A victim of DST

Here my further argument against daylight saving time (DST).

Today, day 2 of DST, I woke at 7 after a very un-restful night during which my husband and I were both up several times comforting our daughter. When the alarm rang I had that stomach-achy-tired feeling and dragged myself into the kitchen to make coffee.

Fast forward a couple of groggy hours. Nanny called to say her bus drove by without stopping so she will be late. I’m prepping lunch and snacks for M and running around getting ready to leave for an important meeting at City Hall.

For those who don’t know, I need to point out here that this is March Break. Although M is not yet in school, she does go to a regular play group at or local school which is closed for the week. So to provide her with some activity for the morning, the plan was to leave the car for the nanny so she could drive M to the Experimental Farm – one of her favourite local hang outs.

It’s 9:15; nanny finally shows. I’m still rushing to get everything together and head out. Debrief nanny. Out the door by 9:30 – plenty of time for the 15 min walk to the transitway station and for the bus trip downtown.

Brisk walk in the cool morning; enjoying the feel of spring in the air. Feeling stylish in my fancy rubber boots. Get to the station and look for bus tickets in my wallet only to discover I’ve left my wallet at home. Very bad.

Start to head home, only to remember that I gave my house (and car) keys to the nanny. Even worse.

Frantic calls and messages which she does not return till I am almost home and am wondering if I will be reduced to knocking on neighbours doors and begging to borrow bus fare in order to get to my meeting and back.

Luckily, she was able to drive back and rescue me. Wallet retrieved and I made it to the meeting in time.

Yet while I acknowledge my own stupidity in this sorry tale, I can’t help suspecting that DST played its nefarious role here too.

I want my hour of sleep back

Winston Churchill reportedly argued that it enlarges “the opportunities for the pursuit of health and happiness among the millions of people who live in this country”.

I say hogwash. But then again, I’m from Saskatchewan, one of the few sensible places in Canada.

What on earth am I talking about, you might ask? Daylight Saving Time (DST) of course - the ridiculous practice of springing our clocks forward in March, then falling back in November and generally wrecking havoc with circadian rhythms.

But in our world of global business and industry, it is hard to imagine that DST will ever stop unless all countries agree on this. In 2006 Canada even moved up our implementation of DST by 3 weeks in order to line up with our biggest trading partner, the U.S.

What’s always bugged me about discussion of DST is that people say things like “we get an extra hour of sunlight, so it’s not so bad.” There is no magical extra hour of sunlight that suddenly appears. You could have got up an hour earlier and enjoyed that same hour.

Or they say, “you get to pick up that hour of sleep you lost when the clocks roll back in the fall.” As if my sleep were a penny I lost that someone will hand me back.

Research has shown that the moving forward of the clocks in spring is linked to more heart attacks in the first 3 following days, as well as to increases suicide rates. Obviously, this is not a healthy practice. In fact, the governments of Kazakhstan and Russia cited health concerns due to clock shifts as a reason for abolishing DST.

It was implemented during the First World War with the goal of saving energy since people aren’t expected to need to turn lights on as early in the evening. The energy savings have never been proved.

What I can prove, on the other hand, is that flipping the clocks around messes with my sleep and with the sleep of my toddler – and this is something I take very seriously.

The only upside is that I’m blogging this at 10 p.m., but it feels more like 9 p.m.

Japan's earthquake/tsunami

Like millions around the world, I’m watching and reading news coming out of Japan with a sort of helpless sympathy. What to say in the face of such devastation?

The full toll of the massive earthquake and tsunami likely won’t be known for days or even weeks. Thousands of people are still missing. Survivors are cut off from rescuers, electricity, food and aid. The infrastructure damage is mind-boggling – and rather scary such as with the unfolding malfunctioning of the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant.

I wonder though what the reaction from the world will be over the coming days. Certainly there is the immediate awe and morbid curiosity, but such feelings are rarely sustained for long. What will be our attention span for this tragedy?

The 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami saw such widespread devastation affecting so many countries – and the response was immediate and relatively long-lasting. Thousands of people from around the world volunteered with relief efforts and aid agencies were flooded with donations.

But since then there have been other massive disasters – Katrina’s floods, earthquakes in Haiti and Pakistan. But for those removed from the epicentre, how long did it take before our attention strayed to the next big story, or simply returned to the focus of our daily lives?

And there is the on-going political upheaval in Northern Africa – headlines about which are already competing with the stories from Japan.

Japan is not an impoverished country. It is responding to this disaster with highly-trained, highly-equipped personnel. The world’s help is not so desperately needed as it was in Haiti where the country’s pre-existing political and economic deficits threw the country to its knees.

Certainly, there are organizations like the Red Cross which are already active in Japan and which are accepting donations which can be earmarked “Japan Earthquake/Asia-Pacific Tsunami”. I’m sure these will be appreciated and put to very good use. And yet I don’t expect that aid organizations like the Red Cross will receive the same sort of support and investment that they have over their work in other places.

I’m not judging here or saying people don’t care. I’m just wondering about our capacity to sustain sympathy for far-away suffering.

Empathetic communication

Yesterday I vented about my frustration with the lack of public regard in local development. But I want to return to something I touched on in the previous blog: the way we communicate our feelings.

I spend a lot of time in coffee shops, often observing dynamics at other tables. Have you ever watched two women friends have a close conversation? Their body postures and gestures will mirror each other’s, subconsciously sending signals of empathy and interest. Their facial expressions will reflect what they are hearing. If their friend is sharing a frustration, they’re will be flashes of empathetic annoyance. They share smiles of shared excitement and joy.

I’ve noticed too with my close female friends that we intuitively echo and validate each other’s feelings. If a friend tells me about her horrible day, I’m unlikely to say, ‘that’s not so bad. Stop whining about it’. And if I share a frustration my good friends don’t minimize what I’m saying, they get right into it with me and only say things to cheer me up after first showing me how they get how frustrated I feel.

So thinking about all this and how it seems to come naturally among friends, I wonder why it seems so counter-intuitive to have the same approach to children.

I’ve read a few blogs and books lately that extol the wonders of empathetic communication with children. For example, one of the “most important lessons is simple, and just as applicable to adults as to children: acknowledge the reality of other people’s feelings. Don’t deny feelings like anger, irritation, fear, or reluctance.”

This is presented as if it’s a radical approach to parenting – and yet it’s something that we do so easily with adults we care about.

Perhaps it’s because we were raised with plenty of ‘stop making such a mountain out of a mole hill’ and ‘no use crying over spilled milk’. Perhaps it’s because these little people can’t communicate as articulately as our friends. Perhaps we’re just tired and in need of a coffee. I don’t know.

But I do know I’m trying to treat my daughter’s feelings with the same respect and empathy my friends show to me.

Public loss, private gain

So much for community mobilization.

I wrote earlier about being part of a community fight to preserve heritage grounds around an old convent. This is a piece of property which was sold to developers before any discussion with or informing of the community. It is a site on which the developers who purchased the property are aiming to double the recommended intensification.

The community has rallied and done their democratic best. There have been countless meetings, letters and phone calls to councillors, media campaigns, flyers, discussion boards, web sites. And yet, at the end of the day, the private developers win.

The Mayor admitted in Council today that he has “never seen the number of public meetings held on one issue”. Yet he said this to praise the newly elected Councillor who has essentially abandoned the community in this fight (as if she were the one organizing all these meetings!) instead of to rightfully acknowledge that the reason there have been so many meetings is because the community is so opposed to this development.

People in our ward who have been lobbying the council to act in the best interest in the community have even been writing to say that we agree to a $97/year levy in our taxes for the next 10 years in order to pay for it. (This a figure city staffers come up with based on an appraisal which would have seen the city pay $11.5M for a portion of the property the developers bought for $12M.)

And yet, at City Hall today, Councillors voted not to purchase any part of the former convent site. Every inch is handed over to the developers. The city even accepted “cash-in-lieu of parkland” from the developer – to ‘invest in improving and expanding parkland” in our ward. Salt on a wound I tell you. Salt on a wound.

It’s nice to think that for the next few years I have will have the drone of construction to keep me and my young family company each day. And instead of a 100-year old willow and other towering trees across the street, soon we will have a tower of concrete and steel. Our loss, the developer's gain.

