Lovin' FB

I can't help it.  I just love Facebook.  Especially when, out of the clear blue, I am contacted by an old friend.  Another person from high school messaged me to make sure I was who she thought I was and I haven't seen her or her husband (also a schoolmate) since January 1976.  That's 35 years people.  A lot of water has gone under this bridge in that time and it's refreshing to know that people still remember you, still think about you, and want to reconnect.  It's also cool to see that others besides you have aged!   Even if you no longer have anything in common other than a shared school experience, it is always rewarding to know they are there and accessible if you should ever feel the need to reminisce. 

I do recognize how much of our communication today is through internet, text and phone.  It is somehow easier and more time efficient than to get in a car and actually go visit someone. And forget letter writing.  That is most definitely a lost art and one I am afraid I was never very good at.  Still, I have made it my mission to work on my penmanship skills and actually write a letter before the year is out.  I even bought a book on calligraphy to see if I can learn to not only write, but to write fancy.  These are the skills that are lost in cyberspace.  This is a downside, no doubt about it.  Still, when you live hundreds of miles away, it is nice to know you have the ability to stay in touch, and do so in a nanosecond.

So, for now, I shall continue to love FB and do my best to remember there are other ways to keep connected.

Flew the coop

Yesterday was uneventful but for one thing... my baby birds left home.  I knew this was coming soon from watching the flurry of activity going on in their crib.  The poor parents were in continual motion bringing food to the hungry masses who were in a constant state of vocalization.  It was an interesting display of teamwork and tenacity. And then this morning I noticed the quiet.  As I stood at our kitchen window and watched for signs of life I soon realized it was finished.  The feeding and nurturing of these little ones had ceased to be a necessity and they were on their own.  There was nothing left but an empty nest.   A fitting metaphor as I watch my kids leave to be on their own. 

Now, I wonder where the parents went after all their hard work was done.  We've been left with assumptions and nothing else.  Strangely, we have run into 2 dead birds within close proximity to the nest and I wonder if, after their job was over, the parents just dropped from the sky and died.  Could that be?  Was their chicks leaving the nest their calling card?  That whole 'circle of life' thing?  And if so, how does that translate to our own empty nests?  Are the pink slips in the mail?  Somehow I don't believe that to be the case, but you never know.  The fact that we are living so much longer lives than our ancestors puts us in the position of having to plan for that.  We've now got to work longer in order to support ourselves in old age.  We don't have the 'luxury' of clocking out at 55.  (This of course is a total generalization... there are those who most definitely can retire comfortably at an early age.)  I'm positive the whole lottery ticket thing counts on us to stay above ground and paying our hard earned loonies, hoping for the chance to not have to worry about our 'golden years'.   Hmmph.  Crazy stuff.

I think the birds have the right idea!

7 at 27

 I hate this...

Robert Johnson - Aug. 1938; Brian Jones - July 1969; Jimi Hendrix - Sept. 1970; Janis Joplin - Oct. 1970; Jim Morrison - July 1971; Kurt Cobain - Apr. 1994.   And now... Amy Winehouse - July 2011

The curse has struck once again.  A 7th member of the '27 Club' has been added leaving us saddened, but not surprised, angry but powerless, guilty but apologetic.  It's never easy loosing people who share incredible talent, but to lose them so young, with so much more to create seems doubly painful.  You mourn not only for the person but for the art they left unfinished, all the songs unsung.  This, coupled with the way they died makes it seem so pointless.  You keep asking yourself the question, 'why'?  Why today... this day, when the sun is shining and the sky is blue and life is, if not good, bearable.  Yet you know deep down, that this day would come and angry that even in knowing, it would catch you off guard. 

Addiction is a horrid, life destroying affliction.  It chews people up and spits them out beaten and burned.  And yet, in a tragic twist of irony, allows for some of the most critically important creativity, especially in the musical arena.  Is it because of the pain these artists struggle with that makes them so prolific, or is it the drugs taken to dull this pain that stokes the creative fires?  Either way, the gift is a direct result of the internal pain and turmoil that these artists struggle so hard with.  And in the case of Amy, as with the others in the '27 Club', the addiction eventually suffocates the creativity and the disease starts to define them.  In the end, they are unable to hear or see any way of redemption and the addiction wins.

