Editorial to All Toronto Cyclists

I know I cannot be considered in any way a professional or serious cyclist. I don't have the clothes or the gear, the water bottle holder or anything at all resembling "decked out" (although, I do have a pretty cool Matterhorn Mountain Bike, a very cool lock, and a pretty decent bell).

But I am riding to work these days. Well for one thing it's a great work out (OH MY QUADS) and for another our second car just died and we haven't yet taken the plunge to buy a new one.

So this riding business is new. Real new. Wasn't much into riding MAJOR thoroughfares as a rider when I would go for after work rides in the park. Stayed to side streets mostly, and the park trails. Wasn't in a hurry to get anywhere, so the route wasn't so key.

But now, as my form of transportation, the route is important, as is the time it takes to get there and back. And let me tell you, some of the west Toronto roadways are CRAP! Sure, who cares about the pot holes at the side of the road? No one is at the side of the road. YES WE ARE! Hellll-ooooo, it's us cyclists at the side of the road! Trying to avoid being hit by that idiot making a right turn or that truck coming within inches of my handlebar!

Cyclists of Toronto, I am VERY sorry! I am sorry if I was ever disrespectful to you as a driver. I am sorry that you don't have nice smooth roadsides in which to ride. I am sorry that sometimes you don't get seen. Or heard. Or listened to when you make your pleas.

There are bike laws here - serious ones. And one of the infractions is driving on the sidewalk. Well, come and get me Metro Police, because I am NOT riding on the road on Evan's Avenue EVER AGAIN. Tonight the trucks were especially rude, and the potholes especially jarring. My head felt ever so bobble-ish. I actually had to stand and hop several in a row. I feared my bike would fall apart in the middle of the road from the absorption of it. And I have GOOD shocks!

So see me on Evan's Ave sidewalks - which I don't feel that badly about because it is an industrial area and not too many pedestrians. If an officer were to pull me over, I would show the lovely constable the REASON I will choose to use the sidewalk in this one spot.

It's not all bad though. Some drivers are downright decent (thank you, Bell Canada guy in the van!) and other cyclists acknowledge you. I feel good for doing it on many levels. The office has a nice lock-up provided. No hassles there. And part of the route IS bike friendly, just not the end part on the way home, which I have yet to figure out fully.

But I just wanted to say that I fully understand all the lobbying cyclist groups do to try to get better conditions for themselves. I mean, all the environmental groups, and even our local and provincial governments, are pushing for us to be more healthy, more green in our approach to transportation. All very well and good - but then why are there so many roadblocks for cyclists to endure and overcome in their pursuit of something good on so many levels?

Stop talking out the sides of your mouths, government officials. Give the cyclists better riding conditions. THEN maybe you WILL have more of them on the road.

Thanks for listening! Ride On!

unfinished business

Sometimes you think to yourself that you'll get to that thing tomorrow or next week or maybe a month from now. Then those times come and go and lo if you forgot to do that thing next week or next month or even a year from now.

But what IF that bus really did hop the curb and knock out all your tomorrows, next weeks or next months? Wouldn't you really wish you'd taken the kids to the zoo, painted the bathroom, lived that life you really want to live?

All this talk lately of past great essays and everyone KNOWING how verbose I am (yes, sorry if I go too fast and say too much and don't wait for you to catch up!!!) has got me to thinking about how I ought to finish that book.

You know, I really OUGHT to paint the bathroom.
I ought to get a new bathroom sink.
I ought to clean out the basement storage room.
I ought to take the kids to the zoo.
And I really ought to finish my novel. It's pretty good actually. People might like to read it. It's never too late for such an endeavour....

stayed tuned.....

Teacher Teacher, Can You Teach Me?

When I was in 4th year at York University, I took a course on Hemingway and Faulkner. It was an exciting course, the best I had ever taken. I learned a lot that year, from an incredibly talented English Professor named Don Sumemrhayes. His insight was incredible, and the discussions he encouraged pretty much ALWAYS left the group of 20 or so of us groaning each week when we realized the class was at an end.

At the end of that year we had a final essay worth 50% of our grade. We were to take one of the dozen books we had read and write about it in that traditional sense, calling to mind the various literary tools the book used to engage its reader. It was to have been a traditional essay format, at least as far as we understood.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it. In no way could I explain how I felt about To Have and Have Not in a way that would be as intelligible as all the in-class conversations had been with all those big-brains in the class. But I DID feel strongly. So I re-wrote the entire ending of the book. No explanation. Just prose. My entire essay spoke for itself.

I was illustrating what Prof. Summerhayes said when we argued about whether or not a writer’s meaning could be interpreted using our own set of assumptions and life experiences; about whether or not the Deconstruction Theory could be applied to someone else’s work. I had always argued that if they put it out there, one could not help but attach their own meaning to the work. I felt I must therefore be a deconstructionist. And as such, I decided to do something bold and risky. And it was an intense exercise – it was both invigorating and intrusive, taking a writer such as Papa, and reworking him, forsaking his work as his own private canvass.

I really worked at it to get the feel for the writing style; I wanted it to look RIGHT, as though the pages could have been found amongst his things – the alternate ending he had debated for himself. I was scared the day I handed that 20 pages in. I really worried and lost sleep while it was out being graded. And on the day they were handed back I had a pit in my stomach the size of a grapefruit.

