Christmas gift?

Lily Tomlin

In 1972 An actor on TV called his wife "the most beautiful animal I own." Lily Tomlin stood up, walked off mid-show—and became a feminist legend. She was 33. She's still fighting at 85.

March 31, 1972.  The Dick Cavett Show. Live television. Millions watching. Lily Tomlin sat on stage next to Chad Everett, a handsome TV actor known for playing doctors on Medical Center.  Dick Cavett asked Everett about his life. Everett smiled charmingly.  "I have three horses, three dogs... and a wife."  A few uncomfortable chuckles rippled through the audience. Cavett tried to give him an out: "Want to think about the billing order there?" Everett didn't take it.  "No, no," he said. "She's the most beautiful animal I own."

Lily Tomlin, who'd been sitting quietly, went still.  "You own?!" she gasped.  Then she stood up.  "I have to leave."  And she walked off. Mid-show. Live television.  No shouting. No lecture. Just a quiet, deliberate exit.  The audience erupted in applause.

"I felt angels walked me off that set," she later said. "It wasn't planned. It was instinct. I couldn't sit there and smile while he called his wife an animal he owned."  That moment—that refusal to stay silent, to play along, to be polite—made Lily Tomlin more than a comedian.  It made her a symbol of women refusing to accept misogyny with a smile.

But here's the thing: Lily had been refusing to play by the rules her entire life.

Born Mary Jean Tomlin in 1939 in Detroit, she was the daughter of a factory worker and a nurse's aide. They were poor. They struggled. But Lily was smart, funny, and weird—the kid who'd do impressions, invent characters, perform for anyone who'd watch.

After high school, she moved to New York. Waited tables. Performed in comedy clubs. Slowly built a reputation as someone who didn't just imitate people—she inhabited them.

In 1969, she landed on Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In.  That's where America met Ernestine—the nasally telephone operator who mocked corporate bureaucracy:  "Is this the party to whom I am speaking?"  And Edith Ann—the five-year-old in an oversized rocking chair, exposing adult hypocrisy: "And that's the truth!" [raspberry sound]

These weren't just funny characters. They were sharp social commentary disguised as comedy.  By the early 1970s, Lily was a star. Emmy winner. Broadway sensation. Grammy winner for comedy albums.  But she was also hiding something.

Lily Tomlin was gay. And in 1970s America, being openly gay could destroy your career—especially for a woman.  In 1971, Lily met Jane Wagner, a writer and director.  They began collaborating professionally.  Then they fell in love.

For over 40 years, Lily and Jane were partners—creatively and romantically. Jane wrote Lily's best material, including her Broadway shows and The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe (which won Lily a Tony).  But they kept their relationship private. Not secret—friends knew—but not public.  Because Hollywood wasn't ready. America wasn't ready.

In 1980, Lily starred in 9 to 5 alongside Jane Fonda and Dolly Parton—a comedy about three women fighting their sexist boss.  It became one of the highest-grossing comedies of all time.  The message was clear: women were done being treated like secretaries, sex objects, and second-class citizens.

Lily was nominated for an Oscar for Nashville (1975) and again for Short Cuts (1993)—but never won.  She won six Emmys, two Tonys, and a Grammy. One award away from an EGOT.  But more importantly, she built a legacy of characters that gave voice to women society ignored: working-class women, older women, weird women, angry women.

Then in 2013, something changed.  Same-sex marriage became legal in California.  On New Year's Eve, at age 74, Lily Tomlin and Jane Wagner got married after 42 years together.  It wasn't flashy. Just the two of them, a friend, and a justice of the peace.  But it was meaningful.

A year later, Lily publicly confirmed what many had suspected: she was gay.  She'd been with Jane for over four decades.  And she was done hiding.  "I wasn't closeted," she said. "I just didn't talk about it. But now?  I'm proud.  And I want young LGBTQ+ people to know: you can be successful. You can be happy. You can be loved."

At 76, Lily co-starred in Grace and Frankie—a Netflix series about two women whose husbands leave them for each other.  The show ran for seven seasons, making it the longest-running original Netflix series at the time.  Today, Lily Tomlin is 85 years old.  She's still working. Still performing. Still fighting for LGBTQ+ rights, women's rights, and social justice.

