Too young for senility

When we were out in the woods chopping wood this weekend, I had a chat with my brother in law about grandfather-hood. We’re both going to become grandfathers at around the same time - in his case, about three weeks ahead of me in April or late March.

We’re both going to be fairly young grandfathers. Many men my age are only fairly recent fathers. He said this was a good thing: “You and I get to be the model grandfather. We’ll do stuff with them. We will be important in their lives. We will have fun with them, and get it right this time.”

He stopped and thought about it. “We won’t be, like, eighty year grampas, giving the kid two cents and telling them to go buy gum at the store. We’re young enough that we know the price of gum!”

Level Three

I am a yahoo Answers Level 3. I have Ms. Camille to thank for getting me addicted to that. I'm sure it has affected the quality of my blog, since a person only has time to write so much. :-)

I caught a fish!

We were ice fishing today. My bro-in-law caught a pickerel, I caught a perch. Fish for breakfast!

I didn't know whales could even get dehydrated

The Thames whale died of dehydration. It should have found a pub when it got to London, I guess.

CNN.com - Thames whale 'died of dehydration' - Jan 25, 2006

The Love of a Pope

You would not think Catholic clergy would know much about love. But it has been my experience that few know it better. My parish priest runs marriage retreats that engaged couples rave about.

Our new Pope began his writings today - and decided to speak on the subject of Love. He notes that the word has many meanings, and in ancient Greek, it took more than one word to describe it. They had three words where we use one. What particularly struck me about his new encyclical Deus Caritas Est was this passage:

According to Friedrich Nietzsche, Christianity had poisoned eros, which for its part, while not completely succumbing, gradually degenerated into vice.[1] Here the German philosopher was expressing a widely-held perception: doesn't the Church, with all her commandments and prohibitions, turn to bitterness the most precious thing in life? Doesn't she blow the whistle just when the joy which is the Creator's gift offers us a happiness which is itself a certain foretaste of the Divine?

4. But is this the case? Did Christianity really destroy eros? Let us take a look at the pre- Christian world. The Greeks—not unlike other cultures—considered eros principally as a kind of intoxication, the overpowering of reason by a “divine madness” which tears man away from his finite existence and enables him, in the very process of being overwhelmed by divine power, to experience supreme happiness. All other powers in heaven and on earth thus appear secondary: “Omnia vincit amor” says Virgil in the Bucolics—love conquers all—and he adds: “et nos cedamus amori”—let us, too, yield to love.[2] In the religions, this attitude found expression in fertility cults, part of which was the “sacred” prostitution which flourished in many temples. Eros was thus celebrated as divine power, as fellowship with the Divine.

The Old Testament firmly opposed this form of religion, which represents a powerful temptation against monotheistic faith, combating it as a perversion of religiosity. But it in no way rejected eros as such; rather, it declared war on a warped and destructive form of it, because this counterfeit divinization of eros actually strips it of its dignity and dehumanizes it. Indeed, the prostitutes in the temple, who had to bestow this divine intoxication, were not treated as human beings and persons, but simply used as a means of arousing “divine madness”: far from being goddesses, they were human persons being exploited. An intoxicated and undisciplined eros, then, is not an ascent in “ecstasy” towards the Divine, but a fall, a degradation of man. Evidently, eros needs to be disciplined and purified if it is to provide not just fleeting pleasure, but a certain foretaste of the pinnacle of our existence, of that beatitude for which our whole being yearns.

5. Two things emerge clearly from this rapid overview of the concept of eros past and present. First, there is a certain relationship between love and the Divine: love promises infinity, eternity—a reality far greater and totally other than our everyday existence. Yet we have also seen that the way to attain this goal is not simply by submitting to instinct. Purification and growth in maturity are called for; and these also pass through the path of renunciation. Far from rejecting or “poisoning” eros, they heal it and restore its true grandeur.

This is due first and foremost to the fact that man is a being made up of body and soul. Man is truly himself when his body and soul are intimately united; the challenge of eros can be said to be truly overcome when this unification is achieved. Should he aspire to be pure spirit and to reject the flesh as pertaining to his animal nature alone, then spirit and body would both lose their dignity. On the other hand, should he deny the spirit and consider matter, the body, as the only reality, he would likewise lose his greatness. The epicure Gassendi used to offer Descartes the humorous greeting: “O Soul!” And Descartes would reply: “O Flesh!”.[3] Yet it is neither the spirit alone nor the body alone that loves: it is man, the person, a unified creature composed of body and soul, who loves. Only when both dimensions are truly united, does man attain his full stature. Only thus is love —eros—able to mature and attain its authentic grandeur.

