Alberta Elections - is it time for a REAL change?

It’s April 7^th, 2015 here in Alberta. It’s a steel grey day and snowing lightly. And today, an early Provincial Election will likely be announced. A surprise to no one.

The last provincial election, in 2012, cost the people of Alberta 13.6 Million dollars and only 54.4% of eligible voters showed up to participate (and that was the highest Provincial voter turnout in 19 years). This seems like an astonishing amount of money to spend on a process that almost half of our citizens have lost faith in. The truth is, we should go into every election and select the individual we feel will best represent us for the upcoming term in office, but instead we choose the person who is flying the flag of a Political party we kinda/sorta identify with. We buy into the smoke and mirrors of a Party’s Political Platform even though we innately know they have no idea, which of their supposed “promises” they will be able to get passed through the assembly as they don’t know what the balance of power will be. They serve up a fictional budget which they have absolutely no obligation to follow even if they end up holding a strong majority. We essentially choose from a small selection of glossy promotional packets and once we buy, there’s no money back guarantee ………. And we almost never get what was promised in the brochure.

How do we get away from this? They always say “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em”. But what if we just all refused to play? No, I don’t mean not voting; we’re already not voting and all that’s accomplishing is maintaining the status quo. I’m thinking something even more radical. What if for the next Election (I suspect it’s too late for this election) we ensure we have at least one “Independent” running in each Riding? Now, I know you’re thinking “but aren’t independent candidates just radicals, outcasts, the disgruntled, and the disgraced?” Well, sometimes. But what if from now on they were just active, engaged citizens interested in governing? What if we had a healthy selection of Party-less People to choose from each election and could select the person we thought most shared our vision and, more importantly, showed the best cooperative/collaborative/consensus building skills? What if we actually voted in a majority of people who we believed could work TOGETHER for our best interests? What would that government look like?

Oh, I know the fly in the ointment is leadership. How can we vote when we don’t know who will be Premier? Well, unless you happen to be a member of the governing party and vote at the leadership convention, it’s not like we get to vote for who the Premier is anyways. I think I’ve got the solution. IF “independents” held more seats than any other party then there is no reason why they should not be the “Governing” group in the Assembly; the MLAS from the other parties would, technically, form the opposition. However the first act by the Ruling “Independents” would be to divide all the MLAS equitably (by number and by affiliation) between all the Portfolios. Each Portfolio would then choose a Leader (who would become Minister of that Portfolio) and the entire Assembly would reconvene and choose the new Premier from among the Ministers. The whole process at each stage could happen through vote or consensus and could easily happen inside of a week, and it’s not as if we get to vote for our Premier anyways. From that moment on, we would have a Government built for action and service. There would be no extra pay for committee work, as everyone would be doing committee work, and committees would be expected to create fair and reasonable bills and budgets, etc, to present to the assembly at regular intervals. Think of what could be accomplished quickly, cheaply, effectively, if we actually made MLAS work together for the people. Cooperatively built, cooperatively run, and ready to face the realities of Alberta’s current situation, not an imaginary one that glorified advertisers have created for an Election Campaign.

So I guess the question is, can we lead this Electoral Revolt? Are we brave enough to take a stand and reject the boxed prepackaged governments we’re being handed? More importantly are we finally ready to REQUIRE that we be led by people who will strive for success by working together? It is important to have good leadership, but that leadership should be thoughtful, creative, flexible, and meet the needs of the people; and that kind of leadership does not come out of a box.

What if we are getting exactly the "democracy" we deserve?

What if Jim Prentice was right? OK, just simmer down, I don’t mean right for the reasons HE likely meant ……. But what if he was right all the same? What if we the people, are being governed by exactly the government we allow, and deserve? What if it IS our fault?

On March 4th, 2015, Alberta Premier Jim Prentice said (during a phone interview with CBC radio) said “in terms of who is responsible, we need only look in the mirror. Basically, all of us have had the best of everything and have not had to pay for what it costs.” Albertans didn't take it well. It felt a little, erm A LOT, like he said “Let them eat cake”. Many Albertans were flabbergasted that he could suggest WE were in charge of how Government money was raised or spent, more were hurt that he thought we’d all had it so good up to that point; It’s that same old ‘how dare citizens demand a liveable wage, quality education, and accessible healthcare’ drivel we seem so perpetually surrounded by. Albertans exploded into a public discourse that, while entertaining with all the clever internet memes and all, was largely useless. It was a flash-point for change and we wasted it by NOT changing. So I’m asking: What if our government IS our fault?

