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Though I have no firsthand knowledge of exactly what the "author" has written, a little research into the publication has turned up some seriously disturbing stuff. If it's true - and I suspect it is - Amazon isn't going to have any choice but to remove the offensive book from its virtual shelves because I do not doubt that the public outrage is going to be swift and noisy. While I also suspect that Amazon doesn't give a damn about the anger it's causing, they will cave in if they believe that the backlash will damage their overall sales. Bottom lines trump common sense every time.

I'm shocked. Honestly. I cannot believe that anything the sick mind can conjure up and commit to paper - real or virtual - can be as easily distributed as that. Amazon apparently doesn't care what kind of trash appears on its site as long as it stands to gain from the sale of it, and if we didn't know it before this incident, we certainly do now.

I don't doubt that Amazon will stand on the "free speech" argument and defend that sick bastard's right to publish as many memoirs, or how-to's for seducing kids as his filthy mind and hands can produce. They won't be alone either. There are people who will defend Greaves right to publish whatever the hell he wants to because while it's offensive to most, it's welcome porn to others.

In other news, I'm broken-hearted tonight by a story I saw on the news.

A young teen-aged girl with Down Syndrome has fallen through the ministry cracks in a way that angers and offends me, and makes me sad enough to cry with the horror of it all.

Young Amy, a mentally challenged girl, was left in her drug-addicted and alcoholic mother's care despite the attempts of her two older brothers to have her removed from the filthy trailer they lived in. The guys described their mother as abusive and neglectful, and often genuinely cruel to them and the little sister they both wanted desperately to protect. They had even once removed Amy from the home themselves but were forced to return her by a system that didn't see their mother as a potential danger to their sister.

No one was paying attention and Amy's mother died of a dug overdose. For nine days she lay undiscovered in the trailer she shared with her daughter, and for those nine days this poor little girl, unaware of just how bad the situation was, did her best to feed, water, and medicate her decomposing mother back to life, while she herself was wasting away.

*breathe, nadine*

I'm caught between anger and abject sadness that this young girl had to endure such a nightmare. Had the ministry paid attention when the boys came forward and told them what kind of life Amy was being subjected to, this whole tragedy could have been averted.

But no one listened…

*sigh*
]]> General http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=332 Wed, 10 Nov 2010 01:16:00 -0800 http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=331
I pondered that for awhile. "Authentic life…" as defined by the spiritualists and the Oprah's of the world. In the end I realized that every avenue of thought brought me back to the same main street where there were no answers to be found. Just a question. One single question. Authentic life...What the hell does that even mean?!

Life, being exactly what it is, does not lend itself well to authenticity. It's an impossible, silly concept by that definition. There is not one person among us who lives an authentic life, and if they claim they are, they're lying, which in fact, is and of itself, not authentic at all.

We are what we are. By nature or nurture, and certainly by experience and by example, we've been shaped to be exactly who we are. We all live lies. Lies make the world go 'round. We're all scarred by plenty of somethings, and lots of someones, and we all carry baggage we'd love to put down but can't. We adjust to our lives of lies and facades and of heavy baggage, and we keep on keeping on. It's really the best that any of us can do.

It's wonderful that are tons of teachers out there who want to show us a better way but each day brings its own unique challenges and tests of our character and sometimes it's enough to be satisfied that you got through the day in one, relatively sane piece, without taking a moment out to flog yourself for being less than authentic in the way you presented yourself at any given moment in your day. Lies and facades are the only true "authentic" and to pretend that if you could just spend enough time working to excavate your - by their definition - authentic self, you'd be a happier, much more balanced and sane person. It's just ridiculous and unreasonable. The only way to accomplish that is to go back to a time in your life when you weren't touched by the nonsense and the trials and tribulations of living an actual life… but who wants to be a fetus again?!

I appreciate the efforts of the authors who take the time to write that stuff and then kindly fill my inbox with it, but while it's sometimes inspiring, it's also largely unrealistic. I read it. I delete it.