I have a brother who is an addict... at least I think I still have a brother.  He disappears for years at a time, moving around so we have no idea where he is living or how to contact him.  He happened to call my sister 3 years ago to ask her to help get him some vicoden for some phantom pain, and she had to tell him NO, she couldn't do that and oh, by the way, our dad had died... 2 years before.  We couldn't find him to let him know... We've heard nothing since, nor do we expect to, unless of course it is the police wanting us to identify the body.  Addiction kills more than just the addict.  It destroys relationships, it destroys one's ability to trust.  Our family had extented countless kindnesses and support, only to have it repaid in lies and manipulation.  Still, I often wonder why?... why him and not any of the rest of us since we all grew up in the same family?  I think Bruce decided early on that he was a victim and used that as his reasons to justify his drug and alcohol abuse. He was never able to break from that belief system. There are things we'll never know.

I know Amy was in pain... it was obvious to all.  I also know that many, many people reached out to her and tried to help.  She had the love and support of her parents and brother, her ex-husband and current boyfriend, her many, many close friends and the people she worked with along with millions of fans around the world.  The problem is that help needs to come from within, and that takes work, incredible courage, pain and perseverance.  And to do that one needs to accept there is an addiction and help is needed to conquer it.  For whatever reason, she couldn't pull that off, and now it is we who are left behind that suffer.

Now the pain is over.  In peace may she truly rest.

the w word

 There are those days when one just naturally falls into introspection, delving deep into ones psyche to understand the road traveled and direction headed.  Making peace with those lost opportunities and missteps.  I guess you could call it a brain audit so you can better see the big picture.  (NB: not to be confused with Scientology's 'auditing' process... whatever that is.)

When I have these days I think a lot about the word 'wisdom'.  They say with age comes wisdom, but I swear I have met elderly people who are decidedly unwise.  Yet there is the undisputed fact that experience endows us with a certain wisdom by default.  Experience begets knowledge which begets growth which begets wisdom.  The best part of it is that it's ongoing.  We are constantly in a state of experience, even if it's been done before as it's never done the same way twice.  But wisdom is more than just experience.  Wisdom comes from the lesson one learns through the experience.  It comes from understanding the 'moral of the story' and holding on to it, locking it deep in one's memory bank.  And wisdom comes from the sharing of it, hearing it passed down from generations past and present.  Still, our western culture seems to put little value on it, removing elders from the family circle and shutting them away with their own kind.  I do believe we are the only culture that does not revere our elderly, does not place them in a position of honor and respect.  And we are the ones that lose by squandering all that collective wisdom.

I love to read.  I am a firm believer in history and the study of it.  It gives us pre-packaged wisdom so if we heed it, we won't waste our time on lessons previously learned.  It frees us up to create anew, as there is much to absorb in this chaotic world and we have yet to make sense of it.  We have a responsibility to leave this place better than how we inherited it, but I fear it's too late. 

We need wisdom now more than ever.  Or we will surely self destruct. 

... and then there was color

  I know I'm not saying anything that you haven't heard a gazillion times already, but the strange and fickle weather we have been blessed with this summer is getting progressively arduous.  No place is immune so at least we can suffer collectively.  It just seems to screw up ones internal seasonal clock, you know?  If we cannot get more sun this summer, we're going to have a population rife with S.A.D. before we even hit the winter doldrums.  This could get ugly.

