Canadian Food Labelling

I still get confused when checking the labels on Canadian food.  I read this article from Todd Maffin and thought I would share it.   I enjoy his thoughts:

I want to move to Australia.

And before you angrily hit Reply, hear me out, because I have one very specific reason, and it involves Froot Loops.

The label we need

Australia has a food labelling system that should make every Canadian deeply embarrassed.

When you pick up a product in an Australian grocery store, you see a kangaroo logo inside a triangle. Beneath that logo is a bar chart, one that tells you, instantly, what percentage of the ingredients in that product are actually Australian. This became mandatory there in 2018. Now let me remind you what we have in Canada. There is a legal definition for "Made in Canada" and "Product of Canada." Then, we have an absolute clusterfuck of vague but impressive-sounding claims like "Prepared in Canada" or "Packed in Canada" or "Imported by this Canadian company" and "Farted on briefly in Canada while it was in transit." No bar chart. No house hippo holding up a percentage. It should be easier to compare products. For instance, two boxes of Froot Loops. Should I buy: 🇨🇦 / 🇺🇸 — the one that’s made in Canada by Canadians (Kellogg’s “Froot Loops”), but owned by and run by an American company? 🇺🇸 / 🇨🇦 — or the copycat cereal (Western Family’s “Fruity Whirls”) made by a Canadian company but uses American ingredients, is a product of the U.S., and doesn't disclose where it's actually made? If we can require bilingual labelling on every package of gum from Nunavut to Niagara, if we can regulate the curvature of cucumbers, surely we can replace this hodgepodge nonsense of "made in, assembled in, packaged in" and just put a little bar chart on a box of crackers so I know if the wheat came from Saskatchewan or Spokane. Saskatchewan or Spokane? Am I holding something grown by a Canadian farmer, or something assembled in a warehouse from seventeen countries that all technically touched the product for eleven seconds? Australia gave the world Vegemite, mandatory voting, hot people, and the phrase "no worries." And now they are lapping us on food transparency. I'd be more embarrassed, but I can't tell where my feelings were manufactured.

Welcome to Canada

 

I've heard of most of these place.  I've been close to Dildo, Newfoundland!  I live in British Columbia and I've never heard of Poopoo or Stoner British Columbia.  I put it in Google Maps and nothing came up.  I put it in a search engine and got this:

While there is no major city named Poopoo, British Columbia, the term connects to several distinct and real locations and local initiatives across the province. 

• Poopoo Creek: A remote, subarctic-climate stream located in the East Kootenay region of the province (Latitude \(50^{\circ} 8' 0"\) N, Longitude \(115^{\circ} 16' 7"\) W), famous among anglers for catching brown, brook, and largemouth trout.

Stoner, British Columbia is a small, unincorporated ranching and logging settlement located roughly 30 km south of Prince George along Highway 97 and the Fraser River. It primarily serves as a rural residential and agricultural area, known in local recreation for camping and as a gateway to nearby provincial parks. 

Who knew?  On my next road trip we should take a detour!

Valentina Vassilyeva

 

I checked this out and it is true.  

The woman who had the most children in history Valentina Vassilyeva, born in 1707 and died in 1782, is recognized as the “woman who had the most children in history” according to the Guinness Book of Records.

She was the first wife of Feodor Vassilyev, a peasant from Shuya, Russia. At this time, there were no methods of contraception, and having children was considered a religious and social obligation for women. Valentina gave birth 27 times, giving birth to 16 sets of twins, seven sets of triplets, and four sets of quadruplets, for a total of an incredible 69 children. Although it may seem unbelievable, this incredible feat has been officially documented and recognized by Guinness World Records.

Goodbye Stephen

 

We've watched or recorded and watched later all the late shows for years.  I loved David Letterman and Jay Leno.  I miss them.  They left on their own choice and are both enjoying retirement.  However, what happened to Stephen Colbert was disgusting.  I am copying this so I don't get it wrong:

CBS officially cancelled The Late Show with Stephen Colbert as an economic decision, as the network cited the show was operating at a reported loss of up to \(\$50\) million a year in the changing late-night landscape. 

However, the decision sparked widespread controversy and debate, as it occurred only three days after Colbert openly criticized the network's parent company, Paramount, for agreeing to a \(\$16\) million legal settlement with Donald Trump. While CBS maintained that ending the show was strictly financial, the timing led to accusations from critics and former colleagues that the cancellation was influenced by the political dynamics of the Trump administration and a lucrative Paramount-Skydance merger. 

