Riches on my doorstep.

I pass by this place every workday on my commute. Twice technically, but the highway is divided through town so it's only on my way home that I'm greeted by the two period planes on their stands, forever lifting from the ground, forever grounded. I've driven by it approximately 170 times, just commuting. It's a way point on our drive. It means we're nearly home, safe and sound with only the last stretch of 20 or so kms ahead of us. Often we stop for gas or at the grocery store for something for supper. The planes off to the right and to the left above the model train place an over sized flag with a Union Jack on a light blue background. I'm not sure if it's flown by the Legion, or Friends of the Air Museum or the town or a combination of the whole lot. Recently, it flew at half mast in honour as a local family mourned and celebrated the sacrifice of their son.

I'm a 'newcomer' though, so I don't know the family nor the soldier, but it made me remember every time I drove through town. Unlike many of the 'memorials' (and frankly I'm using the word very loosely there) at intersections and along various roads to mark where someone has died in a car accident, it didn't make me angry or annoyed to be reminded. It made me proud.

But enough of that.

A week or two ago, after much nagging and a chorus of "please can we go..." with an encore or twelve I reluctantly set out to drive to the city for some watersliding swimmin'ing time. For one reason and another I wended my way through town instead of following the north bound leg of the highway and so found myself just down the street from the museum.

The bomber was out for a cleaning. I stopped, much to the chagrin of the 'chorus' in the backseat (and front for that matter) and grabbed my camera to snap a few shots.

I've never gone through the museum. I've stopped in once and had a quick peek in the foyer as I asked about upcoming events but I never went back.

Here is history, carefully and lovingly preserved, right on my doorstep and I never even stop to look. Shame on me.

Sometimes the news makes me nuts.

I realize that some news that I get crazed about old news that I'm just now revisiting. (or having the time to think about and research)

This for instance. Robert Latimer isn't exactly a household name to many. But to some he's become a rallying point for two very extreme sides of an issue that by it's very nature is one that most people don't even want to think about, let alone define in terms of legality, moral right and wrong and last but not least religion. Forget about compassion or intelligent, logical thought; they aren't on the table with this issue.

The short version is, Mr. Latimer was convicted of 2nd degree murder for putting his severely disabled daughter in a truck and connecting a hose from the exhaust, thereby exposing her to carbon monoxide which caused her death.

I've had several conversations about this case over the years, dating from when he was originally convicted and on through the years (12) when he's been denied parole, over and over. Disregarding the reccommendations of the jury and the ruling of the judge in his case, I might add.

Recently, I had an online conversation, and saved a few of my comments.

First of all, let me point out that my mother was a polio survivor, whose body was stunted on one side, leaving her a hunchback from age 7. Second of all, you don't know me so don't bother with the hate mail. I have my opinions, you're welcome to yours. I have a blog to air mine, get your own, if all you plan on doing is bitching at me for thinking and believing as I do. That said, if you've got an opinion that doesn't smack of raw hate for me because I have an opinion and are willing to keep the name calling and other silliness to nil, then by all means, feel free to comment. I freely admit that my beliefs about certain aspects of this are rather broad and based solely on news media reporting; but they are no less my own despite that.

I really am not sure what my biggest confusion with all of this is. I understand that Mr. Latimer broke the law, and that he was convicted of it in a court of law and must serve time as a result. Fine, yes. I believe in the law and that when a law is unjust or unfair that there are ways, legal ways, to change the law and that breaking it just because it is unfair or unjust is still an illegal act.

However.

We're past all that. He's been convicted. He did what he did for his own reasons and has refused to admit remorse. There in, appears, to lie the rub. The parole board has repeatedly refused this man parole. Citing his lack of remorse. It is my understanding (and I could well be wrong) that the parole board here in Canada is not allowed by its mandate to require admission of guilt. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't requiring someone to admit to remorse regarding an act they are imprisioned for, an admission of guilt?

The crux of all this, is the special interest group that has taken it upon themselves to make sure this 'monster' stays incarcerated. They want to make sure that all special needs / severely disabled people are safe, you see.

Not really pertinent if you ask me. This wasn't a random act of murder. This wasn't a hate crime against a race, creed, religion or anything else. This was, and I really believe this, an act of compassion.

