Vote for me! Vote for me!

Hey! It's been a while. For some reason, I have been distracted this week. A likelihood is that we have reached the date of our Provincial Election. Polling Day is Monday 23. Advance polls were yesterday as well as today and Saturday.

For those of you unfamiliar with the politics of this province of Canada, Alberta, let me give you a thumbnail: the same political party (Progressive Conservative) has been in power for 41 consecutive years. Hardly a parliamentary democracy. And the party name may be an oxymoron. They are more Conservative than Progressive! In our last Provincial election, only 4 out of 10 eligible voter=s bothered to vote! Conservative power was simply taken for granted. This has meant that a whole long list of "unusual" arrangements exist in our province, and the scope of corruption is vast.

Since the last election, a pair of new parties have emerged. The Alberta party is a generally centrist party, with much in common with Liberals. They emerged because people within the Conservative party wished to step gently to the left, and the Liberal Party was not an option for them, as the Liberals have a bad name in this province, largely because of events that are over thirty years old!

The Wildrose Alliance Party burst onto the scene after the Conservatives passed a series of legislative bills effectively gutting property owners of their right to challenge provincial expropriation, even denying them access to the courts. Wildrose began with furious rural property owners, and gathered steam from there. Their policies are vague, but considerably to the right of even the Conservatives. They might be called Hyper-Conservatives, angry Conservatives, or - if you are cynical - The Canadian Tea Party.

Other parties in the mix are the Liberal Party (under a new leader, they are revitalized, aggressive. and competent on the centre-left), and the New Democratic party, a social democratic party with long socialist roots, but standing now just a bit to the left of centre.

The big news in this election  is that, for the first time in forty years, there is a possibility that the PCs will be unseated by the Wildrose party: Conservatives being bested by conservatives. The polls show the two parties virtually tied, with 25% of voters still undecided. That fact is a new twist to Alberta politics. And it provided a potential opening for candidates from more progressive parties (the Liberals, Alberta party and NDP) to come up the middle and do serious damage!

Those of us who are not conservative, or Conservative, are fearful of a Wildrose victory. They have virtually no candidates with legislative or even administrative experience; their policies are fuzzy and appear to threaten human rights (some of their folk are anti-gay and pro-Caucasian), and they rise on one issue: the land use bills recently passed. Every other party but the PCs have declared they will repeal these bills, but the Wildrose got there first and makes the most noise.

So…! This weekend will provide plenty of excitement and anxiety for many Albertans. Hopefully, this will produce a somewhat higher voter turn-out on Monday. Our last election  recorded the lowest voter turn-out in a Provincial election in Canadian history! In Alberta, this aspect of democratic functioning hangs in the balance! I'll keep you posted on this.

A personal word: sorry for the history lesson. It's hard to understand Alberta without knowing some of the history. My personal stake in all this relates to my fear of a Wildrose government. As well as tolerating gay bashing, the party leader, Danielle Smith also backs away from accepting climate change science (threatening environmental concerns locally) and accepted one candidate's declaration that he was a better-suited candidate than his opponents, who are brown - one a Muslim, the other a Sikh! We could be stepping back into the late nineteenth century out here, folks. And I am frightened.

Reading

I read a lot, a habit I bave carried all my adult life. These days, my reading is varied. I read history, theology, science, biography, and all manner of fiction. I enjoy history a lot, particularly if it is well written. No one writes history better than Babrbara Tuchmann (recently deceased). She can make the most inconspicuous moment in history read like a thriller.) Carol Off was a surprise as an historian. Draws out the drama.

Theologians are a so-so writing group. Some are terrible crafters of sentences. Karl Barth comes to mind. Footnotes two pages long! Crossan and Borg write well. Some biographies are really good stories if the author knows and loves his/her subject. Others are tedious, published only because the subject is famous. Ditto for Autobiographies.

The science I read is for knowledge and understanding, which is hard for me to come by in this area. I am not a science nerd, rather more a curious dunce, seeking to grasp what appears to be going on around me in the world. I am currently attempting to grasp and understand quantum physics and mechanics. VERY slow going. But I am determined!

I like reading fiction for two reasons: the stories are often gripping, and sometimes the author gets an issue in her/his teeth, and uses the story to unpack that issue and the dilemmas that accompany it, so that you must think and decide what you would do, and what the right thing is to do.