He captures in this what is to me the essence of the true Nirvana - not enlightenment through the gnostic abandonment of all carnality, much as the Manicheans sought. The true enlightenment is love, and we reach it when we unite what our hearts are capable of with the abilities of our minds. It is touched where body meets soul.

Even though I am not a touchy person - I don't like to be hugged - even I recognize that some of the most truly altruistic and loving things people do are physical . The people at the Shepherds of Good Hope who dole out soup are satisfying the physical hunger of the people who go there. The worker at the hospice who holds the hands of someone who is dying is providing physical, tactile reassurance.

So it is in marriage. If an alien came to Earth to observe our lives outside of the bedroom, that alien would probably see more carnality than in the bedroom. Would he not see sex as a cartoonish, buffoonish thing now? So much of the time: that carnality seems so venal, stripped of all non-commercial meaning. Sex is an industry, and not the one you are thinking I mean. It goes beyond that - it is the ultimate horizontal market - selling clothing to tweens, muscle cars to young men, software at Microsoft conventions to geeks, and Atkins-compatible subs at Subway to would-be Jareds. We awkwardly glance away from the flashing, blinking distractions that seek to evince longing in us, even as it makes us feel inadequate, telling us that we must have more, more, or less.... better... more expensive. Give us your money.

But in a relationship infused with real love, this buffoonish kind of carnality falls away. The union is love in its soul and body; a timeless tradition that, by enabling succeeding generations, enables tradition itself; a momentless moment where all vulnerability is given, and generously accepted; where commitment is both promised and fulfilled in the same asking and answer. It is comfort sought and given, a wordless journey back to the Garden of Eve where we were made for one another, because God saw that it was not good for us to be alone.

The heartbreaking story of a soldier who could take no more

When he came back, he had been changed - changed by lack of sleep, lack of peace, weeks without showers or changes of clothes. Weeks of watching people die. Those changes, combined with the changes that life dealt him - the loss of his wife, for instance - were too much.

Independent Online Edition > Americas

A Nation of Centrists

So Canada had its election yesterday, and as expected the Conservatives one, but only a minority government, which means they must negotiate with other parties in order to pass legislation. And they only won this much by moving to the centre. The new Prime Minister Stephen Harper realized that the reason the Liberals always win is that they straddle that middle ground in politics - where people are neither right wing or left wing. In order to win, it was necessary to go where every other Conservative government has to go to defeat the Liberals - the centre. The most progressive party, the NDP also made gains in this election, but they also did it by moving to the centre, smartly focusing on urban development issues instead of ideology.

When I read the opinions of those Canadians who are on the left or on the right, I really understand why most of us stick to the centre. We're not radical enough to be the far-left paradise of a Michael Moore. Nor will we ever be right wing enough to make the Freepers happy. I am proud of Canada, where strategic voting reigned, where we changed the government, but put the new one on a short leash.

I feel so old!

Doing some genealogy research, I discovered I am listed on one, with my descendants listed too. I had no idea I was so old!

CBC Arts: 'West Wing' cancelled by network

So the West Wing is toast.

CBC Arts: 'West Wing' cancelled by network

Don't you ever wonder what would happen if governments were like the TV shows? You get up one morning, go the newspaper box, and see the headline, "Canadian government's final season to be 2007." Sleepily, you pull it out:

CANADIAN GOVERNMENT TO END ITS REIGN IN 2007

Canada and the United Nations have jointly announced that this will be the final season of the Federal Government of Canada. The final day of government will be on Friday, May 11, 2007.

"Canada has played an important role in the history of the world, and we will long remember how it brought bacon, hockey, toques, Alanis, and cheap beer to the world community," said Kofi Annan, Secretary General of the UN. "We'd like to thank Prime Minister Harper, the leader of the opposition, the Right Honourable Paul Martin and a professional and enthusiastic civil service for giving the residents of British North America an effective, democratic government for the last hundred and forty years, and we look forward to working with them and other important players in whatever future endeavors they undertake."

