Nancy's Notes

Most mornings, I move through a routine that probably looks a lot like yours: wrangle the dogs, feed the cat, get the coffee going, check the business emails, skim the personal ones, glance at Facebook, and only then start thinking about the rest of the day. Nothing unusual.

Except today, my inbox was overflowing with statements from Prime Minister Mark Carney. Not dramatic and not performative announcements. Just straightforward records of what he’s doing: the work, the diplomacy, the economic files, the defence briefings. Five statements this morning alone. He’s in South Africa right now for the for the G20. Yes that South Africa, which people keep mislabeling with this week’s buzzwords. (A conversation for another day.)

And here’s the truth: over the past couple of months, I’ve sometimes wondered why Carney isn’t “louder.” Why he doesn’t slap a spotlight on every single thing he’s doing. Why he doesn’t pound his chest the way some leaders do. Then I look at Donald Trump’s gold-trimmed office, the oversized signature, the photo ops with the Dr. Oz, Rubio, RFK Jr, Pam Bondy cartoon lineup, and I remember: we do not need a second one of those. We already have the world champion of self-promotion.

Mark Carney leads in the opposite way, the Canadian way. Quiet, steady, competent, and never with overdramitization.

So this morning, I sat down and read the last 20 or 30 statements. And while I know these files well, I follow them obsessively, seeing them lined up, one after another, honestly hit me.

Because people keep saying, “Carney’s not doing anything.”

Well, actually, we have the receipts. In these press releases.
Literal receipts showing meetings, important calls, negotiations. and coordinated actions with our allies. All drafted, published, and sitting right there for anyone who bothers to look.

Look at the relationships he’s building. Look at his work on economic stability. Look at defence, safety, and security. Look at the effort happening behind the scenes, quietly, without the need for applause.

And look at the company he keeps: the leaders of nearly every major democracy. Because unlike the guy down south, Carney actually understands that alliances matter, not just for photo ops, but for Canada’s long-term economic and security interests.

Here’s a perfect example from today: Carney and several other leaders issued a joint statement that politely, thanked Donald Trump for his “efforts” on Ukraine. And then said, just as politely, that his proposal isn’t a credible peace plan. That it hands over land. That it weakens Ukraine’s defence posture. That it’s not peace at all, it’s capitulation presented as compromise.

This is the kind of work serious leaders do. Not performative nor loud but rather deeply consequential.

I challenge everyone to subscribe to Carney’s statements and actually read them. Yes, they’re written in diplomatic English. They won’t make you laugh. They won’t give you the adrenaline hit of an opinion piece. But that’s the point: he’s not writing for entertainment. He’s governing.

And thank God for that. Thank God he’s not a blogger, a huckster, or a man selling miracle cures out of a suitcase. And most importantly, thank God he is not Donald Trump.

Carney isn’t trying to be a celebrity. He doesn’t need rallies, slogans, or a stadium chant to keep going. He works. He thinks long-term. He moves Canada forward with intention instead of volume. He treats leadership like the responsibility it is.

This morning, after going through those statements, I felt something I wasn’t expecting: genuine gratitude. Gratitude that we have a prime minister who actually wakes up and works, not for attention, but for outcomes. Gratitude that we have someone who sees Canada as part of a global community, not an island. Gratitude that we have someone playing the long game instead of chasing the day’s headlines.

If you read what Mark Carney is doing, day after day, meeting after meeting, and still can’t see Canada’s role on the world stage rising, still can’t see the strategic work under the surface, still can’t see the direction he’s steering this country…

…then you may not understand what this moment truly demands.

Me? I see it. Clear as day. And I’ll say it plainly: I’m sure glad Mark Carney is our prime minister. Because leadership isn’t volume, it’s competence. And frankly, I’ll take competence every damn time.

“Oh no, not again,” and then, “Oh my god, not more American politics.” Well yes and no. Because while this story passes through the United States, it’s actually a Canadian story. And it’s about airplanes. Not just any airplanes, but our military jet fighters.

So where do I start?

For decades, Canada has been circling the same procurement debate like an aircraft in a holding pattern. First the Harper Conservatives committed to the F-35. Then the Trudeau Liberals backed off, re-evaluated, circled back, endorsed it, and ordered jets. And now the Carney Liberal government is taking a deep breath and asking the question a lot of Canadians are quietly asking: did we get this right?

I’m not ready to answer that yet. But here’s where I come from a very different place.

Trying to explain this without sounding dramatic is impossible, so I won’t try. The first time I ever saw an F-35 do a dirty flyby, I got chills. Real chills. That sound, that vibration, that pressure wave that rolls right through the ground and up your legs. I don’t hide from it. I run toward it. It’s who I am. Aviation is in my bones, in my family, in my upbringing.