She never won that Oscar (though she received an Honorary Academy Award in 2017).  But she won something more important: respect, longevity, and a legacy of refusing to be anything but herself.  From walking off The Dick Cavett Show in 1972 to coming out at 74 to starring in a hit show in her 80s, Lily Tomlin has spent her entire career saying:  "I won't sit quietly. I won't smile politely. I won't pretend to be less than I am."

In 1972, an actor called his wife "the most beautiful animal I own."  Lily Tomlin stood up and walked off the set.  The audience applauded then.  We're still applauding now—52 years later, with Jane by her side, Lily is still standing up.  Still refusing to sit quietly.  Still showing us what courage looks like.  That's not just a career.  That's a life well lived.

The inventor that changed women's lives!

 

She watched servants destroy her expensive china one more time and thought: "I'm going to invent something." Society said women don't do that. She did it anyway—and changed kitchens forever.

1880s. Shelbyville, Illinois.

Josephine Cochrane stood in her dining room, staring at another chipped plate from her heirloom china collection. Generations-old porcelain. Irreplaceable. And the household staff kept breaking pieces while washing by hand. She was a socialite. The kind of woman expected to host elegant dinner parties, manage household staff, and look decorative. Society had very clear rules: women didn't tinker with machinery. Women didn't file patents. Women certainly didn't invent things.

Josephine Cochrane was tired of watching her dishes get destroyed. "If nobody else is going to invent a dishwashing machine," she reportedly declared, "I'll do it myself." That sentence changed everything. Josephine had no engineering training. No technical background. No blueprint to follow. What she had was frustration, determination, and access to a shed behind her house.

She cleared a space and began measuring. How big were the plates? How much space between them? What water pressure would clean without breaking? She designed a wire rack system that held dishes in place. She calculated water pressure mechanics. She built wooden wheels with compartments. She tested. Failed. Adjusted. Tested again. For months, she worked in that shed—a wealthy woman in expensive dresses, getting her hands dirty with copper tubing and wire, figuring out engineering problems that had stumped others.

By 1886, she had it: a working prototype. The first practical mechanical dishwasher.

Water jets sprayed hot soapy water onto dishes secured in wire racks. The dishes came out clean. Unbroken. Perfect. But then life got harder. Her husband, William, died suddenly in 1883—before her invention was complete. He left her with significant debts. Josephine was a widow in her forties with money problems and a prototype dishwasher.

Society expected her to sell the house, live modestly, depend on family. Instead, she turned her invention into a business. She patented the design. She built machines by hand in a workshop. And she started selling—not to households (most homes didn't have reliable hot water yet), but to hotels and restaurants.

She traveled to hotels and demonstrated her machine personally. She explained the mechanics. She showed how it saved time and prevented breakage. She closed deals herself. In the 1880s and 1890s, women didn't do this. They didn't run manufacturing businesses. They didn't pitch inventions to hotel managers. They didn't show up at industrial facilities to negotiate contracts. Josephine Cochrane did all of it.

Then came 1893. The Chicago World's Fair—the World's Columbian Exposition—was the biggest showcase of innovation on earth. Inventors from every continent displayed their latest creations. Millions attended. Josephine entered her dishwasher in the competition. And won.

Her machine was awarded the highest prize for "best mechanical construction, durability and adaptation to its line of work." The judges weren't humoring a woman inventor. They recognized genuine engineering brilliance. Her design worked better than anything else submitted. Orders began pouring in. Hotels across the country wanted Cochrane dishwashers. Restaurants installed them. The Illinois State Penitentiary bought one. Word spread.

By the early 1900s, her company was thriving. She hired workers, expanded production, and continued refining the design. She remained involved in every aspect of the business until her death in 1913. Her company eventually merged with others and became part of what we now know as KitchenAid—one of the most trusted names in kitchen appliances.

But Josephine Cochrane's story is about so much more than clean dishes.

It's about a woman who was supposed to accept her role—hostess, widow, decorative presence—and refused. It's about taking domestic labor—the invisible, undervalued work of maintaining a home—and recognizing it as worthy of engineering solutions.

It's about seeing a problem everyone else dismissed as trivial (broken dishes, tedious washing) and understanding its significance.

Men had been washing dishes by hand for centuries and never invented a machine to make it easier. Perhaps because they weren't the ones usually doing it. Josephine Cochrane was. And she saw the problem clearly because she lived with its consequences.

She didn't wait for someone else to fix it. She didn't defer to male engineers. She didn't apologize for taking up space in a workshop. She built it herself. And when financial necessity threatened to derail her life, she turned her invention into income. Into autonomy. Into legacy.