I feel bad for being so dismissive, but that's just me being "authentic".
]]> General http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=331 Wed, 20 Oct 2010 01:11:00 -0700 http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=330
There was a time when I was pretty damned adequate with the written word, but lately… I dunno. It's a skill-set that has taken a bit of a beating.

I have this idea that I need to be in a certain frame of mind to get the job done. No distractions. No discomfort. The planets lined up just so… It's a chore now. Writing never used to be a chore. When I think about sitting down to write something now, I run through that silly checklist and then groan a little before moving on to something that requires no real thought. It's easier to mop a floor or throw in a load of laundry.

How sad is that?! ]]> General http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=330 Mon, 11 Oct 2010 01:21:00 -0700 http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=329
I think that in the grand scheme of things men got off pretty lucky. They weren't designed to be plagued by hormonal shifts throughout the better part of their adult lives. PMS, though a running joke in most relationships, is really not a joking matter at all. Relationships have collapsed under the weight of the misery that drops by our homes once a month and stays for a week or more at a time. Guys think we exaggerate the effects. They never seem to get how hard we have to fight sometimes to keep from spinning right out of control.

Later in life we get to experience the joys of menopause. More crazy fluctuations in hormones, hot flashes, feeling emotional for no reason at all, moments of anger that eclipse reason, depression, insomnia, weight gain… the list goes on and on. Every day is a new adventure in feeling and being and surviving the misery. It doesn't run on a timetable either. It's not like we can hope for at least a couple of "good" weeks a month when everything sort of slides back into "normal", or wait for that period to show up and tip the balance back to sane and rational again. Menopause is one cruel bitch. It takes hostages and tortures the hell out of them. As hard as we had to work at times to control the PMS thing, seems like a walk in the park compared to the effort it takes to reign in the meno-monster almost all the time.

Men don't appreciate what we're going through. Then. Now. Or probably ever. It's not something they've ever had to deal with on a personal level and let's face it, most men wander through life with the belief that if it isn't a problem for them, it's not a problem, period. Rather than try to understand, or be supportive, they choose instead to disengage, disconnect, and otherwise ignore your plight. It is after all, your problem, not theirs, and their patience for your problems is thin at the best of times. As long as it doesn't interfere in any large way with their sex life, nothing is a problem.

Sex is a whole other arena. Even when we've all but lost interest in it, it remains our job to see that they're taken care of. Not many of us could get away with deciding for both of us that that part of the relationship is over. We hear about it, a lot! Many times it's presented in a joking kind of way but it doesn't take a Mensa member to know that every dig is meant to remind us that we're failing as wives if we've closed up shop. On the other hand, men can - and do - close up shop with no notice, no discussion, and no apology when hormone and mood fluctuations caused by andropause land on their doorsteps. It's a short walk from removing sex from your relationship to removing intimacy too, but since guys equate intimacy with sex, it's not so surprising that the death of one is usually the death of both.

So, what are we supposed to do? We've come this far in life only to find out that who we've always been is suddenly who we're not entitled to be anymore. We have to work so damned hard to fight "nature" and biology because the darker side of being a female - at any age - is unacceptable. It's a real struggle sometimes to stay put and make yourself believe that if you tough it out for one more hour, or one more day, maybe things will get better. Sometimes they do but the "better" is fleeting.

Sooner or later - and usually sooner - you'll be who you are and he'll seem surprised, as though he's never seen that side of you before, and you'll start the cycle all over again.

That's life I guess...

]]> General http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=329 Fri, 8 Oct 2010 01:37:00 -0700 http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=328
About the name. Those of you who have been with me since the early days know that somewhere along the line, I became "the blog goddess". Thanks to whomever slapped that moniker on me. It was a lot to live up to back in the day.