Let’s start with voting rates. In the past 22 years, Alberta’s voter turnout for Provincial elections ranged from a high of 60.2% to a low of 40.6%. http://www.elections.ab.ca/public%20website/927.htm (The pattern is strikingly and embarrassingly similar for Federal elections). We are NOT engaged. If we passed a law prohibiting 40 to 60 percent of currently eligible voters from voting in the next election, it’s safe to say that we’d have half the free world pointing WMDs at us, but when the same number of people just don’t bother to show up no one even bats an eye. I've heard it said a million times “if you don’t vote then you don’t deserve to complain about what the elected do” but I prefer to think about it as “if you don’t vote will your wishes about how we run society be considered?” I’m sure people don’t vote for many reasons, but deep down I suspect it’s mostly because non-voters truly believe it won’t make any difference. And that’s not OK. When did we give away our faith in such a basic democratic philosophy? True, the notion of a perfect democracy is about as real as a Fairy, but if we don’t try to believe then that Fairy is going to lose her wings. 

Maybe people feel their vote won’t make a difference because our Party system has created a competitive game within what ideally should be a cooperative Parliamentary Democracy. Political parties were conceived, I’m sure, as way to collect people together into their like minded affiliations, to organize and categorize people into boxes which made it easier for the electorate to discern where they fell on the political spectrum. It would have been possibly relevant at a time, when issues were simpler, governments provided little in the way of social or public services, a ruling class was assumed, and voting wasn’t a universal right. But today, it’s just plain polarizing. We choose our party allegiances on largely imaginary constructs, and then vote knowing we will never be able to measure how true they stayed to their own philosophies because we support a political system which pits the winning party against the runner up party/parties and expects them to cobble together public policy. Then we’re surprised when they present solutions based not on public service nor reasonable compromise but on strategic concession. It’s a game; and we willingly elect players.

And who are the pool of “players” we choose from when we vote? Does our current political climate encourage ordinary, smart, committed people to step forward into the arena and serve the public? Or does it largely favour ambitious, extremely confident, highly motivated individuals to run for leadership? And while I must acquiesce neither set of qualities is inherently good nor bad, I hope you’ll agree that one archetype seems more vulnerable to losing sight of the greater good somewhere along the way. Even if I can’t convince you of that, please consider that politicians must, within their parties, navigate a storm of conflicting ideologies and competing interests and are financially “supported” by a huge variety of outside individuals, businesses, industries, and special interests, and realistically must have enough financial backing to sell themselves to the voting public and win. Which type of person is more likely to get caught up in the need to win over the need to stay true to his/her principles? Which type of person is more willing to buy YOU with your own money? Which type of person has more tolerance for that game? Which type of person is more likely to even play? I truly believe most people get into politics for the right reasons, but we have allowed the behind the scenes process to become so competitive, so “sponsor” driven, and so non transparent, that we might as well just let the candidates settle it gladiator style in an arena with hammers ……….. it would likely be less bloody and far less confusing.

Lastly, we still only really invite the gladiators to the table. We've left no room for the unsure and the unresolved. We know when we pick a jury that they must be deemed suitably impartial, and unfettered by pre-drawn conclusions. We innately understand that justice cannot be served if every defendant and plaintiff isn't given that gift. The jury decides together what is right and is guided by law. It’s a process they give their full self to, and gain nothing particularly from. They serve. We hold that as the ideal for the Judicial branch of our government, but not for our Executive or Legislative branches of Government; it makes no sense.  We've sold ourselves a bill of goods about what a good leader is like, but we make the call with our gut, and not our head OR heart. We assess them like celebrities: looks, confidence, charisma, financial success, how they dress, and how fiercely they debate. But how often do we, The People, give due consideration to a candidates skill set for serving The People? Do we consider how well they listen, their knack for building consensus or achieving fair compromise? Do we ask ourselves if we feel they are genuine and sincere in their willingness to serve? Do we celebrate their compassion and wisdom? Do we ask about their greater vision and ideals, or do we pester for specific and impossible plans and promises (when we logically know that the candidates could not possibly know yet how things will go because they don’t yet know the future problems nor the team they will be working with to fix them)? Do we leave room for the beautiful “I don’t know” and the creative “there are many possibilities” or do we only consider rigid black-and-white thinkers for leadership and end up overvaluing decisiveness and undervaluing thoughtfulness and sense of responsibility? In democracy as we know it, we’re very fond of saying we value every voice, but we don’t seem to mean it; at least it’s not apparent by the way we vote.

