We Are All Beautiful

There seems to be a growing realization that we as a society need to start taking mental health issues more seriously. My own school board is beginning to discuss the issue, to think about getting people with 'mental health first aid' skills into our schools to talk to both staff and students. About time, I say. For too long, people suffering with mental health problems have been dismissed, marginalized, or shamed.

For the first time since I was a rebellious, moody, and unhappy teenager, depression hit me this last winter. I have a long list of suspects for why this happened: the coldest and longest Toronto winter in memory, the onset of menopause, the lingering effects of work stress brought about by legislative changes to my profession and my board's recent obsession with standardized testing, and finally, the collapse of a close friendship that had lasted more than ten years until I helped destroy it.

It's now six months later, and the beginning of spring. We've still kept our winter car tires because we can't quite believe that Mother Nature doesn't have one final dumping reserved for us, but the tulips and crocuses are peeking out of the soil and the days are slowly getting warmer. In a couple of weeks, I might be convinced that the snow and ice will have disappeared permanently. The return of the sun and relative warmth (today's high of 9C is downright balmy compared to the -25s we saw for most of January and a good part of February) have lifted my mood, I've been given a placement for September that will keep me out of the testing grades, and I'm mending fences with the dear friend I hurt so horribly over the last year. As for the menopause, I'm not much for medicinal solutions, so I'm letting nature take its course, and looking for holistic remedies and strategies to keep myself from getting too defeated by the endless hot flashes, bouts of insomnia, and hyper mood kicks.

I solidly believe that my darkest days are behind me. I've resumed working on my novel in a serious way that has eluded me since last July, and I am pleased with my efforts so far, although the manuscript itself is rather a mess that will need many run-throughs. Strangely enough, I feel very positive that I will have it completed by the start of August, which is the current target. I've also made my physical well-being a priority, and can see and feel the difference in my body. Lastly, I know my mind is much stilled from the roller-coaster ride of highs and lows that alarmed a lot of close family and friends for the last few months. I am happier, calmer, and I am laughing more than I am crying or despairing these days.

I'd like to share what I've learned or observed in the hopes that I can pass something positive or meaningful forward to anyone else who is currently suffering with depression or who might face this issue in the future.


1. Try to be good to yourself: Eat well, get regular exercise, and allow yourself physical treats like a massage, or even a drop-in yoga class. Having a strong, healthy body helps you keep some energy when you feel deflated or drained.

2. Get outside as much as you can: Winter was brutally cold, but the best week I remember was the one I spent at an outdoor school camp with my class. We were dressed for the weather, the sun shone the entire week, and being "off the grid" and out in the glorious, bright snow was invigorating. This also brings me to #3.

3. Turn off or limit the electronics: It's easy to get caught in a cycle of constantly checking emails, Facebook, Twitter, and other social media, or chatting for long periods of time with online friends. There is nothing wrong with maintaining online friendships, indeed I have many dear people I've never met in person that I consider to be real and true friends. That said, there has to be a balance between sitting in front of a screen and enjoying the world around you, and it's a difficult one to establish and maintain. I took a vacation from social media at the end of March, and it made me feel much better. I was able to spend more time outside. Which brings me back to #2.

2. Get outside and stay out: The best advice I was given for fighting my insomnia was not the taking of herbal remedies, but to take daily walks outside in the early evening with my dog. Winter killed that habit because the salting of sidewalks made it too difficult for my shepherd's sensitive paw pads, but I've now got him back in the habit after I get home from school and it's been wonderful. We walk in the sun, enjoy the fresh air, and the exercise has been good for us. We both have nice legs as a result. It's also given me the chance to listen to a host of new musical discoveries as we take our nightly excursions around the neighbourhood. Which brings me to #4.

4. Listen to music you love: Music is life. I believe it is as essential as breathing to your well-being. Find a genre or two or three that you love, and let its magic surround you. There are few things more beautiful in the world than the sound of music, in my opinion.

5. Do the things you love: Reconnect with the things you are passionate about, whether it's writing, painting, sports, gardening, or cooking. Doing things you love will lift your mood, and keep you busy, which will stop you from letting your mind go to dark places. I spent the last two weekends getting my hands dirty in the soil of my back garden, and the smells, sights, and sounds of the natural world waking after the winter did wonders for my mood. I am slowing my pace so that I can stretch the preparation season a bit.

