RN Holmes

The night shift was beginning. I sipped at my coffee. Although I had had a full eight hours of sleep that day, I knew I would need it. The body’s overpowering need to sleep during the night hours could be countered with massive doses of caffeine and humor. I used both – extensively.

My eyes didn’t take long to adjust to the dark interior of the ER. At this time of the year, the days were shorts and I slept them away. I didn’t see the sunlight for days at a time, sometimes weeks. Combined with the frigid cold of Canada’s winter, it drained my energy. But I was wide awake that night.

I took report with Becky, a fellow nurse working with me that night. I felt relief. I was still pretty new to the department and to the profession. I had confidence in my skills and abilities, but was always glad to have someone more experienced with me.

“Seems like we have an old friend with us tonight,” Becky said, pointing a slightly trembling finger at the board where all the patients’ names were noted.

I ignored the shaking. Too much coffee at the beginning of the night shift does that. I took a look at the board and spotted the name. Mrs. Patterson. “Maybe it’s another one,” I said.

Becky shook her head at me, amused. “You keep on hoping, honey.”

I was not too surprised to find out, during report, that the Mrs. Patterson whose name we had spied earlier on the board was none other than the same one that had come to the ER during the last five months at the frequency of once a week. She was an elderly lady, about 87 years of age – no one knew for sure. She was a street lady suffering from multiple disorders. She was a demanding woman, expecting top-notch care that our ER, bursting at the seams, couldn’t offer. The massages and hour-long conversations unfortunately weren’t always offered to her, and she complained about it – loudly, and rudely. She was usually put into the isolation room, because she disturbed the other patients with her loud voice. She also smelled. A lot, and very bad.

“Who is our patient attendant for the night?” Becky asked.

“I am,” Tina grinned down at us from the counter.

I smiled back at her. “Hey Tina.”

“Did I hear you guys right? Mrs. Patterson here, again?”

I nodded.

Tina rolled her eyes. “However nice I am told to be to the patients, I am not giving her another foot massage. First of all, the place is packed, I don’t have the time.”

“We understand, Tina. Don’t worry about it.”

Tina didn’t seem to have heard Becky. “And secondly, her feet… You wouldn’t imagine how badly they stink. I almost fainted! We don’t need patients like this.”

“Shh,” I told her. I didn’t want anyone to hear the comments Tina was making. Although health care professionals needed to vent, they didn’t need to do so in front of the public.

Tina made a face. “Wish we could get rid of them all,” she said before turning away.

Becky shook her head. “Shouldn’t be talking like that in here,” she said. “Lots of politics.”

I nodded.

She frowned. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Someone’s screaming.”

I listened carefully then shook my head. “I must have missed it.”

Becky stood up. “I’ll go take a look.”

I did my first round after Becky came back to report that if someone had screamed, they were quiet now. Although full, the patients didn’t require much care, and all were deep in peaceful slumber, even Mrs. Patterson. I was relieved.

I came back to the nursing station to do my charting. I was met by Dr. Thierren.

“How are you, Jolie?”

“Very good Dr. Thierren. And you?”

“Good. Anything going on?”

“Everyone fast asleep, no problematic breathing patterns, nothing.”

“Not even with Mrs. Patterson?”

I shook my head.

“I can’t believe she’s here again,” Dr. Thierren continued. “What a drain on our resources. I hope she dies this time.” He said this calmly, while doing his charting, as if he were talking about mere mundanities.

I swallowed a terse reply and turned to my charts. As head physician of the ER, Dr Thierren was under a lot of pressure to cut costs. He was probably very stressed, and didn’t mean what he had said. No sense in getting in trouble with a senior physician. It would only do me harm.

There exists a false taboo that street people don’t have meaningful lives and don’t have families. Mrs. Patterson has a steady high income from smart investments. She once told me how much she was worth – and it surprised me. She could easily afford a life of luxury, yet chose the streets.

Mrs. Patterson also had a tightly knit family. Her daughter was always called when her mother was admitted to the ER, and she unfailingly came to see her mother.

“Hello, Jolie.”

“Good evening, Mary. How are you?”

She smiled tiredly. “Tired, obviously. How is she doing?”

“She has pneumonia and her kidneys aren’t functioning well.”

“Kidney failure?”

“No, not quite. Could get there, though.”

She signed. “You know…”

I didn’t press her. Mary and I had a long standing relationship that stemmed from our common concern for her mother.

“I don’t want to be mean or anything, but… Sometimes, I wish she would die, you know?”

I nodded. “I understand.”

I catered to her needs, knowing that a bed and a good night’s sleep were the best remedy for her at the moment. I came back to the nursing station, and was greeted by Becky. I told her about my conversation with Mary and about Tina’s and Dr. Thierren’s remarks.

Becky, who was massaging her right hand, shook her head. “Don’t listen to any of them. Just do what your heart tells you. She’s a human being, just like you and me. Take good care of her, and you’ll be rewarded for it.” She then tried holding her right hand still in the air. It started shaking uncontrollably. She sighed, continuing to massage it.

I decided to go on my second full round not too long after. I liked the fact that in the ER, I could see all my patients from the nursing station. But I still liked to walk among the stretchers, to make sure that the patients knew I was there for them.

My heart started pounding. I knew that feeling. I hadn’t been working for long as a nurse, but when that sense of heaviness invaded me, I knew that someone had just left this world for the next one. Involuntarily, my eyes fell on the door to the room of Mrs. Patterson.

I pushed it open. As soon as I spied her peaceful face, I knew. I smiled as I prayed by her bedside. She was gone; she’d be fine.

I followed the now-familiar protocol. Dr. Thierren was busy, so Dr. James, a resident, called the death, then Tina and I set out to clean the body.

“This is one wrapping I won’t mind doing,” Tina said, bringing in the equipment.

I threw her a puzzled look. She shrugged.

“No Mrs. Patterson, no problems. If only the others could do us the favor of dying, it would ease the ER overcrowding.”

“You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “I’m serious. These people come in all the time, using up resources, and we don’t have anything left for people who take care of themselves and are worth something to society.”

I was shocked by the harsh words. “Tina, please. Don’t say these things in the presence of Mrs. Patterson. And myself,” I added after a moment’s hesitation.

Tina shrugged. “I will hold up the side,” she said. I smiled at her; she smiled back. I was glad the little disagreement hadn’t ruined our good working relationship.

She took a breath and leaned her weight back, rolling the slowly stiffening body on its side. A wave of nausea engulfed me.

“What is this doing here?” I asked, holding up a small vial of potassium, the contents of which were enough to stop a failing heart if injected in one shot.

Tina shrugged. “We always find all kinds of stuff in the patient’s bed.”

I hesitated, then pocketed the vial. I would have to put it in a plastic bag, just in case.

One thing I had quickly learned was that gut instinct was a nurse’s best friend. More than once, while the rest of the staff was convinced a patient was fine, I could be seen taking vitals signs and an electrocardiogram, and detect an early stroke. It had come to the point that I had only to frown, and the doctor was ready to intubate.

I believe that this ability, honed only in the ER as part of my nursing care, also spilled over, unconsciously, to the other aspects of my life. I would stop walking for no apparent reason moments before a car would come speeding around the corner. Things like that.

This is why I didn’t fight the unease that had gripped me at the sight of the potassium bottle. It wasn’t supposed to be there. And I had to find out why.

I loved to read mysteries, but somehow, it wasn’t easy to put together what had happened during the last hour of Mrs. Patterson’s life.

The first thing I did was the check the trash can in Mrs. Patterson’s room. I found more of the little potassium bottles. I then checked her chart for the last couple of days she had been in the ER, going over each page, scrutinizing each line. Sure enough, potassium hadn’t been ordered as part of her treatment.

I was also able to ascertain was that four people had been to Mrs. Patterson’s bedside between my first and second round: Dr. Thierren, Tina, Mary and Becky. All had the ability and the knowledge to use the potassium against Mrs. Patterson, Dr. Thierren, Tina and Becky for obvious reasons, Mary because she was a retired pharmacist.

Now what I needed to do was to turn into Sherlock Holmes and find out what happened.

“Becky, did anyone come into the medication room?”

Becky threw me a puzzled look. “No. Why?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Jolie, why the questions?”

I shook my head. “Just making sure no one came in there. You know, after that incident, last week?” I was referring to the stolen medication a patient had been caught stashing in his underwear.