Today has been one of those days; moments of sunshine peppered with dark clouds, rumbling thunder and intermittent rain.  A few days ago we had one of the most intense thunder storms I think I've ever experienced.  Personally, I love a good lightening/thunder storm; the whole physics thing going on for all to see just fascinates me.  Don't ask me to explain it, cause I still can't get my head around what is actually happening (I failed physics). Regardless, I say bring it, baby!  I think it's the intensity that appeals.  All that white heat and power chords. It's just plain dramatic.  We had lightening strike right above our house as I didn't see it but for the white light.  Seconds later, the thunder boom. So loud that the house shook and the glassware rattled. This happened twice. My poor dog had an anxiety attack and was panting and shaking like a leaf... it took 3 hours and a half a gravol to calm her down.  It certainly got my heart a-pumping. Meanwhile the winds are blowing like crazy and it's pouring down rain and all I could think of is, " we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto ... (there's no place like home, there's no place like home...)" regretting I was not wearing my ruby slippers.
The power of nature is awe inspiring and a force to be reckoned with.

It began raining again just before sunset and the sky turned a milky grey color with little patches of lightness passing through.  In a brief moment the elements met and gave me the most brilliant rainbow; a complete arc with a faint second in tandem.  It was beautiful.

It was hope.

Just stop already

There has got to be a better way...

The wire is all up in a frazzle about a 16 year old girl marrying a 51 year old actor in LA recently.   Guess what?  She's an 'aspiring actress and singer'.  Guess what else?  Her mother is her manager and encouraged the union, literally pointing them to the states where they could marry with parental consent.  In the posted pictures of their wedding, she looks far from the child she still is.  Her breasts are overly big and on display in her strapless dress; make-up thick and garish over a face so botoxed she can hardly move her mouth.  She wears the standard issue bleached hair cascading down the back of her skin tight micro mini, while tottering on 6 inch heels.  It's as if she dropped off the assembly line at the Playboy mansion. This was her white wedding attire... this was her 'special day'; being led down the aisle on the arm of her father (who is 4 years younger than the man she is marrying) at a Las Vegas wedding chapel.  Her vacant eyes never look at her new husband, but rather directly at the camera like a seasoned pro.  She says she's an 'old soul'... that she's deeply Christian... that she's a virgin... that she's marrying her 'soul mate'... that it has nothing to do with furthering her career.    They say they're in love.

I give it 6 months. Tops.

A girl of 16 is just that.  A girl.  What parent would condone, let alone encourage, such a match?  What kind of a man, in his 50's, would believe that he could honestly sustain a marital relationship of any depth with a woman-child 35 years younger than he?  This is just sanctioned pedophilia on the husband's part and pimping by the parents.  As bad as it is, it's only made worse by cashing in further in the form of a planned reality show.  It makes me want to vomit.

I fear for the next generation if they feel their only hope of making it in this world is to bow down and worship at the feet of celebrity.  What a waste.

Bird birth

 We have a little birdhouse that sits on our fence, inherited when we bought the house. It's kinda ugly, and I have thought about removing it more than once, yet never seem to actually have the urge to go through with it.  I think it's because, every year without fail, it is being used for birthing.  There is something rather cerebral about that year in, year out coming to the same place for the same reason.  I often wonder if the same birds ever use it more than once, warding off other potential nesters while they put down roots.  Either way, whether it's first timers or return guests, it is nice to know it's doing its job.

While reading on the deck today I watched the parents, dutifully bringin' home the bacon for their babies dinner.  It is cool to see them work together so closely, taking turns at the hunt.  I have yet to hear any sounds from within, so they must be pretty small still.  The picture they provided was a simple one of basic living; hatching, feeding, protecting and teaching their offspring so they in turn, will be able to do it next year.  It's these simple cycles of life that we so often miss in our daily lives.

I don't want to mess with that.

wearing yellow in a purple world

  I sit here staring at a blank page, wondering what I need to say today. 

This place has been my activity; my creativity for awhile now, yet I'm not sure why I've become so chained to it. Lord knows it's not for my massive viewership; I can't even get my family to read it, let alone comment (exception: Avey).  Maybe my content is lacking, or it's been said before, or it offers no enlightenment or maybe, just maybe, people see it for what it really is: cover. Cover from saying what I really feel, cover from the failures, cover from the pain (real or imagined) that I struggle with.  Cover from the fact that I disappoint myself daily, yet have no strength to break the cycle. Cover from anyone seeing the reality that is me... a vessel broken.