I have often thought of running for politics, because I like following public policy, I believe in democracy, and I feel government exists (or at least should exist) for The People. But I am no gladiator. I am a Mom, with a fiercely humanist bent, who works as a playschool teacher because I love it so much and feel it is very important (even though as a society we treat the people who raise, teach, and care for children as if they have very little value *). Remember Alison Redford, who (though my polar opposite in political philosophy) is a Mother just like me? She succumbed to the court of Public opinion, not because of her political positions and decisions, and not even really because of her self-entitled personal spending while public services were being cut and public service jobs eliminated, but ultimately it seems to me the public turned on her because she was bringing her daughter with her on trips. I fully agree that using a government plane to move family, lo HAVING a government plane, is an abuse of privilege and out of touch with what real working parents are facing, but the criticisms from the public, The People, kept taking on this ugly anti parent slant. There was this intangible undercurrent of accusing her of playing the “Mommy card”, and worse yet, somehow playing it wrong. ARGHHHH! Did we really just go there? Women, especially Mothers, are little tired of the ‘where are you today on the spectrum of feminism?’ game. Like we can be a professional at work, a change maker in the boardroom, but at home we’re just a Mom. Um, I carry my Mom hood everywhere I go; it’s like a Victoria Cross but it probably has some snot and throw up on it. And my ideas are worthy, my voice is just as valid as anyone else’s ……. whether I shout it from the boardroom or the kitchen. We have to stop doing this to public servants. Family members should be putting families first, this doesn't make them better or worse at work, but it makes them better at life. Regardless of gender, or family makeup, whether you’re a family with children or without, whether you parent alone or as part of a big messy blended mix, however you as a family define and fulfill your roles, family should come first. The fact that we criticized a public servant for doing this raised a lot of questions for me. Shouldn't government be setting the bar and then cultivating the standard to The People in their workplaces also? Wouldn't that actually improve quality of life for everyone? Are we as committed as we say to the concept of diversity in Politics when we can’t even accept that a parent might want to have his\her child with him\her when he\she travels? I’ll say it again, no one has the right to abuse their power or take advantage of public resources, but if we want to attract more people who truly see Political involvement as Public Service and would hold themselves to a high ethical standard then we might need to embrace some change. We can never write enough laws, nor make them iron clad enough to make people be honest, forthright, and ethical; the trick is voting people who are honest, forthright, and ethical. Food for thought I hope.

*As an important aside, my playschool pays me as well as they can and are very good to me but cannot afford provide benefits, or offer a pension – it’s symptom of our societies priorities and values likely not corresponding with governmental priorities and values and The Peoples compete apathy towards changing it, but I digress.

Nothing says 'I love you' like chocolate assholes.

