Going to the Polls #1

Here in Alberta, it's election time. Last time we had a Provincial election, 60% of voters stayed home. Perhaps that's because the same party (Conservative) has been in power for forty years. That's right, effectively a one party non-democracy.

Howe ever, the Conservatives have done some stupid things recently, the most dramatic of which is letting people find out that one Parliamentary Committee, which hasn't met since 2008, pays each member $1000 per month, just for being on the committee. Do the math: $36000+ each. The Chair, our MLA, is paid $1500 a month - that's $54000+ !

There is a new party on the map here, the Wildrose Alliance (the wild rose is the provincial flower), an even further right wing party than the Conservatives. Other parties, more to the left, are Liberal, New Democrat, and The Alberta Party. All are peripheral in Alberta.

The pundits tell us that the Cons and the Wildrose party are currently neck-and-neck in the polls. The Conservatives new leader, the first female Premier in Alberta, seems a good head, and a sort of "Red Tory" if such a thing exists. The southern rural vote will lean heavily toward the Wildrose, we are told.

The two leaders, Alison Redford and Danielle Smith, are both highly intelligent and very well spoken. It sounded like it would be a really good campaign, with policy and philosophical differences getting aired pretty freely. In the opening shot of her campaign, the Premier stated that her party desired change and growth for Alberta, a move away from the same old way of doing things. (Sounded strange from a party that's been in power for four decades!)

Then the tone plunged…a deep plunge. Smith's response to this ststement was "The Premier doesn't like Albertans! She wants us to become someone else…she wants to change us! I like us just the way we are!" Public response was strongly negative to the "negative quote" strategy that appeared to unfolding from the Wildrose people. People phoned in to radio shows saying, "hair pulling has no part in an election"…"Smith blew that one! It's playground stuff." And so forth.

I guess I'm naive. I actualy thought that with two intelligent women running the main contenders, we might actually have a civilized, thoughtful and intelligent campaign. Apparently, 'a politician is a politician is a politician', ad nauseum. I'm waiting, as are many thousands of others, to see how the Premier and the Conservative Party respond to this stuff. But I'm not holding my breath! As Grandma Black used to say, back in the day, "More anon…"

Town Centre

We are currently engaged in a struggle between winter and spring. One day, lots of wet snow. The next, three days of warm winds and lots of melt. Today it is 0° C, right on the cusp, damp and grey and chilly, with a warm afternoon promised.

In our school district, it is "March Break" - what used to be "Easter Break" when I was a child. This means that the movie theatre if full most nights, and Tim Horton's is overfull most days. Tim's usually attracts a large group of elders - seniors, retired farmers, people on days off. This week, there is the added load of adolescents when jam into booths, order outrageous drinks and fries from Wendy's next door, and either talk of play with their phones for an hour.

It's quite a jolly and eclectic place, the closest thing to "town centre" that we have in Ponoka. Down in the centre of the old business district, there is a little coffee shop that could be the Town centre, except that there is nowhere to ark, and this is a car and truck (mostly truck) town. The little place makes nice lunches, but is generally funeral-ly quiet.Kiss of death, unless you want to read the paper in peace.

Tim Horton's is out on Highway 2A, the road that rips right through the middle of town.Central it is, these days. It's build on an old swamp where some of the men who coffee there caught frogs when they were boys, and love to tell you about it! The Premier dropped in the other afternoon as part of the start up of her election campaign. She has work to do to hold this riding, after the MLA pay scandal of recent weeks.

It seems to be a universal fact of small town life on the prairies that in each place, no matter how small and fading, there is one place that dominates the coffee circuit. Here in Ponoka, it's Tim's. There is a MacDonald's - mediocre business; there is an A&W, busy early AM, there is the downtown Coffee Hut, quiet most of the time.

How do people decide which place it will be? What factors go into the choice they make? Two things seem to figure in the decision here. First off, it's highly visible, and there's easy access from two directions. Secondly, Tim's is associated with hockey. Sidney Crosby's picture looks large. Before that, an old black-and-white of the original Tim Horton pulled in the old boys. How long this will last for them is anybody's guess. It looks like "forever," but we know that sooner or later, something will change, and everything will shift.

Which seems to be the one certainty that can be gleaned from life currently: 'something will change, and everything will shift.' Reading and reflecting on 'The Hunger Games' phenomenon underlines that statement heavily. In the story, this recurring fact moves the story along, and seems guaranteed to help young adults identify with that fact cum bromide, and ponder the ways they might influence those changes. (I hope it prompts some of the +18's to VOTE in April, in the Provincial elections. Last election, only 2 out of five eligible voters cast a ballot, a poorer percentage that even Afghanistan can boast!)

