I’m very proud to report that Canada had the distinguished honor of receiving the ‘Fossil of the day’ award at the UN’s International Conference on Climate Change in Kenya this week. The title is awarded by the Climate Action Network to the country that is deemed to have contributed the least to progress during the talks. Wow! what an accomplishment. When the floods come, we’ll know who to thank.

So basically, as our supreme leader, Mr. Harper, pulls our country slowly but decisively away from the Kyoto Protocol, he also has no working alternative. If he did we would have had something to contribute.

Our planet is slowly burning up & no one seems to give a damn, least of all Mr. Harper. The last report from the UN Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Control (IPCC) is a very depressing read, I don’t recommend it. Summed up, the world is getting warmer. Which when your a Canadian staring down the barrel end of yet another cold & miserable winter, doesn’t really sound so bad, actually, its pretty enticing. and if that’s all there was to it, I’d be out there with G.W giving the finger to the tree hugging hippies. Because its only November & I’m freezing my arse off already. But that is not all there is to it.
Global surface temperatures have risen 0.6 degrees Celsius. Snow cover has decreased 10%. The lakes & rivers in the North are frozen 2 weeks less a year. Non-polar mountain glaciers are in noticeable retreat. The global sea level has risen between 0.1 – 0.2 meters.

These changes cause floods, intense weather patterns, storms, droughts, & heat waves. With developing countries being the most vulnerable. Great, like they don’t have enough on their plate. It’s almost comical, that the countries who produce the least greenhouse gases are the very ones going to suffer the most because of them.

The World Wildlife Fund predicts that polar bears may be pushed to extinction by 2100, due to the ice melt. Caribou, Musk Ox & reindeer may find themselves pushing for space as well, as there habitat become smaller. Native American communities will also start to find there lands & way of life forever changed as the land & the animals change.

Industrial countries have been pumping out heat trapped greenhouse gases in an ever increasing amount since the 19th century. Isn’t it time we stood up & took responsibility for it. Before its too late & we all fry, if we don’t drown first, or get swallowed by a tsunami, or die of thirst.

I am 9 and fearless.
I think that inhibitions start in the double digits.
To be any age again, I would be 9.
Before I discovered that the moon is not the back of the sun & grandpas do not know everything.
Before the to-do lists took up an entire page.
Before the lattes & cell phones.
With dirty jeans & a pocket full of rocks off I’d go to conquer the world.
Forever 9.

I found an old shoe box yesterday. It was heavy, dusty & when I lifted it off the shelf the bottom suddenly gave way. Dozens of rocks, all shapes & sizes came crashing to the floor. I stared at the rubble then remembered in a burst. It was my rock collection. I had started to fill my pockets with treasure when I was very young. Too young to remember exactly when the fascination had begun. My grandfather had gone so far as to empty one of the utensil drawers in the kitchen so that I could sleep, sure that my loot was safe. At nearly 30 I still have the odd habit of picking up a pebble every now & again. I put it in my pocket & run my fingers over the cold surface all day, almost unconsciously. I think I find the solidity comforting.
Now, my rug was a mess. The downstairs neighbour had most probably cursed me to hell. It was still early in the morning. But there they were. Unchanged & still as beautiful as the day I had first picked, polished & possessed them, some 20 years ago.
Like running into an old friend, I made myself comfortable & we reminisced. To my surprise I realized I could remember the day I had discovered each one. The place I’d scooped it & the people I was with. A sort of scrap book in stone.
Some of them were still reddened from the ore that covered my island home. Others were perfectly rounded, years of being pounded by the North Atlantic. Some were not even rocks, they were glass, overpowered & made smooth. Old bits of the dynamite houses that were left abandoned to rot along with the mine in ‘66. One was actually a penny embedded in steel. And each one told a story. This simple box contained my life until the age of 10.
I am 9 and fearless. I think that inhibitions form in the double digits. If I could be any age again, I would be 9. Before I discovered that the sun was not the back of the moon & grandpas don’t know everything. Before the social rules weighed in. Before the to-do lists took up a whole page & ordering a coffee was more complicated then advanced calculus. With dirty jeans & a pocket full of rocks, off I’d go to conquer the world. Forever 9. That’s what I wished for sitting there on my floor, surrounded by my old friends.
I’m cleaning my closet on a Tuesday morning because I quit my job this morning. No explanation, no notice & certainly no apology. It took me all of 2 minutes to clear out my 4×4 cubicle & find a new home for Frank, my plastic (though lifelike) ficus. Maureen, with whom I shared a felt wall for 5 years, didn’t take her eyes off of me. I couldn’t quite figure if she was just shocked or if she was making sure I didn’t steal the stapler.
I walked out of there with my entire professional career jammed into a small packing box. I had made my way to the elevator when I realized that Maureen was by my side. “Good job, I’m so envious, I hate this place too. You take care & be happy”. And then she smiled. I wasn’t imagining it. She had smiled. 5 Years & I had never gotten so much as a good morning from my over worked, stressed out neighbour. As the elevator doors closed I suddenly thought I should have taken that stapler.
Life changes on a blink. That’s what I’ve learned these past few months. And if I’m not happy, why aren’t I happy? Since the phone call, all the things that seemed to matter, just don’t anymore. Work, deadlines, Frank, they all turned this shade of musty grey that I have to squint in order to focus on. With my eyes open, they’re just not there.
There is a tiny container clinging to the side of my broken box. It would normally hold a tooth. Mine, however, hides a small pebble. It was removed from my knee when I was 10. At the time I remember thinking this insignificant medical procedure was monumental. I insisted on keeping the rock of course. It had become embedded in my knee after I made a heroic dive after a fly ball down the middle. Only a week earlier that ball would have flown past me completely unchallenged. But my brother had spend 3 days with me in the back yard flinging fast balls at my head until I didn’t flinch. I had a glove & the key to the exercise was t teach me how to catch the ball while overriding my natural instinct to get the hell out of the way. “Don’t give up!” “Stop being so afraid!” “Go after it!” I rolled the speck around the small container & wondered what had happened. When had he changed his mind? What made him so afraid that he just gave up? And why hadn’t I seen the change? To be honest I must confess I had seen it. But I was afraid to be right & I let it fly past me unchallenged, silently hoping that the next person would make the play. Now I had to find a way to live with that decision.