Sometime before Valentines Day a meme started going around about chocolate anuses available for purchase and there was a high resolution, close up photo of 3 said chocolates in their artisan chocolate box .......... just ready for sale and consumption. Now, google it if you must ...... CAREFULLY ....... But I know you saw it because you are on FB ....... I know you did ......... and now you can't unsee it.
So began my search for something to say, but there was nothing, I was rendered speechless .......... I know, right?!?!?!
But thanks to the power of insomnia and my extremely immature mind, I have found the words. And I am going to say asshole, like, 2 million times so don't read this around your kids ....... and don't google these chocolates around kids. DON'T, seriously, don't. But, yes, they are real and apparently have been available for purchase for a decade from the company in England which makes them.
This.
"Say it with chocolate", as a slogan, now has a whole new meaning.
This.
Nothing says 'I love you' like 3 chocolate assholes.
This.
At some point well paid people in suits sat around a table and discussed just how many assholes should go in each box of chocolate assholes.
This.
How exactly do you choose the person to make the mold for your asshole chocolates ....... what are those auditions like, exactly? And how many people dialed 911 right at the start of that job interview?
This.
What exactly happens to the mood of your gathering when you bring out the apres dinner chocolates and offer "Pot of Gold? Asshole?"
This.
Being a connoisseur of all things chocolate, I am wondering about the flavour road map which all good chocolatiers include with their selections, and I am wondering about fillings and how they were chosen. Was there discussion around this? Were some flavours just RIGHT OFF THE TABLE? How much laughing was there during this conversation and were the people in the suits invited? Who did their flavour testing? Can you invite friends over to quality test your new assholes? And how exactly does all this change the typical family's "if you eat all the lemon cream assholes before I get one I'll be really angry" dynamic?
This.
I'm Celiac so it is now completely possible, nay necessary, that I could one day find myself calling a company's 1 800 number and asking "are your assholes gluten free?"
This.
It is also now possible to string together words, never reasonably or realistically strung together before. "Hurry home, my assholes are melting" and "Check the best before date, those assholes may be expired" and "Mom is coming over so put out the assholes she gave us for Christmas" and "You kids better not have eaten all those assholes, they were for the guests!" spring immediately to mind. It's not quite going to the moon but in literary terms it's exciting.
This.
Men may find this gift and think themselves a little naughty and adventurous in the giving, but the female recipient of these will feel the same way about these as she does about most lingerie ........... those perfect little puckered assholes just don't represent a woman who has had children .......... gals, I'll give you a moment to explain this to your man. Perhaps share that you didn't even know that Preparation H was a real thing before pregnancy. Perhaps go on a rant about what his offspring have done to your body. Perhaps remind him that he should kiss those children and appreciate the beautiful changes that your body has undergone to get them here and then suggest he buy you something nice like chocolates that don't remind you of those changes. But I digress.
This.
Chocolate assholes are probably a really bad sign. Like, we probably don't deserve opposable thumbs now. I think de-evolution begins now and millions and billions of years from this moment in time, a bunch of monkeys will be sitting around saying "those assholes ruined everything."
This.
My inner germaphobe is shattered. She's still rocking and pacing. It may never stop.
This.
The beautifully philosophical line from Forrest Gump, "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get." has now been smarmily answered by the cosmos ........ and it was inevitable. "Yes you do Forrest. You do hon. It will give you assholes."

Dear Mommy Body. I Heart YOU.

Approximately one nanosecond after we passed a motion to book WEM waterpark as a BG fundraiser/activity, the maternal physical self-loathing began. The BG Mom’s started trash talking their own bodies ……… and it hasn’t stopped since.
“Oh, the kids will love it, but I’m not going in.”
“Hahaha, I’ll help sell the tickets out front, the kids can go in with their Dad/Uncle/Grandpa.”
“Gahhhhh! Do WE have to go in with... them?”
Moms of Brander, lets promise ourselves something. Let’s promise to be kind to ourselves. Let’s be REALLY wild and crazy and just go swimming with our kids. Let’s break with tradition and leave the body hating at the door.
Now don’t get me wrong, by January 25 I have lost any sign that the sun has ever touched my body; ever. My pigmentation will have retreated back to my natural state of white (and I don’t mean like Caucasian, I mean white …… practically translucent. You can practically see my liver through my skin if the light is right, but I digress). By January 25, shaving will have become largely optional (as time allows), and I will have put on my annual layer of winter insulation (aka “yes, I’ll have another cookie”). By January 25 my pants will all still be tight so when I arrive at the pool and change, you will be able to see the imprint of the seam of my Mom-jeans on my inner thigh (for at least 45 minutes). By January 25 I will have not yet begun my 2015 resolution to ‘start working out’ and will be having a full on panic attack about the ravages of time on my, then, 503 month old body ……….. and saying it in months won’t be helping.
But I’m going in the pools anyways, and so should you. It is said ‘Time is a Thief’, so let’s not give any of our precious time with our kids away because we didn’t like the way we looked in a bathing suit. I am proposing something radical: let’s just accept our selves for the beautiful and amazing mothers we are and go swimming with our kids. Many of us bore these beautiful children into this world, and all of us use these bodies to love and care for them. We use these bodies to nurture and dote on them, nourish and clean up after them, praise and admonish them, raise and mother them. And that makes a Mother’s body, every Mother’s body, beautiful and amazing. Shouldn’t we give these bodies the love and respect they deserve?
So please, on January 25th, let’s go swimming. It will be the gift we give ourselves but also a gift to the kids, especially to the girls around us. Let’s teach them that our bodies are exactly what they need to be to go swimming and have fun, because they don’t need to look a certain way to do that. Let’s go ‘Mom’ the place up!

