Boxing Day

Happy holidays, everyone--including today. The post-holiday shopping season started today up here, but many people (including those who work at my gym) have today off. In fact, the gym was open until noon on the 24th but is closed all day today. Boxing Day is serious business north of 49.

We have had enough snow here in the past few days to repair damages from the rain that took out much of our previous snow. The skiing today was good. There's only one tree newly down (joining about ten others on various paths), and it doesn't completely block the way.

The turkey carcass has been cooked to within an inch of its life and is now resting comfortably in a garbage bag; the soup and stock is safely stowed in the fridge and freezer. Holiday treats have disappeared, for the most part. Those that aren't gone by the time I'm doing dishes tonight are outta here, too.

Sons and ex-husbands have headed home; babies have returned from their other households. Post-holiday trips, either home or for family visits, are underway.

In other words, the holidays are over (for the most part) and we all survived them.

In a year like this one, it just doesn't get much better than this. No matter what side of the border you're on.

"Newsmaker" of the Year

It's time for the "wrap-up" stories--the biggest newsmakers, biggest celebrity disasters, ten most important news stories you don't know about, etc. In the U.S., Time chose Vladimir Putin as its Person of the Year. Maclean's chose Conrad Black. Time Canada chose--the loonie.

Yep, thanks to the credit crunch in the U.S., the loonie had a banner year. Compared to the U.S. greenback, the loonie is worth more, although its actual purchasing power in international markets apparently isn't all that different. However, what has mattered (to me) in 2007 is that the loonie's rise and fall seems inversely related to where I need to have money. When I'm bringing money over to Canada, the loonie rises and I "lose" on the exchange rate. When I have money in Canada to use for bills in the U.S., the loonie falls.

Thank goodness it's hanging around close to par these days. The banks still have to get their share, and nothing that's "equal" really is so. Still, I have less mental arithmetic to do, and that's always good.

My Particular Location or All Over?

I've written about this phenomenon before: When you're in a foreign country, when you notice something different, you're not sure whether it's unique to your location or if it applies to the country as a whole.

Recently I've had Christmas on my mind. No surprise, right? In the U.S., it's quite the secular holiday as well as a religious one. Still, at each company where I worked (or with each client) in the U.S., we made the effort to talk about this as "the holiday season." I even had a caller wish me a Happy Kwanzaa once--not something you hear much about in the rural parts of highly Catholic northern New Mexico, but I appreciated the thought nonetheless.

Up here, the holiday seems much the same. Also no surprise, right? Two sides of the same coin, right?

Well, maybe. Here, the local TV station has created this "elf" called "Murray Christmas," who is our "guide to Christmas television specials." They've been playing all week and will continue through the 25th. And they're all Christmas. Nothing about "the religions of Abraham meeting at this holiday season" or some such.

The TV station did acknowledge Hannukah with little 15-second public service announcement-type spots showing a menorah with lit candles (one for each night of the holiday). Since Kwanzaa hasn't started, I don't yet know whether it will be part of the "holiday season" up here. I also haven't seen anything acknowledging Native traditions at this time of year--but perhaps I don't know where to look.

My point is that people here--in Thunder Bay--seem less squeamish about saying "Merry Christmas" upfront. There's less hoop-de-do about separating Church and State. There's less concern for offending someone by wishing them a happy specific holiday.

However, that may be just Thunder Bay. In southern Ontario, which is a far more diverse part of the country, companies still have "holiday parties" at this time of year. Perhaps there, people feel more pressure to acknowledge other traditions.

So again, it's not just the country itself--it's where in the country you live. People in New York City might be very surprised by the prevalence of "Jesus is the reason for the season" in the rural parts of the country or in the American South. And once again, generalizations often aren't valid--including that one.

Another brush with healthcare

I still think the Canadian healthcare system works well for people who tend to be healthy and for those who are very sick. I'm lucky enough to have little experience in between.

Last week, I developed an infection and decided to go to the walk-in clinic sooner rather than later. I don't have a family physician; they are in short supply in this area and I am one of those who tend to be healthy. After waiting for a couple of hours, I got in to see the physician. This was my third time to see him, all for sinus-infection-type ailments. It was speedy, but thorough. He talks quickly but also listens. He mentioned a few things to watch for if the antibiotics he was prescribing didn't help--and he talked with me at length about the type of antibiotic he was using and why, which is reassuring to those of us who are allergic to penicillin.

I had my prescription filled at the pharmacy in the same building. The pharmacist made sure I knew the instructions for the medication and told me some more about the type of antibiotic. He even mentioned the types of side effects that were normal.

So I was prepared for my mouth to taste a lot like dirty feet. Which it still does, because I'm still taking these honkin' big antibiotic pills. But my infection cleared almost as if by magic after 48 hours.

People on this side of the border (and south of it, as well) either beatify or vilify the Canadian healthcare system. (That's actually a misnomer--each province administers its own system, which must meet certain federal guidelines.) In any case, the truth about the healthcare system, of course, lies somewhere in between heaven and hell.

Now, if pharmaceutical companies could just develop antibiotics that don't leave that godawful aftertaste...

Uncle Sam, Meet...Uh

That's a close-up of part of the World War II memorial in Washington, DC. (Its motto: Nothing exceeds like excess.) (OK, I stole that from my sister, but it's true of that memorial, too.)

Over the weekend, my sister and I were chatting about the U.S. government (specifically about lying to the government, in a purely hypothetical way, of course, but that's another story). It occurred to me that Americans routinely refer to their federal government as "Uncle Sam." On April 15, income tax day, they talk about "paying Uncle Sam." And, of course, Uncle Sam "wants you" to join the military.

But there's no equivalent north of the 49th parallel. People don't talk about paying the Prime Minister or the Queen. Most political cartoons about Canada point a finger at a specific politician or other public figure instead of personifying the entire country.

How significant is this lack of persona? Is it part of an ongoing discussion of identity? Does it signify a country too diverse to be embodied in one figure? Does it show the position of Canada on the world stage--and is that position "blocked by Uncle Sam"?

Just thinking. Not trying to imply anything. Really.

Calamities

I generally don't write or say much about incidents like the shooting at the Nebraska mall. Really, what is there to say?

Of course incidents like that affect me. I lived in Colorado during the shootings at Columbine high school; I had left Arkansas by the time the students were shot in Jonesboro, but I still felt a connection to that world. The Oklahoma City bombing also hit close to home--I had left Oklahoma, but my brother worked (still does) at a hospital there. At the time, I myself worked at a federal institution, and that was back in the days when physical security in public areas was minimal.

But in each case, I felt I really had nothing to offer to the discussion. The September 11 attacks in 2001 were just another instance where I felt no desire to say anything.

Similarly, I don't really know what to make of the Nebraska shooting, especially at this geographical and cultural distance. Nobody I see "out and about" has mentioned it to me personally. Some ladies at the gym alluded to it in a sort of "isn't that terrible way." However, they didn't know each other well enough to offer a statement that could be controversial--like "those Americans and their guns" or even "kids today."

Although Thunder Bay has its share of people who support the Canadian national gun registry, a few people also come from frontier stock just a generation or two back. The United Church as an institution generally favo(u)rs more gun restrictions; the congregation I go to supports that position but includes people who own a gun, wouldn't dream of getting rid of it, and think the registry is a waste of time and money.

Still, "all Americans love guns" is one of the less-often-spoken assumptions I come up against up here. I have a sense that Canadians assume that an American who doesn't own a gun would get one but just hasn't gotten around to it.

It's puzzling to me, all of it--the desire to own a gun, the assumption that Americans are gun-happy, the whole situation. Guns just aren't on my radar. I've never owned a gun--for all the swim meets I went to, I've never even shot a starting pistol. I'm not comfortable with it. I don't understand the desire to own a gun--what the hell would I do with a gun? Still, I don't think all people who do own them are horrible people just asking for trouble.

If anything, the local response to the shooting in Nebraska--and other shootings in other spots across the U.S.--may have been colo(u)red by an incident in Thunder Bay last spring. May 1, a local high school student threatened harm and caused the high schools to be locked down until he was found and arrested. At the time, I was just home from my father's illness and funeral, so I wasn't out in the community much. But I do know that there was some of the "how could that happen here?" surprise.

I wrote about the Nebraska shooting today because it's hard to allow large stories like that to pass without comment. But this is all I really have to say: I would hope, especially since that incident in May, that locals now see the Nebraska shooting in a different way--that the incident is not about guns per se, but instead is about desperate, unhappy young people in pain whose only tool for handling that pain is a gun.

