Decisions, Decisions

We have a new car. Buying it was a difficult decision, one a long time in the making. We decided for no real reason, or rather, for "squishy" reasons. We still need two cars. One of ours was 17 years old (the other is 8). Roy and I connected with a particular sales person who sold a particular kind of car we already knew we wanted. Et cetera.

Similarly, I will no longer be blogging here. Quitting was a difficult decision, one a long time in the making. The reasons are similarly squishy. Nothing horrible has happened. It's just time.

So of course I will now squish about those reasons.

One reason for quitting is that I sometimes feel, walking into a bookstore or surfing along the dewy strands of the Interwebs (to mix metaphors), as if people are clutching at my lapels (more mixture, more metaphors!), begging me to listen to their stories.

I am suffering a surfeit of memoir, a plethora of personal essay.

Actually, that last isn't quite right. I do like to read personal essays. But I am ready for them to be less personal and more essay. I'm very happy for a personal thread to guide me through a topic. I just want more emphasis on the topic and less on the feelings and impressions of the writer.

All of which is a tad hypocritical, since I have written very personal essays and can't promise I'll stop. Someday, a subject will capture my attention, and when I'm ready to consider it in the light of learning, I will. However, given that blogs are a form of personal essay, I can at least stop writing this one, which is more personal and less essay. As it happens, my writing for the foreseeable future will be less essay-ish and more fict-ish (and work-ish).

So the bigger reason for quitting is that others have far more learned things to say than I do about Canada as seen through the eyes of the U.S. and/or Americans (and sometimes vice versa). In the next month or so, I expect to be tidying up in here a little, and I'll include links to some of those people who are doing those "real" things, like collecting and analyzing accents and doing real research into the nuances of that relationship.

It's been an interesting adventure. I am aware that some semi-public mock has been made of me and my opinions. That's unsurprising, given that putting an opinion into a public space like a blog invites responses, of which mock is one form.

But it's also completely surprising, because really, who cares what I think? In the words of The West Wing's Toby Ziegler, "I'm just the guy who does the thing." (Another metaphor: I have apparently run out of pie!)

The point: I am not an expert. Not even a representative opinion. Just a writer. A sometimes cranky fly on the wall. (Stopping with the metaphors now.)

Far more important than all that is this: I am most grateful for those who have engaged me (in real life, given that I am the kind of person who doesn't allow comments here) in discussions about everything from "Of course it's pronounced "ash-phalt"; what are you talking about?" to the wistful "Really? they don't think about us? Not even a little bit?"

I am still find-able. I have a website. I am on Facebook.

In closing: Thank you, everyone. See you across the border.

A Boot? A Boat?

Everybody knows Canadians say "aboot" for the word "about." Well, at least all Americans who have seen Bob and Doug McKenzie know that.

But wait! From a fascinating blog that looks at all kinds of accents comes the assertion "Canadian Raising: Nobody Says Aboot."

I suspect it's dangerous to say that "nobody" says "aboot." However, it's obviously accurate to say that "not all Canadians" say it. And possibly more Canadians don't than do.

Similarly, not all Americans say "y'all" and "all y'all," even though they are extremely useful as gender-neutral ways to convey "you guys."

But hey, what a site! He has clips of Canadians speaking and everything! And introductory material explaining the International Phonetic Alphabet! And maps of accents!!! Go look, but beware: Hours of procrastination ahead!

Healthcare: The Limits

One thing about healthcare in Canada. When what you have is a flu bug, or is possibly your body complaining vehemently about your devotion to dietary fibre (American: fiber), the healthcare system can't do anything for you.

Unless you count the fact that I could go to a walk-in clinic (or ER, if I were particularly worried) and find that out for free, without feeling stupid.

Well, then. I guess that's not nothing, after all.

Welcome, Here's Your Test

A recent story in the Globe and Mail, by the gifted and talented Joe Friesen, reports on a European survey of immigration policies. Thanks to new efforts to recognize immigrants' professional credentials, Canada now ranks "just short of the best in the world." How very Canadian (pre-podium-owning, of course).

