Not Another Trudeau...!

We don't need another Trudeau as Prime Minister of Canada, and we certainly don't need a dynasty. No one would have heard of this man if his last name had not been Trudeau. He should pay his dues first, and gain some experience instead of becoming a puppet for the backroom boys. He is an ex-school teacher and a political lightweight with a penchant for gaffes, and a wafer-thin record on policy matters. He has a sense of entitlement because of his name.

Canada deserves better. Please, no more Trudeaus. The first one was bad enough.

Tweeters, Twitters and Twits ... Oh, My

Well, apparently even God has a Twitter account.  I opened one a couple of years ago, and I have tweeted, twitted? twice.  To be honest, I find it difficult to keep up with the social media overload -- blogging, e-mail, Facebook, Reddit, Twitter, Pinterest, Skype, Tumblr, Instagram, texting -- who has time for a real life anymore?  I'm not sure how to use my Twitter account.  If I want to tweet to someone else, do I go to their page, or do I tweet (twitter?) from my page?  And do I use a #hashtag or an @sign?  If I want to twitter to someone, do I have to follow them first, or do they have to follow me?  What if what I have to say is more than 140 characters?  Can I tweet twice?

I'm so confused.

Do any of us really have anything interesting to say?  Well, perhaps that is why the number of characters is limited.  Keep it short, sweetheart.  What you're saying is actually a giant yawn. Of the top 100 people who are followed on Twitter, Justin Beiber is number one, followed by Lady Gaga and Katy Perry.  Kim Kardashian is number 15 and Selena Gomez is number 22.  Justin Bieber?  Selena Gomez?

Kim Kardashian!?

What on earth do these people have to say?

One of Katy Perry's tweets was, "Back to werk."  Justin Bieber wrote, "How R U?"

Oh, good lord.

Last night I watched the finale of the execrable "Real Housewives of Vancouver."  I wanted to see what the social media was saying about the shriek-fest psychotic melt-down of Jody Claman at the party at Van Dusen Gardens.  Twitter, Facebook, and all the other social media sites absolutely lit up with tweets, twitters, Facebook entries and various and other sundry comments around the internet, regarding Jody's abusive behaviour towards Mary.  I understand that the police are now involved.  The news was instant, and I was almost able to read it, despite the abbreviations, shortforms, @signs and #hashtags.  At no other point in time have we been able to learn the latest news, the moment it happens.  And we can all participate. Got news?  Just tweet, text, blog, and post it on Facebook, all from the convenience of your smart phone.

I'm such a Luddite.  I suppose at this point I will just content myself with reading tweets, twitters and other little golden gems of wisdom and communication, until I figure out how to actually use it.

Good day 2 U. Hve a fab week and B well.

"Wave" by Sonali Deraniyagala

Sonali Deraniyagala's universe changed the moment the sea came and took away her entire family -- her parents, her husband and her children -- on December 26, 2004, just as they were preparing to leave their resort hotel in Yala on the south coast of Sri Lanka. In her book "Wave" she writes, “No moment of separation, not one that I was aware of anyway. It was not like I tried to cling to my children as they were torn from my arms, it was not like they were yanked from me, not like I saw them dead. They simply vanished from my life forever.”

Ms. Deraniyagala’s writing is stark, almost poetic, with brief, concise sentences, almost as if to write one more word would be to open the floodgates  (no pun intended) of unimaginable horror. For eight years, she struggles to forget and then forces herself to remember, lest she lose them again. With grace and dignity, Ms. Deraniyagala lets us into the darkest  areas of her heart as she goes on her journey of grief, and eventually finds a semblance of a new life and a degree of peace.

Often we are witness to horrendous events such as the 2004 tsunami, the 2001 World Trade Center collapse, the Newtown massacre, and we say, “How terrible, how ghastly…” Ms. Deraniyagala takes us inside the event. We watch the wave coming in, we smell the ocean; we feel the emptiness as she returns to her house in London and finds all her family's belongings just where they were when she left, her sons' soccer outfits with the grass stains still on them.

Years after the tsunami struck, Deraniyagala returned to what was left of the demolished hotel in Sri Lanka. "I lay on the warm floor of our hotel room as a slow moon scaled above the sea…. At the edge of this floor, there was a small bolt-hole, filled with sand. When I saw the wave coming toward us, I asked Vik to shut that back door.  It was into this bolt-hole that he pulled down the lock. Now I traced the rim with my fingers. I cleaned out the sand."  This book is not for the faint of heart. It is gut-wrenchingly honest, but you won't want to put it down. Over 230,000 people perished in the 2004 tsunami. This book brings home the fact that each and every one of them had lives and stories, and grass-stained soccer outfits left behind.

Marigold at 14...!