George W Bush, President of the United States of America, said, "Americans have had strong relations with Canada all these years. While we are saddened by the cancellation of Canada as a political entity, we know that all the proud people associated with the Canadian project will surely apply their skills in new areas, and we look forward to seeing what else they can come up with. Of course, Americans are rightly concerned with the loss of a trading partner with whom we exchange a billion and a half dollars a day, but working with the world community, we will find new markets for our enterprises and products."

A parliamentary democracy and constitutional monarchy whose sovereign was also head of the also-recently cancelled United Kingdom, Canada evolved from two earlier entities called Upper Canada and Lower Canada, prior to a rebellion in the 1830s that caused the British government to look for a more permanent and stable form of government for the Canadas. Over time, Canada came to govern all of the North American territories north of the 49th parallel, save Alaska, and was a highly respected, if somewhat bland member of the world community.

In the nineties, Canada leased the rights to its “Mountie” brand to the Walt Disney corporation.

If they kick me out of the cottage...

I've got somewhere to stay. Yesterday afternoon after a heavy snowfall, my daughter got the idea to make a Quinzhee. A quinzhee is a winter shelter made of snow. It is not unlike an igloo, but it is smaller and far less elegant - it is basically a chest level hut made out of snow designed to give you somewhere to sleep at night.

When I stepped out the door, I looked up. The tree branches were covered with snow, like a postcard. Behind them were blue sky and gold-coloured clouds - I had never seen anything quite like it in all my days. Even at the age of forty, I thought, I still see new things. My daughter was already out looking for me as I returned from the front door with the shovels.

We cleared about a forty square foot patch of ice on the lake in a heap of snow, taking frequent breaks (it was heavy work, as the snow was wet and heavy.) Then we sat in the sun for a while, and went inside for a bit. When we came back out, the gold clouds had turned orange, as the sun approached the horizon.

I fetched a few sticks for measuring the roof. When you build a quinzhee, you make a mound of snow, such as we had done. Then you dig out a cave, and you stick foot-long sticks in the sides and roof to ensure you leave at least a foot of packed snow in each, so your quinzhee does not collapse in on you. I dug out the hole, and my daughter kept slipping in to test it. The first time, she barely could get in, so I widened the entrance. Our quinzhee was a little wet, as it had been a warm day. The snow was wet, the lake surface was slushy. But going down to minus nine celsius last night as it did, it will be rock hard because of building it wet like we did.

After finally completing a suitable tunnel in the Quinzhee, my daughter went galloping across the lake like a horse. I stopped, and stared as the sun went down between the pines on the other side. She galloped back over and said, "It looks like the trees are on fire."

"Yes it does," I said. We stood there and said nothing more until it vanished.

True Love

A love whose flame never burns out; a love that only deepens, even as the hair greys, the body stoops. A love for one another that is like the threads of tapestries, woven through children, nephews, nieces, parents, brothers, sisters, in-laws, grandchildren, and above all God.

Without Religion

Without religion, who would paint the frescoes, the Cistine chapel, or write the City of God? Without religion who would know the psalms that bring people comfort on their deathbeds, or waft incense in a solemn moment? Without religion, who walks with us at the end? Who holds our hands as we approach what we cannot know? Who keeps vigil by our casket, and weeps with us at the graveside? Who gives us hope that beyond the sorrow we know, is the reflection of joy?

IOL: Nasa set for 'archaeological dig' near Pluto

Something to look forward to. I remember the Pioneer and Voyager probes used to take nearly ten years to get to Jupiter. This one will take two - but will take ten years to get to Pluto.

That means I definitely have to live another ten years, or I will be quite upset!

IOL: Nasa set for 'archaeological dig' near Pluto

Stupid keyboard

We have a new computer. My folks bought it for us!

It is fast and powerful, and blows the old piece of junk we had out of
the water. I am not too fond of the keyboard however. The space bar juts
out off the end of the keyboard and I can’t get my hands comfortably
onto the keyboard. If I try to go into QWERTY typing mode, I am always
knocking the space bar with my palm, or hitting control keys that fly up
menus and do strange things - for instance while writing out this
sentence, the computer convinced itself that I sent keystrokes to go
into Standby mode - I had to restart the computer just because of the
strange compact arrangement of this keyboard.... is Dell trying to save
on plastic or something?

