Coalition with a mandate, or a bloodless coup d'état?

So, last night I watched Question Period on CPAC (which is essentially the Parliamentary Channel). I watched various politicians rail and stomp and applaud and hurl words at each other (all through the Speaker of the House, of course), and it was all very entertaining. But I'm pretty baffled.

First of all, I don't envy Michaelle Jean, who, as Governor-General, has to sort this mess out somehow. That's about the only thing I'm clear on.

As for the rest, I really don't know what to think.

The coalition between the Liberals and the NDP is all well and good, but I don't trust the Bloc Québecois. I'm sure Gilles Duceppe is a nice enough man, but he wants to split up my country. I'd like something a little more binding than merely his word that he'll let the coalition govern unmolested for eighteen months. While I can see that it would be important for Canada's economy to be healthy in order for Québec's economy to be healthy (while Québec is still part of Canada), I really don't see what other benefit there is in this agreement for the Bloc. And is this really enough for them to sign on? I'm not sure.

I'm also not sure if I buy the argument that the coalition can legally (or even ethically) take control without having been elected as a coalition. Yes, it's true -- more Canadians did vote for the individual parties who are now united as a coalition than for the Conservative minority government under Harper -- but does that really give them the go-ahead? Again, I'm not sure.

If the Governor-General prorogues this session of Parliament and the Conservatives come back with a Throne Speech and a budget in January, the coalition is sure to vote it down, thus sending us into yet another federal election. We just had a federal election on October 14. Do we really need another one this soon? Oh, how I long for the good ol' five-year terms when we pretty much had to drag them kicking and screaming to Rideau Hall.

I don't want another election. I like elections, and I don't want another election. If they thought the voter turn-out for the last election was dismal, I'd hate to see what it would look like in January or February, so soon after the last one. I read somewhere that elections cost about $300 million. Wow. If that's accurate, I'm sure that we could spend that better somewhere else.

And yet ... I really don't like The Right Honourable Stephen Harper, mostly because I don't think he is honourable. I really can't stand him as Prime Minister. I think he is arrogant and elitist and cold, and that was before he said that I was living immersed in a "culture of defeat" and his party basically threatened my previously-Liberal riding by saying that constituencies who are the same party as the government generally do better when it comes to government funding for projects. Don't misunderstand me -- I don't want anything to happen to the man -- but I do want him to be evicted from 24 Sussex Drive.

So, really and truly, I don't know what I want to happen here. I just don't.

It'll be interesting to see what the Governor-General thinks of all this. I wonder what her boss thinks, for that matter ... and if she'll still be our Head of State when all of this settles. With the Bloc, who knows?

Shopping maul.

I usually get a little glum this time of year. Part of it is purely biological -- the dark days aren't good for my poor little brain. But more and more it's that I feel myself hating the holiday season, or, to be more precise, what the holiday season has become. In so many ways, it's now nothing more than a commercial feeding frenzy.

While I understand that this year's "Black Friday shopping extravaganza" was an important indicator as to the state of the economy, I was getting a little fed up with all the hype leading up to it. Watching the number of big-screen TVs heading out of our local Wal-Mart always makes me a little ill.

So when I saw the news that a Wal-Mart worker was actually trampled to death while opening the doors on Black Friday, I nearly threw up. The union says that the death was preventable. Well, yes! How about we not be so greedy and "thing-thirsty" that we act like nothing more than animals?! It makes me think of that scene in the Lord of the Flies when the kids get so caught up in their inner wild ways that they kill one of their own.

Hubby and I have ... (counting) ... sixteen nieces and nephews to shop for, and already I'm dreading it. While I doubt I'll be trampled to death, I can pretty much guarantee I will be hit with at least two impatient shopping carts today.

Jdimytai Damour was the name of the man killed. I wonder if he was even "Christian", like those who mowed him down. And I wonder how he got chosen to be the one to open the door.

Most of all, I wonder what the hell is wrong with society, that such a thing would happen in the first place.

Merry Commercialmas, everybody.

Open Letters

Dear Paul Gross,

Thank you so much for making Passchendaele. By making this movie that finally shows Canadian soldiers in WWI combat, you have single-handedly given Social Studies teachers in this country new material to show how and why Canada became her own nation during that conflict, and now students will finally "get it".