He didn’t hand mine back and he asked me to stay.

Uh-oh. What had I done? I about died.

The other students got theirs and all left the room with a backward glance to me. Was I about to fail? Convocation was mere weeks away. I was about to become the first University Degree Holder in my family since my Grandfather. Or was I? Had I risked it all to do some 4th year cocky English major boneheaded move?

He looked at me, that wonderful old hippie with long white hair in a ponytail and a beard, Our own Modern Hemingway. He slid it upside down across the table to me.

Tapping with his left fingers as he eyed me carefully, he sat back and told me to turn it over. I almost couldn't do it. I was so afraid.

A+

His written comment beside that glorious grade:
“A Most Brave and Wonderful Essay, and a joy to read.”

Here I had desecrated the sacred Hemingway, in a really big way, and I got my first EVER A+, weeks away from graduation. (I mean ever here. I'd scored a couple of A's in high school. But I was never considered an A student. And had NEVER received an A+).

I was on cloud 9 for weeks, and still am whenever I think about that class, that teacher, the one who had made all the difference to me. He asked me for a copy of the essay for his own, that it was so good he wanted to put it amongst the highlights of that course. I kept the marked up one and gave him a new one. And as my reward he gave me his own book of poetry, with a gorgeous inscription about a “kindred spirit” and wishing me the best in life.

We have ALL had a teacher, at some point, who has made THAT MUCH of a difference to us. Sarah’s too young yet to have had hers, but it will come, and when it happens, we’ll be able to tell from the gleam in her eye that she’s arrived at that pinnacle of her education career where someone has touched her mind in a way that she never thought possible.

For some people, our teachers, those who make us reach incredible heights, might be a parent or friend or someone else we admire beyond words. But either way, it happens. If it hasn’t happened for you yet, regardless of your age, it will!

Teachers have a wonderful place in our lives, as one of the few people who will share some responsibility for molding our minds and opening our hearts and eyes to wonder.

(I encourage you, if you're interested, to click on the links I've provided to Hemingway and Faulkner and Deconstruction Theory - all good fun!)

Finding Family.....

There are few among us who could possibly understand what it's like.

On one hand, you were chosen by someone. Someone PICKED you ahead of others. Something about you drew them to you and they decided to make you their family. That is special.

But in the back of your mind, the nagging question "why"? The nagging hurt. The thirst for answers. The need to know the reasons why someone else chose to LEAVE you.

So picked on one hand, and abandoned on the other. Life as an oxymoron.

I am speaking, of course, about adoption. Amazingly, almost every quarter of my family life has a story within it about adoption, abandonment, and inevitably finding family. Some of the stories are happy, and some verge on tragic. Some are very private and quiet, while others are very open, honest, and wonderful.

Rarely in each of these family units has every single sibling been able to "get on board" with the finding. Some are on awhile and then fall off. Some don't understand or even try. Others try but fail. And still others embrace it for what it is: a chance to know the person who for whatever reason got left behind.

I won't tell tales that I haven't been given permission to tell. But a relative of mine has found a second family and for the most part it has been wonderful. At the very least he has a very loving sister and his children have cousins who are unmistakeably related - and there is much love.

Another relative had to give a child up and had to endure the pain of finding and losing said child not once but thrice as they could not resolve too many past differences, and said relative's subsequent children could not [all] reconcile themselves to it. It has been too painful to watch; too much heartache for both parties.

Still others have never sought. My dad was not raised by his mother, but by a step-mother he called Mom. He never had much interest in knowing the "other side". My mom and I tried to delve in to it, but we hit roadblocks and kind of abandoned it. And since my dad didn't feel it was worthy of our time or effort, it didn't feel as important as other searches. In a way, that is painful too. But on the other hand, it could just be that he was happy with the idea of his step-mother choosing him and his father. Maybe he doesn't have a burning desire to know. Or maybe he does and we'll never know.

The stories are all intense. All involve someone wonderful "stepping up" in light of the reality and being a wonderful partner or parent. But none is so wonderful, emotional, or mysterious as my mother's adoption story.

My mom was one of 5 siblings and one on the way in 1945, at the end of the second world war.

The men were coming home from the fight. How many of these came home to unexpected children where the math simply didn't add up?

That was what happened in my mom's case. He came home to his own three daughters, plus a boy and a girl and one on the way that were clearly not his.

We have no idea what happened. But in the end, the man took his three daughters "home" to England, the boy and the girl were taken away, and the baby was born and adopted in infancy.

My mother was almost 5 when Doug and Eva Jackson "chose" her. She grew up knowing full well that she was adopted. She grew up knowing that she'd had a first family, but some of the memories faded, only to come back as she dug in to find the truth much later.

In about 1977, my mother found first her brother, who at 5 at the time of the "abandonment" never got adopted. He had found their birth mother some years earlier, and had reestablished contact intermittently with the sisters in England. But though he was interested, he was unable to embrace the whole idea of new family, of my sister and I as nieces, of my mother has his baby sister. He cares, but there is definitely a wall. And I certainly understand it. At 5, the pain would not have dulled over time. Instead, the feral nature of the feelings of being ripped from hearth and home and happiness and security would last forever. A five year old can not reason. A five year old ONLY knows that they are being left behind, taken away, punished for unseen reason. So if he can't let down his guard, it's because of a life of feeling left behind and of feeling punished for something that was never his doing or responsibility.