Learning with my daughter

These last few days I’ve been writing about broad issues like women’s rights, violence, equality. So perhaps for today I will bring my focus back in, back in to my little world which lately has been rather pre-occupied with how to cope with a new stage of toddlerhood.

In the last few weeks, my amazingly mild-tempered daughter has suddenly started dissolving into outbreaks of tears. Not just little tears. These are sobbing, heart-breaking tears. Distressing for her and for me.

I remember being told as a child, ‘if you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you something to cry about.’ I can understand where the frustration comes from that can make a parent say this – your child is crying inconsolably either because they are not allowed to do something or for some unknown, or (in our minds) trivial reason. For example, being told that wet boots can’t be worn in the house should not, logically, lead to a flood of tears.

But although I am unlikely to change my position on wet boots in the house, I can acknowledge my daughter’s frustration and tears, and try to help her experience all this in a way that isn’t quite so overwhelming and scary.

I talked to a woman whose advice on parenting and child raising I greatly respect. She assured me that what my daughter is going through is so normal at this age. She also talked about the importance of involving her in finding ways to cope with overwhelming emotions and engaging her in stories, songs and conversations about feelings like anger, frustration, grumpiness and sadness. She showed us a cute little book about a grumpy bird who walks out his frustration with his friends.

So M has a new favourite song now. We’ve taken ‘If you’re happy and you know it...’ and are making up our own verses. ‘If you’re angry and you know it,’ I start, then ask her what we could do. So far the best we’ve come up with saying, ‘I’m mad’.

For ‘If you’re sad and you know it’... we’ve come up with ‘have a cry’ and ‘have a cuddle’. We also go bananas when we’re crazy.

Toddler steps, learning together.

International Women's Day

Happy International Women’s Day!

Are you celebrating the women in your life today? Are you thinking of the women who have inspired you, nurtured you, challenged you? Are you aware of the women who have fought to make this world a better place, who are still fighting today?

This is the centennial anniversary of International Women’s Day (IWD), an internationally recognized celebration rooted in the centuries-old struggle of women to participate in society on an equal footing with men. Originally focused on universal suffrage, IWD has become a day to call for change and to celebrate women who have played a part in the history of women’s rights.

IWD is even an official holiday in many countries including Afghanistan, Cuba, Kazakhstan, Mongolia, Russia, Ukraine, Vietnam and Zambia. A friend in Burkina Faso, where it also a national holiday, reports that on this day husbands dress up in the wives clothes and go out to do the shopping while the women hang out and drink beer. Now that’s a holiday!

IWD is sadly not a national holiday here in Canada – although, as I write, my husband is out getting groceries and dinner (wearing his own clothes I will add). There is still plenty to celebrate. For all my cynicism and ranting, I know that I have so many advantages that women a generation ago did not have – and certainly advantages still unavailable to millions of women around the world.

I also can think of several women who have inspired me: writers Margaret Laurence, Jane Jacobs, Doris Lessing and Iris Murdoch, artist Frida Kahlo, Burmese leader Aung San Suu Kyi, women and children’s advocate Graca Machel (actually when I start thinking about women writers and thinkers who have inspired me I realize I could go on for a very long time). There are also many women who are breaking ground politically – Julia Gillard, Hillary Clinton, Angela Merkel – while I may not agree with all their positions or views, I cheer them on for the advances they are making for women and the paths they are breaking for others to follow.

(Next up, my husband wants me to write about “masculism”. He says it’s a very serious topic.)

Gender based violence

Tomorrow is International Women’s Day, described by the United Nations as a “day to celebrate acts of courage and determination by ordinary women who have played an extraordinary role in the history of women's rights.”

Tomorrow I will celebrate. But forgive me if for today I feel the need once more to point out how far we still have to go if we are truly to achieve gender equality. Because gender equality isn’t just about getting the right to vote, to get a job or to attend school, it’s should also be about keeping women and girls safe.

Of course men and boys need protection from violence too. We need to keep everyone safe, no matter their gender, age, race, vocation, etc. But sadly, it is women and girls who are disproportionately the victims of domestic, sexual, and gender based violence.

For example, in 2007-2008 in Ottawa, of the 2,440 domestic violence occurrences police responded to in which charges were laid or warrants sought, 89% of the charges were against men. In that same year, the Ottawa Police Victim Crisis Unit handled approximately 1,579 occurrences of men against women partner assault.

Again, 2007-2008, women between the ages of 26 and 35 were the largest group of women accessing shelters in Ottawa – shelters which provided safe housing for 544 women and 444 children in 2007, yet which had to turn away 3,281 women. In other words, for every one woman serviced by an Ottawa shelter, an average of six women are turned away.

These are just some statistics from here in Ottawa. I’m quite sure I would find similar grim statistics in other cities across the country.

I don’t need to lecture about the seriousness or pervasiveness of gender based violence – or point out that it is in no way limited to domestic and partner abuse. But it’s hard not to rant when I think about the women and children who are turned away each day from shelters, forced to go back to abusive situations because they have nowhere else to turn. Makes me think about how much we are failing as a society. How vastly we are neglecting to protect the most vulnerable among us.

Feminism - part IV

If you had asked me a few days ago if I think very much about feminism or women’s issues, I probably would have replied with a shrug. Like most people, I tend to get caught up in day-to-day activities and issues which I pressed in front of me.

But now that I’ve decided to write about women’s issues for a few days, I am reminded of so many aspects of this topic which tend to get pushed to the less frequently visited recesses of my mind – that is until something comes up to bring them to the forefront like the recent case in Manitoba I tried to blog about yesterday in my flu-y state (and have since edited).

Or I’ll sit down to watch a movie and find that women are portrayed as immature incompetents desperately in need of an alpha-male to take charge of their lives.

Or I’ll read a best-selling book such as Pillars of the Earth and be shocked at the blatant misogyny.

Or I’ll have a conversation with my women friends and realize that once again we are talking about the struggle of juggling jobs, child-raising, and housework.

Or I’ll open a newspaper and read about how women around the world are struggling for the right to education, to property, to family planning, to basic freedoms.

V made a good point when we were talking about this the other night. He asked if these are women’s rights or human rights. Hard to separate, really. Right to education, can easily say that’s a human right. But some of the other things that get my blood boiling, like misogyny in film and literature, is that a question of human rights or is that something in our culture, some pervasive disrespect of women?

To be honest, I have not found my life particularly hard ‘as a woman’. There are times I reap the benefits of being the ‘fairer sex’ – like when I breeze through international border crossings or have heavy things carried for me. But still, there are enough reminders out there that I should not become complacent or forget about the millions of women who struggle for basic human rights and human dignity.

Feminism - part III: Blame the victim

We tend to get complacent about women’s issues in Canada and feel that equality, while perhaps not achieved, is at least guaranteed under law. So it was surprising and disconcerting when a recent case in Manitoba showed such blatant discrimination against women.

In February, Justice Robert Dewar gave a conditional sentence to convicted rapist Kenneth Rhodes, describing him as a “clumsy Don Juan” who misinterpreted the signals of his victim – despite evidence that the forced intercourse and sexual assault resulted in significant bruising and permanent emotional and physical scars.

In sentencing, Dewar noted that the woman was wearing high heels, a tube top without a bra, and “plenty of make-up” which gave the impression to her rapist that she was ‘ready to party’ and that “sex was in the air”.

Rhodes pleaded not-guilty, saying he thought the sex was consensual (even though the victims claimed she was struggling and saying no). The judge rejected this defence – and yet still saw fit to blame the victim for her apparel and for her lack of judgement in getting in to the situation.

Not surprisingly, women’s and victim’s groups are irate and have been protesting outside the courthouse. Lorraine Parrington, who co-ordinates the sexual assault crisis program at Klinic, a community health centre in Winnipeg, told the CBC that Dewar's remarks show the need for more education about how women should be treated in sexual assault cases.

Fewer than 10 per cent of sexual assault cases are actually reported and Parrington worries Dewar's comments will discourage future victims from coming forward. "I'd like to say I was shocked. Unfortunately, I'm not after doing this work for lots of years," she said. "But I was appalled. I was outraged. I was disheartened."

“I hope they appeal [the sentence],” the victim told Winnipeg Free Press reporter Mike McIntyre.” I would like some justice. This is not real justice to me. It’s a slap on the wrist.” She said she has suffered severe psychological trauma from the attack, including trust issues with men and a fear of being alone.