According to the story, one area in which Canada could improve is in political engagement of immigrants--an odd area for Canada's political systems to overlook, because the story indicates that immigrants are known to be politically active.

While cruising around on the Citizenship and Immigration Canada site, I recently discovered that immigrants aged 55 and over are NOT required to take a citizenship test.

I've written before about citizenship and citizenship tests. And yes, I am on record as saying the discussion of the citizenship test on The Agenda was "yawn-inducing," and yes, I now wish I had paid closer attention to the issues. (Sorry, TVO!)

Because here's the real question about citizenship tests. What is the point?

Is it to ensure basic literacy about cultural and political customs and traditions? Okay: who needs this basic literacy--only immigrants, or everyone? Then why are only immigrants tested? You can say that people who grow up in Canada are tested as part of their experience in the school system, but not all participation in school is equal. (Some 48% of Canadians over the age of 16 don't demonstrate "desired" literacy levels for navigating life.)

Yet testing people before allowing them to enter polling booths is discriminatory, according to the US Voting Rights Act; tests kept African-Americans from voting for 100 years. But how far before an election is it OK to test people? Non-citizens are not allowed to vote in this country, so any test immigrants take will be, technically, before a vote.

A second question: Who gets to decide which cultural and political customs and traditions are tested? Are Canadians tested on persians as well as poutine and donair?

And are these tests educationally valid? Do these tests conform to known "best practices"? Can a kinesthetic learner choreograph and perform a dance to demonstrate the hundreds of federal ridings? Are visual learners encouraged to submit dioramas demonstrating their understanding of the role of the Queen in Canadian foreign policy?

Stepping back from the abyss of absurdity, it's still valid to recap this basic question from two years ago: How many current Canadian citizens can pass their test? (This goes for you, too, Americans.)

And now, the new wrinkle: new citizens over the age of 55 don't need to be tested. Why not? According to the Canadian Business online life expectancy calculator, if I were 55 (which I am NOT), all things remaining equal, I'll live to 85. (Note that none of the questions asked where I was born, which demonstrates either that immigrants can be expected to live about as long as Canadians born here, or that the magazine's test is limited.)

So, if I were to become a citizen at 55, I'd have 30 years of voting ahead of me. It would be good for Canada if I, too, had some basic understanding of this country I'm moving to.

If people over 55 are exempt from testing because of potential language difficulties and/or because learning new material is "hard"--well, what favours are you doing these people to expect less of them because they've lived X years? In fact, mental stimulation is still cited by the U.S. NIH as one way to stave off memory loss.

So wouldn't it make the most sense to require all Canadians over the age of 55 to to continue learning? But then we're back to testing everyone before voting.

Worst of all, I'm afraid I have only questions, no solutions. I do think people entering a country should demonstrate a basic knowledge of the country they're entering--but I believe those who live there should have that same basic knowledge. Yet it's discriminatory to deny citizens the right to vote based on the results of any kind of test.

I am also not convinced that citizenship tests are the best way for immigrants to demonstrate the desired understanding of their new country.

And I don't think that something magical happens in a brain at the age of 55 that should exempt people that age from having the basic knowledge required for citizenship.

So...what is the role of the citizenship test again? Never mind. I'll start studying.

Sip, Sip: Hooray!

From the department of pronunciation, this just in.

A local TV personality has a pronunciation quirk that makes my husband nuts. (No, I'm not getting specific; she does a fine job otherwise and frankly I find this kinda entertaining.)

There's this local golf course. It's the "municipal" golf course. That's "myoo-ni-SIP-pul." (I can't explain it; I just report it.)

Everything else in town follows the standard pronunciation of "myoo-NIH-sip-pul," which you can also find in genuine International Phonetic Alphabet and sound clips if you google, as I did.

I have never heard this "SIP-pul" pronunciation elsewhere for anything, other than the golf course here. It's certainly not Canadian, except in this little teeny tiny pocket of Canada.