Here's what makes Josephine Cochrane's story powerful:

• She wasn't supposed to be an inventor. Society had different plans for women like her. She ignored them.
• She turned frustration into innovation. The same emotion that could have stayed as complaint became creation.
• She proved domestic challenges deserve engineering solutions. Her invention legitimized household innovation.
• She built a business when widows were expected to retreat. She chose expansion over resignation.
• She succeeded in a male-dominated field without credentials. Determination and intelligence mattered more than permission.

Every time you load a dishwasher—at home, in a restaurant kitchen, anywhere—you're using technology invented by a woman who society tried to keep in the dining room, not the workshop.

Every woman who's ever had an idea dismissed as "just domestic" or "not real innovation" walks a path Josephine Cochrane cleared in the 1880s. She didn't just invent a machine. She proved that innovation has no gender, no required credentials, and no single starting point. It can begin anywhere. Even in the quiet outrage of someone who's simply had enough of broken dishes.

Josephine Cochrane. Socialite. Inventor. Entrepreneur. Widow who refused to shrink.

She looked at a problem everyone else accepted, and thought: I can fix this. Then she did. Remember her name. Load your dishwasher with a little more reverence. And know that every machine cleaning your plates carries the legacy of a woman who refused to accept "women don't do that" as an answer. She did it anyway. And changed kitchens—and possibilities—forever.

Question period in Victoria last week!

This was presented in Question Period at the Provincial Legislature in Victoria by one of our Surrey MLA's:

Why does Surrey, with a population similar to Vancouver, pay the same taxes but get far fewer services?

The facts:

• Surrey: 608 police officers vs Vancouver: 1,452

• Surrey: 400 doctors vs Vancouver: 900

• Surrey: 1 hospital, 671 beds vs Vancouver: 4 hospitals, 1,900+ beds

• Surrey: 100+ extortion reports vs Vancouver: 0

The Premier deflected by saying that Surrey has never had ❝more❞ police than they have right now. Really? Is that supposed to make Surrey residents feel safe?

Surrey needs more police officers because the province failed to provide adequate policing to the city for years. More officers in Surrey aren’t a victory, they’re proof that the problem is real and urgent, which the BC government refuses to acknowledge, let alone fix.

I encourage the Premier to come to Surrey and speak directly to the families, businesses, and communities living with the consequences of failed policing.

Surrey residents know the truth, and Premier Eby’s political spin won’t change it.

How long will it take before Premier Eby accepts that Surrey has been neglected by the BC government?

Merry and Bright at Martini Town

My friend Donna asked if I wanted to go to Merry and Bright at Martini Town.  She bought tickets early and we got a seniors discount.  They do not sell tickets at the gate.  You must buy them online.  Prices did increase so if you want to go next year, get your tickets early.  Yesterday it was sold out.  They give you a 30 minute window to arrive and you can stay as long as you want.

It's located in Langley Township on 272 Street, almost in Aldergrove.  It was a lovely drive and thankfully didn't rain when we were there, but it rained earlier.

Martini Town is an outdoor movie studio.  They film Hallmark Christmas movies, Schmigadoon (Apple TV), Kung Fu (The CW), and Snake Eyes and other shows.  Merry and Bright operates from November 21 - December 31 and proceeds go to the Langley Food Bank.

Crafts in the white tent, lots of lovely items.  Santa was over to the left and there was a long line to see him.

 I didn't know these people but wanted a picture of the Grinch!

Lots of little girls lined up for pictures with Elsa.

Great entertainment by these two musicians.

Warming tent.  A great place to go   if it rains.

I should have taken more pictures when it got dark.  Hundreds of lights.

Sticky's Candy Store.  We had one in Ocean Park but it's not there any more but there locations in our town.

Brownstones and a Ristorante across the street. 
 They had a snow machine so it was snowing!  You can see it on the sidewalk!

Santa came to the gazebo and the kids were excited!

The gals in red coats were from the CBC and selling toques for charity!  It was a wonderful walk with lots of carols and even snow.  We got there early and it got very busy as we were leaving.  They sold cookies, lots of warm drinks and had a few food trucks if you were hungry.  We started our day off with lunch at Morgan Creek Golf Course.  It was delicious.  A wonderful start to the Christmas season.

The end of an era

 

Hastings Park has hosted thoroughbred horse racing since 1889!  

