When it was first suggested I laughed. And then when it was brought up once more I laughed again. And then it began to dawn on me that they were entirely serious, and that this was a commitment I needed to consider. The suggestion? That I be a celebrity dancer in Dancing With the Stars Wood Buffalo 2014.
Let's be clear here. I am not a dancer. I am the person who can fall going upstairs, and I have a deep wariness of escalators as those things and I go way back due to my lack of grace. Oh, I spent most of my twenties hanging around with musicians and in night clubs in Toronto, but I was never really known for my dancing prowess or abilities (back then all I was known for was my laugh and an ability to chug back an impressive amount of Black Label beer given my rather small size).
So when the good folks at the Fort McMurray SPCA began to hint around that they might like me to serve as a celebrity dancer I was hesitant, because I while I am quite willing to put myself out there I am a bit shy about my lack of grace and charm on the dance floor. There is a time commitment, and then there is my poor partner, who will soon learn that I have two decidedly left feet and a total lack of rhythm. But I knew I had to say yes. And this is why:
These are the kinds of text messages I get when I am at work. That is the Intrepid Junior Blogger, of course, and those two green eyes belong to Sirius Black Cat, who first set paw in our house in September and rapidly took over. It would not be a stretch to say that Sir Black has managed to become the focal point of the house, as we have all fallen in love with him, including the family dog. It's hard not to love a plush black creature who purrs when he sees you, pounces on you when you turn a corner, gets stuck in the fridge when you turn your back and close the door not realizing he is inside until you hear the meowing, and otherwise prances around like he owns the joint (because he does). And little Sir Black Plush Cat came to us from the SPCA.
He was a stray, you see, a street kitty with a shady past. You can tell at times he remembers life on the street, and like many former strays he cannot get enough food in his belly (thus his alarming increase in stomach pouchiness since adoption). We found him in the SPCA cat room when he climbed into the IJB's lap, laid down, and began purring.
And Sir isn't our only SPCA pet, either. One of our ferrets, little Riversong, came to us from the SPCA as well. She joined our other two, making a little trio of mayhem that only ferrets in a group can make.
So when it became clear the SPCA wanted me to dance I knew I needed to do three things: clear my calendar, find some dancing shoes, and put aside my fears, because this was all about raising funds for an organization that has touched my life, and the life of the IJB. I am so profoundly grateful to them for all the work they do, but especially for bringing Riversong and Sirius Black into our lives.
For the next few weeks I will be blogging, tweeting, and Facebooking about this journey. You can expect complaints about sore knees (I am old, you know), being woefully out of shape, and expressions of abject terror about dancing on a stage in front of a crowd (just contemplating it makes me feel the need for Valium). You can also expect me to be harassing you to vote for my partner and I. Every vote costs you $20, and frankly I am pretty bloody competitive and I play to win, so you can expect requests and pleas to vote and donate, and then to attend the big event on April 26th.
Every dance step of the way I will be thinking about the SPCA, and Riversong, and Sirius Black, but even more about the IJB and what this little ferret and cat mean to her. You see she loves animals in the same way her mother does, and having Sir Black has changed her life, I think. Last week she came to me and said "I don't really remember what life was like before he was here, can you imagine life without him?" as she cradled a lazy, plush, sleepy and bleary-eyed black cat in her arms. And the answer is no, I cannot imagine life without him, which is why when the SPCA said "come dancing", I did.
One year ago today a young boy in our community collapsed at Vista Ridge ski hill. He was there for a class ski trip, surrounded by his friends and peers, and his sudden collapse impacted both his immediate circle and spread far further into the community, including into my own heart and soul. As a mother I could not even begin to imagine the agony his parents experienced when little Will collapsed, and when a few days later they faced the reality of letting their beautiful little boy, their shooting star, go when it became clear he would not recover.
Over the past year I have written on occasion about Will, and I have been following the Facebook page dedicated to his memory. On that page his mother, a fine writer in her own right, has been sharing the journey her family has taken in the last year. I have shed countless tears while reading her posts, and my heart has ached for her, for her family, and for all of us as we lost a precious gift when we lost Will, a young man who had tremendous potential. I never had the honour to meet Will, but I have met his mother and discovered a woman who has such profound courage and dignity as she faces the nightmare that every parent fears.
I reached out to Will's mom this week and did something I very rarely do. I asked if she would like to share something on this blog, and she so courageously agreed to do so. This letter, written in October 2013, was originally shared on the memorial page. Beautifully written in every regard there is one line that caught me the first time I read, and every time since. She writes about Will reminding her to use the good dishes for special occasions, and she wonders why we are saving the good dishes. And I have to ask, why are we saving the good dishes? Why do we put off the things we know we should do when we also know that life is precious and fragile and far, far too uncertain?
Today I ask you to read Hilda's words, and then I want you to go home and use the good dishes. I want you to pick up the phone and tell that person that you love them or that you are sorry or whatever it is you need to say to them. Please don't save the good dishes, because one day it may be too late to use them, and we never know when that date will come.
This summer I stood on an abandoned road on the way to Maqua Lake watching the Perseid meteor shower. And during one particularly exciting burst of shooting stars I thought of Will, a shooting star who lit up the lives of those he touched during his brief time on this planet, and who was gone far too soon. Today I would like to share his mom's beautiful words, a photo, and a video that I think sums up some of what I have taken away from being part of this journey. I thank Hilda and her family for their courage, and for their willingness to share such an incredibly personal and painful journey with us. I feel incredibly blessed to even have the chance to share part of that journey with you today.