Obviously the fight for women’s rights is not over yet, not when raped women are portrayed as having ‘asked for it’. Appalling.

Feminism - part II

Something I heard on the radio fuelled yesterday’s discussion/blog about feminism. I’ve decided to keep up the theme of women’s issues/feminism until International Women’s Day this coming Tuesday, March 8th – even though V warns me that this could alienate any male audience I have. I hope not.

CBC at least seems to be supportive of me blogging about such topics. It was their announcement about the upcoming ‘f-word’ documentary that got me on feminism in the first place. Then yesterday, not unrelated, feminism icon and author Germaine Greer was a guest on the radio show Q.

She had some very interesting comments about the state of feminism today (as well as on Sarah Palin), including a response to a question from Jian Ghomeshi about whether her understanding of feminism was based on equality.

“I’m not interested in equality,” she said. “I think it’s profoundly conservative to think that the best we can hope for is to be the same or on equal terms with men. That would be miserable. Women living as images of men in an unchanged world is not my idea at all.”

Does equality mean that women would be mirror images of men? I don’t think so. But then what exactly does equality mean?

I’m sure we’ve heard it before – different, but equal. But that’s easier said than done. As my conversation yesterday clearly showed, there is a perception that even if we live in a so-called equal society, our day to day lives are not equal.

“Most of the women I know are exhausted,” Greer said. “They’re running on empty. They’re doing everything. They have to earn a living because they can’t cover the family debts if they don’t, and they still feel morally responsible for the standard of their housekeeping and the state of their children and the general quality of daily life and it’s too hard. These women are reeling from exhaustion and then we expect them to remake the body politic. It’s too hard. We have got to find ways of reducing the work load of individual women.”

Greer solution is to rediscover sisterhood and collective, uncompetitive identity among women. Guessing there is more to it than that.

Feminism: Still relevant?

On CBC tonight, among the forthcoming programs announced was one addressing something to the effect of ‘Is feminism still relevant in 2011 or has it become the new ‘f’ word’. And so I posed the question to some young women friends: Is feminism still relevant to you?

‘I think it is. Women may no longer have the glass ceiling at work, but it’s still taboo for women not to do all the household duties. If men do the household work they get negative attention from their peers.’

‘There’s a double standard. I bought the house and my boyfriend moved in – we got all these comments about me being a ‘sugar momma’ – if he had bought the house we would have got none of this. Why is there this reverse sexism? I’m not happy with the situation – although I’m proud of myself at the same time.’

‘To be feminist to me is to be seen equal to a man, to have all the equal opportunities as a man – work-wise, politics. I don’t want to have to double-day, to work all day and then come home and work again. Even in the bridal magazines they warn women that your work load increases by 75% after you get married.’

‘I don’t think feminism is dead, but I think women still want to be wined and dined and all that. So there is a double standard. I still want men to hold doors open for me, but I want to be successful on my own and not have to compete twice as hard as a guy for my job.

‘At work, women in my age range don’t get hired because management assumes that soon as they make us permanent, we’ll go on mat leave.’

‘Yeah, I’ve been in a job where they seemed to skew hiring towards women who weren’t going to have a family.’

‘I think there is still a need for feminism, especially in 3rd world countries where women don’t have the privilege of going to school and there are still practices of female circumcision.’
‘I think feminism still needed, but it isn’t so straightforward – we want equality, but we also want that special treatment from men.’

Learning from victims of crime

I went to a panel discussion today which was looking at how victims of crime can be better served in the Canadian justice system. For the last couple of weeks I’ve been looking a lot at how offenders are treated – and mistreated – in the system. It was very interesting and informative to look at the other side of the story.

Although I actually don’t think it is the other side of the story. How offenders and victims are treated is so intertwined – they both become part of an adversarial process in which their actions and experiences become forced into various legal slots which fail to get to the real heart of what happened – to the human needs, the human suffering, the human relationships which were affected.

It was so clear today, in listening to this panel and the people in the audience, that victims of crime feel neglected, unheard and dismissed. The focus of our system is on placing blame and assigning punishment. It is not on actually addressing the needs of the people who have been damaged.

One panellist was pointing out that if the only way that victims feel heard, feel their pain has been acknowledged, is in what sentence is handed down – then that sentence can never be enough. He said if the sentence is manslaughter, the victims will feel it should have been 2nd degree murder; if the sentence is 2nd degree, the victim will want 1st. He said that in conversations with people working with victims in Texas, their satisfaction after a sentence of capital punishment was no greater.

Alternatively, research and stories have shown that when victims are involved in the process, feel empowered to make decisions and to be heart, the importance they place on the sentence is diminished.

As I keep seeing, as I keep learning, the answer to improving our justice system is not in longer sentences or more jails – this works for neither the offender nor the victim. It was stated repeatedly, in many different way, that victims need to be included in justice process, they need to be informed about what is happening and what services are available – essentially, they need to be respected.

2 down, 10 to go

So 2 months of blogging done. It’s becoming more of a routine – although V and I have noticed that it does eat in to our evenings and the small window of time the two of us have together. But it’s been fun, even if I still feel like I haven’t really found my blogging ‘voice’. But I’m enjoying the challenge of daily blogging and the 365 word-count. How obvious are the extra words I slip in to bring up the count sometimes?

And as I felt at the beginning of Feb, on a daily basis it doesn’t seem like a lot changes – but when I look back over a month I realize how much has. It’s great to have my thesis defence behind me – although I still have to fix those few typos and submit hard copies to the office. I’m also wrapping up a contract I’ve had with Foreign Affairs, on-and-off, for the last 3 years. Two chapters closing.

It’s been a steep learning curve with my new job, but as you can likely tell from the many blogs I’ve written about correctional issues, I’m very interested in the topics we’re addressing and really enjoying my research. Feeling very lucky. I’m getting in to the swing of my new routine, feeling official and professional as I register for a business number.

And after some hics in child-care arrangements, we have started a new shared care arrangement for M as of today which I’m feeling really good about. So things are working out. I’ve also managed to keep up with the almost-daily meditation and find it something I look forward to in my day. It’s still a challenge – especially when I go to group meditation where we sit for 45 minutes – but it has its own rewards too.

Winter is going out like a lion here in Ottawa. Yesterday we had a big, messy, beautiful dump of thick snow. Love watching the big snowflakes falling down and the brilliant white which blankets and transforms everything around us. But I’m also looking forward to spring, to puddle jumping with my daughter, to warmer weather and lighter clothes.

Thank you again to everyone who reads this blog.

Anita Inc.

As with my previous job, my current employment is as a contractor. And since it seems that this will be the state of affairs for an indefinite amount of time, I now find myself in the position of registering as a business and trying to quickly figure out all that this entails.

As a long-time freelancer, I am used to being self-employed. But this is the first time that I’ll be a formalized business where I have to do such things as charge HST on my invoices.

There are many people, of whom my husband is certainly one, who would not like to live with the uncertainty of being self-employed or being one’s own business. I admit that the lack of reliable income can be challenging – and this is where it really helps to have a partner with a fixed income. I am also lucky enough to get to take advantage of his benefits package.

But I love the flexibility of being self-employed. I like being able to juggle multiple contracts, even if it means that at times I feel pulled in all directions. I like that my hours aren't always the same, day in, day out. A 15-hour work day may be followed by a 3-hour day, or by a day of just hanging out with my daughter.

Of course, as I move on to this next step of setting up my own business, there are some details to work out and many things I need to learn. I hope to get in to our local entrepreneurship centre and get advice on some of the legal and accounting details.

I wonder about such things as my lack of a fixed physical place of work. Since my office became my daughter’s bedroom, I do my work on the living room couch, at the kitchen table, at the desk in the basement, at the café and at the office. Do I have to keep track of how long I’m at each place? Does it matter? What about my transportation there and back? What about work I do outside the ‘office’ – like attending a Standing Committee hearing or a community forum? All these details to figure out.

Ode to mail carriers

I have a new respect for mail carriers.

This weekend, V and I have been delivering flyers about the community effort to get the city to purchase a portion of the grounds of the former convent site for the creation/preservation of a public garden.

V and I took turns doing deliveries - sometimes accompanied by our daughter who would wait patiently in the stroller while we went up a mailbox and then came back to wheel her to the next house. Covering the few blocks we’d been assigned actually took a surprisingly long time – I guess I was imaging the distance of a city block, not the length of each person’s walkway and the delay of searching for mailboxes.