Much of the time in Alberta, the general population is sitting back on its heels, and change is initiated by "the establishment" - the Province or Big Oil. Most of the prosed changes that 'slide through' involve the  gradual eroding of individual rights, or safety. At the moment, it's all about "fracking." I'll attempt to explain fracking next time

The "Hunger" Games

This is the weekend of The Hunger Games! Thursday midnight (and in some places, also at 3 AM), it opened all over the country. Even in our little rural theatre. Went Friday evening ($14.00 for two tickets plus popcorn), every kid in town took in the midnight show. The movie was excellent, for a young adult crowd. Also for me. I've almost finished book one, and I'd say it is quite faithful to the novel.

What is so impressive to me is how Suzanne Collins has captured and explicated so many of today's current issues for young people. Among them, the expanding gap between the very wealthy and the very poor, the emphasis politically on social control and repression of "radical" ideas. The notion of sacrificing the young as a means of control and as a means of entertaining the populace also struck me. The prevalence and popularity of so-called "reality" TV is mirrored in the book. The adulation and pressure put on youthful sports heroes, even at the cost of their health and/or lives, struck a chord. "Hunger" was a literal theme in the book. It's clear that our young people express a number of "hungers" in their lives currently. How will they express those as we move into a less secure future? What steps will be taken to control and/or suppress those hungers? Take the Donald Sutherland character - Mr. Control and rule - and put his beard on Stephen Harper and you have, voila, our country as it stands today.

In these ways, and others as well, I think one could look at The Hunger Games as a parable, a message to today's young people. In the movie, anything that allows youth to "band together" - even love and affection - is deemed radical and threatening to the Establishment and is punished. My thoughts went immediately to the "Occupy…" movement. Lots of young people, protesting the extravagance and waste of the inordinately rich, the entitled, the "in-charge" people; these kids and their supporters were branded as dangerous radicals, those who threaten  the status quo, who had to be disbanded and arrested so they would be off the TV screens. I can't help but wonder if others will make these connections and push them as the books become more widely read, and the movies become cult hits.

As it stands, I'm almost done book one, and have two and three on my Kindle, waiting to be read, ASAP. I'm sure I'll think more on this, and have more to share.

Winter…kills

Wednesday last was the first day of spring - "the vernal equinox." It had been lovely for a few days…and then Thursday it snowed, overnight. Friday it snowed more. We suuddenly has a beautiful white covering of wet and heavy snow. Evening came, and slowly ice began to form under the snow, and we had…slick!

Quite a shock for the spring-hopers. For me, quiet, internal pleasure. I am really a winter person. The chill of a wind, the bite of the cold temperature, the crunch of snow under my feet; this is where I am most at home. My spoken rationale is that summer heat bothers me and it's much more difficult to escape. Well…air conditioning is a help, but only if the humidity is low. In winter, one van always keep the cold at bay with the correct gear - parka, mitts. long johns - and by moving, walking, shovelling. So I'm actually pleased with a fresh cover of snow. I even shovelled it, rather than hauling out the blower. That was a bit risky to do, given the state of my back, but it was exhilarating, and it keep me warm!

Today, the snow remains - it was -15 degrees Celsius last night - but there is lots of ice, making driving a whole different thing. There were many street accidents In Edmonton after the snow arrived. In just two days, everyone forgets how to drive in winter! It amazes me how the arrival of snow helps people disengage their brains before the dazzle and excitement of fresh powder. Sometimes this is annoying. At other times it can be fatal. The other night, five people were tooling around open fields on a snowmobile in the late afternoon or early evening - the light had faded and was poor. They had lost track of just where they were on the fields, so they were totally unprepared when their speeding toy shot off the top of a an embankment, six metres above the highway! That's over 19 feet above pavement. Three of the five were killed, the other two seriously injured. One couple of the deceased were planning a wedding in the near future, and the young woman was bearing her first child. Joy and inattention helped a toy to kill three people. The definite downside of winter, assisted by human folly. Just as the heat can kill in the summer if the conditions are right, and people aren't protected, so also winter can kill if one isn't prepared for it, or inattentive to its implications.

At various times during this winter, there have been stories of snowmobilers attempting to race up mountainsides in the soft powder, despite warnings of the avalanche dangers prevailing at that time. A number of men have been killed in this manner since last fall.

People who live in desert regions or near the equator, learn early the ways that a person can survive in the heat. I well remember my beloved friends Vincent, from Madras, India, always keeping his head covered in summer - even in Canada. So it surprises me when Canadians, who have lived with winter their whole lives and with the experience of generations gone by, "forget" or ignore the perils of the season.

All this aside, I still love the season. I have always felt that I was a child of winter. Perhaps that comes from being born in December, although I'm sure there are all sorts of "December babies" who long for summer as soon as the snow flies. But I'm not one of them.

Changing seasons, maybe

Twice a year we have solstices - summer and winter. Twice a year we have equinoxes - spring and fall. These are astronomical events having to do with the angle of the sun's light hitting earth, or the distance of the sun from our part of the globe. Brief, and non-scientific descriptions, but good enough for today.

Whether or not there is a scientific basis for this or not, I am virtually always affected by the equinox and the solstice - more by the former. Usually, I feel out of sorts for a day or two, sometimes I get quite depressed for no discernible reason. Most of the time I have to be reminded of the seasonal event afterwards, when I am trying to figure out what I've been going through. There is always a little inward "aha" that I experience when I 'get it.'

