Brief Update: O(dd) Canada

This morning, the story on CBC.ca had 870 comments. People are talking.

They're talking more about Ignatieff putting the government on probation--more than 2200 comments.

But both are among the most blogged about stories. For what that's worth.

O(dd) Canada

Now this is a story I have never seen in the U.S.

A precis: An elementary school principal in a small New Brunswick school has decided to drop the singing of "O Canada," the country's national anthem, as part of its daily routine. The reason? Some of the parents don't want their children to participate.

I'm not sure why--though possibly the line "God keep our land glorious and free" has something to do with it.

I don't get it. I can see objecting to singing the national anthem every day because that's time that could be spent reading or learning multiplication tables, or, God help us, for anti-bullying workshops. But dropping the national anthem because the principal wants "every student to feel welcome" at school? Hmm.

Of course, I'm from a different time (1960s) and place (the southern U.S.). In third grade, we memorized the 100th Psalm as a class. We also sang "My Country 'Tis of Thee," known in Canada as "the song that they sing that's really 'God Save the Queen.'" I think that was daily, too.

Furthermore, we bowed our heads as a class for the third verse, "Our Father's God, to Thee, author of liberty, to Thee we sing." And you'll notice that I remember these words some 40 years later. (I also know the words to the theme song of Gilligan's Island and most of the lyrics to songs from The Music Man, so don't consider this a patriotic feat.)

I don't think it was just that the lovely and adorable Mrs. Boothe, my teacher for third grade, was particularly patriotic. It was what one did at school. I think we also said the Pledge of Allegiance every day. I know in high school, at our weekly pep assemblies, we always sang the national anthem AND the state song of Oklahoma. But I think that was partly because our state song was actually a good song.

These experiences didn't brainwash me. Surely you don't imagine by now that I'm blindly loyal to the U.S. I certainly carp and criticize everyone and everything, including church teachings. I even grouse about things in my adopted country.

But these experiences did give me a sense of the "rules" that I had to play by to learn, live, and work in that community--in other words, they taught me about the dominant culture. I don't know what would have happened if my parents hadn't been okay with my participation in that part of the culture, but I imagine they'd have made sure I knew it. They certainly didn't allow me to participate in everything the neighbo(u)r kids did.

For example, when the local skating rink gave free tickets for report cards with As, my parents didn't let me go cash in. They thought I should get good grades for no reason and not expect rewards or bribes. Yes, my friends thought I was weird and that my parents were "mean." And I still can't skate. But I'm over it. Really.

The other thing is, I cannot imagine this conversation happening in the U.S. Have I just not been paying attention to U.S. news? Is it just that I don't have kids in school?

Stay tuned--I bet this will generate discussion among Canadians. It will be interesting to see how that goes.

On the Other Hand...

Three Words: Double Secret Probation.

That always works.

New Metaphor, Please!

You recall the recent "time out" in Canadian politics. You recall that I was never sure whether we were playing hockey or running a daycare center.

Now we might somehow be involved in juvenile court, or possibly still running a daycare center. It's hard to tell.

Today, the leader of Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition, Michael Ignatieff, put the Conservative government "on probation." He means that he has an amendment to the budget that Prime Minister Harper proposed. The amendment would require regular reporting to Parliament about the progress of the projects proposed in this budget. And if the government accepts the amendment, the Liberal party will prop up this government.

Probation. Hmmm. I'm new to parliamentary politics, but isn't the government kinda always on probation? Isn't that what a parliamentary system is all about? If you get a particularly egregious Prime Minister, the opposition can bring down that government pretty much whenever enough members are up in arms. Whereas in the U.S., egregious leaders have to commit crimes--or, apparently, more than that, perhaps commit crimes blatantly--to get impeached, and it's always cheaper and less problematic to just hunker down for a few more years and hope the frat boy doesn't feel like bombing someone else.

But back to this country--Ignatieff wants Harper to feel more watched than normal, as if he has to be more accountable than normal. Okay. But putting him "on probation" is just juvenile, whether the metaphor is criminal court or something more like, well, daycare: "Stevie, no lying to the other kids, no treating them disrespectfully, no more tattling for ONE WHOLE YEAR, or you're OUT."

Meanwhile, down south, President Obama has said that the U.S. stimulus package will include evaluations and the government will make continued investments in projects that work. Presumably, they'll stop investments in projects that don't work.

He said it just like that, too. Straightforward. No finger shaking--or pointing. No equivocating. No dumbing down. No dressing it up.

