My Take on Canada's Military
Despite what many Canadians say and think about it, our Armed Forces give me warm fuzzies. I grew up in the Air Force. My dad flew search and rescue missions in the Rockies and throughout coastal BC. Once he was sent up North, to support a naval operation looking for a dark Russian submarine near Baffin Island. It was top secret at the time and we didn't know where he was - even my mother, who played single parent to three kids for weeks on end.

Because of our military background, I:
- have lived in six places in four Canadian provinces. I don't know anyone else who can say that. Most people I know have lived in one place their whole lives.
- have fished for salmon in the Georgia Strait, have skated the Rideau Canal, have survived a Winnipeg winter, and picked apples on Montreal's Rive Sud.
- have flown over the Rockies more times than I remember.
- know that Nanaimo is a place AND a dessert.
- could fly across Canada for $3.00, or overseas for $10.00 - space allowing.
- always, always won the "my dad could beat up your dad" game.

My "Canadian military" is vastly different from most people's "Canadian military". I don't think of the aging equipment, lack of federal support, or decaying planes; rather, I think of what it felt like to fly in a Buffalo or a Chinook, what the hangars smelled like, fun squadron displays and air shows, events at "The Mess", how smart Dad looked in his dress blues, the excitement of another new school, how happy we were when he came home after a mission. It was a different way of life with a special - less permanent but still special sense of community. People made friends, but didn't expect them to be around for very long; I attended four schools in as many years. That's likely responsible for my determination to never ever move again (barring large lotto win), but I have only wonderful memories of all the schools, all the houses, and all the people I met along the way. That's my military. The planes were shiny then, and like me, everybody was very proud.

Why I Hate Jean Chretien
He's such a blowhole. In my favourite movie, An American President (A.Sorkin, natch) the Michaels Fox and Douglas talk about how, in the absense of great leadership, people will eat sand because they don't know any better. Or something close to that - I've flubbed the line horribly. It makes me think of our pathetic excuse of a prime minister, who has created such a diplomatic mess that Paul Martin will spend years cleaning it up. And Ernie too, now falling over himself to apologize to Runicman. Yes, we spit on you. I'm very sorry that we did that. Just send us a fart and call it even.

Speaking of politics (but not for long - it tires me so), what's with The West Wing? I can't stomach it any more. It gives me a headache. It's become Dawson's Creek but with graduate degrees and lobbyist agendas. People don't really talk like that. Ever. After taping, I'll bet the actors fall exhausted onto couches in the green room, and cry. Aaron Sorkin pre-rehab was way better.

Lisa In The Sky With Chi Chi
I've decided the Beatles' song wasn't about LSD - it's about the migraine experience, especially the "kaleidescope eyes" lyric. That was me yesterday, performing my court-ordered dog walking service. Anything I looked at was fragmented into little crooked bits; Chi Chi (the dog - a key player in the dog walking service), looked like a Picasso painting. Everything was thin and sharp and quieter than it should've been. I wonder if John Lennon had migraines? He must have had one when he approved the Sgt. Pepper's album cover.

I considered skipping one day of Chi Chi, but guilt and the threat of hard time at Millhaven (they're co-ed now!) dragged me out of the house. It wasn't too bad, except for Little India Wiff, which usually makes me happy and hungry, or the overwhelming stench of KFC down at Queen Street. KFC smells way worse than poopy-scoopy. I crashed for three hours as soon as I got home. Thank God for the prescribed lifesaving high of Fiorinal. Sweet, sweet, codeine. Hmmmm...

I'm kidding about the court-ordered thing. And I doubt that Millhaven is co-ed, at least I hope it isn't. This is just a strictly enforced, and in fact a paid weight loss regime. Two hours every day of chasing after a German sheppard will soon accomplish something, right? RIGHT?

Things To Do Before Dawn, or Not Sleeping With the President
While George Dubya passes sleepless nights with the weight of the world on his shoulders, it's the least I can do to keep him company - but not in the Biblical sense. I wonder if he knows I'm up here... lying awake and worrying about everything. Last night/this morning, I decided to try something new while not sleeping, hoping it would bore me into the arms of Morpheus. No such luck; however, I made a new list!! A new list!

What to Get Rid Of
All half-finished projects, except those I will complete by a random, yet-to-be established deadline.
Any mate-less earring.
Stained wooden spoons.
Ironing pile.
Spare shower rods/ curtain rods/ hose nozzles/ crusty paint brushes in basement.
Cassettes without cases and cases without cassettes.
Pile of clipped and likely expired coupons on kitchen counter.
Clothing and cosmetics not used since last millennium.

What do you need to purge? If you need anything from my list, act quickly! Those manky wooden spoons won't last for long!

Sweet Dreams Are Made of Easy Off
My maddening bout of insomnia has ended, it seems. When I woke up, I slowly looked towards the clock radio, expecting to see the usual 2:00 a.m. Zut alors! It was 8:30!! I had such nice dreams, too. In one, I had a clean oven, which I don't and never will. But I was so happy in the dream... I am tempted to go scrape at it for a while. Maybe then the smoke dector won't go off everytime I cook something.

The Man Who Wants Nothing
The Hubby's birthday is fast approaching, and I am without inspiration. If asked what would make him happy, he makes impossible requests like "the winning lotto ticket" or "just get me a good job" or "pull my finger". The first two are obviously out of my control, and the third, like a clean oven, just ain't gonna happen in my house. Your suggestions would be most appreciated.

I Cuss, You Cuss, We All Cuss for Asparagus!
Artichokes! Asparagus! Fiddleheads! Oh My! I feasted on spring vegetables for dinner last night, with unpleasant scatological repurcussions. If you are planning a fibre party of your own, proceed with caution. Like the Ice Queen, I share because I care. Know what, though? It was worth it.