Sure, every place has similar litmus tests. When I lived in Arkansas, new weather broadcasters pronounced El Dorado as "El Dough-RAH-dough" until someone told them it was actually "El Duh-RAY-duh." Also, the town of Blytheville drops consonants when pronounced: "BLY-vul" is correct.

So: "myoo-NIH-sip-pul" elections. Which is not what the local news anchor says. To her, everything municipal is "myoo-nih-SIP-pul."

My husband has a smaller-than-average share of pet peeves. (Yes, I recognize that I'm an overachiever in this area and should not be construed as "average.") As a peeve-deprived individual, he is not one to talk to the television. In contrast, on any given night, I'm usually muttering at someone on there about something. It's a habit I picked up from my father during the Nixon years, when I was impressionable and he was annoyed. A lot.

However, for this one pronunciation, my normally easygoing husband makes an exception. He always breathes a heavy sigh and nearly always groans. Sometimes he smacks his forehead and rolls his eyes, but I think that's just to impress me.

The only other thing I can count on to increase his drama quotient is when people (and lots of them do it) say "FEB-yoo-air-ee." He will occasionally over-enunciate "FEB-ROO-AIR-EE" for the benefit of the offender. (Yes, we know no one can hear us through the glass, but we choose not to believe.)

My husband also is not a big fan of "s" becoming "sh," as when Tyra Banks pronounces "strength" as "schtrenth." (C'mon, Tyra, what's next: "feersh"?) Not that my husband has ever seen America's Next Top Model or knows who Tyra Banks is. More and more people, especially in the US, use that pronunciation (*cough* Michelle Obama *cough*) and he dislikes it. But it's only a teeth-gritter, not a forehead-smacker.

Thankfully, the myoo-NIH-sip-pul elections are over. However, FEB-roo-air-ee is on the horizon. My prediction: It's gonna be loud during the news at 6 around here for the next couple of months.

Two Word-Related Pleas: Please!

1. Now that we're officially in the "dead of winter," could we all agree to avoid the phrase "the white stuff"???

It's SNOW, people. Snow. Or something else, which might be "sleet" or "mixed rain and snow," depending on your country. It's not heroin or cocaine, it's not cotton balls, it's not wool, it's not printer paper, it's not milk--any or all of which could also be called "white stuff" (based on what I see on TV about drugs).

Calling it "the white stuff" doesn't make the snow, or you, any cuter. It's snow.

2. After events like the shooting in Tucson last Saturday, use of the phrase "in the wake of" spikes. For example, "In the wake of the Tucson shootings, pundits are falling all over each other to distance themselves from the event."

Just stop. The event, whether it's the Tucson shooting or Columbine or some other sudden violent event, is horrific, and what you say will not in any way be as important as the event itself. So stop borrowing drama. The word "after" conveys the same timeframe. If you want to make the case that what you're saying is related in some way to the event, make that case--don't assume it.

Okay, end of lecture. Just: please?

What it Takes to Really Learn Something

Since moving to Canada, I have learned that if I wear a coat with Velcro fastenings, I should avoid wearing knit scarves (meaning the muffler variety of scarf, a use of the term "muffler" which is apparently out of fashion). Knit scarves invariably get caught in the hook side of the velcro.

That's two rabbit trails in two sentences. "Muffler" is something you read about in books, but most people (around here) tend not to say anymore. "Hook-and-loop fastener" is the generic way to refer to Velcro. Sheesh.

MY POINT is that I should have learned this sometime in the early 1990s, when I moved to the mountains of Northern New Mexico and got to buy serious coats. Failing that, you'd think it would have become part of my explicit learning at some point during the ten years I lived in Colorado.

But no. Now, some five-plus years into living here, I finally can verbalize that the fleece muffler (crap) scarf goes with my black Velcro (crap) hook-and-loop fastened coat.

This is really about the shootings in Tucson on Saturday. (Trust me.) I have known for some time that I am grateful to be away from the relentless political rhetoric in the US. I am no more a fan of Keith Olbermann than I am of any of those on the right who also shriek and froth at the mouth. I have a low tolerance for people shouting past each other. So I am glad to have missed so much of it.