I wonder if any other people have this experience, or if it's completely idiosyncratic. It always puzzles me, but I am usually relieved to discover that there might be some "reason" for my brief dip in mood and feelings. Leading up to this most recent equinox - March 20, Tuesday last - I experienced a two day headache. This hasn't been an experience I've 'enjoyed' since my migraine days, over 25 years ago. Advil didn't help, but it wasn't debilitating. I just hurt, like there was something heavy on my mind. Of course, I was also suddenly depressed, and a little paranoid about some things. Weird. Does anyone else go through this? Is there any objective basis for this, or am I truly just…weird?

In any case, this morning - Thursday, March 22 - I feel much differently. Fine, even. Although I have, for inexplicable reasons, changed my morning habits! (You can't imagine how fixed and rigid my morning habits usually are!) No walk - "I'll go later, just before lunch, in the light." Really? Not first thing? Wow!

Now, those few of you who follow these ramblings will be sure that I am weird. Such a little thing, so firmly fixed, so "odd" to do. Like, who cares? Like, I usually do! So, I'm shrugging and saying to myself, "Oh well, even James can make a few little changes. Perhaps it simply evolution, working its wonders on even me, old and fixed as I am."

So to day, after I work out in the pool, and have a talk with my pastor, I will take the North trail for an hour, hopefully before the snow begins (Oh, yes, we're getting snow. Not spring yet, despite the equinox.) I will actually start looking to see if there is any basis in science for my current weirdness. It would be nice to gave some reason to be so…odd. Wouldn't you agree?

Sunday, bloody Sunday

This morning I conducted worship and preached at my spouse's church. Yes, she is a minister. Like me. Only quite different. The congregation that sponsored her when she went into ministry is having their 50th anniversary, and she wanted to attend. I offered to fill in for her so she could go. For me, it was a loving gift, and it had a cost.

I was very nervous about doing this, because I feel so ambivalent about her congregation. I have felt that since before we moved here. In the letter they sent her confirming the "call to their pulpit," They made it clear that they were calling her and not me. At one level I completely understood that statement. I had  profile in the Conference. Because of my teaching position in the Health Care system, I was somebody of some importance. They simply outlined the boundaries.

At another level, I felt quite distanced by that sentence, even rejected. I was hurt that they thought they had to even say such a thing. Did they not think I would be aware of that issue? So from the start, I felt apart from them. In the almost nine years we have been here, I have had very little to do with them. I attend worship from time to time, but I have worked enough that this has not been a regular thing. I did some "supply preaching" for them when Beatrix had her surgery a couple of years ago. They paid me, as they should. This weekend, i did it for her, and I don't expect them to compensate me. I'm sure they will not offer.

My ambivalence toward them has increased over the years. I feel they treat my spouse badly. She gets very little feedback from them, and almost no positive feedback. They rarely thank her for anything. They are also quick to criticize her work. It situations where she needs support, her Council rarely supports her. I easily become annoyed with them. So I was nervous this morning, not sure if I really wanted to be there, but sure that I wanted to support my spouse.

I'm actually relieved that so few people read this blog, because I use it - like today - for very personal musings. I actually don't want the world to know about me. Whoever reads this should be aware that I am quite raw when I write, and I hold you as special; you are my confidant. I have to trust you. This is not easy for me.

Although I can be very outgoing and seem quite extroverted, I am actually a very deep introvert. I share little of myself with people. I grind my gears privately, and put a good face on it. Perhaps some of you are like that. I hope so, because you might understand and appreciate what I have written.

There are times when I feel that someone who has reached my "advanced years" ought to have all this figured out and be ,ore at peace with it. Not me. I may be old, but I do not feel wise. Only experienced. And old. I will be glad when Beatrix comes home tomorrow. I miss her a lot when she is away. She is a huge part of my world. Enough already!

The best of movies

Saturday morning, dark and blustery. Windy with a hint of snow in the air. NOT spring yet. My spouse is away in another city at an anniversary, so I am holding down the work front until Monday morning. Empty house, but some surprises have made it just fine. I spent the day in Red Deer yesterday, getting some errands run, and brought home two really good bottles of scotch…also  inexpensive… a real find.

The high point of the weekend so far has been the quality acting I watched through two movies. The Descendants with George Clooney, and My Week With Marilyn revealing a surprisingly gifted Michelle Williams.

George Clooney is 'head' of a completely dysfunctional family, with a wife who is terminally injured and about to die. He discovers that's she has been on the brink of leaving him - has been conducting an affair - and he is under pressure to sell a huge chunk of family land that will make "everyone" rich. All against the backdrop of Hawaii. The various tensions in the movie swirl around Clooney, and he demonstrates the internal struggle superbly. The Hawaiian backdrop is disconcerting, as it should be. Really bad things happen to people, even in paradise. Watching Clooney at the top of his acting game was a treat. He was genuine and real in his portrayal. Grade A.

