Here We Go Again

Once again, campaign signs are popping up on lawns and along highways. Between municipal, provincial, and federal elections it feels as though one barely ends when another begins.

As if we didn’t have enough elections of our own, Canadians also closely follow U.S. campaigns. No wonder it seems like we never get a break.

In Alberta, candidates are currently asking us to put our confidence in them. They smile and wave and knock on doors and try to convince us that they will represent us well.

I’m always conflicted as to whether I should vote for the party I favor even if I don’t like the local candidate, or vote for the candidate I feel a connection to if I don’t like the party they represent.

I wish we could do away with political parties altogether. Politicians could act as educators – explaining issues and options. Online referendums could be used to regularly poll citizens to find out what “the voice of the people” actually is, and a few elected representatives could work together to put those results into practice. I’m sure that would cost less than private jets and committees all the other nonsense we pay for.

Sometimes I wonder if it matters who I vote for since it seems like once elected, they just do their own thing or whatever their party tells them to do.

But my conscience won’t let me avoid the polls. As a citizen of a democracy it is my right and duty to both speak up and vote.  So here we go again – bring on the campaigns.

Past and Present

St. Patrick’s Day is a week away.  It’s not a day I get too excited about – I just make sure my kids are wearing green underwear so they don’t get pinched and we’re good to go.

Recently, however, I was bitten by the Family History bug.  I’ve become particularly interested in researching my mother’s side.  My Grandma Olive was adopted so we don’t know much about her biological parents, but I have learned that her father was part Irish – Patrick O’Neil was his grandfather.

So what do you know?  I’ve got a wee bit o’ Irish in me after all!

There’s something addicting about genealogical research.  When you find a record with names, dates, and places, stories begin to form and relationships develop – no matter that you’ve lived decades, centuries, or oceans apart.

My Grandma Olive’s parents were married with five children.  When they separated, the father took his three sons and the mother, Annie, took her two baby girls – though she was soon unable to provide for them and had to place them in an orphanage.  When Olive was three she went to live with a couple who later adopted her.

I truly appreciate Olive’s adoptive parents who gave her a good home, but my heart aches for Annie, my biological great-grandmother who had to give away her babies.  I’m drawn to her – and I’m grateful for every bit of information I can find to piece her life together.

And so I urge you to record your own family histories and share them on websites like Ancestry, Family Search, and My Heritage so that those searching for their past, like me, can find it.

Misery Loves Company

At the end of January we took our son to Edmonton for a long-awaited dental procedure.  Because of his asthma and the possible complications of general anesthesia, it needed to happen at the Stollery Children’s Hospital.

When we got there, I was amazed at the number of children going in for surgery.  Dressed in yellow and white-striped pajama bottoms and green hospital gowns with numbing cream taped to their hands, they sat on parents’ laps and played electronic games.

It’s an emotional thing to wait with a child before surgery.  Fear of the unknown coupled with the knowledge that every now and then something goes wrong is an effective recipe for anxiety.  But, for some reason, seeing so many others there made me feel better.  I guess misery does love company.

Finally, we were taken to a lonely hallway on the third floor where our son happily climbed onto his gurney.  I kissed him, told him he was “my best little boy”, and quickly moved behind him so he couldn’t see my tears.  Seven minutes later my husband came out of the Operating Room and reported he was asleep.  I dried my eyes and we went for lunch.

When we came back to wait for the dentist’s report, another mother was kissing her infant daughter “goodbye”.  Watching her cry made me start up again.  Our eyes met and I said, “It’s hard, isn’t it?”  We both chuckled through our tears and I think she felt better knowing someone understood her pain.

Sometimes, we just need to know we’re not alone.

Picked Last

I was not an athletic child.  There is a picture of me at age 10, standing at the start of a church picnic race.  I was wearing a red and white plaid shirt, red velour shorts pulled up nearly to my armpits, and flip flops.  But it was my posture – my totally nonathletic stance – that made me laugh.  And cringe.  And it became clear why I was often picked last in PE.

It took awhile for my muscles to catch up with my height, but by high school I wasn’t totally hopeless.  I was a mean shot in basketball and very good at table-tennis, though the memories of being picked last still remain.

Imagine my heartache when my daughter told me recently that she was picked last for a team.  It didn’t seem to bother her as it bothered me, but it made me wonder, again, why adults do this to kids.  It’s not like there’s only one way to balance teams.