And we, in our societies of plenty on both sides of the border, should be able to give everyone better tools than that.

A Head-Scratcher

Kurt Browning, one of Canada's most famous and accomplished figure skaters, is currently starring in a Toronto stage production of Peter Pan.

For those who know the figure skating world only through the U.S. skater Scott Hamilton, well, Kurt looks a whole lot like Scott. Especially near the top of the head. Which brings me to just a little problem I have with this whole thing.

Setting aside the whole tiresome concept (not to mention the even more tiresome reality) of "boys who refuse to grow up," Peter Pan is a charming and slightly eerie story. In the story, Peter is a boy. Not a balding man of middle age, no matter how puckish and winsome.

I know that the role of Peter Pan is often played by a woman, which I don't really understand, either. And I'm not "against" balding men. I enjoy seeing people perform in roles that weren't necessarily written to their physical specifications (such as Denzel Washington as Gray Grantham in The Pelican Brief). Furthermore, I'm sure Kurt brings a great deal of joy and energy to this role.

The visual, however, is something I can't quite wrap my mind around.

Woe is Weather

(We've had about 8 inches of snow since this photo was taken from the deck--plus lots of wind, which has created bigger drifts.) I suppose it's not surprising that weather is a big topic of discussion in a country this large, especially because the country reaches "from sea to sea to sea," as they say.

However, people in central Canada seem to have mixed feelings about the country's weather. For the past few weeks, Canada AM has run features about preparing for the traditional wintry weather. Last weekend's tri-part storm is still making the news, in part because the aftereffects (flooding and continued rain) are so devastating in the "Pacific Southwest." Do they dread it? Are they proud of it? I can't always tell.

When I moved here, people loved to tell me how difficult I would find their winters. Even when I said I'd lived in Colorado for nearly 10 years, they rolled their eyes and told me horror stories about how much worse it would be here. It's as if they didn't want me to succeed at (a) learning to live with the winters here or (b) enjoying myself during winters. For a nation that has a reputation for being polite, these diatribes seemed awfully unfriendly.

I've since decided talking about the weather with locals is like talking about your extended in-laws. Only family members can say bad things about their own family. You are not allowed to do more than agree with some statements--and it's better if your response is "mmm" instead of an enthusiastic "yeah, I hate it when she...."

And I can understand that attitude. After all, I chose to live here, so I really can't complain. Plus, I actually knew full well what I could be getting into. All during my growing-up years, my mother (much like the Canadians I met here three years ago) made dark and dire comments about "snow on the ground from Thanksgiving till Memorial Day--and that's Canadian Thanksgiving!" She never really caught on that the development of fleece and windproof outerwear would make it fun to play in the snow.

Still, I was plenty nervous about moving here, and I was glad for my five years in the New Mexico mountains, plus ten years (give or take) in Colorado. In New Mexico, I learned to drive a manual transmission car in snow in a hilly town. (Driving in snow is possible; driving in the ice of my native Oklahoma is something else again.) In Colorado, I learned the differences between ranges of cold temperatures--after a few days of zero to ten F, "freezing" weather feels substantially warmer because it is some 30 degrees warmer (duh). In both places, I learned that a little snow doesn't necessarily bring life to a halt.

Mostly, in three autumns here and plenty of years before those, I've learned that my attitude makes all the difference in how I experience winter. The snow this year came earlier than I anticipated it would. I wasn't very well prepared in some ways. However, I have adjusted. It helps to have the right accessories--boots, scarves, mittens, socks.

But mostly, I have only to see the beauty in the falling snow and in the crisp sunny days, look out my window to watch the buck gnawing at the sticks of the lilac bush, and remember that today's snow slush and muck becomes next summer's lake. And that makes all the scraping of windshields well worth it.

Scandal, Outrage Part Deux

The whole purpose for this post is this photo, from the Korean War memorial in Washington, DC. I could have exchanged it for the woodpile photo in the previous post but I like that picture, too. So you get to see both.

Anyway, COINS STAIN seems like a pretty good motto for life as a whole. Certainly it's an excellent basic principle for politicians to keep in mind--even politicians other than Brian Mulroney.

It's a Scandal, It's an Outrage

That's part of the woodpile--some of the new wood from this past summer. Over the weekend, three separate storm systems hit Canada. A "pineapple express" from Hawaii dumped snow and rain in BC. A Colorado something-or-other brought central Canada snow and wind. And something else ended up in southern Ontario and Atlantic Canada. "Pineapple express" wins in the naming department, obviously.

Finally, the weather has changed the news cycle. All we've been hearing recently is allegations from a soon-to-be-deported German national that he has information to spill about former Prime Minister Brian Mulroney. Apparently Mr. Mulroney is bribe-able, to the tune of $300,000 (down from the original deal for $500,000 when Mr. Mulroney didn't deliver on his promise). Furthermore, it was delivered in cash in restaurants--the very stuff of movies. And Mr. Mulroney won a $2 million libel lawsuit a few years ago when similar allegations surfaced but couldn't be proven--and the government paid him that $2 million.

Pretty nifty, getting money from foreign business interests to influence policy AND from the government when they said so but couldn't prove it.

So there's been a lot of yapping back and forth about these allegations and what should happen about this potential deportee. Friday was a big meeting: the House of Commons ethics committee interviewed this German national, who bears an unfortunate resemblance to Colonel Klink but has a lot more media savvy. According to the Maclean's National Editor, Andrew Coyne, Friday's session produced some interesting allegations.

However, a few weeks ago, Coyne, in an opinion piece in the print version of the magazine that I can't find online (sorry), also said that if a former U.S. President were alleged to have accepted a bribe, an thorough investigation into the matter would have been launched.

I had to laugh. Investigations are important south of 49 only to pursue the public's prurient interest in cigars (in the 1990s) and secret identities of agents (in this millennium). When the nation's leaders send troops to kill people, based on lies insisted upon and promulgated by a sitting president, nobody cares.

Maybe Andrew Coyne should move south of the border and try to interest the public in that story. Certainly this scandal--and I'm not making light of it, though I don't think it involves the current government and Prime Minister as much as the Liberal opposition wishes it did--is getting plenty of coverage. Is it a candidate for Absurd-istan? Not yet. (Again: it's my world; I get to decide.)

Still: Thank God for La Nina and the Pineapple Express!!

However You Label It...

That was this morning's sunrise, at about 8:40. It's hard to know exactly because of the cloudbank at the horizon and because the sun is so far to the south that it's obscured behind the cliff. But there you have it.

If it looks cold, that's because it is. How cold? The number depends on the system you use to measure it. Up here, Celsius is the name of the game. I still have to mentally translate from Fahrenheit. And by the way, my mother's rule of thumb to go from C to F, which was "multiple by two and add 30," doesn't work at extremes. For example, 30 C isn't really 90 F--it's something in the 80s--but it's still hot, relatively speaking.

Similarly, this morning was cold. In fact, it was ten below zero at 7:30 this morning. That measurement happens to be in F. It sounds even more impressive in C: about 23 below. But you know, it doesn't really matter. It's freaking cold.

An addendum to the pronunciation discussion: I found a letter from my father to the rest of the family, describing a 1970s-era visit from relatives to the family up here. Our cousin had brought tomatoes from southern Ontario.

According to my father, my mother called them "toe-MAY-toes." Our cousin, southern Ontario born and bred, said "toe-MAH-toes." And to my aunt, who was born in Europe and emigrated to Canada just before World War II, they were "toe-MATT-oes."

Whatever. Here in the cold, I can close my eyes and remember one of the best flavo(u)rs of summer: a BLT of pea-meal bacon and field tomatoes on locally made wheat bread spread with butter. Mmmmmm.

Yikes. I was just startled from my vision of summers past by three deer bounding past, enjoying the snow. Yep, this is paradise.

Say What?

Recently, I've been catching some crap for how I talk. That's nothing new--in second grade (up here they call it "Grade 2"), my friends coached me to speak properly. I learned to say the word "borrow" as "BAH-roe" instead of "BORE-oh," and "tomorrow" became "to-MAH-roe" instead of "to-MORE-oh." According to these Oklahoma gals, I had learned to "talk funny," presumably because of my "foreign mother."

