Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Time Is Already Moving

Posted: December 31, 2025 in Uncategorized
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The end of a year always invites reflection, but this one feels different. Many of us are closing the chapter on a year we did not expect to be closing this way.

One year ago when when I thought forward to 2025 I anticipated a year of changes but not to the degree that we are seeing. Some days I feel the Handmaids Tale was a mandatory read for the supporters of Project 2025. Of course there were personal joys this year. Moments of connection, love, laughter, pride. They do not disappear just because the world feels unsteady. But it can be hard to savour them fully when what is happening globally weighs so heavily. Holding onto joy right now can feel like work. Looking toward to the year ahead with uncomplicated anticipation is hard.

So instead of pretending otherwise, I want to be measured. To pause. To take stock of where we are, and what we can actually do from here.

Twelve years ago, as one year turned into the next, I wrote on my blog something that has stayed with me. “Life is short. The risk to remain perched in my nest is far more detrimental than the risk it takes to fly.”

At the time, that was personal. It was about growth, intuition, and the danger of hiding in places that feel safe but quietly diminish us. It was about learning to act with intention and trusting that forward motion mattered. What has changed is not the truth of that insight. What has changed is the moment we are in. Today, remaining perched is no longer just a personal choice. It is a civic one.

As we move into January, the stakes become clearer. In Alberta, a separatist signature campaign begins on January 2nd, and the familiar machinery of online amplification and disinformation surfaces. Much of that content and money is originating from outside Canada. At the same time, the United States Congress and Senate return on January 5th (I’m still hoping some spines grew over the break), while our own Members of Parliament do return on January 26th. These early weeks matter. They will shape the tone, the tactics, and the pressure points of what comes next, at a moment when Canada’s sovereignty is no longer theoretical, but actively being tested.

We need to be cautious with the information we will be inundated with. Not everything loud is true, and not everything repeated is real. Discernment is no longer optional. It is a responsibility.

I have learned over time that perspective matters, and it will matter even more in 2026. Sometimes we will be looking at events from far above, trying to understand patterns, systems, and history. Other times we will be standing right on the ground, dealing with the real consequences of decisions made far away. We need both views. Clarity comes from knowing when to zoom out, and when to pay close attention to what is happening right in front of us.

Last night, someone I respect deeply said something to me, quietly and without drama, about what they would be willing to do if things truly came to a point where Canada’s sovereignty was compromised. It surprised me, not because it was extreme, but because it was measured and thoughtful, rooted in a lifetime of understanding what responsibility actually means. That will stay with me as I enter the new year. It reminded me that seriousness and commitment still exist and so does the willingness to stand up when it matters.

I do not know how much time I have on this earth. None of us does. But I know this. I am not leaving it without knowing I did every damn thing I could to make a difference. In 2026, that means being a little bolder and a little more connected to my civic duty. I hope those who can will do the same. I am not asking anyone to abandon their life. I want you to care for your family. I want you to protect your livelihood. I want you to hold onto the personal joys that no amount of political chaos can take from you. I will not confuse gratitude with complacency. Individual effort only matters if it contributes to something larger.

So if you have never written a letter to an elected representative before, write one now. If you have never questioned a headline, start. If you have stayed silent because you thought your voice did not matter, let this be the year you test that belief.

Standing on the final day of the year, this feels less like an ending and more like a pause. The kind that comes just before something begins. It feels as though the entire orchestra is taking its seat. Some of the music may sound like joyful. Familiar and uplifting. Other moments may feel far heavier, closer to music played in times of mourning or reckoning. Most likely, it will be a mix of both. What is clear is that the music is building and the crescendo is growing. It will not simply fade out on its own.

I appeal to my readers. Please do not stay perched!

As the clock moves toward midnight and this year gives way to the next, time does not pause with us. Whatever comes will arrive whether we are ready or not. The year ahead will test us, not just individually but collectively. How we respond, how quickly we pay attention, and who chooses to step forward when it matters will shape what follows.

This is not a moment for spectatorship. Time is already moving. What we choose to notice and respond to still matters.

A Christmas Eve Observation

Posted: December 24, 2025 in Uncategorized
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I won’t be writing on Christmas Day. And I suspect there are powers in this world, political, cultural, algorithmic, that are quietly relieved that those of us who blog, write, and try to tell the truth won’t be doing so for twenty four hours. I won’t let that deter me from taking the day as it’s meant to be taken. For myself, my family and maybe, for a moment, for everyone else too.

Yesterday afternoon, at about two o’clock, I found myself in Costco. Let’s not debate the wisdom of going to Costco the day before Christmas Eve. I needed one of their pumpkin pies, and in my world, that qualified as critically important. But this isn’t a post about Costco crowds or seasonal chaos. It’s about how it felt to be there.

I live just outside Calgary, but the Costco closest to me sits in one of the city’s most culturally diverse areas. Given the geography, the store yesterday was filled with people of many ethnicities but predominantly filled with people of South Asian descent. There families, couples, grandparents, children. I was very clearly a minority in that space.

And here’s the thing. Contrary to what JD Vance recently suggested at a Charlie Kirk event, I did not once feel like I needed to apologize for being white. No one seemed to care what colour I was at all.