On April 4th, Marigold will be 14 years old.  I still think of her as the little girl in this photograph, but she has grown into a tall, slim extremely beautiful young woman, with fine features and a gorgeous turned-up nose.  When did that happen?  I must have blinked.  Marigold is the enigma of the family.  She has long, dark, straight hair and a quiet personality.   Even Marigold has noticed how she seems to be the odd person out, in a family of rather boisterous, loud, curly-haired people.  Where did her genetic material come from? The older she gets, the less I know about her, and I would like to know more.  Who is this mysterious young lady who is growing up before our eyes?  Marigold loves to sing, and she's a good singer.  I wonder what other mysteries are hiding under that quiet exterior.  I think there is actually a little one-woman party going on in there.  She often sees things from a slightly quirky perspective, and sometimes I will look over at Marigold, and she is giggling at something that the rest of us have missed.  It's a hoot.  She is quite delightful.

Marigold is the one person in the family who does indeed walk to the beat of her own drummer, and I think she will go on to do great things in her life. She is quietly stubborn, which will prove to be a positive attribute when she enters the real world. No one will ever be able to sway her. At the moment, of course, that quality often gets her into trouble with her parental units. I keep telling her that while she is still at home, it's very important to pay attention to her parents. Digging her heels in when her parents tell her to do the dishes or clean up her room is counter-productive.  Typical 14-year-old behaviour.  I know, because I was one once too, back when the dinosaurs roamed the earth.  It's good to know that some things never change.

Marigold is a lovely young lady, and she is well-loved by everyone in the family.  I hope she enjoys her teenage years. I know her brother looks out for her too, and they are good friends -- most of the time, anyway.

Happy Birthday, Marigold...!

Hypothermia at Easter...

Happy Easter, everyone.  This has always been my favourite time of the year.  It's spring, but to me it's the official start of summer.  When I was growing up on Vancouver Island, as soon as Easter weekend was over, that was our cue that summer was here, and it was time to go swimming. We would run home after school, put on our bathing suits, and head off down to Rogers Creek.  The water was just barely melted ice, but you can actually feel quite warm, once hypothermia sets in.  On Easter Sunday, our family would wear our "Sunday best" and go to the morning service at All Saints Anglican Church.  I sang in the choir, with my little robes and velvet bow.  But the best part of Easter is the renewal of all that has been dormant over the past few months.  The Japanese plum tree outside my window is in full bloom, in all its glory.  To me, that has always had a connection to the resurrection.  Life, rising again.

Have a wonderful Easter, everyone.  I hope the Easter bunny found you.  In Canada, this is a four-day weekend, and it's just what the Easter bunny ordered.

Happy Easter.

Who Would You Be...?

Every month Vanity Fair magazine interviews various people with the Proust Questionnaire.  One of the questions is "If not yourself, who would you be?"  I would definitely be one of the grand ladies of the silver screen, such as Greer Garson or Deborah Kerr. They were ladylike, elegant, and with just enough mischievousness to make them interesting.  They were never vulgar or crass.  Whatever life threw at them, they faced with determination and humour.  In a way, they were the role models for the women of their generation.

In any case, and without further ado -- drum roll, please -- here are my answers to the Proust Questionnaire.

What is your greatest fear?
Flying.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Queen Elizabeth the First.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Procrastination.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Stupidity.

What is your greatest extravagance?
Spending money on my family.  Unfortunately, I won’t have a fortune to leave to them, but I love treating them to things now.

What is your favorite journey?
Anywhere I don’t have to fly.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Following orders.

On what occasion do you lie?

To spare someone’s feelings.

What do you dislike most about your appearance?
Where do I start?

Which living person do you most despise?
Anyone who lies in order to start an unnecessary war.

What is your greatest regret?
My lack of university education.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?
A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.

When and where were you happiest?
Now.

Which talent would you most like to have?
To be a trained classical pianist.

What is your current state of mind?
Serene.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
My bank account.  And my eyebrows.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Raising my daughter to be a well-educated, accomplished person in her own right.

What is your most treasured possession?
Any gifts that people give me.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Losing a friend.

Where would you like to live?
Anywhere I could do a lot of travelling without having to fly.

If not yourself, who would you be:

Greer Garson or Deborah Kerr.

What is your most marked characteristic?
My nose.

What do you most value in your friends?
Honesty.

Who are your favorite writers?
Maugham, Steinbeck, O’Hara, Cheever, DuMaurier

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Tall Bob Smoke in “Tortilla Flat”.

Who are your heroes in real life?
People who are not afraid to speak their mind.

What is it that you most dislike?
Political correctness.

If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
An apple tree.

How would you like to die?
Do I have to?

What is your motto?
“Never look out the rear view window.”

Coincidence...?