‘Twas the Night Before the Waterpark ~ with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

‘Twas the night before the waterpark and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The swimsuits were hung by the front door with care,
In hopes that they weren’t too worn out to wear.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of waterslides swooshed through their heads;
And my spouse is contentedly snoring, asleep in a snap,
While I obsess over cover-ups, still far from a nap.

The image in my mirror is nothing to flatter,
I weepily moaned “could I be ANY fatter?”
Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash,
Tore open the cupboard for my chocolate stash.

The moon shines on the foil wrapping below,
Illuminating the fact there was just one bite to go.
When, what to my self-loathing eyes does appear?
But a full length mirror and I’m standing quite near.

There I see a lady, a bit curvy and thick,
Her worst feature? I just couldn’t pick.
More rapid than Eagles the criticisms came,
She glared back at me daring each one to name.

“There jowly, there flabby, too many spots to list’em,
And is that a C-section scar that needs fixin’?
A Hobbit in height, you’re chubby and small!”
Then that face in the mirror, she started to bawl.

But I didn’t relent once I made her cry,
No, I added something about her “jiggly thigh”.
“Rolls! Cellulite! Saddle Bags!” The insults, they flew!
“Vericose Veins! Muffin Top, no matter what ab work you do!”

“Stop!” she screamed. “I need no more proof.”
“You see all those things, but I know the truth.”
And then her face softened but she held her ground,
She just wiped away tears, not making a sound.

And I took her all in, from her head to her foot.
Maybe, it’s ok that a Mom looks like she has kids afoot.
After all, she spends every moment picking up the slack,
She toils day and night to keep her family on track.

Her eyes …. How they glistened with love, warm and merry.
She has strong arms from hugging and each load she must carry.
She has strong, patient legs for walking, sometimes ever so slow,
When a bug or a rock is more urgent than where she must go.

Those rolls cuddled in children when they cut all their teeth.
Those knees bent to check beds for monsters underneath.
All those crow’s feet are because she laughs from her belly,
From every fun time, even when they get dirty and smelly.

Sure, she’s chubby and plump, but she tries to be her best self.
For her children make her feel she has an infinite wealth,
Of wisdom to bestow and kind words to be said,
Of adventures to share, and bedtime stories to be read.

And her kids don’t care about each physical flaw and quirk,
So she decided to go swimming, and to not be a jerk
To that Mom in the mirror because, goodness knows,
Her kids don’t care what she looks like as long as she goes.

She crept back up the stairs, heart light as the down on a thistle,
And promised to end self-defeating thoughts which make her bristle.
She peered in at her children, feelings of love taking flight,
They love her just as she is, and tonight … tonight that feels right.

Dear makers of bras, it's me again.

