Done With The Politics . . . For Now.
*** continued from previous post ***
Martha listened to the ebb and flow of discussion without so much as a comment. Finally she looked at her sons, then back to me, (your mother had long since went to her 'happy place'), and said, "You know why we Canadians are so interested in what happens in THE STATES?"
See? Here's the problem: Never ask a smart-ass a question. We feel duty bound to offer an answer. How I managed to stifle myself I'll never know.
"It's because our politics are so dreadfully boring," she said, looking to her sons.
"Well, that's true eh? Can't even get worked up over this year's election up here," Carl chuckled.
"And the real reason we criticize THE STATES so much?" She looked around to see if anyone would answer. When no one did she continued, "Because we can. That's why. We all know that the US takes care of us, even if we don't want to admit it. We don't have to pour the money into defense that you do. We don't have to worry about invasion. We don't have to worry about locking up our borders. We don't have to worry about the world looking to us for solutions every time something goes wrong. Gives us a lot of time to bitch."
Mark, Carl, and their wives grinned like a kid caught downloading music. And that effectively ended the political discussion. At least with them.
The rest of the evening was spent the way I hoped it would in the beginning. We talked and compared histories and life stories. We celebrated our similarities; we dispelled misconceptions, and found the common ground of family and children. Your mom actually joined in and was laughing by the end of the night. I know! Miracles do happen.
The rest of the meal was uneventful, except for the food which was glorious. However, I did find one thing fascinating. Martha, during the course of conversation, shared that she lived on the outskirts of a small wheat farming Albertan town of Vulcan. Unusual name, but Martha explained that it was named for the Roman God and that all of the streets in the town held the monikers of lesser Gods and Goddesses of the classical world. How cool is that? Canada has a knack with place names. Why can't we do something like that around here? Granted, the latest tacky-box development on the edge of town did name one of their streets 'Lois Lane', but I think that was by accident. I'm quite sure they, nor the city planners that approved the name, had a clue to the irony until it was pointed out to them.
The other remarkable tidbit regarding Vulcan, in true pioneering prairie spirit, was that the town had managed to take their unusual name and find a niche' tourism market. How, you may ask, would a small agricultural town, with a population just shy of 2000 people, on the plains of Alberta profit from a name like Vulcan? Nary a volcano in sight. A rubber tire museum had been done to death. No, these hearty folks did the only sensible thing and decided to build a huge scale replica of the 'USS Enterprise' from Star Trek fame and declare themselves home-base for all things Spocky. I kid you not. They have treky themed murals, a museum and tourist center, (Oh that's right. . .that's an AMERICAN spelling so deal with it!), and once a year they hold a community wide celebration named VulCON / Spock Days / Galaxyfest. Take your pick.
Upon further inquiry of my dear Martha, she summarized the entire process behind such a dedicated, albeit narrow, community identity - and the origins thereof - in one sentence:
"The winters are long and we tend to drink a lot."
Fair enough. But I don't care what you say, that takes some chutzpah.
As our dinner began to digest the need for sleep overtook the need for socialization. While it had now been 24 hours since nearly becoming an ursal snack, evidently you don't recover from a day like that immediately. Who knew? As the last of the stragglers finished their dessert, we excused ourselves and made our way back to the room, sans moose attack, and fell asleep almost immediately.
Tomorrow was another day. Who knew what that would bring?
End of Chapter 9
*** the journey continues ***
Martha listened to the ebb and flow of discussion without so much as a comment. Finally she looked at her sons, then back to me, (your mother had long since went to her 'happy place'), and said, "You know why we Canadians are so interested in what happens in THE STATES?"
See? Here's the problem: Never ask a smart-ass a question. We feel duty bound to offer an answer. How I managed to stifle myself I'll never know.
"It's because our politics are so dreadfully boring," she said, looking to her sons.
"Well, that's true eh? Can't even get worked up over this year's election up here," Carl chuckled.
"And the real reason we criticize THE STATES so much?" She looked around to see if anyone would answer. When no one did she continued, "Because we can. That's why. We all know that the US takes care of us, even if we don't want to admit it. We don't have to pour the money into defense that you do. We don't have to worry about invasion. We don't have to worry about locking up our borders. We don't have to worry about the world looking to us for solutions every time something goes wrong. Gives us a lot of time to bitch."
Mark, Carl, and their wives grinned like a kid caught downloading music. And that effectively ended the political discussion. At least with them.
The rest of the evening was spent the way I hoped it would in the beginning. We talked and compared histories and life stories. We celebrated our similarities; we dispelled misconceptions, and found the common ground of family and children. Your mom actually joined in and was laughing by the end of the night. I know! Miracles do happen.
The rest of the meal was uneventful, except for the food which was glorious. However, I did find one thing fascinating. Martha, during the course of conversation, shared that she lived on the outskirts of a small wheat farming Albertan town of Vulcan. Unusual name, but Martha explained that it was named for the Roman God and that all of the streets in the town held the monikers of lesser Gods and Goddesses of the classical world. How cool is that? Canada has a knack with place names. Why can't we do something like that around here? Granted, the latest tacky-box development on the edge of town did name one of their streets 'Lois Lane', but I think that was by accident. I'm quite sure they, nor the city planners that approved the name, had a clue to the irony until it was pointed out to them.
The other remarkable tidbit regarding Vulcan, in true pioneering prairie spirit, was that the town had managed to take their unusual name and find a niche' tourism market. How, you may ask, would a small agricultural town, with a population just shy of 2000 people, on the plains of Alberta profit from a name like Vulcan? Nary a volcano in sight. A rubber tire museum had been done to death. No, these hearty folks did the only sensible thing and decided to build a huge scale replica of the 'USS Enterprise' from Star Trek fame and declare themselves home-base for all things Spocky. I kid you not. They have treky themed murals, a museum and tourist center, (Oh that's right. . .that's an AMERICAN spelling so deal with it!), and once a year they hold a community wide celebration named VulCON / Spock Days / Galaxyfest. Take your pick.
Upon further inquiry of my dear Martha, she summarized the entire process behind such a dedicated, albeit narrow, community identity - and the origins thereof - in one sentence:
"The winters are long and we tend to drink a lot."
Fair enough. But I don't care what you say, that takes some chutzpah.
As our dinner began to digest the need for sleep overtook the need for socialization. While it had now been 24 hours since nearly becoming an ursal snack, evidently you don't recover from a day like that immediately. Who knew? As the last of the stragglers finished their dessert, we excused ourselves and made our way back to the room, sans moose attack, and fell asleep almost immediately.
Tomorrow was another day. Who knew what that would bring?
End of Chapter 9
*** the journey continues ***
posted by David M at
9:12 AM
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Keep it nice or I release the Zombies.
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