I'm Not Writing a Post This Morning

Just wanted to let you know that I'm not going to write a post this morning. That's right. Not doing it.

Why?

I've got a few reasons:

1. I've got absolutely nothing to say. When I get that way, I make stuff up that isn't true and I don't want to betray the trust of my readers (dwindling as they might be, see below). Besides, as my Mom always says, "if you don't have something nice to say, have a sandwich". (She's never said that actually, but that's not the point.) 
2. I don't feel like it. The girls just went back to school after a great Reading Week together and I miss them. The last thing I feel like doing is writing a blog post. Speaking of Reading Week, it seems like a bit of a misnomer. And speaking of the word "misnomer", there sure are a lot of people who misuse that word. Look it up. Then look up the word "ironic".
3. I'm too busy. I simply don't have the time to devote to the creative process. It takes me days - even weeks sometimes - to write these posts. I don't want to cheat all of my readers (dwindling in numbers as they are, mind you) of my usual quality. See my earlier poem about cheese if you doubt what I'm saying.
4. My readership is dwindling. My recent scintillating posts barely attracted any eyeballs. Rather than doing something about it, like writing more scintillating posts, I'd rather just mope and write nothing. So there. (I don't know how to put emoticons into the post, or I can't be bothered, but if I did I'd put an emoticon of a little guy with his arms crossed, slightly perturbed eyes, a frowny face, and a clearly expressed "hmmmmph".) (By the way, the 'm' key stuck when I was typing "hmmph", but I like the way it came out so I left the extra 'm's in.)
5. I'm starting to forget when I've told someone something already, and I don't want to accidentally say something I've said before in an earlier post or Facebook status. For example, I know I've told a lot of you about my wife cancelling our fixed-fee snow shoveling service this winter because over the last couple of winters it hasn't paid. But I can't remember if I've already written a post about it, so I don't want to risk repeating myself by mentioning it again.
6. I'm starting to forget when I've told someone something already, and I don't want to accidentally say something I've said before in an earlier post or Facebook status. For example, if I mention how much my back is hurting this winter, I run the risk that I've already told you that.
7. My 'mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm' key keeps sticking. I could work around it by avoiding that letter, or by using the backspace key, but that key requires a long reach from mmmmy right pinky finger and I'mmmmmm having trouble mmmmmmustering the effort to mmmmmmmmake the reach.
8. I'm struggling to focus on anything for more than a few minutes. Even things that require only a tiny bit of focus, like keeping up my sticking 'm' key gag, are a challenge. If I'm not careful, this could lead to unsighly errors and lost credibility.
9. My dear wife (who cancelled my shoveling service this winter because over the last few winters it hasn't paid) says I'm writing too many posts and she doesn't have time to read all of them. I wouldn't want to do that to her, what with all the shoveling and all.

So there you have it. That's why I'm not writing a post this morning. I just thought I owed all of you devoted readers, both of you that is, an explanation.

David.

These Olympics Feel Different

It's not that long ago that Canada was a sadsack nation when it came to the Olympics - winter or summer. It wasn't that we never won anything; it was that we always seemed to be underachieving in sports where we legitimately should have done better.

When the medals came, they were truly special. They were generally unexpected. We were proud that we had finally managed to penetrate the veil of mediocrity that seemed to lie over the Olympics for us. Our winners were heroes. But so were our losers.

From our perspective, we were the good guys. We tried hard. We were nice. We were happy to be there and just happy to represent our country, even if that meant finishing 26th. And even when we were caught cheating, if felt like we were the only country nice enough to allow ourselves to be caught: The bad guys were getting away with it.

After every Games, we would wring our collective hands with angst that we hadn't done better. More money! Bigger and better sponsors for our athletes! More athletes! More pride! A killer instinct! Stronger support from Corporate Canada! And so on.

Well now we've arrived. We're with the big boys in Sochi. We are expected to dominate. We are expected to win. When we finish 26th, we get passing mention. When we win a Silver but were supposed to win a Gold, we've let the country down. When we come out of nowhere and win a medal we weren't expecting, that's a story; if we were expected to win it, it's just taking what was rightfully ours.

When we don't win something we were supposed to win, our first thought is that someone else must be cheating.

For me, this isn't nearly as fun as the Olympics used to be.

We used to pride ourselves on following all the sports and all the athletes, not just the Canadians. We used to be David and they were Goliath. We used to be sweet and gracious. The Olympics were a time when we proudly put on display our sportsmanship, not our egos. We used to be righteously indignant at how the Americans behaved. Now, we're the Americans.

Before you have to tell me I'm being unfair, I'll readily admit that my opinion has been formed based on a relatively small sample of Olympic viewing. The 9-hour time shift has me watching events after they've happened. Watching all day long, I might be seeing all the stuff I used to love: The events where we have no shot at a medal; the profiles of the athletes who aren't contenders; the sports that aren't on the North American radar at all.

