Nancy's Notes

I fell asleep with the television on last night. Not a wise decision in a world that insists on making news while normal people are trying to rest.

At some point in the night, I woke up, not fully awake, not fully asleep, to voices drifting from the screen and two things lodging themselves firmly into my half-conscious brain.

The first: a report that former Prince Andrew had been arrested in connection with the Epstein case. Now, that is not something one processes at three in the morning with clarity, and I will save any deep dive for later, likely in a few days, after coffee, after facts, and after the fog of overnight headlines lifts. But in that strange space between sleep and wakefulness, one thought quietly surfaced: Well… at least somewhere, someone appears to be taking the Epstein file seriously.

Despite the light tone of this post, that matters. Encouraging, even. Though I will admit I hold no particular illusions about how such accountability would unfold in the United States. That, however, is a deeper conversation for another day, and it will come.

Because the second thing filtering into my brain was something entirely different, a dramatic advertisement announcing Donald Trump’s first State of the Union of his second term, scheduled for February 24th. And just like that, sleep was over. I stared at the ceiling, wondering how this could possibly be his first. The man has spoken, declared, rallied, commented, re-commented, repeated, and re-repeated so continuously that the idea of a “first” feels almost philosophical. At what point does constant talking simply become background noise?

Which, naturally, triggered the internal spiral. I have to watch it. No, I absolutely cannot watch it. But how can I write if I don’t watch it? But why would I watch when I already know the script?
But what if something shocking happens? But what if nothing does and I lose two hours I will never get back listening to applause on cue?

Clearly, we all know the choreography. The entrance, the aisle walk, the rising, the clapping, the camera cuts and the solemn nodding. The commentators already drafting their reactions before the first sentence is spoken. Somewhere between politics and theatre lives the State of the Union, part governance, part performance, part endurance test for the rest of us. And yes, I chuckle, because we are, undeniably, living in a ridiculous world.

It also made me think, inevitably, about leadership styles closer to home. Our Prime Minister communicates often, but not always with words, and sometimes more than people realize, yet without the theatrical drumroll. Fewer grand entrances, fewer standing ovations, more steady cadence. Less spectacle, more signal. Different style entirely. As I am someone who has never been accused of using too few words, perhaps there is a lesson in restraint. Then again, perhaps not. We all speak in our own rhythms. Some rhythms require fewer trumpets.

But politics never pauses for long, and yesterday delivered another reminder: the floor crossing in our own Canadian House of Commons.

This is not new. Floor crossings have happened many times since Confederation. Sometimes quiet, sometimes dramatic, always controversial. Conviction, strategy, timing, the explanations change, but the practice does not. Canadian parliamentary life has always included movement across the aisle.

What fascinates, as always, is the reaction. Courageous when it helps your side. Outrageous when it does not. A principled decision one moment, a betrayal the next, depending entirely on where one happens to sit. Canadian politics may be calmer than some, but it has never been free of irony.

And yet, today feels oddly light. Perhaps it is the snow outside, that deep winter stillness wrapping everything in quiet, like a kind of national chicken soup for the soul. The world feels softer in the cold. Headlines seem less sharp. Even political theatre feels, momentarily, muffled by falling snow.

So yes, this has been a lighter reflection than most. I did not expect to wake in the night to royal headlines, and that story, serious, complex, and far from finished, will deserve its own careful examination soon enough.

But for now, here at home, life continues. Snow ended and cold weather warning tempered with sunshine. Coffee is brewing and the television is still talking. The truth is on February 24th I will likely be watching that State of The Union address hands hovering over the keyboard, watching… or not watching… in this strange, serious, occasionally absurd world we all share.

Because in times like these, when the noise is loud, the snow is deep, and the theatre never really stops, sometimes the sharpest clarity comes not from outrage… but from a quiet smile, a steady pen, and the simple refusal to mistake performance for substance.