6. Surround yourself with wonderful people: As much as it is tempting to hide from the world, I found that doing that made things worse for me. It gave my mind the room to expand and concoct too many negative scenarios, and the isolation magnified my worries and my sadness. I know that many times I felt that I was a burden to others and that I didn't want to "bring them down" with my problems or issues, but what I learned from the people who cared about me is that they wanted to help. In hindsight, I appreciate that they kept knocking at my door to make sure I was alright. I also learned that often those who shared the tendency to be in the same dark places were often the first to recognize my sadness and then to offer help. Which brings me to #7.

7. Reach out to people who need you: It's been proven that reaching out and helping others is a factor in our own happiness. I know that for me, being able to listen and try to help others made me feel useful, wanted, and also helped lift me out of my sad moods because the focus on helping made me less self-indulgent. It also made me grateful for having a purpose and for not feeling so alone or unique in the world. I learned that you can never be too kind, even when others don't seem to want your attentions, because I also appreciated the kindness of others despite insisting I wanted solitude.

I'm sure I've forgotten items, but this is a good list for me to have started. Please feel free to add to it with any insights you might have. I know we are all different, and that my solutions are just my own experience and may not suit others. What I do hope is that they continue a dialogue between people on how we can all support each other and cheer each other on. We need more kindness in the world, I firmly believe.


I leave you with this. As Florence famously sang, it is always darkest before the dawn.

Rebirth

I'm not terribly religious, although I was raised in the Catholic faith and have a special place in my heart for the ritual and spectacle of the church and mass. I know that spring is by definition about rebirth and renewal, and that all the signs are around us now that it's started to happen after what can only be described as a long, brutal winter.

For me, the past six months have been harsh, not only because of the weather, but also because of changes in my life. Some of them were positive, some negative, and some managed to be both at once. I'm not the person I was when the summer ended and the school year started, but I'm okay with that. I'm not perfect by any means, I've made my share of mistakes along this path we call life, but I am settling back into my skin and feeling comfortable again. I am beginning to feel settled once again, more grounded, and this can only be a good thing.

Yesterday, three unrelated things happened to convince me that all will be well in my world. The first was a short but direct conversation with my husband about my work in progress, which is the fourth and last novel in a four-part series that I first published in 2012. It is no small understatement to state that finishing this current piece has been a massive challenge. One of the angles I am struggling with is making sure I am not in the least bit tempted to go back to this series for another kick at the narrative can, and so I am focussed on closing all the doors and putting locks on them. In his amazing way, he managed to make me feel positive about my manuscript being a complete mess at the moment. He has a way with me that allows me to take criticism without feeling attacked or hurt, because I know he has our best interest at heart and that any critique is meant with love and good intentions. I took his suggestions seriously, and the editing phase (more like a slash and burn) seems to have benefitted from the discussion. All good so far.

The second event was a surprise, one that had me burst into very happy tears. Three weeks ago, I was looking to find someone to go with me to see Biffy Clyro (I refer you to my recent post about musical obsessions) in Belfast in August, and no one who would be overseas was able to make the commitment. My husband, to put it mildly, is not a fan of this band. When he presented me with the pair of tickets he secretly purchased for us, I threw my arms around him, gave him 1,500, 000 bonus husband points on the spot, and started crying. He is very intuitive and generous, and sensed that I needed something to push me forward to believe that better days are ahead. There are no adequate words for me to describe just how special he is to me. I wish he could love this band like I do, because it pains me to think he will suffer through a long headlining set just to make me happy.

The third smile of the day came from my friend Romano, who walked me through a new texting app called Whatsapp. In less than five minutes, he'd taught me how to send text and video, and then encouraged me to quietly (code for disregarding the wonderful husband's suggestions to surrender my contacts lists) go find my other friends so that we can all be addicted together. The app will hopefully prove very useful during our trip to Scotland in August, though it may well take me until then to figure out how to use its many features.

Happy Easter to all, and wishing everyone a great spring.

25 Years Ago...

My cousin Andrew was at Hillsborough on this day in 1989. He was luckier than the 96 Liverpool fans who were there and never came home. I hope there will be justice soon for the families who lost their loved ones, and then fought tirelessly and with dignity on their behalf.