Michelle Williams was/is an unknown quantity for me. I never watched Dawson's Creek, so I had never seen her act.She does Marilyn Monroe with wonderful realism. The story is a true one, taken from Colin Clark's diaries. He was the junior director on the set of The Prince and the Showgirl, which Monroe made with Laurence Olivier. The Marilyn we have learned about through various biographies over the decades was all there; captivating and heart-meltingly gorgeous, terrified and insecure beyond belief, and desperately needing to believe that whichever man was in front of her loved her more than anything. She was in her third marriage at that point (Arthur Miller), but that was rapidly falling apart. Colin, the junior, became her fiend, and she skipped out on the production for a few days with him. They were buds at least, perhaps more. But she needed the total attention, and that "week" appeared to save the movie making afterward.

Williams portrayal was stunning, both visually and personally. She "did" Marilyn with great confidence, and reminded old geezers like me just what Marilyn did to men when she turned on the charm. We didn't know till later how damaged she was, how twisted was her sense of self. Williams showed us that beautifully.

I think I found these two experiences so satisfying because I've been watching movies that were less than well done, less than well acted - crap, in fact. These were genuine acting performances, against real backdrops, revealing genuine people. It was as if they grounded me for a time. I had, for example, the best sleep in weeks last night after watching them.

The whole thing reminds me how i miss the old Family Therapy days, the times doing therapy where helping to unravel a personal mystery wrapped in a family's life was so engaging and enjoyable. It took 30 years off my age! I guess that is what movies, at their best, are intended to do: engage one so that life changes, even for a time. It worked last night.

The way we were

One of the embarrassments I endure has to do with sht-term memory. Mine is very short. Three times in one day, I asked my spouse if she would be home that evening. Each time she reminded me that she had told me of commitment earlier. Blush, blush.

Long term memory is another matter. I suppose it is so with many who are reaching advanced years. (Hardly golden, but ancient.) Yesterday was a case in point. I decidednto get my hair cut at the Barber's. That is unusual, for Beatrix usually buzzes my head at home with our own clippers. I decided to have Andy the Barber trim me up. As soon as I stepped into the Babrber shop, memories began to flood my brain.

I ws back in Chester's Barbershop in Transcona, where we paper boys picked up our load of papers to deliver every day after four o'clock.The back room at Chester's was the Free Press Office. Stacks of newspapaers, boys thumbing through the stack, "one, two, three…seventeen…"Standing in a line waiting my turn, pushing and being pushed, boyish chatter swirling around in my head. I can remember none of their names, save one: Daryll Fierheller. Who could forget such a name? He was small, and red-headed, and the brunt of much teasing and joshing. He was wiry and tough - one of a number of  brothers, I think - and he handled himself quite well.

I remembered the load of 70 odd papers that I carried, in winter, slung across my shoulders and back. In summer, mercifully, in the big carrier on the front of my bike. I remember the family of eastern European immigrants, mostly girls. I always hope that the young one would answer the door when I came to collect for the paper. She had a roundish face, just slightly swarthy, and huge, deep eyes, and her name was Grace. I swallowed hard every time I saw her. She never said a word to me, ever. But I have never forgotten her.

There was old Mr. Sowden, the Secretary-Treasurer at the school. He was sour and mean, and frequently put me off payment - "no cash on hand,… come back tomorrow,… or next week." I sometimes had to carry him for a month or more. I often did not get my share of the money until old man Sowden paid up.

The newspapers came out to Transcona from Winnipeg on the Blue Ribbon Bus, our local transport company. We all waited on the corner in front of the bank for the bus to arrive, at around 4:30. There would be pushing and wrestling and paper bag fights. A fight with paper bags was harmless, but a wild thing to see. Paper bags were large canvas bags, the size to hold broadsheet newspapers. It had a flap which could put over the papers to keep rain and snow off them. They were made of sailcloth canvas, heavy and sturdy. A swung paper bag made a satisfying "whop" when it hit something…or someone. Swinging bags looked a bit like a pillow fight, although they created mayhem among passing bank customers!

When the bus arrived, the driver heaved the bundles of papers out onto the sidewalk, sometimes 8 or 10 of them, 80 newspapers each. They were heavy, so you didn't want to be in the when they came flying. However, you did want to be the first to the bundle, because if you lugged it back to the Barbershop, a half-block distant, you got your newspapers first and could be on your way. And that was a prize: first away would be first finished and home. In winter, that was a comfort greatly to be wished for.

I began recalling other customers besides the Grace and old Sowden. There were the people who always complained that I came so late, even if I was first out of the shop. Others were pleasant, and invited me into their hallways while they rummaged for the money they owed me. Some families had dogs that had to be tamed or negotiated if the paper was to be delivered at all. I made friends with more than a few.