I can't tell you how excited I was when I first saw the trailer and shrieked to my husband, "They're CANADIAN! Do you SEE that? CANADIAN!"

Oh, and now I have a teensy crush on you. Hope you don't mind. (wink)

* * *

Dear Barack Obama,

I am glad you won. Please stay safe.

* * *

Dear Betsy (aka My Car),

Although the driver's side visor falling off and landing in my lap was not without its amusement, I am worried about you. Between the noisy wheel bearing and the mysterious rhythmic squeaking, I'm getting quite concerned. Hold on, old girl.

* * *

To the Moron Who Cut Me Off in Traffic Yesterday and Then Flipped Me the Bird,

Your concept of "cause and effect" seems a little flawed.

* * *

To My Right Ankle,

Keep getting better. You're coming along nicely.

* * *

To My Blog Readers,

I'll try to do better at keeping you entertained.

And I'm getting closer to 100 found geocaches.

"If it's not Scottish, it's crrrrrrap!"

It's the last weekend in July and you know what that means! MEN IN KILTS!

This year, Hubby and I decided we'd only attend one day of the New Brunswick Highland Games. The last few years, we've made a weekend of it, but we couldn't take Piper to the Games, and it really wouldn't have been fair to leave her crated all day in an unfamiliar motel room. So we just went up this morning and back this evening.

We've been going to the Games since 1995. In 1996, the first summer I was married, my father-in-law took me aside the night before the Games and said, "You're a McLean now. You have to eat haggis." (We didn't find out about my McLean roots until much later.)

Well, I ate haggis for the first time in 1996, and when I told my father-in-law, he asked, "Did you like it?" At the look on my face, he broke out into hearty laughter. He passed away two years later, and although I still don't like haggis, I get "haggis-on-a-bun" each and every year as a salute to him. (If I wash it down with Irn Bru and follow it with a cheddar and dill scone, it's not so bad. Burping "mutton" the rest of the day, though? Not so good.)

We've made a lot of great friends over the years, between being involved with Clan Maclean Atlantic and the New Brunswick Scottish Cultural Association. Even though there are so many people, you can still tell the faces of those you've seen at previous games. People nod and smile, knowing they've seen you before. Neighbouring tents on the Avenue of the Clans year after year means that you know the Wallaces will watch your tent while you run to the portapotty and vice versa. It's a kinship and a reunion and celebration all in one.

I'll be honest. I really didn't want to go this year. I woke up cranky and tired and I just wanted to stay home. But once we pulled into the parking lot and I heard the skirl of the pipes, my highland blood started dancing. And the first sight of manly knees reminded me of other reasons I like to go. (wink)

So we got to spend some time in the clan tent with our friend Ian , and take in some music and dancing, and it was one of those rare times Hubby and I get to spend some time together, travelling to something we both enjoy. Seeing the kids get so excited about collecting stamps and stickers from the different clan tents was a lot of fun, too. (Especially the little girl who, her face painted like a tiger, tried out her growl for me.)

One thing that was different this year, and something to which I was looking forward, was a spinning demonstration by a representative from Kings Landing Historical Settlement. The more I get involved with rug hooking, the more fascinated and curious I become with all aspects of wool and wool production.

(The costumed girl was in the midst of explaining to a young child what a youngster's role would have been (picking out the bits of burrs etc.), and I caught her face in a rather unflattering position. In gratitude for her showing me how to spin, I have cropped out her face rather than show it to the world.)

Like most people, I'd always thought that the wool went up and around the wheel when spinning, but that thread is more like part of the motor. I was fascinated watching her spin, and if I ever win the lottery and manage to adopt a couple of sheep, you know I'll be spinning (and shearing and picking and carding, regardless of my age) too!

Alas, all good things must come to an end. At the end of the day, all of the different bands participate in what's called "The Massed Bands", where they all come together, marching and playing as one. It's something that's virtually impossible to describe -- you need to experience it for yourself-- but when they start off that first note, you can feel it in your chest. It's completely amazing, and one of the biggest highlights of the day for me. (Someday I'll learn to play.)