Through her brother my mom got in touch with her own mother. From about 1978-1985 there was a "relationship". Dana and I called her grandma. We dressed in her jewelry and posed for silly pictures. We fed her bird. We ate her lemon meringue pie. We visited pretty much every weekend. And we got few answers. The shame of it for me is that I was too young to ask questions of my own, to push for details where they were lacking. At the time, my mom was just so happy to get "something" that she didn't think to ask for more; and she had no reason to believe that the details she was getting weren't the truth. But there were gaps. And no answers forthcoming for that.

When had her husband gone back to England with the girls? Where was she when Children's Aid took the two small children? Why didn't she talk about the baby girl? Where did she have the baby girl? Who was the father (or fathers) in question?

Eventually, the relationship faltered. Lots of reasons for it, as in most cases when it happens. Eventually the weight of the truth (or lack of it) bubbles to the surface and makes it hard to just sit and have small talk. But also, people who have found another sometimes get a sense of entitlement that doesn't exist in reality; they want to be "the" brother, "the" mother. "the" daughter, "the" grandmother. And that could hurt the other side: the chosen side. And people don't understand. And so a rift grows. Words are said. Sides are chosen. And the tentative strands of a relationship fall apart, disintegrate under the weight of the pain and questions that still remain.

But then.
Then a few years later, with all of generation one (those who left behind and those who chose) gone, the ability to seek answers becomes slightly less painful, slightly more urgent. Records are sought; distant family is approached for truth. The tendrils of inquiry are sent out to the rest who are left behind. Someone sees an internet family tree. Sends an email. Poses the question.

And the next thing you know, there are nieces and nephews and nephews-in-law and grandnieces and nephews and babies on the way, and children and family resemblances and similar humours to share and undeniably, you've found family!

None of that uncomfortable stuff. Those who embrace it want to know the truth; believe what truth there is, desire to know a family they just realized was there. Suddenly a connection to a deceased parent, to a place they heard about but have never experienced. Suddenly a cousin who quickly becomes the huge pain in the butt she always would have been had you the opportunity to grow up knowing her (I of course, being that cousin).

My sister Dana and I had NO cousins. None. We had no aunts or uncles. We had each other, and that was it (so she got me as the pain in the butt - poor thing!). We have each taken turn weaving in and out of the various degrees of our mom's searching. We've both been on board at different times or staunchly removed at others (as Eva Jackson got closer to the end of her days, I became anti-anything related to pre-adoption. I was young and I felt it would be disrespectful to the Grandma I admired so much).

But now here we are. And we have a RAFT of family in England! We have found my mother's sister Betty's children! And grandchildren! And one on the way! Most are happy for it. Others are tentative. It takes getting used to. Some never will. And that has to be respected.

But it's there. A brand new old family to learn about and tease and eventually meet and embrace for real.

And at the same time, the Ontario Adoption Records just opened, allowing adoptees to apply for "the truth" which my mom has done and hopes to find even more answers in.

It's strange and wonderful. Yes, we must tread carefully. There's a lot of past there to wade through. Not everyone's going to be as thrilled. And some may weave in and out as we have done in turn.

But right now, my mom, my sister and myself are all connected to England. And it's wonderful stuff. A sense of history. A sense of belonging. A family.

I can't wait to meet you, family!
Thanks mom, for doing the grunt work, for finding these funny and great and wonderful people!

Love to you all.

Sometimes commercial companies DO really do some good....

My dear friend Julie is all about too much consumerism, and helping others increase their awareness of those times when companies manipulate us under the guise of "trying to help". You know, the formula companies sending their product to underdeveloped nations to "help" mothers feed their babies (there are all kinds of ways from Sunday to argue how that is very backhanded "helping"). And other instances: "Buy our product and we'll donate one dollar to the cancer society." "Use this coupon for this food and the kids' help phone will get our support." "Buy this kids' meal and we'll support the hospital for sick children." Etc etc etc. The whole thing is designed to push a button in you, the emotional, nurturing self, in order to get you to buy their product. Sure, they may have done something decent along the pathway to consumer dollars, but still the bottom line was that you bought THEIR product and not another companies'.

However.

I truly believe that there is a time when that level of branding can do GOOD in the world. In this instance I am speaking specifically about the Dove Sleepover for Self Esteem, which takes place tomorrow evening at 7:00. It is a completely free event, hosted by Dove (okay, yes, Unilever Canada) and YTV and WTV (okay, yes, Corus Entertainment won't be hurting by doing it either).

It is an event whereby Mothers and Daughters and Aunties and Cousins and Nieces and Friends are encouraged to come together, to have a sleepover, to do girlie things that make us feel special, to get into our jammies, and watch an endearing movie about strength and fortitude and women(girls) standing up for themselves. There is a pre-show and all of the "commercial slots" go back to a host who is at a (probably studio set) sleepover, and who brings up some of the issues with a group of girls. There is also a very good website (link above) where you can download discussion ideas, invitations, games and recipe suggestions.