So yes, of course, Mr. Latimer is going to rush out the very moment he's free on parole and murder the very next handicapped person he sees. Sure.. right... He's probably sitting in his cell jonesing for his next *thrill kill*

Give me a freakin' break.

How incredibly rude of these people with their special interest groups to intrude upon his very personal decision and journey.

We vilify people daily who 'mistreat' an animal they have lived with and loved in their home for years and years and who find it difficult to do the 'right thing' and let this animal go with dignity. It's RIGHT to kill off an animal that is experiencing pain and has outlived its usefulness. It's WRONG to let them continue to suffer and how horrible these people are to put their own selfish feelings above the wellbeing of their animals.

And yet, every day, these very same people INSIST that maintaining a human being in similar circumstances is THE RIGHT THING TO DO. Even when they can't speak and their eyes are pleading with you to let them go, we have to do it. It's right and it's the law.

I'm not stupid enough to think that we should just have a carte blanche on euthenasia. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Don't like your Aunt Edna and the way she smells? Off to the "doctor" she goes. Yea, not gonna happen and shouldn't happen.

I'm also not proposing that we need a law that allows for euthenasia. I'm simply saying that Robert Latimer has served his time. Let him be. He was convicted and has and is serving his time. More time by the way than most do for the same level of crime. It'll be interesting to see how much time the First Nations woman (and I mention that she's First Nations because eventually someone will so I thought I'd get there first) who shoved a young man under the C-train will serve. I'm betting maybe 5 years? I'm sure the special interest groups are already aligning.

I believe we need to stop letting special interest groups with no real connection to the situation use such very personal things as spring boards for their own agendas.

These days it seems that if you haven't got a special interest or belong to a particular minority of some sort or another, you don't really stand much of a chance.

If everyone wants so very desperately to be treated equally, perhaps the solution isn't lobbying for the right 'to be who are but still considered equal'. That by it's very definition isn't. Maybe it's time to really look at what being equal means and stop being so determined to be treated 'special'.

Strange....

how there's so many of 'us' and so very few of 'them' and yet, they rule the worlds we walk in, talk in and live in.

I didn't move around as a child. Actually had I not skipped a grade (cruel, unusual punishment that I hope the teachers involved spin in hell for)in elementary school I would have graduated with 7 of the 11 children I began kindergarten with. Not that I fit in terribly well before that happened but that was pretty much the kiss of death as far as my ability to find any peer group acceptance for the next 3-5 years. You know, jr and much of sr high? Definitions were drawn early on. I am a social pariah. People meet me and pretty much ignore me immediately. It's not something I'm seeking sympathy for, or whining about either, for the record, just stating a fact I've come to believe.

I've gone to any number of work related banquets, get togethers, birthday parties, even family reunions, weddings and funerals, pretty much any place where people congregate and sat alone. Time after time. Oh there's usually some kind soul who will attempt to engage me in conversation, but when I notice the tightening around their eyes and body language that screams 'let me go now' I make some excuse and allow them to have done with their good deed.

The odd part is, I believe I'm a gregarious person. I strike up conversations in elevators and standing in line at the store all the time. Pleasant, leave 'em chuckling or smiling conversations, that pass the time but do little more. Fact is, I'm not shy. The other fact is, I don't much like people, in general. Guess it's only fair they don't like me back, much. :)

This doesn't mean I don't have friends. I do. Very good ones, now that I've grown up enough to realize what really makes a friend a good one. Most of them are online. The odd few that aren't, worry about me for all the time I do spend on here.

I'm not whining. I am who I am. Online, when I don't have to 'look' a certain way, 'act' a certain way, 'dress' a certain way I fit in. I shine in fact :). I am a cerebral person. Like many of my online REAL friends, I don't care what people look like (mostly :)) how they eat, or what they wear. I care about what they think and how they articulate that...essence of themselves.

Sure, sometimes I crave human contact, but I don't live alone. I'm not an "untouchable" or afraid of being touched. I did have a touch of agoraphobia at one point but the meds are good (KIDDING!) (well mostly anyways). I work with the public, albeit mostly on the telephone, and I'm not bad at my job. I handle their issues, leave them smiling when I can and hopefully with a good impression of the business I work for. But it's all very superficial.