Anyway, I resurrected the "goddess" part simply because I am. *snort* The rest of it is very self-explanatory. Aging really does have a way of stealing your humour. I'm probably at my best - or at least my most authentic - when I'm grumpy. I think there's truth to that since Ricky spends an inordinate amount of time and energy trying to keep me in that state. Kudos to you, hubby dear! Your wish is my source of aggravation and stuff.

So, it's early in the redesign game. We'll see how it goes...]]> General http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=328 Fri, 1 Oct 2010 10:33:00 -0700 http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=320
I’m going to start with that ignorant shit in Florida, the pastor, Terry Jones, who is planning – or maybe not – to burn a copy of the Quran on 9/11 to protest the building of an Islamic center at “ground zero”.

WTF?!

To backtrack a bit, I personally am not understanding why it’s such an affront to American sensibilities that an Islamic center is being proposed at all. Isn’t denying them the right to gather there a slap in the face to every innocent Islamic person who had as much to do with 9/11 as you or I did? Seriously… do that many Americans find it comforting to blame an entire nation for the extremist acts of a few?

Religion sucks. It exists and serves primarily as an excuse for some really sick behavior, but while I don’t agree with organized religion on any level, I certainly do believe in the freedom to practice it, regardless of who you are or what name your god goes by. Burning any religion’s “holy book” just to make a point is nothing more than an open invitation for even more sick behavior in the name of… whatever name your god goes by. Where the hell will it all end?!

Pastor screwed-in-the-head Jones obviously has no respect for his own “god”, or for his god-fearing followers, and certainly not for the innocent people he’s planning to throw under the bus if he can honestly say that his “god” would sanction such a stupid, immoral, and childish act. Someone ought to tell him that burning a bible – any bible – is a fast track to hell, and I can guarantee that he won’t have to wait to die to experience the wrath of millions of angry souls.

At what point will rabid religious leaders and unstable zealots realize that perpetuating anger and hatred in the name of any god are really just acts of selfishness? It takes a truly demented and frightening, self-serving waste of DNA with a god complex to make a decision that isn’t going to affect only themselves, but hundreds, thousands, and even millions of people who were never even consulted.

Just one more reason in my ever-growing list of reasons to despise organized religion and all that it stands for – or against.

I’d hope the Pastor comes to his senses before he puts so much at risk, but his kind is obviously without sense.

What a world…

Skén:nen
]]> General http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=320 Fri, 10 Sep 2010 04:25:42 -0700 http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=319
But I didn't. I stayed. I waited for the reward. I believed that one day all of this nonsense would somehow come together and make the kind of sense that would leave me feeling like an intellectually challenged imbecile for not seeing just how obvious everything was.

Reward night had finally arrived. I put everything aside to spend five and a half hours in front of the TV waiting for my moments of enlightenment. I was ready to know, and eager to see how island reality connected to sideways reality. I also was ready for the big showdown between the forces of good - Jack - and the evil MockLocke. I hoped for a kickass showdown. Instead I got one that was as lame as the sideways Locke.

All of season six seemed to be about how everyone fared in a world where Oceanic 815 never crashed. They had arrived safely in LA and picked up the threads of the lives they had been destined to live. Each of them arrived with a backstory that showed just how deeply flawed and generally messed up they all were. The interesting part came when one life touched another, as if to say that regardless of how that flight ended, they were somehow fated to be a part of each others lives.

Or not. That train sort of slid off the tracks when hunky Desmond arrived and did what he had to do to make sure that specific connections were made. *scream*

Leaving the island nonsense aside for a moment, the sideways arc was initially interesting because we were supposed to assume that this was the world they landed safely in IF Oceanic 815 had never crashed. When it became apparent that somewhere deep in their subconscious minds there lived memories of their time on the island, and with each other, it got a little weird. Seriously. When did the island thing happen? Was the island experience - whether it encompassed days, months, or decades - just a blip on the space-time line? So big in their alternate reality but so small in the real world that it all happened in the time it took for them to get through the air turbulence we saw earlier in the last season? How bizarre that they experienced the island thing together but needed to be reminded of it through the touch - it seems - of their true-island-loves? How does any of that make sense?!