I hope this backfires on CBS and Stephen Colbert ends up more famous and financially better off than he already is.  

Here are the guests on his show last night:

What a lineup and what a touching show!  

Stephen Colbert is, in every sense, a true gentleman. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed his show, and I will sincerely miss him.

Marty Life is Short

 

I just finished watching Marty, Life is Short on Netflix. Some performers make you laugh. A rare few make you feel. And then there’s Martin Short — a Canadian treasure who somehow manages to do both at once, with a twinkle in his eye and a generosity of spirit that has shaped decades of comedy.

His new Netflix documentary is more than a look back at a remarkable career. It’s a love letter to resilience, creativity, and the unmistakable warmth of a Canadian kid who grew up to become one of the most beloved entertainers in the world.

Martin Short’s story begins in Hamilton, Ontario — a place known for steel, grit, and hardworking families. It’s also where a young Marty learned the power of humour as a way to connect, comfort, and cope.

He didn’t set out to become a global star. In fact, he originally planned to work in social work. But talent has a way of insisting on being seen, and soon he found himself on the stages of SCTV, surrounded by a constellation of Canadian comedic brilliance: Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara, Andrea Martin, John Candy, and Rick Moranis.

Those early years weren’t just a training ground — they were a creative explosion. Characters like Ed Grimley and Jiminy Glick weren’t just funny; they were unforgettable. And they carried Marty straight into the heart of American comedy, including Saturday Night Live and a long list of iconic film roles.

What sets Martin Short apart isn’t just his talent — it’s his kindness.

Colleagues describe him as generous, collaborative, and endlessly encouraging. He lifts others up. He shares the spotlight. He treats every project, big or small, with the same enthusiasm and professionalism.

And through it all, he has remained unmistakably Canadian: humble, self‑deprecating, and grounded.

His Order of Canada — one of our country’s highest honours — isn’t just a recognition of his career. It’s a recognition of his character.

The new documentary captures Marty’s life with the same blend of humour and heart that defines his work.

And for us here in British Columbia, there’s a special delight: parts of the film were shot at the Vancouver Aquarium — a beautiful nod to the West Coast and a reminder of how deeply Canadian Marty remains, even after decades in Hollywood.

This is a wonderful documentary that will show the tragedy in his life and his love for friends and family.

The quiet work that keeps people fed

Yesterday around 4 PM, I headed out for a short walk to Fresh Street Market, my local grocery store. It was one of those ordinary errands — the kind you don’t expect to turn into anything memorable.

On my way there, I noticed a small group of people standing and talking on the sidewalk. Nothing unusual, just neighbours chatting, though there was quite a bit of “stuff” scattered around them. Rather than weave through, I took the staircase beside the sidewalk and carried on.

I didn’t think much of it.

But on my way back, the scene came into focus.

The van was still there, its back hatch wide open. Two women were sitting on the edge, chatting and smiling as people came and went. As I walked past, one of them called out kindly, “Do you need any food?”

I had just picked up what I needed from Fresh Street, so I said, “No, thank you.” But then I glanced inside the van — and that’s when everything clicked.

It was full of food. Good food. Marked‑down items that grocery stores can’t sell once they pass their “best before” date. Perfectly edible, perfectly useful, and too often destined for the dump.

So I asked the question that immediately came to mind: “Did this come from Brad?”

They smiled. “Yes!”

My nephew Brad, along with the Queen Elizabeth Lions Club, spends countless hours collecting food that would otherwise be thrown away. The food bank won’t take it because of the dates — even though “best before” doesn’t mean “bad after.” So these volunteers step in.

They drive to local grocery stores, load up their trucks, and take the food directly into the community.

Churches. Parking lots. Food cupboards around the lower mainland. Wherever people need it.

They have a huge message network: when a load comes in, volunteers are called, and within hours the food is out where it belongs — in people’s kitchens, not in landfills.

I recognized one of the women in the blue top; I’d met her before. She and her partner were planning to stay another 30 minutes in the Fresh Street parking lot before moving on to another location. Everything was free. No questions. No judgment. Just take what you need.

When I first passed by earlier, people were already going through the van, choosing groceries for their families. Working people. Seniors. Anyone who needed a little help.

Brad always says, “Working people are poor.” And he’s right. Seniors on fixed incomes can’t always afford fresh, healthy food. Families with two jobs still struggle to keep up with rising costs. And here are volunteers — unpaid, unseen, uncelebrated — making sure people can eat a proper meal.