And this is what amazes me – in at least half a dozen houses I went to, there was no mailbox or mail-slot. Do these people not get mail? Does the mail carrier just drop letters on their doorstep? And is there a reason that people hide their mailboxes? In some instances I thought there was no mailbox, only to find it tucked against a porch pillar or between the screen and inner door. And so I realized that mail carriers don’t just deliver letters, they have to play hide and seek too.

Each winter (with this one being the exception) we get at least one ‘friendly reminder’ in our mailbox that our walk and steps need to be cleared of snow and ice. Last winter when I had a baby in my arms practically 24-7 I felt like posting a reply saying ‘I don’t mean to be inconsiderate. It’s just hard to shovel while breastfeeding’.

But now I have an appreciation for how dangerous it is to go up and down peoples walks and front steps. Very few people had cleared off the recent dusting of snow we had - meaning the ice underneath was hidden, but still treacherous. I didn’t fall, but came close a few times.

And so, having now experienced the mystery of hidden mailboxes and the danger of uncleared walks, I have a new admiration for mail carriers – and I promise to keep our mailbox in plain sight and our walkway cleared.

Looking back - Mali

Almost exactly 7 years ago I was getting ready to leave Mali after spending 6 months working in the capital and in a small village. I had mixed feelings about leaving – aware that Mali wasn’t and would never be home, but still conscious of what I was leaving behind.

I wrote: ‘Mali has come to feel more familiar than Canada – and yet I still notice things, like the men building bricks in the heat of the sun, the women balancing huge loads on their heads, the young girl sweeping the street in the early morning. But these things don’t feel strange – rather beautiful. I love all the activity here, know that I’ll miss that people live so closely together in Mali. On the bus yesterday I was sitting between 3 men, each of whom I was pressed against. In Canada that would have been so strange; we would have felt so aware of touching each other. Here it is not even noticed.’

I reflected on how I had changed, what I had learned. I called it the ‘patience of Africa’ – the ability to wait passively, to not stress about what needed to be done or where I needed to be. I have tried to so hard to hold on to that in these years I’ve been back in Canada. In my diary, I wrote about being unfazed when our bus had to stop for 5 hours in some small village because some U-shaped piece behind the rear wheel had to be replaced. ‘It was so hot that the water in my plastic water bottle was tea-temperature. I went and bought a tea bag and some sugar and made tea to the amusement of the Malians sitting around me. It was my own proof of how hot it was. And yet, despite the heat, waiting 5 hours really didn’t bother me that much – I didn’t really need to be anywhere else.’

Sometimes when my life gets overly busy and I find myself stressing about 15 minutes, I try to recall the mentality of patience in Africa, allowing time to pass without the need to count and measure each minute, and I regret our hurried lives.

Miya 'sings' the ABC song

So here is our 22-month old reciting the alphabet. We do not expect this film to receive any acknowledgment at tomorrow's Oscar awards for directing, editing or photography. But we do feel that M delivers a very strong performance in the role of a budding scholar and logophile.

She often 'sings' this song after she has been put down for a nap - we can hear her shouting out the letters. When she gets to the end - 'now I know my ABCs, next time won't you sing with me' - she mutters 'now-a-now' and then peters off in a bunch of indecipherable syllables.

Ode to our public library

I heard today on CBC’s Q that some libraries are moving away from the Dewey Decimal system and arranging their books more like a book store – under categories such as ‘in the news’ or ‘modern fiction’. Perhaps one day all libraries will be virtual and we will just log on to some site that allows us to download books or, in exceptional cases, to pick up a hard copy at some central location.

If such a day comes, I think it would be a real loss. M and I often go to the library on Fridays and our visits are about much more than simply getting something new to read.

Today I picked up a book I had requested that was waiting for me, saw a book on display that I’ve been curious about for some time – Lady Chatterley’s Lover – and grabbed it too. Then M and I went to the children’s section where we take off our coats and stay awhile. There are board puzzles to do, hand puppets (today she brought me a black dog, a zebra and a grey owl) , a rocking chair and couches to read on, tables to colour and puzzle at... all in all a fantastic place to spend some time on a Friday afternoon.

M is very much into her alphabet these days – she can identify all the letters and recite the whole alphabet (although LMNO is rather garbled). So it isn’t surprising that second to books on penguins, she is most interested in books on the alphabet. And so my 22-month old knows that A is for anhinga (and yes, she can identify the bird), anteater, aardvark, alligator and apple (of course). I could go on. The vocabulary she is acquiring through all these alphabet books is quite impressive (i.e. gallinule, hummingbird, newt, flamingo).

It’s been fun rediscovering the public library with my daughter. Sure, I’ve used the library for years – taking out occasional books of fiction, knitting or home improvement guides. But it was usually pretty much in and out.

Now we spend time at the library. I talk with other patrons. I chat with the librarians. It’s becoming a valuable part of my community.

Convent Garden

Across the street from our front door is a public bike/pedestrian path bordered by grass and trees. On the other side of this pathway is a wall, a wall which for many years enclosed a cloistered community of nuns: the Monastery of the Soeurs de la Visitation.

Last year, the 100-year old convent was sold and the property was bought by a developing company. Despite having bid on the property under the guidelines specified in a Community Design Plan and the city’s zoning laws, once acquiring the property the developers made it clear they were doing their own thing.

They have proposed a densely packed conglomeration of condos, retail and hotels that completely disregard the needs, interests and infrastructure of the community. Where the city said 6 stories at the front, they say 9. Where the city said 4 stories at the back (facing our home) they say 6. Where the city said 300 units, they aim for over 600.

Yes, I know – some will say this is the price we pay for living in a popular neighbourhood like Westboro. People will say that we’re all a bunch of NIMBYs (although in our case, we’d be NIMFYs) and that we want urban development, but not in our community.

I’m all for urban development. But I’m also for democracy and community rights. I am furious that a private company can completely disregard community and municipal guidelines in order to milk extra profits off a piece of land. The potential impacts of this development are huge and yet despite all the community meetings, protests, apperances at City Hall, letters, petitions, etc – it seems private companies get to trump citizen rights.

However, there is a ray of hope in this grim tale of corporate greed. A proposal has been brought forth that asks the city to purchase the back portion of the property and make a public ornamental garden that would be connected to the public pathway. The community around would subsidize this purchase through increased property taxes.

What is needed now is that the people from all across the city step forward to support this idea. If you live in Ottawa, please help. More info at conventgarden.ca

email to the Parole Board of Canada

As I’ve blogged about before, the Conservative government is moving to increase the length of time before which criminal offenders who have served their sentence can apply for pardon. They are also radically increasing the fee which applicants will have to pay.

However, Canadian law mandates public consultation on changes to public fees – including the fee for pardon application. So the Parole Board of Canada is currently seeking public input on the proposed fee increase – it was $50 last year, was increased to $150 in December and now is proposed to be $631.

I believe that this decision which will make it much more difficult for former offenders to lead full and productive lives as members of society. If you happen to agree or have any concerns or comments with this bill, you have until Feb 27 (this Sunday) to have them included in this public consultation.

You can email the Parole Board of Canada at consultations@pbc-clcc.gc.ca.

As an example:

To the Parole Board of Canada,

I am writing to express my concern about the proposed increase to the pardon application fee.

Since 1970, more than 400,000 Canadians have received pardons, 96% of which are still in force – meaning the recipients remain crime-free within their communities. Why is the government impeding a process with this level of success? There is no evidence that this fee increase will in any way make our communities safer.

The people most affected by this proposed increase are disproportionately poor, disadvantaged, and marginalized. The proposed $631 fee is very likely to be far beyond their means.

Without a pardon, a person’s chance of finding decent work is extremely limited – and we know that lack of employment is very highly correlated with the likelihood to re-offend. Unpardoned, they continue to live with stigma and oppression, exacerbating such things as low self-esteem and social isolation. Unpardoned, they are more likely to remain on welfare or return to criminal activity, both of which are a far greater cost to citizens and communities than that of subsidizing the cost of processing pardons.

As a concerned Canadian citizen, I sincerely appeal to the Parole Board of Canada to not raise the fee for pardon application.

another day at the cafe office

I was back at my café office today. The plan had been that with our nanny would be shared with another family and care would be at their home – thus allowing me to work from home. However, that arrangement has fallen through so I once again find myself spending my days at the café while the nanny looks after M at home.