What I saw were people shopping for Christmas. Food carts filled with items meant for family gatherings. Kids of many colours vibrating with excitement near the toy aisles. A South Asian woman holding up an ornament and asking for an opinion. Whether these families religiously celebrate Christmas in the Christian sense is beside the point. Most likely, many do not. But they were participating in something deeply familiar to anyone who has ever lived here. Family, food, festivity and fun. And yes, for many, faith.

This is where I struggle with the claim that newcomers “haven’t embraced our culture.” Culture isn’t a purity test. It’s lived. It’s practiced. It’s chosen, over and over again, in ordinary spaces like a Costco aisle two days before Christmas. One moment in particular stayed with me. A couple stood in the toy aisle, speaking their native language as they debated options. My cart couldn’t pass, so I waited. I wasn’t in a panic. When the woman noticed me, she turned and apologized in English with a strong accent. “We’re trying to get a Christmas present for our girl before we pick her up from school.”

I told her it was no problem at all. As they moved aside, the man looked at me, smiled, and said, “Merry Christmas.” He didn’t have to say that. He could have said Happy Holidays. Season’s Greetings. Nothing at all. It wouldn’t have mattered to me. But that small, human exchange, the instinctive shift to English, the apology, the warmth, said more about belonging than any political slogan ever could.

Christmas, at its core, is a Christian story, and for those who hold that faith, it is meant to be a reminder that Christ served the poor, the weak, the marginalized, and the stranger. Not the powerful, not the loud, nor the self-righteous. That message is worth revisiting.

And for those who experience Christmas primarily through family traditions, shared meals, laughter, and generosity, the measure still isn’t doctrine, it’s what lives in your heart and how you treat the people around you.

My own genealogy is, in many ways, unremarkable. Scottish and English. Like many Canadians, my family story is shaped by migration, but not by being the ones most visibly unwelcome. That distinction belongs historically, al least in Canada and the United States, to others. Irish, Italian, and Jewish families among them who were once told they didn’t quite belong here either.

It’s something we forget far too easily.

We also forget that humanity itself began in a cradle of civilization where people did not look like me. Over millennia, people moved, adapted, and changed with geography and climate. Migration is not an anomaly in human history, it is human history.

As I write this, I’m looking out my window at the prairie just beyond my home. Snow rests quietly on the ground. The sky is heavy with winter light. This image you see is what I see right now, in this moment, as Christmas Eve settles in. Tomorrow, my world will be smaller. It will be about my family, food on the table, familiar rituals, and deep gratitude for another year together. That’s as it should be.

I want to close with words from Arlene Dickinson, which feel especially right tonight: “… I hope that the book we are writing today, and that will be read thousands of years from now, is a story of acceptance, compassion, and love for one another.”

And I’ll add this. That is what we can all hope for. What we can wish for. What some of us will pray for. Not just at Christmas, but in the year ahead.

An Xray Was Always The Point

Posted: December 18, 2025 in Uncategorized
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I’ve spent a lot of time lately writing about things that are heavy, personal, and deeply consequential, and while that’s not going to change, every now and then I need a different kind of mental exercise. Something a little lighter and a little more entertaining. Something that reminds me why I enjoy paying attention in the first place. This Vanity Fair photo series does exactly that, because underneath the outrage and the hot takes, there’s something genuinely interesting going on here about strategy, image, and what happens when political presentation is stripped down to its bones.

None of this was accidental. The photographer, Christopher Anderson, wasn’t sprung on the White House without warning. His work was pre-approved. His bio was known. His style was known. He has made a career out of shooting very close images. Close enough to remove the usual polish, and Vanity Fair’s editor described the work as an attempt to cut through what Anderson himself has called the “theater of politics.” So the shock some people are expressing now feels, at best, selective.

Listening to pundits dissect the images, what struck me wasn’t the outrage so much as the misreading. These weren’t meant to flatter, and they weren’t meant to humiliate either. They function more like scans. Almost like x-rays. Not images designed to reassure, but images designed to show what’s there once distance, lighting, and control are no longer doing the work for you.

I’ll admit something here. On a purely emotional level, this delights me. There’s something deeply satisfying about watching people who spend their lives managing image and narrative suddenly confronted with a lens that refuses to play along. Not cruelly nor theatrically but rather precisely. Anderson’s brilliance isn’t just technical; it’s strategic. He shows them not as caricatures, but as they are when the scaffolding is removed. And for someone who pays close attention to power, messaging, and performance, that kind of clarity is genuinely enjoyable to witness.

Take J.D. Vance, photographed against a wall that quietly provides visual reference points. It’s subtle, but it matters. A way of grounding scale and proportion for someone who has spent a great deal of time rhetorically inflating his own presence. The photograph doesn’t argue, doesn’t editorialize, and doesn’t correct him. It simply measures and lets the viewer connect the dots. With these references it is easy to measure his true height.

And then there’s Karoline Leavitt, which is where the conversation predictably veered off course. Yes, you can see evidence of cosmetic work. So what. That’s neither shocking nor particularly interesting. What is interesting is what Anderson didn’t do. He didn’t soften. He didn’t blur. He didn’t smooth away the human texture that appears on every face when a camera gets this close. Anyone who has ever been photographed at that distance knows that skin behaves like skin.

