Don't you wish stupidity were painful?

I have a low tolerance for stupidity.

In fact if I had my way all the stupid people would be frog-marched down to the dock and put on barges for islands far away from me and mine.

Now I’m not saying that smart people can’t have “moments of reverse intelligence” - I think everyone is entitled to a couple of those – new mommies can have as many as they like.

For the record – I’m not talking about uneducated people. Some of the smartest people I know never made it past the 10th grade.

In fact, many of the EI’s (educated idiots), as I will refer to them – usually have more than one set of letters behind their name.

These folks typically hang out in areas of higher learning and somehow feel they have the right to talk down to others despite the fact they’re standing there looking like something the cat dragged in and smelling vaguely like the same.

You know the type. They’re the type that blows their nose into handkerchiefs and then peer into them as if they’re going to learn the secret of the universe from the formation of snot on the cloth.

They’re also the type who put their asinine comments on the CBC and CTV news stories lamenting about Canadian Peacekeepers and how we need to bring our soldiers home.

Apparently they’re too educated to realize that you can’t keep peace if there’s no peace to keep!

And who is supposed to broker peace? Are they volunteering to go over to these countries and tell them to settle down? Of course not!

They would rather sit on their comfy couches and provide armchair commentary on things that they don’t know anything about.

That’s how these people are – they don’t live - they read about living and then tell others how to live their lives.

They’re the ones who have made this world so politically correct and bogged down that there’s no way to get things done directly and efficiently. And they’re the first ones to bellyache about the fact there is too much red tape.

New Brunswick is about to go to the polls for a provincial election.

Let’s make sure that the arm chair livers aren’t the ones deciding the fate of the rest of us.

Get out and vote.

Or like my mother, a woman definitely not in the EI category, would say – if you don’t contribute – don’t complain!

Happy Mothers Day

Nearly six years.

There are days when I still pick up the phone and dial the first six or eight digits of her phone number before I stop and hang up the handset.

And, although people said it would, I’m still waiting for it to get easier.

My mother wasn’t supposed to have me.

I wasn’t supposed to be possible.

She was forty-seven. – No spring’s chick.

She had actually gone to the doctor to have it confirmed she was in menopause. Instead she got the news that she was pregnant.

She smacked the doctor in the face and went back to work. “Funny joke.” She probably thought.

But they called her back to his office.

They told her horrible things.

I would be born with major birth defects. I would be disabled. I would be a burden forever.

It was years before ultra sound technology would come to my hometown. Most of the tests for birth defects hadn’t even been thought of, let alone incorporated.

She knew the odds weren’t in her favour. But like most things my mother did, she faced them head on with her eyes wide open.

They admitted her to the hospital because she was six feet tall and wearing a size seven and not gaining weight. They fed her steak and eggs and when she still failed to pack on the pounds she insisted she go home because her own cooking was better.

She must have been in excruciating pain for the majority of her pregnancy because I was only a few days old and she was whisked away to St. John’s to have a cyst the size of a grapefruit taken off of her kidney.

I don’t know what made her believe I would be fine. I’ll never have the chance to ask her if she was scared. I only know that I was born because my mother was determined that I would be.

She had faith I would be born whole, without birth defects or chromosomal abnormalities. And if her faith wasn’t enough; she would find the strength to deal with it.

Somewhere buried inside of my mother was a core of tempered steel. Unwavering. Unyielding.

There are days I know she passed that on to me.

Every time I think I can’t do this. Every time I can’t face Kate’s disability or one more night feeding, or a rambunctious eight-year-old I channel a little of her strength. I hear her voice telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself and get on with it.

We didn’t see everything eye to eye. I’m sure I disappointed her more than once and Lord knows she could infuriate me like no one else.

But I’d give anything in this world for five more minutes with her.

For all of you who still have your mothers - always remember that she was the one person who loved you enough to give you life and you changed hers forever. And know that there will be a time when you would give all you have for just five more minutes.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom, wherever you are.

I love you.

Let's catch up...

I was subtly reminded today that it’s been awhile since my last blog entry.

It’s not that I haven’t written.

Darned computer is practically drowning in unfinished drivel that I haven’t followed through with.

But I haven’t shared it.

And that’s wrong of me.

In fact it could be why my ‘centre’ is feeling ‘off’. The blog began as therapy of sorts. I could take all the raw emotion and put it out there and I wouldn’t have to deal with alone. An emotional and mental pressure valve.

And I must begin again…

The guns are in the field. Every now and again a particularly loud concussion will rattle the wine glasses in the cupboard. They’re miles away, out in the middle of the ranges, but sound carries well when the skies are overcast.

It’s a good time to meld a whole bunch of thoughts about recent events into one big entry. Bring you up to speed on my thought process, if you will.

I’m fed up with the media.

Danny Williams travels to the US for surgery not offered in Canada. Am I paying for it? – No. If I had the money would I travel to wherever in the world the cutting edge, state of the art experts were? – Hell yeah! And so would all of the people who talked about it. You know who you are.

Tiger Woods. Is he the first famous person to cheat? No. Is he married to me? No. Am I one of the other women? No. Do I care? Not particularly. Stop reporting on it.

Dancing with the Stars. It’s like being the centre square – you go there to have people remember you’re not dead – just pitifully looking for attention. I don’t care about the contestants – when did this become news?