Sometimes it is rather inconvenient – hauling my computer over and making sure I remember to bring any necessary files. And as much as I love coffee, I usually max out after 2 cups – but the wireless system is such that clients need a temporary pass which is only valid for an hour (although some days it lasts for much longer through some random blip in the system). This means that on days I have to be doing a lot of email correspondence or web research, I am obligated to make a purchase almost every hour in order to maintain my internet access. And like I said, there is only so much coffee I can drink in a day.

But despite these inconveniences, I do enjoy the social aspect of working in a café. There are the other regulars I chat with and lots of people watching to do. I can’t help overhearing conversations happening around me – sometimes they are rather banal or annoying and I have to work to tune them out. Other times they are so interesting that I have to work to not let on I’m listening.

Today there was a young man talking with a woman who seemed to be some sort of social worker. It seems he had lost all his ID and citizenship papers. The woman was helping him fill out some forms and was sympathetically talking to him about his life, his interest and talent in art, his social isolation. I’d find my attention often drifting over to their conversation and to thoughts about what it would be like to have no identity cards, no proof of my citizenship and all the privileges which citizenship entails. I think of what a privileged world I live in – and the access to it I so often take for granted.

Playing for Change

We had friends visiting over the weekend. They were amusing M with some videos on youtube – one of which was ‘Don’t Worry’ from the Playing for Change project. It shows musicians from around the world – France, the Congo, Nepal, India, Israel, the Netherlands, and South Africa – collaborating together. The video is filmed outdoors in these locations and it was beautiful to see all these different singers in so many places.

Soon I was looking for more videos. M has two ear infections so she is quite fragile and spending a whole lot of time just sitting on my lap these last few days, so together we watched artists from around the world singing other songs like Bob Marley’s ‘War/No more Trouble’ and ‘One Love’. She seems to like it well enough. I’m loving it.

And so, by the end of this long weekend, I’ve now purchased a ‘Playing for Change’ audio/video album off iTunes and have been learning more about the organization behind all this. Seems that what started as some documentary filmmakers making a film about street music turned into a “global sensation ... including musicians of every level of renown, that has touched the lives of millions of people around the world.”

Playing for Change not only continues to make very cool music, they also build programs which bring music education into the poorest corners of the world, motivated by “the fundamental idea that peace and change are possible through the universal language of music.”

I’m always a sucker for collective movements working for peace, but what makes this project resonate with me even more personally is that of the 7 programs up and running, 3 are in Nepal – the country of my childhood - and 1 is in Mali – a country I have worked in. Watching the videos of the programs set up in these countries is quite touching.

As Mahamadou Diabaté, a Malian griot who has spearheaded a project to build a music school for youth in Kirina, Mali, explains in one of the videos: the goal of project Playing for Change is to build a great family through music to bring peace. Here where politicians have failed, music will always advance.

It's late - rewritten on request for 'more action'

It is late in the evening. A group of conspirators meets over whiskey and cigarettes. All have drinks. A game of poker was played. L won V’s car. The evening is winding down.

A dog enters the room and bites V. V curses. R grins.

R: What do dogs think about elevators? You walk into a machine. The doors close. The doors open. The entire world changes.
V: That is pretty much the same experience I had at this morning. I walked into the elevator, the doors opened and a Russian spy stepped in. He pointed a gun at me. For a moment my entire world changed.
R: Most of the close buttons don’t work anymore. They’ve been disabled.
V: Some do. Some do.

R exits stage right.
Off stage a muted argument is heard between R and L. A door slams.
Enter L from the stage left.

V to L: By the way, don’t say anything. She will just transcribe what you say and post in on the internet.
L spots a box of cigars in the corner
L: Ooh, Cubans!
V: Yes, I use them for my nerves.
L: Exactly.
L snips a cigar and lights it. V checks what his wife is doing.
V: This is the second lamest blog I’ve ever seen. Look, she’s doing it.
L: I don’t think it should count then.

L continues to smoke, breathing deeply. The sounds of R storming around the basement and V counting poker chips can be heard in the background. The dog enters and growls at the smoke from L’s cigar.

L: Seriously?

V enters.

V: I could throw the cat at the dog... your blogs always make me sound like a crazy person. Someday I'll stop talking. Then you’ll be sorry.
L: I think we should cut off her fingers.
R: I’m going to bed.
V: Don’t think you can get away that easily.
R drops a towel in L’s lap and leaps through the window.

Silence.

L: Now you have to say something profound.

V looks askance at the women on the couch, slowly draws his fingers across his neck in a gruesome gesture. He exits.

The women sob quietly.

It's late

It is late in the evening. A group of friends has had dinner, some had drinks, some ate dessert. A game of Carcassone was played. R won. The evening is winding down.

A dog enters the room and chases its tail, then looks expectantly at the people present.

R: “What do dogs think about elevators? You walk into a machine. The doors close. The doors open. The entire world changes.”
V: “That is pretty much the same experience M had at the museum this morning. She walked into the elevator, the doors open on another floor. She has no concept of that.”
R: “Most of the close buttons don’t work anymore. They’ve been disabled.”
V: “Some do. Some do.”
R: “Insightful.”

R exits stage right.
Off stage a muted conversation is heard between R and L. Quiet laughter.
Enter L from the stage left.

V to L: “By the way, don’t say anything. She will just transcribe what you say and post in on the internet.”
L spots a foam roller in the corner L: “Ooh, foam roller”
V: “Yes, I use it for my IT band.”
L: “Exactly.”
L uses the foam roller to stretch. V checks what his wife is doing.
V: “This is the lamest blog I’ve ever seen. Look, she’s doing it.”
L: “I don’t think it should count then.”

L continues to stretch – shoulder shrugs, neck tilts, deep breaths. The sounds of R brushing his teeth and V cleaning the kitchen can be heard in the background. The dog enters and is knocked on the head by L stretching.

L: Seriously?

V enters.

V: I could throw the cat at the dog... your blogs always make me sound like a crazy person. Someday I'll stop talking. Then you’ll be sorry.
L: I think we should leave her at 363 words.
R: I’m going to bed.
V: That is the safest course of action.
R drops a towel in L’s lap and exits.

L: Wouldn’t it be ‘leaves the room?’ that’s more words.

Silence.

L: Now you have to say something profound.

V enters. Looks askance at the women on the couch. Seals lips together and exits.

A quiet conversation begins.

Books: The Flight from the Enchanter

Finished Iris Murdoch’s The Flight from the Enchanter last night. This was her second novel, published in 1956 when she was roughly my age now. As always, I find her descriptions of relationships fascinating and her characters intriguing. However, this isn’t one of her better books and the plot was disjointed, the characters a little too enigmatic to be able to fully enjoy.

The Times Literary Supplement said about this book: “Most readers will probably find something in The Flight from the Enchanter to amuse or interest them, yet few possibly will have any great feeling of satisfaction when they put it down.” That expresses quite well how I feel.

Typical of Murdoch’s novels, The Enchanter tells several overlapping stories. There is one character, Misha Fox, which I assume is the enchanter – but while his behind-the-scenes manipulation was suggested at throughout the novel, frustratingly the extent of his influence was never actually revealed.

Another central character is a woman named Rosa who leads a tangled life which includes complex relationships with illegal Polish immigrants, the dominating Misha Fox, a spineless brother and a flighty boarder. There is also a plot line around an old feminist magazine which is run by her brother but threatened by Fox. The most broadly entertaining part of the novel was when the founding ladies of the magazine, now grey-haired and hard of hearing, arrive at an annual meeting to prevent the magazine from being sold – a meeting which descends into scrimmages over champagne and tea yet manages to save the journal.

There are various other characters who get more or less developed as the book goes by. It almost feels at times as if Murdoch was never quite sure where to go with this. Perhaps she invented for herself such a colourful, populated world that she could not figure a way to leave anything or anyone out. But ultimately, this weakens the novel as the story meanders and finally peters out, leaving the reader with the dangling threads of unanswered questions.

Yet despite this negative review, I still enjoyed the book. Murdoch’s characters are so far from two-dimensional – it is no wonder that they often slip out from her grasp.

Defended!