I recently finished the Hunger Games Trilogy. Quite a facinating story, but it gets tedious further along, as the author (quite obviously) draws the story out so that resembles a movi script. The writing is not bad writing, but it isn't inspired either. It serves only to draw the story along. The further one gets into the books, the less the language draws you, and the more it tantalizes you with sudden (and irrelevant) twists and turns.

I enjoy Linden McIntyre's writing. Heplows into an issue and keeps you focused on it with great intensity. Not 'hard work' reading, but not light reading either. Recently I discovered Jodi Picoult. She always builds around an issue - termination of life, divorce, religious delusion…and weaves a gripping story around the issue. Her characyers are quite strong, and her plots are human and accessible. You can imagine it happening to you. "What would I do here?"

Then there are thrillers, those volumes of puzzles and evil characters who try not to be discoverd, along with those whose mastery of the unmasking of robbers, killer and kidnappers is supreme. Ina Rankin, 'from the Kingdom of Fife,' Louise Penny, Peter Robinson, Ellis Peters… all of these and more feed my periodic need for a mystery that requires a superior brain and some good luck. I can usually never solve the crime before the last page, or the last chapter.

One of the joys of 'retirement,' such as it is, involves immersing oneself in a world of another person, another time, a different concern, and experiencing that as fully as you can. For me, books are a better way to do that than movies, because movies tear along at their own pace, and many are so poorly made, that disappointment follows. "The book was better" is my frequent chant.

I know that many people, in their working life, don't read a great deal. They may have tediius material from work to digest regularly, which will tend to blunt their interest in other reading. Despite the lure of TV, to which I succumb regularly, reading remains a strong passion for me. I invite you to test the water or taste the wine (whichever image pleases you more.)

Friends

I don't have any adult male friends. I know, I know…I sound like a whiney fourteen year old. But, when I think about it, I don't. I know lots of men; I'm even friendly with them. But they aren't friends, the way I define friend. A friend is someone you can share personal things with, talk over problems, expect (and receive) support and understanding in all kinds of situations. I have no one like that in my life.

Until a couple of years ago, I had two such friends. One, I had known for fifty years, the other, for almost forty years. My closest friend slowly sickened and then died just over two years ago. I miss him terribly. The other man - actually the partner of a woman friend I met in University in the 50's - was always sharp and witty, somewhat overbearing, but supportive and warm in his way. After his wife died, he gradually became more acerbic, even nasty, with me, at least. When my closest friend died, I became aware that I was being verbally abused regularly by the other man. I simply stopped connecting with him. I should have talked with him about it, but at the time, I felt wrapped in grief for my closer friend, and I just walked away from the other man. So now, I have no one in those roles.

When I was a kid, I always had at least one friend, often never more than one, or at most, two. There was Les, and Curtis, and Edwin, and then later David and Don. These last two remain friends, although we are separated by distance, and see one another seldom. Some time ago, I became aware of that deficiency in myself that comes with being an only child. I never learned how to "befriend" another in such a way that our relationship was solid and unquestioned. I actually didn't know that about myself until I began to have children in my life, and I watched my own children relate to their siblings. Three of the four kids were closely bonded. They fought and made up and supported one another without any question. Today, all of them are middle aged, and they remain good and close friends. I envy them.

The one sibling who isn't bonded with any of them is a whole other story, for another time.

Friends. When you lack even one, the awareness of what you are missing is profound and oppressive. It's like having a room inside you which is not heated, and which is completely empty. When you open that door, there is a cold draft coming at you, from a dark place. You soon close that door. It's an unpleasant place.

Worse than that, I feel like I don't know how to make friends. I must have known once, but it seems I've forgotten, or I'm afraid to try. I spend time with local men regularly, but I find none with whom I share many ideas or concerns, and they have lived here all their lives and seem to know everyone. Whether I am an outsider or not, I feel like an outsider most of the time. I feel lonely, and the danger is always there that I will feel sorry for myself and withdraw even more. I'm sure I do that a lot.

When I was younger, and wanted a sibling, I used to fantasize that my mother had carried a second child, and somehow lost that pregnancy. I don't know if that is fact, or simply fancy, but it occupied my mind for many years. I haven't thought of it for awhile, until just now.