Why are we here?

I've relayed before that asking this question is my earliest memory.

I believe we were put on Earth to explore our lives. By living, loving, suffering, rejoicing - we gain wisdom; we not only learn who we are, more importantly, we learn who others are. By coming to truly and fully understand that we are not alone, we also understand that the reality of you, I, and they is bound up together.

At our best, we celebrate that by having a compassionate disposition towards one another, and helping to spread the idea that the meaning of life is MEANING itself.

My Yahoo Answers reflection

Someone asked a question as to whether anyone should believe their religion is the right one. I answered thusly:

As to the question of should people believe their religion is the best and last one - well, consider the alternative. If there weren't people passionately going deeper into the religion they already have and deeply believe in, then many of the world's profound religious treasures - the ceiling of the Cistine Chapel, the Pieta, the Hagia Sofia, the Wailing Wall, the magnificent reflections of Maimonides, the Kaaba - none of these things would be there.

Those of us who believe deeply arrange the buffet the rest of us pick at!

A Sleight of Hand

So we went to the charity auction and magic show on Saturday night. The auction came first. There was no way I was going to bid on the live auction stuff, as I'm thrifty enough that spending thousands of dollars was not something I was willing to consider. So my wife and I wandered from table to table of silent auction items. Not wanting go to be left out completely, I spied a gardening toolset. The donation card indicated that it had been given by a local funeral home. Sticking out of the back of the bag was a trowel. Have to be good tools, I thought. They've got to be able to get six feet down! I wrote in a bid, and my wife and I joked with everyone we met that I was planning to bury her in the garden.

The magician in question was a rather reknowned almost retired magician who, we were told, once instructed David Copperfield. He did the usual tricks a magician does, making cloths change colour, spin out of his mouth, causing things to disappear, reappear. However, I robbed myself of much of the fun. Instead of enjoying the illusions, I watched his sleeves to see if he was doing odd things. I stared hard at his assistant (also his wife) to see if she made any unusual subtle gestures. I watched their props while he was doing his thing, because I've heard magicians distract you with their talking and gesturing from the other things happening on the stage.

At the end of the show, I sighed. Not only had I not spotted anything even remotely suspicious in the background, I essentially missed the magic show!

SQUEEE.... SQUONK!!!! BLFURGRH, NEORSH!!!

Robert Fripp is designing the sounds for the next version of Windows - the login sounds, the error sounds, etc. Robert Fripp is a musical innovator, the founder of King Crimson, known for doing strange and weird things with tape loops, beeps, waveforms, and strange computer sounds.

Magic

I am taking my wife to a magic show slash auction tomorrow night: black tie kind of affair. The performer is apparently a world class musician. While I do not know his name offhand, I have been told that he is the magician that trained David Copperfield in the art of illusion.

I've always enjoyed magic, but being a rather clumsy person, sleight of hand is certainly beyond me. When I was nine, my fourth grade teacher, Ms. Hunt, told my parents to buy me a typewriter. She gave me a book with typing lessons as well. I think she thought me so uncoordinated that only developing a manual skill of some sort would save me from a life of stumbling around the streets, like a bridge troll.

I actually did learn to type properly, as I recall. But by the time that I was next near a keyboard, in grade nine, I had lost all of my proper QWERTY skills. I had to relearn, and this time, there was no pressure to do it properly. Now, after years of programming computers, I can type at a very fast clip: probably about forty to sixty words a minute if I have to. But I do not use the proper QWERTY finger positions. I use all kinds of fingers all over the place, randomly bringing other fingers in as my wrist or hand gets uncomfortable. I am by no means a two fingered typist, but I would drive poor Ms. Hunt crazy I am afraid.

I am still a klutz, but I have a few manual dexterity skills. I can play the guitar, the mandolin, the banjo, the bass, and the organ. Even a spaz, you see, can learn to do a few things skilfully. But when I consider that I can trip on a plain wooden floor with ease, I am reconciled to the fact that becoming unspazlike is beyond any ability I can acquire.

Renfield!! Fetch me the CROP poll!

I vant to get your vote! - Peculiar Postings - MSNBC.com

If I find a piece, I'm calling it "Mini-me"

Scientists looking to volunteers to screen images for cosmic dots

Music in religion

I used to work across from the Jewish Community Center, and we did their printing. At one point, we were asked to produce an illustration of the inside of a synagogue, with a number of written explanations. Curious a fellow as I am, I read it over, and noticed that the diagram used the word "cantor" for the leader of congregational singing, just as we Catholics do.