Becky nodded. “Smart. No, no one came in. I was here at all times. No one could walk past me.”

“Thanks, Becky.”

I noticed she was throwing puzzled looks around. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “I am just trying to figure out who is talking right now.”

I strained my ears, but couldn’t hear anything but the low hum of the ventilation system and the steady breathing of the patients. Becky must have extremely good hearing.

“Tina, did you see anyone go into the medication room at any time?”

Tina shrugged. “No one but you and Becky.”

“What about the stock room?”

Tina shook her head. “Couldn’t tell you about that. Everyone goes past that door, and it isn’t locked.”

I went in to the stock room and checked out the packages of potassium. None of them were torn or open. I went through all of them one by one.

I left the stock room, discouraged. I was convinced that Mrs. Patterson hadn’t died of natural causes. I now needed to find out who did it, and why.

I was so deep in my thoughts that I ran into Mary.

“I’m sorry, Jolie.”

“Don’t worry about it. How are you feeling?”

Mary smiled bravely, tears welling in her eyes. “You don’t think that… You know, what I said…”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t have anything to do with that.”

“I know. Rationally, I know. But in my heart… It’s gnawing at me.”

“Have you made arrangements?”

“Yes. It’s all been taken care of. We had spoken of this not too long ago.”

It struck me then. Mary had told me about the arrangements about a month ago. They included the completion of a will that left all of Mrs. Patterson’s belongings and assets to Mary, belongings and assets the totaled more than three million dollars. I also remembered that Mary had been going through some financial rough patches. What did they call it? Motive. Mary had it.

I crossed Dr. Thierren in the hallway. He was grinning. “I just got to sign the death certificate. Finally, a load less to carry.”

I hesitated. “Dr. Thierren, I know Mrs. Patterson was very sick, but…”

He frowned ominously. “What are you trying to say, Jolie?”

“Could it be possible that Mrs. Patterson died of unnatural causes?”

He moved so fast that I didn’t have the time to react. He grabbed my upper arm with such force that I winced.

“Listen, Jolie. You have just started your career, so I won’t hold this against you. But remember one thing, and remember it well. Some things are better left alone, and some questions are better left unanswered. You understand?”

Frightened, I nodded. His grip tightened before letting me go. I rubbed the red imprint of his had while watching him leave. What was going on?

I sat for a long time at the nursing station, pondering my course of action. I was convinced that Mrs. Patterson had been killed. Not only had I found the bottle of potassium which had no reason to be there, not only the trash can had been filled with the small potassium bottles, but my senses were on high alerts. I was tempted to confide in Becky, but as I approached her, something made me ask her about the weather instead.

What could I do? Could I call the cops? The body had been taken away long ago. There was no proof left. I slipped my hand in my pocket. Unless I showed them the little potassium vials in my pocket and in the trash can…

I called my friend, who is in the police force. He told me that if I was so sure about my instincts, that I should talk to my head nurse and call in the authorities. I went to the head nurse’s office and told her about my concerns.

The head nurse looked at me, grave. “You realize the seriousness of your allegations,” she said.

I nodded.

“Yet you still maintain that Mrs. Patterson has been killed, and didn’t die of natural causes?”

I nodded again.

She sighed. “Jolie, you are new to the job. You are still young and inexperienced. There is one important thing that you must know. Don’t go into things that aren’t worth it.”

“Mrs. Patterson isn’t worth it?” I said, incredulous.

She shook her head. “That isn’t what I said. The situation isn’t worth it. Mrs. Patterson was a very sick woman. She is much happier where she is now. This is the first incident of its kind in over twenty years. I can promise you that if anything else happens of the same nature before another twenty years, I will call in the authorities.”

Was that sarcasm I detected?

I thanked her and left the room. I was truly alone in this. What was I to do? On the one hand, my conscience was torturing me. I had to know if she had been killed, and if so, her killer had to be brought to justice.

On the other, my career was on the line. What was I to do?

I came back to the nursing station. Becky was nowhere to be found. I went around the ER, puzzled when I couldn’t find her. No one had seen her in over thirty minutes. I asked a fellow nurse to look over our section while I went to look for her.

I finally found her outside. Once again, her right hand was shaking uncontrollably.

“Becky, are you OK?”

She shook her head sorrowfully. “I will never be OK.”

“What’s wrong?”

She laughed a short brittle laugh. “The question is, what isn’t wrong?”

I waited.

She sighed. “Sometimes things happen to you in life that you can’t understand. You should accept them as tests from the All-Mighty. But it’s so hard!”

“What test?”

She made me promise not to tell anyone. “I have been diagnosed with Parkinson’s. The Cogentin I have been taking used to help with the tremors, but now,” she lifted the shaking hand, “it seems to have lost its efficiency.”

I sorrowfully shook my head. “I am so, so sorry, Becky.”

She lapsed into silence. We stood there, watching the shadows in the ambulance bay, until Becky sighed yet again.

“If you don’t mind, I will go take a short nap.”

I nodded, still moved by her situation. I remained alone for a few moments before going back to my section of the ER.

I was rounding yet again when I noticed that one of my patients was wide awake. Since she was a demented patient who had the tendency of slipping through the rails of her bed and potentially hurt herself, I went to her bedside.

“Hello, Mrs. Johnson. Why don’t you slip back in the middle of the mattress?”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of dying.”

I squeezed her arm. “I will take good care of you.”

“You yes. But what about the other one?”

A chill ran down my spine. I looked into her eyes, surprisingly clear and focused. “Which one?”

“The one with the pink clothes.”

The only staff member wearing pink had been working with me all shift. Was it possible? Could I believe a demented patient?

“Are you sure, Mrs. Johnson?”

“Yes, yes.” Her eyes clouded over. “Is my husband here?” Her husband had been dead for fifteen years. The moment of lucidity had passed.

I agonized. I didn’t know what to do. Was Mrs. Johnson, an old, demented woman, to be trusted? Maybe she had a little bit of paranoia going on. It wouldn’t be a first. However, there was one thing I couldn’t ignore. When Mrs. Johnson had mentioned the one with the pink clothes, it felt right. Pieces fell into places. My damnable instinct told me that was the answer.

I sat at the nursing station, dispirited. What could explain Becky’s actions? She was an amazing nurse, the most compassionate one I had ever met. I always had hoped to become at least half the nurse she is.

My eyes fell on a small bottle of medication sitting on the counter. I picked it up. It was Becky’s Cogentin. I was about to put it back down when I noticed the date. This bottle had been picked up only three days ago, and it was nearly empty.

My breathing caught in my throat as I remembered that one of the side effects of Cogentin was hallucinations. Some people have also been reported to have personality changes. Could that explain what had happened? Becky had told me that her Parkinson’s had been growing worse. In a last attempt to bring the shaking under control, could Becky have taken extra doses?

If so, Becky couldn’t be held accountable for her actions. Where was she at the moment?

“Why the frown?” Melissa, who was passing by, asked me.

I smiled. “Just some dark thoughts to match the lighting in here.”

Melissa nodded, opening and closing cupboard doors.

“What are you looking for?”

“Air freshener. We have another delinquent in, and he smells.”

An alarm bell rang. “Do you need any help?”

“No. Becky is there, helping out.”

I was out of my chair and halfway down the room before Melissa could say anything else. Becky was supposed to be taking a nap, not helping out in another section.

I careened none too gracefully into the other area. “Where is Becky?” I asked breathlessly.

The head nurse threw me an odd look. “In room 3.”

I knocked on the door, went inside and gasped. Becky was standing at the head of the bed, injecting something into the man’s IV line. Empty vials of potassium littered the bed.

“Becky, please. Stop.”

The head nurse, who had come up behind me, gasped. “Becky, what are you doing?”

Becky’s face contorted. “The voices. Everyone is telling me to. I have to. It’s my job.” Her thumb pushed on the syringe.

“Becky, it’s me, Jolie. Remember what you told me last week?”

Becky frowned at me. “What are you talking about?” Her voice was harsh. It sounded odd coming from such a soft-spoken woman.

I took a step forward. Becky took a step back. “Stop it!”

I froze. “Becky, just last week you told me that I should never stoop to the level of other nurses. That politics weren’t important. All that matters are the patients.”

“I never said that.”

“Becky, please look at me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Look at me,” I said with force.

Becky unwillingly looked into my eyes.