Photo of the Hillsborough Memorial Service at Anfield Stadium

 from The Telegraph, April 15, 2014

Patience

Perhaps I should have named this entry "Impatience" because I possess that quality in greater abundance than its counterpart. I am not what you would call a 'wait-and-see' person when there are loose ends that need to be tied, or situations that aren't fully developed, worked out, or revealed to me. Instead, I tend to overthink things, worry, imagine a dozen of the worst scenarios possible, and generally work myself into a lather until the truth is revealed and things unfold as they should. This process doesn't change, whether we're talking about conflicts, puzzles, or problems. Nor does it matter whether or not I am directly involved in the matter at hand: I am a failure at waiting for anything longer than a day or two at best, although I will add that the yoga and breathing exercises I am leading my class of 10 and 11 year-olds through is making me learn a bit more tolerance for the things I cannot push. A bit. But only just.

Unsurprisingly, I am not much different when I have wonderful things to look forward to, which in the next four months, includes three out-of-country trips. The first two are quick getaways, one in late May to Cleveland for a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame girlie weekend with two recently-made, music-mad, middle-aged ladies who love their tunes, drinks, and food like I do. It promises to be a great road trip across the border and back.

My last visit to the RRHoF in Cleveland, summer of 2002. My tongue is ready to hang out again.



On the last day of school in June, I've optimistically booked an evening flight to New york City, to make up the visit that the 768th snowstorm (I stopped counting after that) of the winter season cancelled for me. I'll be meeting another rock music lover, this time from the Who family, and I'm excited to be going back. I have a great, ongoing love affair with NYC, and eight years is too long for such a close destination.

New York City, which I haven't seen since 2006.

In August, my husband and I will travel to Scotland for the second time. Our first visit in 2001 was magical, but I'll save talking about it for a future post. At the moment, I'm sorting out the tourist parts of it so we can then work in the more personal visits to meet new friends. The planning, which is necessary in order to connect all the destinations and people we want to see, only makes me more excited and therefore wishing for the time to speed up.

On the must-see list for Scotland: the Kelpies at the Helix.


Back to my impatience. This winter has been brutal and long, with no signs of letting up. Only in Canada can you go from 21 C to 3 C in a twenty-four hour period, as we will find out in a couple of days' time. The endless cold is the last of my reasons for wanting to hurry the seasons along. In my ideal world, we would rush past spring and go right to summer in our sandals, shorts, and skirts just in time for Easter, and then it would be a matter of weeks to start all the trips. It's a shame I can't just say 'Make it so' and have it happen.

Storytellers

I'm obsessive about things. Everyone who knows me would attest to that without hesitation. When I embrace something, I tend to do it in a rather maniacal fashion, leaving no stone unturned until I've discovered every last fact or piece of work related to the object of my fixation.

Music is no different. When I fall for an artist, I go off on a mad expedition, looking for every recording, every performance, until I've breathed them so deeply I can then let go and repeat the process with another one. Sometimes, I obsess in clumps.  For the last few weeks, I've been on a triple kick of Ed Sheeran, Passenger, and Biffy Clyro: they take turns in the car, at school, at home, and even when I'm out with the dog. For some strange reason, Ed Sheeran's A+ is my go-to album when I take Whiskey for his longer walks, but the last three recordings of these musicians have been on constant replay on the classroom and home computer, and from the car's USB stick.

Just before we broke for spring break in the middle of March, we had our annual drumming workshop at school, and this year, my musical learning curve was the development of my instrumental ear, and it coincided with my obsession with Biffy Clyro's magnificent double-album, Opposites. More precisely, I began to perfect my ability to deconstruct songs and pick out the subtleties and layers of instruments and vocals that made them so rich. With this Biffy recording, it was like winning the musical lottery, because Opposites is a treasure of overlapping harmonies and quirky arrangements that are essential to the song but not always evident unless you pay close attention. There are interesting effects and counter-beats in unusual places (Trumpet or Tap), bagpipes where you don't expect them (The Stinging Belle), and a mariachi band that transforms 'Spanish Radio' into a wistful, haunting piece that I could listen to over and over just to hear the trumpet for a single lyrical overlap. Yes, for just one phrase in the whole song—the effect for me is that powerful. Have a listen and see if you can find the line of which I speak.