We went to supper at the Lunar Rogue with Ian (another tradition that has evolved over the last few years) and then headed home. Piper and Zaphod were glad to see us, and we were glad to be home and out of the Fredericton heat!

God Save the Queen

I am a monarchist. I'm not sure how many people my age are, but I suspect that of those who have actually thought about the issue, I'm probably among the minority. A monarchist isn't necessarily the same thing as a "royal watcher". (I happen to be both.)

Why am I a monarchist? There are two reasons, really. First of all, I feel that the fact that our Head of State is the Queen gives us a sense of tradition and stability. With a country so comparatively young, it's a foundation we can stand upon. Secondly, it is an indisputable fact that marks us as being different from our neighbours to the south.

Please don't misunderstand me; I am far from being anti-American. But it's like having an older brother whose shadow you can't seem to get out of. Canada is not known for being the sort of country that vigourously toots its own horn. With the proximity of the United States, and its influence, media and culture drifting northwards, Canada is in danger of being slowly assimilated. In my first class this morning, two students were debating over political candidates: Clinton versus Obama. I wonder if they know who the Leader of the Opposition is here in Canada?

With so much talk about the United States possible having "the first woman president" or "the first black president", it occurs to me that my students might not realize Canada's similar barriers have already been broken. Certainly, one can argue that Kim Campbell was really just a sacrificial lamb, but she will forever be recorded as Canada's first female Prime Minister, taking the job in June of 1993. And while we haven't had a black Prime Minister, our current Governor-General, Michaëlle Jean, is both black and a woman. Since the Governor-General is the Queen's representative in Canada, she actually outranks the Prime Minister. While neither of these individuals were elected to their posts (Kim Campbell became Prime Minister after Brian Mulroney abandoned both the top job and the sinking Progressive Conservative ship he'd run aground; the Governor-General is an appointed position), it's still pretty impressive.

We do things differently here. Our political system is just one of the ways we "aren't American", and while each system has its pros and cons, I think the differences (including the monarchy) between us ought to be protected. It's a matter of sovereignty.

Just my opinion. Yours may vary and be equally valid. *grin*

Cars and Boats.

Saturday Driving: Definitely a big hit with You-Know-Who.

We started out with a trip to the vet. Nothing serious -- our little girl just needed a prescription picked up. We decided to take her with us so that she'd see that the vet's office didn't always mean that she had to go through something horrible at every visit.

Following the vet, we drove down to the Irving Nature Park for a bit. Then we headed north to trot through a wooded area to see if Howe's Cave was still accessible (it was), and then following that, we drove to the Royal Kennebecasis Yacht Club to see how high the water was.

They're saying that the St. John River is experiencing the worst flooding in decades. It has been wreaking havoc upstream in the provincial capital of Fredericton, and it was a little alarming to see just how much waterfront property here is now underwater property. It's quite surreal.

I can't even imagine how it must feel to stand by and watch the water threaten, encroach upon, and finally engulf your entire life. It would be enough to make me move to a desert, I think.

It's been really, really bad upriver. I'm very glad that 140 cows are safe, but I wonder about the rest of the animals (cows, horses, moose, and everything else). Here's hoping that everyone and everything will come through this the best way possible.

RMS Titanic: My Personal Fascination

Ninety-six years ago today.

I'm not really sure exactly when the great ship first caught my attention, but I know I was very young. I can remember sitting up with my babysitter and watching the late movie. There were beautiful rooms and beautiful dresses and beautiful people, all aboard a beautiful ship. Then they all died.

For some reason, I felt most sorry for the ship herself.

Everyone is familiar with the story of the Titanic's demise, and the 1500 people who perished with her. Thanks to James Cameron's hugely successful film, there is a new generation of interested people to join those of us who were first introduced by A Night to Remember.

Although Cameron's film is not all that the "rivet-counters" would have it be, I will forever be grateful to it for making me feel as if I were onboard. That scene where the sunken Titanic morphs into the one moored at Southampton in 1912 makes me catch my breath every time.