It’s worth noting here that the image you’re looking at has had an HDR filter applied, and you can feel the difference right away. That small change alone alters clarity and mood, which is worth keeping in mind when we talk about what a photograph is, and isn’t telling us. Even light intervention shifts how an image reads, which only underscores how deliberate Anderson’s original choices were.

The result, even so, is striking. She’s 28, but she reads older, not in years but in bearing. Almost matronly, in the sense of discipline rather than age. This isn’t a face inviting dialogue; it’s a face trained for delivery and repetition.

Which brings Donald Trump into the picture, even when he’s not in the frame. Because he has publicly praised Leavitt not just for her performance, but for her appearance, focusing obsessively on her lips and how they “move like a machine gun.” Placed next to this image, stripped of gloss and distance, that comment lands differently. Less like admiration and more like a functional assessment. Less about judgment or insight, more about output.

This isn’t a beauty image. It isn’t about youth or glamour. It’s about role. Should I bother to mention the slight orange tinge to her nose?

Politics usually depends on illusion. In photos using flattering angles, soft light and careful distance. These photographs decline to participate in that bargain. They don’t demean anyone, and they don’t exaggerate. They simply remove the padding and let the structure show. An x-ray doesn’t flatter you, and it doesn’t insult you either. It just tells you what’s going on under the surface.

And before anyone worries that I’ve gone soft or lost my edge, don’t. I’ll be back, as always, with plenty to say about politics provincially, nationally, and globally. This is simply a reminder that sometimes the most revealing political commentary doesn’t come from a speech or a press conference. Sometimes it comes from a camera, a small adjustment, and the uncomfortable realization that once you really look, you can’t unsee how the machine actually works.

Beyond The Pale

Posted: December 16, 2025 in Uncategorized
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There are so many things happening right now that make it hard to know what truly matters, or what deserves attention. I try to keep my writing rooted in Canadian context. In our values, our humanity, and our political reality, and yet we all know that so much of our public conversation gets tugged off course by the behaviour of the President of the United States. It creates this constant state of “pending,” waiting for the next outburst, the next shockwave, the next moment that should never be normal but somehow becomes part of the daily noise.

But this time, the noise has become something else entirely. Last weekend in Los Angeles, a man and his wife were killed by their adult son, who had long struggled with addiction and mental illness. Their celebrity is not the relevant point here. This is, at its core, a human tragedy before it is anything else and it is one that cuts deeply because it speaks to something I know too well.

Very few people know this about my family, but with my husband’s permission, I will share this. In June 2020, my husband’s only sister, in fact only sibling was murdered in her own home by her adult son, who had battled mental illness and addiction for years. Cold Lake, Alberta, where this happened, is an Air Force base community. Although retired at the time, both my sister in law and her ex-husband had served their country in the Canadian Armed Forces and had remained in Cold Lake because of their deep connection to that community.

Everything that followed, the hearings, the grief, the confusion, the guilt, the hollowed out days, was its own kind of hell. Unless you’ve lived inside that nightmare, you cannot understand the full weight that lands on a family’s shoulders, or how impossible it is to reconcile love with tragedy.

So when I look at the Reiner family, I don’t see celebrity. I don’t see politics. I see human beings, stunned, grieving, horrified, ashamed, questioning themselves, replaying every moment where they wonder if something, anything, could have gone differently. That is what this kind of tragedy feels like. It is not something any family imagines they will ever have to say aloud. We certainly didn’t.

Most people, even many who support Donald Trump, seem genuinely appalled by the comments he made about Rob Reiner in the immediate aftermath of this unimaginable loss. And for good reason. When Charlie Kirk was murdered, there was strong criticism directed at anyone who even hinted that such violence was justified. And rightly so. That is the morality line a healthy society should hold.

So how can a President of the United States justify criticizing Rob Reiner’s family in their darkest hour? If cruelty was wrong then, how is it suddenly acceptable now?

“Beyond the pale” is the phrase I’ve heard repeatedly these last few days, and for once it feels accurate. It was cruelty for sport. And then he doubled down on it. Clearly there is no political ideology that excuses mocking a grieving family. Not conservative, not liberal, not anything.

Rob Reiner was known to most of us as “Meathead” on All in the Family, or as the director of films like Stand By Me, A Few Good Men, The Princess Bride, When Harry Met Sally, and Spinal Tap. Yes, his political views were strong. Many people disagreed with them. None of that matters today. A man and his wife were murdered, and their surviving family is shattered.

And yet the loudest, most powerful political voice in the United States chose, at this moment, to dehumanize them.

When people ask, “Why didn’t the family fix it?” I can only say this: you have no idea how hard families try. For years. For decades. With professionals, without professionals, with hope, without hope. Addiction and severe mental illness are not solved by parental willpower. They are battles that break families long before the worst day arrives.

Rob Reiner’s family is no different than ours was in 2020. They lived in pain, trying everything they could. And now they face a grief that will never fully heal.