Maybe that's my problem. I dislike superficial people. I want to know what you REALLY think, not what's considered socially acceptable. When I get to liking someone I probe. I ask questions that socially one does not ask. I make assumptions but not based on just little whims of mine, assumptions based on body language, and syntax and expression. I catch little things like a hesitation before a word or a turning of the body and I interpret them into my assumptions, constantly processing and tossing out malformed assumptions to replace them with new ones. That probably makes people uncomfortable.

Does anyone else have a problem with this?

A while checking my email at Yahoo I came across a e-bite for a new *designer* cat. A toyger. Yes, that's right, the cutesy idiot people who came up with labradoodle and cockapoo oh and let's not forget shichons(purposeful???? cross breeding with an 'oh so cute' name *GAG*)have struck again with, can you figure it out? TOY TIGERS.

Being a tiger fan and suitably in awe of tigers... Real tigers, with orange and black stripes on their skin and fascinating eyes and powerful jaws and massive paws and oh yeah, weighing upwards of 500 lbs. I had to have a look at least. Because I'm also suitably in awe of the abject stupidity of some people.

I REPEAT TIGERS NOT BROWN TABBY CATS.

Are people truly so gullible that they will actually buy these? Short answer... yes :(.

Not only will they line up to buy these, there will likely eventually be a micro version, suitable for popping into your purse ala paridiot and chihuahuas. Eventually there will even be a micro lion complete with his own little pride of micro lionesses. Pursesized savannahs will abound.

Why why why do people see the need to do this? Microsizing perfectly respectable animals. Animals that can and should remain able to rip off your ridiculous head and do horrid things to your body. WILD animals. IN THE WILD.

MEH.

I am not against zoos. I see them as a necessary evil in a world that while becoming incredibly tiny and accessible to many still remains a huge mystery to most. Not petting zoos (although I do confess to a burning desire to go to Tiger Island in Australia some time in my life) but real as close to natural as possible habitats, where the animals can be observed. Safari type zoos, more than caged enclosure types. I'm all for being the one in the cage for my own protection, rather than walking free while the animal is caged.

But back to my point.

Reading further through the website I see a plan of purposeful breeding with photoshopped possibilities of eventual changes to the breed. I don't really disagree with breeding for a purpose. One of my favourite breeds is essentially man made (actually most of them are if nothing else but by a group of interested owners/breeders breeding for a particular type) however I don't and will never see the point in microsizing animals for cuteness factor.

And what the hell is wrong with a society that thinks it's okay to put a dog in a purse as a fashion accessory anyways. Sorry, I know I'm behind the times on that rant but it's been bugging me for a very long time. Not only do I object to Paris Hilton on principle and not out of jealousy...I'd be embarrassed to be as morally bankrupt as she appears to be... but it's scary for me as the mom of two young daughters that people such as she might be a role model *MEEP*

I guess I'm just selfish ...

Special K (scroll down she's been posting and I haven't) has a valid and very astutely written point about how we in the First World live in a bubble of comfort not enjoyed or hardly even dreamed about by the resoundingly large number of people that comprise the rest of the world. (I've never gotten that whole first third world thing by the way, I mean what happened to the second world?)

As I said, and do say with all due respect to K's incredible grasp of the English language and her extensive vocabulary that I admire and covet every time I read her posts, she makes a very valid point.

However?

I don't care.

Say what you will, I'm *T*I*R*E*D* of people telling me how I should be more charitable, more considerate of those who live without the amenities and conveniences that I do. I have what I have because my grandparents settled in Canada. They worked hard to get here, and did so to benefit not only themselves but to give their children a better life. I have the opportunity to have so much more than they ever dreamed of giving to their offspring and it's up to me what I do with it. (yes, I'm aware that some in other places in the world do not have the right or ability to do as my grandparents did, that really isn't the point in what I'm saying.)

I don't =owe= anyone anywhere else for anything, especially not as an apology for having more than they do. I can have a cold and feel sorry for myself without having to think of those dealing with worse illnesses than I have. I can be hungry without feeling guilty about having the ability and opportunity to buy food to fix feeling hungry. And I can knit a hat because I want to, and save it for myself or for someone special to me without feeling guilty that someone somewhere doesn't have a hat.

