Capital gains

Nothing survives capitalism

Even my consumer driven

Advertising influenced

Teenager

Bemoans this fact

As news spreads

About the sale

Our daily respite

From the COVID

World

Subsumed by the amoeba

Of market forces

 

I cannot blame

Mr. Wardle

Who could refuse

Unexpected millions

But

I do blame

The Times

We live in

Where everything

Must be monetized

Capitalized

Owned

 

Happy New Year

It’s the same

As the old

Exchanging an Ox

For a Tiger

Has done little

To assuage

The machine of greed

That consumes the world

One

word

at

a

time

As it was—once again

When is a negative a positive—two years into the global pandemic, many people know the answer to this question. But it was an answer I had forgotten until my household was ensconced in the floor-pacing, nail biting experience of being in close contact with a case of COVID-19 last week.

We in this house, and in this corner of the world, have been very lucky over the past two years—there have been very few cases in this province of Canada, and even fewer in this area of the province—the eastern tip of the mainland. But that all changed this month and now we are the epicenter of an outbreak covering the entire province.

 

While we were waiting --and eventually breathing a sigh of relief after we received our negative test results – a friend of mine commented that the world was a strange place when a negative was a positive.

 

Upon thinking about this comment, I concluded that personal and cultural memory was fleeting, like the pain of childbirth, we quickly forget about past plagues or perhaps we were young enough, naïve enough or lucky enough not to be touched by them.

 

And by this I am not talking about the 1918 Spanish flu – which is a complete misnomer as it was neither Spanish nor confined to that year --what I am talking about is AIDS, the most recent global pandemic before COVID.

 

When I was 12 years old, my family moved to Vancouver, B.C. It was 1985 and the city, to my memory, was the focal point of the emerging HIV/AIDS pandemic in Canada.

 

Although it might have been odd for a kid of that age to be cognisant of this disease, for me it was part of the household miasma. My mother was a nurse in the city and there was suppertime talk of needle sticks and blood borne pathogens. In 1986 a co-worker and friend of my mother’s died of AIDS.

 

My mother had a few accidental needle sticks; one of which happened while she was tending to a known IV drug user. I remember her waiting for test results to come back and the relief that flooded through our two-bedroom apartment in North Vancouver when the word ‘negative’ was delivered over the phone from the hospital.

 

A decade later I moved to Thailand – a country that was well-known as an HIV/AIDS hotspot due to the thriving sex-trade. And equally well-known for combating the disease with a public health campaign delivering condoms and safe-sex messaging across the kingdom.

 

I lived in Thailand for most of my 20s and with my background and knowledge of HIV/AIDS I was cautious in my approach to sexual encounters but there are always missteps; a few too many drinks, fumbling hands –etc.

 

Inevitably, I found myself at an HIV testing site doing the right thing and freaking out while I waited for the results. Fortunately, the blessing of the negative result was mine.

 

That wasn’t the last time I had an HIV test, but it has been over 15 years since the last time I had one. That's a long time to hold onto the memory of the relief a negative test result can deliver.

 

Since this COVID-19 pandemic became reality – I have, on more than one occasion, compared it to the AIDS pandemic – likening the contact tracing to the sexual partner notifications of that earlier era.

 

Now we’re back to negative thinking in the positive, and at least here in Nova Scotia, being asked to contact those we’ve had social intercourse with to notify them of our disease status.  

 

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

 

 

 

 

Thanksgiving 2021

 

 

Two years ago, my children—aged 11 and 14-- made Thanksgiving dinner, alone at home. They connected with me via video chat to show me the abundance laid out on the table.

 

I was in the hospital an hour away with yet another bowel obstruction, facing the prospect of surgery.  

 

The first thing on my list to give thanks for this year, is that I am home with my children. Surgery wasn’t necessary two years ago, and unlike any run of good luck I have ever experienced in my life, I have not been admitted to hospital for an obstruction since Thanksgiving 2019.

 

I am thankful for my children, their wonderful talents, teachings and love.

 

Thankful for their friends who give me a few more people in the world to love.

 

Thankful for my father and stepmother and for living nearby so we can visit each other often.

 

That I have so many memories of all my grandparents and some of my great-grandparents and that I knew many of them in my adult life, not just as a child.

 

Thankful for my neighbours who keep an eye out for me as I keep an eye out for them.

 

For my friends who don’t care when I drop by.

 

Dogs that make me laugh numerous times every day.

 

For the man that showed me pictures of his dogs as we waited in line this week.

 

The dog trainer who has taught me so much—and the dog groomer who has similarly taught me so many things-- with patience.

 

London Writers’ Salon – that brought me a global writing community.

 

People in my community that say hi, smile and know my name.

 

My job feels impactful and has a purpose for the community.

 

Being part of the arts community in this rural area.

 

Working with others to bring good things to our community—arts, child care, Truth and Reconciliation, the fight against racism, etc.

 

The ever-changing beauty and calm of the beach.

 

When things break, I have the money to fix them.

 

My backyard which holds wonders.

 

That beauty is everywhere.

 

My house is warm and is heated by a southern exposure on sunny days.

 

That people appreciate my work- professional and volunteer.

 

When Hannah laughs at a poem I wrote.

 

The parents and community members that have helped me over the years to make my children’s lives better.

 

The local library: books, books, books—and the time to read them.

 

Going to the grocery store takes me a very long time because I have so many people to talk to.

 

Wonderful fall weather.

 

Cats that catch mice in this old house.

 

Sunset, sunrise and cotton candy skies.

 

Darker evenings so I can see the stars and put my Halloween lights on.