So the defence went as well as it could. I had about 10 minutes to present my thesis. I was asked questions by the two members of my committee. For all the formality of the defence, the questioning was quite informal – more like a discussion than a firing squad.

The funny part was that I forgot to invite people to this defence. So it if hadn’t been for a friend who happened to be in town, and who V happened to think about inviting this morning, V would have been the only person at my defence who as not required to be there. It was strange to be in a large room set up with seating for about 20 and have only 2 guests. But this added to the informality and ease of it all.

It almost seemed like we should have been doing the whole thing over coffee – with such a small gathering (8 people in total), it seemed odd to be seated alone at a table facing a practically empty room.

After all the questions my committee left the room for about 10 minutes. When they came back, the chair announced that my thesis was accepted without revisions, given the highest mark, recommended for a prize and for publication. This doesn’t mean that I will get a prize or get published, just that they recommend it. Feels very good.

And as you can see from the photo, there was quite the spread laid out – fruit and cheese platters, crackers and 3 bottles of wine! Everyone sampled and sipped a little as we stood around talking afterward. But given that it wasn’t yet noon, we were all quite restrained.

Afterward V and I went for a lovely lunch at Domus, where it was nice to see old co-workers and my former manager – and to enjoy the complimentary glasses of bubbly sent to our table. I think over lunch it was finally sinking in that I really did get the best outcome I could have hoped for with my thesis. After all this time, it was a very nice way to finish.

But now I must say I mostly feel tired. Heading off to bed.

Prepping for my defence

So tomorrow I defend my thesis. It’s been such a whirlwind with my new job that I have not had the time to prepare as I would have expected to.

But today I think I have managed to get the important things done: I bought a new top to wear and got a hair cut (not thrilled about it, but at least I don’t look quite so shaggy). Oh yes, I also prepared my speaking notes and a hand-out for people who will attend (and who might they be? I have no idea – apart from knowing that my committee and my husband will be there. Perhaps that will be it.)

I’ve also spent some time preparing answers to the questions I’d been given in advance. I wonder if by having the questions beforehand the expectations are going to be higher. It’s like a take-home exam versus an in-class one. I remember when I naively thought that a take-home would be less work – until I realized that I ended up writing an exam for 20 hours as opposed to 3. Now I say give me an in-class exam any day, although I do apologize for my handwriting which after two hours becomes an illegible scrawl.

So do I feel ready for tomorrow? I guess so. Don’t really have a choice, which is probably just as well. Sometimes I find that the less time I have to prepare, the less time I have to be nervous. I used to get so nervous about giving presentations when I was an undergrad – then I discovered that if I reached a certain point of stress , I would care more about simply getting it done than about how I would do. This would get rid of my nervousness (no time for such foolishness!) and I would actually end up doing better on my presentation. Fight of flight.

And so it is just as well that I go in to tomorrow with only a modicum of preparation. But on the other hand, I have now been researching this topic for 3 years and I am quite sure that I will know it better than anyone who will be in that room.

Bill C-23B - part II

Yesterday I wrote about how Bill C-23B, a piece of legislation on the table, aims at extending the length of time before which offenders can receive pardon. I said that I would explain today how such legislation could actually make communities less safe.

First, to be clear, pardons do not mean that people’s criminal records are erased, but that the information is removed from public record so as to improve their chances of obtaining employment and reintegrating into society. For example, a pardon ensures that a sexual offender's criminal record doesn't show up on checks of the Canadian Police Information Centre, unless the offender applies for a job involving children, the disabled or any vulnerable group of people.

Pardons can only be applied for after the expiry of a sentence, which means people have paid all restitution orders, served all of their time and satisfied their probation orders. Since 1970, more than 400,000 Canadians have received pardons, 96% of which are still in force – meaning the recipients remain crime-free within their communities.

But the government is proposing to extensively lengthen the amount time before which people can apply for pardons – to 5 from 3 years for summary conviction crimes, and to 10 from 5 years for more serious indictable offences, such as manslaughter

And in addition to delaying pardons, the cost of applying for pardons will increase to $631. Only 2 months ago they already bumped the price to $150 from $50. This may not seem like a lot of money too most, but to people who have been unable to find real work due to their criminal records, this could be an insurmountable obstacle.

Because without a pardon – in other words with a criminal record – a person’s chance of finding decent work is extremely limited. And lack of employment is very highly correlated with likelihood to re-offend. Unpardoned, people also continue to live with stigma and oppression, exacerbating such things as low self-esteem and social isolation which further contribute to anti-social behaviour.

So essentially, by making it harder for people to obtain pardons, the government is increasingly the chances that they will commit more crime – in other words, actually threatening the safety of communities.

Bill C-23B - Proposed changes to Canada's pardon system

I spent much of the day researching a piece of legislation currently on the table in Parliament. Given that it’s been a long day (including a few hours observing the Standing Committee on Justice and Human Rights on Parliament Hill), I’m going to turn these notes into a blog. And as a warning, I’m likely to only become more interested in issues of criminal justice and so there will be more blogs about topics such as this. This blog will also be divided into two parts – with more to follow tomorrow.

On June 17 of last year, the House of Commons split Bill C-23 (An Act to amend the Criminal Records Act) into 2 new bills - C-23A and C-23B. Bill C-23A was passed quickly without much debate – pushed through because Karla Homolka, having completed a 12-year manslaughter sentence, would have been eligible for parole under the old legislation and the government used her example to push for legislative changes. It essentially allows the National Parole Board to “deny any pardon that would bring the system into disrepute”.

The second part of the bill – C-23B: Eliminating Pardons for Serious Crimes Act, is currently before the house. It addresses the remaining aspects of Bill C-23 with such things as substituting the term “record suspension” for “pardon” and extending the period of ineligibility for a record suspension to five years from three for summary conviction crimes, and to 10 years from five for more serious indictable offences such as manslaughter. It also makes those convicted of sexual offences against minors and those who have been convicted of more than three indictable offences as ineligible for a record suspension.

And as with the other current ‘tough on crime’ legislation initiated by the Tories, there is no evidence that this Bill will result in gains to public safety or that it will further the objective of protecting victims. Instead, it’s been described by Kim Pate, executive director of the Canadian Association of Elizabeth Fry Societies, as “yet another sad and sorry attempt to inflame, rather than to inform, the public.”

Tomorrow, I will offer more information about why such legislation is actually counter to efforts to build safer communities.

Dinner out at Fraser Cafe

We had dinner last night at Fraser Café, a fantastic restaurant in New Endingburgh. I know the owner-chefs from back when they were working at another of Ottawa’s great slow-food restaurants, Domus, and I was bartending there. Around here, we’re big fans of their cooking.

They opened a new restaurant not too long ago, a bigger space than their old place. It has a nice layout in that the space is semi-divided into parallel rooms, and an open kitchen toward the back. A nice buzz, warm atmosphere, funky lighting. All-in-all a great vibe.

The menu changes frequently but always includes a ‘kitchen’s choice’ which is a blind option. One of our friends couldn’t resist leaving his whole meal to the chef’s whim. He described his appetizer – pan-seared tuna with fried risotto and smoked tomato with truffle oil sauce, and some wild mushrooms – as “extraordinary” and “out of this world” (once again I’m shamelessly using my friends to help blog). His main – pork done two ways – was also deemed good, although admitted to be over-shadowed by the appetizer.

“I started the evening with a fantastic martini, that definitely helped things out,” said his wife. She was wowed by the ambiance and the service, adding that the food was fantastic all night. She had the kitchen’s choice Cesar salad with pork-belly bacon and shrimp. For her main she had a duck which was “done to perfection” – although she regretted not discovering the cranberry sauce till half-way through, which apparently just added to the fantastic combination of flavours on her plate.

“Really didn’t need to follow it up with rice pudding,” she noted, “which was just another layer of richness.”

V and I also had fantastic meals. His app was a thick fish cake with smoked trout crème-fraiche and a kitchen’s choice main – lamb with a curry cream sauce. I had a tomato, cucumber, olive and goat’s cheese, a main of salmon in a miso sauce with bok choy and wild mushrooms. Delicious. And mine was the kind of meal that was filling without being too much – like my perfectly balanced dessert – a nutty chocolate brownie that was satisfyingly rich, but not too sweet.

Compliments to the chef!