My understanding of this has been ongoing for some time now.  It is particularly close to the surface as the date approaches when I will see my siblings and I fear I will be unable to hide under the mask of normality.  I've felt somewhat peripheral to them for as long as I can remember. Much of it is just numbers... they are only 2 years apart, while I arrived 6 & 4 years after the fact, complete with all the tools to further differentiate: I was the baby, and I was defective.  So, all my life I've been striving to be one of them; equal to them, desperate to hide my yellow shirt.  Trying to be something that they would be proud of in some way.  It's not to be.   As my reality becomes further from theirs, I choose to isolate.  It is something I have become good at... playing alone.

Stephen the Boring?

I'm catching up on some reading and have been scouring some of the city info from our trip we picked up along the way.  I was perusing a magazine from Sigtuna which is a quaint little outcrop of Stockholm. Very cute little town that you can see if you've perused my pics.  Apparently, this is where Stockholm got started; established in 970 AD by King Erik the Victorious, who either won the battle for it (hence the title) or just claimed it back in Viking times.  As I was contemplating on that, it dawned on me that KIngs and Queens had such cool monikers back then... Peter the Great, Ivan the Terrible; Alexander the Great; Julian the Apostate; Catherine the Great (there were a lot of Greats) Boleslaw the Brave... etc. etc. You got a sense of their persona from their titles.  Then again, those were the days when kings actually went out and fought for their titles and empires.  Right on the front lines for the most part.  What's interesting to me is that nobody does that anymore.  Can you imagine what that would look like should we present our esteemed leaders with new monikers?  Something tells me a good portion of them would have the same name: '__(blank)__ the Crappy'.

No, what with the greed, butality, abuses of power and sex scandals rocking the political landscape, it's a frickin' miracle there hasn't already been a world wide revolution.  Call it, say, WR1 or something equally catchy.  Now, don't get me wrong... those old dudes and dudettes had their share of scandals (ie: Henry VIII) and villains (ie: Vlad the Impaller aka: Dracula) but theirs wasn't outed on Twitter and TMZ for the entire global population to access ... with pictures!  Yet as disgruntled as we have the right to be, we are somewhat immune to it now, since it has been going on since time immemorial.  There is so, SO much more I have to say on that subject that I am leaving it for another day.

All I can say in closing is that 'absolute power corrupts absolutely, and we are seeing it daily, on widescreens and full color, in all it's glory.

Fiddledee-Duds

A friend of mind posted a link to a piece that was a sound bite on fashion and age: what's right, what's wrong, what's acceptable & what's outlandish. In watching it I was immediately reminded of this elderly mother and daughter team that I got such a kick out of when we lived in Nelson which, by the way, is a beautiful cozy little city nestled in the Kootenay Mountains that happens to be a magnet for super freaks, pot growers and fringe dwellers.  With that in mind, this duo was not particularly unusual for the area being it attracts such an eclectic populous.  However, they caught my eye every time we were in the same vicinity.   Firstly, they both had blue-white hair... sometimes purple-white, short and heavily permed.  Secondly, they dressed alike, as in identical and from another era. Thirdly they wore an excessive amount of make-up... we're talking thick, pale foundation, super duper blue eyeshadow with black eyeliner, hot pink circles on their cheeks and ruby red lips. Top that off with a generous dollop of powder and they were good to go!  They didn't seem to notice that they stood out amongst the tatted and pierced throngs in their hemp shirts, long skirts and dreads. It was such an interesting contrast yet there was something besides the makeup and clothing that stuck me.  What I noticed about these ladies is that they just didn't care what other people thought; they were quite fine with how they presented themselves and carried themselves accordingly.   Just the way it should be.