I knit. I like to knit. I like to crochet and tat and use thread and needles to create other fabrics/bits/extras whathaveyou. I do not HAVE TO KNIT FOR CHARITY to have the right to knit. I knit for myself, because I enjoy knitting. Not because I owe someone a hat because they are cold.

Let's not misunderstand me here. I give to charity. I work for a charitable organization that's non profit and goes well out of its way to make sure that all have the same. And I see the inequalities right here on the streets of my own little home town every day. I do what I do about it, in my way, in my own time and without need of fanfare or accolade. And you know what really sucks? Even as I take this stand about not having to, I feel the need to defend myself by telling you that I do things for charity that don't involve knitting. bah...

What really offends me is this damned holier than thou attitude that so many of my fellow crafters adopt. "I'm a *good person* because I knit 734 hats for the homeless this weekend..." I mean, really. Great, good, I'm sure that the homeless (at least some of them) appreciate that contribution to no end. But.. um.. .why are you telling me about it? Why are you holding it up like some badge that you won?

Knitting is mine. FOR ME. Because I like to do it and because I like to bestow my loved ones and friends with handmade gifts that show them I've thought about them and value them. Why would I cheapen that sort of gift by handing out my talents to just anyone willynilly?

Bah. Excuse me while I go cheer at a rodeo.

Memories...like the corners of my mind...

Recently I read a post on GutRumbles that made me start thinking about a lot of things. Primarily about how much *country* I really am, but also about how we are so sure we're all unique and we are, each of us, experiencing the world with our own personal opinions, life experiences and yet...

We think we're all so very different but really in a lot of ways we aren't. In fact right there in the job description for a vital part of growing up is 'disassociate yourself from your parents' beliefs, values, and morals...' what a lot of kids miss is the fine print that says 'until you figure out for yourself that those are good beliefs, values and morals and you could have saved everyone a lot of grief if you'd just thought about it for a bit before going off on that roadtrip...'

He spoke about watching a 100 best country songs and crying on the floor at various songs. I was surprised and yet not, to find that the songs he mentioned were ones that have been known to undo me as easily as they did him, although obviously for very different reasons. How so fitting I thought afterwards, the echoes of his posts long ago written, sending forth ripples of my own song associations through my mind. That I do believe is what some people mean when they say blogging is their way of reaching out.

Boobs spoke recently of how her son is becoming someone that delights her and yet surprises her. She recounts a conversation about being 'Goth' and how even though she was she didn't know. Yet again our differences become so much definition and not so much truly differences but variations. My daughters and son surprise me at every turn, even when it's what I expect them to do, they have their own spin on it.

I listen to a station called "Classic Country" in the Dodge. Somehow it seems to fit the car :P. I find myself bellowing out the lyrics along with Johnny and Marty, Waylon, Willie and the rest of the boys, surprising myself at how well I remember the words. The intonations and feelings that accompany these jaunts down memory lane are enlightening to me. Even if they do sometimes leave me wiping my eyes when I get to where I'm going.

People often talk about a song taking them back. I understood that, even though I wasn't someone who lined up speakers like headphones and laid on the floor between them to *experience* the sound. Music is background to me. That doesn't mean it's not important, just not the be all and end all I've imagined it to be to others. I've never spent a lot of money on records, cassettes or cds, content instead to listen to the radio. I admit I taped a few songs here and there and even *gasp* bought more than one collection for a particular song.

Another reason blogs are changing the way we think...

Well maybe... Scientific Sex postulates that once someone writes something down they believe it, even if they write about something they don't agree with or against something they do agree with. Further research (in the guise of calling up a couple of psychologist friends and searching a bit on the 'net) explains to me that while a complete and utter reversal of opinion isn't the usual result, a questioning as to why one believes as one does, in respect to disagreeing with the 'false' opinion written often occurs.

So that makes me wonder, when we write about something, when we 'blog' our opinions what are we blogging? Are we blogging well thought out stands on issues we are well versed in? Or... are we guilty of 'jumping on the bandwagon' when we read something well written (regardless of truth in what we've read).