My heart is heavy from the shooting, in part because I've spent significant time in Tucson--in fact, at the Safeway and the bird food store and the La Salsa restaurant in that shopping center. Tucson is a lovely community, where many kinds of people make lives together. So the shootings there are not much farther from my thoughts than is my brother, his physicians, his family, his blood cells.

And, as is true with "knit mufflers don't go with Velcro," I am finally able to say, explicitly about politics and rhetoric, "I know all I need to; now I move on." I'm so very glad to live here, where I am away from the relentness ugly rhetoric.

This morning, while running errands, I was in the car during a CBC newscast. CBC calmly reported actual news of Tucson: arraignment, suspect, a recap count of injured and killed. Nothing breathless. No "breaking news" that isn't actually NEW. CBC reports that people are searching for blame, but it's a ten-second summary, not a rehash of "he said, she said." And then we return to regular programming: a gardening show.

And for me, for now, that's what I need: regular life. I can drop off a box of books at the library, take papers to a lawyer, go to meetings. I can prep for other meetings, do laundry, and review drafts of written stuff. At some point, I may even be able to research and revise policies, and tease out creative writing, with the focused attention they require (and deserve).

Later, when I have run out of "little things" and "regular life," ha ha, I will look again at the "big picture" and apply what I have learned. Specifically, when I have the opportunity to vote again, I will pay attention to more than political party, campaign promises, and voting record. I will look at how the candidate ran for office, and I will not reward flamethrowers.

To recap what I have (finally) learned: Wear fleece scarves with coats that have that hook-and-loop closure.

After you find out the facts, return to regular life as much as possible.

Oh, and: Deliberately incendiary rhetoric is vulgar at best and destructive at worst.

Let's hope many in the US have learned that last lesson.

"No": A Complete Sentence I Don't Like

You know what my most un-favo(u)rite word is?

It's "no."

Normally I'd be writing about that word here, in reference to receiving rejections from publications and publishers.

But I have discovered that there are lots of ways to augment the complete sentence that is "no," and many of them are not to my liking.

Most recently, these are my least-favo(u)rites.

"No, you are not a match for your brother" (who, as you may recall, will likely require a stem cell transplant in 2011).

"No, your sister is not, either."

"Oh, and your cousin? No, she isn't, either."

Grrr.

Having two other brothers is hopeful.

But while we're on the subject, could I just urge you to think of doing something I can't? Please consider joining the National Donor Registry. In Canada, go here. In the US, go here.

I live in Canada and am thus directed to join the Canadian program. However, the Canadian program accepts donors only between the ages of 17 and 50. Maybe I should have kept a mailing address in Minnesota (you can be in the US registry till the age of 60).

As I whine about this situation, I remember I am not the patient. To patients, the worst "no" of all would be, "No, we can't find a donor for you."

It's a "no" no one should have to hear--including (selfishly) my brother.

Q: Sleet is...what?

A: The term "sleet" is American for what Canadians call "mixed rain and snow." Not to be confused with "freezing rain," which falls as liquid and freezes on the way down and creates yucky stuff that coats trees and snaps power lines.

Wikipedia has an entire entry about Canadian severe weather terminoloy. The horse itself is here: you will go to Environment Canada's glossary at the letter "s," where you will notice nothing about "sleet."

Fortunately, we don't have anything like that happening here today. Instead, we have clear skies. Which means hardly anything in terms of warmth. This morning was 15 below F. That's, like, I dunno. Cold.

Could be worse, though. Could have freezing rain or mixed rain and snow.

My point? Just that even conversations about the weather between Canadians and Americans still have plenty of room for miscommunication. Though "brr" seems understandable to both.

One Expression, One Pronunciation

Recently, I have been trying to collect other language observations but still have just one expression and one pronunciation. So here you go.

1. Expression: "keener," as in, "The keeners who finished their assignments early got a lollipop."

From context, a keener is enthusiastic. She is eager. She is on that project right away. A quick trip to the urban dictionary confirms my sense that a "keener" is a little like a brownnoser but not as nerdy.