Imagine our family's surprise when we realized that everyone in Thunder Bay shared our mother's idiosyncratic pronunciations. In fact, the folks up here sounded weirder. Everyone here says "PASS-ta" for pasta, as my mother did. However, she'd lost the tendency to say "BATT-ree" for battery, which is normal here. I never heard her pronounce "corollary" as "kuh-RAW-luh-ree" instead of "CORE-oh-lair-ee"--also normal in these parts.

Roy informed me last week that the Premier of Ontario isn't the "pre-MEER," he's the "PRE-meer."

Those decals you put on your car windows are "DECK-els," not "duh-KALS."

You say "roof" with your lips pursed--I invariably say "woof" instead--instead of tending toward the short "u" sound, as in "rut." Also, "route" doesn't rhyme with "about"--think "root," those things plants send underground. Only not "root" as I've heard is pronounced down south, which also tends to "rut."

Canadians, of course, are all polite and most strangers, therefore, don't give me crap about my accent to my face. However, sometimes they can't help themselves. When I was ordering the tray of Nanaimo bars for our wedding, the woman at the deli asked me to repeat myself several times and finally said, "I'm sorry; your accent throws me off."

MY accent? She was kidding, right? I'll just sit in my office (view in the photo) and ponder that.

Watching the Big Game

Not the kind of "big game" featured at left. That photo, by the way, was taken out of my office window. The doe and her daughter were about 10 yards away. Have I mentioned that I live in paradise?

No, the Big Game I'm talking about is the Grey Cup--the Super Bowl game of the Canadian Football League. Actually, die-hard CFL fans probably don't appreciate that analogy, and after watching some of the game last night, I can see why. The rules are different, which makes the winning strategies different.

Pundits this morning are saying that yesterday's game wasn't pretty. Only a little more than 1/3 of the passes attempted were completed. The losing quarterback was intercepted three times. However, as is true in the Super Bowl, what matters is who won.

The winners were the Saskatchewan Rough Riders. I had picked them over the Winnipeg Blue Bombers because my maternal grandfather's folk come from Grenfell, Saskatchewan, and some cousins apparently still live in the area. I can't name a player on the team, and in fact I was reading a mind-candy cop novel at the same time the game was on (some things just don't change), so I'm using the phrase "watching the game" only loosely here. Still, I feel a little as if I've participated, slightly, in Something Important to All of Canada.

And yes, that's the kind of rhetoric they use to talk about this game. You think Super Bowl Sunday is a big deal--you should be in Canada during the Grey Cup Extravagannnnnnza. The pre-game festivities, covered on the national morning show, Canada A.M., started on Thursday. Thursday. Yes, Thursday. The hosts were saying things like, "With the big game just over 72 hours away, fans are congregating in Toronto. And oh yeah, a lot of us are shopping south of the border, too. Oh, and there might be some kind of peace summit next week."

So, to those south of 49 who think Canada is a country with some Higher Consciousness because of the whole socialized medicine thing, think again. Canada isn't going to meet Kyoto targets, and the Prime Minister last week put the kibosh on a new international agreement about climate change. This haven for American draft dodgers during the late 1960s, the country that didn't support the U.S. foray into Iraq, has troops fighting, and dying, in Afghanistan. And oh yeah: they make a production out of football, too.

Which leaves me feeling, today at least, that the two countries are more the same than they are different. But that's today.

Separated by History

Many Canadian and American holidays are roughly analogous: Armistice Day/Veterans Day, Christmas, New Year's Day, etc. There are, of course, a few exceptions: no President's Day up here, for obvious reasons. No July 4 celebration up here, ditto--but we have a similar celebration July 1.

One of the most different holidays is Thanksgiving. If I lived 50 miles south, today I'd be stuffing myself with turkey and dozing in front of football games (or coming up with something holiday-ish to do that I actually enjoy). But up here, today is pretty much a day like any other.

However, today is a good day to be thankful--as is every day. This year, I'm particularly grateful not to be an only child. The photo shows the rest of my family, having fun before I was born.

Anomaly or Always?

When you're living in a relatively new place, you expect some differences. Other differences catch you by surprise. And then there are the differences that you don't know how to classify mentally. You wonder if this situation you're experiencing is typical of your new home or if it's something that hardly ever happens but you just happened to catch it.

For example, I'm in the market for nonfat cheese. (I know--not really food, nothing I'd want to put in my body, blah blah. Sometimes ya gotta.) I shop at a chain grocery store that's more or less in my neighborhood, given that I live in the country. It's a Safeway, the one my parents always went to. It is not the newest, biggest Safeway in town. It's not the coolest grocery store. But I know where things are. And it's convenient to what used to be downtown, where one of my banks still is.

Anyway, I can't find any nonfat cheese. And I don't know if it's simply not available at that particular Safeway, or if it's not available generally in Thunder Bay but might be available in southern Ontario or Vancouver, or if it's not available in Canada. Maybe they call it something else up here. Maybe they know nonfat cheese isn't really a food and they sell it at another store.

Of course, I could go to the biggest, newest Safeway and look. I could scope out the other chains. I could go to the specialty market and risk experiencing their disdain when I ask for this nonfood item. And maybe I will, eventually, do one or some of those. Meanwhile, I wonder.

This is just a silly example--a little thing. But sometimes those are the most difficult parts of adjusting to a new place. The little things wear on you.

And by the way, the sunset is no anomaly. It pretty much always looks like the photo. Not to gloat or anything.

EDITED to add: That might actually be a sunrise. The sky to the east gets pink both times.

Saturday or Sunday? It's a Little Thing

The BIG newspaper of the week in this country is the Saturday paper. In the U.S., it's the Sunday paper. You wouldn't think one day's difference would matter, but it does.

For years, I wasn't a church-goer. Sunday morning meant reading the paper, front to back, with coffee. Sometimes I could handle watching a morning political show at the same time, sometimes not. (It depended on whether I was shouting follow-up questions at the TV.) Still, a leisurely cup (or four) of coffee while reading features about travel, books, home renovations--even gardening--was a luxurious break for the week.

Each weekend day has a unique flavo(u)r. For me, Saturday was about chores, the "should have dones." Sunday was about possibilities, the "could still do's." It was a fresh start, a new week, a time to broaden my intellectual horizons with the newspaper. Admittedly, some of my hometown papers were more stimulating than others, but still.

Of course, my life is different now. Every day is a work day, but every day is a holiday when you're semi-retired from outside work and focusing on writing, as I now am. My life is different, but so is everybody's: you and I could browse the New York Times online every day. (Usually I find I don't have that kind of time.) A lot of interesting content is available online, and you don't have to wash your hands after you read it.

Newspapers still hold their appeal, though. During my recent visit to Washington DC, reading the Post thoroughly on Wednesday was a ton of fun.

Here, the Saturday paper carries the display ads with the big jobs. It has the local features, the Canadian Press content (renovations, recipes, entertainment, decorating), and all the funky classified ads. Most important, the local editorial page carries the "Thumbs up, Thumbs down" feature in which readers write in to chastise or praise their neighbo(u)rs and local organizations. It's hugely popular.

The Sunday paper does have the big crossword puzzle. But if you're looking for a new house, car, or job--or if you want to run an obituary when everyone will see it--buy the Saturday paper.

Culture shock isn't always about the big differences. You can prepare yourself somewhat for the big ones. Sometimes it's a very small thing that gives an entirely different rhythm to your life in a new country.

Nonlethal Weapon?

I've been thinking a lot about the phrase "nonlethal weapon."

For those of you who have not yet heard, last month a non-English-speaking Polish man who flew to Canada to visit his mother died in the Vancouver airport after a skirmish with border agents in which they used a taser to subdue him. Yesterday, a video of the incident, taken by a bystander, was finally released to the media (after being in the hands of the RCMP for awhile) and apparently has made its way around the world.

A lot of people in this country are talking about this incident, from members of Parliament to phone-in radio shows on CBC to people at the gym. I've heard several people say that cops, including border patrol agents and the RCMP, have a lot of people breathing down their necks and shouldn't be second-guessed. People have also said that the video released could not possibly show the entire incident (the man was at the airport for 10 hours, for some reason) and we don't yet know the full story. Et cetera.

Naturally, lots of people say that this incident is out of character for Canadians, that we shouldn't assume that frustrated people in airport are terrorists (implication: like the U.S. does), that we don't use deadly force, we're a peaceful, cosmopolitan people who think first and act second. Et cetera.

Apparently, the video does show the actual use of the taser, and some comments point out that the man was trying to cooperate when it was used. Others wonder why the officials didn't use CPR or other first aid measures when the man was down, obviously subdued, and in obvious pain. The video also shows the man's death.

