A Perfect Electoral Record

I follow politics, but clearly with more bemusement than expertise.

My record when it comes to predicting elections is nearly spotless. Not even when I was running for student council at CCI or for head prefect did I manage to accurately predict the outcome. I'm like a weatherman of politics; very good at assessing what's happened, but not so great at predicting it.

For example, I wore a red hat to the polling station the day Brian Mulroney got the biggest majority in Canadian parliamentary history. I wore blue the day Jean Chretien got his big win. I used to be glued to the leadership campaigns no matter which party was choosing - you'd think I'd develop some sense of how it was going to go.

But no, you can pretty much bet that if I figure someone's going to win or lose or if I expect a close vote, voting day will show the exact opposite.

Now, I did expect that Sandra Cooper would win the mayor's position in Collingwood, but I sure didn't think her totals would be fourfold that of her closest challenger. Wow.

I also thought Norm Sandberg would somehow squeak out a victory, or at least have a good showing, but he was basically crushed by voters who want a less fractious council table, patios buildingside and a building instead of a hole at Hume and Hurontario. They're hoping to get all that from this new-look council.

I'm glad I didn't go on the record with my bad predictions.
Oops. I guess I just did.

A thoughtful voter's plea

I have a radical suggestion to make to you today, and I'm talking to you, Mister Know-it-all-sit-on-your-duff-complaining-about politics.

Please, Mister Know-Nothing, stay home today.
Please don't vote.

Oh, I know you've been hearing the stories of low voter turnout and what a tragedy it is for democracy when people can't be bothered to haul themselves to the polling station.

But I'd rather you take today off if you haven't done the work. By 'the work', I mean, going to an all-candidates meeting, talking to a candidate, listening to their platform, asking a question or two, that sort of thing.

I've done my homework, carefully made my choice and am hoping a group of thoughtful, well-intentioned, honest people will serve the town I live in for the next four years.

If you just show up and vote for the guy you're related to, the gal you bought your dog from, or the person the president of your ski club told you to vote for, you could very well cancel out my well-reasoned decision, and I'd prefer you not do that.

So, please stay home if you haven't been paying attention, stay home and don't cancel out my vote.
Or DO pay some attention- you can hear what each and every candidate in Wasaga and Collingwood has to say in podcasts on the website of the radio station where I work: www.977thebeach.ca.

Three Years

It was three years ago today I watched my funny, sweet, dear, sick, frail father gasp his last failing breath. My brothers, their partners and children, my sweetheart and my mother were all there with him, touching him, keeping vigil.


He was taken by a strange and nasty disease that's a cousin somehow of Parkinson's. Shy Drager Syndrome, like most wasting diseases, takes a vicious toll on the victim, and on those who bear witness to its ten-year course.


We had known Dad was going to pass away for about 24 hours before he took that last breath, but the advance knowledge did nothing to lessen the shock and pain when another breath didn't come. And didn't, and still didn't. I continue to be astonished at the depth of that pain, and its ongoing strength. A thousand days have passed, but it feels like one, especially on the anniversary. I know my stoic mother suffers her loss terribly.


I still sometimes think, "Oh, I'll have to tell Dad that!" when something bizarre or noteworthy happens, only to be caught off guard yet again by the searing remembrance of that evening, that last breath and the daily niggling sense of 'missingness' ever since.


I'm going to spend today with my mother, serving 'church-lady' lunch at, oddly enough, a funeral reception. She's making sandwiches, I'll bring a lemon loaf. She and I will do our best to 'keep it together', to avoid making any of the mourners uncomfortable with our tears, always so close to the surface around this time of year. But I can't guarantee anything.

Hunting: halfway there

A happy note about my 'hunting weight club': I'm halfway to my goal! Well, halfway to the number on the scale that I'm trying to get to, perhaps not so much when it comes to being able to tie my shoes without becoming breathless.

I've gone with good old-fashioned calorie reduction rather than carb-loading or carb elimination or whatever it is people do with gluten these days. I also eschewed food matching, the blood type diet, Zone, Palm Springs or whatever the hell is this week's fad. I went to a website that tells you how many calories a day you need to maintain a certain weight, put in my target weight, and I aim for fewer than that each day. I keep an .xls file of what I consume.

Eating less and doing more, funny enough, is working. So far, at least. A pair of jeans I wouldn't have even tried to put on seven weeks ago are only now slightly uncomfortable, and only for half the day.

Now, the question is, do I try on my wedding dress, or leave it on the hanger for a few more pounds? That was the arbitrary goal I set for myself when I started this exercise, after all: to be able to get back into that dress by Christmas.

Hmmmm. I tried it three pounds ago and was very disappointed. Maybe I'll wait for another three to disappear. Anybody know how many calories are burned in frustrated waiting?

October = Arts Apparently II

Mocks over, on to GB Reads.
I'm thrilled to be taking part in this very fun evening for a second year in a row. It's a takeoff of the hugely popular Canada Reads that runs on the CBC, but is in honour of Literacy Week, and involves all the libraries in our area.

Last year, I choose to defend Margaret Atwood's Cat's Eye as a novel we all should read; a story of a woman who can only be described as a frenemy and the nasty things she does to her friends. The 'defenders' voted one another out, rather than letting the audience decide. I'm not entirely sure of the format this year. I can only say I was not the first voted off and I landed a few zingers before the night was out.

This year, my suggestion for all of us to read or re-read, is Douglas Coupland's Generation X. It has stuck with me since it came out, back in 1991, and has stood the test of time, being just as fun and current when I read it again a few weeks ago. I feel as though the characters are universal, a rare thing in a literary tradition which generally sees Canadian characters weeping in the maritimes or dashing across the prairies. I don't think Canadian writing needs to been so parochial, so provincial, to be good.

