HBS 9426

We are the family of last-minute projects and hare-brained schemes (HBS). We work to the deadline. This means that when we arrive at the finish line, we're practically dead.

We measure the hare-brainèd-ness of any scheme by how many late/sleepless nights it takes to complete the project. The more late/sleepless nights, the higher the number on the HBS (hare-brained scheme) scale. "Late" usually means past midnight.

Lately, we've been involved in a few such enterprises. For example, making signs for a school fundraiser. This was a many-stage project. First, finding just the right graphic. Then, setting up the projector to project the image on the blackboard. Next, tracing the design in chalk, colouring carefully over each line in various and appropriate colours of chalk. Finally, delivering the finished product to the venue at which the fundraiser would be held.

On a scale of 1 to 10 (1=low and 10=high), that was about a 7.

Tonight, it was different effort. Six person-hours, and that was just counting tonight. Last night boosted us up on the HBS-ometer with this hare-brained scheme (HBS). I'm sure it was past midnight when we put away the proxima; gathered pencils, pens, and rulers; shut down the laptop; and turned off the lights. We'd spent a couple of hours (two-person hours, for a total of four-person hours) tracing the letters on a banner for our float in the Christmas Parade. And that wasn't counting the thinking and planning time. I'd put it at about an 8.

But we all pull together. Everyone in the family helps. One person has an idea; another person adds to it; a third improves it even more. The kids cooperate and lend a hand to the project by quietly watching a movie while the adults work.

I use the term "hare-brained scheme" (HBS) loosely. Most of our efforts are actually directed towards very worthwhile projects: school fundraisers, grassroots activist groups, and other such world-improving projects.

It just seems that in the middle of the work, or towards the end of a long evening during which we'd all rather be doing something else but our word that we've given keeps us focused, the plan of action that we signed up for seems a bit like a hare-brained scheme.

We all decided that it would just be too depressing to assign a number to and keep count of all such projects that we undertake. But at least, we're all in it together. A project is always a chance to work together, help each other, and improve the world.

What better use could we make of our time?

Civic Elections

Our city has a new mayor tonight. On city council, five of the six incumbents were returned, and there will be one new face at the table. Congratulations!

Thank you to those who put themselves forward to run for office. It's not an easy thing to give up a certain amount of privacy, to be put on the "hotseat" and asked questions by the voting public, and to spend your own money on campaign efforts all because you believe you can make this city a better place to live.

But shame on us! Only 22% of eligible voters turned out to exercise their civic right and duty. In the nearest city to us, the turnout was almost 40%.

So 22% of the eligible voters have decided for 100% of the citizens.

This is democracy.

This Week on CBC's "Ideas"

This week, the CBC radio program "Ideas" will broadcast the CBC Massey Lectures. Margaret Atwood will be reading from her newest book, Payback: Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth. In addition to being a great novelist, Atwood is almost a social critic and commentator.

You can read the CBC promo for the show at this web site:

http://www.cbc.ca/ideas/massey.html

Tune in to "Ideas" Monday to Friday this week on CBC Radio One at 9 p.m. Check your local listings for the broadcast time in your area.

It's going to be great!

This Was No Comfort to Me.

Today, I was listening to a lecture by the eminent professor who teaches the distance course that I'm taking. He said this: "I'll never ask you anything on a test that I couldn't tell you myself."

As his student, I drew no comfort at all from his statement. I'd seen his resume posted on the seminary web site. It was impressive. He is the Richard Jordan Professor of Theology at Reformed Theological Seminary. He has a BA, a BD and, from the University of Edinburgh, a PhD. Oh, and a diploma from the University of Lyon.

The description continues: "His firm grasp of multiple languages [probably Hebrew, Greek, Latin, French . . . ] and his theological competence are capably demonstrated in translating such works as Sermons by John Calvin on II Samuel. He is serving with David Wright of the University of Edinburgh as a general editor for a revision of Calvin's Old Testament Commentaries."

Hmm. Are you getting the picture? I began to feel very nervous about the upcoming midterm exam, even bearing in mind that he wouldn't ask me anything he didn't know.

He has recently written Creation and Change: Genesis 1.1 - 2.4 in the Light of Changing Scientific Paradigms and Carolina Scots: An Historical and Genealogical Study of Over 100 Years of Emigration, and has just published a systematic theology. He has travelled extensively throughout the world preaching and teaching. He was enlisted to serve on the Jurisprudence project of The Christian Legal Society and wrote a book, The Emergence of Liberty in the Modern World. Other publications include If God Already Knows, Why Pray? and Preachers with Power: Four Stalwarts of the South.

There was absolutely no comfort in his statement, "I won't ask anything of you that I couldn't tell you myself."

Valerie Elaine Wilkins, Where Are You?

This is November 3. It's a special day in my memory. It has been for a long time.

When I started Grade 5, I changed schools. I was the new girl in the class. The teacher paired me up with another student named Valerie. Throughout the next three years, we became best friends. In Grade 5, Valerie lived on my street, just a few houses--half a block--down the street. Then she moved three streets over. Montclair, Walkley, Prince of Wales.

We used to run home on our lunch hour, either to her house or my house. We always had the same thing for lunch. A glass of milk and cream of tomato soup with handfuls of Saltine crackers crumbled up in it. Then we'd race back to school. Three blocks to my street, then three or four blocks to the school. I think we were late lots of times. Or almost late.

When we started Grade 8, Valerie and I went to different high schools. It was the beginning of the end. In Grade 9, I moved to the suburbs. The last time I talked with Valerie was when I was in Grade 11 or 12.

November 3 is Valerie's birthday. I can picture her face the way I last saw it. I don't know where she is now. Our lives have taken us different places and there have been many years in between then and now. It was from Valerie that I first heard the phrase "retribution of justice." At that time, it was perhaps the most complicated language I had ever heard and the most profound idea I had ever come in contact with.

I still remember the great times we had together. I remember walking home from Girl Guides every Thursday night. We'd get to the corner of her street, but we weren't finished talking. So she'd walk me to my corner, but we still weren't finished talking. I'd walk her back to her corner, and maybe she'd walk me back to mine. Then we'd each have to run home before our mothers were phoning each other, worried that something might have happened to us on the way home.

I remember playing. I remember lots of laughing.

Today, I just wanted to say, "Happy Birthday, Valerie."