Royal Flush

Of course I’m a Royalist. I had an affair with Charles II, didn’t I?

During the recent visit of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge to Victoria, almost everyone I know displayed some degree of giddiness at the city’s brush with royalty. A couple of people were aware but not following, and only one rolled her eyes with a dismissive flip of her hand.

Well, fine. Say what you like about Britain’s royals, but I have no problem with my tax dollars going to support a visit to my hometown, or anywhere else in Canada, for that matter. Our nation’s membership in the Commonwealth has helped our global reputation as a diverse people of wit, warmth and welcome. We are a part of something greater than ourselves, which I believe makes us more tolerant and less suspicious of other nations. It also gives us the benefit of representation by a truly great lady in Queen Elizabeth II. She is an inspiring example of loyalty, grace and commitment, and she’s ensured that subsequent generations of her family are similarly aware of the privileged life they lead.

A life of service,

A life of charity.

A life on a gruelling schedule in a relentlessly public eye.

Few celebrities can make any of these claims, let alone all three, plus the royals are excellent ambassadors for any number of causes. They use their super powers for the good of others and not themselves (are you listening, Kardashians?) Better yet, they do it with style and—yes—humility.

I watched Will and Kate’s progress through their week out west and was less impressed by their lineage than by their conduct. “They’re such good people,” Ter remarked during the news clip of the couple breaking formation for an impromptu walkabout in Vancouver.

“That’s because they were raised to have manners,” I replied.

These days, any petulant brat can be a princess; it’s no longer a title of distinction demanding decorum and social grace. In a world of spoiled industry heiresses and overpaid sports stars, it’s refreshing to see monied young people exhibiting genuine class.

Cursed Cursive

The local newscast recently put up a viewers’ poll, asking the question, “Should chilren continue to be taught cursive writing in BC schools?” I didn’t see it, but Ter did, and her first thought was, if it has anything to do with spelling, you guys have failed!

Spelling should definitely stay in the curriculum, as should the mechanics of handwriting—both printing and cursive. While we’re at it, let’s insist on pushing the kids to do basic arithmetic in their heads instead of with a calculator, to colour with crayons instead of a mouse, and depend less on technology than on their own manual abilities. You might think that cursive writing is expendable, and maybe it is—or would be, if the aforementioned technology was more reliable, but one sizeable electro-magnetic pulse and we’ll be back in the Stone Age. The handwritten word will resume its status near the top of the communications food chain and how will the millennials survive if they can’t communicate without their devices?

The viewers’ poll resulted heavily in favour of keeping cursive in schools (evidence, perhaps, of the median age in their audience demographic), and it also reminded me—because I need more reminding as I get older—of my pledge to draft blog posts by hand.

One of my delaying tactics is my reluctance to boot and park in front of the computer. It’s a pretty weak excuse when I can curl up on the couch with a notebook on my knee (the original laptop) and scribble in ink until my hand cramps. Transcribing to screen is easier than drafting onscreen anyway.

My handwriting is harder to read, though.

Take the Day

The cough medicine commercial is right: a sick day is misnamed. It’s actually a “getting well” day—and I’m taking one. Admitting this may cost me a day’s pay should my boss happen upon this post (a billion to one shot, I’m sure) but it’s worth it to point out that I am not physically ill. I needed a mental health day; a day for self-care and to nurture a spirit that’s been flaring hard against a smothering global darkness and finally conceded defeat last night.

I’m down, but not out.

I may be a little drained from the daily lineup of coworkers who stop by my office to tell me their woes, but on a deeper level, I think I am royally pissed. Not with my colleagues, not with my family, not at home, and not even at life. Life is good. It’s a challenge in contrast, but life is a gift. No one has the right to rob someone else of it.

I digress.

I think that I’m pissed at the folks who sit online and berate the good intentions of others. When Paris happened, I witnessed an explosion of French flags popping up in social media as horrified humans rose to their higher natures and rallied in solidarity with France. Shortly after this surge of collective compassion, a second explosion occurred—of outraged reproach for this show of “selective support”. Beirut had been similarly assaulted on the same day. The same number of deaths and equal amount of terror were suffered there, only few in the western world had risen in that country’s support, hence those who had done so for Paris were called out as hypocrites.

They are not hypocrites. They are uninformed. Is it their fault that the western news outlets did not report the attack on Beirut? I knew nothing of it. I was still reeling from the stupidity of the Starbucks Red Cup Controversy, which got more airtime on my newsfeed than anything out of the Middle East, when I stumbled onto CNN’s coverage of Paris.

The public doesn’t decide what makes the news. Advertisers and programmers decide what we are told and, to some extent, what we’re to do about it. Then they sit back and watch the masses squabble about it all.

So I crashed. The negativity has been overwhelming, and while I believe implicitly in the power of one solitary candle, I also believe that the flame requires tending, else it will burn out completely.

Balance. Contrast. Achieving and maintaining one in the face of the other requires an awareness of your own needs as well as the needs of others. If I am guilty of anything, it’s of assuming that I have superpowers of endurance, resistance, and acceptance. Actually, I do have them, but they are not limitless. A single day should get me back on my feet. A day of green tea, quiet meditation, and gratitude.

A “get well” day.

With love,

It's a Boy!!

 

 

I admit, I’m a Royalist, so I would be delighted about the newborn British prince anyway, but the added bonus to yesterday’s arrival of Will and Kate’s son is that it shoved all the bad news in the world aside for a while.

 

Isn’t it nice to hear something good on the news for a change? To have the anchors and reporters be smiling as they report it? There is already so much negativity in on the air: kill-or-be-killed cupcake wars, the Real Narcissistic Housewives of Whocares, scratching-and-clawing competitions to be the best of a bunch of losers, serial murderers outwitting the good guys – and that’s just prime time entertainment. I can’t speak about the news so much, not since The Newsroom has taught me how to watch the evening news. It’s the fall of the Roman Empire, man. Death, destruction, plague and flood and a host of other Biblical weather bombs … even the planet is trying to win ratings by outdoing itself in extremes.

 

Sure, the little prince is only one of three hundred thousand babies born on July 22, 2013. Every baby should be celebrated at birth. So many aren’t, and I feel for them because they get no press at all. There is so little happiness on the air these days. The networks rarely report random acts of kindness. I guess the focus groups indicate that they want to be paranoid and fearful about everything and everyone.

 

I don’t. I’m happy to hear about Kate’s little guy. I’m glad to know that one child in the world is loved by his parents, that he will have all that every child deserves (except the paparazzi hounding his every move, of course). I’m happy to watch people celebrating a royal birth rather than destroying a city over the loss of a sports trophy. Yes, there is tragedy and loss and illness and politics and all manner of reasons to slash your wrists if you let it get to you … I’m just saying that once in a while, some good news is welcome.

 

The Prince of Cambridge has a lot to live up to … but for now, he’s just a newborn babe who has managed to make the world (or most of it) pause to smile.

 

We now return you to our regularly scheduled chaos …