I suppose if I were to be fair, there are a couple of minor issues. First of all, yes yes yes, I had to buy some product in order to fully "play the game of participation". But that was my own decision, and I thought it was a good idea. Buy a couple of Dove products and get PJ bottoms for the event. Why not? I need shampoo anyway, don't I? So I did it. I bought into it and sent away for the pants. A couple of minor mishaps later, Sarah and I both have pants! And okay, yeah, I get it. But it's all part of the adventure for us, so I think it's okay.

Also, I ended up falling into the trap last year by accident (in other words, there was nothing else on). To my mind it seemed like a really good idea and a really nice thing to do for young girls, but the host was over the top and dare I say it? Hokey. She was a hokey, silly woman. BUT, the idea was a solid one. So I said that maybe this year Sarah would be old enough and it could be something we could do together. AND, I am actually quite excited. This year's host is a younger woman (that was problem one last year), can identify with the kids better, and is someone anyone who has ever watched TV for kids has seen. She is likeable, and most importantly, I like her. I encourage you to look her up here. She is bound for big things.

Well, here it is. We're going to my sister's house, we're taking our jammies and cream soda and nachos and stuff for facials and pedicures. We're going to watch the pre-show and Ella Enchanted on YTV. With luck my niece Kelsey will stick around (Sarah would LOVE that!). I'll ask Sarah what she thinks of the content (questions about friends who tell secrets, exclude people, show off, bully, etc). I'll sit with her and put my arm around her and enjoy every moment. I'll dance with her and get goofy with her. I'll let her stay up late.

I'll let her be on a self-esteem high; where she is the center of attention and she feels special.

That, to me, is what it's all about. I know Dove will make money on the thing. They'll get recognition. Their very target group will be impressed with them and therefore purchase their product as that emotional button is pushed.

BUT, my girl, and countless others like her, all across the country, will all be sitting down together to build stronger relationships with each other. They'll be working on better understanding how other girls think and act. They'll come away from it maybe feeling a little more confidant in their role - understanding that feelings they have are shared by every other girl their age. They'll feel good. And their moms, aunts, and grandmas might understand them a bit better too.

So isn't that what it's all about? Doesn't that make it worth it?

I think it does. I think that sometimes, every now and then, sneaky ad campaigns to get us to buy in actually DO help us and society.

What about you? What do you think?



*Overturning the Tables written by Julie Kinkaid, United Church Publishing House 2008. Designed by Diane Renault-Collicott.

There Can Be NO Debate....

None.
None at all.

Just TRY to tell me that there is a more famous band or musician, ever, than The Beatles.

Go ahead. Try.

But you'd be wrong.

Now, usually I am able to have a conversation of give and take, one where I offer my opinion, make my strongest argument, but take the feedback I am presented with and consider all the facts. If I've been particularly stubborn I might even go away and think awhile and then come back with a concession or two. Maybe even the "You were Right and I was Wrong and Now I Have to Sing a Song" song and an apology.

But not this time. Uh-unh. No way.

The Beatles are, hands down, no argument, the best and most famous band of all time.

Fact: More than 40 number one hits. That is only as the collective. That says nothing of the solo albums produced before and after the break-up of 1970. It says nothing of Wings or The Traveling Wilburys or Imagine.
Fact: 74 MILLION viewers watched them that first time they appeared on Ed Sullivan on February 9, 1964.
Fact: 6 full-length studio albums in 5 years, from 1960-1965. And 15 in the span of only 8 years. No wonder they burnt out in a decade.

There is still new merchandise produced with The Beatles likenesses, from all eras of their fabulous career. In September of this year a video game called Rock Band will be released, based on The Fab Four.

There are hundreds of video grabs posted on You Tube of them as The Beatles, of each of them separately, and of their various weavings in and out of each other's music. There are also scenes of their many films, and it appears, tons of old super 8 footage that someone has got their hands on and put up.

There are countless DVD's. They still have an active webpage and ALL 4 members have their own website in their name.

Yes, people, they are THE most famous band of all time.

But you want to know why ELSE I know this?

Because my 7 year old knows almost all of their music. Sarah knows who Richard Starkey is and that Paul McCartney is a "Sir". She knows that John Lennon and George Harrison have "perished" (her word for died), and that Paul is still handsome even though he is now a Grandpa. She knows about the 5th Beatle, even though she can't say who that is (and I don't think anyone else can either, though there is tons of debate. Was it Pete Best? Was it Phil Epstein? Was it George Martin? Is that another blog? Probably!). She knows that one of my favourite songs of all time is Eleanor Rigby, and she will not get out of bed weekday mornings before hearing "The Beatles for Breakfast" on our local Classic Rock station Q107. Which also has a "Beatles Break" which tickles Sarah no end.

And now, this same 7 year old, is doing her first school project on The Most Famous Band of All Time. And I have permitted her to say as much. Because it's a fact I believe unequivocally.

Want to argue with me about it? I could go all day?

Okay - you're entitled to your opinion. You are. But this one time, just this once, you've got to admit:

The Beatles are the best group of all time.
Okay?

Really, it's not that unusual.

Yep, ladies and gentlemen, it's snowing out there.

Supposed to snow for three solid days.