In Halifax, Nova Scotia there are three cemeteries which serve as the final resting places for the majority of the victims whose bodies were recovered. Fairview Lawn Cemetery and Baron de Hirsch Cemetery are adjacent to one another, and Mount Olivet Cemetery is a short distance away. I have lived in the Halifax area on more than one occasion, and have visited the gravesites several times. It is an indescribable feeling.

I still remember the first time I saw the stones at Fairview. They are arranged in long rows, in such a way that, when viewed from above, the rows resemble the lines of a ship. Many of the stones were erected by the White Star Line, and many of the bodies were never identified.

Stone after identical stone, April 15, 1912, and the number identifying the body in the order it was found.

Resistance is futile.

We have been assimilated.

The Borg Collective known more officially as the U S of A is only a hop, skip and a jump away from acquiring its 51st state. It's Manifest Destiny whether they know it or not.

It's Super Tuesday in the United States, and that's what is all over the tube tonight. I was expecting this, so I plugged myself into iTunes for most of the evening, with the idea of watching The National newscast on CBC (that's the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation for those not "in the know") when it came time to turn off the lights and let Hubby sleep. The CBC is, after all, the heart and soul of all that is Canadian, and its main raison d'être is to celebrate and preserve the culture of this great country of ours.

Peter Mansbridge, our newsanchor, was live from Los Angeles. At the bottom of the screen were little tickers of who was winning what state, and for the first ten minutes, with correspondents scattered throughout the States, it was all about Super Tuesday. Then we had about four minutes about our disgraced former prime minister (the one I'm still surprised didn't become our first assassination, so beloved was he by the time he stepped down), and then less than a minute about the Canadian soldiers who were wounded in Afghanistan. Then it was to commercial, and when they came back, it was all big splashy graphics of elephants and donkeys and even the freaking seal of the President of the United States.

All of this for an election that is nine months away and in a different country! I was nauseated, and that only got worse as I remembered the CBC is a crown corporation and this was my tax dollars at work. Why don't we just install a 24-hour Britney-Surveillance-Cam while we're at it?

Personally, I prefer the Canadian method of elections to the eighteen-month saga the Americans endure.

Governor-General: Would you like some tea? And what brings you by Rideau Hall today?

Prime Minister: Yes, please. And, since we're doing well in the polls, I'd like to call an election for five weeks from Monday. May I have permission?

Governor-General: As the Queen's Representative in Canada, that sounds good to me. One lump or two?

Neither the Canadian nor the American system is perfect, but at least ours makes for better TV. And, in case you're wondering, I tried switching from CBC to CTVNewsNet, our other national news network. It was almost exactly the same, but with duller graphics.

I'm not an idiot -- I know that because of our close proximity and ties to the US that whoever replaces George Dubya will ultimately have an effect up here. But this is ridiculous. Is it any wonder that when I asked a class of grade nines last week how we were different from Americans, it took them a minute or two to come up with answers beyond "We're smarter than they are?"

So, how did I get away from the passive Americanization of my soul last night?

I did what any self-respecting Canadian would do.

I turned on the hockey game.

Never again.

They came first for the Communists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist.
Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew.
Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant.
Then they came for me,
and by that time no one was left to speak up.
-- Martin Niemöller

Sixty-three years ago today, a quarter-century before I was born, the infamous death camp of Auschwitz was liberated.

The Germans are known for their efficiency and scientific prowess, and the Nazis used it to deadly effect. Twelve thousand people a day at Birkenau (Auschwitz II) alone. Eleven million people were murdered in the death camps, when all was said and done.

It's a number I can't even begin to wrap my head around, nor can I fully express the emotions (confusion, disgust, anger, and something I can't quite pin down) I feel. As a human being, I need to learn everything I can about the Holocaust. I need to understand how something like this could happen. I am compelled to visit Auschwitz, to see it for myself, to stand where, for four and a half years, unimaginable horrors happened on a daily basis. Human beings systematically being destroyed by other human beings. When did the Allies know? Why didn't they do anything sooner? I need to know. I need to understand.

Today is UN Holocaust Remembrance Day, and I am watching the documentaries on History Television. Even though I was not born when all of this was happening (even my father wasn't born until 1944, and my mother in 1948), I feel responsible. As a human being, I feel responsible. If I was not there to say something against it (and to be honest, I don't know that I would have had the courage to do so), the least I can do is remember. Remember, and educate in what ways I can, and do what I can to make sure it doesn't happen again.