I sometimes think that that is one (maybe the only), good thing about the aging process. That freedom to express yourself in ways that make you happy.  In this video the women involved called it 'dressing up'; permission for which they hadn't given themselves since childhood.  Was it over the top?  Sure.  Was it gaudy? Some of it.  Was there feather boa's and excessive jewelry involved? Yup. Was it sloppy?  Absolutely not!  Was it fun? You bet!  These women dressed in ways that gave them color and dimension at a time when one's world is often so filled with grey.  Their sense of fashion was what gave them flavor... and their flavor was spicy!  It was refreshing to see it from that perspective.  We're so scared of standing out, so busy trying to 'fit in' that we ignore our own personal creativity.  And I'm not just talking fashion here either; creativity comes in many shapes and forms. (For an excellent example of what I'm talking about, rent the 1971 cult classic, "Harold & Maude"... Maude most definitely had flavor!  Oh, and it has an awesome Cat Stevens soundtrack as a bonus.)

So, the moral of the story here is to not let your age dictate what you should or should not feel, and express it unabashedly.  Play if you want to, learn a language, build a birdhouse or try your hand at pottery should that make you happy.  Just explore and enjoy! I know what I'm going to do.  I'm going to wear more hats, paint a picture and pull out the old Barbie's.

Now that's got 'fun' written all over it!

Surprise?!

I've decided to something completely different today... Instead of blabbing on and on about this and that, I'm going to leave you a little ditty I wrote today in honor of my backyard tree.  It is so heavy right now with leaves and seeds and flowers, that it looks pregnant and somewhat uncomfortable.  Also, this day went from warm sunshine to major thunder/lightening/rain/wind, so I'm kinda ticked off.  When emotionally moved, be it good or bad, I tend to write prose.  Call it a coping skill.  So, here goes...



This tree before me
stands strong
firm against the winds that buffet
dancing in defiance
immune against the rage.

This tree languishes
under the weight
of cover
carrying low and heavy
the gift it delivers
in greens and yellows.

This tree sings
with songs of bees working
A frenetic gathering
of sugary nectar
pollinating, unawares
by virtue of the task.

This tree is fragrant
heady & rich
the aroma belying
its vision of solemn
a subtle nod
to its duality born
in cycle and form.

This tree shelters me
I lean against its sturdy body
close my eyes and breathe the lovely
knowing it will be
far longer than me
and in that, I am satisfied.

America the grHate

 It is a challenge being Canadian sometimes, with it's chronic niceness, hockey addiction, high cost of living and crazy left vs. right political fiasco's... not to mention Celine Dion.  As a country we are both loved and pitied by other countries; praised and ignored.  Pat on the head like the cute little brother that wants to help but just can't cut it.  We want to be taken seriously and are slowly making strides in that direction, but it's a long haul.  Don't get me wrong, I LOVE being a Canadian and really couldn't imagine a nicer place to call home, but sometimes I feel that in saying so I am automatically brushed off in terms of credibility.  I think this is happening because we do not flaunt our greatness like our southern neighbours... especially at the cost of others.

 Ya, I'm talkin' about the states, people.  My biggest fear in traveling in Europe was being mistaken as an American.  Why? Because their reputation is such that people repel from them.  They are viewed as power hungry, oil obsessed, egomaniacal, narcissistic bullies with a god complex... for starters.  Now, before you get yer panties in a knot, I am referring here to the United States of America as a country... not the people in the US, though I'm sure there are some that fit that description regardless of where they lived.  The problem lies in the fact that the normal, nice, hard-working,regular folk in the US of A hear that rhetoric from the day they were born, so they kinda believe it.  And because of that, they don't find it real important to have any interest in, or gain knowledge of any other country.  Case in point: many years ago my cousins came to visit from California, and though both my aunt and uncle were born and raised in Alberta, they actually asked me who our 'President' was.  I mean... really?? We're your freakin' next door neighbour!!  Current case in point: While on our cruise a lovely couple from New Mexico (I think) stated when complaining of the cold, rainy weather that, "...we must be used to this coming from Canada."   They were shocked when we told them we lived in a desert temperate zone.  No, we do not all live in igloos.  Oh, and the same couple dropped the names 'Indian' and 'Eskimo' somewhere in that convo whilst complaining about the 'Mexican' problem they have. Yikes... I was so busy biting my tongue I could hardly eat.  But I digress...

