O Canada

I'm debating heading out to my swing at the foot of the yard. The sun is out, and I haven't sat on it yet this year, except the one day when I cut the backyard because the boys were out and I had to sit and take a break midway because I never cut the grass anymore. I'm sure it's covered in bird poop, so I'll take a cushion thing and pretend I don't know. It's Canada Day; most of my days run into each other (deadline changes now mean I work on Sundays as well as Mondays for writing), and I kinda end up working every day of the week. But today, maybe not. Or at least maybe not for long.

Flags hold a special place in my family's heart. Mostly because of Christopher. When he was little, he discovered flags and fell in love. By age two he was mesmerized. By three, he was collecting them. He'd get two new ones every week from the the flag store (yes, such places exist), until he had about 50 different countries. And he knew them all. But Canadian flags were always his favourite, and when we moved to this house the promise was that he could finally get his own flag pole. It's out front; we replace the flag not often enough, but we're still the house with the flag.

The Toronto Star had a bunch of their journalists write up a 'what Canada means to me' bit today. Most of them were lovely, and no doubt in line with what I would have written if they'd asked me. Note: they did not ask me. Anyway. All but Cathal Kelly's who cracked me up. Read his snarky take. I predict a flood of rotten letters to the ed for his impudence, but I loved it. It's true.

Canadians are a weird bunch. Truly. Even though we find it easy to define other Canadians, I think we usually get ourselves wrong. We're a Sunday morning version of ourselves, if Sunday morning still involved church and itchy pants and hard shoes.
We know we're doing the right thing even when we'd rather get changed and go play.

We're not up north, but we should be. But the traffic has become such a nightmare that I'll only try to get there on off days. That, and the laundry all got moused last year, so I volunteered to wash it all over the winter. I'm doing it as we speak. If my sisters go up, there are no towels or duvets. I hope they're not going up.

I'm sorry that Christopher Hitchens has cancer. I like the cantankerous bastard. I like his writing. I hope he gets well and keeps doing it.

I'm glad that Pee Wee Herman is developing a new movie. I think he got a totally bum rap all those years ago. Caught enjoying himself in a movie theatre (and the kind intended for that, not like a screening of 101 Dalmations or anything), I think back on all the crap that has happened since, all the sex tapes and confessions and cringe-inducing behaviour from people who should know better, and I think "Pee Wee gets busted for that and loses his career? Really?" So, welcome back. You were one of the only things my kids watched that didn't make me barf. I'm talking to you, Barney creators.

I'm conflicted about the stories emerging from the G20 stuff. Cops detaining people on their way to work is bullsh*t. But I'm not buying the 'I was just walking by' line at all. There were thousands of legitimate protesters, there for a purpose. But if you just were there for a looky-loo and got mixed up, kwitcherbitchin if you got swept up. You denigrate the case to be made for those with a purpose.

Larry King is bowing out of his show. I'm trying to think of something I care less about. Nope. Can't come up with anything.

I have other things to say, but I'm gonna go have some eggs.