The woes of calling in sick

Being sick is tough, but having to call in sick to work really upsets my stomach.
Why is it that I find it impossible to wallow in illness with a guilt-free conscience?
I woke up on a recent Tuesday morning and felt like sometime in the night, strangers had quietly crept into my home and beaten me severely while I slept. They really went nuts on my head. It was pounding. My body was shaky and weak and my stomach, oh my stomach!
My first thought was, “I can't possibly go to work today!” My second thought was, “That means I have to call in sick!” and that's when things really started to go downhill.
The thought of calling my editor (who is very nice by the way, usually) and telling him I was too sick to come to work took me from feeling extremely unwell, to feeling unwell and a little panicky.
It's been my unfortunate experience in about 98 per cent of the news rooms that I've worked in that calling in sick is what the weak and the deceitful do.
In fact I recall one of my college instructors telling my class that unless we were being planted six feet under, there was never an acceptable time to call in sick.
So, I hauled my butt in to work only to find that three out of our eight staff members who were supposed to be there that day were at home, sick.
What made things really weird though, is that my editor still seemed genuinely concerned about how I was feeling. So much so, that he actually suggested I go home early.
This interchange was strange to me. I was conflicted. So many feelings of guilt were replaced for a nanosecond with feelings of gratitude which were replaced in a millisecond with a mental cocktail of guilt and gratitude fueled by a fever and my stomach! Oh my stomach!
In a whirl of confused emotions I acquiesced and left early, heading home to my nice soft bed. I was excited at the thought of getting a couple of hours of quiet rest before having to pick up my daughter at daycare. Then I thought of calling my mother to ask her to pick my girl up because I was feeling so horrible, and, well, you can imagine where my thinking went from there.
I was, though, feeling so utterly ill that I did, eventually, call my mother and glory of glories, she agreed to pick up my daughter and expressed sympathy that I was unwell!
It was an unprecedented day! And in a confused vortex of fever, pain and, more than anything else, guilt, finally Morpheus stole into my room and I let him take me away. The great thing about Morpheus, he refused to let me take my guilt along for the trip.

Sovereignty should include a committment to protect our environment

It's frightening enough to hear estimates among international scientists that our polar caps could melt away within the next decade, but when you add politics and greed to the mix, it gets even worse.
The Greenhouse Effect on Arctic and Antarctic ice means that natural resources formerly hidden away and protected by the frozen elements will be accessible.
Already countries are getting their ducks, or in this case penguins, in a row on this.
Britain has announced it plans to map its property around the Antarctic and in the Speech from the Throne, Prime Minister Stephen Harper made it clear he wants to beef up Canada's military to, among other things, strengthen our sovereignty in the north.
Of course it wouldn't hurt our government or others if these newly mapped areas were rich in oil.
The fact that we are losing unknown numbers of species of animals and plant life due to climate change is horrific. What makes it worse is that we don't know what these great losses will mean to our planet.
Being human doesn't make us immune to the potentially catastrophic effects of global warming, no matter how arrogantly we try to elevate ourselves above other life forms on this Earth.
So in our haste to claim sovereignty over the North, would it not be prudent to ensure that these wondrous, fragile regions also be protected, nurtured and nursed back to health from the sicknesses we have released upon them?
Oil doesn't perpetuate life on our planet, life does.

Is John Tory wishy-washy, or just listening?

Provincial Conservative leader John Tory is taking it on the chin by some who say he is being wishy-washy and showing weak leadership by changing his position on allowing a free vote in the legislature on funding faith-based schools.
Why?
If anything I think Mr. Tory should be credited with actually listening to voters and allowing that his ideas on this subject may not be what people want.
Who cares if he came to this realization during an election campaign?
I believe true strength is shown in the ability of one to bend. How many trees have fallen because they were too brittle in the face of strong winds?
I realize I am opening the door to too many jokes by talking about politicians and strong winds in the same story, but my point is that whether you like a politician's platform or not, it is comforting to know that he or she is open to hearing what the public has to say and willing to make changes to meet those concerns.