“Remember me. Remember who you are. You are Becky. You are the most caring, empathic nurse in the ER. You are overmedicated, and aren’t responsible for your actions. Please put the syringe down.”

Becky hesitated. Tears welled in here eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t think. I…” Her face contorted. My heart bled for her.

Becky started muttering something. I hesitated, then took a step forward, then another, until I heard what she was muttering, over and over again.

“I am a nurse. I care for my patients.”

“Yes, you are. And you are an amazing nurse. You are sick, Becky. Let me care for you.”

Becky nodded, her hands falling to her side. “I am sick. I have Parkinson’s.”

The head nurse gasped.

“Yes, you do.”

“I can’t work anymore.”

“Yes you can. You can’t perform techniques, but you can still care for your patients. But you have to let us help you now.”

She nodded again. I stepped up beside her and slipped my hand in hers. She grasped it.

“Will you stay with me?”

I nodded, relieved. “Let’s go.”

Becky wasn’t indicted for what she had done. She had taken too much medication and couldn’t be held accountable for her actions. She had to retire as a nurse in the ER, but remained as a teacher. Her shaking got worse, but she had learned her lesson, and refused to take extra medication.

And I still trust my instinct. It has never let me down.

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An email saves Florida toddler’s life

A fellow WordPress member posted an article about how an email saved the life of a Floria toddler. The story is quite amazing, and begs the question: should forwards be taken seriously or not?

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The Other Woman

What do you do when you have become what you loathe most, doing things you never would have imagined yourself doing? You spend years looking down at such behaviour, thinking that you would never stoop to such a level, that you’d never fail your high moral standards, that you’d never reach the depths of depravity that would allow such wanton acts. You could never do such a thing because of the strength of your beliefs. Not you. Never you.

Oh, the pain and the irony. How those I’d judged so harshly would laugh if they knew of my predicament. Now that I can be counted among their ranks, I realise that what they – we – did is so much more than bad judgement related to low moral standards. These things can creep up on you, building slowly, one lie at a time, until we are trapped in a place so foreign it leaves us bewildered, especially without the crutch of one’s lofty moral standards to lean on. Recovering addicts must feel something akin to this.

Hi. My name is Christina, and I have become the other woman.

I did something I swore I’d never do, something the woman formerly my best friend did to me. To know I have caused another woman the same pain caused to me is s horrible it makes me want to slit my wrists. I still remember, with astounding clarity, those few hours between finding out about Cassie and John and realising the immenseness of my own grief.

Until that incident, we were blissfully unaware of the real hardships of life, thinking that cooking, cleaning and picking up after ourselves were the worse hardships we would have to endure during college. All three of us have been spoiled since early childhood, living a comfortable life with all the necessary amenities. Cassie and I had been friends since elementary school; John and I had been dating since high school. College had further strengthened our bond; something about doing laundry together at the Laundromat several times a session at 3AM had done the trick. We were talking marriage – a topic that, surprisingly enough, he had come up with, not I. It felt like life was perfect, going where I had wanted it to go without a single hitch. I was top of my class, graduating in a year summa cum laude, had a great job already lined up for me and was going to get married within a year of graduation. What more could a girl ask for?

Every day I would send thanks up to the forces which had dealt me such a wonderful hand of cards, until that morning. I woke up earlier than usual; a stomach bug had kept me visiting the bathroom all night. I had stopped for a glad of water and caught a familiar whiff of cologne emanating from Cassie’s room. I didn’t think much of it – many men wore that cologne – but then I saw the shoes. I wondered for a second if John had come to check up on me and had ended in the wrong room. Then I ruefully shook my head. I prided myself for not being one of those paranoid girlfriends who checked on their boyfriends all the time, and I had no intention of starting. The shoes were pretty common, slip on leather sandals a lot of guys on campus had. With just cause: they were cheap, sturdy and fashionable. I had been the one to get John a pair, and there were at least five other people in the check-out line purchasing a pair on that very day.

I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity and was heading back to my room when I happened to glance at Cassie’s door. It was one of those lazy glances, done more out of habit than anything else. The door was ajar, framing two bodies wrapped around each other in an unmistakable position, slumbering peacefully, unaware of a figure looming at the door.

Such a cliché, I know, but my mind went blank. Utter silence of thought for a few moments – seconds? minutes? – before a loud, internal scream shattered it. It couldn’t be John! He would never do such a thing! This couldn’t happen to me! It had to be his look alike or a long lost twin. Either of those possibilities seemed more plausible than John – my John, my thoughtful, loving, patient John – in that position.

I should have just marched straight back to my room. But I couldn’t. However much I wished it, however much I denied it, however much I didn’t want to admit it, the chances of Cassie being with a look-alike or a long-long twin were next to non-existent. I walked in, one leaden step at a time, heart pounding, still hoping, and stood in disbelief beside the bed, looking down at Cassie and… And John. It was him. Naked. In bed. With another woman.

My breathing grew more laboured, and I started wheezing. My childhood asthma, which had been receding in the last five years, returned full force, and the sound of me forcing air in and out of my tightening lungs woke them both up. To this day I don’t know exactly what happened; somehow I ended up in my room, huddled in bed, clutching an old asthma medication dispenser and wondering at how everything can go so wrong in so short a time.

I threw myself into achieving perfection. I had perfect marks, perfect looks, perfect behaviour; I had to be such a woman that John could feel nothing but regret at having lost me, and Cassie would feel nothing but intimidation at the mere mention of my name. And it worked. I kicked her out of my life the very next day, and nothing she said or did convinced me to do anything more than serve her papers for the money she owed me. It seemed harsh until one realised that this wasn’t the first time she had done something of the sort to me, but it was certainly the last time. My parents were relieved I was finally getting rid of her; throughout the years they had witnessed Cassie undermining me at every opportunity she got without me saying a word. Truth is I felt sorry for her; Cassie’s need to undermine me was a reflection of her insecurities.

John was something else. He was the first man I had loved, and I had done so with every fibre of my being. I could understand, rationally, how he could make such a mistake. I could accept, rationally, that these things could happen. I could admit that for a man like John, with his usual integrity and loyalty, that this was probably a one time deal that had traumatised him so much, possibly even more than me, he would never even think of doing it again.

But something was missing. The spark at the mere mention of his name; the butterflies I used to get, even after 6 years of dating, were still; dates had become a chore and seeing him, an obligation than a pleasure. I still loved him. I couldn’t fall out of love with him just like that, and I hated myself for it. John has done everything he could to get my forgiveness, and I knew, rationally, that it was more than enough to prove to anyone that he was sincere. Two years since that day and I have yet to make up my mind. In another demonstration of his loyalty, John, to whom I’ve told about my confusion and the fact that I didn’t know when, if ever, we could get back together, has told me time and time again that he would wait for me. He loved me, and he’d never give up on getting his second chance. He deserves it, that I know; but I just can’t give it to him. Not yet.

Although I would never admit it to him, the other thing that bothered me was that John had ‘been’ with other girls. For one, there had been Cassie; on the other hand, he had dated other girls before me. Nothing serious, obviously, but the fact that he had met other girls interesting enough to date or to sleep with made me feel like I was a bit of an expendable commodity. As if, were things not to work out, it was only a matter of time before John replaced me. But I didn’t know if I would be able to replace him; no other man had ever interested me, before or during our relationship.

That it until I ran into him, an old friend high school who had been a bit of a nerd but a great friend throughout elementary school. I had basked in his light in those years, seeing much more in him than anyone else ever had. The old chemistry was still there, but with it came something new, something exciting, something that, after two years of feeling absolutely nothing but numbness, made me feel alive again. It was addicting, and I soon got swept into the maelstrom.

I still don’t know how it got to this point of me becoming the other women. There were no signs, no clues, nothing that could have warned me of the storm bearing on me and yet I can’t seem to be able to stop thinking that there was something that I’d missed, something that would have kept me out of this situation.

A thorough analysis of the situation had yielded nothing in lieu of clues to that effect. Dex hadn’t worn a ring and hadn’t mentioned being in a relationship – or not being in one. On our third “meeting” – I hadn’t been able to refer to them as dates until I was certain he was single – I summoned the courage to ask him.

“Would I be on a date if I weren’t?” he grinned at me, without the slightest hesitation.