And it’s personal because my military son, flying since 14 has long had his eye on the F-35 as his dream aircraft. His north star. And Canada has already spent billions on the program. So yes, I watch this file very closely. But then came November 6th of last year, when the United States effectively stopped being a reliable ally.

There is concern that the President of the United States could control the jets we’ve already bought. He has said openly that he could withhold parts or restrict operations. And he said it like a man who means it.

Then layer on the company he keeps, including Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, a man whose human rights and women’s rights record is a void. A black hole. A regime with zero alignment to our values. Yet somehow, in this new geopolitical landscape, MBS has become a more valuable client to the United States than Canada who is a NATO partner, a NORAD partner, and a country that has stood with them for generations. They are now a preferred customer for the F-35. That should make every Canadian stop and think.

Because if your military fleet depends on the political mood swings of a country that now prioritizes autocrats over allies, then your sovereignty is not secure. Your sky is not your own.

Which brings us to a surprising new chapter: Sweden. With the entire Swedish royal family arriving on Canadian soil, their first visit in twenty years and Saab offering 10,000 Canadian manufacturing jobs, a partnership with Bombardier, and the potential to build the Gripen here in Canada, you’d have to be asleep not to see what’s happening.

This isn’t just diplomacy, but rather a full-throttle bid for partnership.

And honestly? The Gripen is sounding pretty damn appealing.

No, it doesn’t come with the F-35’s Hollywood reputation. But it does come with something Canada desperately needs: sovereignty and stability. A platform we can maintain, build, and supply ourselves. A jet backed by a country that actually respects human rights, actually respects allies, and doesn’t use military hardware as a political bargaining chip.

Now, I don’t know exactly what this means for our existing F-35 commitments. We’ve already sunk billions into that program. That matters. But Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, our obligations to NORAD, our commitments to NATO, and Canada’s own strategic future all make this an increasingly urgent conversation.

This isn’t just about jets. This is about independence. It’s about whether Canada is prepared to make decisions without being boxed in by someone else’s politics. It’s about whether we are finally ready to secure our own sky.

Now let me take this somewhere human for a moment and go back to airplanes. Below this, you’ll see a picture of me on an F-18 the very aircraft we now need to replace. I don’t have a picture with an F-35 (yet), or a Gripen (yet), but trust me: once Canada picks our next bird, I’ll happily update the photo. Call it an aviation love story in installments.

And so I end where I began… Have I ever told you how incredible it is to stand beside a fighter jet and feel the heat from the burners? To feel the vibration in the ground when it does a high-speed pass?… I should assure you that ultimately, that’s my happy place.

So stay tuned, Canada. This is one of those rare moments when a country redefines its sovereignty, its strength, and its ability to chart its own course. And yes, we will honor our NATO commitments. But we also have the freedom, the responsibility, and the opportunity to choose what truly serves our future.

Let’s get this right. Our skies, our security and our independence depend on it.

No more taxiing behind anyone. Canada’s ready for its own runway.

If you’ve followed my writing for any length of time, you know I go where the truth and the moment lead. Sometimes that means celebration. Sometimes that means politics. Sometimes it means sitting with the weight of memory. Over the next few days, as we approach Remembrance Day, I’ll be sharing a few reflections about service, sacrifice, and the country we are responsible for. I won’t apologize for that. It’s my duty.

Many of us carry stories of war in our family lines, stories that live quietly in the background until something pulls them forward. My family’s story is one of those. My grandfather, Ivan McClure, developed tuberculosis after being gassed in the trenches at Ypres during the First World War. The chlorine gas ravaged his lungs and, eventually, the rest of his life. He spent his remaining years in a Tuberculosis sanatorium, like so many who returned with slow-dying injuries.

But there is something I know now that my father never did. The military records and medical reports from the First World War were not released until after Dad had passed. When I finally saw them myself, one detail struck me so hard I had to sit with it for a while. My grandfather’s feet had begun to rot from the sheer amount of time he had stood in freezing trench water. Not figuratively. Not poetically. His flesh decayed while he was still standing in uniform.

That is two generations behind me. Not distant history. Not ancient trauma. My family. Our country. Our home.

We are not as far from these stories as some would like to believe. And yet, somehow, in all our noise and distraction, we seem to be forgetting.

When Remembrance Day comes, I think of my grandfather fighting to breathe. And I think of his son, my father, Don McClure, heading into the Second World War as a boy who had already seen what war does to a man’s body.