Brain cells are still dying here.

Meantime, back on the island, good versus evil, and no real redemption in any storyline, except maybe Ben's when he was asked to be Hurley's number one. The rest falls rather flat for me. C'mon… Desmond pulled a stone cork and sets a few things in motion, but most notably the earthquakes that started to dismantle the island, and of course turned the undead Locke into a mere mortal.

WTF?!

It would have taken a helluva lot more creativity on the writers parts to come up with a way for Jack to kill a seemingly indestructible monster than it took for them to write a scene where ultimately Kate takes him down with a bullet she saved just for him, so she could avenge Sun and Jin's deaths. Again, wtf?! The writers cheaped out there. In the end Kate gets credit for the kill but Jack got to boot the body off the cliff. Wow… that's huge.

Back in the sideways arc, Jack was busily denying his memories of his time on the island even though he had been "touched" enough to know that there was something in his subconscious fighting for air. It would take Kate - his island-true-love - to shake him out of his denial and bring him to what was ultimately his awakening.

Meanwhile, Island Jack was busily dying on the jungle floor while daddy Christian was explaining to him that he wasn't the only corpse at the party. The big reveal being that everyone was dead and that they had all created this sideways reality… but why would they create something so convoluted and pointless? Was it all about living that "live together or die alone" message that Jack delivered in the first season? Or could the message be as simple as that no man is an island? People need people, and they need love, and they need friends, and they need to hang out in a churchie setting heavy with symbolism in the after-life waiting for the last man to arrive before the christian shepherd can fling open the doors and lead them into their next lives.

We know they're all dead. We know they're all together. We know that they get to spend eternity - or whatever - with their true-island-loves. Yippee for them. Really…

Now what about the things that didn't get answered?

How long had Lapidus been floating around the ocean waiting for his chance to fly that plane off the island?

How cliché is it that said plane could be made airworthy with a few strips of miracle duct tape?

What about the bombs that Widmore apparently had located at several places in the electrical system, guaranteeing a really bad ending for anyone on it if they ever got it started?

What was the ultimate point of Eloise Hawking/Widmore in the sideways arc?

And whatever became of Widmore himself? Was he genuinely a bad guy?

Ben Linus seemed to encompass the best of Jacob and the worst of the MIB. Why wasn't he ultimately tagged to be one or the other?

Who is the new MIB? The island story only worked because there was that bazillion year old struggle for its safety and its demise.

Why did we need the "seems like real life" sideways arc? In the end it didn't really serve a purpose, except as a way to reunite the true-island-lovers. They could have accomplished that without all the nonsense.

What about the kids? There was a time when Walt was a sought-after person because of his unique abilities. The "others" wanted him badly enough to kidnap him. What ever became of that arc?

What about Aaron? Claire was told by a psychic that no one else should ever raise her child, which led us all to believe that this child of the island was perhaps as special and unique as Walt once was. Nothing happened though when Kate took Aaron off the island with her and raised him as her own for a few years. Whatever that story had started out to be, became just another odd footnote in Lost history.

Why write in a son for Jack? I get that he had daddy issues but giving him a son to help him work through those issues made no sense in the end. Christian told him there was no David, never had been, so this 14 year kidlet who escorted Claire to the concert never even existed. Why bother with him at all?

Jack and Juliette? Really?

Why wouldn't/couldn't Ben go inside? Was he not yet dead? Was he actually dead but had not worked through his crap yet and still had time left to serve in purgatory? He apparently found redemption in Hurley's last conversation with him so why wasn't he in the church? Christian didn't have a date and he was allowed inside…

What was the point of the Dharma Initiative? What was the point of the recurring numbers? Why was each candidate assigned one of those numbers when their names were written on the cave walls? What about the magic mirror in the lighthouse and Jack's name on the … whatever it was.