Normally, I'm a fan of story and metaphor and figurative language. I think a lot of people reason by analogy, which makes metaphors useful. I also think metaphors, "what if" stories, and other narrative and figurative devices help people develop empathy. They make it easier for someone to put himself into another's place. They help people see, and even feel, nuances.

But honestly, this particular group of metaphors and cutesy warnings has run its course. The images have lost their effectiveness. They invite ridicule from journalists, who are tired of waiting around to see if anyone will say anything of substance.

So in this country, please could we cast aside the hockey rink and the alphabet rug? Could we at least get a new metaphor?

Or, gasp, maybe it's time to use direct language for awhile. Perhaps politicians could speak to us adult to adult. They're spending our money. They work for us. They owe it to us at least to try to be grownups.

Tense

Yesterday, Parliament reconvened after the "time out" that the Prime Minister requested in December.

Today, the Finance Minister officially releases the budget he's been leaking to the world over the past few days.

Tomorrow, the new Liberal Leader, Michael Ignatieff, will decide whether he can support the budget, thereby deciding whether this government continues or Canada has another election--three months after its last election.

The mood here isn't much like the mood in the U.S. at the moment. Most of the people in the U.S., with the notable exception of Rush Limbaugh, are at least hopeful that the new administration can help resolve some of the economic and other issues.

Up here, people are nervous, and understandably so. Prime Minister Harper hasn't yet put forward a position--or a law--that he can't simply ignore when he feels like it. He ran on the principle of reforming the Senate to make it an elected body--and then appointed 18 senators during this recent "time out." (Never mind his "law" about the date of the election next fall, which he ignored in the hope of getting a majority in the October election.) So whatever financial principles he once espoused may, or may not, have any bearing on what's actually in the budget.

That may be "politics as usual" everywhere. "Everyone knows" that the exigencies of office are different from the rhetoric of the campaign trail--and that's true in the U.S. as well as up here.

However, up here, optimism about the future is noticeably lacking in public discourse. The one response to politics from most people I see, not that I initiate political discussions but it does come up at the gym and elsewhere, is that universal commentary familiar to teenagers and parents everywhere: the eyeroll.

People here generally lack respect for politicians with a vehemence that has been suspended, possibly temporarily, in the U.S. The thing is, we all WANT to respect our elected officials, even if we don't like them and even if we didn't vote for them.

But I have to say, politicians on this side of the border have their work cut out for them. I'm not sure what it would take to get Canadians optimistic. But I know that having the adults of the Obama Administration working away south of the border make the childish behavio(u)r up here look that much worse.

So here's a little advice to all those in Ottawa: solve the needs of Canadians. Shut up already about the shortcomings of the other parties and the moral high ground your party pretends to occupy. Canadians are losing jobs, homes--and hope.

Form, Content, Structure: and Play

I recently received an email with this link, and if I've received it, I'm sure the more net-savvy folk out there saw it a year ago.

Take a moment to watch this. Go all the way to the end--not even two minutes of your time. Then come back.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=42E2fAWM6rA

Interesting, eh.

The content is, of course, uplifting. It fits with the new optimism a new U.S. president brings. The cautious among us may say, "Let's dare to hope!" The less cautious are shouting "Hallelujah!" or some "Yahoo!" synonym.

The form is also interesting. A youtube video--and one sponsored by AARP, at that--is hip, happ'nin', current, today. It certainly has reached a wide audience.

But the structure of this was the most surprising part. I never saw it coming.

I'm a skeptical viewer. I rarely watch ads without finding fault or at least analyzing what I see and trying to predict the payoff. As I watched the opening of this piece, I thought "Hmm, that isn't quite right. Wait, that sounds a bit odd. Huh, I wonder why they split that line there." But I had no idea that it would play backward--and work.

How playful. How fun. It makes the writer in me want to scribble lines on a piece of paper for no reason and without prior purpose.

In other words, to play again.

When you work as a writer--I should say when I work as a writer, because I don't know that this is true for all writers--I sometimes forget the sheer joy of fiddling around with words.

So happy new year, everyone. Let's hope 2009 brings a little more laughter and play.

(Just don't tell me to smile. Nope, don't do it.)

There's No Place Like It

...home, that is.

Home, where the thermometer lurks below OF (-18C). Home, where the stacks of papers promise future work and play. Home, where the sun rises earlier in the mornings and lingers later in the afternoon.

And yes, where the deer (no antelope) play.

Dorothy was right. There really is no place like this.