A lot of the discussion focuses on tasers--how much do we know about them, how can they be lethal, and when is it appropriate for them to be used.

I can't watch the video; it's not something I can handle right now. I'm happy to know that several different investigations into the incident are underway, finally. I'm very very happy that people are talking about the incident instead of pretending it didn't happen.

And I'm thinking about nonlethal weapons. I know I'm incredibly naive about conflict, especially physical conflict. I don't even like it when words are used as weapons, but I've done it. I hate it when people with educational degrees use the letters after their name to intimidate others. In a conflict, I tend to try to make my position plain by my actions--I have physically left situations in which a conflict seems impossible to resolve, rather than continue to wound with words. I also cut off contact with institutions and organizations whose actions I can't support. As for physical conflict? Forget about it. I don't do it.

So my thinking about nonlethal weapons, like tasers, is purely hypothetical.

On one hand, I can see how it would be nice for law enforcement officers to have a way to immobilize someone who's out of control in a way that doesn't put the officers in danger. Bar fights in movies usually conclude with bigger people grabbing the fighters from behind and holding them down until they stop struggling. The people breaking up the fight almost always take a punch in the process. And you really can't tell when someone will break out another weapon--a knife, a gun. I can see why officers don't want to do that.

On the other hand, if you had a weapon that you believed to be 100% safe, I can see turning to it too often and in situations when it's not appropriate. Maybe you're a cop holding a line at a demonstration, and someone is in your face, yelling at you. There's no physical violence--yet. Words and other traditional policing methods would surely be enough to handle the situation. But I can see that a cop in that situation would be tempted to pull out the taser to de-fuse the situation more quickly and to reduce the chance of the situation becoming more violent. And I don't think that's appropriate.

I'm sure the RCMP, the border agents, and other organizations that use tasers have guidelines for appropriate use, and I doubt this particular incident in Vancouver will turn out to be an appropriate use. I'm also sure that a lot of situations come up in which officers have to respond in seconds to a situation that they don't fully understand.

But at the end of the day, a man who spoke no English, who flew to Vancouver to visit his mother, is dead. And the mother grieves. And that's not right.

Serious: A Good Thing

Because I know everyone is interested in my opinion on Hillary Clinton (cough)....(And that's the newish World War II memorial at left.)

A local columnist, unfortunately unavailable online--one who ostensibly writes about TV but who is also interested in politics--recently opined that Hillary Clinton is a humo(u)rless robot. He's entitled to his opinion and likely cares little about mine. Nevertheless, I can't just LET IT GO.

I think he's mistaken, for at least three reasons.

First, Senator Clinton's perceived warmth factor suffers primarily because she spends a lot of time with one of the most gregarious politicians ever. A pack of golden retrievers in the middle of a patch of doggy treats would look cold next to President Clinton. A regular person doesn't stand a chance.

Second, Senator Clinton is busy inhaling and processing information. Even today, in 2007, she has to meet a higher standard of knowledge than the men she is running against. The bar is still set higher for women, and women face challenges that men don't. (For example--has President Bush given British Prime Minister Gordon Brown a shoulder rub, the way he did Angela Merkel? Why do powerful women still have to even think about that kind of crap?) If Senator Clinton's campaign for U.S. President is successful, perhaps that situation will change, but today, it's still true. She's so busy that she has no time to deliver a stand-up routine.

Finally, Senator Clinton is serious. Not humo(u)rless--serious. It's easy to forget what serious looks like, eight years into the Frat Boy Presidency. Even if the standard of seriousness hadn't plummeted through the floor during Bush's terms in office, Senator Clinton might still be considered "too serious." It's hard to tell. Even if she were, she has plenty of reason to err on the side of serious instead of har-de-har-har. Remember Howard Dean? One misperceived, unfortunate "yee-haw" that played poorly on television, and he's toast. In the U.S. Presidential campaign, there's very little room for mistakes, and the Senator has less room than the men she's running against (see point above).

I am not an FOH, particularly. In fact, I'm somewhat more irked than usual at Senator Clinton because she keeps implying (wrongly) that the Canadian border is leaking terrorists into the U.S. And what's more, she's (wait for it) overall not liberal enough for me.

However, Senator Clinton is by far the most intelligent person I've met. To date. (I'm still hoping to have a conversation with former U.N. Ambassador Stephen Lewis someday.) I think she's even more intelligent than her husband, and that's saying something.

No, I'm not buddies with either Clinton. My "professional" path crossed in small ways with both of theirs (independently) when I lived in Arkansas. No big deal--it's a small state; it happened to lots of flunkies like me.

Senator Clinton has the potential to be a reasonable President. Of course, other candidates would bring other strengths to the Oval Office.

But I hope that whoever wins that office next year brings to it the seriousness of purpose that the office deserves to have--the seriousness it's lacked for seven years. Because God help us all if s/he doesn't.

Conventions, North and South

(That's the Lincoln Memorial at left.) This weekend, a local newspaper columnist (unavailable online, sorry) suggested that the U.S. Democratic Party should embrace Stephen Colbert's candidacy in South Carolina. One of his reasons was that having Colbert address the Democratic Convention, especially as an actual candidate in South Carolina, would get people to watch the convention coverage.

I think the columnist is confused about what happens at the nominating conventions in the U.S.: that is, basically, nothing.

In Canada, leadership conventions like the one the Liberals held last fall are actual deal-making events. Last year, it took several ballots before the Liberal party elected its current leader--the man who will be Prime Minister if the Liberals ever get enough members elected during a national election. At the convention, at least four candidates were considered to be serious contenders going into the event. Delegates were solemnly polled before and after each speech and each vote. Candidates ceremonially threw their support to front-runners. The whole thing was a big deal, and I sat in front of it for the entire weekend because both of our "good" 2.5 channels covered it, start to finish. I can't say this often enough: It was a big deal.

In the U.S., each party's candidate is a known quantity by May, at the latest, for the November election. The convention is in August. The early decision tradition may be relatively new--since JFK--but it's as firmly entrenched as the "red state/blue state" labels. In fact, it's a sign of problems in a party if the candidate ISN'T obvious soon after the earliest primaries, which will be in February of 2008.

That's why states keep trying to get their primaries earlier and earlier in the year--so they can get attention and be part of the selection process. There's nothing less interesting to the members of a political party in a state than to vote in a primary, after the party's candidate has, essentially, been selected already.

So, let's pretend the Democratic National Convention in August of 2008 is something other than a giant pep rally for the upcoming election season. Let's say that two votes are required to select the next nominee for President of the U.S. Guess how the media would cover it? The story would become "the Democratic Party is in serious disarray--they can't decide who will be the best candidate for the most important man in the free world."

Yes, American news reporters do actually talk like that; it's easier than finding real news.

Besides, the Democrats can invite Colbert or Jon Stewart or the members of Monty Python to address the Convention. Nobody has to be anybody to get an invitation to speak. Not that the Conventions will get much TV time anyway--there are pre-season NFL games to watch, for crying out loud!

And as for the newspaper columnists's allegation that Hillary Clinton is humorless? That's not funny.

Just kidding, sorta--but it is a topic for another day.

Everyone Remembers

I said before that Remembrance Day is taken seriously here. Since Halloween, or even earlier, collars and lapels across the country have been sporting poppies. I don't have one, so I can't photograph it, and rather than borrow an image and risk copyright issues, I'll just link to one.

Everyone, and I mean almost everyone except me, wears a poppy. News anchors and other on-camera personalities, politicians, store owners, checkers at Safeway, teachers, the workers at the gym--everybody.

But today I saw poppies on two lapels that surprised me. This morning, Canada A.M. had one of its usual hard-hitting segments in the 8:30 half-hour; this one was about using makeup to look 10 years young and 5 pounds thinner. Seamus O'Regan, the interviewer, wore a poppy; the makeup artist hawking her book wore a poppy. Of course. But the models for each type of makeup also sported poppies on their shoulders in their After shots.

As for me, I don't NOT wear a poppy; I just don't wear one. I don't seek it out and I don't avoid it. I don't wear American Flag lapel pins, either; I never have.

I mean no criticism of those who choose to wear anything like that when I say this--but I really don't know why I would wear a poppy or, for example, tie a yellow ribbon to my car antenna or wear red on Friday to "support the troops." Wearing a poppy shouldn't be like showing school spirit or supporting a football team--the poppy represents the unimaginable sacrifices veterans make when they sign up to serve in the military. A poppy is NOT just another fashion accessory.