Canada is thought of as a fair, welcoming country. I am proud of being Canadian, and of our reputation in the world. But I felt sick to my stomach when I found this a few minutes ago:

"During the twelve years of Nazi terror, from 1933 to 1945, while the United States accepted more than 200,000 Jewish refuges; Palestine, 125,000; embattled Britain, 70,000; Argentina, 50,000; penurious Brazil, 27,000; distant China, 25,000; tiny Bolivia and Chile, 14,000 each, Canada found room for fewer than 5,000." Excerpted from NONE IS TOO MANY, Irving Abella and Harold Troper, Toronto, 1982 ISBD 0-919630-31-6. (Canada & The Jews of Europe, 1933-1948).

I consider myself to be an educated person, and I've studied more history than a lot of people out there. How could I not have known this? How could I automatically assume that, here in my own country, we were somehow better than others? And is that assumption the sort of seed that Nazi Germany and its assorted horrors sprang from?

Please take some time to visit Remember.org, the Holocaust Cybrary.

It's the very least we can do.

Detox, Day One

I feel like I've been drowning in negativity for months now, perhaps even as long as a year. Right now I'm stressed out of my mind, to the point that I'm clenching my jaw all night long and am now suffering from headaches 24/7. Something's gotta change.

While I can't do a whole lot more about my financial stresses (Curse you, car! Curse you, clenching jaw requiring expensive dental apparatus!) than I'm already doing (I have a part-time job interview tomorrow), I have decided to eliminate as much negativity out of my life as possible. I am planning on basically detoxing my mind, body, and spirit.

First up is my mind. I have declared a moratorium on the negative stuff I spend far too many hours watching on television. I fall asleep watching CNN. I nap watching true crime shows. All of this has got to be taking a toll on my psyche at some level. And so -- I'm cutting it out. The only news I am allowing myself is the news on the radio when I get up each morning, and the local news if I'm expecting someone I know personally to be featured. That's it. Everything else is potentially too hard on the head.

I also have plans for detoxing my body but it makes more sense to feature that on Workin' with Frank and Jim.

I'll let you know how the experiment goes.

Is it just me?

I'm one of those people who probably watches too much CNN. Having said that, there is one issue that I'm having trouble with, and that's taking anchor John Roberts seriously.

It's not his fault that every Canadian who was a teen in the 80s immediately pictures him as the mulleted MuchMusic veejay J D Roberts.

I'm just wondering if Erica Ehm will be replacing Paula Zahn any time soon.

Random thoughts from watching CNN tonight

- Rick Sanchez is hot. Whether he's braving a hurricane, climbing out of a rapidly-sinking car, or talking politics, I enjoy him.

- I bet Ann Coulter has no friends, or, if she does, they are as nasty as she is.

- Why is there so much coverage of an election nearly two years in the future? I like the Canadian system better: "Hey, Governor-General, I think a month from Monday would be good. What do you think?"

- People who give toddlers weed need to be neutered.

- I can tell I'm getting sleepy when I start seeing hidden messages from the EasterBunny in the text crawling across the bottom of the screen.

Welcome to my silly side.

I love things that make me laugh.

A few years ago, it was the badgers.

Now my friend TaB has just sent me this:

Mango! Mango! Mango mango! Mango! Mangoooooooo!!

(Helpful hint: Don't wait for them to end. I don't think they do.)

New bits and pieces.

I've been having some fun with making things the last week or so. Nice to have the time to do it!

I've always been a big fan of Edgar Allan Poe's poem, "The Raven". This ATC is an homage to that. When I created it a few days before Christmas, I knew the colours on my old monitor were a little wonky, but I didn't know how much until Santa brought me a new LCD screen! This piece turned out more yellow than I expected, but I still love it anyway.

I posted it on a new favourite website, Digital Art Quirks, not knowing that there was an artist there who was a HUGE fan of the poem. Needless to say, she was thrilled to see it (and I was thrilled to have an instant fan! *grin*).

When I first tried placing the moon on the piece, it didn't look right, so I changed it to a negative image, and this balanced out the darkness of the raven in the other corner.