I know there have been beautiful moments; there always are. Athletes who have devoted their lives to attaining world's-best status are amazing people who do amazing things. The problem I have isn't with them. It's with us.

I used the word "we" throughout this post to call out an Olympic (and sporting in general) pet peeve of mine: "We" aren't doing what the athletes are doing; They are. They have put in time, effort, passion, devotion, persistence, ... that we couldn't even imagine (now I do mean "we"). They have made the sacrifices. They have put their lives on hold. They do this every day, and once every four years we pay attention to them.

How ridiculous is it that they feel the need to apologize to us when they don't get the medal we expected of them? Who are we to expect anything?

---

Gotta go...short track luge is coming on.

The Lovely Princess Serena - A Parable

The lovely Princess Serena lived in a beautiful castle, surrounded by a lush countryside with babbling brooks, gently flowing hills, and green forests perfect for walking, picnicking, and playing.

She had everything a Princess could want: Loving parents and siblings; playmates who would happily spend hours with her playing in the fields and woods on the castle grounds; tutors who taught her all about the world and marveled at her attentiveness and desire to learn; a magnificent home with endless rooms to explore; an incredible array of fresh, delicious foods and drinks; and the seemingly unlimited potential to do anything she wanted now, as a child, and throughout her life.

Everyone saw in her the great Queen she would become one day, but what Serena wanted for herself was to be a Knight.

Her parents, siblings, playmates and tutors knew that Serena was an exceptional girl, and always spoke encouraging words to her, praising her for her competitive fire, her willingness to work hard in all endeavours, her sharp mind, her keen sense of humour, and (of course) her overall loveliness. They often marveled at the possibilities for the young lady, and talked with her about all that she could do in her lifetime as a Princess and future Queen. But when she shared with them her dream of one day becoming a Knight instead, they just shook their heads and said she couldn't do that.

At costume balls, all the other girls in the castle dressed up like princesses, fairies, and cute little farm animals. Serena wore chain mail and a helmet.

When she played tag or hide-and-seek with her playmates, Serena always changed the game so that the other children were being chased by dragons or wolves, and she was the brave Knight sent to rescue them.

In her lessons, the tutors taught her how to run a Kingdom, but she just wanted to hear about the daring exploits of the Knights who protected it.

She loved her parents, siblings, playmates and her tutors, but didn't understand how they could praise and encourage her in all things except her most precious dream. This led her to decide one day that if those around her weren't going to support her hope for her future, she needed to find someone who would.

The problem was that almost everybody in the castle was a parent, sibling, play-mate or tutor, or someone who served her family and would never stand with her in defiance of their wishes.

The only other person she could think of was the sullen and unfriendly stable-boy, Myron.

Myron wasn't like the rest of the people in Serena's life. He didn't fawn on her. He didn't seek her approval. He didn't smile. He didn't praise her. He didn't give her attention of any kind. In fact, he usually didn't even say "hi". Myron stood out to her as a potential ally exactly because he was so different from the rest in how he treated her.

Putting aside her usual discomfort with the stable-boy, she approached him one day and asked him to come riding out into the countryside with her so they could talk. He refused. The next day, she asked him to join her for one of her amazing meals in the castle. He declined. The day after that, she all but ordered him to sit with her while he ate his meager lunch during his brief mid-day break. He said no.

Giving up on Myron, she decided instead to enlist her father, the King, as the ally she sought. He, amongst all the others, at least didn't say she "couldn't" be a Knight, just that he'd "rather" she not. With that in mind, she confronted him a few days later as he was mounting up to tour the many villages around the castle.

He, of course, disappointed her as well. Impatiently, he said: "Serena. I don't have time to talk of this right now, but surely you know that this childhood fantasy of yours to be a Knight is something you will outgrow with time. You're a girl. Girls can't be Knights. You will one day be a Queen and that should be more than enough to make you happy." And then he rode off.

As Serena stood there, crestfallen, she heard Myron (off in a corner of the stable sweeping out a stall) mutter: "That's pretty cool that you want to be a Knight instead of a Princess."

Serena, embarrassed and angered by Myron having witnessed the scene with her father, spun on him in a rage: "What do you know about these things? You're just a lowly stable-boy!"

Myron lifted his head and answered her with quiet dignity: "No, Princess Serena, that's not true at all. I'm a Prince who always dreamed of being a stable-boy. I had to leave my own castle to become one, but here I am happily doing what I always wanted."

Serena and Myron never spoke again. They didn't have to.

Serena didn't need an ally or another friend. She had enough friends and family to last a lifetime. What she needed was the courage to do what she really wanted, even if she was the only one who believed she could.

And she did.