This goes beyond politics. It goes beyond partisanship. It goes beyond anything a reasonable society should tolerate. Donald Trump crossed a moral line, maybe worse than any he has crossed before . And I say that as someone who has lived the reality of this kind of tragedy, who knows the shame, the confusion, the judgment, and the quiet, desperate question: What more could we have done?

There is no forgiveness for attacking a family in that moment. And I believe, truly, that this will be a defining point for many people, even among his supporters. Some moments reveal a person’s character in ways that cannot be dismissed, spun, or excused. This is one of them.

So let me finish with this:
If anyone tries to tell me that this is still about “the good things Trump is doing,” or that there is some political justification for this behaviour, then you’ve just met your match. This is the moment where I’m done entertaining those arguments. There is a line between disagreement and cruelty, and he stepped so far past it that there’s no coming back.

And if this moment doesn’t make people rethink their loyalty, then nothing will, because if cruelty toward the grieving isn’t a deal-breaker, what on earth is?

Sundown you better take care

Posted: December 12, 2025 in Uncategorized
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Politics across the globe feel dangerous in a way that is hard to articulate without sounding alarmist, but alarmed is exactly what we should be. The world is sitting on a fault line. Every major decision made by the global superpowers reverberates across continents, supply chains, borders, households, and families. No one is insulated. And while Canadians have a uniquely deep economic and geographical relationship with the United States, this moment isn’t just about us. It’s about the entire world and its future.

Today we learned that the head of NATO expects the alliance to be formally at war with Russia within the next five years. I’m not unpacking that intelligence or the what-ifs around it. But I am acknowledging the obvious: three of those years will unfold under Donald Trump’s second presidency. And that reality, paired with what we’re seeing in front of our eyes, has pushed me to talk about something I’ve deliberately avoided.

I have a close family member living with a memory-loss disease. I’ve never said that publicly because it hurts, because naming it out loud makes it real, and because I’ve never wanted to use their struggle as a metaphor. But over these past months, as politics have escalated into something darker, I’ve found myself unable to ignore parallels in patterns of behaviour I’ve personally witnessed and the behaviour we see, daily, globally, from the President of the United States.

To be clear, I am not making a diagnosis. I’m not a doctor. I’m not suggesting equivalency. One is a loved one who lived a good, quiet life and deserves compassion and safety and never acts from a place of cruelty or evil. The other is the most powerful person on Earth. But I am talking about recognizable human patterns, changes in speech, changes in focus, erratic storytelling, unshakeable belief in invented narratives, emotional volatility, unusual physical mannerisms, and moments that simply do not match past behaviour.

Back in Trump 1.0, we all witnessed the erratic late night tweets, the mood swings, the wild pivots, the sudden tangents, behaviour that became part of the spectacle, part of the chaos-for-show that defined his first term. It was volatile and unnerving, but it was still framed as “Trump being Trump,” an exaggerated performance wrapped in grievance and bravado.

But it wasn’t until recent months that people began using the word “sundowning” in a more serious way, pointing to his increasingly disorganized late-night Truth Social posts, sharper emotional swings, moments of confusion that couldn’t be brushed off as theatrics, and most of all, the growing certainty with which he clings to things that simply aren’t real. For those of us who have lived with someone who truly does experience certain changes in behaviour and ‘imaginings’ the parallels are impossible to ignore. The volatility, the slipping coherence, the absolute conviction in invented narratives, once you’ve seen these patterns up close, it is deeply unsettling to watch echoes of them play out on a global stage.

In my family’s case we made the heartbreaking decision to place our loved one somewhere safe, supported, respected, and protected. They hold no power, no weapons, no military chain of command and yet we knew we had to make that decision. They require care, patience, and stability. And they deserve that.

Now imagine a similar pattern of behaviour, but the individual holds the largest nuclear arsenal on the planet, commands 1.3 million active-duty service members, and is treated by his closest advisors as flawless and unquestionable. Imagine that person at the centre of a geopolitical world already teetering, and imagine that no one around them is willing, or able, to intervene.

That terrifies me. And it should terrify every Canadian, every ally, every democracy. Not because we dislike his politics. Not because we preferred Biden. But because unchecked power combined with unchecked behaviour is historically catastrophic.

And yes, there were legitimate questions about Biden’s age and capacity. Some of that should have been more transparent. But Biden, for all his flaws, did not glory in cruelty. He did not fantasize about retribution. He did not weaponize the military against political enemies. The comparison is not equivalent.

As Canadians, including those of us in Alberta, we must choose leaders who will not normalize this, who will not run to Mar-a-Lago for approval, who will not bend the knee for trade favours or photo-ops. Mark Carney was never going to “manage” Donald Trump, because Trump is unmanageable. Only those closest to him can intervene. That is the point and the danger. No one is doing that.

I also know I’m not alone in this world. We are living in a time where more and more families are navigating memory-loss diseases. Millions of people understand these behavioural patterns because they live with them every single day. And yes, I know many people are waiting for the full release of the Epstein files and the Caribbean boat incident, and those disclosures absolutely matter. But just as urgent is something far closer to the present: there needs to be a full, unambiguous disclosure of this man’s cognitive and neurological assessment, not another distraction about how “perfect” his heart supposedly looked or another deflection about cankles. Transparency about his actual capacity is not a luxury; it is a global safety issue.