Besides, people mistake wearing poppies for caring. You can wear a poppy but begrudge veterans their subsidized housing. Poppy-wearers are among those whose votes cut veterans' benefits and pensions. Drivers sporting poppies honk at veterans hobbling through intersections. They make fun of Great-Uncle Sven, or Aldo, behind his back and roll their eyes when he wants to tell a story at Thanksgiving.

So, here's my soapbox. Take a veteran out for coffee. Spend an hour listening to her stories of deprivation, boredom, terror, and sacrifice. Do your best to be always patient and respectful to the people around you who are also enjoying the freedoms that veterans have fought for. Then wear a poppy--you've earned it.

No End in Sight

There are a million reasons to watch this documentary about the war in Iraq. As you recall, I'm not into "gotcha"-style journalism of the Michael Moore ilk. About Iraq, I've seen Frontline documentaries and CBC documentaries and I'm well past the "hey, somebody lied!" realizations.

However, I learned from No End in Sight. For example, I learned why experts with military combat experience, not to mention students of World War II, might have advised against disbanding the army.

Another thing I found fascinating, from a U.S./Canada perspective, is that so very few people with experience in the Middle East--the culture, the languages--were actually involved on the ground after the "war" was "won," during the rebuilding phase. The press secretary, for example, for the rebuilding effort had no foreign language skill.

In this country, any government position requires some French skills. Many positions require the ability to serve the public in French and English, both. And we're not even in Francophone Canada.

Ironic: Conservative America wants immigrants to the U.S. to learn English. However, when Conservative Americans "immigrate" to another country by bombing it, dismantling its infrastructure, and settling in for the duration to tell it how to run itself, they don't bother to bring any understanding of who they'll deal with.

Makes me wonder about the situation in Afghanistan.

Armi-What?

Today's photo is a shot of one of the smallest, but most meaningful, monuments in Washington, DC.

It's dedicated to the valiant soldiers from the District of Columbia who died in "The World War." That's right--the first one. Back when they thought it would be the only one. The one whose end is celebrated in Armistice Day, also known as Remembrance Day up here. Of course, the holiday, in both countries, now honors all veterans.

But still, from the "you'd never see this in the U.S. department": The Canadian Football League has agreed to push its Sunday game time to 1 p.m. so that its kickoff doesn't conflict with Armistice/Remembrance Day parades.

Entertainment taking a back seat to real life. What a concept.

Canadian Politics: Yes or No, Maybe

Get a cup of coffee. I'm talking about a complicated little dance here. (And that's the Gettysburg Address at left.)

So, politics. Although I have lived here for the better part of three years, now, I still know very little, relatively speaking, about Canadian politics. However, while I was gone, a really weird thing happened. It's weird to those of us used to the political system south of 49 and it's even unique up here. By the way, this is all federal stuff, not that the province of Ontario isn't weird enough in its own way.

The current Canadian government is a minority government. That means that the ruling party elected more members than the other parties, but not 50% or more of the total membership. So the Conservatives, led by Stephen Harper, form a government only when they have support from other parties.

Here are the totals for the main parties now:

Conservative: about 125

Liberal: about 96

Bloc: about 49

NDP: about 30

Independent: 3

There are 304 MPs now and my totals add up to 303, so someone has one more member than I counted, hence the "abouts" above. But it gives you an idea. With 304 MPs, a majority government has to have 153 members--or a minority government has to have 153 votes to get its way.

Right now, either the Bloc Quebecois or the NDP (barely) can support the Conservatives in creating a government. The Liberal party, of course, also has enough members to be the kingmaking party, but as the primary opposition party, it's not usually in their best interest to vote with the Conservatives.

Periodically, the party in power brings forward bills that are considered "confidence" bills. If they aren't passed, the government falls and the Canadians have to elect new federal representatives. Basically, it's suddenly election season, which everybody complains about as expensive and uncomfortable (especially with winter approaching). (I say that if they want expense and discomfort, they should try campaigning a full TWO YEARS before an election in winter in someplace like Iowa or New Hampshire when nobody will cough up buck$ to anyone other than a big name.)

Anyway, confidence. Usually, a confidence motion relates to money--funding the government. While I was gone, Prime Minister Harper brought forward a budget. The Bloc and NDP quickly announced that they would not support the budget. That meant that the Liberal party would be responsible for the fall of the government OR for supporting the current government--its opposition.

Aside from discomfort and expense, federal elections are risky for the two major parties because the balance of power could change dramatically. The Liberals don't want an election now because the Canadian public doesn't seem too put out with the Conservatives. There's not much chance that the Liberals would win more seats, and there's a huge chance that the Liberals would lose seats. The Conservatives might even win enough votes--if the Canadians were irritated with the Liberals for forcing an election--to have a majority government, which is way more powerful. So the Liberals couldn't oppose this budget last month and cause the government to fall.

However, they apparently couldn't support the Conservative budget, either. And for Americans, used to seven years of Democrats (not to mention the press!) caving in to support Republican harebrained schemes to e.g. bomb developing nations and continue to do so, this is the weird part. The leader of the Liberals forced all Liberals to abstain from voting on the budget--what's called a whipped abstention. Whipped abstentions are certainly oddities up here; this may have been the first one.

I think it was supposed to be a grand gesture on the part of the Liberals. An oxymoronic one, though--a gesture made up of a refusal to move off center. (Or perhaps it was just moronic.)

All I can say is, the Liberals are pretty whipped, all right. Their opposition to the Conservative government has turned into the equivalent of muttering around the water cooler but sucking up to the boss in person. And whether they consider "the boss" to be Stephen Harper's Conservative government or the Canadian voting public doesn't matter. Either way, the Liberal leader looks weak. The party has bought itself more time to regroup from losing to Harper--but it will need all the time it can get.

But then, what do I know. I think Democrats should stop funding the Iraq war, even in six-month increments, and question the very name of the Patriot Act. Neither of those has happened, either.

Which reminds me. I know when the next election will be in the U.S.--and I have a year to figure out how to vote absentee. Better start reading through the bureaucratese.

Commander/Mr. Rogers

Here are a couple of things we left behind in my father's closet.

My mother knitted him the sweater. We called it his Civil War sweater. She didn't have enough yarn of either color, so she used both, and what color combination could be more fitting for a professor of American History?

The uniform is from his Navy days, but I'm not sure which set of Navy days. I know he retired as a Commander in the U.S. Naval Reserve in the early 1970s, but I remember him going to meetings in dress whites. Perhaps this uniform coat is from that time, too. On the other hand, it might be from his days in "T.H.," the adddress on letters to him that I finally figured out stood for Territory of Hawaii. He served there, starting in February-ish of 1943, for 27 months.

Neither the coat nor the sweater captures his essence. He was neither as mild as the sweater would suggest nor as disciplined as the uniform implies.

He understood borders, though. He knew that there were some lines in the sand that you must draw for yourself and that you must thereafter abide by absolutely. He knew that positioning those lines might require some dithering. But once drawn, those lines or borders were absolute.

For example, he didn't believe in profiting from wrongdoing. He also firmly believed that higher education gives human beings a greater understanding that leads to personal enlightenment and a better world for everyone. I only wish I shared that particular belief.

He also was a firm advocate of the two-party system and would point to the recent weirdnesses in Canadian politics as failings of minority governments. But that's a story for another day. Perhaps tomorrow.

Yes, it was difficult to leave behind these belongings. But they belonged to him, not to me. They are wrapped up in the father I grew to love best as an adult, and that's the father I'll never lose.

So let those who collect military memorabilia have the jacket. Let the thrift shop give the sweater to a homeless person. Let my father touch their lives, too. He would have liked that.

Inside? Outside? Part Deux, Squared

This year, so far, has had its moments. It's the kind of year in which your father dies AND you get married.

Today is proving to be no exception. It's only 10 in the morning. I saw my husband off to an all-day meeting, a process that required me to be awake several hours before I was ready. Then I settled in to spend some quality time in the house. I'm still recuperating from the trip, and what I need is some quiet time. Instead, what should I hear but a distinctive scrabbling noise.

This house is a nice house, a real live house--no cottage or "camp." It is, therefore, INSIDE. However, my office is in the walk-out basement. We have known, because we have seen, that rodentia of the squirrel and mouse variety can get in somehow, though we have thought we have plugged their ingress points. The weather is cooling off and now is the prime time for rodentia to come scouting for winter warmth. I could have done without company today, however.

