29 August 2008

Quick book review (sorta): America Alone, Mark Steyn

Okay, I'm not exactly done it yet, I've just started, but I ran into an issue (and some of my friends will recognize this) that I often talk about.

To paraphrase the beginning of his first chapter - to have a stable population, one that neither grows nor shrinks, a country's birth rate needs to be 2.1. For a growing population, it needs to be 2.6.

Current worldwide birth rates? Well, when Mr Steyn wrote the book, which was in 2006, the United States of America had a birth rate of about 2.1, give or take. Okay, that's not catastrophic. Canada had 1.48. Europe - 1.38. Japan - 1.32. Russia - 1.14. Spain, as an extreme example, has a population that is being cut in half EVERY THIRTY-FIVE YEARS.

So, a big army is useful until about fifty years later when all your soldiers have died and they failed to have enough kids to take their places. And the offensive forces (read: Middle-Eastern...and I bite my tongue...) are coming out with families of eight and ten children each. Admittedly I don't know this for sure, but I don't think it's far off the mark.

To quote from the book -

"But sure, go ahead and worry about 'climate change'."

No more to be said there, really.

27 August 2008

Okay - QUEBEC

So I figured I'd beat last year and post my reflections before the three-month mark has passed since I was actually on the trip.

That is, if anyone happens to read this anymore - I wouldn't really blame you if you didn't, because regularity on this particular blog long ago bought itself an apartment in those cool buildings in Montreal and lives a happy life in the metropolis, far away from me.

Anyway - this is a general outline of the trip, with details (and bits of journal entries) to follow.

Our team was: Me, Sarah, Francesca, Missy, Tyler, Everett, Theresa, Joanna, and Mr and Mrs Folkman.

Day 1, August 6 - Leave home, fly to Quebec City, get set up at Notre Dame de Foy college for accommodations arranged by Quebec Espoir (Hope for Quebec).
Days 2, 3, and 4 - distribute the Gospel of John on the street in various parts of Old Quebec City, and when we're not doing that, hang around at another college, Francois-Xavier-Garneau.
Day 5 - go to church in the morning, goof around in the afternoon, go to a play/concert in the evening, as a wrap-up for Quebec Espoir.
Day 6 - go sightseeing in Old Quebec City.
Day 7 - drive to Montreal and visit with Richard and Merinda Enns. Stay the night at their condo.
Day 8 (my birthday!) - drive from Montreal to Noyan, meet Monika and Serge Breault and the people at Noyan Alliance Church.
Days 9 and 10 - put siding on the church building.
Day 11 - spend the morning putting on siding, the afternoon practicing to lead worship team stuff the next morning (Sunday) and the evening having a movie night in the new sanctuary.
Day 12 - church (the very first time in the new building!) and visiting in the afternoon, as well as some waterskiing. In the evening, I got to wander around the hot air balloon fair and eat weird fries.
Day 13 - say long goodbyes, and come home.

Of course, there was as lot of other stuff involved, but that is the basic outline of the trip. The way I almost felt it worked was that we spent six days in Quebec City and six days in Noyan, and four days of each were getting over my homesickness, one day was enjoying it, and one day was leaving. My mom thinks that this indicates I don't respond to change with especial flexibility, and that's okay.

The experience distributing the Gospel of John was...definitely a stretch. I dreaded it the first day, because I had no idea what was coming and I didn't speak any French and I missed home, and I don't think I ever got to the point where I enjoyed it. But I kinda had to remember that it wasn't about me. In the bigger picture, it doesn't matter whether I was scared or not. Jesus DIED for me, the least I can do is hand out some booklets and smile at people, and my comfort zone need have nothing to do with it.

Anyway, the sightseeing we did was definitely amazing. I love all the history in Quebec. I could probably have spent SO much money, in that one day. It was a little ridiculous.

The one day we had in Montreal was a big eye-opener. We learned about the Quiet Revolution in the 1960s, why the people of Quebec have such a deep hatred toward the church, and how hard it is to reach them. 0.6% of the Quebec population is considered to be Evangelical Christian. Everyone's been taught that the church is bad. Two thirds of the people in Montreal are on depression medication. The highest cause of death is suicide. Most households contain one person. It's very difficult to make friends, because trust has been betrayed and therefore rarely given.