Did Hurley succumb to the e-coli poisoning I'm sure he suffered when he drank filthy water out of an even filthier bottle?

I have nothing but questions. I'm pretty damned sure that I was never meant to know the answers though. In the end Lost is like a really bizarre dream where some things make sense and other things make absolutely no sense at all. Deep in the fabric of those dreams there may be meaning but by the time you get the answers - if you ever get the answers - it just doesn't matter anymore.

Last week I had predicted that Jack was taking on the job (for as long as he could) but that Jacob's successor would ultimately be Hurley, and I guess that when all is said and done, my reward comes down to getting that much right.

Regardless, it was a helluva ride! I think I might even miss it…

Skén:nen
]]> General http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=319 Mon, 24 May 2010 17:14:11 -0700 http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=327
A couple of weeks ago (March 5th) we went to see Barb and learned she had an assessment for rehab that day. During the visit we noted that she had changed a lot again in the 24 hours since we had last seen her. It was like she had taken several steps back and it was all very confusing. We had to ask if perhaps she had another stroke, but we were assured she hadn't. The nurse said it could be an infection of some description but she was showing no other signs. I asked if they had actually checked her or were they just assuming she didn't have one. She said they had not checked. I suggested they get on that.

On the way out we were told that it was determined that she was not a candidate for rehab because her communication skills are abysmal and she can't/won't take part in her own rehabilitation. They talked about long-term care and said the assessment leader would be in touch regarding placements and such. It was a long and sad ride home. Don's heart was breaking. It echoed all over our little car.

Saturday we learned that she did indeed have a bladder infection, and that all of her symptoms were quite standard for a woman her age. They put her on antibiotics on that day and said she should show improvement within a day. Sure enough, Sunday she was back to her old (new) self. Monday we went to see her just before dinnertime and found her in one of those really deep comatose type sleeps. The nurse said she had been sleeping like that all day and because she was so deeply asleep, they inserted an IV to keep her hydrated while she slept. Then she told us they had been waiting all day for her doctor to get in touch so he could okay the use of IV antibiotics since she wouldn't wake up to take them orally. The troll was haunting surgeries - I assume to collect a fee from being there because he doesn't actually operate. I have no idea what time he turned up but when we left he still had not called.

Tuesday was a little better. Mo was in from Calgary for the week so we took several days off and let her handle the visits and such while we handled the stuff that had been put on hold lately. I have to say that those few days off were a big relief. Mo reported daily that Barb was generally the same, though a few times they found her in those deep sleeps and there is just no way to wake her.

This past Monday (the 15th) Mo left and we jumped back in. That evening Barb was awake but very agitated about something. She wasn't speaking well at all but she was annoyed about something. We had no idea what.

Meanwhile, we were trying to get another assessment based on the fact that she was sick with the bladder infection during the last one and it was not entirely indicative of what she was like, as a rule. Those results were skewed by her condition and I didn't want her written off when it wasn't her fault that she "failed".

Tuesday (16th) she was a little better and her speech wasn't so muddy. She got annoyed when we said we were going to have to leave. She asked why. Ricky said we had to get Dad home and she just glared at Don. She told us that we couldn't do that. We had to stay there and wait for her to get ready so we could take her home. She said she couldn't stay the night. We explained to her that when she's well she lives with Don, his home is her home, but until she's well, she has to stay where she is. She couldn't grasp it. I told her several times that we had arranged with the nice people outside at the front desk to have her spend the night but she seemed doubtful. She just kept looking at Don in a very annoyed kind of way, as though it was his fault that we couldn't stay to take her home.

I felt crappy. She wasn't getting it and I didn't want to leave her feeling all upset and annoyed, but Don just ushered me out of the room and told me to just keep walking. He said she'd forget in a few minutes and told me to stop feeling bad. I couldn't help it. She seemed so sad. She may have forgotten soon after but I didn't.