I think I'm gradually getting the hang of this "balance" thing.

This woman was part of my "Rain" ATC not that long ago. I didn't realize it until just now. I really ought to organize my graphics a little better, but I love just browsing through the files and seeing what looks "right".

The quotation is my favourite lines from "Desiderata".











One of my favourite finds in the last little while is a website called Stock-Xchng. Not only can you find all kinds of great (and free!) stock photos, but many of them have no licensing requirements -- you can just use them at will. For this ATC, I took a stock photo of a sunset, and applied Virtual Painter 4's watercolour effect to make it more muted. The horse and rider is actually a picture of a statue taken from behind. I used Google to find a quotation I liked. I like this ATC as a piece of work, but love it for what it represents -- a new world of opportunities for an artist who can't draw!


Altered Rolodex cards seem to be all the rage at the moment, so of course I had to try. These are the first two I did. I like playing with this, but I have to learn to "think around the holes".










This collage was created as a spontaneous exercise in catharsis. The child is me, and the couple in the heart are the ones I refer to as my "godparents", because I feel God gave them to me when it became clear the "official" ones might not work out so well.

My godfather died in 1993, and my godmother died just this past July. It was an unpleasant situation, as most of her blood relatives (nephews and niece, no children) did their best to make me feel as if I had no right to be there. They took my house key and banned me from the hospital during her last days.

When I found myself doing this collage, I realized that I was finally ready to start processing some of what happened. This is probably a good sign.

Each of the items in the picture has a strong personal significance.

One of the things I've been wanting to do for a while now was to make a digital art journal. I found a cheapo journal at Michael's that was just begging to be transformed (and at a buck-fifty, how could I say no?). This is what will be the cover. I will print all of the pages as 5" x 7"s at the photo lab, and then glue them back to back, punching the holes to fit the binding. I'm anxious to see how it all works out.








This is the first two-page lay-out I did for the digital art journal. It might be hard to read the small print (maybe clicking it will help). I think my thoughts on ads for prescription medicine ads came bubbling up through this one.

Dear Tom & Katie

I am glad your baby is healthy and you are happy.

Dear Media;
Stop assuming I care! With all that's going on in the world these days, pictures of this child do not warrant this much attention. Enough already!

Lest We Forget.

New Orleans

I haven't been posting much because I've been glued to the television, mostly CNN. My heart goes out to everyone who was affected by this hurricane, whether they found themselves in Katrina's path, or were worried about a loved one, or who, like me, have no direct connection but cannot shake this profound feeling of sadness and powerlessness. But what is taking over, more and more, is a feeling of disgust.

The situation in New Orleans blows my mind. As a species, we pride ourselves on being more evolved, more civilized. Want to see how close we still are to animals? Just add water.

Please understand that I am not talking about the people who were told to leave but couldn't, either because they had no means to do so, or because they were too sick. I am not talking about those who broke into grocery stores to get food and water, and milk for their children. I am not talking about those who were simply left to fend for themselves for days, and those who died trying. I am talking about the small, lawless faction grabbing all the big headlines.

I am talking about the people shooting each other in the Superdome. I am talking about those who looted gun shops and electronics stores and anything else they could get their hands on but not what they really needed. There may not be electricity in New Orleans for months! How exactly is a big-screen TV going to help you survive this ordeal? And to the madmen (or women) who are shooting at the helicopters trying to evacuate hospital patients, and deliberately setting fires, and shooting at the police? Unless you truly are mad (and heaven knows this week would be enough to do that to anyone), you have my contempt by the bucketful.

Does this whole situation remind anyone else of the Titanic? "Iceberg (or hurricane) right ahead!" And the mayor orders people to evacuate, but there are only lifeboats for those who have the means to have made their own. The rest, trusting the guys in charge until it's too late, are left to try to survive on their own. In some ways, the third class on board Titanic might have had an easier time of it. At least they didn't suffer days and days and days, only to be shoved off to the side with a blanket over them if they didn't make it. A few people have wondered what would have happened if it had been a rich white city instead of a poor black one, and I'm with them on that. We'll never know, of course, but five days for aid to arrive is beyond "inadequate" -- it's nauseating.