It goes on and on

There have been more times than I like to think about throughout my life when I've thought that the Universe really doesn't like me.
How could I think such a thing? Read on my friend, read on.
Before I begin this tale of woe, I want to you know that every word of it is true and unembellished.
OK, we have to go back in time, to the beginning, the first time in my life when I experienced this weird, baffling relationship I have with the Universe.
I was at a friends and we were playing "Hide the Bead."
Driven by a sudden wild desire to be perfect, to be the best bead hider ever, I found myself behind a living room easy chair staring at the bead, pondering the perfect hiding place. And then it came to me. And I was absolutely right. No one guessed that I had hidden the tiny orb up my nose.
My bewildered friends sat frustrated in front of me and I gloried in that moment when I could finally reveal my genius to them. That's when it all went horribly wrong. I couldn't get the damn thing out of my nose.
To the sound of children's laughter, my mother led me out of the house and to the doctor's where he conducted an emergency bead-ectomy and removed the object. A little older and no wiser, my friends and I (prepubescent teens) used to like to go to the Lakefield arena to watch boys play hockey. I had one pair of really cool jeans but they were dirty so I dashed downstairs and put them in the washer. When they were done I threw them immediately into the dryer. My friends showed up before the cycle was done, but when I felt the jeans I thought they'd be OK, that I could handle a little dampness to look hot.
We got to the arena, sat on our favourite bench so we could see the boys and they could see us, and my jeans started steaming. Great gusts of steam were rising from my damp, denim-clad thighs.
I left, red-faced, with the sound of teen laughter echoing in my ears.
Fast forward a few years to a time when I was taking a computer course at Fleming College. As I was walking along a path to school, a black cat crossed my path. When I saw it I felt special. I loved black cats and figured maybe it was a sign of really good luck. And then the cat stopped and pooped in my path.
Message received loud and clear!
Then there was the time I went for an interview for a waitress job at the Rockhaven. I wore my best skirt and when I walked in all these people were staring at me and I was feeling pretty fine. I knew I looked great in that skirt.
The interview went really well and the people who had watched me walk in watched me walk out too. I must be looking good.
When I got home I went to my room and did a celebratory twirl in front of the mirror. That's when I noticed my skirt was tucked up into my underwear in the back.
I never heard back from the Rockhaven.
And just the other week, I finished work early on a Friday and went to a local store (I can't bring myself to tell you which one) and was shopping for blouses for work. I was going to be looking pretty sharp in these clothes I tell ya.
Then, for no reason I could fathom, my bowel turned to liquid and I was left frantically dashing around the store, all the while trying to look calm and relaxed, looking for someone to tell me where the heck the bathroom was.
I had to break into a conversation a store employee was having with his boss, but this was an emergency. He pointed toward the back of the store, got on the intercom system to announce that someone had to meet a customer at the door at the back of the store, and I was walked through the back of the store to the employee locker area where the tiny bathroom was and was grateful to find it empty.
The woman who led me in left me which made me even more grateful.
The end came and I got up to leave only to find the toilet wouldn't flush.
I left as quickly and as unobtrusively as possible.
You see what I mean? Now do you understand how I could get the idea that the Universe has it in for me?
I was thinking about all this the other day and then I looked at my daughter who will turn four in January and suddenly I saw everything differently.
The words from a Sound of Music song kept running through my head,
"Somewhere in my wicked, miserable past
I must have done something good."
And that settled it for me, now power that could give me a gift as great as my daughter could hate me. I figure it's more than the Universe has this really weird sense of humour and it is bound and determined to make sure I never take myself too seriously.
And for that I am grateful.

Save me from dead-end debates!