People are freaking out. People are depressed. People feel betrayed.

But really, it's just not that unusual.

I remember when niece Kelsey was born on April 22, 1991. Mom and I drove up the 410 in the wee hours of the morning and had a laugh because it seemed that every time we drove that route to be present for the birth of my sister's child, it snowed. Yes, it was snowing on April 22. And cold. After Kelsey was born we stood outside in the parking lot talking to her Dad Tom and we froze. I wished I had gloves. It was disgusting.

I also remember that first Jay's game. I remember that it snowed. Seen lots of images over the year of trying to find a white ball on a white outfield. How during points of the game the cameras couldn't even pick up the players in the outfield. Nuts.

And at the same time, there's always a last gasp, isn't there? JUST as we think we're past it. Just as we think we can take the snowtires off the car or put the boots into the back of the closet, bang! It gets us.

Carina says it is mother nature's late April fool's joke on us. That's a good way of putting it.

So it's Monday, which is bad enough. And it's cold, which we're all tired of. And NOW it's snowing on top of that.

Yuck.

But don't be shocked. Stranger things have happened. And with luck, this week WILL be Mother Nature's last gasp at the snow thing. And then we can FINALLY move on to Spring. And the promises therein.

With luck.

Have a good day all. Keep warm. And drive carefully.

Finally Blogging About Lost

All this time I have been blogging, I have managed to avoid the whole subject of that greatest of shows Lost. There are many reasons for this, not the least of which is that there are excellent theorists out there with incredibly intelligent and thought-provoking blogs. So why muddy the waters?

Well, finally I feel like I must speak. Not because something happened that makes me have to speak out, but because I guess I feel that I 'thought' the show was going in one direction, and Carlton Cuse and Damon Lindeloff pulled a 180 on us! Me. Me personally.

If you haven't seen the show lately and you don't want to know, read no further. In "talking the thing out", I am going to be frank and likely slightly spoilerific.

So.

Here we are approaching the big ramp up to the season 5 finale. The producers (Cuse, Lindeloff) have already named an end date of May 2010 for the end of the show. They did this last year at the end of the writer's strike, and when ratings were at an all-time low, and possibly at the start of the recession. Lost is a pricey show to produce.

I don't want to suggest that Lost has low ratings. It certainly is a very successful show. But for it's price, being shot in Hawaii, all those sets and extras and props and effects, it was getting costly. So Cuse and Lindeloff said, okay, we need 28 more episodes to tell this story and bring it to a satisfactory close. They were given the green light by home network ABC.

And the show picked up speed.

There were still character-centric episodes, but not one after another the way they once had been. The episodes seemed driven to telling the necessary details, like why Sayid is the way he is, why Kate kept Aaron for three years and then arrived at the decision to give him to his grandmother and return to the Island, like why Sawyer defends the Dharma Initiative now.

And the rest was the "Lost Lore", answering all those burning questions we've died to know these past 4 years. And we're getting our answers now. They're coming. Slowly leaking out like a painfully slow leak in a life raft.

First thing's first. Everyone wonders why Sawyer isn't as protective of his returning Losties as he should be. Everyone seems to forget that he only knew those people 108 days. Sure that shaped things to come, but he's been living la vida loca now for three solid years; found love and a life of respect and honesty. He's grown up. He's happy. So no freaken wonder the guy went WTF when they came back. I would too. And now we know that it is their return that is the thing that screws everything up. If they'd stayed away it would be fine. But no. They came back and started a cycle of events that it seems to me unravels the entire thing. THEY are the reason Ben Linus is eeeeevil with 5 e's.

So Sawyer and Juliet have my sympathies. Which is strange. Because until this last episode, I was for Jack. Not now. Unwitting though it might have been, Jack's refusal to operate on Little Ben is what drives Kate to take Ben to The Others. I know he didn't mean to, but he did. And that is what causes everything they've all been through for the last 4 years of their lives.

The only question is, what role does Christian Sheppard play in all of this? Clearly his body got smokey-ized, probably same with Claire and a good number of "the others". But why was it so important for him to get Jack back there to create such havoc? Maybe Widmore IS a truly bad dude. Shucks anyway. I wanted to be right about something.

But Cuse and Lindeloff have it in for me. Every single time I have come up with a theory I thought was strong and potential, they've done the whole Neslon Muntz "nahh-haaa" thing to me and left me feeling completely deflated. So now I have no idea. None. And it isn't sitting well with me. Because the rosy end to this saga, the end where people live happily ever after, I'm thinking was a utopia I built up in my head and it doesn't exist.

I've always thought Jack and Sayid to be the ultimate heroes of the show, despite being the most blemished and needing the most rehabilitation from past sins. But seems that it is Sawyer was destined for this. Spent 4 years being cynical, bitter, and slightly sneaky. Now it's him that can potentially save the world. Not my chosen heroes. Those guys are as faulty as the day the show premiered in 2004. And I am mourning this fact. Because I WANTED them to be redeemed. I wanted them to end up happy and fulfilled. But how can they now? Sayid shot a child. He drives Ben to The Others, back handedly. Richard Alpert said his innocense is gone. Sayid can't be redeemed now. Not knowing what Ben ends up growing up to do.