I’m guessing most PE teachers or coaches were athletic as children and, as a result, were popular – thus never experiencing the agony of standing there, kicking at the dirt, trying to look as if you didn’t care as you waited to hear your name, knowing your team didn’t really want you but, rather, were stuck with you.

You’d think, with all the bullying awareness campaigns, adults who inflict this psychological pain upon children would realize that they are helping the bullies – essentially putting a target on the backs of those picked last.

And I have one thing to say about that.  Please stop.

May Mittens

My preschooler recently discovered a pair of mittens hiding in the bottom of the diaper bag.  I put them there early in the winter to make sure we always had a pair in reserve.  He was delighted when he found them.  He’d been trying to wear his sisters’ gloves but they were always too big and he couldn’t quite get his fingers in the right places.

Now he wears his new blue mittens as often as he can.  Inside, outside, to the park when it’s seventeen degrees…

But who can blame him?  It might be seventeen degrees today but there’s no guarantee it will be above zero tomorrow.  Hi, I’m Kathryn.  I live in Alberta.

I’m often amazed around mid-March when people start complaining about the long winter and how spring just does not want to come this year.  I feel like taking them gently by the shoulders, looking into their eyes and, with as much kindness as I can muster, breaking the news to them that snow could be in the forecast for another two months.  Hi, what’s your name?  Do you know what province you live in?

I must admit, by early May I’m as tired of winter as everyone else and by then I’ve got seven pairs (each) of winter boots, splash boots, running shoes, and flip flops kicking around the house.  Enough!  So I start washing winter coats and packing away boots.  Away – but never too far.  At least until after the May long weekend.

If it snows after Victoria Day, I may have to move back to BC.

Social Media Scrooge

Citizens of Earth have lived through many ages – the Stone Age to the Middle Ages to the recent Space Age.  Currently, we’re in the Computer Age, also known as the Information Age.

Maybe it should be called the Social Media Age.  Facebook.  Twitter.  YouTube.  Pinterest.  LinkedIn.  So many social networking sites that connect us with people and information!

I often go on Facebook to learn all kinds of news about my friends and family.  At this time of year, I’ve noticed many status updates about Christmas preparations.

I’ve also noticed harsh criticism for those who like to decorate early.  In mid-November, I was shocked by the mean-spirited comments several people made after a friend posted a picture of her newly-decorated Christmas tree.

Seriously?  Of all the things to grouse about, people are choosing to get upset about decorating a Christmas tree?  Annoyed by someone wanting to enjoy the holiday season by starting early to avoid the rush and panic?

Let me explain something about Christmas:  It takes a lot of preparation and work.  You know that saying, “the magic of Christmas”?  Well, it doesn’t refer to waving a wand and having everything come together on its own.  The tree doesn’t decorate itself.  The presents don’t wrap themselves.  The turkey doesn’t remember to defrost itself and jump into the roasting pan.

Who takes care of those things?  The same person who set up her tree early and paced herself so she could keep the spirit of peace, good will, and cheer throughout the holiday season.

Don’t knock it, Scrooge.

Pro-Compromise

It’s an ongoing debate, but both Pro-Life and Pro-Choice groups have ideas I agree with.

I believe that life is precious and we should do all we can to respect and preserve it.  I also believe that freedom of choice is not only a right but a great blessing.

I also believe both groups could work on improving a few things.

The Pro-Lifers could tone down their graphic ads and shock tactics and focus more on offering help and counseling to expectant mothers who may be considering terminating a pregnancy because they don’t see any other options.

The Pro-Choicers could encourage women to make smart choices – like choosing to not use substances that impair judgment, choosing to use adequate birth control, or choosing to reserve intimacy for loving and committed relationships where a baby would be a blessing, not a burden.

I am against abortion, except in the rare instances when a mother’s life or sanity is at risk and competent medical advice urges termination.  After serious contemplation, a woman has the right to choose to save her life.

Does that make me Pro-Life or Pro-Choice?  Or something else.  Pro-Compromise?

During this time of Remembrance, I hope we will acknowledge that terminating life can have long-lasting physical and emotional consequences.  If abortion is here to stay, we need better regulation and education, more positive alternatives, honesty and accountability, and increased counseling.

We live in a great country, so let’s find a great solution – even if that solution means compromise.