I don't know an American equivalent. Do we scorn eagerness and achievement? Do we answer rhetorical questions? We do: indeed, we do.

2. Pronunciation: "juke," as in, the Grand Old one from York with ten thousand men who marched them up the hill (and then he marched them down again).

"Duke" has cropped up on TV fairly often recently, for some reason (perhaps Prince William's engagement? but he's a prince...hmm). Often it's pronounced as "dee-YUKE," run together quickly. But I've heard a fair amount of "juke." Since moving here, I have heard mercifully less "dook," which is what my "dee-YUKE" pronunciation was teased into, lo those many decades ago. Apparently the "y" sound conveys a certain refinement, a sense of "who do you think you are?" intolerable to my peers. And I caved to their pressure. I pronounced down.

Also, in this country I am apparently surrounded by "KYOO-pon" rather than "KOO-pon," which ditto with the teasing, although my husband says "KOO-pon."

And I, embracing my inner keener, have found myself returning to "KYOO-pon" and "dee-YUKE." And now, I'm off to march up and down hills!

Hi Ho Hip Hooray

Well, it happened. I heard my third "tickety-boo" today. And when n = 3, and none of those "n"s is is a relative, and especially when one of them was a CBC pundit, I feel compelled to share.

So, here you go: "Things were going along tickety-boo when all hell broke loose."

I have never heard it used when it wasn't followed by the sense of "but I was mistaken" or "but that didn't last long."

As in, the economy was chugging along tickety-boo until the housing market collapsed. Or I was running all my errands, tickety-boo, and then I got slowed by road construction.

A brief Google search reveals that it may be Scottish, and that's likely how it came into Canada.

It also revealed the following earworm, with which I leave you:



It is, after all, a peaches-and-creamy day, on which one wants to bless mankind, including one's attackers.

Spelling as a Political Act

Lately, I've been having what I have come to think of as Sherman Alexie moments. That is, those moments in which I feel "between cultures."

One of those between-culture moments has to do with language, perhaps not surprisingly, given what I do. As you might expect from an American living in Canada and working with words, I have had to create some mental rules around spelling.

When I write something, I use the spelling that the audience expects. American clients expect "color," and Canadians expect "colour." Great. That's easy. Usually, with the guidance of MS Word's language default setting and my own reading of Canadian periodicals, I can get it right. This rule works even in the creative work I'm writing more of nowadays: if it's designed for Canadian audiences, it gets Canadian spelling.

On Facebook, I've adopted some practices, mostly to see how they work. For example, I celebrated "Labour Day" this year because I celebrated it in Canada. When I converse online with American friends, I tend to "type American"; for Canadians, I "type Canadian."

You've seen me use parentheses on the blog here for things like
"favo(u)rite." It's a way to type "between cultures." Hey, we're an inclusive place here.

But then I wondered: when I'm just me, writing just for me, what do I use?

And THEN I wondered: when on earth do I write "just for me"?

The answer is, I don't. Even the journaling I do will be read by someone other than the writer. Even if that "someone" is some future version of me--well, that version of me won't be the same person that I am at the "now" in which I write.

This also ties in with something I first heard discussed in graduate school: writing is a powerful act. One of my professors said his favorite (he was American) students were those he taught in a penitentiary. They were extremely motivated to learn. Learning to read and write effective arguments could help with their appeals and help them gain parole. For them, writing was highly personal, political, powerful.

I was more recently reminded when listening to CBC's Sunday morning news program, which featured a panel discussion about language issues, that even spelling is political. Someone on the panel mentioned Noah Webster, who of course is famous for changing the spellings of words such as "center," "defense," and "traveler." He did it for unashamedly ideological reasons: American English should be different from British English.

So, I am tempted to say, "Oh for crying out loud, this is not a big deal." Except that it is. Language and identity are so closely related as to be inseparable. It gets to Sherman Alexie's statement that whoever lives between cultures eventually is at home in neither.

Is spelling going to be my measuring stick? (Notice how I avoided using "yardstick"?)

If so, I guess it's time to take a baseline measurement. At present, the default setting for my spelling is still American. I wonder how much longer that will be true.