I chalked it up to paranoia – in retrospect, I probably realised, deep down, that something was off – but I had to ask him a couple of times. And each and every time that I mentioned something about him being single or not, he would give me vague assurances, no clear-cut no. “Would a committed man stay out this late?” he’d told me when I asked him a second time about seeing anyone else. “I can party because I’m young, single and good-looking,” he announced a couple of times with a cheeky grin. It was all the more ironic that Dex didn’t party that much – he preferred having a bunch of friends over than go to a restaurant or club. Never once did he give me a clear-cut no, and always managed to come up with something cute (that, at the time, I found adorable).

It also didn’t help that we were blinded with our attraction to one another. We never could spend more than a couple of hours without one making contact with the other – phone, email, text message or in person. I tried to keep it in check, to maintain some control over the situation – after all, I didn’t want to seem so dependant – but he called me out on it.

“Why are you holding back, Christina?” he asked me one night.

“I’m not holding back,” I answered without hesitation. “Can’t a girl have a night in?” I added with a giggle. I wasn’t ready for this conversation.

But he was. “A girl can’t do that when a guy is begging her to spend it with him.”

My heart melted. The man certainly knew how to talk sweet. “Dex…”

“I know, I know,” he sighed. “You need your time alone, I can respect that. You still have things you need to sort out in your personal life. But you can’t make me like the fact that you are holding out.”

“What do you mean, holding out? You know everything about me. We spend almost all our free time together. I talk to you more than I talk to anyone else. Explain to me how exactly I’d be holding back.”

Dex hesitated. It didn’t happen often and reflected deep inner turmoil. “I want to be with you, in every sense of the word. You make me feel things no one has ever made me feel before. I also have opened up to you in ways I never have with anyone else, and it scares me that you still need time and space to think about it.”

How well he knew me. I decided against feigning innocence. “It’s going too fast.”

“I know. And yet it’s not fast enough for me.”

“I’m not sure about the sustainability of this relationship.”

He chuckled. “The big words are coming out, aren’t they.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Dex was right; something was holding me back, and until I could identify it, I wasn’t going forward with this relationship. It didn’t have to do with John; I was still in love with him, I still loved him, but something was missing in our relationship. As for Dex, I also loved him, and although our relationship had what Johns’ lacked, it didn’t feel as right. It was all very confusing.

He sighed. “To be honest, I’m not sure about the sustainability of this relationship either,” he answered. “But I’m willing to give it a try.”

An image of John’s beautiful, sad eyes popped into my head. “I’ve been burned pretty badly,” I said, pushing the image of John and the related guilt away.

“And I don’t want you to be hurt ever again.”

Silence fell.

“Let me come pick you up,” he asked.

I was a little shocked by the blatant vulnerability permeating his voice. It almost undid me, but I managed to stand firm. “I have to go Dex. I need to think about all this.”

“As long as you’re thinking about me,” he said, ever so softly, “I guess I can handle it.” He hung up before the thrill had finished travelling up and down my spine.

Now that I think back on it, I can easily identify a scattering of clues that should have tickled my curiosity and led me on the path to the truth. Maybe, somehow, I always knew things with Dex weren’t going to last and I’d unconsciously ignored details that seem so blatantly obvious now as to make me look like a fool. Maybe I had unconsciously decided to be happy for the little time I had with him and ignore the rest until it decided to come pounding on the door.

The biggest clue was the fact that we always got together at my place. Furthermore, we arrived together. To give myself some credit – I’m not a complete fool, after all – it always worked out for the best that way. After all, my place was right between his workplace and mine, while his house was far out in the suburbs. It was only logical and practical that we always met there. But still, I should have known.

The other clue was that Dex, a social person by nature, never wanted to invite anyone over nor go out at all. It did make sense at the time though, because he had huge portfolios to close at work. Dex hasn’t felt like going our for a little while, exhausted by his frequent business trips and late night conference calls, and appreciated the fact that I was so easygoing about it.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he kept telling me.

Not that he wasn’t already trying. He cooked, got me flowers, fixed my leaking faucet, helped me with a couple of tough cases, brought us take-out when neither felt like cooking, listened to me vent and, most importantly, expected nothing in return.

“I don’t deserve you,” he’d often say with a sigh.

How I wish I had know why he felt that way.

I had know for most of our short relationship – the entire thing, from beginning to end, lasted a mere three months – that something was on Dex’ mind, something big that could affect us. I called him out on it early on.

“Listen, Dex. I just wanted you to know that I kind of figured out that there’s something big on your mind that concerns me,” I told him one evening about a month into our relationship. “And I wanted you to know that I won’t push you to tell me, but I’d appreciate a head’s up as soon as you can handle it.”

He peered at me with a curious yet intense look on his face, as if searching the depths of my mind. “What do you mean?”

I smiled. Although I wanted to make a point, I didn’t want to dampen our moods. “Just let me know if you have a terminal illness or your boss is planning to transfer you to China.”

I was surprised that didn’t make him smile. Instead, he kept his eyes on me for awhile longer, then sighed. “You are too perceptive,” he said, gathering me to his side and dropping a kiss in my hair. I love it when he does that.

A few moments later, I pushed away again to look up at him, my heart in my throat. “You aren’t dying, are you?”

He laughed that deep, energetic and full laugh I always loved. “No, I’m not dying.”

“So China it is,” I said, settling back in the crook of his arm. “China I can handle. It closer to hell, where someone as terrible as you is going.”

He again surprised me with a huge sigh, but as the commercial break was coming to an end I couldn’t question him.

I wish I hadn’t left it at that. I wish I had taken the time during the next commercial break to push the question further. It would have helped to know who she was before she had to tell me herself. It took both of us by surprise – me, learning who she was, and her, realising I didn’t know a thing about her – but oddly enough, it created a bond between us, strengthened by the acuteness of my guilt, the depth of my shame, the gallons of tears and the sincerity of my apologies.

I came home that evening earlier than usual. A bad fall had twisted my ankle and I had taken work home. Better be home in my socks, comfortable and efficient rather that at the office in shoes, in pain and unproductive. I was wobbling a little unsteadily up the stairs to my unit when I spotted her, sitting on the stairs, shoulders hunched and a forlorn look on her face. Right then I knew my life was going to change forever. I just didn’t realise how, and by how much.

I was about to fall when I heard her ask if I needed help.

I giggled, a little embarrassed. “You’ll be my hero if you do.”

She grabbed a couple of the bags. “You could have made two trips, you know,” she said with a smile.

I rolled my eyes. “Two trips on a twisted ankle? I don’t think so,” I said, fiddling with the keys that were hooked on my thumb.

“Where to?”

I noticed she had her foot on the first step of the next flight. I pointed to my door. “Right here.”

The most remarkable transformation occurred on her face, going from soft and luminous to dark and hard in a matter of a nanosecond. “How… interesting.”

I must have looked ridiculous, standing there with an arm half raised and my mouth in an ‘o’, but my mind was sluggish from the pain medication. I couldn’t but stare at her, trying to figure it out.

A look of understanding and a ghost of her smile touched her lips. “You have no idea, do you?”

Whatever she was here for, it wasn’t going to be good. I struggled to get air into my lungs – that dratted childhood asthma wasn’t never too far away. “Who… who are you?” I managed to croak.

She hesitated, something akin to regret flashing through her eyes before they hardened again. “I’m Elena. Dex’ wife.”

My arms dropped and my knees wobbled dangerously as the carefully assembled files cascaded to the floor. The image of John and Cassie, seared in my brain but successfully buried for so long, swamped my line of vision – but this time, the pain I felt was worse, much, much worse.

I probably would have fallen on my face and broken my nose had Elena not held me. How could she be so gentle with me? How could she resist pushing me down the stairs? I was a vile, dirty woman. I had sunk lower than I ever had thought possible. I had become what Cassie had been. All the accusations and the names I had thrown at her, Elena now had the right to throw at me. Sobs ripped through me, tearing my chest apart, making it all the harder to breathe.

A soothing hand rubbed my back. “Shh… Come on… It’s not your fault, you obviously didn’t know… Breathe or you’ll pass out… Breathe with me OK?”

I closed and matched my breathing pattern on hers. I wanted to die of shame, but not before apologizing to the kind, generous woman who was trying to help me regain control of my heaving, laboured breathing.

It took me awhile, but sheer will got my breathing under some control. I refused to look up at Elena; her arm was still around me, and I suddenly couldn’t bear its weight. It only reminded me of the weight of the consequences of my actions.