Gen X, of course, was so well received worldwide, it became the moniker for an actual generation, one to which I belong, of course, and the members of which were sometimes noted for a certain cynicism but also a sharp-eyed belief that they've been somewhat screwed by their older, boomer brothers and sisters, simply by dint of birth date. When I was reading it, I realized I've been unwittingly been quoting it for years.

The other novels up for consideration are two of Timothy Findley's: The Wars and Not Wanted on the Voyage, Tierry Grigg's Rogue's Wedding, Michael Crummey's Galore and Cathy Buchannan's The Day the Falls Stood Still. Three of the five are 'sweeping historical tours de yadda yadda yadda', one set in Newfoundland, one in Georgian Ontario and one in World War I. Findley's Not Wanted is really quite fun, a look at Noah's ark, if Noah were rather a jerk.

I think my book has a pretty good shot, especially if I take the tack that Generation X was iconic, and so is its author, who is currently doing the Massey Lectures, continuing his musings on the future and how we relate to it.

I'm ready for a scrap- I hope you'll join me at the library in Thornbury on Saturday night, 7 pm. the Leafs are likely to lose, but readers always win.

DD day!!

I'm giving up on the Hunting Weight challenge for a second day in a row. (OK, third, but whatever...)

Today is a day I've been waiting for, for a long, long time.
It's Double D Day. Double Down, that is.

My co-host Jeremy has procured two of the much talked-about menu item from KFC today, the day the sandwich makes its official debut in Canada.

In case you haven't heard about it, the Double Down is a bacon and cheese sandwich, but secret-recipe deep-fried chicken takes the place of the bread! Genius!

The Double Down has had the biggest selling debut for a fast food sandwich in US history, although with some controversy, since there's a fair amount of fat and salt and calories and so on and so on...and I don't care!

It's my once a year KFC indulgence and I'm going to love it! I hope.

October = Arts, Apparently I

I'm not sure what the deal is with October, but it seems to be all arts, all the time, and I'm having a curious case of needing to go to a gallery.


Saturday night, it's the Creemore Mocks film festival, which is really just a great excuse to get together, drink some beer and have a laugh or two. You'd be amazed at the professional level of the movies- maximum five minutes each, and where once they were required to be a mockumentary, now, they just have to be funny.


I have about nine ideas for a film of my own, but so far, I've proven far too lazy to actually do the work. One of my ideas is documenting (mockumenting?) a church choir that sings non-church songs in a very church way, (complete with vibrato). Imagine your granny singing, 'She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean...." Another is to mockument the transformation of a Bay Street mover and shaker to a would-be farmer, using several stops along Airport Road and several changes of clothes and attitude from Mercedes to beatup pickup. At the end, the person transformed would be selling derivatives at the farmer's market--but the new derivatives would come from potato and rye rather than of mortgage backed securities. A third might be a handy dictionary of words one only hears 'north of nine'. Like 'gaffle' and 'up aggin'; favourites in certain circles. Maybe I'll get up the gumption to make one of them next year. Which is, of course, what I said last year.


Happily, I have been invited to host the event again, and I'm very excited to be pulling out at least one new joke. I used my two 'bonspiel standbys' last year, so I'll have to use my backup joke this year. I've already warned my mother about it, because it's just the teeniest bit dirty.


Next up is Georgian Bay Reads, in Thornbury, where I'm not a host, but a defender. I'll tell you more about it tomorrow.

Review- Room

I can't say enough good about this amazing book.

You might think the story of a teenaged girl held as a sex slave for seven years in a windowless shed, told by the five year old son she gave birth to alone would be morose or difficult. But Emma Donoghue has managed to find the voice of this little boy in a way that rings so awesomely true, I know exactly why it's had so much hype and has already been nominated for the Man Booker prize. I read it in one sitting, simply unable to put it down.

The story is told by Jack, whose mother was snatched from a street on her way to school seven years previous, and who is visited most nights by a man Jack calls either 'him' or 'Old Nick'. They manage to escape, and the rest of the story is about their time once they get Outside.

If Room is not nominated for the Governor General awards later today, I'll be very confused.
Get yourself a copy- it's truly magnificent.

In the System

There's a lot of chatter lately about the state of our health care system - lobbyists getting cash that should be used on patient care, wait times to make your head spin and of course, let's not forget the complaints about overpaid administrators and their vacation payouts. But the last two weeks, I've been 'in' the system, and I must say, I've been happily impressed with my experience.

My mother is 'having her eyes done'. No, not a brow lift; cataracts. At the hospital where she's having the procedure, the team looking after the patients has their work down to...well..down to a science. Wednesdays are for left eyes, Tuesdays are for rights. A simple thing, but when you think about it, a very clever way to avoid a mistake. For those of us waiting, our patient is assigned a number and in the waiting area, a screen tracks their progress. I knew the minute my mum was under the knife, (actually a laser, I guess), when she was done and long before I expected her, there she was, left eye bleary and ready for a nap. Today, we're doing the whole thing over again.

The very same day, about a week after my yearly womanly 'lube oil and filter' as my sweetie calls it, I stopped in at the lab of that very hospital to have some blood drawn and tested. I had a message from my doctor's office fewer than 24 hours later, he having received and already reviewed the results. Seriously, less than a day. That seems very very fast to me.

My only complaint about the entire experience is the unbelievably long line at the coffee shop. Maybe we can hire some lobbyists or consultants and task them with creating a framework to curb our collective addiction to Timmys.