Because I'm "That Way"

Yesterday was an inspiring day. The inauguration and extended ceremonies were interesting, exciting, joyful.

And yet. I noticed a couple of things. So rather than focus on how uplifting and historic everything was, which others have written about more eloquently, and how we have to get down to work now, a horse which I have already beaten to death, I wanted to mention a couple of other things. The things from the "needs improvement" side of the house.

In doing so, I am following in the footsteps of my mother. We actually had the following exchange.
ME: I got 98% on the algebra test!!!!!
MOM: What did you miss?
I know she was right--what you don't know is what you need to learn, and you can learn it and be perfect next time. But a pat on the back first, a reconition of achievement, would have been nice.

So, President Obama and administration: good going. So far, so good. Yesterday showed that you're serious about healing the country's divisions and encouraging all of us to exercise our better natures. We're all behind you and ready to do our share.

Now. Here are two things to improve.

First, about Dick Cheney in the wheelchair. Did you notice that he was sent through back corridors and elevators? He missed his chance to parade onto the podium like everyone else. Maybe you think it was for the best, given the "boos" he might have generated (based on the "boos" for Bush).

However, Cheney was shunted to the side--a role he never played in the previous administration, though perhaps he should have. In this situation, the federal government didn't comply with the spirit of the 1994 Americans with Disabilities Act, and I'm not sure it complied with the letter of the law, either. People with recognized disabilities must be able to participate fully in activities of the government. Cheney--one of the most powerful men in the country--wasn't able to participate in a way that an able-boded vice-president would have. What hope does that give to others who aren't so powerful?

Second, about the day's festivities. I didn't see any American Sign Language interpreters at the event. Certainly there were no interpreters on the main stage, near the speakers. Again, shouldn't the federal government be complying with the ADA?

Of course there are are legal, ethical, and moral issues around providing access to the operation of the government to every citizen. But you missed a golden opportunity to set a most excellent example and generate longlasting goodwill.

Gallaudet University, in Washington, DC--first funded by President Abraham Lincoln--is the hub of Deaf culture in North America. It is an international leader in educating Deaf adults and in researching effective ways to teach Deaf people of all ages and includes a model secondary school on its campus. Washington, DC has a large population of Deaf people.

Reaching out to that population would have been a highly visible way to demonstrate your commitment to recognizing and tapping into the value of all people in this country and their ability to contribute to the common good.

It's not too late. You can make compliance with the ADA--even beyond wheelchairs to include communication access for culturally Deaf, deafened, and hard of hearing people--a given for your administration. It's a small thing for your administration to arrange--no task force, no study, no blue-ribbon commission, no buy-in, no debate or up/down vote. Just a phone call or two to continue to put into practice the inspiring message you have already sent: we are all important. We are all necessary. We must all participate.

And don't forget: it's not only the right thing to do. It's not only a smart thing to do. It's the law.

Still doing a great job. Carry on.

A Cerberus called Hubris

Last week, I made an offhand remark (on Facebook, actually) that I regretted. I've been mulling it over ever since. With just one comment, I was prideful in three different ways. Note that the title of the post includes "hubris," which is a thing made of things: an inflated, prideful term for "pride." Note, too, that when I use the term "pride" in this post, I really mean "egotism," but "pride" sounds better. And hey, my blog: I get to paint myself as I choose.

Here's what happened. My brother had said that Bush's final address reminded him of Louis XVIII. In an addendum, he explained that the Bourbons, after they were restored to the throne, proved that "they had forgotten nothing, and learned nothing."

Pride #1: Family. My first response was an unconscious reaction: a cringe, because "God my family is so weird." I am from a place and an era in which being smart was totally uncool. I grew up before Urkel, before MacGyver, before geeks banded together in their geekiness and found self-esteem. I grew up with Gilligan (the clown is the star) and the Professor (a marginalized weirdo), with the Bradys (angst over nose size, not grades so much), with Charlie's Angels--Kate Jackson, "the smart one," was generally accepted not to be as sexy as the others.

Actually, I didn't watch much TV, because my family was "weird.' No flipping channels (though of course remotes hadn't been invented yet and thus neither had the verb); I had to ask permission to watch a specific show. Usually, I had homework to do. And I actually preferred reading, though I didn't read with any plan or reflection and thus didn't gain much from the experience.

In any case, here my brother was "outing" us again, to the world. I could just hear the snickers from my grade-school classmates: "Louey Who?" My brother couldn't just keep quiet and attract no attention to us as we tried to navigate the shark-infested social waters of this community. Sheesh.