The point I am trying to make here is that while Canada needs to start showing some muscle, the Americans need to take it down a notch or 7.  They need to stop re-writing history to make themselves always the hero so that their people get the true story and maybe, just maybe learn something about someone else.  Then they need to applaud other countries successes and not ignore them & pout about it. (ie: Russian space race to Van. Olympics & bringin' home the gold...)

America is a powerhouse nation, no doubt about it. It just needs to file down those really rough edges and accept it hasn't gotten there without help. Be grateful as opposed to entitled.   You'll be better served in the long run.

Scent quest

  I've always had, from as far back as I can remember, a keen sense of smell.  I'm one of those people that has 'smell recognition' somewhat like photographic memory... I can place people, places &/or events from specific scents.  Guess I'm kinda like a dog that way.  For example, if you say "summer on a farm", I can smell in my head, the alfalfa in bloom... the dried grass... the foxtails... the cowpies, etc.  that I remember from my youth. If I have a strong memory of something, scent will always be involved. I'm sure anyone can do this to a degree, but it's pretty intense with me; so much so that you could be the smarmiest person on the face of the earth, but if you smelled good, you were A-OK with me!  And, if perhaps you were strong, charming and handsome AND you smelled good, well you could just as well swallow me whole and spit out the bones. This gift is not always a plus. 

 Now it's come to the point where I'm needing to upgrade my perfume and I'm rather hesitant to go there.  Usually, I 'run into' fragrances that I like either on other women, or in those sample strips in magazines.  This has not been the case for me thus far.  Now I have to go in cold turkey and if you've ever approached a woman's fragrance section in your local dept./drug store, you'll know of what I fear.  Firstly, the sections themselves are wrapped in a cloud of co-mingled scents heavy enough to start a rainstorm, and secondly, the choices are staggering.   After about 3 sniffs, your nose is so overwhelmed and confused, you have to leave immediately and seek out medical help or at the very least, fresh air.  This leaves you with a headache and the grim realization of only 732 more to go!  (Hmmm... I think I'll go organic; splash some vanilla or lemon juice on me and call it a day.)

Part of the problem with choosing scents is defining how you want to be perceived... should you go against type or with it?  I used to be drawn to light, fresh, floral notes, but now I kinda lean more to the deeper, spicier ones.  Coincidence?... I think not!   Then there was the time when attending college that I got into men's cologne.  I was obsessed with Halston's Z-14 that my then boytoy wore and I couldn't get enough of it, so started wearing it.  (It was a phase, people!) Didn't last long though... kinda like the relationship.  No big whoop.  I did recently have a little breakthrough though...

It was during our flight from Vancouver to Amsterdam and middle of the night when I first felt it coming on.  It escalated over the next hour or so, and after 2 hours I was positive I had it.  I had the fever... the Bieber Fever!!  Yes, it's true and no one was more shocked than I was.  I had been evading it for months and months, but some where over Greenland, at 34,000 ft. I decided to watch 'Never Say Never' and by the end I was a convert. (The boy loves Jesus & his mama... how can you defend against that?)  Now you're probably wondering what this has to do with perfume, but I tell you, it most certainly does.   It just so happens that in the latest copy of People magazine there is a scent strip from Justin's new fragrance, 'Someday'.  I smelled it and I liked it!  Now, I'm not sure if I can bring myself to actually wear it, but I too say, 'Never Say Never'... I'll have to try it on for size first.  Let the hunt begin. 

Well, there you have it. My own personal scent crisis.  I'll sleep better tonight having shared this with you.

Smell ya later!

Mind over Teen matter

 I was driving in my car today and the radio was playing the song, "Teenage Dream" by Katy Perry; a fluffy, summer fun song that has no purpose but to entertain.  I normally go into auto-mode and start singing along to the catchy tune, but this time I didn't.  This time I refrained from adding vocals and actually listened to the words.  It describes a summer experiencing that intense first love; all the heat and forbidden fruit that becomes obsession, leading up to the moment of acquiescence where all logical thought and reason is suspended.  It's such a heady, powerful time in ones life and I started to really think on that era (so long past) and recreate that mindset; seeing if it was possible to understand that in hindsight.  I was somewhat surprised at how easy it was to go there... to really remember how that age felt and the constant questioning of ourselves and our actions.  All that crazy anxiety and frustration and anger and excitement wrapped up in raging hormones and pimples.  I think many of us hated that time in our lives because so much was going on in and around us, but we were held back by age and parental policing.  We all wanted to be older so we could be permitted to 'do' stuff we felt we had the right to do.  And older we got...