Of Asphalt and Potatoes

I'm back from a brief sojourn in Winnipeg, where I collected charming examples of all the funny ways in which people in this fine country pronounce their words.

Like, for example, asphalt. Note the spelling: a s p h a l t. NOT a s H p h a l t. So why do they say it "ash-fault"?

Answer: they just do, okay?

And then there's potato. Which I have recently heard pronounced "puh-DAY-duh." I was informed that Red Green, a faux person I had to look up, says it this way. Well, so does an otherwise veddy proper CBC radio guest who sounded as if she affected it for some reason unknown to me.

Not that I say, precisely, "poe-TAY-toe." More like "puh-TAY-doe."

And then, as I am about to pontificate about asphalt, I discover this Wikipedia entry for Canadian English. The fine folks at Wikipedia have been compiling alongside me. And a fine job they have done, too.

But remember, Canada is a big place. Rather like the U.S., where I grew up saying neither "soda" (affected Yankee-ism) nor "pop" (pff, that baby word), but "coke." As in, "What kind of Coke do you want? We have 7-up or Dr. Pepper." And this was a universal usage in my hometown, not one of those "your family talks funny" usages.

The point is, as I have mentioned before in relation to Canada and Canadians, beware of too-broad brushstrokes.

And now, I'm off to steam a pudayduh on the ashphalt. It's just THAT hot 'n' muggy here.

In Real Life

At this time of year, everything is greening (and releasing pollen, bleah), which means that we're surrounded by beautiful photos. We snap our fair share of them, but I am also making a conscious choice to enjoy the view instead of taking (or missing) the picture.

This morning, this view sent me to find the camera and snap some shots. And now? Meh.

What can I say? It looks better in real life. The birch is green and fresh in a way that even cropping can't show.

See? It's fine. Not special. It's interesting to me because I live here. But it doesn't communicate what I want it to.

There's a lesson in here, too. Maybe the same one: some experiences just can't be captured. Maybe none can--maybe experiences can be only interpreted in a different medium. And some media work better than others. Some experiences translate better than others.

So, real life is different. In some cases, better. In others, just different.

As someone who spends a lot of time in her head, and who spends much of the rest of her time trying to capture experiences in words, this is another good lesson.

Real life is always different, and that's the point. That's why they call it "art" or "writing" or "photography" instead. Duh. Sometimes I'm a little slow to the party.

But I will keep taking pictures--not so much to see if I succeeded in a particular goal, but out of curiosity: what picture will this turn out to be, really?

Wanted

I wouldn't post this to Craig's or anyone else's list, but just in case the Universe is listening, here are a few things we could use around here.

1. Fewer side effects. My brother (and the rest of us [his family], plus every other person touched by cancer)--we appreciate the whole existence of chemotherapy and all, but the drugs are difficult to tolerate. Please help researchers figure out better cures that hurt less.

2. More water. Thanks so much for the five inches of water in the bay in front of us. By Wednesday or so, we really really need a foot. Actually, a foot on top of the five inches would be better. We're looking at an old well as an alternative. We're contemplating other solutions that will allow us to meet our commitment to the people who are spending their holiday in the house that requires the water. But more water would be really really nice.

3. Inspiration. Also known as mental and physical energy, problem-solving skills, the fortitude to be persistent, the resources for the long haul. This is not for me, it's for all those fighting illness, the researchers, and those water-problem-solving people. Also, allergy sufferers, who are a significant subset of the water group. Although it's also for me because I know that being around inspired people inspires me. So sure, I'll cop to self-interest here.

It seems unfair to ask for anything when I already have so much. However, is anyone in the world so blessed as to be without a wish list?

Thanks in advance.

Re-Learning Again

You heard it here first: knowing and doing are two different things.

Or maybe you just hear it here often. We tend to be slow that way.

Case in point:

"Where the Fox Was"

This fox.


I didn't happen to take the first shot of the fox, but I have several like it--of loons, mostly. Also a few deer.