Hastings Racecourse and Casino Friday afternoon said it would no longer have thoroughbred horse racing. 

The permanent end to that racing had been speculated given that B.C. Solicitor General Nina Krieger in November sent horse racing representatives a letter saying that the government would stop sharing slot machine revenue with the racecourse.

Her rationale for no longer wanting to share that revenue is that a government review of the industry showed "significant additional government spending" was needed to make horse racing sustainable. 

At one time in B.C., horse racing was the only legal gambling allowed. That prompted large crowds to watch races. In recent years, the number of people attending the racecourse has been far lower than it was decades ago. Exact attendance is unavailable because attendance is free and there are no turnstiles.  

The federal government broadened legal gambling in 1969 and B.C. created the BC Lottery Corp. in 1985. Gambling in B.C. expanded through the decades. Licensed casinos were allowed to operate and other forms of gambling became legal. That created competition for racecourses. 

Harness racing at Surrey's Fraser Downs closed earlier this year.

“This was an extremely difficult decision, especially given the historical legacy of Hastings Racecourse in the local community and its importance to the province’s racing industry,” said Wayne Odegard, regional vice-president at Great Canadian Entertainment.

“Unfortunately, this is strictly a business decision based on a lack of economic feasibility to move forward with another season of horse racing at Hastings. We are incredibly thankful for our dedicated team members, racing participants and fan base for their support and patronage for so many years.”

Jimmy Pattison

Jimmy Pattison is one of Canada’s most remarkable business figures, a self-made billionaire whose story embodies grit, vision, and philanthropy. His journey from selling doughnuts in a Vancouver schoolyard to building Canada’s second-largest privately held company is a testament to entrepreneurial spirit and resilience.

🌟 Early Life and Humble Beginnings

• Born October 1, 1928 in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Pattison grew up during the Great Depression, a time that shaped his resourcefulness.

• His family moved to East Vancouver when he was six, where he worked countless odd jobs: selling seeds door-to-door, delivering newspapers, and even playing trumpet at church camps.

• After graduating from John Oliver Secondary School in 1947, he worked in a cannery, a packing house, and for the Canadian Pacific Railway before stumbling into car sales—a turning point in his life.

🚗 The Birth of a Business Empire

• In 1961, Pattison borrowed $40,000 to purchase a General Motors dealership, putting up his home and life insurance policy as collateral.

• That bold move launched the Jim Pattison Group, which today operates across 25+ divisions including automotive, media, food, packaging, and entertainment.

• The company employs more than 45,000 people worldwide and generates annual sales exceeding $10 billion.

💰 Wealth and Recognition

• Pattison’s net worth has been estimated between $9.6 billion and $12.1 billion, making him one of Canada’s richest individuals.

• He has received numerous honors:

• Order of Canada (1987) and Order of British Columbia (1990)

• Induction into the Canadian Business Hall of Fame and Canada’s Walk of Fame (2018)

• International awards like the Horatio Alger Award (2004)

❤️ Philanthropy and Community Impact

• Beyond business, Pattison is a major philanthropist. In 2017, he donated $75 million to establish the Jim Pattison Medical Centre in Surrey.  Both my husband and I have been to this facility.  It's a cutting-edge facility that was built for the citizens of British Columbia and will help our community for years! 

• On March 28, 2017, Pattison donated $75 million to the construction of the new St. Paul's Hospital in Vancouver, a Canadian record for a private donation to a health care provider.  On May 30, 2017, Pattison and the Jim Pattison Foundation announced they were donating $50 million, the largest private donation in Saskatchewan history, to the new Children's Hospital of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan which is expected to open in 2019. It was also announced that day the new hospital would be named Jim Pattison Children's Hospital in his honour. 

• He also played a pivotal role as Chairman and CEO of Expo ’86, helping put Vancouver on the global stage.  His salary for the role was $1.00!

📊 Legacy and Lessons

Jimmy Pattison’s life offers powerful lessons:

• Take risks boldly: His dealership purchase was a gamble that paid off.

• Work ethic matters: From fruit picking to car sales, every job built his resilience.

• Give back generously: His philanthropy ensures his legacy extends beyond business.

Jimmy Pattison is more than a billionaire; he is a Canadian icon whose story blends entrepreneurship with compassion. His empire may be vast, but his impact on communities—through philanthropy and leadership—remains his most enduring achievement.