Much later, I became one (rarely - mostly, I sing and play in a folk group.) I became very aware that no religion I've even heard of separates music from worship. Even those people who declare themselves to be "Jedi" when the census is taken probably spend a lot of time listening to the theme from Star Wars!

In the Catholic faith we have many debates about music. Our worship was reformed about forty years ago, when the use of Latin was largely removed from the Mass. All of a sudden, there was an urgent need for new hymns, as well as a need for music to be written to accompany the now local language versions of the Propers and the Ordinaries. One particular group of composers, a fellowship of Jesuit priests from St. Louis, responded quickly with a large body of hymns and music that has dominated North American Catholic music ever since. Praise and Worship music also entered the church doors, as artists like John Michael Talbot began to raise the bar from the rather plain music of the Jesuits. Talbot has written many gorgeous and wonderful to sing hymns of praise.

What some lament, however, in the switch from our traditional rites, is that the Mass sometimes feel as though it has become a bit of "a show." It is meant to be a collective sitting down at table with one another before God, and with and through God. Vatican II was meant to increase the participation of the faithful, but if people sit back and think of my group as entertainment, we're not doing our job!

What is nonetheless true however is that music stirs the emotions. The cynic would say that religion uses music, scriptures, incense, and rites to stupify the believer out of their sense of reason. And they are right in the sense that religion caters to the limbic system.

But are we not feeling creatures? You can't comfort the intellect. You need the intellect, to be sure, as the intellect is what needs to finally find a way to assent to a religious conviction. But it is not the intellect that kneels or prostates in prayer. The intellect does not fast on Yom Kippur, or make the pilgrimmage to Mecca.

Some might say that the emotional, primitive aspect of religion is what drives us to do irrational and hateful things to one another. And there is no question that these have been done in the name of religion.

But one need only look at the agnostic frameworks that have been set up to supplant religion: in Rome, religion was at many times for all intents and purposes supplanted by a cult of Caesar, who was divinized. Nazism was a cult of self, in which the blue-eyed, blond-haired human was exalted, and not a deity. Stalin saw fit to destroy twenty five million of his own people for reasons that were hardly rational.

Authentic religion takes the primitive self, and unites it to the intellect. It asks the intellect a fantastic question - What if there is more than you can sense? And asks us to explore that question. That is why music is the perfect example of what religion welds. The words of songs tell us things. The music of songs moves us to things. Perhaps to take action, when all other means of convincing us has failed. Or perhaps simply to look past what we sense.

But something that powerful could be quite dangerous if wielded for ill, couldn't it? It is quite remarkable, considering that potential power, that the history of music is mostly one of accomplishment, when it could be a history of dark accomplishment. Maybe the tendency of music to be used for good is itself one of God's miracles.

I guess I'm a socialist!

This thing told me, based on my indications, I ought to vote for the NDP. The funny thing is I hardly gave it any indications.... you have a choice, in this voting pattern analyzer, of yes/no/undecided, and I ended up weighing in as undecided on about 2/3 of the questions!

Of course I have a long family history with the NDP. There's a picture on my desk of my Dad and Uncle at the cottage with Tommy and Irma Douglas...

Canada Votes

Pat Robertson puts foot in mouth again

You remember Pat Robertson - the 700 Club leader who wants to nuke the State Department, "take out" the President of Venezuela, and that Sept. 11 was caused by pagans and the ACLU.

He recently found a new trigger for foot-in-mouth disease: Ariel Sharon. In his view, God gave the Israeli Prime Minister a stroke in retribution for disengagement.

Specifically, he said, "But here he's [Sharon] at the point of death. He was dividing God's land and I would say woe unto any prime minister of Israel who takes a similar course to appease the European Union, the United Nations, or the United States of America. God says this land belongs to me. You'd better leave it alone."

What would we think of a human being who exacted such vindictive retribution? We would think such a man a tyrant and monster. But God is NOT a monster. Too many Christians as it is read a verse of scripture without understanding any of the subtext, the struggle of the writers to wrestle with the problem of Theodicy. It is disappointing when our ministers can't grasp it.