We learned all this in one evening, and visited St Joseph's Oratory in Montreal the next morning. This was sobering. To many people, the terms 'Catholic' and 'Christian' mean the same thing, but walking into that place felt like entering a funeral. I couldn't believe that we were even talking about the same God. There's no joy, no hope, everyone speaks in whispers and lives in fear that if they put a toe out of line they'll be excommunicated and lose what hope they have of salvation. It's very sad.

After this, we headed off to Noyan for our next six days. I loved Noyan. It took a day to settle in, because I was terribly homesick at first, but they are an incredible group of people. We helped to put siding on their church, which was so much fun, and got to hang out and find that no matter whether you're in Alberta or Quebec, you believe the same thing. I was looking forward to being home, but at the same time it was very hard to leave.

That said, here are some snippets from my journal. I'm aware that I sound slightly emo at times. Bear with me. I did skip stuff, of course. Some of my private thoughts are not entirely blog-able.

First evening, August 6th
...There seem to be a bunch of people already here, and we're coming in a bit late in the whole process. Toe-Blake, the guy in charge, showed us our rooms. He's nice, gives off a reassuringly confident vibe, and the rooms are nice too. Francesca and I are sharing. They're a bit bare, and the bathroom is tiny, but they're certainly livable. I wish I could hunt up another pillow for the bed, but oh well.
...Overall, I'm feeling really insecure and a bit alone. I wish Erin or Jessica or Annette or Bryan had come. I also have no idea what we're doing tomorrow, which make me anxious. I hope they don't split us up, and I HOPE we don't have to knock on doors....I need to get through tomorrow. Then I'll know what to expect. That's the scary part, not knowing. I'm scared of being alone and feeling like a dead weight.


Yeah. The first little while was hard.

Second morning, August 7th
...So we got to Garneau, and got our food tickets, because without those we don't get meals. I felt...depressed. This morning I was anxious not knowing what we were doing today.
Meals are a little odd. The cafeteria people speak French, so I kinda just nod and smile, but the food is okay. I didn't eat a lot.
After this came the Service of Impossible Length. It lasted over three hours and was agonizing because it all needed to be interpreted. I thought it would never end - the whole time, I was trying desperately not to fall asleep. My eyes hurt all of today. Tyler was having trouble too.
The S of IL ended, and there was some chaos dividing into groups. I was very unclear on what we were doing, knocking on doors or putting stuff in mailboxes or what. Anyway, it turned out that every group needed at least one Anglophone, so we split up. I ended with Sarah and Theresa.
[Later]
Anyway, we made it, and got out our bags and paired off....I was so nervous about handing these things out. Some people are so good at engaging passers-by, and I felt pathetic being all "Hi! Um, want one of these? Uh...sorry...no French...bye!"
We sorta wandered through a very tourist-y part of Old Quebec, but very pretty, with old buildings and statues and stuff....Not gonna lie, I wasn't really enjoying it. It wasn't as bad as I feared, but not relaxing. But I feel bad for thinking like that. I mean, it's for God's glory, right? It's just so hard to think of it that way.
So I made it through without, like, dying, and we started heading back to where the cars were parked...


Long story short, we got totally lost and wandered around for about 45 minutes. That was a bit fun, actually.

Third evening, August 8th
Sooo, it's now almost 6 pm, after dinner, and today has so far been a very decent day.
After lunch, we came down to outside the cafeteria and teamed up to go out distributing. I almost think it's a bit hopeless to TRY to be with someone - better to just go with the flow. This is what everyone has been telling me, yes. I'm listening now. Anyway, we had a big-ish team, and drove out to Old Quebec City. Right by the St Lawrence river and the Chateau Frontenac!
Our smaller team was me, Tyler, and a French (Parisian) girl named Eleanor. She was a couple months younger than me, and we actually had a lot of fun. The one street we picked to hang around on was old, right by the Chateau, and WET. This time, I almost kinda had fun. It was raining, but I kept walking up and down and saying "Bonjour! Would you like one?" and it seemed to work because I got rid of my whole bag. Eleanor got into a long conversation with a sort of pagan/agnostic guy, and poor Tyler found that people didn't like him.
Near the end, I was standing talking to Tyler and a guy in costume walked into the street. There are a few of these wandering around so I didn't pay too much attention, but he kinda sauntered by, and I was like "...Jack Sparrow!"