This passage, from my father’s memoir One Rung At A Time, will always remain exactly as he wrote it. His voice deserves to remain untouched: “On the train ride home from Montreal I got permission from my Commanding Officer to leave the train and take a taxi to the hospital to see Dad. He had no inkling that I was going to be there and I know that it was a glimpse of sunshine for him on an otherwise cloudy day. I only stayed for a half hour as it had taken time to get to the hospital and it would take an equal amount of time to get back to the train. After I kissed Dad good-bye, I turned my back on him and walked away. I have often wished I had turned and waved but the scene was getting too emotional for me to handle, compounded by a foreboding that this was a final farewell.”He was right. It was.

All of this, this history, this bloodline of service, has taken on a sharper meaning now that my youngest child serves in the Canadian Armed Forces. When my father wrote his memoir, that wasn’t yet part of our story. I think of how proud he would be. And I also think of how afraid he would be, knowing what war takes and how peace must be guarded.

Those who have served, and those who love someone who does, understand something that isn’t captured in parades or ceremonies. Service isn’t abstract. It is lived in the body. It is separation, sacrifice, risk, and readiness. It is a love of country that is not loud, but carried. And I will say this plainly: As I watch what is happening south of our border, the erosion of democratic loyalty in favour of personal allegiance to a single man, my heart breaks and my blood boils. The oath of service is meant to be to one’s country, not to a king of convenience. We have seen what happens when citizens are asked to serve a person instead of a nation.

There is a myth we hear sometimes, that the United States “saved the world” in both world wars. But I have stood with my family’s records in my hands, and I know better. Canada fought. Canada bled. Canada lost sons and fathers and brothers who never came home, and those who did often came home to suffering, sickness, and silence.

We are a small country, yes. But small does not mean insignificant. We must remain strong. With our allies. With our democracy. With our conscience. We cannot afford to forget who we are.

On Remembrance Day, I wear my poppy for all who served.
For all who serve now. For all who will stand when it is their turn.

We remember so we do not repeat. We honour so we do not diminish. We love this country, so we protect it. Lest we forget.

Today matters more than most Canadians realize. A federal budget will be tabled today. Not voted on, just tabled. But that act alone carries the weight of what kind of country we want to be. I don’t care which party you usually support, which province you live in, or which language you speak, because none of that matters if we fracture now.

We went through an election six months ago. The last thing Canada needs, on every measurable level, is another one. And yet, I can feel the opportunism creeping in. The political gamesmanship of Pierre Poilievre circling like a shark who smells distraction. But here’s the truth: he has never once offered a real alternative plan. He is all toxin and timing, poisoning every conversation without a single antidote to offer.

If he were in office today, facing the chaos south of the border, he’d dropped the oars in the water just when we are nearing the shore. His entire worldview depends on rage, not reason, on looking clever in the moment rather than leading through a storm.

Because make no mistake: this is a storm. Globally, economically and politically. And yes, this budget will hurt. It will not be what we want to see. It won’t make everyone happy. But it must spend, to protect Canadian workers, industries, and sovereignty. We cannot “balance” our way through instability any more than we can calm a tempest by pretending it isn’t happening. Sometimes the only choice is to hold steady, face into the wind, and keep rowing toward the far shore.

For those who keep trying to paint Mark Carney as “radical left,” please stop rewriting history. His politics, thoughtful, measured, pragmatic are where most Canadians have always lived: that red Tory, blue Conservative, centrist ground where the country was built. The ideological edges are loud, but the majority of Canadians still believe in balance, competence, and decency.

That’s Carney. That’s the middle ground we stand on.

I grew up in that middle ground, in New Brunswick, in a household where people voted for the person, not the party. My parents believed in integrity, in character, and in service to community. Some years they voted Liberal, some years Progressive Conservative. They never confused loyalty to Canada with loyalty to a party banner. I was raised to believe that good governance means getting your hands dirty solving problems, not shouting about them from a podium.

That’s the spirit I see in this government’s work today, even when it’s hard, even when it’s unpopular.

Because real Canadians, and I mean those working, parenting, caring, and surviving aren’t asking for ideology. They’re asking for stability. They want their electricity and utility bills to stop climbing. They want to be able to afford their rent or mortgage. They want to see their kids get the health care they need, when they need it. They want to put groceries on the table without having to choose between milk and medicine.

That’s what today’s budget will speak to. And that’s why we need to let it stand.

We are not in a normal time. Every global market is shaking. Our closest trading partner is led by a man whose moods can tank industries. The instability in the Americas is not something we can “spin” our way through. It demands strategy, calm, and endurance. And that’s what we have in Carney: not perfection, but purpose. Not flash, but focus.