Same with Jack. He's trying, lord he's trying, to be careful not to do anything that backfires. And yet, there it is. He just did it. He did the one thing he was trying precisely to avoid. And once he knows it, he SHOULD be suicidal (again). He's as culpable as Sayid.

Diane made the point that they all end up having culpability in it. Kate, Sawyer, Jin, Juliet. All take part in driving Ben to Richard Alpert. None of them are willing to let him just die. True. But it wasn't any of them CAUSED Ben to need to be taken to The Temple.

So now I am completely turned around. Now I am wondering ever so slightly what the point is. They've come back and screwed up Sawyer and Juliet's utopia. They've turned Ben into the eeeeevil guy he'll forever be. They've made a mockery out of everything they were trying gallantly to do and be. And now none of them will be happy.

'Cause Phil the Security Guy has been hanging in the wings, noticing something reeks of the fishing docks at the end of a hot day. He's gettin' ready to pounce, which suggests to me a bad end for someone I care about.

I dunno. I've always ridden this roller coaster which is Lost, and I always will. I am in it until the end - so invested that nothing can drive me away. But I am feeling insecure about it at the moment. I am not sure I'm going to like it when the end comes. And I am POSITIVE that the season finale in May is going to make me Scream Out Loud and want to hurt the TV set.

I will spend the summer tearing my hair out. Of that I am certain.

So in that respect, a total smashing success for Cuse and Lindeloff.

And then I will have to own the whole series on DVD.

So thanks a lot Damon Lindeloff and Carlton Cuse, and JJ Abrahams, and Matthew Fox, Josh Holloway, Jorge Garcia, Daniel Dae Kim, Naveen Andrews, Evangeline Lilly, Michael Emmerson, Nestor Carbonell, Elizabeth Mitchell. Thanks a lot, gang. From the bottom of my skeptical heart.

Butterfly Effect and Consumerism - Post in Enough Stuff

Go here now. Click this link OR look over to the side and see it there in my "cool places" list.

But go. Now. Read.

http://enough-stuff.blogspot.com/

This stuff is important people! And Julie has a way of putting things.

It's really time to take the negative economic climate and turn it in to something thought-provoking and good on so many levels. We were getting crazy with the spending and the "stuff" and the toll on the environment, our pocket-books, AND the creation of the "must have" society. It's not too late for any of us, but especially the next generation.

So go and read it.

Oh. And don't forget Earth Hour on Saturday at 8:30 pm! (see post below!)

The Electric Company!

No, not the one that powers the lights.

The show. The show that ran from 1971 - 1977 and has been resurrected for today's kids.



Heyyyyy Youuuuuu Guyyyyyyys......


I remember the first go-round so well that when Sarah ran upstairs one Saturday morning to say "hey mom, there is a new show on TVO kids that is fun AND educational and you should come see it", I took one look at it and something whispered into the recesses of my mind "Electric Company". It had the feel. Notsomuch the look (it is after all 35 years later, I admit chokingly!)

Sure enough, within seconds, it identified itself.

Oh how I loved that show! So much that Hey You Guys was said (yelled in that gravelly voice) by me several dozen times a day. So much so that I never forgot that it was how Morgan Freeman, easily one of Hollywood's 25 Best Actors of All Time, got his start as Cool Cat. So much so that seeing the old show-opener online again after so many years brought back instant memories. I loved that show. I loved Sesame Street but would be equally excited when it ended and Electric Company came on.

Now, I know that the reason it's back is because once again the statistics show that early reading levels are at an all time low. And that's too bad. But on the other hand, the show helped once so I bet it will help again.

And it's just so darned funny and entertaining too! The main guy raps, another guy does beat box sounds and sounds of other kinds as well, they sing, and there is always a main story woven in to the "variety" show aspect. And well, we watched one episode together and Sarah knew from that moment on when a word had a "soft C" or a "hard C".

Now we have a standing date for 9:30 a.m on Saturday mornings. And I wouldn't miss it.

But to think that at first I actually told Sarah I was busy doing some "stuff around the house" until I looked at her little cherub face and saw that she was sad that I wouldn't take a look. I didn't want to be that mom. So I took her hand, expecting to go down into the family room and go "oh, yes, that's really good! I'm glad you found a new show to watch" and then go back to my chores. Instead, I got taken back, had a good chuckle, sat down on the futon and patted the seat beside me in invitation.

I highly recommend it. Sarah needs all the help she can get, and it appears to be working. But even for other kids, it's just fun. And funny. And it's problem-solving on so many levels.

So tune in! And enjoy! Sit down with the kids and be taken back. And well, you'll be sitting down with the kids instead of laundry or something else that prevents you from sitting down with the kids.

And then come back here and let me know what you (all) thought!

Have fun, "....youuuuuuuu guyyyyyyyyyys"

Here's the Facts, and nothin' but the Facts:

It's inevitable. We ARE going to be leaving this world. We are going to leave it, and whatever we mess we made WILL be left to the children. No ifs ands or buts about it. So here's the deal. If we CARE about our children, nieces and nephews, cousins, or friend's kids, then WE have a responsibility to do something about it while we can.