Upon reflection, I realized that this cringe was a form of pride. Sure, my family was kind of strange, but we were by no means the only "weird" family in our town. It was a university town--tons of professors and their kids were our classmates. We weren't all that weird and, although we were smart enough and my siblings were certainly academically very successful, we weren't geniuses. Certainly not of the type to make a John-Nash-style breakthrough (or, thankfully, experience his demons). After 30 years away, It's probably time to just get over myself.

And more disclaimers: Oklahoma is a fine place in many ways. Its residents, some of whom are my relatives, are warm-hearted and kind. The state even has its share of intelligence, both inside and outside my family. In my own defense, I would say that the state as a whole still doesn't seem to value its intelligent citizens to the extent that it should, and I imagine that its residents could agree with that statement, I hope without taking offense.

Pride #2: Country. Which leads me to my next response: "Geez, brother, who do you think you are?" It continues something like this: I knew you when you were nobody, just a kid in diapers, and now you're all big for your britches? I remember when you did this, that, and the other embarrassing thing, so don't you be thinking you're all something. I know better. We all do.

None of which is literally true, of course. I'm the youngest so remember none of my siblings in diapers and have no idea what their childhood trials were, other than the family "weird" vibe.

But that attitude--who do you think you are, I got your number, you can't fool me--is also a form of pride. It says, in essence, "I'm better than you." I first encountered the attitude in Arkansas in reference to Bill Clinton. He was governor. Everybody knew he'd run for President. Nobody thought he'd get there, because who was he, after all? Who were his people, his family, his wife (a Yankee!)? What right did Clinton have to power like that? Bad enough he was governor, with a "pedigree" like that.

But the country rhymes. As Arkansas thought of Clinton, so the rest of the South thought of Arkansas--it had been the frontier where you sent the scalawag sons, those who had struck out and run up debt in the "civilized" states of Georgia, Virginia, the Carolinas. How dare someone come from that nothing place and aspire to something?

And as the South thought of Arkansas, so the rest of the country thought of the South--a southern accent is a guaranteed guffaw. TV characters who are hicks, regardless of where they live, have that accent. Case in point: Larry, his brother Darryl, and his other brother Darryl lived in New England and let Bob Newhart be funny, but they were straight out of the Ozarks.

Clinton, of course, found success. But by the time Gore was running against Bush, smart was definitely "out." For the past nine years, intelligence in the U.S. has been labeled "elitist." The cunning, ruthless, and power-hungry have had their time, while marginalizing thoughtful analysis, information, and the wisdom that perspective brings. Ignorant and proud of it: that's us. While I dislike that attitude, some of it apparently rubbed off on me.

President-Elect (for one more day) Obama seems to be making it cool to be intelligent. Let's hope that intelligence isn't put on the pedestal formerly held by ignorance.

The actual answer to the question "who are you?", in relation to my brother, is that he's a historian, specializing in Eastern Europe with a firm base in all of European history. In fact, he's the top international non-Czech expert in Czech history. He has a legitimate platform from which to compare the Bourbons and Bush. Where I have fragments of experience and make wildly generalized statements from those bits of life, he is a genuine scholar. He actually knows what he's talking about. (But it's still my blog.)

Pride #3: International. My third response to my brother's comparison: "Please don't dignify Bush by comparing him to anyone else, anywhere else, at any other time. He is uniquely awful." From living in Canada, I can now see even THAT response as a jaw-dropping form of pride.

News flash: The U.S. is unique--JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER COUNTRY. In other words, the U.S. is no better and no worse than any other nation at any other time in history.

We all have a friend like the U.S. When you have a health problem, hers was worse. When you apologize for something, she's sorrier for a larger transgression. When you achieve something, she did the same thing earlier or is on the cusp of a better achievement if she could just settle down with her sketching pad. When you have an irritating morning, her morning was evidence that the universe is out to get her.

This friend doesn't understand that in your story of your life, YOU are the protagonist. She thinks SHE is the protagonist in all the stories everywhere. And similarly, the U.S. thinks she is the protagonist in the world's story at any given moment. Billions of people in other countries might be living a totally different story. What if we listened to them--and, gasp, learned from them?

So yes, compare away, brother. I see the similarities between Louis XVIII and Bush. Let's talk about other similarities to other countries at other times. Let's see how others have recovered from similar predicaments. Let's learn from others' experiences, so we don't have to make all the mistakes ourselves. Let's use our native intelligence, combined with an international perspective, to do some analysis and gain wisdom.