Jump forward 40 years and you wonder what all the rush was about.  Yes, age brings with it certain allowances, but it also brings with it lots of 'stuff' you never wanted to pack in the carry-on.  Age brings with it the cold, hard realities of life that you were sheltered from as a child. I look at my own kids now and I desperately want to shield them from some of that, yet know that I can't.  Their independence, their utter survival won't allow it.  I am forced to stand aside and watch them hit the walls, providing bandaids as needed.  Yet watching it makes you feel it all over again, so one is constantly juggling the good memories with the bad.

I returned from our vacay to an house devoid of offspring.  Dan had sorted out and packed up all his stuff for the (permanent?) move to Alberta and the start of the next chapter of his life.  It took me 4 days before I could go into his room and when I finally did venture in it hit me.  He was gone now, probably for good. That realization brings an ache like no other.  I just laid on his bed staring at the vacant walls and let the tears roll.  There was nothing else I could do but grieve this finishing of a book that I had 21 years vested in.  Oh, sure, I know I still have the opportunity to edit, but the bones, the guts are all there now; there is no re-do.   I am so grateful that Simon is still in Kelowna so I don't completely have to go cold turkey.  He's just going to have to accept the fact that I will require hugging upon every encounter.  That's not too much to ask, is it??

And now, back to the song...  1974... 4 of us cruising Main St. in Campbell River... a magnum of Baby Duck tucked under the seat... converging in the mall parking lot... waitin' for a party to happen.  Born. To. Be. Wild.  

Ah... memories.

Rushin

As we were barreling through Russia I felt, more than anywhere else, a surreal-ness about the place, almost a disconnect.  Granted, I was in a very large, very metropolitan city of 5 million so my perception could have been somewhat skewed but I felt I made allowances for that. No, it was something about the feel of the place, like it was uncomfortable in its own skin.  I wrestled with that thought as we were heading back to the boat and then later that night and I think I may have figured it out.  St. Petersburg represented 3 distinct societies all living under one flag.  Russia was founded politically, on the total rule of one man under God; an autocracy. It was ruled as such for over 200 years. The Russian people understood that, and in many cases it worked for a country of that magnitude.  But any ruler who overlooks his people for an extended period of time is inevitably going to be pushed off his high horse.  As much as I am fascinated by Nicholas II, he was a crappy Tsar and never could rise to the role. Lenin was in the right place at the right time and voila... a revolution was born.  So, out with the old, in with the new and we now have Russia being ruled under the communist flag and though better than before, it also brought with it a dominant control of another kind.  When you look around St. Pete's you see the dichotomy of the two governing styles; the massive, opulent & colorful palaces and cathedrals of Tsarville and the massive cold, gray and austere buildings of Leninland.  Crank the clock ahead another 80ish years and you are now switching gears to a democratic, capitalistic society where you are building European style, modern glass buildings and you start to see the architectural equivalent of the three representations of ruling classes vying for attention.  The people as well still have a certain innate distrust of the changes made; I think it will take a couple more decades before they really get a good grasp of the system, and trust the authorities. One of out tour guides was warning us to stick together at all times because, "you don't want to get lost in St. Petersburg... we no longer have the KGB but we still have what we call the KGB lite!" So, that kind of speaks volumes as to the level of restraint still felt among the local population.   Still it's a city of great depth and it would be marvelous to spend a couple of months really exploring it. Did you know that St. Pete's has the most bridges of any other European country?  342 major ones and over 1000 in total. Just a little trivia for ya. 

FYI: I have posted a few pics on my FB page if you want to see some of where we were.   Enjoy!