That was amazing. I loved seeing this random guy dressed as Jack, even if my shoes took three days to dry after that.

Fifth day, August 10
...I can't believe it's day 5 already! Two more, and we'll be halfway through. I AM starting to enjoy myself....

Sixth day, August 11
Today was FUN.
Francesca and I both woke up about 7:30, an hour later than we had been, and showered. Theresa knocked on our door about 8:30, by which time we were almost completely ready. We went down to our little meeting place with the couches and sat and laughed at Everett, who was being funny cause he got unintentionally locked out of his room by Tyler cause Tyler had to go write his math diploma.
...We caught the city bus for 9:40 fine, after Francesca and I had to run back for our cameras...when we made it downtown, we stopped at a little cafe for brunch. I got a croissant with egg and cheese, which didn't quite fill me up, but I was fine for the rest of the day, since we didn't stop for lunch. There were computers but you needed a username and password, which I didn't have time for.
...headed off with Mrs Folkman and Sarah. I initially felt like I was always getting ahead of them. We stopped to note the YMCA, which was really old, and was the building the cafe was in...
The first store we went into, because it had a sale outside, was Le Chateau. I ended up liking a skirt, but I wasn't going to buy it because it was $20 and my spending money budget was pretty small, so Sarah and Mrs Folkman bought it for me for my birthday.
We wandered on, looking at some really cool jewelry and souvenir stores, and came to an amazing medieval one. They had incredible costumes and figurines and sowrds, and stuff all over. I bought a little wizard guy....anyway, dragged myself away from the cool hats and gorgeous dresses, and went on to the candy store. We bought moose droppings (ha) for Kyle, and bought maple candy for gifts. I was feeling a little anxious about my budget cause I didn't have a lot left, so I didn't buy much.
We were meeting at the Chateau for 1:30, so we met and explored it a bit, and headed off again to go up on the walltop.
THAT was cool. I have a ton of pictures. I want to remember, for when I write about that kind of thing. Fantasy is full of sieges and walled cities and whatnot.
Met up again, sat around, looked at pictures, etc, and then went for ice cream. Mrs Folkman bought us all cones.
We met up with Tyler and Mr Folkman, who had been to pick up our vans, and went for a little more shopping before dinner.
The restaurant was a tiny little old place, le Anciente Canadien or something. All the servers were dressed in period costumes, which was neat. The food was crazy expensive, but luckily it was just $20 for what we did. I got broccoli soup and a chicken thing with pastry and veggies. It was pretty good, not phenomenal. Dinner was fun. I chatted and read and did sudoku.
Then we got dessert. Maple syrup pie. And I really should have been expecting it, but the waitresses put a candle in my piece (I even saw them carrying it and didn't clue in) and sang Happy Birthday. Well, Bonne Fete.
I kinda thought that was all, but then Mrs Folkman handed me an envelope that said August 13th, and there were four packages and a card.
...so my family gave me a pair of earrings I'd wanted from Salt Spring, a pretty t-shirt, a pink keychain and a Bethany Dillon CD. And I got a notepad and a license plate keychain with my name on it and maple sugar snacks and Nibs, from various others, and it was amazing. I felt SO loved.
Apparently this had been planned to surprise me. I was definitely surprised. We went out and it was raining, and did a tad more shopping, and went up on the wall once more. Pretty pictures.
...Then we rode back, and listened to my CD, had our meeting, and now I'm about ready to crash.
Today was amazing.


QUOTES:

Tyler: I'm going to wear my Toronto Maple Leafs stuff in Montreal, and get killed.
Me: But then we have to lug your body home. Can we dump it in Lake Ontario as we fly over?

Tyler: You're mean because you never explain things.
Me: Yep.
Tyler: You never tell me things.
Me: Nope.
Tyler: Stop agreeing with me!
Me: ...okay?

Everett: You get in trouble because you think when you speak.

Sarah: I used to sing opera, but that was only when I cooked with hot utensils.

Amy: You should read the Message! It has vitamins!

Everett: You're pulling my tail! Quit pulling my tail!

Everett: Four lovely ladies.
Me: I'm totally not! Yay!

Everett: Exotic melancholy gives me spazzy tantrums.

[Don't remember]
"You're a guy."
"I'm a what?"