I wet my parched lips. “I… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her voice was gentle. “I don’t…”

“Please,” I whispered. “Not… Not now. Give me… a minute. Please.”

“Sure.”

Finding the words to apologize to the woman whose husband I’d been busy falling in love with wasn’t easy. My eyes fell on the pile of folders scattered around and, having way too much nervous energy to spend, I set out to pick them up.

I couldn’t look at her. I just couldn’t. I was so very conscious of Elena’s presence, it was all I could bear. It took her a couple of seconds before she started working at my side. Quickly and efficiently, we tidied up.

“Thank you,” I whispered, still avoiding her eyes.

She must have somehow sensed my volatile mood and didn’t say anything. Instead, she just stood there, holding the things she had helped pick up and waiting to enter my condominium where she’d probably take the time to help me set them down and then help me get over this wretched pain. I somehow knew that Elena had not only figured it out, but that her loving, gentle gestures that had eased my breathing were second nature to her. I also knew she’d do the same thing to ease the pain in my heart, even if she was caught in an agonising whirlwind of her own and God only knew if she had anyone to help her…

“Where should I put these?” she asked, still gentle.

The tears that were pouring down my cheeks were clouding my vision, so I vaguely gestured towards the dining room table. I kept my face averted as she passed by and turned towards the closed door. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, forced myself to gain control and, a few moments later, the tears stopped coming. I smiled a little wryly as I realised the irony of this particular talent – I’d acquired it after John & Cassie’s betrayal.

I took another deep breath and turned around. “Would you like some tea?”

She was so beautiful. How could Dex ever think of cheating on her? “Yes, please.”

“Come,” I invited, gesturing to the little counter that lined one side of my kitchen. It would make it easier to talk if I were to keep my hands busy. “So,” I said, as I set to work. “This is a little bit of an embarrassing situation.”

“Christine,” she softly interrupted. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

I blinked back the treacherous tears and angrily dumped dry tea leaves in the teapot. “I should have known.”

“Ah, I see,” Elena said. Did she sound amused? “Well then, it is your fault, since everyone knows you should always hire a private investigator when you start seeing someone.”

She did sound amused. I looked and, sure enough, a little smile was playing around her mouth. I could bear to look at her only for a fleeting moment; my eyes quickly slipped away. “I just… It’s not something…” I took a deep breath, then forced myself to look at her. I wanted her to know this was truly sincere. “I would never have even gone for coffee had I known he was seeing someone else, let alone that he was married.”

“I know,” she softly said – and I realised that she really, truly did.

But I just had to make sure, make her see why so that she’d never even doubt me. I couldn’t live with such a strain on my reputation, even with a woman whom I would probably never even see again. I had to do all I could to wipe off as much of it as I could. “I would never do such a thing because it happened to me as well, and I would never want to put someone though what I went through.”

Her eyes widened and filled with even more sorrow. She reached out as if to touch my hand, but stopped herself.

“So you see,” I continued, “not only have I destroyed your relationship with Dex, but I’ve done something I have condemned my best friend and ex-fiancé for.”

Her mouth formed a perfect little ‘o’. Her perfection made me want to hate her, but I couldn’t. She was just too lovely.

“I also wanted you to know that nothing… physical happened. We never even kissed. Something was holding us back. I was scared, and he probably felt guilty.”

She sighed, a sad sigh that set off one of my own. “It’s much more complicated than that, Christine,” she said. “It’s not as if I’m not at least partly at fault.”

I set a steaming cup of tea in front of her. “It doesn’t excuse what we did,” I firmly said, pushing the milk and sugar towards her.

“No, it doesn’t excuse him one bit,” she corrected me. “What he did was wrong. But if we are going to clean up this mess, it’s important to understand why everyone acted the way they did.”

“How can you be so calm and rational about this?” I couldn’t hide my admiration. “When I found out about Cassie and John, I went insane.”

“I have Jacob to think of.”

I froze. Surely she wouldn’t be referring to… No, it couldn’t be… “Who’s Jacob?” I whispered, hoping against all hope the answer would be different from the one I expected.

Her eyes drowned me with their sadness. “Jacob is our little boy. He’s four years old.”

Elena’s face went out of focus, and I had to grip the counter tightly to make sure I didn’t fall. I vaguely heard the sound of clattering and quick footsteps, and there she was, helping me lean on the wall and slide harmlessly down it to sit on the floor.

After a few moments, I looked up at her with a wry smile. “I cause you grief and yet here you are, helping me cope with mine.”

She didn’t smile back, just thoughtfully stared at me for a couple of beats. “I want you to stop,” she finally said, a little sharply.

I was a little stunned by her tone, so different from the one she’d used with me up to now. “Excuse me?”

“Did you know Dex is married?”

I shook my head, a little bemused and happy for Jacob that he had this woman as for mother.

“Then technically, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were dating a single guy, for all you knew.”

I didn’t answer; I was dumbfounded by this strong, selfless woman, who was putting everyone before herself. What if I had reacted the same way when I had caught Cassie and John? Would things have ended differently? What of my relationship with John, the first and only man I’ve ever loved? What of my current situation; shouldn’t I be the one taking care of the injured party, instead of debating the degree of my own guilt? What kind of egocentric, selfish person was I?

“This single guy ended up being married to you and has a four year old son. What are we going to do?”

She looked at me a little sharply. Something I had said hadn’t passed muster with her, and I was quick to identify what.

“I know what I’m going to do,” I added. “I’m never seeing him again.”

Her features softened a little. “That’s not what took me by surprise.”

“Then what?”

“The fact that you said ‘we’.”

I took a few moments to mull over my choice of words. “I don’t see it any other way. You might not see me as being guilty, but it doesn’t help the way I feel. Plus Dex played both of us for fools. I might not be as upset as you, but I’m still pretty upset. I want to do everything I can to help you. If you’ll have me.”

Elena’s lips tightened, and I was surprised and touched by the tears pooling in her eyes. “That… That would be great. We… We moved here right before Jacob was born and haven’t had time to make new friends. Plus, I haven’t been good at keeping in touch with my old ones. I feel so alone – and that’s been part of the problem.”

As Elena told me the rest of her story, I couldn’t help but wonder at the oddness of the situation. Here we were, two women who should hate each other – or, at the very least, share an intense common distaste for the other – but instead we were bonding.

“I don’t think that your depression after Jacob’s birth constitutes a strong enough reason for Dex to cheat on you,” I said with a frown.

“Tried to cheat on me,” Elena corrected me. “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing physical,” I retorted. “I hate to break it to you, but what he did was just as bad as sleeping with someone.”

Elena heaved a heavy sigh. “I guess so.”

I sensed a hesitation that bothered me. “You’re not thinking of forgiving him, are you?”

She frowned. “Why? Are you hoping I’ll divorce him so that you can be with him?”
My jaw dropped open.

Elena’s eyes filled with guilt. “Oh God, I’m sorry I said that. I know you’re not like that, Christine. Please forgive me; it’s just that this is a very disconcerting situation. I guess I’m at a loss as to how to deal with it.”

Silence fell for a few moments.

“As for your question,” Elena picked up the conversation again, “I don’t know if I can blame him completely for what happened. Although I know it’ll never be the same, especially when it comes to trust, I don’t think divorce is necessarily the foremost action to be taken.”

My eyes widened in shock. “But this… This is the worse thing he could have done!” I spluttered. “It’s not like he ditched you for a guy’s week-end or splurged on a sports car. It’s a betrayal of the promise you made to each other when you decided to get married and of the vows you took on your wedding day!”

Elena was quiet for a long while, studying my face as if trying to figure a puzzle out. “John slept with Cassie, right?” she asked.

I stiffened. I expected anything but that. “Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Once. But once is enough.”

“What happened?”

“He was a little tipsy and used it as an excuse to succumb to Cassie’s flirting.”

“So it was all his fault?”

“Of course. He should have kept his pants on.”

“Cassie isn’t innocent in all this.”

“No, she isn’t. She was always trying to best me, ever since elementary school.”

“And yet, you kept her in your life, close by, knowing that she was a liability. Tell me, is she good-looking?”

I nodded. “What are you trying to say? That it’s my fault John cheated on me, that I dangled Cassie like easy bait in front of him?”

The ludicrous image must have amused Elena, because she smiled. “I’m just trying to point out that things are never as black and white as you want them to be.”