 

That apples have grown so well this year.

 

The things I take for granted most of the time in this place: power, water, food, housing, freedom, good governance, and police I trust.

 

Everyone in this house is vaccinated.

 

Repairs are starting on the house.

 

That when one bathroom is out of order—we have a second that works.

 

I successfully grew gladioli this year.

 

That we have pet fish again- I missed the sound of the fish tank.

 

The internet which makes my work possible and lets me stay in touch with friends and acquaintances around the world.

 

I have a big bed where my kids and I snuggle and have evening chats.

 

Dance parties with my girls.

 

The silence of a Sunday morning.

 

Days when I can take a break from being online.

 

The art in my house; that which was created here and reproductions of the masters.

 

I am thankful for all these things and more and I hope anyone who reads this list will make one of their own and add to it every day of the year.

Mother's Morning

By the time I get to it

My tea tastes of nothing

 

It started

As I swam back to 

Consciousness

In the hour before dawn

 

Discipling the dogs as I came downstairs

Starting a pot of coffee

Mixing spices for the chicken I’m roasting

At 6:30 in the morning

For the evening meal

 

Next, it’s shoes, cleats actually

Wet from yesterday’s game in the rain

 

‘Put them in the drier,’ I said sagely

Thirty minutes later my Sweeper

Or is it Centre Back

Exposes unglued souls

Panic ensues

 

There’s a game today

The nearest store is an hour away

My schedule is packed

 

She finds the gorilla glue

I turn to social media

Confident other soccer moms

Have cupboards full of cleats

In various sizes

As do I

 

Cleats are offered

The glue has stuck

And I think this child

Won’t become known

In the annals of soccer

As Shoeless Suki K

 

Work – some work must be done

On deadline

Before 9 this morning

 

After the kids leave for school

And return for

Forgotten things

I sit, copy and paste

Write a few abstracts

Distracted by the doctor directed

Reduction in coffee consumption

 

The dogs suddenly

Need to go out 

I can’t ignore the barking

At the door

I have less than 10 minutes

To deadline

 

They’re out, then in

I answer an email

Post to the website

Check social media 

Searching for replies 

To interview requests

I sent out before 7 am

 

Inappropriately early appeals

To parents

Of school-aged children

We are a cadre of early risers

Whether we want to be

Or not

 

9:05 the chicken is cooked

The dogs are pooped

I turn the ringer on the phone off

Close all the curtains

Lock the doors

And sit down to write

 

Taking a moment to

Reflect

Regroup

Relax

 

Listening

To the sound of running water

In the fish tank

The white noise overhead

From the heat pump

 

Too soon

The hour I carved

For creative preservation

Is over

 

There’s an email from a teacher

Homework hasn’t been handed in

The chicken needs to be dissected

Bones and skin for broth

Dogs need to be walked

again

 

I don’t want to think of what’s next

My jaw clenches as I review my schedule

 

I miss the early days of the pandemic

When all we had to do was stay home

Thankful for the exemption from the world

 

But right now

Now

I must remember

 

To eat

Brush my teeth

Wash my face

Apply deodorant

Leave the house

And drink my tea

The age of power

Composite photo from: CBC, Erin O'Toole/Creative Commons, Chris Young/The Canadian Press.

In Nova Scotia we’ve just gotten through our second election of the summer. The first was a provincial election called by a premier who hadn’t been voted into office by the citizenry but by his party when his predecessor retired. The second was a federal election called by a prime minister who hadn’t yet passed the halfway point of his most recent mandate.

 

I have always been interested in politics; at first personally and later, as a journalist, professionally. As a high school student, I volunteered for a federal campaign in Edmonton. As a university student I joined Mel Hertig’s short-lived National Party of Canada (a left of centre outfit not to be confused with several far-right nationalist parties that have also populated the Canadian political landscape). As a parent, I’ve always followed the parties that would benefit my family which, along with the necessary non-partisanship required for work, means I have no political affiliation or membership.

 

On Monday night, as my daughter and I waited for the numbers to roll in from across the country, we diverted our attention from the vote count by speculating on and then searching for the age of all the federal party leaders.

 

We started with Conservative leader Erin O’Toole. From my familiarity with his campaign webpage, I pegged him at 60. Sorry. He’s 48.

 

JT, also known as the best-looking head of state in the world, is 49. My daughter thought he was far younger than that—good hair will do that for a man.

 

Green party leader Annamie Paul, also 48. I had no estimate in mind for her—her hair and clothes don’t give anything away—but 48 fits.

 

And Jagmeet, Mr. Singh - leader of the NDP - despite the grey in his beard, it’s clear that this guy is too hip to be old. He’s hip in a way that doesn’t make my teenage daughters cringe. He’s so hip that he probably doesn’t use the word hip and he does use tik tok. He’s 42.

 

On the fringe of national politics there are the leaders of the Bloc Québécois Yves-François Blanchet, 56 and the People’s Party of Canada Maxime Bernier, 58. These guys look like they’re in their 50s but in a good way.

 

After this trip down the google rabbit hole I was left with one illuminating thought: I am in the age of power. I turned 48 last month, these people vying for the top job in the country are my peers.

 

I know I am getting older but when I was in my teens and my 20s, when I was first hepped up about politics, all the politicians seemed like old men. In this era, they are my contemporaries.

 

Getting my google on, I found out the truth about the old men I remembered from previous elections; of the prime ministers I remember-- Mulroney, Trudeau (the father), and Harper—all entered office in their mid to late 40s.

 

I am the age of power, I never guessed I’d get here so soon.