OK makers of bras ............. I know that I pick on you a lot. But SERIOUSLY?!?!
What's it gonna take to get a decent bra for a small/medium chested but big boobed girl for under $60?
It SHOULD be doable.
Here's the specs required to make this bra suitable since you seem to have ALL this wrong.
*It must come in 30, 32, 34, etc band sizes .......... DDs don't magically form only on girls with a chest of 36 or over.
*It MUST have consistent cup sizing ......... no more of this DD which might end up a C or might end up an EE ............. if there is no consistent unit of boob measurement then we might as well measure them in handfuls. Pffft.
*Some empathy for the gal hauling these chest boulders around would be nice. Do you think we love those thin little sharp edged straps you install on bras? Do you think we LIKE there to be permanent grooves notched into our shoulders from these straps digging in under the pressure? Would you like to know when bra straps started to create nerve damage into my arms???? When I was in my 20s, which is basically around the same time they stopped being able to support them selves!!!! Here's a clue, and I don't even have a physics degree, but heavy weights are best supported when the weight is evenly distributed along it's support........ this isn't rocket science ............ it isn't even "rocket science" (see what I did there? ..... 'cause sometimes boobies are referred to as rockets ......... you know in the 50s ........ but sometimes) ANYWAYS it's just common sense. PLEASE, for crying out loud, MAKE THE STRAPS WIDER!!! And it wouldn't kill you to pad the straps either.
*The cup itself must be capable of supporting soft tissue. I know you all think it should work just fine when you test it out on all those molded plastic boob mannequins in your Brassieratory but those boobs do not possess the density nor behaviour of real boobs. The top edge must, I repeat MUST, be yielding enough so that boob tissue does not squeeze out creating a second boob ....... a boob muffin top if you will. But it must also be supportive enough to keep the boob from popping out randomly when we trip, bounce, bend over, or move in any way. It must hold the girls in. Containment is key.
*As we get older they get softer, and as much as we all enjoy what is the race to see which nipple will arrive at the belly button first, we need some support. Please be aware of boob placement. They need the help. If the bra can not keep them even and at an appropriate latitude then it is not much good to us.
*The nipple needs not be noticeable. Now, let me qualify this: I am a fan of nipples. They fed my children, they give the boob leadership, they are unisex, and they really complete the boob. I think the working nipple should be whipped out wherever the mother it is attached to needs to use it to feed her baby. I scoff at the fact we have societally become so prudish about nipples ........... good grief, they're just nipples. But here's the thing. I dress in the morning while brushing my teeth and yelling (erm, sweetly calling) at my children to get up. If I could find a way to cut their lunchbox fruit at the same time I would. I don't want to have to make sure my nipples are centered .......... and there's nothing better than arriving somewhere and realizing one nipple is facing a little northerly, and the other is travelling due southeast. It just doesn't look professional. Also, no woman ever wants her nipples to act as weather barometers. No one should be able to gauge how cold it is outside when I enter the building. When I'm at work no one says "Hey, has it warmed up out there? Can you go outside so we can attempt to take the temperature with your boobs?" No, we use a thermometer. So for the love of Pete can we make the cups sufficiently lined already.
*Lastly, can we discuss colour? We're not dead yet. We may be overburdened by the girls but we're still sorta attached to them. A nice variety of colours would be nice. And stop it with the skin toned already, you're never going to get it right. Bras aren't makeup, they don't have to match our skin.
*Boobies of larger size are discriminated against at the check out. We are paying WAY too much for this equipment but yet we need it most. Enough! Find a way to make a decent bra for under $60 (I know I said this already but it bears repeating). And if you can do it for under $40 I will kiss you full on the mouth.
Thank you.

The truth about family road trips. The parts no one shares along with their ‘perfect happy family’ pictures on Instagram. What you need to know.

If you can make it out of the front drive without someone already saying “I’m hungry” or “I have to POOOOOOP!” then that’s it. You might as well go back in the house and call it a success ……. Because it’s not going to get any better than that. If you insist on continuing on then set the bar low. Really very low.

You will have, with laser precision and efficiency, set out one outfit per day per person in the days leading up to the trip. But after careful consideration, you added 2 foul weather ensembles and an emergency change, then after some further deliberation you will have added a round of raincoats, sweaters, hoody’s, beach shoes, hiking shoes, nice-out-for-dinner-clothes-which-you-already-know-you-won’t-wear, rain boots, beach towels, sun hats, rain hats, ”I’m with stupid” T-shirts for playful candids, first aid kit, blankets, candles, flares, 20 days’ worth of vitamins (in case we break down for an extra week), bottled water, enough granola bars to cross the dessert, games-you-know-you-will-never-play, books, swimsuits, and whatever else you came upon that looked remotely useful as you haphazardly wandered house in state of pre-travel anxiety. You have now weighed down minivan past Maximum Gross Vehicle Weight limit in all 10 provinces and 3 territories; and risk divorce by adding even a single map from Visitor information centres which you will be forced to visit as you have forgotten maps.

Adults measure distance in time between well (ok, reasonably) researched hotels rooms for which google produced numerous reviews with the word “clean” and no news stories with the phrases “victim discovered”, “police standoff”, “drug bust”, or “ancient burial ground”. Kids measure distance in time it takes to wear parents down into mindless ice cream purchasing zombies.