Something is happening, and the people around Donald Trump are doing nothing. That is what keeps me up at night. That is why I am breaking my silence about my family’s situation. Because I know what these patterns look like up close. And when I see echoes of those patterns in the Oval Office, backed by absolute power, global instability, and a circle of enablers?

Yes, it terrifies the hell out of me.

Where Humanity Takes Flight

Posted: December 11, 2025 in Uncategorized
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So my conversation today isn’t supposed to be about politics. Well, yes it is, and no it isn’t. What it’s really about is humanity, compassion, decency, and the expectations we set for the people who lead us and for the people we choose to be.

Some of you know me through the stories I tell. I’m not a historian or a journalist, I speak from lived experience, from the people and places that shaped me. And today, even though I said I wasn’t going to talk about politics, how can I talk about how we treat other human beings without landing there?

With yesterday’s talk of requiring five years of social media history just to enter the United States, it became clear that many of us, myself included, won’t be visiting anytime soon. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll miss it. I’ve been to Disney more times than I can count; I’ve walked New York; I can survive without Vegas.

What I can’t survive without is my sense of humanity, and today I was reminded of where it comes from.

I grew up in Moncton, a small city in New Brunswick. In the 60s and early 70s it looked overwealmingly white, like so many communities across Canada. The exception was the steady stream of students from around the world who came to learn to fly at my father’s flight school. That was my normal. As a teenager I was pumping avgas, dispatching flights, and working around those students. I grew up in a hangar full of languages, accents, hopes, and dreams. I didn’t understand then what a gift that was.

A few months after my father passed away in 2008, a letter arrived from one of those former students, Israel Ameh of Nigeria. I hadn’t known him at the time he trained in Moncton, I had already left Moncton, but his words captured exactly who my father was and what humanity can look like when lived fully and without prejudice.

Here is his letter, unchanged: “I came to Canada from Nigeria in 1982 to learn how to fly. Even before I got here I felt like I knew Mr. McClure as he tried to make my voyage to Canada as trouble-free as possible. When I arrived at the Moncton Train Station on August 2nd 1982, Don sent his Cool Station Wagon to pick me up. He made the MFC become like… a revolving family setting and as I needed to take different courses, I did not think twice about where to return for those courses. When I returned in 1988/89 and got my Flight Instructor rating, Don helped me get my First and second jobs. His recommendation also made securing a Work Visa easy. I ended up marrying from Buctouche making the Moncton area part home. In 2008, I found Don’s email address on the Internet and sent him a thank you letter which was unfortunately returned due to a bad email address. When I learnt of his passing, it was a sense of tremendous loss that I did not get to thank him for all he did in my life. Mr. McClure, I know you can still read this and I want to say THANK YOU for being such a wonderful person. You practised equality and globalisation with sterling vision before it became fashionable. To many of us, you were like a father. I still remember a talk you gave to me in 1985 about AIDS and why us young men had to be aware and cautious. Other students laughed at the time but it made me into a better man. From the provinces of Canada, Libya, Nigeria, UK, the Carribeans, Nepal, India, Pakistan and all other places that sent men and women to you to turn into Pilots, I think I speak for all of them when I say the world lost a Great Man. Rest in Peace Don, but I know that if they have airplanes in Heaven, you will be helping run an efficient operation and checking up on the airplanes and asking why they are not up flying just as you did to keep us on our toes; but most of all, thank you for changing the life of an 18 year old from an African village.”

That letter, especially that last line, tells you everything about my core. And it’s why, when I hear Donald Trump speak of Haiti or Africa or Afghanistan as though the people from those places are somehow lesser, it hits like a gut punch. It dishonours the young men and women I grew up around. It dishonours my father. And it dishonours that young man whose life changed because someone treated him with dignity.

Trump, born with every advantage, has no understanding of what it means to build your life by strength, opportunity, and gratitude. No understanding of being a guest in another country. No understanding of leadership grounded in humanity. This isn’t left or right. It’s about whether we widen the circle or shrink it until only people who look like us get to belong.

Most of you reading this already get that. But maybe someone, somewhere, will feel something crack open. Because there are cracks everywhere right now, cracks in the asphalt, cracks in the façade of cruelty-as-strength. But dear God, don’t let this be the world our children and grandchildren inherit. Not a world sliding backward into suspicion and hate toward anyone who doesn’t look like us.

If an 18-year-old from an African village could take flight because someone believed in him, then surely we can choose humanity.

Surely we can chart a better course, one where compassion, not fear, keeps us airborne.

A Winter Prairie in the Shadow of Autocracy: The Fight for Alberta’s Future

Posted: December 5, 2025 in Uncategorized
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Last night I sat down with the intention of putting up my Christmas tree. But before I even touched the lights, I looked out my front window and saw what I always see this time of year: the quiet that villains underestimate, a winter prairie, a lone flag, and a province ready to string its own lights and write its own ending.

That was supposed to be my escape, a quiet moment to step away from politics, breathe, and let myself remember what this season means to me. But as I stood there untangling lights, my mind was racing in a dozen other directions: Putin announcing he will never give back the Ukrainian land he stole, the laws of armed conflict circling my thoughts, and now, because Alberta and specifically the UCP never miss an opportunity to raise the temperature… a new disaster is unveiled by our own government which a can only be described as a very dark fairy tale.