As I mentioned, I'm still recuperating from the trip south--and east, but mostly south and mostly from the part of the trip that was due south. In other words, Washington DC was fun. They were having a solar home competition (see photo) on the Mall. The monuments were still there, as were the museums. I had a lot of fun with my friend in my favorite city.

Then came the Oklahoma part. Although I also saw a couple of friends during that long week (really 10 days by the time we got home), it was mostly work-work-work. And it involved dealing with family and memories.

Twenty-four boxes (and an envelope) containing my mother's papers made it to Austin, where the Mathematics Association of America archives are housed. Probably 50 (nobody counted!!) boxes of my father's Methodista made it to Oklahoma City University, where we hope they will be pored over by scholars interested in the esoterica of Methodist politics. And some 20 more boxes are ready for Oklahoma State to pick up in their second go-round of "all the rest of Daddy's papers."

Through it all, the five of us acquitted ourselves well. We got snappish at times but hey, we were tired. We all worked hard. We divided our parents' belongings in ways that made us happy. One recurring theme I heard was "I want someone to want that, so I'll take it if nobody wants it, but if someone wants it, please take it." I know that many objects that I associate with my parents are safe in the keeping of the family, and that's great.

What I didn't know (OK, I knew, but I didn't think it would affect ME) was how hard the work would be, physically and emotionally (another form of inside/outside). I've slept a lot since we got home late Tuesday. I was looking forward to a restful day today. But that scrabbling...

I have a "thing" about rodents. I can handle seeing bears on the porch more easily than I can contemplate sharing space with a squirrel or mouse. Therefore, I will spend the day, which happens to be my birthday, hanging out in town--either in my apartment or at a Starbucks. Or both. Someplace that's definitely inside, without rodents.

Because 2007 is continuing as it started...as a year in which your father dies AND you get married.

Just Can't Wait

"On the road again, just can't wait t'get on the road again...." actually, that's not true. I love living here too much to enjoy going elsewhere. (That's the symbolic meaning of the teeny dead tree across the path, left.)

However, I have set aside time and money for a week of vacation in Washington, DC with a friend--just vacation. No family (no offense, family). No culling of items from my past. And if I'm smart, very little in the way of acquiring items for my future.

That's all in the following week. Family. Throwing out. Limited--very limited--acquisition of items to care for in the future. Basically, another installment of The Crapture. Probably the last installment, in fact, which brings both relief and a surprising sadness.

I may check in from the road, from time to time, but I may not. I'm not taking a laptop. I'll enjoy living experiences in the moment, whole-heartedly, without the possibility of immediate narration, immediate analysis--in short, without blogging. But I'll be back around month's end.

Who's Stupid Now?

I know; a lot of posts lately and a lot of posts about politics. Bear with me; I'm going on vacation next week and need to clear my brain.

One could argue that the U.S. system of government, with all its checks and balances, assumes that politicians are stupid. It wants to prevent any one stupid person or group of stupid people from having too much power. The risk is that sometimes the leader, the house, and the senate are all stupid at the same time. Add to that a stupid population that passes an idiotic referendum or two, and you have stupidity run amok.

Equally, one could argue that the parliamentary system generally seems to assume that politicians are intelligent. Groups of people form parties and select a leader. Individual voters choose a representative and assume that party's leader is going to be good enough to run things. If he (usually he) turns out not to be so great, then the representatives from that party and involved members of the party have to find a new leader. Jane Eh Voter trusts people to make sure this happens. And the system seems to require Jane Eh Voter to know, more or less, what's going on.

I'm sure this theory is flawed. I'll say it again: generalizations always have exceptions. Including this one.

I just wish that voters and politicians on both sides of the border applied their intelligence to elections and today's issues more often than they do. I wish voters didn't trust elected officials quite so much. Paying closer attention to issues and elections would benefit all of us. Lives, in our country and abroad, are at stake.

But mostly I wish I could discuss these issues with my father. He would point out, gently, where I am the stupid one. Yet he would cheerfully continue to live in a state whose federal science-challenged senator has called global warming the biggest hoax perpetrated on the American public. Perhaps unsurprisingly--my father was a historian, after all--he saw history over a longer span of time than I am able to. He had confidence in the ability of the U.S. political system to correct its own excesses. I wish I shared his optimism.

Here's the Deal with the Election: The Light Dawns

OK, I've been thinking about yesterday's election. It bugged me for a couple of reasons. Here's why.

For one thing, I'm cautious about the whole parliamentary system. It elects the leader of the country/province by electing its party, which means the leader could be far more powerful than in the weird system south of 49.

In the U.S., it's theoretically possible for voters to say, "Yeah, I want a Democratic president, but I'll vote for the Republican candidates for the House of Representatives and leave the Senate too close to call." Or switch the words around to reflect a governor, a state house, and a state senate.

I like that. I like having all those checks and balances. It keeps a megalomaniacal dimwit from, say, bombing a country because he feels like it. Just a hypothetical.

Yes, all these checks and balances cause gridlock sometimes. Yes, it keeps the government from being as efficient at changing policy as it could be. But sometimes, that slow response is a good thing. After all, an entire civil service full of bureaucrats works hard every day to keep the government running, to keep money flowing to the retired, the veterans, the needy, and in this day and age, the businesses. I know; I was one of them.

The other part of the parliamentary system I find disconcerting is the relative weakness of the federal senate and entire lack of a provincial senate.

To see why this is a problem, you have to know about state representatives. In the U.S., you elect state representatives (we'll keep this a state/provincial comparison for simplicity's sake) every two years. If your state gets a boneheaded bit in its teeth about something, like the issue here of public support for religious schools, and you accidentally elect a bonehead representative, you know he's got two years max and you can replace him.

Not only that, you have this whole other set of people who supposedly work for your interests--your senators. They represent large geographic areas (entire states, in the federal government) and so can't be as responsive to individual problems, but at least they're someone else to fire off letters to.

Senators in the U.S. have real power, too. They propose legislation, as do representatives, and they have to approve legislation that comes from the representatives. So, if you get an entire house of bonehead representatives, the senate is there to prevent them from causing too much harm. Plus, some percentage of the senate can override a governor's veto.

However, Canadians don't have this whole other set of people to turn to. The federal senate is made up of political appointees (though the current Conservative government has proposed changing that). Their mandate is to review proposed legislation. Whatever that means.

And Canadians don't know how long they're stuck with possible bonehead representatives. In the parliamentary system, the government calls elections more or less at its own discretion. If the government is a majority government, it can wait a long time--four years, five years, something like that. In an election like yesterday's, you could end up with a bonehead MPP in a majority government and no chance in sight to replace him.

After two-plus years of living full-time here, I'm beginning to understand the system I left behind. The light dawns on the path I was walking before. I wonder how many years it will take before I understand the system I live in now!

Ontario Politics 101: Four More Years

The province of Ontario held an election yesterday. This election was short and sweet and interesting to watch. All in all, though, I feel like a teetotaller at a wine-tasting, because I don't get to vote.

Here's what happened in American-speak. The party that had won before, the Liberals, won the election. Liberal candidates won races in enough districts (here, "ridings") that the Liberals will lead ("form") the government again. In addition, the Liberals won enough ridings that they will form a majority government, which means that they also have enough votes to pass any legislation that the party puts forward.

There wasn't a race for the governor-equivalent, the Premiere (the person who will lead the province), exactly. In the parliamentary system, people vote for their district's representative. Then, the leader of the party who won the most races gets to be Premiere. (Or, federally, Prime Minister.)

Yesterday's election did the equivalent of giving the Liberals the governor of a state and a majority in the state's House of Representatives. And since there isn't a state senate-equivalent, the Liberals can do pretty much whatever they want until they have to call another election (in about four years).

Even if all the other representatives from all the other parties got together and voted against them, the Liberals have enough votes to pass legislation. All they have to do is keep from pissing off people in their own party. Sometimes that's easy; sometimes not so much.

Locally, the incumbents, both Liberals, appear to have been re-elected in spite of the Liberals doing a lot to piss off people up here. One major contentious issue is energy--the Premiere closed a coal-fired power plant in northwestern Ontario, which puts many people out of work in an area that can't afford to lose jobs, and at a time when there aren't viable alternatives online so costs go up. It also charges some kind of surcharge on energy, and most of the businesses in northwestern Ontario use a lot of energy.

