'Tis almost August

I have gone through a period of intense learning.

And now I have woken up and it is almost August.

That invokes a learning from a previous year.

When it is almost August, it is time to prioritise.

The first summer I was here, nobody called.

The second summer I was here, I called everybody.

And it worked.

This summer, they call me.

But it is only for a specific item.

That's this year's learning.

This year's learning for them is....

... the only package is the whole package.

Thanks to my soul mate for the day off.

Thanks babe.

Humae Vitae - differing perspectives

From today's Irish Times:

FORTY YEARS ago today, Pope Paul VI issued probably the most controversial encyclical letter in the history of the Catholic Church. In Humanae Vitae, he reaffirmed the Church's official ban on artificial contraception, stunning the Catholic world at a time when there were strong expectations of some easing in the traditional teaching.

I was talking about this subject with some friends last night. Telling them about the Contraceptive Train events that took place in Ireland in the late sixties/ seventies (can't remember the exact date), and one of them told me a story about a couple getting married in Nova Scotia in the sixties.

The woman was Catholic, so they had to go to the priest for the talk.

Same deal in Ireland.

The priest explained the rhythm method to them.

Same deal in Ireland.

The priest then told them that the rhythm method was pretty unreliable, so what they needed to do was go to the doctor and get a pill (which you could get back then) that 'regulated' the rhythm.

NOT the same deal in Ireland.

In Ireland, the priest was too busy telling you that the rhythm method was to be used only for the mystery of procreation.

In other words, you could only use the rhythm method to conceive.

Not to not conceive.

There was no talk of the miracle pill that you could get to regulate your rhythm.

No sirreebob.

If you wanted talk of that, you had to go see that communist-anarchist-sinner, Dr. Paddy Leahy.

Canada... deep in its soul there is an innate decency and respect for the intelligence of its citizens that we didn't have for a long long time in Ireland ...

A country that gives Dr. Henry Morgentaler the Order of Canada for his contribution to society, knowing that a large chunk of citizens will be annoyed about it is a good country.

No wonder half the Irish medical graduates from the sixties moved here to practice.

Medicine that is.

Not the rhythm method.

The first day of the rest of our lives

So Himself got divorced yesterday.

For those of you who don't know, or who can't keep track (easy enough), Himself got separated in 2004 and met Queenie in mid-2005. Which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt, despite what certain shes-who-would-be-married-forever say, that Queenie did not wreck anyone's marriage.

No need to get into all that anymore. IT IS OVER.

OVEROVEROVEROVEROVEROVEROVEROVEROVER.

Well, not quite.

The judge granted a divorce and an interim custody order for Little 'Un, and the ridiculous squabbling over the matrimonial assets and liabilities has been delayed for another few months.

Himself got what he wanted.

Queenie is very happy for him.

Queenie is very happy for the other people involved too, because they too get to wake up this morning and enjoy the first day of the rest of their lives.

Everyone deserves to be happy.

Everyone deserves to be left in peace to get on with life.

Maybe that will happen now.

Queenie is happy for the kids, because maybe now the ridiculous chess game in which they have been unhappy pawns for four years is coming to an end.

But mostly, Queenie is happy for herself.

Happy that she stuck it out.

Happy that she didn't give in to the occasional urge to run away from the madness.

Happy that those decisions resulted in a long drive home with her soulmate yesterday watching the load being lifted off his (not inconsiderable) shoulders, and the colour come back into his face, and the lines around his eyes reshape themselves into crinkles as he smiled for the first time in a long time.

Tired today. Soooo tired.

But happy.

The best part of the camping day

You know it's your fourth birthday in a place

when you are listening to the morning radio news show and you know the presenter and then you check your birthday greetings online and you have a message from him saying happy birthday, you old boot.

I'm assuming you mistranslated that from the French for happy birthday you ever-young Queenie.

I am.

Bring it on, world!

Le Weekend est ici, aujourd'hui, etc.

OHMYGOD, I know there's a recession on in Ireland and all that...

...and I know the weather's crappy and we're having a glorious Canada Day/ Quebec 400 week here in Nova Scotia (but not in Quebec apparently) and all...

... but did you have to punish us by sending Minister Dick Roche over to be your representative at the Quebec celebrations????

Could you not have sent one of the Mary's????

Fragrant, sexy, smart, funny women the pair of them (Coughlan and McAleese I'm talking about).

No, no, no.... we got Dick the Roche.

I was standing in the kitchen last night stirring the lovely salmon in a mushroom, pesto and cream sauce that I was making for dinner, thinking about the lovely week I'd had and the nice long weekend to look forward to, with CBC on in the background blabbering on about how Quebec was the beginning of Canada (thinking there was me thinking it was Annapolis Royal, but how wrong am I, OF COURSE it was Quebec and not Nova Scotia), and how terrible that the $90 million celebrations were washed out (you could hear the rest of Canada sniggering in the blazing sunshine) when, suddenly, I hear THAT VOICE.