There were points this week when I was almost wistful, that I should have seen New Orleans before this happened, because I am quite certain it will never be the same again. But in some ways I'm glad. An Olympic figureskater (Katarina Witt, maybe?) once talked about how sad she was to see Sarajevo ravaged by war, when it had been such a shining, beautiful place when she had been there. I think it would be horrible to think back on some place and know exactly what had been destroyed. The people who lived there must be absolutely sick with sadness. I am trying to imagine how I would feel to find my hometown, attacked first by nature, and then by anarchy and chaos. It shakes me to the core.

This week we saw human beings at their absolute worst. I can only hope that we learn something from this. But I'm afraid we won't.

To the Biloxi Man in the Yellow Shirt -- Hardy Jackson

I am so, so sorry for what you have been through in the last 24 hours. Twice this morning I have seen the interview where you describe your family's desperate struggle to get to the roof of your home. You are utterly distraught, and I don't know how you are managing to be as composed as you are, having had your wife literally ripped from your life by the hurricane.

She told you you wouldn't be able to save her. She told you to look after the children. And then she let go and got swept away. I am hoping against hope that she somehow survived, and that you find her.

For what little good it does, Hardy, I'm thinking of you.

All over for another year ...

The New Brunswick Highland Games are over for another year. I have it on good authority that they are the best ones in Atlantic Canada, and I'm always impressed each and every time, and always a little sorry to see it go. Like last year, we drove up and back for both Saturday and Sunday, and it was a lot of fun.

I'm not sure what the Lieutenant-Governor thinks of us taking over his yard for the weekend, but I have to tell you -- it's a beautiful, beautiful spot. With the St. John River in the background and the huge trees and well-manicured hedges, it is definitely a site worthy of the event. Being from Saint John, I'm not really allowed to like Fredericton, but it's my favourite (current) New Brunswick capital.

Although I took in more of the heavy events this year and was suitably impressed ("One moment while I toss this telephone pole ..."), what gets me deep inside every single time is the massed bands. From the time I was a little girl, I have loved the sounds of the bagpipes, and having a hundred pipers start playing all at once and begin marching towards you is a heady, heady experience. The drone and the drums almost vibrate inside your chest when they start up, and no camera or video could ever, ever do it justice. I think next year I'll give up on trying to take pictures of the massed bands because I'm always disappointed. It's an experience that totally defies capturing.

Bagpipes and Duct Tape

I love the Highland Games. The sound of the pipes. The men in kilts. Especially the men in kilts.

It has become something of a tradition now for Doug and I to go to the Games in Fredericton and hang with the Macleans. I love the fact that I get to spend time with people I don't see anywhere else except for this yearly ritual. It's great fun.

I also got to meet a new friend for the first time in real life. Lori also had two friends with her, so I got to meet them too. As much fun as the Maclean men are to spend time with, it was great to have some girls to hang out with. We watched the heavy events for a little while and briefly discussed the wisdom of the competitors wearing spandex shorts under their kilts for comfort and safety. How could I have that discussion with my male Maclean pals?

Since I always get nervous meeting someone for the first time, I was on my (almost) best behaviour and trying to stay out of trouble. As we girls walked over towards the food vendors, however, I noticed a curious sensation as I stepped with my left foot. Glancing down, I was stunned to see that almost the entire sole had separated from my shoe and I was doing some sort of comedic flip-flopping as I walked. It threatened to let go entirely and was folding over on itself with each and every step!

It was so ridiculous, it was almost surreal, but it was a great bonding moment! And (no pun intended with the previous sentence) I learned that men in kilts do not carry crazy glue in their sporrans. The best Ian could offer me was tape, in three different colours, and he claimed that, with that variety, I could almost make a tartan with it.

Well, Ian, I did my best.


My "tartan tape" sneaker got a few curious looks, but hey -- I was 100 km from home and I was there to have fun. And if duct tape is good enough for MacGyver (obviously a Scots name), then it was good enough for me!

Tomorrow we head back to the Games and I get to break in my brand-spankin'-new sneakers, purchased on my way home tonight. Let's hope I don't get blisters to go along with my sunburn. :)