“Look, if you’re looking for a rational reason to forgive Dex and ensure Jacob keeps his father…”

“Marriage,” she softly but firmly interrupted me, “is a lot of work. It’s a sacred institution guided by divine laws that two imperfect people are trying to follow. It’s bound to hit bumps on the road, some bigger than others.”

“I’d say,” I mumbled.

At that, she smiled again. She really was as beautiful outside as she seemed to be inside. “I’m not going to decide the fate of my marriage without taking a couple of things in consideration. For example, why did Dex do this, and does my behaviour account for any of it?”

“Even if you pushed him away and he had to seek solace and comfort in the arms of another woman,” I said with quite a bit of sarcasm, “how can you ever trust him again? He’s done it once; he can do it again, especially if you forgive him.”

“It depends on how he handles this entire situation, I guess,” she mused. “After all, he did restrain himself from the ultimate act of infidelity.”

“What if…”

“Even if you and he had slept together,” she continued, “I’d have to first understand why, then admit to my part. Again it doesn’t mean that I’d ever trust him again or that our marriage would survive, but that I could forgive him and move on, rather than cling obstinately to my pain.” She gave me a look that was impossible to misinterpret.

“I’m not clinging to my pain,” I huffed, feathers severely ruffled.

“Maybe you’re using it as justification for breaking off a relationship you weren’t ready for?” Elena softly offered.

“I was ready for a relationship at the age of 14,” I snapped.

“There could be a thousand reasons why you would be clinging.”

“I’m not clinging!” I cried.

“So tell me, why weren’t you able to forgive your ex for a drunken mistake that was probably the result of a calculated move by a jealous friend who’d been biding her time?”

My jaw slackened and my eyes lost focus as I was thrown back two years to that fateful night. Usually all I saw in these painful flashbacks was John, asleep beside Cassie, stumbling out of bed after me, pathetic in his attempts at apologizing. But this time, I focused on Cassie, on the little smile that was playing on her mouth – before turning inward. I saw myself ranting and raving, screaming and crying – but not once did I listen. What would I have heard had I listened? How would things have turned out? I didn’t like the way the questions were making me feel.

“How do you stand the guilt?” I asked.

“How do you stand the anger?” she retorted.

“It fuels me, to become better, to show that I’m better than an unfaithful fiancé and a treacherous best friend.”

“It helps me deal with problems, face them rather than bury them, learn from them, heal and grow from the experience.”

“It doesn’t drag you down?”

“A lot less than anger does, especially when I channel my guilt into action.”

It was so much to digest in such a short time, and it was all so foreign yet so… logical. I was at a loss for words and once again we were each left to our thoughts.

“I didn’t want to listen,” I suddenly said, as a couple of things finally slipped in place. “It was easier being angry.”

“Ah,” was all Diana said.

“You shouldn’t do that,” I continued. “I didn’t have too much to lose. You have Dex and Jacob.”

She nodded.

“Dex is a good guy. You’re right. There has got to be a reason he did this that would make it understandable and hopefully you will be able to forgive him.”

It felt so odd to have such words come out of my mouth. I never was much for instant forgiveness – or, if I was truly honest with myself, with forgiveness in general. I had been burned too many times to appreciate the act of forgiveness; I had learned that people tend to repeat their mistakes time after time, and it had just been safer to not forgive anyone.

But maybe, just maybe, in my haste to protect myself, I had made the crucial mistake of lumping everyone in the same category. Was that really fair? And, more specifically, had it been fair to John that I had lumped him in the same category as Cassie?

“John is a good guy, too,” I softly said.

“What are you thinking?”

“Cassie and John are totally different. I never should have judged John with the same harshness as I judged Cassie.”

“Why not?”

“Cassie had always tried to undermine me. She always did the same thing in different ways, and it was always to best me. John and I… We dated for almost six years, and he never repeated the same mistake twice.”

“That’s a great person right there,” Elena gently pointed out. “Dex is like that, too.”

“Which is why you are going to give it a chance,” I said, as I slowly began to really understand.

She nodded. “And which is why maybe you should consider giving John another chance.”

My heart clenched. “Maybe.”

“Are you still in touch?”

“Yes. I couldn’t bear to cut him out.” The thought of never seeing him again cut more than his betrayal had, and yet I couldn’t get over what he had done. Well, maybe not until now. My heart squeezed again, even more painfully. “It could have been partly my fault, you know,” I thoughtfully added.

She didn’t say anything.

“It was a very stressful year, and I had been taking it out on him. He’d just listen to me rant and rave, then ask me what I needed, and he always gave it to me. He had been drinking more than usual, and,” my voice broke, “maybe that was because of me. To deal with the pressure of my rants.” I didn’t think I could stand the pain in my chest anymore.

Again, she said nothing, but put an arm around my shoulder and held me as tears started pouring down my face. All this time, all this wasted time I could have been with John…

Suddenly, the pain in my chest erupted and warmth filled it. It took its time, moving from one limb to the next, as I was filled with something I hadn’t felt in a long while: hope.

I shook my head. “Can it really be this simple?”

“Sometimes, when it’s really worth it, yes,” Elena said. “No one is perfect. You have to evaluate what degree of imperfection you are willing to accept. I know that if you and Dex had slept together, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive him. I also have forgiven you because you didn’t know about Dex being married. And there is a chance that I can forgive Dex because I know the context within which he has done this, and I have a heavy hand in creating it.”

“It’s going to depend on how he handles the situations,” I said, repeating her own words.

She nodded.

“Thank you, by the way,” I said.

“For?”

“Forgiving me.”

She smiled, squeezing my shoulder. “How can I not forgive the woman who invited me to the floor of her kitchen for cold tea?”

I smiled. “Maybe we should move to the living room.”

“Maybe we should,” she said, standing up with a sigh of relief.

The next couple of weeks were intense, which served to bring Elena and I closer together until we became friends. I haven’t seen Dex since then, nor do I want to; I have enough on my plate trying to iron things out with John. I’m happy to report that both Elena and Dex as well as John and myself are on the road to recovery. I know John still has the ring he had been planning on giving me at graduation – hey, it’s not my fault he dropped it! – and I’m pretty sure both couples will last for a long, long time.

As for me, my talk with Elena on the kitchen floor has shifted my perspective in a way I never could have imagined. I still tend to slip into my old way of thinking, but John, patient and loving John, is always quick to remind me what I’m doing and the consequences of such extreme thinking. It’s a hard road to travel, but it’s a lot more exciting than the previous one I had been on. And while I’m hoping to keep my friendship with Elena, I don’t know how either she, Dex or John would take it. To be honest, I don’t know how I would feel on a double date with them. After all, Dex was the only man other than John who managed to capture my attention and for that, he will always remain a tempting backup plan to run to in case things don’t work out with John. I was lucky enough that I hadn’t become quite the other woman, and I didn’t intend to ever come close again.

The End

ã Sahar Sabati, 2008

5.00 avg. rating (99% score) - 1 vote

Another Scott Feschuk gem

I couldn’t help myself; there is another Scott Feschuk gem that I had to share with you. Those of you whose memories of the last winter haven’t yet melted away in the gorgeous sun of the last couple of weeks will enjoy every moment of this column. The original can be found here. I took the liberty of censoring some of the stronger words… I hope Scott Feschuk doesn’t hear about this and get annoyed, I can only wonder just how harsh his next column could be :).

What’s eating you, Mother Nature? Is it us?

I always pictured you as a nice lady, but after this much snow you’re one mean s***

SCOTT FESCHUK | March 12, 2008 |

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SCOTT FESCHUK

–> An Open Letter to Mother Nature

Dear B****,

Are you for real?

We know it was wrong of us to stand idly by and let Al Gore show all those explicit photographs of what you’re going to look like 30 years from now. But seriously — ease off. Enough with the apocalyptic downfalls of snow mixed with ice pellets mixed with freezing rain mixed with snow pellets mixed with the frozen tears of sedentary Maclean’s columnists who just can’t lift the shovel even one more goddamn time. I’m not saying I’m totally sick of winter, but see that animal’s head mounted above my fireplace? Say hello to Punxsutawney Phil. Shadow-seeing bastard had it coming.