This past week, I've returned to my work in progress, Behind Blue Eyes: Empty Glass, and started a brutal edit. I love chopping superfluous words, and tightening my scenes, and the process for the first three novels included listening to a local deejay who has since moved from the evening slot on a classic rock station to a morning show on an alternative station. I need music to write with, and so I took advantage of Youtube to keep me company. Following my obsessive state, I tuned in to live performances of two of my current favourites. I found Ed Sheeran at the 2012 iTunes Festival (and then hunted down his last week's Teenager Cancer Trust at the Royal Albert Hall), and Passenger at Pinkpop 2013, and off I went.

I managed a lot of editing. Two to three hundred words slaughtered mercilessly over three chapters that became two. I also dropped my jaw a few times watching Ed: he is 23, and plays in front of an audience like he has been doing it for decades. Confident but not arrogant, enthusiastic and yet relaxed, he is able to sway a crowd to rise up and to calm down. I was impressed that someone so young wrote most of his debut album material at 17 and 18, songs so lyrically mature, often tender, and poignant that I can identify with them despite the huge age gap between us. I was fascinated by his use of the loop pedals to create layered tracks to make his own band, and then to engage the spectators to become his back-up choir. I can already see that every live show uploaded to Youtube is going to be on my list this week as I continue to write.

Passenger is a gentler, more humble performer, a folksy singer without Ed's hip hop influences and with less natural confidence on the huge stages he has graced with his breakout success. He is endearing because he is nervous, but also possesses the same kindness that one senses from his ginger contemporary. The most riveting thing about Passenger is that his performance of 'Let Her Go' is never the same twice, which one could only know by having watched about a dozen of live renditions (that obsessive thing again). I'm excited to have found out from all my viewing these past few days that both of them have new releases coming soon. Meantime, here's a duet from these two ridiculously talented storytellers. The original recording is available on Youtube, as well as their most recent performance from last week at the Royal Albert Hall's TCT shows (yeah, the obsessive thing again). As Pete Townshend once said, the kids are alright.  Enjoy.

Spring Forward

It's officially spring. Or so they say. Frankly, I'm not convinced, given that it's -8 C outside at the moment, with a windchill that makes it feel like -16 C. It's been a long, cold, snowy winter here in Toronto that started in November, and never let up. Even with a vacation to the Dominican Republic over the Christmas break that allowed us to avoid the big ice storm, I've found it difficult to get through this endless cold. I've struggled with bouts of depression for the first time since I was a moody teenager, and am self-aware enough to know that the chill has gone hand in hand with the hot flashes of middle age to make me an alternating hot and cold mess.

But this week, the tables are turning. I can feel it in my bones. The move to Daylight Saving Times in early March has made the sun stay out just a little longer at night, and we seem to be enjoying bright days. I'm even prepared to ignore the bitter cold that accompanies them because at least it's sunny out and the ground is relatively dry.

Yesterday, I made the decision to temporarily pull the plug on social media; more specifically, I am deactivating my Facebook account for spring as my own rite of renewal. Anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I spend too much time there; I am a social creature, I love trivia, snarky memes, and quirky articles, and could probably spend the rest of my life poking around friends' pages looking at all their links and updates, commenting on and liking what they've chosen to share. The entertainment and amusement factor is high for me, mostly because I am surrounded by witty, intelligent, and charming friends. However, I've recognized in the last few weeks that I need to recharge the energy that winter and menopause have stripped away. I have a dog itching to get back to long, daily walks, and a body with two healed shoulders that is screaming for a higher level of physical activity. I need to rediscover yoga, continue the power walking and water jogging regimes so beneficial to my fitness and mental health, incorporate some strength and muscle training, and most importantly, pick up a racket and fall in love with tennis all over again.

                                     The song of the cardinals are being heard every day now...


I am also looking forward to digging my hands into the muddy, snow-softened soil of my gardens. For me, the flowers and shrubs that surround the house are a meditation with nature, a purely sensual joy that the long winter kept at bay for too long. I've heard the birds chirping for the last week and a half, and I want to join in their singing and poke around the wild English garden that was once my front lawn, clipping and pruning as green replaces grey and white.

                                                The June lawn...

                                         announces the full blooms of the coneflowers and daisies of early July....

                                         and gets replaced by the rich September colours...