I know I am, at least at times, guilty of just that. But...then when I read what I've written I become even more firmly convinced that yes, that is my opinion and why is anyone even questioning that I think that way. Too bad if not that long ago I voiced a different opinion. That doesn't make me wishy washy it makes me smart enough to realize when I'm wrong.

The next time I find myself writing with Passion, I promise myself that I will examine that passion to be certain that it is mine and not inherited second or third hand.

Recycled Post

Well folks, it's come to this. I liked this post when I wrote it but I posted it somewhere else. Now that I'm trying to gather my fractured personality into one place I thought I'd post it here as well. This was written and posted in December 2006.

I tried the NaNoWriMo novel. Which to those uninitiated is a challenge to write a novel in 30 days. The goal is 50,000 words in the month of November. That breaks down to 1667 words per day. I got to just under 42,000. Much closer than the 13,000 I arrived at the end of November 2005 with.

The idea is great. My novel, not so much. But that's not really the point. The point is to write something, anything really, every day and keep it up for 30 days solid to establish the habit. Sadly, when you allow it to either become such a priority that you end up resenting the fact that you have to write those damned 1667 words or such a barrier that every word is wrung from you with such effort you start to sweat just sitting down at your desk, it sorta defeats the purpose. Not that I got that way you see. :P Just that I can see how that whole let's establish a habit can backfire. :P

Meh, I suppose that's nothing more than justification :) But I did learn a few things about myself and my desire to be a writer. I really do want it; and I really need to stop believing those 'only from angst and strife comes good literature' stories I've been hearing. Writing has to be something I do because I enjoy it, not because it's ripped from me like some clinging tentacles that are unwilling to leave go. So when it's not on, it's not on and forcing it, working myself into a mood of anger, disgust or just plain depression will not feed any muses that are hovering nearby.

On the flipside? When the muse speaks I need to listen. I've learned to carry a small pad and pencil in my purse as well as a small tape recorder for those moments where writing won't work. And I need to record everything. Because if I try to write in an orderly fashion, telling that dream of an idea to just wait its turn it will dissolve into the ether, leaving only the barest of flavour to the air that surrounded it. A teasing touch on your tongue, a brush of whisper against your mind and then it is gone. Never to return, never to dance upon your heart again to send it quivering. Oh you'll think you've got it back but if you're truthful with yourself, there'll be some lingering word that just isn't quite right.

Writing can be painful :) but it doesn't have to be. And just because it isn't rent from someone's mind amidst the throes of angst and turmoil that frankly would just leave me with a headache doesn't mean it's not good enough to put out there to read. What some would call bubblegum for the mind, soft teen romance and a girlhood crush that turns to first love is just as important, just as hard to write frankly as any epic. Just ask Margaret Mitchell (author of the ultimate true love gone bad story, Gone With the Wind...which she wrote in long hand.)

You gotta know how to celebrate the difference, is all I'm saying...

Without much hope of a change, despite the determinedly cheerful forecast by the poor guy on the weather channel last night; (I do believe that's one of the most thankless jobs around at times) I looked out the window this morning to a view of white with more falling from the sky. Did the weatherman not hear the date? I mean we changed to DST early and all for this? Oh sure it's beautiful, all pristine and still like that; the white flakes falling from the sky in silent splendour reminding me of the awesome implacability of Mother Nature. IN DECEMBER it's freakin' awesome.

We are now in April. 'nuff said.

'Move south' my american friends tell me. 'Come to God's Country' my relatives on the west coast and in the valley tell me. 'Come home' say the ones still living in Saskatchewan, adding 'at least you'll know what to expect', because when it's winter in Northern Saskatchewan it's WINTER and while it's brief, when it's summer time it truly, truly is.

Having grown up with seasons as distinct as that I have to say that as much as I bitch and complain along with everyone else I look forward to the seasons changing.

There's something about the scent of snow in the air in October that reminds me that all's right with the world and sends me into a Suzyhomemaker spiral that equates to a squirrel getting ready to hibernate. I bake, I cook, I organize my spice cupboard after much swearing because I can't find the nutmeg I bought last fall after running out and I go out and buy more. Somewhere in my house is a treasure trove of little orangeybrown tins of nutmeg. I pull out my wool for new winter wool socks and I revel in it anticipating the hours I'll spend watching the new seasons of various tv shows and knitting because it's too ugly to go out. And just when it's become very nearly unbearable to stay cooped up inside one more day, I catch a glimpse of a brave stem of grass poking through the muddy snow.