The second your bowels hear the word “road trip” they will become as dry as the Mojave desert, producing only rabbit like turds as rare and precious as diamonds ……………. Your children’s bowels, however, will liquefy. Happy travels.

When you finally feel you can go number 2, the only bathroom for miles will be a truck stop/site of several biker murders …….. and (although statistically you know that the first stall is least used) you will choose the second stall (because the first stall contains what appears to be a human spleen). At this point 2 loud women will enter the bathroom mid conversation and proceed to choose the 2 stalls on either side of you (one of them is apparently comfortable with spleen in bowl) and continue conversation through your stall. The 3 rabbit poops you may have been able to deposit climb back up. And such is regularity on-the-road.

By day 3 your youngest child will have spilled on 7 outfits and you all will smell of cheese.

Your brain will be tricked into believing hotel shampoo holds the intrinsic value of platinum and you will hoard it like a treasure obsessed troll.

You. Need. To. Bring. A. Bucket.

Lysol wipes. Pack them and use them at the very least on hotel light switches and tv remotes. In hotels those are all covered with Ebola and bodily fluids ……… trust me, I googled it. Don’t google it.

As you gaze out upon rolling hills, vast agricultural quilts, breathtaking mountain-scapes, glacier blue lakes, and sweet little villages where time stands still, your right brain will dutifully declare “this is why we do this”, “this is why we came”. And your left brain will smart assedly play the banjo song from Deliverance.

Highways will inexplicably smell of skunk, or poop, or skunky poop at regular intervals.

Your spouse will start to refer to the GPS lady as his "other wife" ........ and he will think she is a better navigator.

You see more wildlife exploded along the roadside than in the nature along the roadside and it’s really tough to identify the species of innards.

When I was a child, hitch hikers all appeared like eager, albeit dirty, young adventurers ………… now they all look like a Mug Shot. When did they change the uniform?

You can’t stop anywhere on a road trip, or even slow down really, for less than $70.

Leg hair on a road trip grows at 3 times its natural rate. And all you ever pack is shorts.

By your 4^th $100 fuel up you will be despondent and tempted to rob the gas jockey ……….. Suddenly the road has turned you into Thelma and Louise.

By day 6 everyone will have (despite packing 5 tubes of 30 SPF) the worst sunburn of their life ………… until next year’s road trip.

Day one, you have an expectation that everyone will eat at LEAST 5 fruits and vegetables a day ………… by day 5 you just want them to eat one thing that did not come from a wrapper.

The people (family) who break up your string of hotel stays by providing you and your offspring with beds and food IN THEIR HOMES (and are willing to put up with your collective road bum, and travel arguments, and Weird) are Saints. Absolute Saints. Give them something nice ……….. and maybe some of that pilfered platinum hotel shampoo.

You will discover the mind is fascinating in its inaccuracy. Over the course of 11 days on the road you will have (honestly) considered leaving your children on the side of the road at least 10 times, you will become an expert in flailing your arm behind you into back seats, and achieved mastery of ‘clenched teeth screaming at the children so the people driving beside you don’t know you are losing your shit’. And yet after one …… ONE good night’s sleep in your own bed it will be the “best trip you can remember”. It’s amazing. It’s sort of how you decided to become pregnant again after you conveniently forgot what it was like to have a Thanksgiving turkey sized organism ripped from your body through your vagina or C-section hole. It’s a handy sort of amnesia.

It’s really worth limiting technology time on a road trip …. But not while driving. Then, they should watch dvds and be handed snacks constantly. It’s the only way you’ll make it. Many pioneers travelled for 100+ days to reach their homesteads and not a movie player in sight. I can’t even imagine. I bet they just traded kids the whole way ………….. “Who’s taking Jed? I’ll take Sara if you take Jed. OK. Seriously he has to go today ……. Anyone? I don’t even need him back until Minnesota.”

When you travel, you give yourself permission to not care. Not care about cleanliness (except remotes …… seriously clean those), time, routine, or schedules. You can wake when you wake, eat when you’re hungry, read when you’re bored, hike without a map, and there are moments of true bliss. But it’s a bliss that comes from simplicity and focusing on the moment. It’s a part of travel we need to practice more at home. Bring home a little of that with you. You will be better for it.