Last week I had a letter to the editor printed in the Metro newspaper, in response to an article written by a columnist about the proposed Wind Turbine project off the shore of Ashbridge's Bay in The Beach. Said columnist is against such an action by Ontario Hydro. She called the turbines "an eyesore" as well as an "ugly collection of industrial clutter." She said they should be put in some nice remote area. She said they were going to "mar" the lovely shoreline we've worked so hard to beautify in recent years. I got mad. Livid, in fact. I could not believe what I was reading. I couldn't fathom that this was a person who gave a single thought to what she had written, who was putting asthetics ahead of necessity. So here is what I said in response:

re: "Wind Farm Would be an Ugly Mistake" by April Lindgren, Jan. 30, 2009.

I can't believe what I am hearing.
First on 680 News and now reading in your paper.
Windmills as EYESORES??!?!?!?

I am SHOCKED and dismayed. Absolutely. It astounds me to read and hear such nonsense from people, who apparently and by all evidence have absolutely NO sense.

"Collection of ugly industrial clutter"? That will "haunt generations to come"? Apparently you have never traveled to Europe and seen windmill after windmill after windmill, dotting the landscape and sending the message that something is being attempted to save mother earth. Off the shoreline in Copenhagen they are ever-present. And NOT an eyesore. What are you thinking when you say these things? Do you honestly think they are so much more heinous to look at than the smoke stacks dotting the skyline and spewing their black toxins in to our city and water? It is time for us to realize that we are at the point in our evolution that we MUST seek alternatives to gas and oil. Harnessing what already exists in nature is not monstrous, it's beautiful. Let's please be responsible about this, and teach the children that these ideas are not something we "hide" in rural areas (since we're the power guzzlers right here), but something that we fit in to our lives right here, get used to, and see the benefit of. I say yes to wind turbines in my water. I'd much rather hear them than the hum of other types of electric generators. I'd rather see them than smoke-stacks. I hope so fervently that detractors come around. Our world depends on it.

I felt better after. A little.

But that's not the first time I have heard something of an environmental nature that has made my skin crawl. Friend Aaron over in Alma's Soulfood (see my sidebar for a link!) speaks of the many cities and towns that have outlawed clotheslines. Add to that the people I've heard say: "yeah, I don't want to see anyone's granny panties wavin' in the breeze while I'm sipping my morning coffee."

Or how about the people who think it's taking it too far if one adopts the "if it's brown, send it down, if it's yellow, leave it fellow" theory of toilet flushing? I mean REALLY. I keep my toilet bowls clean. But I don't need to send 10 litres of water down there every time James has one of his teensy wee boy pees. Do I?

I am not entirely there. I have some issues with cleaners (as in, use powerful, stinky ones. Have an impossible-to-keep-clean kitchen floor that I am after CONSTANTLY, and I have to let go of the idea that powerful smell equals powerful clean). But I am letting go, slowly. I don't use fabric softener anymore. I use cool or cold water to wash, and I air-dry lots. I fill up the machine. We use the dishwasher only a couple of times a week. I try to buy less packaging and I recycle everything allowable. I've taken to pulling tissues out of the garbage. I use old tea towels to clean my windows and dust, not swiffers or paper towel. I buy the large rolls of toilet tissue and teach the kids to use less of it. I talk about turning the lights off in rooms not in use, as well as not letting the water run for any length of time.

I know I am not doing enough and that I could be doing more. But I DO think of myself as a "green" person, so if I can admit that I am NOT doing enough, then what are the people who aren't nearly as green as me doing? Not their share, that's for sure. Not enough for their kids or grandkids. Not enough considering that each of us in this part of the world has created something like 5 tonnes of garbage PER PERSON.

I dunno. Maybe it's just me. But seems to me if you're going to make some of the mess, you gotta clean some of it up. I mean, isn't that what we teach the kids? You make a mess, you clean it. You make a mistake, you own it. You do something wrong, you work to make it right. So why all the hypocrites? You think this world owes you something? Because my dear, sad, friend, it owes you NOTHING. It's given you water and sunshine and nice things to eat and see and smell. It's sustained you and yours for generations. It's held up your home and car and given you a job (in my case, literally. My own juxtaposition is caring about an environment when the industry I work in rapes the moraine on a daily basis!) It owes YOU nothing, friend. You owe IT your life.

So my challenge is for each of us to do a tiny bit extra this week. Something we wouldn't normally do. Then in a month or so, add something else. And so forth until you're living greener. Use vinegar to clean the windows. Use baking soda to clean the sink. Use less paper towels and napkins.

Aha! Eureka, I just thought of my contribution. My kids are rabid napkin users. I am going to go home and drag out 8 linen napkins, and we're going to use those at supper time. I have them in my drawer! I might as well make use of them!

What's your contribution, dear reader?

I woke up in the rain....

......the rumble of thunder reverberated through the ground under me. Another flash. Lightening seemed to burn in to my eyes. As consciousness seeped in to my being, I realized I was wet - my back, my legs. Oh damn, the tent has a hole in it!!

The deep feeling of loneliness grew more palpable with the knowledge that my safe haven was against me. So much for the idea of running away to the wilderness to collect my thoughts, have some peace, do some reading and writing, and give myself a good stern talking to. Now it seemed obvious that The Plan would have to be abandoned and I would have to go home. My heart sunk.