In the meantime, Robertson's remarks may have driven a wedge between Israel and Christian tourists.

Tourism Min.: Pat Robertson's PM-bashing endangers deal

Polar bears' bodies loaded with fire retardant, Arctic study finds

This could come in handy for them if the ice floes catch fire.

Polar bears' bodies loaded with fire retardant, Arctic study finds

I'll have the Spiral Galaxy with the white Merlot?

Our galaxy, scientists have known for years, is somewhat misshapen, warped and lumpy. Now they think they may know why. It seems the Milky Way is in the last stages of eating another galaxy.

SPACE.com -- Milky Way's Warp Explained

Darn - I was gonna have me one of those!

The Myth of the Midlife Crisis - Health For Life - MSNBC.com

Going all over the map

I have no political party affiliation. I once did, in university, but I became very quickly disenchanted with it. What is funny is why - you'll laugh when you hear what my problem was with campus politics - it was the politics. I had no idea that a campus political club would be so full of ambitious people, so many of whom desperately wanted to be elected to the club's leadership. It was then that I realized I had great distaste for a sizeable portion of the political process.

At this point in my life, I vote situationally, and I do not typically vote by party affiliation. In the last election, the New Democrats offered up a star candidate in my riding, Monia Mazigh, a woman who became famous for doggedly pursuing the release of her husband from a Syrian jail, and then aggressively pursuing an investigation into Canada's involvement in how he got there in the first place. Members of Parliament are the ones who will go to bat for their constituents and help them get out of the mire of red tape. I asked myself, can I think of anyone better to represent me if I had a problem? So I voted for a candidate representing the far left.

This time, I'm leaning towards Alan Cutler, the former public servant who blew the whistle on the Sponsorship scandal. Although the Liberal MP, David McGuinty, seems to be a good man whose family has a long record of service, we voters sometimes have the privilege of picking the best of several good choices. As with Ms. Mazigh, Alan Cutler strikes me as an MP who would be a fantastic champion for any constituent who has to take on red tape, and his experience in the bureaucracy would give him an edge in taking the bureaucracy on. The Conservative party, a relatively new party formed as a merger between the extreme and moderate right wing parties, is further to the right than any mainstream party before it.

So it seems like I've gone from the far left to the far right. But I never vote for political parties, all of whom tend to overpromise and underdeliver anyways. I vote for people. I just kind of have to ignore my apparent ideological contradictions.

I bet the price of fake Rolexes go up after this

Florida spammer fined $11bn | The Register

Fathers be good to your daughters

So... I am trying to take the balladeer John Mayer's advice. As I noted, the news we got elated me at first. But the elephant in the room is that my daughter and her boyfriend have taken on a very adult responsibility for which they do not always seem to me to be entirely prepared.

I try to give gentle, coaching advice: making sure that my daughter tries to get her 600 hours worked so that she qualifies for EI maternity benefits. Try to get a friend to live with you, you'll need the company after a day of goo-goo gaa-gaa talk. Make sure you both take the pre-natal classes. Live in Centretown so you don't feel like a shut-in.

But it is hard. I'll be blunt - maturity is a factor here. Are they up to this? There are some good signs, and some worrying ones. My wife is looking at this optimistically. Most of my family is, too, but not everyone is. Though I am a chronic worrier, I've put some trust in the trend for things to work out. So I end up kind of falling in the middle. Sometimes my worries break through.

Most of all, I've tried hard not to be disappointed, or to act disappointed in her. She knows how I felt, but it is done now. This baby is coming, and needs to be loved.

But I sometimes want to say to her, What were you thinking? How could you take a chance like that? What about going back to school? One family member bemoaned their... how shall I put this... unambitious nature. And I cannot say that this is a point of view that is always completely without merit. And I want to say so badly, you can't coast through this one! Invest something in your lives, and see diligently to your affairs! The prenatal classes have not been arranged. The doctor has not yet been seen. The minimum 600 hours are only being pursued halfheartedly, even though it makes a big difference to the baby's standard of living.

I am in a kind of perpetual agony about this, a purgatory. I go home at night determined to be good to my daughter. And I end up, a lot of the time, being aloof and a bit chilly. I can't help it, because at least that deportment is keeping the stern lecture I so want to give in check. And I know how unhelpful that would be right now.