I realize that my mental image of a friend, or a sibling-friend, is idealized, and that many people don't experience their sibs that way at all. I've heard enough tales of horrible sibling rivalry and hostility in the therapy room that I know I have to curb my own idealization or I'll never find or make a friend. But how do I begin? Where will I find a man I can connect with in the way that my children connect with one another? I have the questions. I don't see an answer anywhere in sight.

Who remembers?

Last evening The Fifth Estate, a Canadian news/documentary program, aired an interactive program about the kidnapping of the son of a Vancouver millionaire. It was a true story, and well done, and viewers could participate by making on-line decisions during the program.

As the real-life drama unfolded, we saw how the Vancouver Police, plus the RCMP, and others, put up to 400 SWAT team members into play, raiding up to 14 locations after the eighth day, as no ransom demand had been made. It ended well; they found the boy safe, and the family was reunited cheers from allover the country. It was interesting that the family was an inter-racial one, with a Caucasian father and an Asian mother, with children who took on the best looking characteristics of each gene pool.

However, the inter-racial nature of the family stirred an old memory in me. This inter-racial boy was hunted and found with the expenditure of millions of dollars of public money. Beside that fact, I saw the shadows of over 60 Aboriginal woman who disappeared off the Vancouver streets over the last 20 years. Families missed them, cried for them, and reported them missing. But nobody in authority looked for them. No significant public resources were spent trying to find them. Of course, no ransom demand was made for them. But none was made for Graeme McMynn either. What made the difference?

Well, for one thing, they were Aboriginal woman, many were street prostitutes; nobodies. Secondly, they were women - women of no consequence, apart from being mothers, sisters, daughters, and some, wives. Another huge factor; they were poor. They had no money, they were resourceless, unimportant to the economic life of the City and the Province. Nobody public cared about them.

It was only when their corpses began turning up on Robert Picton's pig farm, when the unconcern and incompetence of the Vancouver Police Department began to come to light, only when it became obvious that their lives were so under-valued that their cases had been buried and ignored for decades, did the public authorities become embarrassed and confused, and - finally - took some action.

The McMynn case, and the Picton Case; bookends for the Canadian reality that, when you get to the bottom of it all, we don't much care about poor people, about murdered women, or about people of Aboriginal heritage. We care about money, and those who have it. We can overlook the racial card, if there's money in the background.

The Fifth Estate program was well done, and gripping, and cleverly interactive. And they have also done at least one program on the murders of the Native women. But last night was their season finale, their 'going out blast.' We'll remember the McMynn family and their happy ending. Who remembers even one name of the 60 Aboriginal women murdered and buried among the pig slop on Robert Picton's farm?

Drama in reading

Well, my "snow day" was fun. I got to play with the blower, shined my halo clearing two neighbor's driveways, and now most of the snow is melted, and for the moment, I'm content. My perversity my rise again before the end of May, however. Stay tuned.

 I finally finished the Hunger Games Trilogy and I have to say that the last two books do not live up to the pace of the original book. The final book - "Mockingjay" - drags a whole lot. The adolescents versus the older adults becomes a darker theme, because some of the so-called "good" adults are deemed bad. The denouement is dragged out interminably, with green slime, blood and melting flesh. A fourteen year old would love it. I just got tired and was glad when I was done.The theme of young adult (read 'adolesecent') anger is heavily underlined. I'm waiting to see how many youth pick up on that, especially at election time.

I also finished Margaret Atwood's Massey Lectures - "Payback". The book is all about debt, and credit. She covers economics, psychology and theology, all very competently. And,  she can write! Beautiful, mind-catching prose. Her grasp of the literature is overwhelming; her understanding of the interwoven themes of debt and credit is brilliant. The final chapter of the book, in which she takes "Scrooge Nouveau" through a contemporary tour of Christmas past, present and future, is masterful, powerful, and quite sobering.

I read the words of Jesus in the dramatic reading of the gospel in worship this Good Friday morning. It's quite a powerful thing to do, but it needs good dramatic readers to make it live. My partner in this project read quite well, I thought, but she read as though she was 'reading in church.' It needed an actor, telling the story to strangers, to make it sing. I tried to do my part that way, but was muted a bit by the answering voice. (Is that another way of saying, "it wasn't my fault?"

Quiet day today. I managed to help Beatrix extricate herself from a day of total chaos today, where she 'did' for everyone else, and got left with no time to do the things she needs to do for herself. I began to reflect on the fact that I can help her a lot as part of the meaning of my life these days. I am useful to her, because I love her. That helped me settle for the weekend as it is, her working most of the time.