Finally, I have a novel I promised to deliver last August to complete the rock fiction series first published in January 2012. Last year was difficult in so many ways: the return to a world of clocks and bells after a sabbatical leave was a challenging adjustment, made worse by so much personal loss (9 deaths in less than 10 months) and a draconian, government-imposed contract that destroyed working conditions and morale in the educational community. The physical changes of menopause turned me into a giddy, hyper teenager, and all semblance of focus and direction went out the open window (I was hot much of the time). I will admit sheepishly that being in this state of unrest was fun for me at times, but perhaps less so for the poor friends and family who had to interact with me on a regular basis. I still melt at the strangest moments, but my psyche has recovered its emotional stability, and I'm ready to tackle my writing project.

Will I twitch because my fingers are no longer checking for updates and messages? Will I miss my social network of bantering goofballs and dear friends? I will certainly have moments where the cravings and longing will be great, where I will be tempted to log in and see what's going on. But I am determined to resist, to persevere, to take my greatest Capricorn asset (my stubbornness, in case you're wondering) and make it work for me. Besides, I'm not giving up all contact with the cyber world: there's still Twitter, email, and texting, which I know I'll use to keep in touch with those nearest and dearest.  More importantly, there's still Word with Friends, where my friend Romano attempts to kick my ass on a daily basis, and as his profile claims, he 'likes to chat.'

Wish me luck.

And I Quote...

If the weather gods had cooperated, I would be in New York City today, enjoying a short spring break getaway and meeting a new friend I’ve known online from the Who family. Alas, yet another snowstorm fell upon Toronto, and I’m at home looking at the white blanket that has wrapped the city once again. It seems to be an endless winter, but spring is coming, I’ve been promised.

If you are on Facebook, Twitter, or Tumblr. I’m sure you are familiar with these little windows of quotes or sayings. I’m not sure they have a formal name (‘quote cards’, perhaps?) but they make frequent appearances on my newsfeed and daily scrolls. Sometimes I roll my eyes, and sometimes they captivate me. Sometimes I even go searching for one of them via Google because to frame an idea or a thought with a pretty background or photo just seems more elegant than stating the words on a bare typed surface.

The two most common quote cards are the Keep Calm and… eCard series. I’ve very rarely shared any of those, except to pay tribute to the glorious medicinal effects of gin or to make a self-deprecating remark about myself.

What I have noticed after scrolling back is that my use of these cards has had very specific purposes. They appear mostly in my profile or cover photo, and less so in my actual Timeline. In my profiles and covers, they are very much a proclamation of who I am, what I believe, or what I love.

Often, they are a shoutout to my friends and family for a particular kindness, or for being the bantering goofballs that they are.

However, in the past year when menopause hit me over the head and turned me into a moody teenager, many of my cards seemed to be very much the declarations of an often-depressed, sometimes-excited 14-year old. At times, I was lost…

Fighting hopelessness…

And then the strangest thing happened: in the middle of making the use of these cards a bit of a habit, I found out that many friends of mine identified with some of the thoughts I had thrown out there, and seemed to appreciate them. By posting the words and images to encourage myself to climb out of the dark places I found myself in, I discovered that I was not alone and that others responded to the call, however unintentional it had initially been.

When you realize you are not alone, you begin to understand that by connecting with others and trying to support them, you can sometimes make a small difference in their day.

And sometimes you post something you find profound or clever without really thinking of anyone in particular.

And a friend responds with the most touching words, and it all comes full circle.

Legends in Concert

For those of you who read my blog but don't normally connect to Facebook, I finally managed to do my write-ups on the last four concerts I attended. I was fortunate enough to see Rod Stewart, Elton John, Billy Joel, and a quirky indie band called Glasvegas in the last three months, and you can read all about the show and my reviews.

Here are a few photos, the first and last from the Rod Stewart show, and the middle one from Elton John's stage set-up. You'll understand quickly why one of them amused me to no end. Enjoy.

Unplugged

This has been an odd but immensely pleasurable week: I've unplugged from social media in my personal life just as I've plugged in as part of a musical ensemble in my professional one.