No one was there. Wouldn't be for another 5 days. My time away was to have been double that. It was part of the deal. There wasn't money enough for me to get a room for all that time. And that was contrary to the whole idea of me getting away to collect myself. To find myself. To take many deep breaths in order to steel myself to continue to live my life.

No one was around. Not a soul within hearing distance. And who would hear me if I did have a much-desired tantrum? Who would hear against the raging patter of sheets of cold rain? Against the wind that threatened to tear the tent from over me? More lightening. I jumped. The tears began to flow freely down my cheeks and I didn't bother to wipe them away or blow my nose. I wallowed self-pityingly. Why not? It WAS unfair! I had worked for MONTHS on this plan. Had practically threatened that if it didn't come to fruition something more drastic was bound to happen. I finally got my way. And yet......now it was crashing down around me, my plan to reclaim my grip on my life.

I yelled. And yelled. And screamed. And cursed. And threw anything dry back into my back pack. Got dressed hastily. Grabbed my cash and the most valuable of my belongings. My car keys. Put on my rain jacket, a baseball cap, and steeled myself for the onslaught of water that would hit as I ran to the car. My more logical self tried to calm me, to make me wait at least until the rain wasn't coming down so hard; but I wouldn't listen. I was inconsolable and stubborn. And completely bereft of a plan......

In Answer to a Puzzle.

Not that it matters to me. It really doesn't. I don't care one wit who the new US President, Barack Obama, calls his God, or even if he has one.

But.

Detractors of his have said that he is "Muslim born and raised." Thinking that to be untrue, I looked into it. And I read that while his father was born into a Muslim household in Kenya, he himself (Barack Sr.) had rejected all religion before going to the US in the '60s for University. So, unless Barack Obama's (Jr.) mother was Muslim, seems that he wasn't raised Muslim.

So I found this on Wikipedia, confirmed by other reliable on-line sources, like Time:

"Obama is a Protestant Christian whose religious views have evolved in his adult life. In The Audacity of Hope, Obama writes that he "was not raised in a religious household." He describes his mother, raised by non-religious parents (whom Obama has specified elsewhere as "non-practicing Methodists and Baptists") to be detached from religion, yet "in many ways the most spiritually awakened person that I have ever known." He describes his father as "raised a Muslim," but a "confirmed atheist" by the time his parents met, and his stepfather as "a man who saw religion as not particularly useful." In the book, Obama explains how, through working with black churches as a community organizer while in his twenties, he came to understand "the power of the African-American religious tradition to spur social change."^[196][197] He was baptized at the Trinity United Church of Christ in 1988 and was an active member there for two decades."

That seems to explain it all. So while Obama discovered religion as a young adult, he did so on his own, and I guess it so happens that it was Protestantism. Not that it matters.

Because, so what if he HAD been Muslim?

I don't know that it matters. Except that if he were Muslim, that would spell even more trouble for him in areas where he remains somewhat unpopular. So in that case, I guess you could say it's a "good thing". Not that I want to say that.....but I hope readers know what I mean when I do.

But really, I long for the days when it isn't going to matter; when people aren't going to panic at the word "Muslim". Imagine - there WAS a time (and for that matter, still is on occasion) when even Catholics and Protestants (both Christian, too) lived in hate and fear of each other. Seems impossible to think of now, but it was once the norm everywhere. And yeah, even in my own lifetime I have heard such generalizations as "you know, those Irish-Catholics" and the like. But those get to be fewer and farther between, at least in my part of the world.

Hopefully, one day we'll get to a comfortable place with such "scary" words as "Islam" and "Muslim" and even "Middle East". One day it won't matter. I just hope, for the sake of the kids, that it's in this generation.

I like to remember (and sometimes, yes, even need to remind myself) that there are "bad guys" of all races, colours, religions, sexes, and sizes. There are people ALL over this great world of ours that are twisted. Some use religion as a crutch or excuse to resort to violence. Some use their hate of women, or children, or the poor (or even, in some cases, the rich).

The thing is, Barack Obama is one of those Heinz 57s, like a great many of us who live in North America. Yes, it's important that one half of that is African, just like it's important that he was raised in a white family and had to deal with the difference and confusion therein of his skin tone, that he had to find his identity in his own way, come to terms with who he is, and become comfortable in his own skin. It's all part of what made the man the incredible human being that he is. Part of what made him so strong and sure. And what the world needs is a leader of a country like the U.S. that is strong and sure. Of himself and of his convictions. And I believe Mr. Obama to be that person.

It's an amazing time we live in, and I hope for the sake of the children (mine, Barack and Michelle's, indeed everyone's) that it goes well and successfully. So many people have hinged a great deal of hopes onto his strong shoulders, so it just HAS to go alright.

So I have a wish. I tend to wish big via simplicity. A simple wish goes something like this: I wish that in 30 years time I am driving somewhere and hear on the radio some cute fluff news item about Obama being spotted on vacation or making some public appearance somewhere. It's a simple wish, but it actually takes care of a lot of niggling details. And I wish it more than anything right now. You know, for the kids. Mine, his, yours, and all those inner-city youth everywhere who walk around saying - and believing - Yes We Can.

And can we overcome whether or not a person's chosen or birthright religion is important? I believe that yes, we can.