I know that spring will stir other, although similar, urges within me. My farmer father's genes run rampant and I have to fight the urge to rip up the soil and plant something, anything. Usually I manage to lay down and this urge goes away :)but sometimes I have to repot all my herbs and houseplants (the ones that survive in spite of me) and there's usually a new addition. Last year it was crocuses (crocusi?)in a lovely blue crockery pot and I'm rather curious to see if they will come back this year. I guess pulling the pot out of the storage shed and unwrapping it would help, hmm? After spring comes summer, days of lake time (if Miss gets a chance and life cooperates that is) and hot days. As little clothing as is legal or practical and corn on the cob grilled on the barbeque. But even that ideal fades as the summer winds to an end. A soft chill creeps into the morning air and takes longer to leave each day, and soon the dry scent of snow is in my nostrils and the cycle starts again.

Winter allows me to love summer, and summer allows me to love winter. I think that's why I firmly believe you can't know if you're happy unless you've experienced sadness, nor sad unless you've experienced happiness. Success is only truly embraced if you've experienced failure. Although I do believe that contentment is another matter, because it's a fine line between content and complacent with only a step or two to go from there to contempt. But that's another post.

I've learned that seasons change and nothing is forever, not even the idyllic 'hazy days of summer'; no matter what that phrase becomes a euphemism for. I know that life is a temporary state. It's also what you make of it. You can freeze your fingers and bitterly complain about the cold, walking around in clothing unsuitable to the climate, however no matter how much you complain the weather isn't going to change for you unless you move. Or you can bundle up and have a snowball fight, or make a snowman, knowing that even that emblem of fun will not last forever. It's all about how you choose to view the world.

Today, I'm choosing happy and let the snowflakes fall where they may.

I miss my car.

It took me a while to get back to the fun of driving. I'd gotten used to it being more of a tool than a possession, more of a needed thing than an identity. I even got to a point where I poked fun at those who did have an identity because of, or sometimes in spite of, their car.

I learned to drive in a toyota corolla in the midseventies. Rather I learned to love to drive in that car. I'd been driving tractors (badly, we won't mention the JD up the tree just now) a chevy truck of my father's with three on the tree that hated me, a fact I'm still convinced of some 30 years later, but when Sam let me take the wheel of that little brown toyota I fell in love with driving. I had no fear. I spun that little car through sand dunes and over gravel, revelling in the sensation of skimming over the pavement, caught in the hum of the tires under the country sounds on the radio. Driving got to me.

I've been horse crazed my entire life, so it only stands to reason that I'd be nuts about Mustangs. Still, I teased and poked gentle fun at the II on my hubby's car. He'd done a bit of playing under the hood, though and when he finally let me drive it I got pretty fond of that car pretty fast too.

My love divided then, between the slick handling of the toyota I remembered and the sheer let's do it power of that little Mustang.

Then we got practical. We got an Aerostar. *sigh*. Still a standard though, so that was some relief. After that, it was a succession of cars for transportation. Economy and price were the deciding factors.

Finally the Tempo pretty much died. I found a Supra at a decent price, getting it from the young fellow who needed to sell one of his two cars before his dad did it for him for half his asking price.

And I fell in love all over again. Here was the perfect blend of my two previous loves. The handling I remembered together with the speed. It was bliss. Driving to school was a pleasure that offset the need to go somewhere as the Aerostar had not done.

It died last summer. I killed another one (not quite the same, being an automatic, read the Mountain Dew post if you want to know how) and now drive a Dodge Spirit.

Here's the bumper sticker that the blog thing says should be on my Supra:

Your Bumper Sticker Should Be

Anything worth taking seriously - is worth making fun of

What Bumper Sticker Should Be On Your Car?

Here's the one that I get for the Dodge Spirit:

Your Bumper Sticker Should Be

Squirrel - it's what's for supper

What Bumper Sticker Should Be On Your Car?

Le sigh...sort of says it all, doesn't it?