So let me tell it the way it came to me, standing in my living room with a half-lit Christmas tree and a full-body rant building.

Once upon a time, in a province known for grit and generosity, there lived a woman who fancied herself a queen.
I think her name was Queen Danielle. She wore a crown forged out of grievance and applause, and behind her stood several shadowy figures, not through the will of the people, but through decrees disguised as “choice” and “freedom.” And alas they unveiled their latest spell: Bill 14.

Every fairy tale has a moment when the villain finally stops pretending. This was that moment. Bill 14 removes oversight from Elections Alberta. It clears a path for a separatist referendum petition even if it is unconstitutional. Even if it violates treaties. Even if it fails every requirement of the Federal Clarity Act. In the old storybooks, this is where the queen waves her wand and announces, “The rules no longer apply to me.”

And as I stared at my tangled Christmas lights, I thought, Oh my God. We are living inside the chapter where the queen rewrites the kingdom.

And here is where the fairy tale becomes prophecy: This is exactly how it started south of the border. Not with a bang, but with “technical changes,” “procedural tweaks,” and “temporary exceptions” that slowly gutted democratic safeguards. A slippery slope never feels like a slide until you’re already halfway down. Albertans need to understand, clearly, that what we are watching here is the same playbook being run in slow motion.

I’ve perhaps tried to deny the “Trump-lite” comparisons, but today it was impossible not to see it. South of the border, people are begging for a Congress that will stand up to a would-be ruler. Here in Alberta? Not one MLA in the governing party seems willing to stand up to Queen Danielle or the shadows behind her. They just nod, bow, and pretend this is fine.

But let me break from fairy tale language for one crucial, real-world point: The government are saying the separatists need to do the same petition Forever Canadian did. Except they don’t.
Because they changed the rules. They only need half the signatures Forever Canadian gathered. And they get an extra month.

Forever Canadian began with a petition. As Thomas A. Lukaszuk has said many times: we have moved from petition into momentum. And now, we move from momentum into MOVEMENT because what is coming requires every single Albertan who cares about our future to show up. If you signed the Forever Canadian petition before or you volunteered or canvassed we still need you to sign into the system again. Not to re-sign the petition, but so we have accurate, up-to-date information for the work ahead. And if you’ve never heard of this until today please sign up now. forever-canadian.ca

But now this is the part of the fairy tale where the villagers decide whether they show up or surrender the ending to someone else.

And I’ll tell you exactly where I stand. If there are calls to be made, I’ll make them. If there are doors to knock, I’ll knock them.
If there is organizing to be done, I’ll do it. If we need to rally again, I’ll be there, boots on, voice ready.

Because Alberta already said, loudly, that we want to remain part of Canada. And I refuse to let an cabal of ideologues twist the story into something none of us asked for.

I wanted last night to be about Christmas lights. But villains don’t schedule their power grabs around my holiday decorating.
And this fairy tale can only end one of two ways; when the people give up or when the people rise I know exactly which ending I’m fighting for.

If you’re reading this from the United States, please know this: we see what’s happening to you, and we are determined to stop that slide from taking hold here. We’re fighting it now, while we still can.

If you’re reading this from elsewhere in Canada, understand how critical this moment is. Alberta is part of our country, and protecting that bond protects us all. And if you’re reading this here in Alberta… well, you already know what needs to be done. Our province is worth fighting for, and we’re not letting anyone rewrite its future.

The fairy tale isn’t over but I’ll be damned if we let the villains write the ending.

Don’t mess with Franklin

Posted: December 1, 2025 in Uncategorized
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Before I even begin, I want to say this clearly: I would never change a Franklin book, its message, or its imagery to suit political commentary. These stories were foundational for my kids and for me and the lessons Paulette Bourgeois wrote and Brenda Clark illustrated deserve to be kept intact exactly as they are.

Which is why it feels so bizarre, and frankly insulting, to watch someone else drag Franklin into a political stunt while utterly disregarding the values these books were built on.

Because yes, the U.S. Secretary of Defense (who still calls himself the Secretary of War, as though renaming the job is part of the fantasy) posted an AI-generated picture of Franklin the Turtle hanging out of a helicopter holding a gun. And let me tell you, as someone who read Franklin books for decades and actually respects their moral compass: there is not a single Franklin story where he leans out of a helicopter with a weapon.

So while President Trump’s team continues rewriting norms, reality, and now children’s literature, I’d like to remind them what Franklin books actually taught. And if they’re going to keep dragging Franklin into this, the least we can do is put the real titles back on the table, the ones with actual lessons, not whatever that unhinged helicopter scene was supposed to convey.

Let’s look at some actual Franklin titles I read to my children as maybe they may be relevant in name only to those who frequent the oval office. And yes for the sake of this I will allow the titles to be related to the current US Administration. But just the titles and maybe the lessons that COULD be learned.

Franklin Is Bossy; inspirational reading for anyone who believes leadership involves yelling.