At least the Queen Dad got a break from him for a while, I suppose that's the silver lining.

And as Ammonite said on her blog, we don't speak Gaelic in Ireland, we speak English mostly, and a bit of IRISH, seeing as we're from IRELAND.

Anyways, enough of the bitching.

The sun came out on Canada Day and I sat in the yard with Ms Maggie Beach for a while, and then Orc, and then our visitors came round and we had a BBQ and salad made with greens FROM THE GARDEN ALREADY and watched the fireworks round the lake.

Mr. Sun has been blazing down ever since with a good forecast for the weekend and I have today off. Hooray. And so has Himself. More Hooray.

So the canoe will be finished for Queenie's birthday. So I shall get my paddle around the lake.

We painted the canoe white and when it is upside down on its stand it looks like a whale, so we are calling it Moby.

Well, I am calling it Moby and Himself is calling it Moby's Dick.

And everyone has to paint something on it before the end of the summer, so it will be a truly communal canoe.

This week I had to go to Baddeck for two days for work.

Boo hiss.

Imagine having to go to Baddeck for two days, two glorious, hot, still, steamy days in July.

Imagine having to spend a day in a workshop with a crowd of funny, smart Cape Breton women.

Imagine doing that and getting loads of development work done in four hours flat and still having a good time.

And then having to sit on a deck overlooking the Bras d'Or lake eating dinner with said women.

Discussing the nature of love and its little quirks.

One of those great female conversations.

Terrible.

Just terrible.

It was such a pain in the ass.

Really.

I hate my job.

Never mind, I have a three day weekend to recover.

Today is yard day, lots of whipper-snipping and weeding to be done. And then tomorrow is Craig's birthday barbeque, up the hill past Red Chair Man's yard, so that should be fun.

I love the weekends. I love the early morning of the first day of a three day weekend, when Himself and Kitty are still fast asleep and I can potter around on my blog and wait for the day to heat up and not have to worry about anything for a while.

Bliss.

Happy Canada Day, from the Edmonton Shopping Mall

The Frequent and Vigorous Quarterly, Issue 2

I picked up a copy of this in a coffee shop in Antigonish months ago, stuck it in the front pocket of my laptop bag, and forgot about it until I was rummaging for something to read on the bus the other day.

It's Issue 2 of a creative writing collective endeavour, which is always a good thing to pick up and read.

Inside the front cover, it states 'our title is derived from The Broom of the System, by David Foster Wallace. Please don't tell and get us into trouble. Instead, read it.'

DFW is all about the importance of ignoring the telly and its malign influence on literature and focusing on earnest self-expression, if I remember The Infinite Jest correctly. I haven't read The Broom of the System, maybe I'll try to find it.

Right so.... earnest self-expression. No telly. Just philosophical thought and literature.

From a group of English students in SFX, by the way.

Switch off your irony button, Queenie, and read on.

I thought some of the stuff was pretty good, actually.

There was a pretty good short story by someone called M Johnston, about a kid in a supermarket who gets one over on the nasty manager. It was funny and well written, which is something Queenie has never managed to pull off.

And there was a poem called The Tibetan Monk which I really liked - interesting theme, really interesting structure, great rhythm. It reminded me of the early poetry of one Gavin Kostick, a heady mix of classical themes and political thought.

Then there was another short story that had its roots in the old Oisin and the land of Tir na nOg myth that I didn't really get, and a transcript of MSN sex talk that we'll just skip over and some very nice photos, particularly one by Philippe Mineau that I really liked, and then I got to Pride of an iPod Generation.

Which I read.

Then I read again.

Then I read again.

And I'm thinking to myself.... if this is David Foster Wallace-inspired then this is not ironic.

And if that is the case, then some gentle teasing of the author is definitely in order.

I hope he doesn't mind.

Yes, of course he was a boy.

But I will start by saying I accept that we were all that young, arrogant in an 'ever-so-slightly tongue-in-cheek kind of way' soldier at one time.

I'm sure you'll all remember those days boys and girls, fellow passengers on the tail end of GenX....?

Circa 1988 - 94.

Round about the time we saw Public Enemy perform on Trinity College cricket pitch.

Anyways, I thought I'd share iPod man's wisdom with you.

"I come from the generation that, like every other generation, has a vivid history full of grand achievements and terrible horrors. I saw the rise of reality tv. I watched slow but sure acceptance of rap music. I was taken aback by horrid terrorist acts. I was even lucky enough to watch the progression of razor blades from one to the oh-so-necessary six bladed razors that are available today."

Well, correct me if I'm wrong but I think Public Enemy playing on the cricket pitch of a four hundred year old university would be defined as 'acceptance'. And I think it happened the year you started Grade Primary, sweetie.

I'm assuming the author was born in or around 1988, if he's iPod Gen.

I think what you might have witnessed was the commercialisation of rap music, dear.

I will grant you reality tv. You are entitled to that terrible horror. I don't remember reality tv when I was growing up. They just had shows called drama, and documentaries, and current affairs programs, and movies, when I was growing up.