On Wednesday (17th) we were getting ready to go when Don called to say that there was no point since he got a call from the troll saying that they were moving her that day to Queen's Park Care Centre, a local transition hospital where rehab is offered. I assumed that she had another assessment somewhere along the line and that they had decided to try a rehab program after all. Anyway, Don wanted to give her time to settle in before we converged on her, and since they would just move her when they found time, it could have happened anytime.

Thursday we went to see her in QP, again just before dinner. We found her in one of those deep sleeps and her nurse told us that she had been awake not 15 minutes before we arrived. She had some cranberry juice and her pain meds - we didn't know she was on pain meds - and must have just fallen asleep. That being said, we couldn't wake her. She never even moved, not even slightly when we shook her, stroked her cheek, talked right into her ears… nothing. The nurse talked about her stroke progressing but I couldn't address that since Don & Ricky were also yapping at the poor girl. I read the paperwork they wanted Don to sign so I could give him an overview before he signed, and tried my best to fend off Barb's new roomie, Adele, a delightfully entertaining old gal with dementia who kept asking for copies of the papers I was reading, and telling me that her dad is a cleric in the Church of England - I'm sure he passed decades ago - and that she's left-handed and, and, and… over and over again. We finished up the paperwork and after assuring Adele that I'd get copies for her, we left. Damned if Adele didn't pop up and announce that she was going to follow us out. The nurse intercepted her though and told her she needed to stay where she was. Whew!

Friday Barb's new doctor in charge called Ricky to discuss his mom's condition. That's when we learned that there is no rehab for Barb. As good as she is at any given moment is as good as she'll ever be. How sad is that...

Later that day we went to see Mom again. We didn't find her in her room, though her name was still on the door. Ricky took it to mean that she was perhaps up and around somewhere, maybe eating dinner in another section of the ward. I didn't think the news was going to be that positive, so while he opted to wander around trying to find her, I opted to ask at the desk. We were told that she had been moved to another room shortly before we arrived. She was in a lot of pain and I guess her vocalizing that pain was keeping the other folks in the room awake. We found her in a private room at the end of a hallway in what used to be the hospice section. I didn't know it used to be hospice. I thought it still was and the thought had me freaking.

Much to my dismay we found Mom with a mouthful of food. Not in and of itself distressing, but the fact that she was in one of those sleeps again didn't strike me as right. I immediately went to the desk to bitch and complain, and to insist that the nurse that admitted to leaving her that way get in there NOW to clean her mouth out. I was worried she'd choke. While nurse dimwit cleaned mom's mouth out, we spoke to her actual nurse, Ramone. He mentioned this progressive stroke syndrome again. I had never heard of such a thing. He explained that that's why she sleeps like she does. As she progresses she will continue to sleep like that for longer and longer until she doesn't wake up again. No one knows when that will be. He also explained that there is plenty of neurological pain after a stroke, and even if she doesn't vocalize that pain, it exists. We had no idea. So she's on painkillers to keep her comfy but that's the best they can do for her. The bottom line is she's there because she was just filling space at the other hospital that could be used for actual acute-care patients. That's fair. She's not sick. So this place is just a temporary stop on the way to actual long-term care, which is where she will linger until…

So, now we know. No more hope. No more pretending that things will work out and she'll eventually go home. This is it. Mom goes to a home and that's that. We haven't told Don yet. He wouldn't sign the papers on Thursday and asked Ricky to take care of it. He asked too that Ricky be made the primary contact, though he'd still remain as next of kin. So Ricky signed and now Don is bypassed when the doctors need to talk to a family member. Maybe he didn't sign so he didn't have to hear that kind of information from someone he doesn't know.

We'll see Don on Monday for coffee before taking him to see his bride. We'll break it to him over coffee I guess, in person. This sucks.

My worry over him grows bigger with each setback. He's going to see her almost every day but he has no desire to go. She doesn't know him anymore, really, but he's faithful to her. It's difficult for him. Ricky is very pragmatic about the whole thing, but then he's pragmatic about most things. I'm emotional, he's not. Don is more the emotional type. He's a Cancer. It fits. I guess we need Ricky in the mix to keep us from spinning out every time there's a setback.