I tried to remember at what age in my life all this happened. It had to be when I was twelve, because that was when we moved to the East End (In Transcona, that was a title: the tough part of town.) So I delivered papers from then until I was 15 or 16. Rich years, filled with memories, clear as yesterday's sky. As I write these words, I can hear in my mind the song "Mem'ries" from the movie The Way We Were being sung by Barbra Streisand. So much of life is about "the way we were" in the day. And all this from passing through the door of Andy's Barbershop!

God space

Something beautiful in my life this past weekend. The "official opening" of a new church building in a neighbouring town. Two years ago, the church was burned to the ground by an arsonist. It was a terrible trauma for the people of the congregation. It's  bit like one's home burning. People stand on the street weeping, watching helplessly as a "place" they've taken for granted and loved for decades turn to ashes and smoke.

For the last two and a half years, the folks of Wetaskiwin have mourned, planned, struggled and designed, in order to have a a house they call "God space." They also went through a process of restorative justice with the young man who committed the crime. That was unsuccessful, as he withdrew part way through. However, it helped a lot of people resolve their anger and grief as they went on with the planning.

I'd been in the new building before, on the Sunday they held their first worship service there. It wasn't complete, but usable. On Sunday, it was "finished." Just in time. It' a completely 'green' building, with great fire protection and exits marked. Everything is open and movable, and there are TV cameras everywhere, so that worship experiences can be complete. You can even watch the Children's time" when everyone sits on the floor at the front. They have a "Godly Play" room, where all the equipment for creative story telling is housed.

Worship was rich and contemporary. Two pianos (one a gorgeous full-sized grand) and an organ provided the music. Their choir is about twenty strong, most under 40 years old. Simple music, but powerfully done. The songs we sang were all rich and relatively contemporary, upbeat and singable. The scripture lessons were read by an elderly man, a twenty-year old student, and a ten year old boy. His reading of the gospel lesson was powerful, the "Word" coming to us in the voice of a child.

I so often reflect on the number of churches we build, each to its own denomination and congregation, with little sharing between church families. During the long period when First United was without a home, they worshipped in four different laces. First of all, in the Funeral Chapel - how appropriate! - then in the Seniors Centre, then in a Lutheran Church, which shared time and space with the United Church congregation, and then in the Seventh Day Adventist Church, who don't use their building on Sunday. The Churches of the community came together in a remarkable way to support this homeless family, in a manner that I have seldom seen.

It was interesting to observe how the congregation's theology developed and changed during the process of deciding how to build. From Sanctuary to God space; from closed space to open space; from denominational to communal. It was fascinating to see all the folk from the supporting congregations gather on Sunday to celebrate with the First united folk in their new home.

The minister of the congregation, Ruth Lumax, is a woman I have known since she was sixteen. She is a remarkable mixture of her father (voice and manner) and her mother (sensitivity and beautiful eyes). She has matured, deepened and broadened through this time, and has given them marvellous leadership through the whole process. I am proud to know her and to love her.

Many times, when I attend worship, I find the time slow and empty, devoid of passion or even the presence of the divine. Not so on Sunday. Early in the morning, I worshipped with an Anglican congregation locally, and through the ancient and dated liturgy, I found warmth and light. Then in the afternoon, the time in Wetaskiwin was filled with grace and with joy! The place was warm with love, everyone was welcomed and blessed. It was a remarkable experience. Although part of me thinks it is too bad that a congregation like first could not come together with another church to share a space permanently, I have to admit that the process of deciding and bringing into being s new home has been a time of growth and grace for these people. They know what it is to be homeless, and they are gracious in sharing their home.

My reading of O'Murchu's theology of pilgrimage home, has helped me understand evolution as God's way of working, and understanding patriarchy and hierarchy as the way of the past, as well as understanding that organized religion may be on the way out, having fulfilled it's purpose in the evolutionary process. Yet here is a church that is new, and while proud of their new home, are free of it in some new way that is hard to express.

It's been a good weekend to be a theologian, to have questions that are huge, to live with few answers, but to be content to be on the road with the divine, whatever you call divine.

Treading the Boards

It's Major Production time in area schools, two High Schools and one Association of Homeschooled Children are mounting musicals these days. Quality is…not terrific, but effort and enthusiasm are sky-high. Coming home from the our High School production of Peter Pan, I began reflecting on the surprising number of small rural communities who organize and mount some kind of dramatic production every winter. If the community has the musical resources, it's a musical. If music talent is lacking, it's a one-act play, or perhaps two or three one-act plays. I was (as the Brits say) gob-smacked when I discovered this. As long as the venue is local, all kinds of folks come out of the woodwor to 'tread the boards' and become thespians for a few weeks.

It's quite amazingto see bank managers as clowns, cowhands as love-sick college students, matrons as dancing girls, and shy teens as 'the-bad-guy-from-the-next-town-over.' The productions are usually fairly bland family-type entertainment - these are largely family efforts after all. No new or avant-garde dramas here. But everyone has a huge time, and the audiences eat it up.