You will SEE your children as if for the first time on a road trip. There will be those moments when you SEE them. And you will fall so deeply in love it will hurt.

There will be a few shots you have lined up in the camera and just before you snap, you will put the camera down and just hold your breath watching your children (or child) just be. Playing in a tide pool, studying a cricket in the tall grass, jumping up to grab the biggest leaves ………. And you will just watch. And you will know nothing, no picture, no video, could be more perfect than what you are watching in real time. And you will put your camera away.

We all breathe sweeter outside.

Road trips build memories. Memories that aren’t real. They are made of feelings and tastes and sounds and smells. They are the feel of your sleeping child’s heartbeat against your chest as you schlep them into the umpteenth hotel, how hard they laughed that day at the beach, how delicious the greasy fish and chips at the pier were, the sweetness of those 6 wild strawberries you spent an hour searching for, the incredible doodles in your kid’s road journal, the way you kept drawing “10 storey building” car scavenger hunt game card while in the middle of the country, the dappled sunlight bouncing off your kid’s faces as they ran back to tell you about a huge bug, the smell of pancakes, waking up in a warm tangle, and splashing (so much splashing). Those things aren’t REALLY what filled the minutes on your road trip, but they are the parts that counted ………. And that makes them real enough.

 

 

 

 

Robin Williams - Finding the Funny

Ugh. August 12, 2014 ……….. the day after celebrity Robin Williams allegedly committed suicide. I’ve had to turn off the news, the radio, and the social media watershed as they turn their intensely myopic and often voraciously repugnant eye to the post mortem ……………. They will now pick apart this celebrity’s life and career until they ‘lay bare the truth’, ‘expose the issues’, ‘make sense of this tragedy’ …………. But all they will find is sad dry bones because the media machine won’t stop to consider when the REAL man died. No one can see when his light started to flicker and no one can know when it finally went out.

There is no answer for this, no resolution, and the heartless world of fame cannot comprehend a person with a heart. It’s all very simple really. He died, like so many do, in terrible pain, in terrible loneliness, in terrible despair, and ultimately in terrible violence. Some time ago I wrote a blog entry called 40 things I know by 40 and I included this “I love to laugh. It’s my favourite activity. I wish it were an Olympic event. I think great comedians are the highest form of our ‘so called’ evolved species, because the best ones are heart and soul and joy and intelligence and observation and truth at the point of intersection. And that’s amazing.” And I still believe it. Comedians seem to be shining lights of genuineness in a sea of fake. Celebrity and Fame are almost the new religion and we worship dutifully at it’s alter. We place our famous gods on pedestals and many feed upon attention, but among them are those who see there is no ladder to climb down, and they starve. I think many of those lights are comedians and that is why so very many of them end up dead. Whether the instrument of their death is drugs, or alcohol, or food, or sex, or a willful act of violence the end is the same.

Why were they funny in the first place then? Why get yourself famous if you can’t handle it? These and other insensitive questions will be asked. Finding the funny in life is a coping mechanism for those who feel a lot, have very open hearts, and are cursed with keen observational powers; especially where they observe pain, oppression, irony, villainy, cruelty, and I think (above all) how human beings diverge from their real purpose: which surely is simple joyful and kind living. Finding the funny is an act of faith when you feel over whelmed by the experiences of life. It is an affirmation that life has beauty and purpose. When they share the funny it nourishes themselves and others and sometimes they change minds and hearts, and when you change minds and hearts you change the world. Finding the funny is powerful. Robin Williams himself said “Comedy is acting out Optimism” and I don’t think it can be said better than that. I LOVE comedians, and am as guilty as anyone in this desire to see and hear more of what they have to say, but at some point the machine wants too much, and they give too much of it away. Everyone has to hold on to their own light ………….. A candle may be able to light a 1000 more and never burn out faster (as the proverb says), but it might be snuffed out by 1000s of grabbing hands.

So turn it off. Turn away from this fortune making examination of his death and go put on Mrs Doubtfire (or whatever your favourite was) and then …………… then go out and light some candles with that perfect spark of joy.