Rideau canal

For living in Ottawa and being not too far from ‘the world’s largest outdoor skating rink’, it’s sad to admit that we hadn’t been out on the canal yet this winter. But since friends are visiting from out of town this weekend, it was a good excuse to get out there this afternoon.

But the weather was deceptive today. Although the temperature read only -4˚, there was a strong wind blowing that made it feel much colder. The wind was so strong in fact that our friends on skates could just spread their arms at times and be pushed along by the wind. But despite the blustery wind, it was fun to be out on the canal in the middle of all the skaters – although V and I chose to stick to the safety of our boots since neither of us is too stable on skates. M was strapped into a little toboggan we pulled along.

Our friends donned skates and weaved around us, circling back to find us trudging along the side. A couple times they would take Miya for an extra-fast dash along the ice.

“I look forward to skating it every year,” said out-of town friend, T, “beside visiting our best friends in Ottawa, the Rideau's my favourite reason to come to Ottawa in the winter. I’m a better skater than I ever was before and that adds to the enjoyment.

“One of my favourite things about skating the Rideau is looking at the type of skates people have,” like the old beat up hockey skates, the speed skates, the longer skates that look like cross-country ski-skates.

“Sitting by the fire was a nice way to finish up a long day in the fresh air,” she added, “and beavertails are always good.”

“Some day I think it would be very cool to throw a curling rock the length of the canal,” said her husband, although admitting that it would take several throws, musing that a 100-ft throw would be a good one, and we’re looking at 7.8 km. My concern is the other skaters who would not appreciate being taken down by a 40-lb rock, but these things could be worked out.

Fridays with my daughter

Since shortly after Christmas I have spent nearly every day, all day, with my daughter. Until this week, that is, which has been a bit of a transition. While I’m very excited about my new job and enjoying the opportunity to be back at work, I find myself missing Miya a lot more than I had expected.

So I look forward to Fridays, my one-on-one day with my little girl.

We have a very busy morning, starting with gymnastics at 9:15 (we are almost always a few minutes late). Most of the class is little circuits in various parts of the large gym area – things like walking along balance beam of various heights, hanging from the rings, climbing, crawling, jumping. The instructor will assist kids through movements like somersaults on the beam or over the bar. She had M doing headstands and backbends today. M is really good about letting the instructor flip her around, although she gets a very serious expression at the time.

After gymnastics, it’s straight from there to the senior’s centre where we spend an hour visiting and playing. M was fantastic today – she had wanted to bring along her WWF orangutan this morning and she was proudly showing it off to the seniors. I’d suggest a resident she could show it to and she’d run over and put the furry little orangutan in their hands or on their lap. Sometimes they would dozing off and wake to find a little person thrusting a bright orange animal at them. But they always responded with joy. She’d sometimes let them hold it for a few seconds, then she’d take it back and come running back to me. I’d point out someone else in the room who might like to see it, and she’d head off. Very cute.

After our visit, we head back home for lunch and nap. Then in the afternoon we’ll go out and do some errands – probably going to pick up Valentine’s cards today since she loves decorating cards. Colouring and putting stickers on cards for her friends will likely easily fill up the rest of our afternoon.

Time goes quickly when we’re having fun with someone we love.

The Dater/Sitter Co-op

Parents of young children don’t get many opportunities to go on dates. If we pay for childcare during the day, we aren’t too likely to want to pay again in the evening – especially if you know that all the person will be doing is sitting watching a movie or reading a book while your child sleeps soundly in the other room.

And so I’ve come up with a plan. I call it the Dater/Sitter Co-op. Here’s how it works.
Ideally we would have 6 or 8 families who live in the same neighbourhood and who know and trust each other to be in our homes and look after our children. Contact information would be exchanged among members.

The group would be divided, by couples, into two pools – Daters and Sitters. (Initial division could be random or by first-come-first-serve). The distribution in these pools would be indicated on a website – and updated through member log-in/management.

When any couple in the Dater pool would like an evening out, they can send a request to the people in the Sitter pool. Someone from the Sitter pool who is available and willing to sit will let the Daters know and the details can be worked out between them. Obviously, the assumption will be that Daters will not abuse the system – the idea is that parents can go out for dinner or drinks, not all-night raves.

Once a Dater/Sitter pair has come to an agreement, they switch pools. The Dater couple is now in the Sitter pool, the Sitter couple are now Daters.

An understanding could be that if Daters cancel arranged plans, they still have to switch pools with the Sitter couple – but if the Sitter couple cancels plans, they have to go back to the Sitter pool and the Daters go back to the Dater pool.

The goal of this system is to remove some of the hassle in finding babysitting so as to have the occasional evening out. This would also remove the guilt of asking friends to watch your kids. By asking people in the Sitter pool if they want to sit, you give them an opportunity to move to the Dater pool.

So, anyone interested?

Forum for Criminalized Women

As part of my new job, I spent the afternoon at a community forum on criminalized women. This is a subject on which my knowledge has been only marginal, but I’m now getting a chance to sink into it. What I am discovering is quite sobering and disconcerting.

For example, women are the fastest growing prison population not only in Canada, but worldwide. Of the over 1,000 women in Canadian federal institutions, almost a third have a self-identified mental health disorder, the vast majority are poor and under-educated, and over 85% were abused.

If this begins to paint a picture for you of the type of women behind bars in Canada, add to it that over a third are Aboriginal and two thirds are mothers.

Further, almost half of the crimes that they have committed are crimes of property – such as theft and shop lifting. The majority of women charged with assault or murder were acting against an abuser of themselves or of their children. And over 70% of women who are sent back to prison are re-incarcerated because of a technical offense, such as failing to fulfill a parole requirement.

Are these women such threats to their community that they must be locked up for months or even years far from their families and support networks? Because there are such fewer women prisoners then men, there are also fewer prisons, half-way houses, services, etc. – meaning inmates can be thousands of kilometres away from home and support.

Across the board, research shows that offenders are better able to reintegrate into society and less likely to reoffend if they have community support. Yet repeatedly in the discussion today we heard how there is a lack of support within the community, a lack of funded and available programs.

Our government is moving to build more prisons, extend prison sentences and impose more mandatory sentences – none of these things have been shown to deter crime or lower rates of re-offending and none of these things will give criminalized women what they most need – which, as one speaker put it, is support, respect, meaning, healing and connection.

I’m just new to all this. But I’m getting fired up already.

thesis defence

The date for my thesis defence has been scheduled. Feb 17th, 10:30 a.m.

I have only 15 minutes to present my thesis – which is 158 pages long. I then have 10 minutes with each of the two professors on my committee to answer their questions. Oddly, in this program the committee emails the questions in advance. So I have the pleasure of knowing that I will be asked such things as:

- What do you think we gain from typologies/efforts to categorize social phenomena? What do we lose/what risks are posed by efforts to categorize?
- You state: “I am not suggesting that [the actors] are ‘evil’ perpetrators’ of violence, but rather that they are social actors responding to, and shaping, their physical, social, economic and political environment.” By excluding concepts like “evil” and “primeval” what do we gain? What is lost if we do exclude them?
- Does your viewpoint have an ideological blind spot?
- How would you categorize complex cases such as Hamas in Gaza City, Islamic Courts Union/Al Shabaab in Mogadishu?

Again, I have 10 minutes to address these and other questions. I am actually expected to do this? Can I talk so fast that they hear only a blur of words and assume that I have presented a satisfactory argument? What would happen if I said, “That is a very good question. If I were writing a doctoral dissertation, I would like to address it. However, I have presented a master’s thesis that is already 50% over-length and thus I do not feel that I have the scope to develop my material in the direction you suggest.”

Oh, and then there is round two – questions for which are not pre-disclosed. But I only have 5 minutes to answer them. Perhaps they will ask how my theory of organized urban violence applies to the recent political unrest in Cairo. That is something appropriate for a 5 minute answer.

Luckily, because my university used to be a seminary where the sacrements could be given anywhere on campus, each room is licensed to serve alcohol. Apparently the college provides a bottle of wine for a post-defence toast. I think I will need it.

Camel ride

Tired of Canadian winters, Miya recently hitched a camel ride to head for warmer climes.

Originally destined for Egypt, recent political turmoil deterred them, so she and her traveling companion were forced to remain within the Children's Museum.

This is likely just as well. Neither of them held a valid passport and we suspect that the money she carried was a forgery.