I vvidly recall that, as a young and newly settled minister in a tough northern minng town, I participated in a drama-variety show. Along with the school principal, I was the comic duo who introduced all the acts. Lame jokes abounded: "Ladies, drop in to Sobey's bakery this week to get bread…" Ta Dah! One of the mine executive's wives had been a Powers model (Oooooooo!), and she did the makeup. Miners, teachers, housewives, engineers - all sorts and conditions of human beings kicked up their heels for a couple weekends, and we all became famous for our requisite fifteen minutes. At the after-paty, I did such a convincing imitation of Foster Brooks (famous TV drunk guy from the 60's and 70's), that he was offended that his minister would be so drunk at a public party!

Putting these rambling thoughts together with my current theological reading, I began to see the ways in which these amateur exercises fulfill Jesus' desire and hope for all human being, that they (we) "have life, and have it abundantly." Gathering and sharing one's talents on stage, however meagre those talents are, gives every ordinary person an opportunity to live out a dream, or pretend to be really important, or feel appreciated for a change.Watching people applaud and cheer for you is both a humbling experience and a gratifying one. I think Jesus was about those things a lot more than he was about "getting religious" in an formal sense. When you do something, participate in something, that lifts your spirit, you are really living!

I don't recall this sort of thing happening much in larger urban areas. People attend theatre, they watch plays and musicals, they don't participate in them. So, whatever negatives can be mustered about small rural communities, supposedly on their last legs, this one thing can me held up in their defence, and as a huge benefit from living near them: you have the opportunuty to live large from time to time, to be locally 'famous' for a moment or two, to experience 'the abundant life' no matter how ordinary you are.

Going to the polls…

Our province is teetering on the brink of an election call. It has to happen this spring, and all parties are 'revving their engines' in preparation. The Progressive Conservatives (oxymoron, anyone?) have put out an attack ad on the Wildrose Alliance Paryy (even further to the right than the PC's) about the new liquor laws. So the campaign appears to have started even before we know the date of an election.

Commentators all over the country are reflecting on the nasty turn that politics have taken in the past few years. Personal attacks, dirty tricks, outright lies - nothing seems to be off the table. Rarely are issues discussed. Slurs are exchanged, slogans bandied about, and the poor electorate is left to make decisions with their inflamed emotions. Perhaps i'm just reflecting old age, but it seemed a bit less nasty in 'the old days,' meaning 30 years ago. Even if it wasn't much different, it feels different to me. Perhaps it's just that I would like to see party policy explained, and compared, so that a vote can be cast on a more rational basis…. I read this over and think, "Yeah, you sound like an old fart.Most people have desided how they will vote long before issues get spelled out. Grow up!"

The whole thing troubles me because it casts such a pall over the whole political realm. We need young peole to be interested in politics, to get into the game on the basis of convictions and beliefs, rather than on the possibility of making a lot of money from the process. This past week, a small time scam was uncovered in ur provincial government. Twenty one MLA's are on a committee that hasn't met since 2008, but they are each paid $1000 per month just for being on that particular committee. That would be a minimum cost of $756,000 since they met last. I imagine this happens in other places as well, but this kind of waste makes hundreds - perhaps thousands of voters cynical about the whole process.

This whole thing is particularly galling to me, because in this "Bible belt" region, many candidates are not shy about trotting out their church connections, and their religious beliefs in their campaign material. "I'm a good Christian, see what I believe…" as opposed to "See what I do, how I behave in government."

I would much rather have a politician who is an honest atheist of some integrity, than a "good Christian" who lacks even fundamental ethics. I recall that when I was a boy in Manitoba, there was a city councillor in Winnpeg who held a north end seat for many years, even though he was an open member of the Communist party. Joe Zuken was a good councillor, and an honest man. Everyone knew that and trusted him. Oh, for more Joe Zukens today!

A puzzle for me

Weird winter weather. Five degrees above freezing on March 7, on the Canadian prairies. Many people think this is WONDERFUL, "spring is right around the corner!" We had a big dump of sow the other day, and most of it melting tonight. Call me silly, but I feel like 'when it's winter, it should be winter; when spring comes (April), it should be spring. I feel nervous about such mild weather in March. To me, it seems like a climate change freaky thing. There are many people in this part of the world who believe that the climate change concern is a plot by someone "back east" to foul up westerners.

It's hard to believe, but I have talked to farmers who say, "Climate change? I can't see it…hasn't affected my farm." I suspect that by the time their farms start blowing away into desert, the rest of the world will be a wreck, and some of them will be sure that the whole thing is an Ottawa plot to interfere with western economic vitality.

It's a strange phenomenon here in rural Alberta, that some very progressive people in the area of their work are surprisingly conservative when it comes to issues of change in society. Why else would people vote for the same political party for 40 years without once considering that a different point of view would be refreshing? I find it odd that a region that is so vital in some ways is content to remain a one party state politically. Perhaps it comes from having been through a number of "booms," which sustain people's positive spin even through the bust years. But, in the end, I don't understand it.


