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.