In Ottawa, we’re closing in on the all-time record snowfall of 444.1 cm — a mark that has stood for almost four decades. Spring seems as far off as Jessica Alba’s Academy Award. How bad is it in the nation’s capital? I have to wear an avalanche beacon when I go out to get the paper. The local TV weather guy has the eerily distant look of a soldier with post-traumatic shock or a teenage virgin who’s been left alone with Charlie Sheen for seven minutes. And at press time Scatman Crothers was desperately trying to get here before Jack Nicholson attacks my family.

Word is you’ve been kinder to other parts of Canada. Calgary was pushing 12 degrees this week. The mercury in Whitehorse hit the positive numbers. And Winnipeg reportedly made it a record six straight days without a single mosquito joke. But you continue to treat Ontario and all parts east as your own personal snow globe.

We’ve tried to have patience. Some of us have also tried patience’s little helper, Xanax. But look what you’ve done to us. We’re a quivering mass of shattered nerves, deadened eyes and extended middle fingers. Our arms ache from all the ice-scraping. Our eyes sting from the unrelenting glare. Our brains atrophy from hours spent staring at the shelves of the local DVD shop and trying to remember which of the Ernest movies we still haven’t seen.

What’s eating you, Mother Nature? Is it us? Listen, we all still have regrets about those 1970s commercials for Chiffon margarine — the ones with the catchphrase, “It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature.” The special effects were cheesy at best and some of those woodland creatures really phoned in their performances. And yes, we bear a collective responsibility for failing to punish Hollywood for callously having you portrayed in films by not only Phyllis Diller but also Bette Midler. Next time, Scarlett Johansson in a fig leaf. We promise.

But you need to lighten up. Winters like this — they’re not something that humans are built to endure. In that way they’re like all Robin Williams movies since 1987. We can’t take the physical strain of trudging through this much snow. We can’t take the mental strain of driving on impassable streets. And we can’t outrun the yetis who’ve come down from the hills to feast.

What’s that you say? If we don’t like it we should go somewhere warmer? Oh you’d love that, wouldn’t you? You’d love us to go to the airport so you can hurl another 50 cm of glistening white misery at us. We’ll end up like those people on the news who spent half their March break in line at the departure-lounge Sbarro.

I always pictured you as a nice lady, sauntering through idyllic forests, bluebirds chirping merrily as they fluttered around your head. Maybe you’d stop now and then to enjoy a leisurely cup of tea with other famed anthropomorphized figures such as Jack Frost or Andy Rooney. And then you’d be on your way to cuddle a cute bunny rabbit or make the sun shine out of Barack Obama’s a**.

But it turns out you’re one mean s***. So much snow has fallen this winter that hell itself has frozen over — and you know what that means: now Rob Schneider gets to star in another movie. Thanks a lot, Mother Nature: first 410 cm of snow; next, Deuce Bigalow III: Gigolo Harder.

You and I have had our differences before. As one who sweats profusely under certain conditions, such as sitting quietly at room temperature, I wasn’t too wild about the summer of 2005. By late June I was technically classified as an estuary. But this is different. This is worse. This winter has worn me down like a Rosie O’Donnell opinion. And to think this is the thanks I get from Mother Nature for spending 90 whole minutes cleaning up that riverbank that one afternoon 20 years ago when I was trying to hit on that enviro-chick who never wore a bra.

One last thing: because of the snow and the cold, I haven’t been able to take down the Christmas lights yet. But with you in mind I did manage to rearrange them to spell, “Up Yours.” We know it’s not nice to fool you — but there’s nothing in there that says we can’t punch you in the face.

Sincerely,

Everyone”

5.00 avg. rating (99% score) - 1 vote

From Scott Feschuk: “Welcome aboard! To continue, please deposit 1$”

I have to admit that one of the first things that I check when I get my weekly Maclean’s is Scott Feschuk’s column. He often hits the nail on the head with a humor that I just can’t get enough of. One of his latest gems is a column titles: “Welcome aboard! To continue, please deposit 1$” which I have taken the liberty of posting here. The original can be found here.

Welcome aboard! To continue please deposit $1.

To use the emergency exit, simply slide your Visa along the slot and await authorization

SCOTT FESCHUK | July 23, 2008 |

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SCOTT FESCHUK

–> Welcome aboard! We encourage you to pay attention to this short video as we outline the safety features and amenities of this aircraft. Economy class passengers: please deposit another loonie to continue.

The hectic pace of the terminal is behind you now. You’ve paid the Fuel Surcharge. You’ve tagged your own bags at check-in, searched your own bags at security and sold your own bags to pay the Baggage Surcharge. You’ve been weighed for the Chubby Surcharge and measured for the Height Surcharge. Now we invite you to sit back and relax! (A surcharge for wear and tear on your seat back will be applied to your credit card.)

To fasten your seat belt, pull the strap across your lap and insert the metal clip into the buckle until you hear a click. If you cannot locate your lap, it’s because another passenger is sitting on it. This practice of “doubling up” is a temporary measure to increase efficiency.

There are two lavatories on board. The front lavatory is reserved for the use of our business class passengers. The rear lavatory does not exist. If you are in economy class and need to use the lavatory, please employ the convenient tube and sanitary baggie located in the seat pocket in front of you. Do not use the seat pocket itself. That’s for number two.

In preparation for takeoff, place your seat back and tray table in an upright and locked position. But ensure all trays are lowered during the flight itself. We’re using them now as Murphy beds for ultra-economy travellers, and there’s not a lot of air in there. Or so we discovered.

Please be aware that due to current challenging economic conditions, this aircraft will be travelling at slightly lower altitude than usual. This is to ensure the farmers’ crops are properly dusted.

In the unlikely event of cabin pressurization, the mask you’re currently wearing will retract into the compartment above you. An Oxygen Surcharge will be billed to your credit card.

The use of cellular telephones is prohibited during flight, except if the pilot borrows yours from time to time to call the control tower.

To lessen fuel consumption, we’ll be reducing air speed by a modest amount. Do not be concerned: it is normal for those geese to pass us. The barrel rolls and steep dives are also standard procedure. In challenging times, air shows provide an enhanced revenue stream.

This aircraft features a number of amenities, including an in-flight entertainment system stocked with some of the best movies ever made by Ted Danson.

For those passengers wanting to eat, sandwiches can be purchased for $7. For those wanting to rest, a pillow and blanket can be purchased for $3. For those wanting to feed a family on a budget, a pillow and blanket can be purchased for $3.

Business class passengers will receive a complimentary bag of nuts. Economy class passengers will receive a complimentary bag of nut. Rest assured that even in these difficult economic times, a majority of our planes continue to feature free coffee and trained pilots.

Located above you, you’ll find both a reading light (Seeing Surcharge applies) and a flight attendant call button. To summon a flight attendant, simply press the button and wait. Then press it again. Around this time you’ll figure out that most of our “flight attendants” are in fact promotional cardboard cut-outs from the Ernest movies. But by all means keep pressing the button.

This modern aircraft features several emergency exits. During any loss of power, floor lights will guide you to the nearest exit. To open the door, simply slide your Visa along the appropriate swipe slot and wait patiently for authorization.

After the plane begins its descent toward your destination, you’ll be asked to return to your seat and pay the new Landing Surcharge. Smooth runway landing or hellish terror ride? It all depends on how much cash ends up in the hat, people.

Upon reaching the terminal, please be aware that contents of the overhead bins may have shifted or routes may have been eliminated during flight. Maybe you’re in St. John’s, maybe you’re in Moncton. Who says modern travel lacks excitement?

Once the aircraft has come to a full and complete stop, you will be permitted to deplane. Your luggage will be waiting for you inside the airport. If you paid the new Accuracy Surcharge, your luggage will be waiting for you inside this airport.

One final note: during takeoff, it is strongly recommended that all laptop computers be placed under the seat in front of you — or in the convenient pawn shop at the rear of the aircraft, where the lavatory used to be. Cash received for your computer can be used to pay various surcharges. A Surcharge Surcharge will be applied.

Now please sit back and enjoy your flight. We know you have a choice, and we appreciate that you’re regretting it right now.”

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I want to believe

Sometimes I wonder just how much the X-files have influenced me. As stated previously, I am quite the fan (to the point of going to the first showing on the first day the movie X-files: I want to believe was released). I sometimes search the internet for sites about UFOs and extra-terrestrials, and can’t help but lose precious time wondering if it is or it isn’t real. The famous poster in Mulder’s office sums it up pretty well: I want to believe, but I’m not sure if I can. Then again, I’m not sure that I can’t believe, either.