 

Snow

It's been snowing for the last 36 hours, off and on. The Weather Channel keeps telling us that it's a "snowfall warning," as though this was a startling event in March on the prairies of Canada! The world outside is pristine white, and everything appears to move more slowly in the deep snow. I know that when I walked my 3.5 km yesterday in two or three inches of the stuff, I was slow…and I wearied! I shovelled once yesterday, and realized that my back could take no more of that, so later in the day
  I fired up the snow blower and plowed through snow that was, by then, melting and wet and heavy. "Heart attack snow," I have always called it, since I saw a neighbour in Ottawa collapse in the middle of a 'big shovel.'

For some reason, the arrival of anow brightens me up, as it brightens up the world outside. The higways become treacherous, or at least the foolish speeders on the highways become treacherous, and the death toll rises. One sees the "benefits" of civilization when nature decides to flex her muscles. What makes us speedy and sharp in fine weather, turns us into uncontrolled missles in the snow and wind.

I slep late this morning (5:30 AM) and so didn't attempt to walk. The plan, at the moment, is (having eating my healthy breakfast)to wait for 8:30, and then snow blow the driveway and sidewalk. Later, after the children have packed down the path to the Middle School where I walk, I'll travel in their footsteps around my walking course.

I am finally drawing near the end of Umberto Eco's book (The Prague Cemetery), which unpacks the hideous anti-semitism in France and Germany in the late 19th century, hinged around the focal point of the Dreyfuss Affair. Dreyfuss was a Captain in the French Army, and was accused of treason because a note he - supposedly - had written about the Jewish plot to take over the army, was given to his superiors. The note was forged by the 'hero' of the novel, and he is implicated in the long struggle Dreyfuss had to clear his name.

Currently, our 'hero' is in the process of draftimg the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, a document which documented the Jewish plot to take over the governments of Europe and destroy the Christian religion. These were used to condemn Jewish bankers, merchants and any highly placed person as potential treasonous citizens. They formed the backbone of Hitler's developing anti-semitism in his early years. The Protocols purport to be the notes taken at a clandestine meeting of rabbiis, jewel merchants, etc, in the Prague Cemetery in the middle of the night. Hence the novel's name.

The only thing of Eco's that I have enjoyed was The Name of The Rose. This current novel is a trial. The vitriolic anti-semitism of the characters, and the constant voicing of it, I find demoralizing. It reminds me of the kind of gay-bashing that emergges in the local press periodically - all voiced in the name of 'caring' for the poor misguided sinners.

Well, snow awaits, and I can feel sixteen again while wrestling my machine through the drifts and blink at the snow crystals swirling round my face. I'll be back soon, energized!

The play's the thing!

Took in the local High School musical production last evening: a modified version of Peter Pan. It was wonderfully "high school" - loads of enthusiasm, some modest talent, and a ton of energy expended by the supervising adult making sure that everything went off more or less smoothly. In some ways, the whole story is terribly dated, particularly the mention of North American Indians and their ways. Clearly, in 19th century Scotland, First Nation ways were unknown, but it seemed a jarring note last evening. It was particularly so because three of the young people who portrayed "Indians" in the performance were First Nation kids from nearby reserves. I wondered how they felt about doing those terribly stereotyped roles ("How, white man…"). Did they have a cast discussion about the gross racism in the text, even if it was over a hundred years old?

It was enjoyable, however, although poorly supported by the community. There wasn't even a half-full house. Perhaps the school needs to undertake a bit more advertising in preparation for the event. The RC school put on "Robin Hood" later in the month, and my guess is they'll be strongly supported by their adult community.

Of course, every time I encounter Peter Pan, I trot out the 'family story.' My father's mother was a Barrie from Scotland, one Jemima Barrie. The story is that J.M. Barrie, who wrote Peter Pan, was Jemima's uncle. Therefore, I am related to the famous author of "Neverland!" Naturally, at every opportunity, I tell that story and take as much credit as possible for the play.

Coming back to the social implications of Peter Pan: I imagine such dilemma's arise whenever a school tackles a production that has it's roots in the distant past. What an opportunity to teach and/or discuss the social and political issues just behind the production. St. Augustine's School will be doing "Robin Hood shortly, and will thus have an opportunity to unpack the issues of irresponsible Kingship and the plight of the serfs in ancient England.

I suppose such an idea is hopelessly unrealistic. The drama teacher who supervised the performance last evening has been working flat out for weeks, is exhausted and behind in other work. How could she possibly do what I think is so obvious? Perhaps only a non-teacher could float such an idea. In any case, I had an enjoyable evening. We'll probably see it a second time next weekend, just to give support to the school folk who do all this on their own time.

Causes for Hope?

Saturday morning, and my mind has been stretched, as it was yesterday, Today, by a radio documentary; Friday by a little book by Diarmuid O'Murchu. (I love writing thayt wonderful Irish name!) This morning, I loistened to the hope-filled story of one Ron Knelson, a Calgary artist. Knelson had a troubled childhood, and was addicted to drugs for a good bit of his life. For more than two decades, he was a homeless man on Calgary's streets. Just a few years ago, a collective of Calgary artists ran a program aimed at teasing the creativity out of homeless people, Knelson was given a throw-away Instamatic camera, and began shooting pictures. Time passed…creatively.