Why the retreat from Facebook and Twitter? One reason is that I have found it overwhelming to keep up with the constant stream of posts and links that scrolls past me on both platforms. I have realized in just four days away that I will need to rethink my online presence upon my eventual return, and reconsider the way in which I interact. I have many close friends who live both near and far on social media, people I care about deeply and I will sorely miss them during my sabbatical. They are not the reason I am taking a break: the long Canadian winter seems to have made grumbling complainers of too many of us, and the never-ending cycle of moping and grousing along with a barrage of memes have ceased to entertain me as the cold season has dragged. The dearth of Olympic posts put the final nail in my social media coffin, to the point where I just wanted to hide under the covers and never see another comment about the Canadian hockey team ever again. I'd make an exception for the bearded bobsledders, but the rest was just overkill by the time the games were over, games you will recall I was not watching to begin with.

The other big project I've sworn to get back to is finishing the final novel in my four-part Behind Blue Eyes rock novel series: originally due out in August 2013, I am now aiming for a release date of August 2014. Can I be cheeky and claim a typo in the announcement at the end of book three? In any case, I hope to be deeply into completing the remaining two chapters before diving into endless edits from now until July, and this demands a certain discipline and willingness to be a little less 'social' online.

And so, with the need to regroup mentally and get back to work, I've latched on to a childhood custom long since abandoned and invoked my own personal, non-religious Lent period.


This decision has coincided with another annual tradition at school: we have just completed a week-long drumming workshop with the remarkable Rodrigo Chavez, a percussionist and guitar player with the Latin band Cassava. He is also an extraordinary teacher: the grade 5 and 6 students lit up as soon as the conga and bass drums arrived in the classroom on Monday morning, and armed with maracas, shakers, cowbells (smaller cha cha bells, and larger mambo bells, to be more precise), agogos, guiros, the children quickly learned how to play rhythms of Latin America and the Caribbean. We have, with our advanced and beginner groups this week, performed calypso, samba, salsa, cumbia, merengue, soca, and cha-cha numbers, all of which will be presented to a small audience of parents tomorrow afternoon as a final celebration of the experience.

Being part of a musical ensemble can be the opposite of being online, in a sense. Rather than being alone in front of your computer, looking at and commenting on words and photos that might be far away geographically, you are physically surrounded by peers that you must look at, listen to, and sense. Observation and interaction are essential, and the connection between the playing musicians is an incredible bond that is not easy to describe but which feels rich, meaningful, and intimate. There are smiles, nods, and a sense of great joy as you build a piece of music from its messy, uneven origins to a tight, cohesive sound.  While I can personally attest over and over to the fact that you can develop a close bond with someone online, the immediate interdependency of playing live music together is something unique and akin to belonging to a small village.

My goal this week was to extend my knowledge of and abilities with the two cowbells. I finished today by learning how to play the cha-cha and mambo bells in unison, using two drumsticks to do it. I also further developed some of my conga drum techniques and tonight, the palms of both hands are a bit tender from my efforts.

The guiro

 The cowbell

 The agogo

Maracas!

You would think, given how much time I usually spend on social media, that my leaving it might have made me twitchy. On the contrary, it has been liberating in a manner I didn't expect. One of my closest friends there has given up Facebook for Lent, and her absence has made it easier to let go. Of course, I already miss the banter with her and with our small group of close friends, but I believe that the break will be a good thing in the long run. We all need to recharge our batteries and rediscover those things we set aside to be in front of the screen over the winter months. Besides the completion of my novel, I'm planning to exercise and read more, to finish all the non-fiction writing I meant to get to since mid-December (there are pending concert reviews of Rod Stewart, Elton John, Glasvegas, and an upcoming Billy Joel show on Sunday), and if winter decides to end sooner rather than later, I'd like to resume my long dog walks once again. The last thing I need to work on is finding myself once again; as clichéd as it sounds, I've lost a bit of focus and calm in the last few months and want to redress the balance in my life.  I don't want to forsake the online people I consider to be close friends for those I see in my daily life, and need to find a way to keep connecting with all of them without abandoning or compromising either group. As soon as I figure out how to do this, I'll be back.



You can find out more about the Latin band Cassava at http://www.cassavalatin.com.