The phrase "wasted film" loses more meaning every day. So the lesson--just let it go, will ya?--might be difficult to learn. What's the harm in trying for the shot, even if you fail? I mean, if you get it, what a great shot!!

Unless you're trying so hard for the shot that you never see the fox/loon/deer.

Oh. That lesson.

Inner Critic

North American cultures make a big deal of graduations. Perhaps the party industry has a hand in that. If Grade 8 graduation is as big a deal as Grade 12 graduation, that means more dresses, decorations, and cake get sold. More limousines and tuxes rented. More cash registers beeping.

But for all that graduation is supposed to be a turning point--the beginning of the rest of your life, blah blah blah--who really leaves school behind?

Obviously, we should. But be truthful: when the popular girl from high school deigned to friend you on Facebook, you did a "squee!" You know you did.

But seriously--isn't it time to move on? Perhaps it's time to more carefully select the people with whom you work on the things that are important to you. You may not be in contact (even through Facebook) with the Popular Ones, the Designated Smart Ones, or whoever was your nemesis in the past.

But they probably live on, right there between your ears. They are part of your inner critic, whom you will never please.

As Seth Godin suggests here, the important people are those who will work with you to improve what you're doing. The people who you could never impress or satisfy in high school (or your first job, or your first marriage, or graduate school) are not.

For writers, it's difficult but necessary to find people who will be truthful but positive when giving feedback. Learning how to listen to what they say is another, separate skill, and one that's equally necessary to develop. I'm getting there on both counts.

But it's easier when you can leave behind the comments that those people in your past have made: the snarky workshop leader, the frightened boss, the unimaginative coworker who can't imagine why something is important to you. (Examples, sheer examples. No actual people attached. They know who they are.) Their influence persists, in the voice between my ears, only because I allow it to. But no more.

In this season of transitions, let the sun rise on graduation day!

The Ick

...has invaded our home. Fortunately for me, I'm still well. However, my husband is not.

When I got s-ick with any kind of gastroenteritis thing in the U.S., I knew that resting at home and replacing fluids were my treatments. For one thing, that's all that ever worked. And for another, it was extremely expensive to go to the doctor to be told to rest at home and replace fluids. Especially when I already knew that.

But here, going to the ER (or what is called Emerg [pronounced emerge] in this country) isn't guaranteed to cost a small fortune. It's an actual feasible thing to do, if you don't mind being triaged with a bunch of other sick people.

So because it's an option, I wonder: when do I go (or drag Mr. Sick)? I know what they will say: stay home, rest, replace fluids. So we don't go. And I hope that if/when I am really coping with something beyond my medical experience, I remember that I can get help without concern for cost.

Sorry to rub it in, Americans. But I have to say, that peace of mind is worth paying taxes for.

Happy Pi Day

Get it? Pi? As in, 3.14?

And today is 3-14. Or in some circles, it's written 3.14.

Except in those countries in which March 14 is 14-03, or 14/3. Which is some countries in North America. Sometimes. It's very confusing.

Okay, you know what? Just say a brief "thanks" for mathematics--and mathematicians, who helped create the technology you're using to read this--and eat some pie. If you want to calculate the circumference of your pie, well...that brings us back to pi, doesn't it? Full circle, you might say. (Get it? Circumference? Full circle?)

Aw, c'mon. It's math humo(u)r. Laugh.

A day with pi(e) and laughter: it's gotta be good.

From the "Sad but True" Department...

I share this quote from Art & Fear (by David Bayles and Ted Orland):

[T]he words you wrote--not the ones you needed to write or thought about writing--are the only ones that appear on the paper.

I don't get "credit" of any kind (financial, professional, whatever) for the fabulous story I dream of writing. I can't even revise it. Not till I get the words onto the page.

But sometimes, this statement isn't sad at all--it's simply true. And a good thing, too.

Written words are powerful. My parents tried to teach me to express praise and gratitude in writing, so that those emotions and the "positive" actions become part of the permanent record. I try to keep anger off the page--the public page, that is.

Because sometimes things need to be written, but they don't need to be shared.

But mostly, in this house, they just need to be written.