I am a very visual person. When the baby comes, I know I will be transformed, because my grandchild will be right there. I wish I could grab onto some of that magic right now.

Most of all, I want to be more generous in spirit to my daughter. Worries for her, for them, are getting in the way, and I can't lose sight of the big picture.

Christmas Oddyssey - Part III

A guitar. I couldn't believe it. It seemed excessively generous. It still does. But I love it.

After Mass, I introduced our pastor to my parents. He looked very tired, but greeted them in his usual delighted fashion. Wandering over to my music group, I chatted with them for a few minutes. Everybody was happy, and we talked jokingly of doing it again soon.

My mother mentioned to me that we had to drop her leather coat by my brother's house. We weren't going to get to see them before they flew out, and she would need it. So we headed home, picked up daughter #1, and the jacket, and headed over to my brother's. They were all still awake, and my brother came out in his bathrobe to give me a hug.

“Happy birthday,” I said, “But I guess it isn't your birthday anymore, is it?”

“Crazy brother,” He replied.

We headed off to Sharbot Lake. It was now about two in the morning. For the last three years, the weather on Christmas Eve has been terrible. There is always a snow squall, or freezing rain, or something. This year it was raining and foggy. For a while, the temperatures seemed to hover slightly above freezing. Highway seven was dry.

But when we turned off onto the 509, it wasn't just slick. It was a skating rink. The road had been bathed with a light coating of ice. My wife put the car into second, then first, and we drove along at ten kilometers per hour.

“We're not in any hurry, right?” She said.

On the second big hill, the car's tires began to spin halfway up. We backed off, and tried again. We couldn't do it. The adults got out of the car. Seeya the puppy was being very good, quietly sleeping on my younger daughter's lap. My older daughter wandered in and out of consciousness.

“Let's see how bad this road really is,” my wife said, as we stepped out onto the hill. Although the pebbles and texture of the road was there, the sheen of ice was firm. It was a rough skating rink, but still a skating rink.

We got back in the car and rested for a while. And then, realizing that this was how it was meant to be, called Seeya's soon-to-be owner, my brother in law. It had been an impossible ordeal getting even this far with the dog, so beginning the gift-giving on a foggy and icy hill was going to have to do. We phoned, catching him just as he was on his way back to bed from an early morning trip to the bathroom.

“We're stuck.”

“Where are you?”

“Just off of highway seven, on the five oh nine. The hill past the little church.”

“Stay where you are. I'm coming, and I'll drive you out.”

He got there about forty five minutes later. I stood off the left shoulder, as my brother backed way down the hill, got up a furious speed in our station wagon, and barreled the wagon at the hill. In the back, quiet and sleeping was Seeya. Before taking another run, the kids bundled her out of the car in a blanket. After a couple of tries, up and over the car went, and drove out of sight.

A few minutes later, a shadowy figure trekked out of the fog at the top of the hill.

“Come here. We've got your Christmas present here, and I don't think it can wait,” my wife said.

“No, no, we'll...”

“Better do it now,” I said, “I've got a feeling you'll like it.”

Off came the blanket on the sweet faced yellow Lab puppy. That Christmas glow of instant love, that affection you see on a kid's face when their favourite wish appears under the tree, spread across his face, as he gingerly took and cradled the puppy in the blanket. “Sweetheart,” He said softly.

Christmas had come. It came without boxes, bows, and bags. But it came all the same.

We all drove slowly back to the cottage. We got there at twenty after seven in the morning, just in time to put the coffee on and open the stockings. Not a minute late, even if none of us had slept in a day.

Christmas Oddyssey - Part I

Thursday night we celebrated our daughter's twentieth birthday (which was actually Saturday, but she worked.) We opened some of our Christmas presents, too, since we would not have my parents at Christmas. When the cake came in, we all sang, “Happy birthday,” as I tried to find the key on my guitar. Her boyfriend was over, and I think that was the first time my parents met him. Time goes so quickly, and the night was quickly done.

The next morning, our household was bustling, but in a fairly relaxed way. My parents got ready to go over to my brother's. We packed a few things for our trip up to the cottage, which we planned to do later in the day. I helped my Mom and Dad get their stuff out to the car. I stumbled outside with suitcases, forgetting that I was in my slippers. The edge of the curb where my parents' van was parked was full of muddy water and slush, and it was then I realized I had my slippers on, so I could not swing the luggage into the trunk. That made me less helpful than I had intended to be.