Yesterday, Ontarians also had the chance to change how they elect their representatives ("members of Provincial Parliament"). Currently, they use a "first past the post" system. If 51% of voters in 51 out of 100 ridings elect Liberals, the Liberals form a majority government. Interests of the 49% of people in those ridings may (or may not) be represented by the members from the 49 ridings. However, the population in each riding isn't exactly equal. It's possible that a party may form a majority government without actually having a majority of the popular vote.

Sound familiar? Electoral college, anyone?

However, Ontarians rejected the proposed alternative method for selecting their MPPs. A study group had recommended letting people vote both for their MPP and a specific party, so that Parliament would include both members elected to represent geographic areas and members-at-large, sorta. In theory, this system would give that 49% of people in those 49 ridings--whatever party they voted for, and there are more than two viable parties here--a voice in government.

The advantages and disadvantages of each system weren't explained well at all in pre-election information. I don't have enough provincial history to know of instances in which a particular leader abused his power and the minority MPPs would have made a difference. The thing is, I'm not sure that the Ontario voters, who should have that kind of memory, were invited to speculate about that, either.

I wish I could come up with some kind of pithy summation, but I'm still mulling it over. Aspects of yesterday's election bother me, and aspects of the system itself bother me, and I'm not able to separate them yet. However, I'll work on it. Stay tuned.

I can say that I'll be pleased not to see any more political advertising for awhile. I just hope we get a new crop of commercials to go with the new fall season!

Stupid Oven

About those Thanksgiving brownies...go get a coffee, because the story requires a lot of self-justification upfront.

In June or so, I started baking cookies from scratch at Roy's house and have kept home-made cookies on hand ever since. It started because during the post-funeral flurry of family communication, an aunt mentioned my mother's gingersnap recipe. That gave me a hankerin' for her gingersnaps. I've made other kinds of cookies, too, even though I didn't bake cookies for entire decades. My recent rationale has been that if I'm going to eat cookies, and apparently I am, then they should be really good cookies.

Through the summer, I've learned that Roy's oven is peculiar because it tends to run hot. I've adjusted most recipes down 25 degrees, and I leave the cookies in the oven for about 2/3 of the listed time range to avoid crispness. They may be called "gingersnaps," but in my house, they're "gingerbends."

My real point is that I am no stranger to the oven in Roy's house. Furthermore, my acquaintance goes farther than simply turning it on and taking it for granted; I've messed around with cooking times and paid actual attention to darn thing.

And now, here's something most people south of 49 don't know about ovens in Canada. They have international symbols instead of words. These symbols, although theoretically understandable in any of the world's languages, are not that easy to comprehend. For proof, really look at the photo at the top of this post. (I know; not my best work. You can also see me taking the picture, and you don't even need CSI-like skills to do it.)

Where a setting on your oven might be labeled OFF, ovens in Canada have a circle with small lines coming down from the top and bottom but not connected in the middle (the top setting on the right dial in the photo). The lines mean that there's a break in the electrical connection required to make the oven come on. Or something else equally easy to remember. Cough.

Where your oven might have an ON label, this oven dial has three different kinds of horizontal lines to choose from: one with a heavy line on top, one with a heavy line on bottom, and one with a heavy line on bottom and a clock face next to it. I'm telling you, using the oven is a mental workout.

I'm just happy the temperatures (separate dial on left) are still labeled in both F and C. Speaking of mental workouts.

But back to the Thanksgiving Brownies. Saturday night, I was getting a jump on the holiday dinner, so I made brownies and the appetizery things. Then I made chocolate chip cookies, at Roy's request. Unfortunately, the first sheet-full was a disaster. It was the first time I had tried this recipe, so I was adjusting the temperature like crazy, and still the darn things would brown on the top but be gooey on the underneath. I couldn't figure it out. I wondered about the flour, the amount of mixing time (I do it by hand but I'm lazy), the cheapness of the chips (can't easily get Ghirardelli or Nestle here)--even the cookie size.

While I was mid-mutter, Roy came in to hover around till the early cookies were cool enough to sample. He asked the million-dollar question: "Is the oven on the right setting?"

Of course it wasn't. I had it on the "broil" setting, which is the setting with the heavy line at the top and the lighter line across the bottom. The meaning of the symbol is that the top element, the broiling element, is on and the bottom one isn't.

OK, it makes sense, but who has time to figure it out? And more important, why was I suddenly having trouble figuring it out, when I'd never made this mistake before? I put it down to pre-holiday stress. An early example of a senior moment. Nothing to dwell on.

Once I turned the oven over to "thick bottom line, thin top line," AKA "Bake," later batches of cookies turned out just fine.

And that, I thought, was that.

Until Roy started cutting the brownies after Thanksgiving Dinner. He beckoned me into the kitchen. "Are they supposed to look like that?" He pointed a knife covered in brownie batter to the plate, where brownie batter was oozing out from under a top crust. It looked a little like an experiment from an earth science class, one that demonstrates how deeper layers of magma are liquid and the earth's crust, which we consider solid, is just a thin top layer.

Apparently I had cooked the brownies on "thick top line, thin bottom line," too. And what's worse, I hadn't even considered the need to check them, even after the severe cookie consequences the previous evening. Is it possible I'm losing not only my ability to read international symbols and bake things, but also my ability to foresee consequences?

Naaah. I'm sticking with my first line of defense: it wasn't my fault. It's the weird oven.

So, Thanksgiving is Today

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. We had the family meal yesterday: chicken baked in a cranberry sauce, with rice pilaf and various vegetables. Dessert was supposed to be Thanksgiving Brownies (who isn't grateful for brownies?), but that's a sore subject and I shall save for another day my justifications for why their sludge-like consistency wasn't my fault. Fortunately, store-bought vanilla ice cream is always popular with the under-35 set.

Today, many stores are closed (including grocery stores). It's a normal three-day weekend here--I assume people are doing their usual fall activities. It's still hunting season. People are out on ATVs; I've seen them tearing up and down near the highway on paths that may become snowmobile trails in January, if we get snow. The men at church were complaining about being too busy to go to curling practice. Hockey practices have definitely started. And some brave soul went kayaking in the non-rainy one-hour window early yesterday evening.

I enjoy Thankgiving in Canada. It's such a low-key holiday compared to the hoop-de-doo in the U.S. People here do go shopping, of course. For many Canadians, a cross-border trip to get an early start on Christmas was a tradition long before the value of the loonie made it economically advantageous. However, the shopping is just that--people buying stuff. It's not the shopping equivalent of Ground Hog Day, a harbinger of the year's upcoming Most Important Economic Season (Christmas), as it is in the U.S. No navel-gazing element.

But what I really like about Thanksgiving in Canada is the lack of story. No pilgrims! And therefore, no smallpox-infested blankets, no "Christopher Columbus was a historical giant/spawn of Satan" discussions. And no stories such as burying dead fish in the corn hills to serve as fertilizer, which can lead to theories that our ancestors displaced people who were experts in sustainable agriculture and lived in idyllic balance with the planet, or that our ancestors displaced people who had already depleted the land so whatever impact we have isn't so bad (the always-popular "they started it" defense, with the "look over there, nothing to see here" misdirection).

Some of the Thanksgiving-themed decorations they sell here include pilgrim figurines, and people here buy them, for reasons beyond my comprehension. Maybe they take the pilgrims off when they get the fake corn/pumpkin/leaf thing home. But generally speaking, pilgrims are noticeably absent from the lives of adults.

At dinner yesterday, I checked into the lives of school children. Roy's Grade 2 grandson goes to a a French Immersion school. I asked him yesterday what they'd said in school about Thanksgiving. He said they didn't talk about it. That may be true, or he might have been thinking about something else when they covered it, or he may simply not have felt like being put on the spot at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

The lack of Thanksgiving Legend makes the holiday far less stressful for me. With the historical focus, if any, on giving thanks for the year's harvest, the meal becomes a celebration that one could invite any friend to--even, possibly, a friend who is part of a First Nation. ("Native American" to those south of 49.) Or any nation, which is also possible in Thunder Bay.

Thunder Bay is an odd amalgam of immigrants. The influx of Scandinavians (Finns, Swedes, Finn-Swedes, Danes, Norwegians) and people from Eastern Europe (Poles, Ukrainians) started after World War I. The post World War II years added Italians to the mix. Since the 1960s, the numbers of immigrants from Pakistan, India, Hong Kong, and South America have increased across Canada, and some have settled here. All of these groups joined those who trace their ancestry to Scotland and England, those few who had French voyageurs as ancestors, and the increasingly visible members of First Nations.