Top 10 Places: Northern Saskatchewan lakes

So far, all my top 10 places have been cities. I’m not a particularly an urban girl, so it seems odd to me that I’ve chosen only urban centres. And so, to end this series I’m not choosing a place that can be so clearly pinpointed on a map. I’m going off road – on to the water.

I first discovered northern Saskatchewan lakes as a kid when our parents sent my sister and me to camp. We did the usual summer camp things, like sit around bonfires and learn to canoe. I fell in love with being on and in the water, so different from a pool or the salty, tumultuous ocean.

Over the years, I would return to northern lakes as camper and counsellor. I not only learned how to canoe, roll a kayak and drop a ski, I also learned how to scare away bears that roamed into camp. I once told my young campers that bears don’t swim, only to have a big brown bear paddling around by our cabin the very next morning.

Later I became a certified canoe instructor and taught lessons to various groups, including a bunch of Thai exchange students who, as it became clear once they were on the water, understood little of what I had said. For a few summers I was part of a team that took Saskatoon street youth up north to canoe and camp. We paddled the rivers, built shelters, sat around campfires and gave the kids a break from their daily struggles on the street.

I was also once one of the leaders on a canoe expedition in northern Saskatchewan that nearly ended in disaster as we faced hypothermia, broken bones, lightening strikes - as well as running out of food rations.

For each of these trips I could tell endless stories – and those who know me have probably heard a few of them. But it’s more than all that. It’s the beauty of the northern lights, the pristine clear waters, the rich silence of the forest, the call of the loon. It’s night-swimming in the path of moonlight dancing on the lake’s surface. This is the magic of northern Saskatchewan lakes.

Top 10 Places: Barcelona

I visited Barcelona in 2004 following my second pilgrimage to Compostelle. On that trip I became good friends with a girl from Girona in the eastern coastal region of Spain. She invited me to come and visit her, so after completing the pilgrimage I took the train to Barcelona where I stayed for a few days before travelling on to her village.

In my typical fashion, I arrived without knowing where I would stay or what I would do. I simply wanted to discover the city. I ended up finding an under-the-table hostel in some seedy part of town that was run by a group of pot-smoking hippies who didn’t charge too much for beds in a communal room filled with bunks. It suited my budget and tastes just fine. One of the hosts even gave me directions to a used clothing store (not as common in Spain as in Canada) where I was able to get a few things to expand my paltry pilgrim wardrobe.

One of my favourite discoveries in Barcelona was the Sagrada Familia, an amazing church designed by Spanish architect, Antoni Gaudi. Construction of this unique and ambitious basilica began in 1882 but is still incomplete. I don’t understand all the intricacies and challenges of its construction, but I know that Gaudi’s design of the interior columns was unique and based upon his study of plants and nature – not upon the typically geometric calculations commonly used in architecture.

His unique designs, as well as the detailed facades outside the building, were absolutely breathtaking. By the time I came to the Sagrada Familia I had been to more than my share of churches and cathedrals along the pilgrimage trail. Many seemed cold and dead to me. This church was magical.

Really, it was Gaudi that made Barcelona for me. It wasn’t just his church, there were various buildings of his scattered around town as well as the Park Guell, a beautiful public park/garden filled with his unique architecture and mosaic patterns. I’d never paid much attention to architecture before or had a real affinity to on architect. But Gaudi artistic, organic and magical works inspired me as I would never have expected.

Uncovered poetry

Some days I just can’t come up with something new to write. And so I turn back to old writings - there are so many of them. Boxes of diaries. Scraps of poetry. Letters unsent. Fiction unfinished.

So for today, here are two poems uncovered in old files.

Overgrown
Distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Or perhaps it just grows,
sprouting wild shoots that crop up like dandelions
in your carefully groomed backyard.
One morning you wake to find your heart a dense forest of undergrowth,
tropical flowering vines spanning the continent.

So you follow the vines across the miles
to see if they bear fruit. Arrive with a wavering smile,
cupping your dirty hands around your heart.
But tendrils creep between your fingers,
trip you when you step off the plane.

If he is surprised by your leafy appearance, he doesn’t say
but kisses you quickly and leads you away.
Carelessly stepping on a fallen frond.

He had tried to warn you that tropical vines won’t grow in this climate
and he looks at you with disapproval and pity
when you undress and reveal your budding body.
You believe, you believe that once he tastes their nectar
he will plant you in his yard to drink from you each day.

His forage into the forest is cautious,
like an explorer in new land.
He is astonished; he is pleased.
He grins like Adam when he first sees Eve
and he grasps your colorful petals in his pale hands and caresses each stem.

But soon you notice your leaves begin to fall,
the flowers droop and the tendrils stall in creeping
to hang limply along your thighs.

Foolish, foolish, we’ve all be foolish.
Pick up your dead leaves and broken vines
and return to your own earth.
Wait till spring and plant a garden
outside your window, not outside your berth.


Falling Angels
Better the angel you know
even if fallen angel is.
Your mother’s voice is a reminder
of a broken adage,
a needle through your thoughts
trailing scarlet thread.
The cliff of indecision is your to stand on
and fall from.
A cloud of distracted wisdom
the flimsy net to catch your fall.

Top 10 Places: Bangalore

As I’ve been writing about these top 10 places, I have picked places that I’ve known as an adult. As a child I was lucky enough to visit places such as Hong Kong, Shanghai, Calcutta, Sydney and Christchurch. I grew up in Nepal, living for the last year in Kathmandu –probably one of the most interesting places I’ve ever lived in. But it’s hard to write about a place that I knew so distantly and in a childlike way.

So it is that when I think about cities in Asia to include in my top 10, I am going to talk about Bangalore and not the many other places I visited as a child.

My husband’s family is from this state capital in south-central India. In 2008, V and I visited his extended family there, timing our visit in order to attend weddings of two different cousins. It was a whirlwind of meetings with relatives and taking part in the many and lengthy marriage celebrations. I blogged about this trip a few years ago.

As I noted then, the trip for me was an odd combination of new and familiar. I had never been to Bangalore before, but so many things reminded me of my childhood in Nepal and India – the open markets, customs, food and clothes... Also, V and I weren’t there as tourists, but rather as family members. So instead of tramping around to check of guidebook recommendations, we spent most of our time visiting with family. This is an interesting way to approach a new city, diving in right past the exteriors and introductions to living rooms and family conversations.

But the whole new/familiar dynamic was also caused by the different ways I have of seeing things now as opposed to 20 years ago. I was more acutely aware of urban poverty and populations – especially coming from Ottawa (population density of 279 per sq km) to Bangalore (10,100 per sq km). I noticed the informal shacks built on roadsides, the acres of slums. Cows in the street, that wasn’t new - but an interest in broader urban issues, that certainly was. And in this regard, I could only scratch at the surface.

Top 10 Places: Havana

Like yesterday’s entry, this choice of a top ten place is not a city I know particularly well – but one that I found quite fascinating and would like to spend more time in.

V and I had been together only a short time when he asked if I’d like to accompany him to Cuba to attend his friends’ wedding. I happily agreed, although stipulated that I wasn’t interested in spending the whole time at a resort and would like to have the chance to visit Havana.

We arranged for a stay in a ‘casa particular’- a private home in that lets out a room or more to guests. Essentially it was paying someone to sleep in their bed, eat at their table and sit on their balcony. But I’ve always preferred to travel in a way that gets me past the tourist facade – and this, for all its unpredictability, seemed like a good bet.

We got in many ways what I’d hoped for – a glimpse into the daily life of Cubans. One of my favourite memories is sitting on the small balcony of the apartment we stayed in, watching the casual comings and goings of neighbours. We could hear drifts of conversation and laughter, listen in on the violin practice of a young girl across the street. Night fell as we sat side by side in the humid summer air, sipping rum and eavesdropping on Havana.

Cuba is a fascinating place for its resistance to capitalism and defiance of its colossal neighbour to the north. Being in Cuba is like visiting a Petri dish of social and political experiment. Yet the ideology which holds this country in a vice grip seemed tenuous to me – I kept thinking that everything might change in a matter of months. Yet years have gone by now and I wonder how much has really changed.

Politics aside, Havana is known and celebrated for its arts. There is Hemingway, of course. We visited the hotel he most frequented, drank mojitos on its roof. We also heard music in the streets, watched dancing and puppetry in the street. In cafés we were serenaded by singers with more passion than talent. Altogether captivating.