Michel [pastor from New Brunswick]: I don't even smoke!

Sarah: I thought I had a tan. Then I had a shower.

And that was Quebec City. More to follow from Noyan. Hopefully. You can never tell whether I'll actually finish blogging about something or not.

19 August 2008

Keep The Lights On

Okay, I know I need to blog about vacation AND Quebec, but as that won't be happening right now, I do have a story that I wrote on the way out to Salt Spring, and I thought if I was going to post I might as well post this. So. Comments and constructive criticism are writer's bread and butter, please do give them :)

Orange lights reflected on a rink crosshatched with the marks of skate blades. Above, the sky had been black nearly since the time boys had started appearing with skates and sticks. Banks of shoveled snow, waist-high in places, bordered the ice. Patrick McAllister cleared it every morning.

The last gangly teenager finished tugging off his skates, shoved half-numb feet into boots, and the little shack on the edge of the rink was empty. The orange lights still reflected their electric glow on the surface of the ice, but Patrick turned those off last.

First, he emptied the dregs of hot chocolate from its metal keg. All of it sold every evening, at fifty cents a mug. It wasn’t much for profit, but profit wasn’t really the point. Afterward, he set it on the step to be taken home and rinsed out.

The tiny room adjacent to the even tinier one that he called his ‘office’ had a floor overlaid with rubber. It was meant to keep the blades from dulling, but the black veneer had never been replaced and Patrick could feel the wood beneath. Nevertheless, he mopped the melted snow and placed a forgotten hockey stick in the corner. Robby Vanderbilt, said black permanent marker on the shaft. Robby was always forgetting things. So were the others – Patrick had a stash of unclaimed sticks interspersed with a few pairs of skates and several mittens without partners.

A glance at his watch showed him it was high time to be home. Tomorrow morning he must be up in time to shovel any snowfall during the night, and still make his bus for the hardware store job that paid for things like electricity and water. Not quite university. “Water that bursts the pipes,” he muttered, remembering that the plumber never had come after temperatures dropped to minus forty and the line that fed his shower had split.

All that was left was to jam his faded red-and-white toque on, wind his scarf around his head against the cold that would still infiltrate his lungs, and walk home. Donning his hat, whose bright Canadian maple leaf had long ago dropped off to leave only a jaggedly cleaner shape against the wool, he flicked the switch that would plunge the rink into darkness and stepped into his boots.

He thought the first tentative knock at the door was his own thudding footsteps. Then came a second one, followed by a treble inquiry – “Can you turn the lights back on, mister?”

Patrick opened the door. Facing him on the one step was a short figure, shape of a hockey stick in one hand, and a telltale rubber disc in the other. “One sec,” he responded, backpedaling to flick the switch on once more. Rink lights flickered once more into life. What was anyone doing, skating this late?

Now, returning once more to the door with intention to tell whoever this late-night enthusiast was that he should be home in bed, he could see him more clearly. A hat, that might once have been green but was now a noncommittal dark shade, was pulled down over his ears. He looked about ten, perhaps eleven or a small twelve. His hockey stick was on the verge of becoming one large splinter. “Thanks,” he said, peering upward from under the shadow of the too-large hat. Freckles were sprinkled liberally over his nose.

Patrick had meant to tell him the rink was closed for the night and boys should be home, especially with school the next day, but instead he found himself saying, “No problem.” And then, even more surprising – “You wanna use a better stick?”

“You have sticks?” was the eager response.

A foray into the rubber-floored room had Patrick emerging with a respectable specimen. WAYNE GRETZKY, proclaimed the block letters along its length. Black tape swathed the blade, but it was respectable enough. “Here y’go,” he said, giving it into a mittened hand.

“Thanks!”

Another discreet glance at his watch informed Patrick just how late it was getting. “Hey – what’s your name?” he called after the retreating figure. The kid was slowly making his way out onto the ice with purposeful strokes. If he lacked technique, he made up for it in determination.

“Marcus O’Brien,” he called, voice carrying clearly in the crisp air. Probably below minus twenty-five by now, Patrick thought. But –

“Hey, you’re Irish! Me too,” he responded. It really was getting late. Tomorrow he needed to be awake enough to tell people which section the spare tires were in and identify the right type of nail for fastening drywall. The rink should have been closed an hour ago.