We kind of regretted that my folks left so early. They were not going to be able to go right over to my brother's. He runs an office in his house, and the staff Christmas party was that day. We did not want them thinking they had to rush off on our account, and I worry that they left just to accommodate our trip, which we would have delayed.

Before going up to the cottage, we usually stop at the Independent's and pick up some groceries. While my wife began that, I took my younger daughter over to the Wal-Mart to buy Mom a Christmas present, which she had not been able to do yet. She's been very busy with Pathfinders, horse lessons, band practice – I think she leads a busier life than I!

When we found the grocery store, my daughter hauled me off to the washroom to guard the door. While I stood there, my mother strolled by! They had come to the store to buy some water. She asked me why I was standing there.

“Daughter number two is in the bathroom.” I answered.

“Your brother is not quite up to receiving us. By the sound of it, the party is still going, he's feeling it, and so we thought we'd see a movie. But I can't see the theater!”

I pointed down towards the end of the South Keys mall. By the time my daughter emerged, her grandmother had headed into the gray day and off to her van. My daughter and I looked for her mother up the veggie aisle and spotted her. As we cruised past the frozen berries, the small talk turned to something earthshaking.

“I have one bit of news with daughter number one on that count. And you're not going to be happy about it.”

I made a disparaging comment about her boyfriend and “shagging”, and as she nodded, I thought this was just about sex. I frequently find myself outraged by the cavalier attitude young men have towards it these days – when they date a girl, they expect sex – as though it is their due. I'd always encouraged my daughters to have respect foremost for themselves, and find a higher purpose in life than simply sating the libido of some future long-forgotten boyfriend. I had long hoped my daughter would hold him off. But the fact is that it isn't just boys who have a libido. I knew by now that at her age, chastity was probably a lost cause.

Yes, I knew this, and if the wisdom I had tried to impart had failed, at least I hoped to be oblivious about it. But the thing my wife was leading me to was not just about sex.

“She's pregnant,” she said. “Very pregnant. Probably about four and a half months.”

I wasn't thinking now. My mind was a sheet of snow, like a television channel without a signal. I was feeling, not thinking, but when you feel everything at once, you cannot easily describe it. I felt many different and conflicting things- a maelstrom of unresolved chaos that had not yet formed a direction.

“I couldn't believe I hadn't seen,” She continued. “Have you seen her stomach lately? I was sure everyone would notice.”

An image flashed through the bursting artillery in the no-man's land of my head. In September, she was sick, repeatedly, every morning before work. I had asked my wife about it, but when it had passed, I thought perhaps it had only been a prolonged bout of the flu.

“I'm so glad I can talk about it now,” She offered.

“I'll bet,” I stammered.

“I've been frustrated about being unable to say anything before. I don't like holding back secrets. She only told me just as your parents got here. She waited so long to tell anyone, because she did not want to be talked out of having the baby. 'You know what our religious beliefs are,' I told her. 'How could you think we would do that?'”

In the first instant of the Big Bang, twenty dimensions folded down into three; protons and electrons formed on the quivering strings of the universe, became atoms and then molecules as the universe cooled into meaning. Something similar was beginning to happen in my head. The chaos was becoming order, and I could begin to make out my new reality.

I was going to be a grandfather! After so many years of losing family members, we were gaining one. Over the years, I've lamented to my wife that I missed having the very little ones around. “There are no little kids anymore,” I would say sadly.

The chaos formed a recognizable pattern. Hope. Life. Love. Anger slipped out of the picture – though that has visited me a few times in the moments since. No, not angry, not now - I was ecstatic.

I am going to be a grandfather. I have many fond memories from my early childhood of my own grandfather. He was such a warm and cozy presence, like the housecoat he always wore. He was full of stories, laughter, and always faintly smelled of sweet tobacco. He gave me a pipe when I was five, and we would smoke together.

The circle has come right around, right around to a place that is like the beginning. But I am the grandfather.

Grampa.

My wife spoke on about her reactions – conflicted as mine had been. At first, some anger over the stunning and blatant irresponsibility that had led to this, but taking delight in the fact that such a new and wonderful role is now part of our future. She will make an excellent Grandma. And I will do my best to be the kind of Grampa I remember.