End of soapbox. Tomorrow is another day, Scarlett, and it's a big one. I need to rest up.

Rhyming

As Mark Twain may or may not have said, "History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme."

Other things rhyme, too. Lives, for example. Music, even the kind without words. And, it is to be hoped, essays, even when they appear in the form of blog posts.

This post has no new wisdom. It is designed simply to bring some rhyme, which is after all a form of coherence, to this blog in this new year.

So. Here it is.

People who tell me to smile deserve defenestration (theirs) with alacrity (mine).

Edits: Before anyone interprets this as a threat against a Homeland Security officer, note that "defenestration" doesn't automatically imply the intent to kill. Just to throw someone through that little window.

Update: Smile!

You'd think that crossing a country's border might not be an appropriate time to be all smiley. It's a serious business. There are stamps on passports and whatnot. And at least one person in the conversation is carrying a gun, and it's not me.

But you already know how I feel about immigration agents.

This one is new. Tuesday morning I was with another person checking in for some outpatient surgery--hers, not mine. I was just the adult. The aide checking us in took a look at our faces and said, "It's okay to smile. You don't have to be so serious."

The surger-ee said, "But this is serious." And it was. And the aide didn't even know what we were there for. We could have been checking in for an inoperable tumor that we were insisting should be operated on anyway. We could have been there for any number of things. What we were there for was plenty serious.

So here's a question: When did it become unacceptable to be appropriately serious?

And here's another: Is it an American thing? Are Canadians urged to be jovial just before someone slices them open?

Discuss amongst yourselves. I'm just here in the sun, smiling away.

From the Road

I traveled today on two planes in three airports in two countries. I have a reminder for...well, I think for just about everyone.

When you're in public places, PEOPLE CAN SEE YOU AND CAN HEAR YOU. A public place is any physical location--remember those? also known as "in real life," you studied them in geography classes, they're hot or cold or windy--any physical location where you are not all by yourself.

A public place is that place, you know the one, that you put on those wacky clothes, pierce and tattoo your skin, and dye your hair for. And all those other places where there are other people. Who might not care to see what you dig out of your ear, thanks.

Here are a few examples of how the awareness of being in a public place might cause you to choose to change your behavio(u)r.

When you're loading yourself and your things onto the plane before a three-plus-hour flight, do not have this conversation.
He: Do you want the middle or aisle?
She: Oh, I'll get in the middle. I don't mind.
He: Okay.
She: Except that I get claustrophobic.
He: You said you didn't mind.
She: I don't. I'll be fine. Just claustrophobic. (She sits down in the middle.)
He: (sighs) You said... (Sighs. Sits down.)

At this point, you might consider NOT sleeping for an hour, asking me what time it is and calling me "ma'am" in the process (especially if you are, like she is, at least my age), and then grooming yourself for the entire rest of the trip. (Seriously. If it's a cosmetic, she's got it, and it's going on her face or her fingernails. If the flight attendants had sold lip gloss, she'd have bought some because she used up all of hers.)

Here's another conversation to avoid, especially before the plane takes off.
He: How long is this flight again?
She: I don't know.
He: Can you look it up?
She: Why do you keep asking these questions that force me to dig out papers, just when I get things put away? For crying out loud.
He: I was just curious, that's all. (In THAT voice): Never mind.
She (rattling papers) (In THAT voice): No no, I have it. We take off at 9:40 and land at noon.
He: How long is that? How many time zones?
She: I don't know. Where are we?
He: That's three hours. How can it take longer to get from Minneapolis to Tucson than it takes to get from Pittsburgh to Minneapolis?
She: I don't know. Read your book.
He: I don't like it. It's like the Lord of the Rings but not as good.
She: You don't like that kind. You read sci-fi.
He: Well, sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I liked that one.

You might also consider whether it's a good idea to choose mid-flight to start examining the hairs growing on your own tricep just above your elbow. Here's the answer: it's not. Stop picking at them, flicking them, or holding your elbow up to your seatmate to show him or her. Trust me, no one else on the plane cares.

And please--especially if you're sitting near me--refrain from yawning hugely and loudly, like you apparently do IN THE PRIVACY OF YOUR OWN HOME. Airplanes are not private places. They are PUBLIC places. You can tell because there are other people there.

Standing off the soapbox now...It was actually a pretty entertaining trip. The most unnerving part of the second conversation was that he looked like Santa Claus and yawned like a lion in a cartoon. How can you look so benign and be so...not benign?