I do remember watching an angry mob of Republicans drag two British soldiers out of a car, beat them to a pulp and then shoot them in the head when they drove their car into a funeral procession live on the news one time. But that doesn't really count as reality tv, as nobody had to audition to be in the car.

Also, to be petty about it, I'm pretty sure that guy from Gillette had four blades in his razor when I was growing up.

But I can't be definite. I'd have to ask a guy. Anyways, I think you were probably being ironic.

I thought you weren't supposed to be ironic...

Am I being too mean? I'm not meaning to be. I'm just feeling old and grouchy these days, trapped as I am between baby boomers and GenY, stuck with a dirty planet, rising air travel costs and no friggin' pension to look forward to when the end times come.

Anyways, back to the text...

"Every generation has their moments, we have plenty of history books to remind us of that, but I feel that we, the media-dubbed iPod generation, have done more than what historians will write down. What do you notice when you compare the people your age to those say, ten years your senior? Twenty years? Thirty years?"

According to an article I found on The Times online, the iPod generation is comprised of people under 26 (today). iPod stands for 'insecure, pressured, overtaxed and debt-ridden'.

That's just about everyone I know, when you think about it.

Perhaps the iPods are the generation that are annoyed about it.

Or more accurately, the iPods are the generation that weren't expecting it to be so.

Bless'em.

Nothing like a decade of recession in your teens to give you that edge on expectations.

Thanks, Mr. Haughey*, you served me well in retrospect.

* Mr. Haughey was an Irish PM who lorded it over us all during a recession in the eighties. Subsequently, we found out that he was using other people's money to live like a king. Irish people got very mad when they found out, but then realised that that was the way to go, and so a good chunk of them got on that bandwagon. Consequently, Ireland is facing another recession right now, but it's okay, the economy is structurally sound, so it won't be like the eighties again.

Anyways, I'm sure you're dying to know what our young author sees when he compares himself to us thirty-somethings and forty-somethings...and fifty-somethings. (anyone older is not worth a comparison, I think, or maybe he was straitened by the word count).

"You may not agree with me, but what I see is nothing short of amazing. I see a generation who almost never looks first at race or gender, who (almost unbeknownst to them) have environmentally friendly routines in their everyday lives, and who are extremely accepting of gay and bisexual communities. There are exceptions and there always will be, but when I compare us to a decade prior (that would be me - Queenie), I feel that we are vastly superior in these areas. Now I cannot speak for our generation globally, this is merely a tiny spot on the planetary spectrum, but does that make it any less significant?

And there you were, wondering why Queenie was picking on some poor, inarticulate little X-er.

Queenie don't pick on no one unless they're askin' for it.

And this kid is ASKIN' FORIT!

Only the fact that I still remember once telling the Queen Dad that my generation was very unlucky because all we had was Thatcher and emigration and war, and his generation got to do the sixties, and him laughing his ass off and saying, I did the sixties in rural Ireland, Queenie, and before that I had to do the fifties there, and me then realising that all generations ARE THE SAME in many ways, is keeping the gloves on.

Soon to be global spokesman for the iPod generation-man should not have used the word superior.

What the word 'superior' says to me is that iPod man may not see colour or gender or sexual orientation when he looks at people, but that's because he's too busy counting the wrinkles on people's faces and judging them thus.

Mr. iPod forgets to mention the Queen Parents generation when he was comparing. I remember the Queen Mum making compost, recycling paper, separating waste, making her own bread, growing vegetables and doing all kinds of other 'green' things way back before there was any mention of green, because it saved money and reduced what went into the bin and was healthy and useful, etc.

How would the iPods compare to that, eh?

Take a pass on the gap year round the globe travel and maybe it'll be a 1-1 draw.

Anyways, back to the text...

"I am an optimist, and like Delta Goodrem* says 'I don't see the point in being anything else'. I firmly believe that we are the most accepting, equal and green generation that the world has ever seen. We have the previous generations (and fantastic programs like Degrassi and Captain Planet of course) to thank for that, but we also have ourselves. I hope that you agree with me and I pray that the next generation will be able to say the same."

*Star of Neighbours, for those of you that don't recognise the name, but today's Neighbours, not the Neighbours we watched in the eighties. A sort of modern-day Kylie if you like. Slight bending of the DFW no-telly rule, too, if you ask me.

Yes well, thanks for the nod to us oldarses for our minor role in the production of the superior generation of which you are a proud member, Mr. iPod. I'm not sure it bolsters your earlier points regarding our malign influence on the world, but that's okay. We take our manna where we can get it.

I truly hope you are the most accepting, equal and green generation that the world has ever seen, cos God knows, you're going to have to be...

I also truly hope that you are an inspired fifth columnist within the community of The Frequent and Vigorous Quarterly, and that the point of your piece is to undermine the David Foster Wallacian theory behind the publication.

Otherwise, I'm a heading 'er for the compound right now. Before you tackle me to the ground and put me on an icefloe with all the other old people.