These are just three of the millions of mosquito-like tidbits that are buzzing around my head. It’s not news – it’s filler!

It’s what the media puts out there to distract you from what their sponsors don’t want you to see. Then the real stories can be spun or sidelined so that everyone can go home happy.

Remember back in the fall when Pete McKay arrived in Gagetown and all the soldiers were ordered to take part in his big announcement so it would look good for the media? All these guys had to stop their real work and go to make a politician look good for the camera for him to announce that the army was getting new equipment. Ring any bells?

Well the government has cancelled that. Did you see that in the media? Neither did I. I had to dig for it when Rick Mercer mentioned it in a rant. It’s pretty bad when a pseudo news show does a better job at educating the public than the real media.

Parliament was prorogued for the Olympics. And they were paid. A lot. Last time I checked we were in a financial crisis and you’re getting paid to not be at work? Where can I sign up for that deal? I’m all for the politicians playing hosts and networking at the international games. But to give politicians three months off when the games are two weeks? Harper must think we're too stunned to work a calendar!

And if Parliament was prorogued and government contracts were cancelled for fiscal reasons, who, exactly, had the authority to say that the donations from citizens would be met by the government dollar for dollar for the people of Haiti?

Now before you get your knickers in a knot. I am all for helping those in need. I am proud of the fact that people raised money and sent it off to such a poor place in their time of need. But don’t you think it’s a bit odd that we did all of that for the birthplace of Michele Jean but relatively nothing for Chile?

I guess we can trace that particular media puppet string back to the GG herself.

I keep remembering that song the governor sang from the Best Little Whorehouse In Texas. “OO I like to dance a little side step.” Too bad the media and the majority of Canadians are following along like a drunken Ginger Rogers.

The truth is out there. The real truth. It takes some digging. And we’re thrown a lot of crap to distract us. The rich want to be richer. They want to step on us. They want us to think that they’re acting in our best interest and throwing the criminals in jail while getting their buddies off with a half assed apology and a $500 fine.

Well – boys (and girls) I’m not buying it. This time around you’re going to have to earn my vote the hard way. Not with those sad propaganda TV commercials you’re endorsing and not by filling my mailbox full of crap.

I want someone not afraid to look me in the eye and explain himself. How about you?

All For Love

Valentines Day.

Or as my decidedly unromantic father would say: “Another holiday dreamed up by Hallmark.”

We don’t have plans.

I’m afraid to make plans to do much of anything lately.

Katie’s seizures are worse. More frequent. More intense.

Four out of five days, it seems she just gets to school and the phone is ringing because she’s seizing.

From a parent’s perspective it’s like walking a tightrope. Every second I’m on edge. Waiting. Worrying.

On Friday morning alone she had five seizures. No, that’s not a typo, you read correctly – five.

The new drugs she’s on obviously aren’t working.

But here’s the kicker.

The neurologist hasn’t returned my phone calls. And neither her paediatrician, nor our family doctor will alter medications prescribed by a neurologist.

So what do I do?

I’m not an uneducated woman. I know the damage that multiple seizures are causing. I know that, if left unchecked, my daughter could die.

I want to scream.

I can’t help her. She looks at sometimes like she’s begging me to fix it.

But I’m powerless.

All I can do is wait. Keep her calm. Let her rest.

Rick is phenomenal. My strength when I have none.

Physical proof that a families are forged with love as much as they ever could be with blood.

Kate has made it through today.

I don’t know what tomorrow brings. I’m afraid to hope.

Just a note

They say you make your own luck.

I must have lost the recipe somewhere along the way. Because, lately, it feels as if my life is rather unlucky.

Over the holidays I lost several people that made my hometown, my “home”.

With the mayhem of the Christmas rush I didn’t fully appreciate their losses and how much they meant to my life. But today, as I sat down and attempted to write notes in no less than three sympathy cards I thought about each of them.

I attempted to convey to their wives, children and grandchildren how their loved one touched my life.

I clumsily attempted to convey what I was feeling without making people sadder. And after several tries – I was sitting with a dozen crumpled balls of paper and three cards with just our signatures on them.

I hate that.

It’s impersonal. Cold. Dismissive.

The power went out here over the holidays. A large tree knocked down a power line on the main drag and we were left in the dark and cold for nearly ten hours.

As I lit my grandmother’s oil lamps I was reminded of a night when Kate was very small. The power went out in St. Anthony on the coldest day of the year and the entire town was without power.

Kate was just a couple of months old. Newfoundland Hydro had no idea when the power would be back on and my mother’s house was getting colder by the minute.

Our neighbour came and picked up the baby and I without hesitation. It was only after we were sitting safely by their woodstove did I discover that it was their 50^th wedding anniversary and they were hosting a party.

Rather than feeling like an imposition they made us part of the celebration. Like they planned to have us join them all along.

The generosity and love we were shown on that day has stayed with me - I’m not sure I ever told them that.

How do you put that onto a card?

Hallmark has made billions in the greeting card industry but they can’t quite capture that.

I don’t know about making our own luck – but we certainly make our own imprints on those we touch.

I hope mine is worthy of a note someday.

Until then, I’m going to continue to tell my friends and family that I love them whenever I get the chance. I’m going to tell them how much they have meant to my life. You never know when it will be the last.

Call it a resolution for the rest of my life.

Happy 2010!