Franklin Plays the Game; although in Washington these days it’s mostly about changing the rules mid-game.

Franklin Is Messy; a political allegory if I’ve ever seen one.

Franklin’s Bad Day; every day ending in “y” when President Trump opens his mouth.

Franklin’s New Friend; once Putin, now the Saudi Prince… the club rotates.

Franklin Is Lost; spiritually, ethically, emotionally, geographically. Pick one.

Franklin Fibs; I don’t even have to explain this one.

Hurry Up, Franklin; or: Hurry up, Trump, could you please just step out of the building? Any building.

Franklin’s Secret Club; perfect for a president who loves a secretive inner circle, complete with loyalty oaths, whispered instructions, and a clubhouse password no one else is allowed to know. I’m guessing the entrance involves tapping three times on a gold-plated door and saying, “Do you love me? Tell me you love me.”

These books were designed to teach children kindness, honesty, problem-solving, and the value of friendship. It is… something else entirely to see those teachings twisted into a militarized meme featuring Franklin leaning out of a helicopter like he’s auditioning for a role in Rambo: The Turtle Years. My apologies for the sarcasm as I relate the titles to current American politics but would they understand the lessons if they moved past the titles

I don’t want to misuse Franklin here. I don’t want to transform a gentle Canadian icon into a prop. I don’t want to corrupt a childhood lesson into a political stunt. However I am using it to comment on the absurdity.

Because when we’re living in a moment where even after verifying screenshots, checking sources, and confirming clips, we still find ourselves asking, Is this parody then something has gone very wrong.

And CBC, if by chance you, Kids Can Press, or anyone who holds licensing rights to Franklin is listening, do you have any ability to tell the Secretary of Defense to stop? I know cease-and-desist letters can’t solve everything, but in this case, I would frame one on my wall out of sheer gratitude.

Franklin deserves better.

My Remembrance Day

Posted: November 11, 2025 in Uncategorized
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As those who read me know, I speak often of military service, of my family’s involvement, of the deep respect I hold for those who serve and have served. But today, that respect carries a heavier gravity than I can recall feeling in many years. The world we are living in feels as though it is shifting under our feet, and while I cannot fully name what we are on the brink of, I know in my bones that it is frightening. On this Remembrance Day, the meaning of sacrifice feels sharper. Clearer. More urgent. It demands something from us.

I have attended Remembrance Day ceremonies for sixty-six years. I may not remember those very early ones, but I remember every year from the time I was six. I remember my Brownie uniform, my Girl Guide sash, attending beside Air Cadets. I remember laying wreaths for my grandfather, and later for my father. I remember attending ceremonies with my sons, one of whom would later stand in uniform among other serving members. I remember standing there in bitter wind, in snow, in quiet fall sun. Some years I attended with family, but most years I went alone with my children, not as a tradition, but as an instruction. To remember has always been for me a deliberate act. A responsibility.

And yet, somehow, we are forgetting. Some measure that forgetting by how many show up to a ceremony. But attendance alone is not remembrance. If the only day you acknowledge the sacrifices of those who came before us is the day the bugle sounds, then yes, at least you came. But let’s be honest. Let’s be bold. If that is where your remembrance begins and ends, how can you look at what is happening in the world right now and not recognize that the ground beneath us is becoming less stable? That we are, once again, entertaining the same ideologies, the same hunger for division and dominance, that cost millions of lives in the last century?

When I watched the national ceremony today, I forced myself to truly watch and to feel it. To let myself remember that when my father enlisted in 1941, he was eighteen. He stood beside other boys who stepped forward because they understood something we now seem to resist seeing: that freedom is not self-sustaining, democracy is not a given, and peace is not guaranteed. Those boys are few now. Those who remain carry the memory of what happens when hatred, extremism, and power-hunger go unchecked.

Canada lost more than 66,000 soldiers in the First World War. Another 172,000 came home bodily wounded but numbers were not kept for those spirits that were damaged. In the Second World War, we lost 45,000, and 55,000 were wounded. In the Korean War, 516 more. We lost lives in Somalia, in Bosnia, in Afghanistan. And we carry the unseen casualties, trauma, grief, fractured families, the quiet suffering that never makes the history books.

But today, we are witnessing the most horrific disrespect of what they fought for that I could have imagined. Not from some distant villain. But from everyday complacency. From the normalization of authoritarian rhetoric. From the cheering of cruelty as if it is strength. From the casual acceptance of lies, hate, and division, especially from those who claim to “love freedom.”

I find it difficult to reconcile that on a day as sacred to me as Remembrance Day, I have to speak about politics at all. But how can I not? What was fought for is being eroded. And not subtly.

I hate that I speak so often of American politics. I don’t want to. I want the United States to deal with their own chaos while we remain steady here. But we are too geographically, socially, culturally, economically intertwined to pretend their descent into authoritarian celebration does not affect us. And here, within our own borders, we are watching admiration for those very same anti-democratic impulses grow among people who stand under the same flag my father fought to protect.

I do not know what to do with this pain. This fear. This anger. I can list adjectives until the page collapses under them, none of them feel sufficient. What I do know is that Remembrance Day is not just symbolic to me. It is not a cultural performance. It is not background noise between errands. It is sacred. And when the world carries on casually today, shopping, scrolling, rushing, and arguing it feels like a bell ringing that no one hears.