However, dinner out tomorrow with Erin and Herbie! That will be a treat, and a joy. Enough for now.

Snow! Yea!

Glee! That's what I'm experiencing; glee! But mostly in secret. During the night, we became the recipients of a huge spring/late winter snow storm! There is snow 8 inches deep in our driveway, and the wind will bring more in throughout the day. It was great fun going for my 5:30 AM walk, plowing through the stuff, walking mostly in ruts made by early morning oil field workers, trucking it to work.

The big downside is that this is not light and fluffy white stuff. This is white, but heavy with moisture, soggy, and weighing a ton. I call it "heart attack" snow - the kind that gives older men cardiac problems from trying to move the stuff. The bottom layer of the snow is slush, and ice. It is very heavy. I made some preliminary pushes with my scoop on the way out. I was unable to even push it more than three feet before the accumulation stopped me. This means "snow blower" within the hour. I want that stuff off the driveway before we drive on it, because anywhere tires run over it will leave an ice track.

Now, admittedly, it isn't cold. Zero or minus one degree Celsius; positively balmy. But, the wind from the northwest is unpleasant.And this weather system will be with us for the bulk of the day. So I'm getting my heart's desire for one more winter kick, but I'm not broadcasting it locally. I'll be deemed even crazier by my neighbours, who will all be grumbling as they shovel.

Although I'd be glad to blow out some of my neighbour's driveways, that proves difficult, since virtually all of them leave two vehicles parked in the driveway, in front of the doors to their double garage! Everyone has so many possessions that the garages are full of toys, ATV's, swing sets, and just junk that they are unavailable for automobiles and trucks. Somehow, it seems…odd to have a home for vehicles, and then to leave over $100,000 worth of machinery out in the weather while the toys stay dry and covered!

Anyway, enough for now. I'm off to suit up and blow some snow, perhaps for the last time this spring, who knows?

Green time!

Full weekend behind me; it was difficult to realize that another week had started! Heat in the current provincial election campaign, a visit to Rimbey, a granddaughter's pregnancy, and hints of spring in the air: full indeed.

The signs of spring put together with Hannah's announcement made it clear that time was, indeed, moving along. Hannah was a little girl just a few days ago (it seems to me), and there was a snowdrift in our front yard last week. Strange as it may seem to some of you, I lament the end of winter for a while every spring. I kind of hope for one more snowstorm, one more icy blast from the northwest. I guess it's a perversity of my nature to like winter. Winter always gives you something to overcome, something to test your mettle. In winter, against the elements, I frequently feel exhilarated, successful, fulfilled. Why, I don't really know.

I suspect it has something to do with being a Manitoban, a Winnipegger, a person who has lived in the distant north, perilously close to the snowline and packs of wolves. Whatever it is that wells up in me, Miss the season until it is fully gone and summer has begun to really blossom. Then I am usually able to 'get with the program', and enter into summer. Although the minute I begin to sweat with summer heat, I complain and grumble. I don't mid sweating when I ride the bike, or even when I walk. But sitting on the deck? It's just wrong! Even worse if it's hot when I'm trying to sleep. Then I really fume. Heat is harder to deal with than cold. In the cold, you can move, you can bundle up. In the heat - without air conditioning, which seems superfluous this far north - you can only gasp. So here I am, on the cusp of spring, not quite ready to dive in, and feeling like the only person in my circle who laments the passing of the snow and cold. Again, weird!

It seems quite symbolic that my granddaughter Hannah is becoming 'great with child' as we speak. It was fun listening to her father, my only son, talk with animation about becoming a grandfather! Kathy - daughter-in-law-  even more so! They are quite excited and accepting of a role which they had no choice about: it's just there. Their account of the "time to tell the grandparents" dinner was quite funny. Calling us later was probably less anxiety-producing. I admit to being surprised initially. Hannah has always appeared to be a person who controlled her life quite completely. On reflection, I realized that over the last few months, her goals and aspirations have clearly changed. She may well be as 'in control' of her life as she cares to be. Except for the morning sickness, which apparently erupted at more times than mornings! Like most of us, she will discover when junior arrives, that he or she will exercise a degree of control that even Hannah will be unable to deter!

So, reluctantly, I acknowledge that spring is definitely in the air. I had better start looking for my shorts!