So I turned on the leaders' debate on TV Thursday night looking forward to hearing the ideas of what should have been four party representatives on how they would run the province if they are elected.
The Green Party is running candidates in all ridings but for some reason beyond my comprehension, party leader Frank de Jong wasn't included.
So I was stuck watching the same old three suits (the faces are different but I swear, the suits are the same) and listening to the same old tired election tactic of trying to pick away at the current in-power politico as opposed to talking about what plans your own party has to make things better.
I could only take about two minutes of it before turning it off.
Honestly, The NDP's Howard Hampton and the Conservative's John Tory surely have some ideas on how they want to improve things in the province, ideas on issues like healthcare and seniors and education. Isn't it more important to get those ideas out there than simply bitching at the guy in power?
Recent radio ads I've been hearing from the Conservatives run along the same line – bitch, bitch, bitch.
Tell me your ideas!
I don't need you to tell me about Dalton McGuinty and what he's done as Premier. I've been conscious throughout most of his term, I know this stuff.
And frankly when I hear opposition campaigners spending all their time slamming the current in-power party it makes me wonder what it is about their own platform that they don't want to talk about.
So the next time there's a leaders debate, please include all the leaders who have candidates in all ridings and please let me know beforehand whether those taking part will be actually presenting new ideas or just gnawing that same old blame-game election bone.
'Cause frankly, I'd rather be watching re-runs of extended video footage of grass growing!

It only takes a second

Have you ever taken the time to watch fog?
I don't mean just notice it as you're driving or walking through it, but really staying still and quiet to watch this misty, mysterious entity.
It can billow as it moves, or creep slowly along, led by tiny tendrils of ghostly gossamer.
It floats like a weightless presence, carefully assessing all it passes over, leaving behind a tingling reminder of its having been there, in traces of glistening beads of water dangling delicately on spiders' webs, blades of grass, leaves on the trees.
I like to walk into fog, the thicker the better, and let it wrap around me. I close my eyes and let myself be enfolded in this chill blanket, my imagination picking up the whispers of elves, or hobbits lost on their long and weary road.
There's something absolutely magical about fog and something deeply profound happens to every soul that takes the time to watch it, become a part of it, breath it in.
This time of year the morning's are often swathed in bands of this cool gauze.
Treat yourself. Take some time. Give yourself a few seconds, or minutes, to slow down on the way to work and really watch this magnificent manifestation of nature.

They grow up so fast...

My daughter Mary recently told our neighbour that she is starting school this year.
The neighbour asked what grade she is going into and my daughter replied she heading into high school.
Mary is three and a half years old.
The effect her words had on me was immediate and profound. I literally froze.
My eyes locked on my girl, chatting happily with our neighbour, my body suddenly feeling like it was made of cement, my mouth hanging open like a gaping, well, mouth, and I was, for perhaps the first time in my life, stuck for words.
You know that saying that just before you die your life flashes before your eyes?
Well, after my daughter uttered those words, her whole life flashed before my eyes.
I was in Vancouver, 42 and single when I discovered I was pregnant. I've just remembered the real first time I was stuck for words.
It was strange timing. I'd recently come to peace with the idea of never having children. I'd never been married but thought it was something I could consider if I decided to have a child. Having grown up without a father at home, it was very important to provide my future child with a mother and a father.
Well you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men and women!
I'd never met a man I thought I could put up with 'til death do us part, and vice versa.
But this guy came close. So, there I was a few days later, telling the man I loved that I was carrying his child.
It was an extremely difficult pregnancy. The occasional migraines I suffered from since I was a child became chronic, making it impossible to work. I had to go on short-term disability and spent many, many painful days in bed.
I developed gestational diabetes and for the last two months of my pregnancy was unable to sit or stand for more than one or two hours before becoming violently ill.
It didn't make things any easier that as the pregnancy progressed the maturity level of my man exponentially diminished. It was bizarre watching this life growing within me and this mentality draining away in front of me.
To give him credit, he was in the delivery room when Mary was born. And he obviously adored her as did I. The second I saw that child I was smitten in a way I'd never known. She had taken immediate possession of my heart and soul.
Her father, unfortunately, wasn't able to overcome his demons and be the father she deserved or the partner I needed so I brought her back to Ontario to raise her in Lakefield where I grew up and where she now is surrounded with family.
Over the last three and a half years I have begged her not to grow up too fast. She's not even old enough for junior kindergarten and she's already planning on going to high school.
Oh my heart!
I never knew, until I had a child, just how fast time could pass. Last night, while she slept, I found myself staring at her chubby little hand, lying on top of the bedclothes, tracing with my eyes the soft curve of her pink cheeks, marvelling at her long eyelashes and beautiful golden hair. And it occurred to me that no matter how old this child gets, no matter what grade she goes into in the autumns to come, she will always and forever be my baby.