To anyone thinking another election would “fix” this, please, step back. What it would actually do is rip this country open again. The cost of campaigning might seem political, but the cost of instability is deeply personal. It hits every paycheque, every investment, every piece of infrastructure we can’t finish because we’re stuck in campaign mode instead of governing.

And while the political right might relish the drama of it, the adrenaline of “winning,” Canada itself would lose months, maybe years, of progress.

So yes, today is political. But it is also profoundly patriotic. And to everyone reading this: your voice still matters. Write your MP. Call their office. Tell them that no matter which party they belong to, they have a responsibility to hold this government up, not tear it down. The NDP and Green votes will matter. The Bloc’s choice will matter. And every Canadian watching from home will matter, too, because this moment defines whether we can still govern ourselves like adults in a storming world.

Mark Carney will not emerge from this unscathed. No one could. He must be exhausted, fighting daily battles for a country that too often forgets to thank its leaders until they’re gone. But what strikes me most is that he’s doing it without spewing hate, without dividing, without turning neighbour against neighbour. He understands that when you lead a nation, you represent everyone, not just those who voted for you. So when that budget is tabled today, it will not be a partisan document. It will be a Canadian one. And that, more than anything, is why I’ll stand firmly behind it, bruises, doubts, and all.
Because the only way through this storm is together, gripping the same oars, rowing toward a common shore, no matter how high the waves get.

Everyone who knows me knows I have a deep passion for aviation. But what really captures my heart are the stories behind flight, the human ingenuity, the teamwork, the courage to take off when the runway’s still being built. That’s exactly what we did with Forever Canadian. We built an airplane in flight.

When we started, there was no hangar, no tower, no pre-flight checklist. Just a handful of people who believed Alberta could build something bigger than grievance or division. We could build something that could truly soar. And so, out came the tools, the duct tape, the spreadsheets, the coffee, and a whole lot of determination.

Bit by bit, the airplane took shape. The wings were built by farmers, the fuselage by teachers, the landing gear by truck drivers, nurses, retirees, students, and parents. Every rivet, every bolt, every clipboard held by someone in the cold became part of the aircraft.

And while every good airplane needs a captain, (thank you Captain Lukaszuk,) ours also needed an entire flight crew. Dozens of first officers. Hundreds of ground crew. Thousands of passengers. Every single person who signed a sheet, carried a clipboard, or offered encouragement was part of the same flight plan. This wasn’t a solo mission. It was a full flight, every seat occupied by people who believed in something better.

Now, no one said the skies would be calm. We hit turbulence. Sometimes it was a crosswind of misinformation. Sometimes it was a bureaucratic headwind. Sometimes it was the emotional fatigue of just keeping the engines running through wind, rain, and postal strikes. But the beauty of aviation, and of this movement, is that you correct course and adjust altitude. You ride it out. You trust the aircraft, and more importantly, you trust your crew.

And what a beautiful aircraft she turned out to be. Not one of those sleek corporate jets with separate cabins and tinted windows. Ours is the people’s plane, sturdy, bright, full of character, and unmistakably Canadian. Inside, there’s no first class or economy. Everyone sits together. Farmers beside lawyers. Nurses beside truckers. Students beside retirees. The conversation is rich, the laughter is loud, and the sense of purpose is palpable.

When you look out the window of this plane, you see something breathtaking, small towns lighting up with hope, people rediscovering what community really means, strangers becoming friends in the common cause of unity. Every sheet of signatures became a patch of sky we claimed together.

As October 28 approaches, the final day, I can’t help but marvel at how far we’ve flown. The last few days are like the descent into final approach: you feel the shift in cabin pressure, the sense that you’ve crossed something monumental. Most of the crew have already landed their sheets, taxiing them in for tally and inspection so Elections Alberta can do its part. But the aircraft itself? She’s still in motion. She’s gliding on purpose, powered by pride.

To my friends south of the border who sometimes ask, “What can I do?” in their current situation. This is what you can do. You can build something that unites instead of divides. You can take off with people who don’t all share your politics but do share your country. You can stay steady when the air gets rough. Because what we’ve proven here is that a small group of ordinary people can build something extraordinary, something that flies.

As for me, this has been one of the greatest privileges of my life, one of those rare flights you never forget because you know you’ll never fly on one quite like it again. I got to sit in the cockpit of history, right alongside people who cared enough to build something bigger than themselves, with their own hands, their own hearts, and often in some serious headwinds. I’ve never felt more grateful to share a sky with such people, ordinary citizens who became co-pilots, navigators, mechanics, and dreamers.