Truthfully, there's an odd kind of relief in knowing, although it makes me kind of angry too. If there is a god, and he/she/it is a kind, compassionate, giving-a-shit kind of god, why didn't he/she/it take her when this first happened? We've all been mourning various losses since this happened to her, and we will continue to mourn until… whenever, but if she had gone then we'd be mourning just one loss. This death by degrees shit is so hard on everyone, and I know factually that Barb would hate it if she knew she had ended up this way. It's not at all what she would have wanted for herself.

But what can ya do… Life drags on.

In the real world nothing is new. I'm still doing the 365 project if only to give me something else in the run of a day to focus on. Photography and Farmville. I'm so well-rounded I should bounce!

Skén:nen
]]> General http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=327 Sat, 20 Mar 2010 23:55:00 -0700 http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=326
In the end it just did not seem to matter. Vancouver threw one helluva party and the world loved it!

I cannot remember ever enjoying an Olympic games the way I enjoyed this one. It wasn't just the record setting gold medal count - FOURTEEN!, or the fact that at the end of the day the majority of those gold medals were won by women. It was the sense that we were more than the sum total of our hardware. We were united in a way that we've never experienced before. There was genuine patriotism, a pride that swept across this vast country and allowed us to proclaim boldly and without apology, "we are CANDIAN!"

Canada has hosted the games twice before: once in Montreal and once in Calgary, and while those games were important, I suppose, to Quebec and Alberta, they didn't stir the kind of unity or national pride that Vancouver's games did. I have no idea why. Not that it matters. The fact that it happened at all is simply amazing!

From Alexandre Bilodeau's record-making gold medal (first gold medal ever on Canadian soil!) to Sydney Crosby's overtime gold goal on the last day, we were invested. Not just locally but nationally. Maybe Alex set the national pride party in motion, I don’t know, but every gold medal felt like the first one did. I'm not sure what it looked like across the country but I'm betting there wasn't a single out-of-country visitor to Vancouver who didn't end up knowing the words to "Oh Canada" almost as well as we do! Not only was it played an incredible 14 times during medal presentations, it was often sung spontaneously, loudly and proudly in the streets, in bars and restaurants, and on public transportation.

As spectacular as those moments were, I'm also willing to bet that you'd be hard-pressed to find an aware Canadian who wasn't tuned into - either directly or indirectly - yesterday's gold final hockey game. And years from now everyone will still remember where they were when Syd scored that sudden-death OT goal, or that at one point we had been just 24.4 seconds away from taking the gold in regulation time. It was tense. It was nerve-wracking. It was a nail-biting, edge of your seat, omfg, pray for a miracle event, and when Syd scored that goal, the collective energy Canadians emitted simultaneously would be absolutely immeasurable.

The final medal tally is impressive but the two medals we as Canadians will always remember from these games will be the first gold (yeah, Alex!) and the last one (yeah, Syd!)

We rock!

Skén:nen
]]> General http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=326 Mon, 1 Mar 2010 23:51:00 -0800 http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=325
I've spent the better part of the day trying to get with the idea that she's gone and while the reality of it comes in waves, I find it hard to imagine that her life is over.

I was really young when she came into the family and from my perspective she seemed old, not because she was but because she was old-er. She was old enough to marry my uncle… only old people could get married… right?

In reality she wasn't that much older than I was, but the spread between a 10 year old and an 18 year old is much greater than it is between a 49 year old and a 57 year old. Turns out she wasn't old at all.

When I was a kid I just adored her. My own world was odd and complicated and often scary, but hers wasn't and when I was in her world it was good. It was easy - most of the time anyway. She was funny and energetic and really cool for an "old" chick. I used to stay with her and my uncle during the summer and it was never boring there. She'd get me up at the crack of dawn and then walk my ass all over Brantford. She was never a driver… always a walker. Every day was a new adventure. She babysat kids and we'd walk to their homes in the cool morning air. I still remember the smell of the morning air and how quiet the world was at that hour of the day.