When I was a little girl, I thought my mother was a movie star.  She was beautiful, and possessed a very French je ne sais quoi, much like Coco Chanel.  She wore Chanel suits and Chanel No. 5 fragrance, and she never left home without being impeccably dressed.  Often, when she and I went shopping, we would meet some of my friends from school, and the following day they would say to me, "Omigoodness, your mother is so beautiful; what happened to you?"  *sigh*  I inherited most of my genes from my father's side of the family, along with his rather pointy Gallic nose.  My mother was a brilliant artist, she was well-read and extremely intellectual, and she was very, very funny, with a slightly off-colour sense of humour.  Wherever she went, she was the centre of attention, and she knew it.  One year we were invited to a Christmas party in West Vancouver at the home of the C.E.O. of one of Canada's major banks.  The party was filled with snooty doyennes from the British Properties.  My mother walked in, sat on one of the chesterfields and began chatting with folks.  Within ten minutes, everyone in the room had gravitated towards her as she entertained them with her wonderful stories.    I laughed, "Oh, yes."

My mother, "Gambie" was very fond of my daughter.  They had a special connection, and I do believe those connections endure.  Some scientists believe that time is not linear, but an endlessly repeating loop.  So, what is happening now has happened before, or will happen again, or is perhaps even happening at the same time.  It might explain some strange events.  Last year my daughter took Phinnaeus and Marigold to Victoria on Vancouver Island for a three-day outing.  On their way back to Vancouver, they stopped at my mother's final resting place just outside Victoria, and took her some flowers.  They phoned me and said they were there, and I told them it was a wonderful coincidence, because -- unbeknownst to them -- it just happened to be her birthday on that very day, and she would be pleased to meet Phinnaeus and Marigold, and receive flowers on her birthday.

When my mother passed away, I inherited a lot of furniture that I didn't have room to keep.  I kept the pieces that I loved the most -- her Queen Anne desk and a few other things -- and the rest I sold.  One piece that I regretted selling was a footstool that she had done in needlepoint.  I have looked for it over the years, but could never find it.  Yesterday, my daughter took Phinnaeus and Marigold on a day outing to some antique stores in the Fraser Valley.  Yes, you guessed it -- there was the footstool.  My daughter sent me a text with the image of the stool, and I recognized it immediately.  It's a little worse for the wear after several years, but it's the same stool.  

Today is my mother's birthday.

Do we receive messages from beyond the veil that divides us from the people we have loved and lost?  No one knows, but it is comforting to think so.  At some place in time, Gambie is very pleased that she has not been forgotten, and she is sending everyone reminders that, yes, she is still here.  We just have to look.  And yes, my daughter bought the stool and took it home.

Heart of Vancity

Lately, I have not done much blogging.  I haven't felt as if I have anything interesting to say, here on my boring little blog, in my boring little life.  But today is the first day of spring, and I am looking forward to summer.  This is the year that I have finally decided to quit working.  We are all of us allotted just so many minutes on this earth -- no more and no less -- and unlike money, when we run out of time, we cannot get more.  I want to spend some time doing the things I enjoy, and I live in a wonderful city in which to do them.  This photo is a picture of English Bay here in Vancouver -- yes, we have palm trees -- and this is my favourite part of the city.

Yesterday someone posted a wonderful video of Vancouver on YouTube, so I thought I would share it with you.  It really is a beautiful city.  Prepare to be amazed somewhat amused.  In the meantime, I'm going to concentrate on getting back my groove.

Separated at Birth...

It has occurred to me recently, that I really do need to get a life.  Seriously.  I have way too much time on my hands.  Yesterday evening I was watching a Jonathan Pryce movie -- he is one of my favourite actors -- and I realized that he looks exactly like the fellow who was just elected as Pope.  Faces fascinate me.  Mythology says that we all have a doppelgänger somewhere.  Some folks have glimpsed their own doppelgänger, but science has explained this as an epileptic seizure of the left temporal lobe.

Not long after my mother passed away, I saw her doppelgänger in the produce department of our local supermarket.  It was strangely comforting, and I followed her around for about 15 minutes, trying not to look obvious.  Everything about the woman was identical to my mother, including her mannerisms.  It was a surreal experience.  I shopped at the same supermarket for months afterwards, and never saw her again.

Do you have a doppelgänger?  You never know.

Tradition, Pomp and Circumstance...

I'm not particularly religious, which in any case is not the same thing as being spiritual, but I find today's election of a new Pope is rather historical. The last time a Pope abdicated, over 500 years ago, and a new one was chosen, Michelangelo had not yet painted the beautiful frescoes on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, under which today’s vote took place. In the larger picture, we are witnessing history, a history that has a long connection to the past. Whether we agree with Catholicism or not, today was a historical process.

Life is awfully boring without a little pomp and circumstance occasionally. In many ways, our traditions and cultures are what define us and make us feel part of the larger community.  The church is a very old organization, and like any large, old organization, it has its problems. Lots of problems. I believe the church will address its problems, and I wish Pope Francis the best of luck.