And yes, there may still be turbulence ahead. Frankly there always is when you fly through real weather instead of sitting safely on the ground. But we’ll keep correcting course, adjusting altitude, and trusting the lift we’ve already created together. Because this aircraft, this Forever Canadian, isn’t just something we built. It’s something that built us. And for that, I am profoundly thankful.

It’s been a while since I’ve written in my usual way, and there’s a reason for that. Most of my time, heart, and focus have been devoted to the Forever-Canadian Citizen Initiative. But sometimes the world shakes your keyboard and says, “Put the clipboard down, Nancy. Type.”

So here I am, sitting in Mexico, the southern slice of what I call the North American sandwich, surrounded by people from across the U.S., Canada and Mexico. The conversations by the pool drift inevitably toward politics. Some Americans are furious about their leadership, others are numb to it, and some don’t even know anything is different. Most have no idea what’s happening in Canada, except to wonder why we’re upset.

But this morning brought something worth a few keystrokes. The orange buffoon spent the night on Truth Social, searching for a distraction from his gilded ballroom and the latest headlines involving Jeffrey Epstein’s victims, including Virginia Giuffre’s new book. What he found instead was Canada.

Trump claimed that the Ronald Reagan Foundation had “caught” Canada in a $75-million “fraudulent” ad, one that allegedly misused Reagan’s words about tariffs. He ranted that “Canada cheated,” that we’ve “long defrauded the U.S. with 400% tariffs on dairy,” and that our government was trying to “illegally influence” his Supreme Court case.

Let’s pause there. The man who regularly steals music, photos, and even faces for his AI campaign videos, including one last week of himself flying a golden jet to Danger Zone while wearing a crown, is suddenly a crusader for copyright law? That’s not irony. That’s self-parody.

This latest tantrum isn’t about Reagan or Canada. It’s about fear. He’s staring down a Supreme Court ruling on tariffs, one that could flatten his economic mythology, and he’s looking for a new villain. He found it north of the border. He’s trying to turn a provincial ad into a federal conspiracy.

Could the ad have overstepped by using Reagan’s image without approval? Possibly. I’m reasonable enough to admit that. If a clip was condensed or spliced out of context, lawyers can sort it out. But let’s not pretend that Donald Trump, who’s spent his entire public life mangling other people’s words, suddenly found religion on ethical editing.

Reagan, for all his faults, valued Canada. He believed in partnership, not punishment. When he talked trade, he spoke of allies, not adversaries. His remarks in that original clip were about Japan, not us, but his message was clear: tariffs are blunt weapons, not strategies. Trump, on the other hand, loves tariffs in a way that has concerns only for his own personal gain.

When the walls close in, whether from courtrooms, creditors, or reality, he grabs a megaphone and a scapegoat. Canada became both. He’s desperate to muddy the waters before the Supreme Court rules, to create just enough noise that if he loses, he can claim it was “rigged.” It’s not strategy. It’s survival instinct.

The tragedy isn’t just his behaviour, it’s the normalization of it. Sitting here by the pool, I hear Americans say, “Oh, that’s just Trump being Trump,” as if pathology were personality and chaos were leadership. The indifference terrifies me more than his words. Democracy doesn’t die with a bang; it dissolves quietly in apathy.

And here’s where the poolside analogy writes itself. Canada and Mexico are like the sturdy pieces of bread, still strong, still holding together, still trying to keep the middle from spoiling. But the middle, the United States under Trumpism, has become the rancid filling. The mayonnaise has gone off. The tuna’s turned. You can smell it from both borders.

And yet we still love our neighbours. We share history, trade, and friendship. We want the sandwich saved, not thrown out. But we can’t pretend the smell isn’t there. When the U.S. turns inward, the world loses balance. When it lashes out, it wounds not just others but itself. The gilded ballroom becomes a bunker, and its golden glow turns toxic.

Back home, we’re far from perfect. But we’re led by a government that still values integrity, international cooperation, and evidence over ego. We debate fiercely, but we still believe in decency. And as John F. Kennedy told our Parliament in 1961: “What unites us is far greater than what divides us, for what geography has joined together, let no man put asunder.”

That’s still true today, even as another American demagogue tries once again to divide us.

So yes, I’ve been quiet for a while, working on something deeply Canadian, rooted in unity and respect. But this morning reminded me why voices matter. The world doesn’t need more silence in the face of absurdity. It needs clarity, compassion, and a little Canadian sarcasm.

So from the poolside in Mexico, the southern crust of this slowly spoiling sandwich, I raise my coffee to the hope that the filling gets fresh again someday. Until then, I’ll just try not to lose my appetite.