So I wear my poppy intentionally today. Because it is a visible bell. A signal and a reminder that remembrance is not passive. That memory is not nostalgia. That silence is not neutrality.

On my sixty-sixth Remembrance Day, I am asking, no actually pleading that we understand the gravity of the world we are in. That we recognize we are not immune to the forces that tore other nations apart. That we stop comforting ourselves with the myth that Canada is somehow untouchable, incorruptible, insulated by politeness.

Do not show up to a Remembrance Day ceremony if you also cheer for authoritarianism, division, cruelty, or the dehumanization of others. You cannot honour sacrifice while celebrating the very conditions that required it.

I do not want my children, or their children, to live what their grandparents and great-grandparents endured. I am scared.

But remembrance is not about despair. It is about responsibility.

And we still have time to choose who we are.

September 11

Posted: September 11, 2025 in Uncategorized
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Twenty-four years. I remember every moment.

I had just sent my older son off to school. My younger one was a toddler, wandering around the kitchen while I stood at the island with paperwork spread everywhere, the TV set propped on the counter. And then the news alert saying the first tower was hit. Like everyone else, I was watching when the second was hit. I didn’t sit down. I just stood there, trying to keep my little one occupied, trying to absorb something that would change all of us forever.

My dad was still alive then. I called him from Calgary, his voice steady from New Brunswick, but we both knew this was different. He was a man who lived by service, signing on with the Royal Canadian Air Force in 1941, then dedicating his life to his community and volunteerism. We spent much of that day talking and processing what we had seen and heard. That day reminded me just how fragile the world could be, and how deeply our choices matter. The loss of innocence for the generation before me was the Second World War. For me, it was September 11, 2001.

My sister and her husband live in Gander, Newfoundland and like most of the community opened their hearts when the planes arrived. My brother in law was an air traffic controller, but more importantly a very active member of his community. And that small community of fewer than 10,000 took in almost 7,000 stranded passengers. If you don’t know that story, you don’t know one of the proudest chapters in Canadian history. They fed, housed, clothed, and comforted complete strangers. They showed the world what it means to be human.

That day was also a reminder of the Canada–U.S. relationship. In modern history, outside of the Second World War, there has been no moment when we stood more firmly with our American friends. We didn’t hesitate. Because geography placed us side by side, but history, sacrifice,and human decency kept us there.

It was John F. Kennedy, speaking in Canada’s House of Commons in 1961, who said it best:

“Geography has made us neighbors.
History has made us friends.
Economics has made us partners.
And necessity has made us allies.
Those whom nature hath so joined together, let no man put asunder.”

That is what I hold onto today. Because I look at where we are now, at the toxic politics, at the self-serving narcissism of one man determined to tear countries apart rather than bring them together, and I think: my God, what a loss. The Department of War is not strength. Defense is strength. Community is strength. Humanity is strength.

For those too young to remember 9/11: this isn’t about the loss of shampoo bottles in your checked luggage or the inconvenience of airport security lines. It’s about the moment when thousands of lives were ended in real time, on live television. It’s about the day when every school teacher in North America looked at their classroom differently, wondering how to explain the unexplainable to terrified children. It’s about the trauma imprint, on parents, on kids, on communities, that still lingers close to a quarter century later.

I think of my own children and how that fear landed in our home. The phone calls to family. The way the air itself felt heavier. The stunned silence on streets and in the grocery store. I believe as I speak these words, I can still feel what it felt like. And as I write, I try to honour both the factual pieces of that day and the raw human pieces of how we felt.

That is why Gander matters. That is why our shared history matters. We rose to support our American neighbours not because of politics, but because of humanity. Because Canadians understood instinctively that the border was invisible when people were in need. And we acted on it.

And yet, walking through every single day now, watching the constant erosion of our shared ideals, the loss of that relationship between the United States and Canada feels even more hurtful. The U.S. once needed and wanted the world’s help. Now, under leaders who confuse bravado with strength, it acts as though it doesn’t. That breaks something in me. Because for all our differences, for all our arguments, the bond forged in tragedy should have been unbreakable.

But bonds only hold if we choose to honour them. The lesson of September 11th isn’t just about vigilance; it’s about unity. It’s about ordinary people doing extraordinary things in the face of fear. It’s about our country who opened its arms to stranded strangers and made them neighbours.

I miss being able to call my dad to talk about the things going on in our world, to hear what he would say. And yet, I’m also glad he isn’t here to see the anger and division that have followed. What I know is this: there are still people fighting for our country, not with weapons, but with words, service, and courage. They are the counterweight to war. The living proof of Kennedy’s words.

We say we will never forget. And we shouldn’t. Because forgetting isn’t just about losing memory; it’s about losing ourselves. And if September 11th taught me anything, it’s that the opposite of fear is not comfort, but action.

On that day, our innocence shattered, but our humanity showed. Today, our politics are bitter, but our capacity for decency still exists. It’s up to us to defend it, fiercely, to make sure geography and history continue to bind us, and to refuse to let any man, no matter how powerful, put it asunder.

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