoke was definitely in the air when we got out to stretch our legs a couple of times along the way.

I remember at one point looking far up on the side of a mountain from the car window and actually being able to see flames. Yikes.

Once we got past the smoke and fires, the drive through the southern interior was beautiful as always. The slow change in geography between the dark, green forests of the coast, and the dry grass and blue/grey sagebrush of the Okanagan, is something I always enjoy.

We stayed at a guest house on the outskirts of the town of Oliver, run by an elderly couple . It used to be a bed and breakfast until, as the woman told us, she decided she was tired of making breakfast all the time.

As they gave us an initial tour of the unit, which was more or less stuck in the 1980s décor-wise, they pointed out a couple of things:

You had to hold the toilet handle down until it completely flushed. Because otherwise, it wouldn’t.

The temperature was kept low at night because the lady of the house liked it cool. Her husband suggested we might need blankets in the evenings.

Then he looked us over and decided only one of us was skinny enough to require a blanket.

Only one of us was skinny enough. We’re still laughing about that one…

But in spite of a few other idiosyncrasies in the place, it was perfect for us.

The large property had chickens and grape vines, lots of fruit trees and a huge vegetable garden. We were given fresh eggs and invited to pick our own grapes and plums, as much as we wanted.

The morning sun came up behind a ridge of mountains behind the unit, and we could watch it rise as we sat with our morning coffee on a little deck. For the entire time we were there, the weather was perfect.

We booked two winery tours; the first one on a private mini bus, and the second one was something a little different: an e-bike tour.

On the mini bus tour, we had a wonderful driver and tour guide who was originally from Portugal, and who knew everything about wineries and wine making. It was an ideal introduction to the area, and definitely an education.

We travelled to four wineries that day and later decided that four was too much. The first couple of places gave us at least 6 or 7 wines to taste. Even if you only take one sip of each, you begin to lose your ability to distinguish them after awhile.

Well, that’s the story I’m sticking to anyway.

When it came to the e-bike tour, I have to admit I was pretty nervous in anticipation of it. I got on my old bike at home a few times before the trip, just so I could remember what it felt like.

You know the expression “it’s just like riding a bike”? We might have to reassess that simile.

Our e-bike tour guides for the day were another couple, probably in their 50’s. They were careful to get our measurements beforehand so the bikes were a good fit, and gave us lots of instruction as to how to use them.

We practiced riding in the parking lot before we started off in earnest our our wine tour. The husband took the lead while his wife took up the rear.

Shifting gears and e-gears took some getting used to, but I quickly decided the “e” part helped a lot.

We went a little faster than my liking and worked hard at keeping up with each other. But we took plenty of breaks and, of course, spent considerable time wine tasting at 3 different wineries this time.

It was another perfect day and a wonderful trip.

Wineries everywhere around the world are facing a changing climate these days, and the Okanagan is no exception. Rainfall patterns are different, and grapes are very susceptible to temperature changes. We heard plenty of stories along the way.

In light of these changes, wineries are learning to adapt. As am I.

So if you see a wobbly older woman on her new (used) e-bike, making her way home from the grocery store, watch out for me, eh?

I’m trying to get skinnier.

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The Day I Met The Queen. Kind of.

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Like many others, I was not surprised, but still a little shocked when Queen Elizabeth II recently passed away. We knew she had been suffering from various maladies for some time. And, of course, she was 96 years old.

But watching her welcoming the new UK Prime Minister, Liz Truss at Balmoral, I thought the Queen still looked pretty well. I did remember wondering if this would be the last Prime Minister of her reign.

Then, only two days later, Queen Elizabeth II was gone.

Oddly enough, I had been watching a documentary series on her life in the days leading up to that. I admired her dedication and commitment, and certainly her endurance. Actually, I find the history of the British monarchy rather fascinating.

My father, however, had no use for them.

I remember when Charles and Diana arrived in Victoria after the opening ceremonies of Expo ’86. My Dad was visiting us at the time.

I packed my baby daughter in the car and and convinced Dad to come with us down to an area where I knew the Royal entourage would pass by on their way from the airport. I parked the car and carried my daughter down to the street corner to watch, but my father refused to get out of the car.

He would have nothing to do with them.

His Royal resentment stemmed from his younger days, back in time when Remittance men were sent from Britain to somewhere else in the Empire, usually Canada, Australia or New Zealand.

A Remittance man was, according to the Canadian Encyclopedia, “a term once widely used, especially in the West before WWI, for an immigrant living in Canada on funds remitted by his family in England, usually to ensure that he would not return home and become a source of embarrassment.”

These guys were the black sheep, trouble makers, the male failures whose rich families wanted to get them out of sight and out of mind. Sometimes the poor little rich boys redeemed themselves in the countries they were sent to. Sometimes not.

My father had mentioned the history of the Remittance men to me several times as I was growing up. He hated the fact that Canada was a dumping ground for the British elite’s undesirables, and he blamed the British monarchy.

And let’s face it, the British Royals have a long and very complicated history.

But I was oblivious to all of this in 2002 when I decided to watch the parade of cars carrying the Queen and Prince Phillip as they visited Victoria during her Golden Jubilee.

I drove to Blanshard Street near Hillside and parked. I saw a group of people standing along the sidewalk, so I joined them and waited. There were maybe 20 or 30 of us.

Police motorcycles rolled up to stop traffic along the intersection, so we knew the motorcade was coming.

And then we saw it. The Queen’s car apparently spotted our little group, so they drove up and stopped right in front of us. The Queen was in the back seat, her window rolled down, but I couldn’t quite see her face.

There was only stillness.

The silence made me feel awkward. Everyone just stood there quietly, and the Queen simply sat. I wanted to be welcoming and share my enthusiasm for her visit.

So it was with the best of intentions that I, in my most Monty Python-esque voice, called out “Helllooooo!”

I had no idea about protocol. You’re not supposed to speak to the Queen until she speaks first.

Doh.

The car pulled away and that was that.

I’m sure Queen Elizabeth had to endure many similarly awkward moments over the years, and the one I created would be soon forgotten by her.

But not by me. I’ll never forget the day I met the Queen. Kind of.