I don't know how many families in town keep their own ancestor's traditions (wherever those ancestors lived), and how many have gone the turkey-stuffing-potatoes-turnips-pumpkin route. But I enjoy picturing families gathered around their table, whether it holds lasagne, stir-fry, a roast turkey, pickled beets, kippered herring, a nice curry, or some combination thereof. Those tables hold many blessings for which to be grateful. I personally have a lot to be thankful for this year, as is true every year. I try to be grateful every day, not just the one day a year, but it never hurts to have the official day.

Now, if I could just master the art of baking up brownie mix without disaster.

Now? Then?

This week, CBC Radio is running a five-part series on memory called The Once and Future Past. I caught part of last night's show, which was apparently devoted to the moment you recall something. The interviews touched on false "recovered" memories, the reliability of eyewitness testimony, and the general suggestibility of memory. The program also mentioned post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), mostly to distinguish it from the other topics it was covering last night. Of course, that's the part that was the most interesting to me.

From what I understand of PTSD, it's very different from being haunted by memories of something. It's more like being unable to distinguish between "now" and "then." Instead of remembering something, you re-live it.

I doubt I've had experiences traumatic enough to "count," on some cosmic counter, as PTSD. But I think a lot of what we slap labels on is actually just an experience that's at one end of a spectrum of experiences. Perhaps PTSD is an extreme form of an experience that some of us more boring people also have in a milder form.

Here's why it's on my mind.

When my father was sick in Tucson last spring, my sister and I drove regularly from her house to the hospital and the rehab facility and finally, once, to the hospice facility, all in the same campus of buildings. We did it for nearly a month before he died. We got really good at it. We learned what to carry with us (bottles of water, address/phone books, pads of paper, extra pens, cell phone chargers). We learned how to find the ER, the 400s, the surgery waiting room which doubled as the waiting room for the CCU, the place with the bad espresso, the in-cafeteria Starbucks, the Schlotzky's. We learned visiting hours and how to get in after visiting hours.

We learned to cope with myriad new realities at a moment's notice: my father was sick enough to be hospitalized, then suddenly critical, then slowly mending, then definitely recuperating, then experiencing setbacks, then holding his own, then suddenly dying. It was an intense experience, and a rewarding experience, and one I hated but wouldn't trade for anything.

This past weekend, my sister hosted our elderly aunt for a weekend's visit. They went to a fancy wedding, and my aunt tripped and, as it turned out, broke her nose. An ambulance came and took her to the same ER where my father had been. My sister called me in the wee hours, understandably distraught at packing her bag again with address/phone books, pads of paper and pens, water, cell phone charger. She didn't want to get into the car and make that drive again, to park in the lot again, to sit in the same ER again, to see the same hospitalists, to listen to a patient under sedation ramble incoherently, to be across the hall from a dying patient, to hurry up and wait, to wait some more while our aunt was admitted.

Was she re-living our March/April trauma? It sure felt like it to her. Yes, she knew that what she was experiencing was "now," and that her experience with my father was "then." She knew in her head that she wasn't back there in that time, but that logic didn't really register. It didn't feel like it. It felt to her as if the line between present and past trauma blurred. Whether that "counts," on that cosmic counter, as PTSD is immaterial. There are degrees and degrees of flashbacks, and she was having one. I was sorry not to be there to support her, but I wasn't sorry to miss out on the experience.

Her experience has made me more aware of how much of my life I spend in some other time--whether it's whining about the previous value of the loonie and running mental calculations on what I would get for this U.S. check if I'd had it a year ago, or worrying about whether I'll be able to cover for a receptionist on Tuesday without seriously screwing up. Obviously, those experiences aren't PTSD. But my own lesson from the experience is that I could stand to live more in the "now," and less in the "then," whether present or future.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

P.S. I could say that our aunt's story ends more happily than our father's. But I'm not so sure.

Our aunt is safe at her home, where she still lives alone. Her daughter, son, and daughter-in-law are conferring about her general health and future care. Their journey is just getting started. At the very least, they'll need keys to her house, plus permission to attend her medical appointments and know her medications. What they could use is a good dose of courage to ask the tough questions about her mental status. And then they'll need a backbone of steel for the road ahead.

Meanwhile, my father died in April, firm in his faith and surrounded by love and laughter. Perhaps that's the best ending to his story, if his story had to end at all.

Does Moving North Mean Moving On?

Warning: If you're not interested in The West Wing (WW), you won't be much interested in this.

By the way, we're back to our usual 2.5 channels. However, during our recent hiatus from junk TV, I dug out The West Wing Season 7. We're through two disks now. It's surprisingly difficult for me to watch!

Part of the problem, of course, is that my father and I talked about WW a lot. Generally speaking, he and I had only a little in common, aside from family and being basically the same kind of person. However, part of that "little" was an interest in politics, particularly as expressed through WW. One of our joint Tucson visits several years ago coincided with a WW marathon on Bravo, and he got hooked.

The Bartlet Presidency was a miniature Eden for most Democrats, beyond my father and me. There (in the pilot episode no less), the Commander in Chief gave the religious right What-For. Walked right into the room and smacked 'em down! BUT--there was way more there there.

Appealing characters held conflicting (and conflicted) perspectives on the Democratic Party's platform. The occasional Republican characters often held thoughtful, nuanced perspectives (and that, at least, still holds true in Season 7). The discourse was very different from the rancor and vying-to-be-the-biggest-victim rhetoric going on in the "real" U.S. during the earlier years of this millennium.

On the other hand, viewers saw plenty of sausage being made. Every character had to compromise on something important, and everyone wrestled with her conscience while she did it. Characters left (some actors purportedly in a snit), as did the creative force. But the world Sorkin created was bigger than Rob Lowe's Sam Seaborn, as it eventually proved to be bigger than his own talented self. I personally can think of about six characters that I either want to be, think I am, or have been at some point in my career. (In real life, I've mostly been one of the interchangeable grunts, Ed and Larry, in a very much smaller fishpond, but I like to imagine that I've been considered a crusty, Toby-like influence. And who doesn't want to be CJ?)

But missing my father isn't the only thing going on with me and the WW World. I hate to admit this, but I think I've moved on (and not in the MoveOn.org way).

In the most recent episode we saw, Jimmy Smits and Alan Alda, in character, held a mostly scripted "debate." Originally, the episode was broadcast live. I had actually seen it while I was visiting my father, but we saw the East Coast version, while the DVD has the West Coast version. Whatever.

This time around, the episode is different. Truthfully, it hardly held my interest. The philosophies themselves aren't interesting to me anymore. The arguments, by which I mean "series of reasoned statements," seem like a recycled rehash of real life (does "Education President" sound familiar to anyone from Arkansas?) and various sentiments put forth in earlier episodes by the Barlet Administration. "They always" raise taxes, cut taxes, spend, run a deficit, build a debt, allow guns to run loose in the country, prevent citizens from defending their own property, act like a soft Mommy, act like a mean Daddy, blah blah blah. "They always." Pff.

The looming issues in real life--the war in Iraq, the all-but-abandoned war in Afghanistan, the contracting economy--loom too large for a made-up debate to seem relevant anymore. It's a good thing this season aired two years ago; if it aired today, the show might lose even more of its audience.

But I think the real problem for me is that my sense of impending doom is kicking in. The Bartlet Presidency as a whole, in Season 7, is winding down. I sense that I'll have to let go of these people someday.

The characters themselves are certainly moving on--the exodus during Season 6 to support Democratic primary candidates was just the start. At some point during Season 6, Josh and Toby had a fight and stopped speaking, thereby depriving viewers of the chance to watch two excellent minds thinking aloud about policies and politics. In Season 7, Toby has been sent off-camera to be spanked for his infamous leak, while Josh is campaigning. Even if the writers had wanted to, they'd have had a hard time getting the two into the same storyline. Even on the phone.

This "moving on" theme is likely real for any administration, and it certainly mirrors real life. For me, watching Canadian politics has apparently replaced watching West Wing. We're in the middle of a provincial election, and there are rumblings about a federal election sometime this winter. I don't get to vote, which seems like a raw deal given all the taxes I pay. What happens in Toronto (for the province) or Ottawa (for the country) is more interesting than what happens in the Bartlet Presidency.

Still, I'll finish the season. My loyalty to Toby, CJ, and Donna (among others) forces me to see how their stories arc, how their lives turn out to this point, how their characters accommodate, compromise, grow.

Plus, I know my father would have wanted me to follow through to the end of the story. And then, he too would want me to move on.