The argument that struck a chord with me was a throughly logical one. First of all, is it possible that in a Universe that is theoretically infinite, that conditions for life, whatever be its form, are only present on one planet, i.e. Earth? Logically, no – therefore there has to be life, in some for or another, in other places in the infinite Universe.

Another argument that piqued my interest is that humans aren’t ready to deal with another life form when they are hardly able to deal with each other. If there is such a thing as a all-Knowing, all-Wise and loving God (which I believe in), wouldn’t He wait until we have learned to deal with each other before making us learn to deal with other life forms? In my humble opinion, it seems that humanity was never given it’s next challenge before it was ready for it. We first were ambling Neanderthals and learned to function as small groups of nomads in a family-related system. Then we learned to put these family-systems together, first in the form of bigger nomadic groups and then in sedentary groups. We tested various forms of ‘cities’ before we started coalescing into countries. We are still having problems dealing with each other in the form of countries, but there are signs that we starting to learn our lesson – the League of Nations, the United Nations, the European Union, the African Union. However it can be argued – quite easily – that we haven’t quite mastered that yet. It wouldn’t make sense, if we believe in an all-Knowing, Wise God, that He would make us face other life-forms until we are ready to do so. If we still have issues with each other because of something as ridiculous as skin color, I don’t think we are ready to face something with, say, tentacles, globulous eyes and green skin.

I’m looking for good books to read on the subject, so if anyone has any suggestions, please let me know!

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X-files: I still believe

Feeling a little lazy and unwilling to tackle the big pile of papers on my desk, I just spent some time searching for various reviews and comments of fellow bloggers on the new X-files movie. Being the X-files fan that I am, I decided to challenge myself by writing a review of my own.

I followed the X-files from the beginning thanks to a friend of mine who, having too much time on her hands, watched the pilot on the night it was first aired and told me all about it the next week in high school. I was immediately hooked and soon, she and I had (almost) nothing else to talk about.

I’m fiercely loyal to the series, but also terribly critical; Chris Carter and the entire team have proven time and again that they are capable of creating amazing episodes, and I expect nothing but the best from them. It was difficult watching some of the episodes of the last three years of the series, but one in awhile a gem would reappear that gave me hope that the series could rise back up to its former glory.

This is the hope I had for this movie; I found out about it eons ago (I regularly searched the web for the latest rumors) and have been keeping my fingers crossed while hoping for the best. I knew it could deliver, but if it would do so was another question.

I saw the first showing of the movie on the day it premiered, which clearly reflects my level of excitement. I left the theater in a bit of a daze. Mulder and Scully were back, but to what I wasn’t sure.

Critics have a reason to be as disappointed as they have been. After all, the series that became a pop culture phenomenon should have made a huge comeback, and failed to do so. However, I think it’s unfair to dismiss the X-files altogether. Some of the best reviews I have read manage to balance out the negative with the positive, but I have yet to read one that left me completely satisfied – hence my attempt to do the same.

On the one hand, the paranormal aspect was terrible. After everything Mulder did and the extent to which the government went to get rid of him in seasons 7 through 9, does it really make sense that they decide to forgive him just because of one missing agent? The agent should have been more important, the case should have been a bigger (and longer-standing) headache that it was presented to be, or someone should have been manipulating the strings à la Cigarette-Smoking Man to make sure that Mulder came back to fill some agenda.

Then there was the actual case itself. This was the second disappointing point of the movie, but, considering the fact that the premise didn’t make sense, the plot could only follow suit. I was looking forward to jumping in my chair at least a dozen times, but I wasn’t spooked out at all. There were some omg moments, but they even weren’t worthy of an omg in full capital letters. While the plot would have made a good episode of a regular season, it isn’t shocking enough to make a blockbuster out of a comeback movie.

But what the movie lacked in premise and plot, it clearly made up in character development, which was amazing and very well thought-out. Although it was a bit of a shock to see all the changes in Mulder and Scully, the changes made sense. Although I miss the Mulder and Scully from back in the day, having them come back to life unchanged by everything that happened wouldn’t make any sense at all. I also loved the fact that the movie took time for the viewer to get used to the changes.

So while this X-files might not have made the big buck at the box office, I think it has opened the door for a Star Trek-like franchise. And apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks so – Chris Carter seems to also be itching for more . Until then, I don’t think anyone should consider the usual paraphernalia that comes with Twilight-like obessions. Although I do have to admit that I am kind of a little tempted to buy it…

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10 reasons she loves Track and Field

I just read a great Top Ten list from a fellow WordPress member, and I just had to quote her number 6:

“There’s something really funny about world-class athletes competing to carry a little aluminum stick around in a circle. It reminds me of elementary school gym. Also, rarely do you get to see a proverbial phrase acted out in such a literal manner, and with such potential for disaster. As entertaining as the swim relays were, I think they would have been more entertaining if they had batons, too. Phelps needs a new challenge anyway.”

I think this idea is definitely worth a try!

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Cash as incentive to behave?

A fellow WordPress blogger brought my attention to the following article: D.C. Tries Cash as a Motivator In Schools. In a nutshell, students earn points through good behavior and can exchange these points against money.

Some might argue that exchanging points for money is the same as exchanging them for prizes, a practice already in place in many classrooms. I myself attended a school that had such a system in place. And while it might offer the right incentive for students to behave, the concept of giving money to children in exchange for good behavior leaves me a little cold.

However, I don’t mind the practice of exchanging points for presents. The symbolism of receiving a little gift as a reward for good behavior seems to be benign and has been efficient for decades, if not centuries (Santa’s list of naughty versus nice, anyone?). The symbolism and significance of receiving a gift is very different from the significance of receiving money. Money is associated with pleasure, certainly, but also with consumerism, materialism, power and greed. Do we really want to associate in the minds of our children something that represents all these things with good behavior?

It also seems to be yet another quick fix, that the school board is putting its hopes in what it hopes to be an easy, short-term, band-aid solution. Giving money or even present to students as an incentive to behave doesn’t address the cause for the misbehavior. Even worse: giving children from a poor neighborhood cash incentive might even encourage students to pretend that they are behaving; they will never be identified as children who need more attention and thus the root causes will never be addressed.

A better solution might be to use the money to create after-school activities centered on service and the promotion of the well-being of the members of the community. Students who have behaved would be put in charge of these projects – this would associate good behavior with success, but also with being in a position to do good in the world. Also, by associating good behavior with service, we are teaching our children that pleasure and, invariably, happiness are both related to the well-being of everyone in the community rather than to their exclusive personal well-being.

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Interculturalism’s interesting fruits

I have been running out of luck lately when it comes to my walkman. I keep running out of batteries at the most inopportune moments. And yet, more often than not, being able to hear what is going on around me has proven to be very interesting.

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting beside a couple talking about the Arabic version of ‘O Canada’. Needless to say, that certainly tickled my fancy, and I stuck up a conversation with them. It wasn’t enough to hear about this song: as soon as I got home, I went online and found this:

I found it to be a touching ode to the Canadian version of the American Dream, of the hopes and aspirations of so many immigrants who came here looking for a better life.

Unfortunately, the story doesn’t end there. When people who are totally different from each other live in close proximity to each other, and each person is attached to their version of reality and to their own egos, conflict invariable arises in which the best of intention can turn into a public relations nightmare.

Take, for instance, the recent debate in Ontario to ‘move beyond’ the Lord’s Prayer in the legislature The Lord’s Prayer in Ontario’s Legislature

In Quebec, the question has been taking a whole new meaning with the recent public consultations on reasonable accommodation, trying to figure out how to live together amidst such differences (Site de la Commission de consultation sur les pratiques d’accomodement reliées aux différences culturelles). I watched some of the public consultations, and I was surprised how consistently, the younger generation proved itself wiser than the older generation.

I took advantage of the fact that I work right beside a university to go on campus and talk to some students about the subject. Again, I found that the younger generation doesn’t seem to bother too much with these debates like the older generation does. It seems that the pervading attitude is one of ‘do what you want, as long as I can do what I want’.

While this attitude doesn’t create the same tensions of the one adopted by so many of the older generations, it doesn’t help to solve the divide; while it fosters living in quiet and relaxed settings, it doesn’t foster unity. And this is where the issue gets thorny. The younger generation is able to live side by side even with big differences in culture and religious beliefs; how do we take this a step further and develop true unity?

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