Thirty seconds later, Patrick had his skates on. The stash of sticks in the corner had lost one more.

The small figure was intently handling its puck near the opposite end of the rink. Patrick skimmed through the splotches of orange light until he was close enough to make a pass for the rubber disc. He grinned. “You want some company?”

Marcus considered him, the tilt of his head thoughtful. “Okay,” he said, and passed the puck.

They skated down the rink in companionable silence, Patrick returning all the passes he received. Reluctant responsibility took hold. “Won’t your parents be worried you’re out so late?”

“No.” Marcus continued down the ice, apparently tranquil.

A beat, and Patrick followed, curiousity not sated in the least. Another few passes, and he tried again. “Got school tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s your favorite subject?”

“Recess.” That made them both laugh.

A flurry of snow swept across the ice, carried by a breath of icy wind. Patrick cast his small company a sidelong glance, but Marcus was unperturbed by the cold.

Two more trips along the length, and two sets of toes had begun to go numb. Patrick caught a sniff from beside him and ground effortlessly to a stop, shaving ice. “You want some hot chocolate?”

They stomped back into the shack, over the rubber floor, and Patrick left Marcus tugging off his skates and went to heat water.

Moments later, over a pair of mugs, he made another attempt at conversation. “I haven’t seen you around the rink before.”

Marcus nodded. “We moved.”

“Where from?”

A shrug. “We move a lot.” That small freckled face was intent on its hot drink, but Patrick thought he sensed something behind the noncommittal answer. He probed no further.

He glanced at his watch and winced. He’d be dead at work tomorrow. “Marcus, I should get home. You probably should too.”

For the first time, he saw dejection in the hunch of the boy’s shoulders. Marcus drained his hot chocolate, and pushed the mug across the table. “You can skate backwards really good,” he offered matter-of-factly. “If I came tomorrow, would you teach me?”

Caught off guard, Patrick blinked. “Sure, I could do that.”

“Okay.”

He turned off the orange lights with an air of finality, and walked beside Marcus to where similarly orange streetlights, their bases piled high with snow, lined the sidewalk. Both paused at the corner, Patrick crossing and Marcus turning. Unsure of the appropriate gesture, Patrick solemnly extended a mittened hand. “Good night.”

Marcus shook it. “Thanks for keeping the lights on.”

- - -


The next evening, Patrick didn’t turn off the rink lights. Instead, he sat in the shack and drank the dregs of his hot chocolate until nearly midnight. The stick that said WAYNE GRETZKY lounged in the corner unused.

He walked home feeling a curious sense of loss.

Marcus never came again.

- - -


The job at the hardware store paved the way to a job at a diner, then a job at a restaurant. The restaurant acquired a few regulars, among them a Kelly with green eyes. University doors were open now, but she hadn’t gone, so he decided he wouldn’t either. Their wedding was in the little chapel around the corner, and their honeymoon was a night in the fancy hotel in downtown Winnipeg. She wanted a little girl, and he wouldn’t have objected to a boy, but he fell in love the moment a hospital nurse deposited Erin – Irish heritage and all – in his arms. It was just after her first birthday that they acquired a TV.

Patrick sprawled on the couch, half paying attention to the staticky hockey game and half dissuading his small daughter from grabbing the cat’s tail. Kelly rattled dishes in the kitchen.

“And here we are with Marcus O’Brien of the Vancouver Canucks – Marcus, how have you found your first season in the NHL?”

Patrick sat bolt upright, hearing the cat give a yowl and disregarding it. The young man on the screen might have had freckles, but he couldn’t see through the static. He answered a few questions about being a rookie, was appropriately excited, and thanked the news anchor with a rakish grin. Erin was attempting to stand using the edge of the coffee table, and he steadied her with one hand while still gluing his eyes to the screen.

“Anybody out there you want to say hello to?” the anchor asked just as Marcus O’Brien was turning away. The rookie started to shake his head. Then he looked over his shoulder at the camera.

“Nah,” he replied. “Just one thing.”

“What’s that?” Patrick fumbled for the antenna in sudden panic as a wave of static garbled the audio.

He caught one more glimpse of Marcus O’Brien. The static cleared, and the young man could have been staring straight into Patrick’s eyes.

“Thanks for keeping the lights on.”



"Exotic melancholy gives me spazzy tantrums."