Passing On the Olympic Torch

I am not what you would call a sports junkie. I've never watched the Super Bowl, nor have I ever followed the NFL or CFL seasons, and any attention given to our national winter obsession has been spotty at best since the 1970s, when my father and I enjoyed Hockey Night in Canada together, cheering on the Leafs or the Canadiens (yes, I realize that sentence would make some locals in either city scream). When I picked up a racquet in the late 1980s, my love affair with tennis was cemented and I tuned in to all the Grand Slams; not only was it exciting to watch, but I think my game vastly improved by picking up pointers and strategies from the players. Wimbledon is the only tournament I still make an effort to catch these days, although I still have attending it and the US Open on my travel bucket list.

The only two constants in television sports viewing from childhood to middle age have been the FIFA World Cup and the Olympics. Soccer, as it's called here in North America, was a passion developed again from my father, whose lifelong love of the game in general and the German national team in particular seeped down to me and meant that we could sit together every two years (let's not forget the Euro Cup!) and cheer them on, usually pretty far into the championship, occasionally right to the end. Most of the time, he'd be cursing our Italian neighbours in what was a friendly rivalry between normally civil gentlemen. 

The Olympics are another grand global spectacle that I became fascinated with early on: I have a distinct memory of sitting in my uncle's house in Mauritius in 1976, squinting at the small television set to catch glimpses of track and field events taking place thousands of miles away back home in Montreal. From that summer onward, I was hooked. The winter version took a bit longer to get under my skin, but by the time Vancouver was hosting the 2010 games, the love affair was complete. The whole country was mesmerized, our athletes dominated the podium in a manner that was unheard of for this modest, underachieving nation, and our school ran parallel activities that made me so enthusiastic I was on a west coast schedule that almost killed me for seventeen days. It was the first time I went out and bought some memorabilia. My little Sumi and Quatchi keychains still make me smile, although not as much as the expression "I've got a bigger Quatchi" evokes, thanks to the inappropriate innuendo that comparing stuffed toy mascots seemed to bring out in my equally immature and close colleagues.

Fast forward to yesterday, and the opening ceremonies of the Sochi Olympics. We’ve all seen the recent stories and images in the media of the corruption, the tainted water, the latest and not-so-recent violations of human rights and subsequent demonstrations, and finally the rounding up and systematic hunting down of stray dogs.  All of it is ugly, brutal, and sadly unsurprising, and points to a country that has sunk deeply into dictatorship once again. Frankly, on a political level, it’s not much different from Beijing was except that Russia looks even more menacing in its wild west, uncontrolled manner. 

Free Pussy Riot photo from www.freewoodpost.com

From uk.eurosport.yahoo.com

Photo from michaelnassar.net

Photo from the dogingtonpost.com

So why is it that I can’t get excited about any of it if I managed to get addicted to the Beijing circus? Canada scored a record amount of medals in Vancouver, and many of the 221 athletes representing us seem poised to stand on the podium again. I keep hearing over and over from some of my friends that despite the house of horrors that is the Putin regime, we should ignore politics and support our athletes with cheers and encouragement.

I can’t do it. I don’t know what has changed for me in four years, but I can’t bring myself to turn on the television and get interested in any of it. My brain knows that the IOC is corrupt, and likely no more or less so than FIFA and its band of cronies, and that this has always been the case. Certainly, Toronto's experiences with a failed Olympic bid widened my eyes even more to the charade and lack of transparency involved in the process.  Perhaps it’s also that I hardly watch television anymore, or that the proliferation of social media and the endless 24-hour news cycle has made me an even bigger cynic and quite world-weary.  Maybe it's that I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach that something will go horribly wrong in the next two weeks. I certainly don’t wish anyone harm, but my brain can’t help but envision that construction shortcuts were most certainly taken and that such corruption can sometimes lead to disaster. Add that to other serious threats (there was already a report of an attempted plane hijacking yesterday) and my decision has been made. Good luck, Team Canada, get out there and do your best, but I won’t be watching any of it. In fact, I'm going to take the opportunity to detach a bit from social media and give some much needed attention to other personal writing projects.

Yesterday, while the opening ceremonies droned on, I was busy at work ignoring it all, and I am relieved that the nine-hour time zone delay will make it easier to keep the circus off my radar for the duration. On this Saturday morning, as I wrote my first draft, I watched Liverpool FC destroy my beloved Gunners 5-1, and that humiliation seemed a much more pleasant alternative than tuning in to see how things were going in Sochi. I'd even almost prefer to watch the Azzurri defeat the Germans at a FIFA final. Almost.