Later, I sent a picture to Brad and his wife Maria. Maria replied almost immediately: “I got rid of an entire truck load today in Ladner!”

One truckload. One community. One day.

It’s easy to forget how many people are quietly doing good in the world. No headlines. No speeches. Just compassion in action.

Yesterday’s walk reminded me that kindness doesn’t always look grand. Sometimes it’s a van in a parking lot, a few volunteers in folding chairs, and a simple question offered with dignity:

“Do you need any food?”

Because I said so!

I read a few blogs.  Wayne Cox has a wonderful blog.  He only posts on Sunday's but this weeks blog was excellent.  We never had the same parents, but they sure thought alike:

It seems that for a certain generation, “things parents said” seems universal. I thought it was just my parents, but it turns out everyone my age was hearing the same things. Whether they were threats or warnings, they were well-meaning, I’m sure.

Let me start with one of the classics. “Because I said so.” I’m chuckling just reading it. “Because I said so” is an obvious admission that your parents couldn’t think of a good reason for whatever they had just told you to do, or the command that had been given didn’t need a reason. Either way, just do it. It has stuck in my head all these years. I’m hoping I never said that to my kids!

Or how about this one: “Close the door, were you born in a barn?” For a kid from the city, like me, I could only assume that barn doors were never closed. But the message was clear: close the door!

How about this threat: “Wait till your father gets home!” My thoughts go back to Larry Mondello on the Leave It to Beaver television show. His mother was always threatening him with that phrase. How unfair to poor old Dad. He’d worked all day, and the moment he walked in the door, he was hit with every household problem and the task of disciplining some kid who had been acting up.  

In the violence department, some of my favourites are “Don’t be swinging that around, you could take an eye out!” And “Someone is going to end up getting hurt” (or crying.) Someone was always about to break their neck! “Pick that up before somebody trips on it and breaks their neck!” And “If you don't stop crying, I'll give you something to cry about!”

In this classic, the name is interchangeable: “If Billy jumped off a bridge, would you?” The bridge could be a building, a cliff, or any other place that would result in a horrible ending. It was a rhetorical question that always gave pause for thought.

The list continues. “Don’t sit so close to the TV, you’ll go blind.”  Really? That apparently was the main cause of blindness back then. And while we’re in the optical department, how about “Eating carrots will improve your eyesight.” I never asked for medical proof on this one; I just went along with it. A number of sources point out that there is a connection between carrots and eyesight because carrots contain beta-carotene, and the body uses beta-carotene to make vitamin A, which helps the eyes connect to the brain. So there was some truth to it.

“Don’t make that face, or your face will stay like that!” Now that’s a pretty serious affliction. Was there any medical or scientific evidence to back this up? It was a pretty scary thought.

This one may have only been peculiar to my family. Whenever any of us wanted something and asked Dad for it, the answer inevitably would be, “Someday.” “Some day” was a kinder, gentler way of saying it’s never going to happen. I think it stemmed from not having much disposable income. The request was usually for a new bike or a trip somewhere, so “some day” always kept hope alive that one day, some day, it just might happen. “Some day” would come at the same time as “I guess I’ll just go pick some money off the money tree in the backyard!”

I was always told, “If you're too sick to go to school, you're too sick to play outside.” Which is in the same department as “No dessert until you finish your dinner.” I think I must have missed many desserts when I was a kid; there always seemed to be too much tuna casserole on my plate! I tried a version of that on the boys when they were young. My version was, “You can’t get down from the table and play till you’ve finished your dinner.” That backfired a little as I recall. I found out how stubborn Tyler really was. He wouldn’t finish eating his dinner, so he sat and sat and sat so long that he fell asleep! Now what? I couldn’t leave him there all night. Unknowingly, he won that round.

“Say ‘pardon me,’ not what!” That one would always elicit a smart- aleck response: “What?” I know it was just an attempt at making you more polite, but was the origin from someone who found the word “what” annoying?

Speaking of words, how about this one: “There’s no such word as can’t.” That must have been very puzzling to a young person learning the English language.

Over the years, I’ve learned many valuable lessons in life, like how I would forget my head if it wasn’t attached to my shoulders, and how would I know I didn’t like something if I hadn’t tried it. And never touch anything on the ground, because I don’t know where it’s been!

And if I can leave you with just one piece of advice this Sunday morning, it would be this: “Always wear clean underwear in case you get in an accident.”