At this point, Knelson has photographs displayed in two art galleries, is clean, works part time in the laundry of a homeless shelter, and lives in the only shelter in Canada that has dedicated space for an art studio - in Calgary! Knelson's long-divorced wife has made contact with him, and they have been reconciled. He will soon meet the son he's never seen, and his grandchildren! He's moving to Ottawa with his ex-wife, and hopes to start life over again at the age of 60. Wow!

When your vision is blocked by shadows, and your perspective has become twisted by the actions of the dark side of the "nice" world, you tend to forget that little miracles (Knelson's term) happen and people's lives are redeemed.

O'Murchu - a former priest, long divorced from the formal Catholic Church - writes about contemporary science, its insights, and the many connections that emerge between physical science and theological science.His critique of religion that is organized and patriarchal, is trenchant, even devastating. One thesis he promotes is that organized religion began about 5000 years ago, and promoted a patriarchal and hierarchical god0system that has been at the core of much of the evil that we have done to the planet over the centuries. He reminds us that for over 95% of the history of homo sapiens (over 2,000,000 years) spirituality was much less organized and was focused on living with the planet, who was seen as a warm, embracing, potent and creative female -the Goddess that organized religion has persecuted for centuries.

Now, I can't quite explain why this exhilarates me. O'Murchu seems to believe that the rise of patriarchal religion was an important step in the evolution of the human species, but seems quite certain that the time of organized religion is just about over. Another century or so - perhaps a millennium - and humans will move on to express our profound spirituality in other ways, as we did in the millennial prior to the Agricultural Revolution, about 8000 years ago.

I'm trying to understand why this outlook seems so hopeful to me. O'Murchu makes evolution an ally of "God sense" - the process he describes as' God's way of working,' God being the process itself, and not some "being" outside it. For one thing, his view allows and encourages one to embrace the idea of evolutionary process, rather than deny it or fight it. His view also makes sense of the current sag in organized religion in the west, as well as of the extreme forms of organized religion that arise as defensive maneuvers employed to "keep the faith alive."

I celebrate a much more open feminism in relation to the Divine (I'm never sure what to call this Force now), and a faith more dramatically 'spiritual' and less strictly 'religious.' So here I sit, looking at words which seem to predict the death of a system to which I have committed the most of my life, and I feel hopeful and comforted. Go figure…

Light from the stage

Today, I have a bad case of lethargy. I have tried to start three things, and have ended up looking at the wall each time. I'm deep into two books by Diarmuid O'Murchu, on the relationship between theology and the new and contemporary physics. Sounds heavy, I know, but he is a brilliant writer who unpacks the spiritual significance of the evolutionary process in a masterful way.

I need this kind of intellectual sustenance and forward thinking. Living here in the heart of Alberta's Bible belt, where everything, including religion, is terribly conservative, a breath of fresh theological air is necessary now and then.

I started Umberto Eco's new book, The Prague Cemetery, which I'm having trouble finishing. Eco's writing style isn't my favourite, and his subject (creation of the fictional "Protocol of the Elders of Zion") is distressing in the extreme. His goal is to demonstrate that the virulent anti-Semitism of 2oth century Europe was based on a work of fiction created specifically to encourage and support anti-Semitism. The subject, and most of the characters in his novel, is vile.

I imagine by now that you are wondering if there is any light in my life at the moment. Re-reading above, it doesn't sound like it, does it. Truth to tell, these days I live in a very serious 'world.' But before you give up on me, let me tell you that we have tickets to the local High School's production of Peter Pan on Saturday evening. The scuttlebutt I hear on the street is that the show is hilarious and well done.

A discovery I made a few years ago, while rehearsing for a production of A Christmas Carol in Bashaw, is that small communities all over Alberta have local theatre companies that come together each year to produce one, sometimes two, plays of musicals! Bashaw has a theatre group, Consort produces a dinner theatre, There's the Rosebud theatre further south - they even have a bit of a theatre school in Rosebud! All kinds of unlikely people 'tread the boards' in these little towns, producing their own entertainment and fun during the darkness of winter. Advertising is confined to notices in local papers, posters in the Post Office, and an overwhelming compilation of 'word-of-mouth' boosting. People travel to other towns to see the performance of people 'over there,' and that usually involves up to an hour's drive each way! A local company - "Klaglahachie"- is mounting Fiddler on the Roof next year. I am currently wrestling with the notion of auditioning for the part of Tevye! I have the beard, and I can do the accent. But can I sing well enough, or muster the energy for three months of three or four rehearsals every week? Stay tuned!

Ruminating on theatre activities helps me access many memories of great times backstage in amateur productions, as well as the wonderful feeling of being onstage and giving others pleasure while having a ball while immersing oneself in another character!