Sometimes we'd walk to her sister's house - her sister was married to her husband's brother - though that was usually later in the day because her sister was a late sleeper. We walked to Earl Haig pool and wasted afternoons playing in the water, or walked uptown just to buy fries from the chip wagon. Once we walked all the way to Cainesville to see another aunty only to find she wasn't even home. That was rough. I had been counting on the ride back home. Anyway, back home she'd break out cold cans of orange pop and we'd sit outside until my uncle came home for dinner.

She bought me my first real girly girl jammies. They were light and cottony and came with shorts and a tank top style top in a girly pattern and I loved them. She also bought me a colouring book and crayons and when I told her that I was kind of old for that kind of thing, she laughed and said that they weren't really for me, but my uncle had to think they were. I went along with it because she was cool and if it was good enough for her than it was fine by me.

Later that night we put on our girly girl jammies and she broke out the cookies and orange pop, and the colouring book and crayons, and we coloured pictures and sang our heads off to songs on the radio. It was FUN!

I'll never forget her and my uncle coming to pick us up to take us to Brantford and her and I singing "Cecilia" at the top of our lungs in the backseat of their car. Or the time I threw up a little in my mouth while we were driving back and I tried to tell her so maybe she could get my uncle to stop so I could get rid of it, but she didn't believe me and kept doing crazy stuff to get me to open my mouth. I ended up laughing at her but I never opened my mouth. I held it until it lost its acidy nastiness and when we arrived at my grandparents place I jumped out of the car and ran to the ditch to spit it out. She was laughing her ass off already but I thought she was going to piss herself when she realized that I had not been kidding! It was nasty so many different ways, but it was funny too!

I was a nail biter in the extreme. She always gave me grief about my nasty habit and once when they dropped us off, she told me that if I didn't chew my nails, she'd give me a dime for every nail I had grown by the time they saw us next. I agreed. Several weeks later we saw them again and she asked me if I had stopped chewing. I wouldn't show her my hands. She was busily making fun of me for being so weak and then, one at a time, I revealed all my fingers, each one sporting an actual unbitten nail and I counted by tens as I did. I really don't think she minded parting with the buck and I sure didn't mind taking it. A buck was big money back in those days!

Anyway, the years moved on. She started having babies and I started … being a teenager. There came a time when I didn't want to go to Brantford for the better part of my summer vaycay, preferring instead to hang with my friends. Several weeks in Brantford became just 2, then 1, and eventually none at all. Visits were still frequent enough but there were no more sleepovers. No more jammie parties or colouring books, or singing at the top of our lungs. I was growing up and she had grown up.

More years, more complications. More real life things to get in the way.

Her husband, my uncle, died on the morning of his 60th birthday. What started as a good day turned bad in the time it took her to go prepare his morning injection. Just like that, at just 44 years old, she was a widow.

A few years later, her sister, my aunt, also died.

Then came her own health woes. Diabetes that had spun out of control took a toll. Years of sickness followed. Many scares. So many times when it looked liked she wouldn't make it, but she did. Then she lost a leg. The woman who had been such a walker. It was hard to fathom.

She was pretty once. Young and pretty. In her 50's, she could pass for 70's. Life had been cruel to her.

There is comfort in the knowledge that she won't suffer anymore. You have to take comfort where you can find it and I take mine in knowing that it's no longer complicated for her. It's a helluva price to pay for peace but maybe wherever she is tonight, she's good with it.

It comes in waves.

I find it hard to imagine that she's gone.

RIP, Aunty, and safe journeys…

Skén:nen
]]> General http://nadineburgess.com/blogit/index.php?itemid=325 Thu, 18 Feb 2010 23:41:00 -0800