Santa and Mrs. Claus had a few back-and-forths about football players, and Estee Lauder at one point asked Mr. Lauder how come she only got a pink CZ ring for Christmas instead of the white one she asked for, the kind that looks like a real diamond.

And yes, I had the same immigration official, the one who told me to smile, this time, and yes, he told me to smile this time, too.

I can feel myself composing a sternly worded letter to him and his boss. Does this mean I'm becoming a real Canadian?

On the Other Side

Culled from Inside Higher Education, a useful roundup of education-related news, comes this site: Word Warriors.

Its mission: to bring back great words. Words that we should use more often. Words like "alacrity," "antepenultimate," and "defenestrate."

It's sort of like the Lake Superior State University banned word lists. Only the opposite. It's pretty cool because you even get to vote on whether you like a word. Only the "thumbs down" icon is labeled "not so," and could that be short for "not so much," which is, as we all know, on LSSU's list?

Ahh, the battle of the word geeks. Pick up a shield and wade into the fray.

For the full word list, look here. It's a fun browse. And don't blame me if it's suddenly 5 p.m. on Tuesday and your to-do list hasn't changed since about 2.

Beat Me To It

It's that time of year again, when from Main Street to Wall Street, we emerge from our holiday staycations and examine our collective carbon footprints.

Or, you know, not so much.

Lake Superior State University has issued its list of banned words again. Most of what I wrote above is on it.

As I might have said when living in Arkansas, I was fixin' to do a post about the Wall Street/Main Street (Canadian: Bay Street/Main Street) "thing" myself. The essense of my message: Stop. Please. Now. Possibly the dyad was clever the first time anyone said it, decades ago, for a completely different recession. But now, stop.

I think that phrase bothers me more than most of the rest of the delights from LSSU, but one other merits comment. I agree that "First Dude," while possibly appropriate for the spouse of the president of the local skateboard club, is not at all appropriate for the spouse of a candidate for U.S. vice president. And my response to that is possibly linked to eight years of the Frat Boy President. Fortunately, the term now has the opportunity to pass quietly into oblivion.

But back to the battle of the Streets: I dislike the Wall-Bay Street/Main Street comparison because it's not particularly accurate. Wall-Bay Street and Main Street are neither so far apart nor so close together. For one thing, Wall-Bay Street is NOT synonymous with the economy. In either country.

And although it's meant to, Main Street actually does NOT represent local economies, either. These days, local companies more likely to have addresses like "One Innovation Way, Building 29," or "Three Four Five Research Park Drive, Suite 1450."

And another thing, and this is my main irritation with this phrase: Us "regular folk," who aren't like those supposed bazillionaires working on Wall-Bay Street, don't exist only in relation to Main Street (or what is meant by that phrase), either. Us regular folk are fully rounded human beings, who interact with each other, and money (as well as pizza and the weather) in a variety of ways. We don't wear financial goggles all day, every day--although these days, it's hard not to, since that's all that anyone in power ever talks about. Still, if pressed, we would acknowledge that not all of our activities relate to money.

Instead, we would recognize our activities relate to each other--actual people--and sometimes involve money. Probably in much the same way as the activities of those who work on Wall-Bay Street. Like us, they likely go home to families, and laugh and cry, and cook or order in or go out to eat, and curl or play hockey and wish something other than reruns were on TV.

We--the people on all four streets in both countries--are more than this shorthand. If policymakers remember that, they are likely to make better policies that do more than react to short-term fear. If we can remember that, we are likely to enjoy our lives in 2009 more than we will if we focus only on what we lack, instead of what we have.

Food Follow-Up

In a follow-up to the "buns 'n' butter" post, I offer this nugget of food for thought.

Several years ago, my husband and I were visiting his cousin in Texas. We were talking about traditional Swedish food (mostly white) and how fancy buffets in Thunder Bay include perogies and cabbage rolls. We wondered idly about the process by which an ethnic food becomes accepted as part of a country's own cuisine.

The cousin's granddaughter, age about 8, then said, "I just heard about a new Canadian restaurant opening across town." So we started speculating about the menu: poutine, perogies, and Persians, eh?

But after some careful questions, we realized she was talking about a Cajun restaurant.

And you know what--in a way, a Cajun restaurant is Canadian, sorta, because Cajuns are Arcadians who were exiled from what is now part of Canada...so let the good times roll!

That's the level of thought happening here today, as we watch the snow accumulate.