Dear Will, my precious and beautiful Will;
Today marks eight months since you died and we have been living in a fog of shock, disbelief that you're really gone, denial that this is now our life, forever. You were a 9 year old boy with everything ahead of you. You were not suppose to die, it's just not fair.
We were left behind to live out the rest of our lives without you and the feelings of loneliness and longing are all-consuming. The anguish and the pain is something no one should ever have to endure.
Even as these months pass, I still wake up every day hoping its not real and you will be laying there, sandwiched in between your Dad and I, in "our bed" as you called it. Your usual middle of the night crawling into bed with us, telling me that your bed is too hard and you liked our sheets better. I rarely brought you back to your own bed because I figured I would relish in the morning cuddles as long as I could. I am so very thankful for every single cuddle. The bedtime cuddles were wonderful too, I miss you telling me that I'm the best Mom ever and that you love me to the end of the universe and back, I miss you playing with my hair and me playing with yours. When you were in the hospital I put your hair in a ponytail and cut it so that I would always be able to play with your soft beautiful hair. That ponytail of hair is the only physical thing I have left of you.
I miss making your bed and doing your laundry, and cleaning your room. I miss picking up your toys. I miss going to the mall and you wanting to spend your money on more toys, and using your bank card, which you were so tickled to have. I will miss your Christmas list, one like last Christmas, the really long extravagant Christmas list. I remember a few biggies from the top of last years list. Number one was, one thousand dollars in cash, hahaha, we laughed about that one, second was a new bed, a five thousand dollar bed, hahaha we laughed about that one too, third was an iPhone 5, that wasn't happening either, but hey, you figured it didn't hurt to ask. I love you for your humour, although I think you were serious.
I miss making you a hot lunch each day and delivering it to you at school and being greeted with your big beautiful smile. I miss your excitement at the end of the day when I picked you up from school, and fighting with you to do your homework before supper. I miss you asking for a pail of hot water to soak your feet, then more because the water had cooled down. I even miss you and Katie arguing, I miss seeing you and Katie cuddling, I miss you and Katie sleeping together when your Dad and I were out. Katie was such a great sister to you. All the years she let you hang out with her and her friends at the park, or walking to the store for a slushie. Katie's friends had fun with you around, thats for sure. I will miss you and Katie making a hill of snow in the front yard to slide on. I will miss you and Katie sliding down the back steps when they were full of snow, and of course our wintertime back yard fires. I miss watching movies with you, with Dads awesome popcorn, and you and I still able to lay side by side on the coach. Dad and Katie having their own comfy places to sit. I miss being carefree.
I miss you helping with yard work, I miss the freedom of summer. I miss you wearing my rubber gloves to clean the toilets, and helping to fold the laundry. You did a great job. I miss you helping Dad cook dinner, then running to the basement and coming back up saying "I picked the wine for dinner". And you having your milk or juice in a wine glass too. I miss you insisting on using the "delicate dishes" on Sundays and other days too. What the heck are we saving them for anyway. I miss playing Wii with you and you rolling on the floor laughing your head off, definite stomach laughs, I really sucked at Mario Cart. Your laugh was a beautiful thing to hear. There is nothing quite like the laughter of a child and yours was infectious. Oh how much I loved hearing you laugh.
I miss watching you play soccer and all the trips down south to play in tournaments. I miss how proud you were to be the Keeper for your team and how much you loved your padded keeper jersey. I miss how great all of you looked in your team track suits. I will miss you trying your darnedest to have a six pack. I will miss you at Halloween and trick or treating. I will miss skiing with you every Saturday and watching you race with the ski team in Jasper. I will miss that you could beat me to the bottom every time. I miss the pictures you made, the Birthday cards, the Mothers Day cards, the Christmas Cards.
I miss riding bikes. Your really cool lime green bike hangs in our garage, the tires not being worn out in the span of those long summer days, now only collecting dust. I will miss cross country skiing, especially at Auntie Janice's cabin. Remember that Uncle Brian said you were a natural, even at the age of six. I missed you in Cape Breton and I missed you in Ontario, I will miss you on all the family vacations. I miss you coming to the grocery store, I miss you at the park. I miss you at home. I miss all the little things about you.
We miss your beautiful face, your voice, your ever so friendly disposition and your confidence. Your Dad, and Katie and I , we miss everything about you, everything!!
Now it's just the three of us, and maybe you're here too, in spirit, I hope so anyway. We get up each day and do what we have to, Katie goes to school, Dad goes to work, and well for me, I guess I'm still a stay home Mom. I started taking pictures again, I need to force myself to see all the beauty again. We go to Katie's soccer games, volleyball games and soon we will be back at the ski hill. Katie stays home lots these days when she's not busy with school or sports, she likes the down time. Our house is very quiet now. Dad and I go to Keyano theatre to see live plays, Katie comes sometimes too. We get together with friends, we get together with family. We smile in public and even laugh, but behind all of that we are struggling, every day.
We cry, we long, we will never be the same again, life without you leaves a gaping hole in our hearts and in our lives. We are here for each other, Dad and I are here for Katie. We're in this together no matter what. Katie misses you so much, we all miss you..... and we will miss you forever my beautiful Will.
We love you William Lewis.
I recently read a quote that said, "Do good kids even know their middle name?" Thats a good one, you would have like it. You were a good boy and I just liked saying both your names, I miss saying your name, to you.
To my family and friends, I thank you for your daily, weekly text messages, your phone calls, your visits, your loving comments on this page, your unwavering support, you are a constant in our lives and I will never forget that. Walking this path is very lonely and it would be so much lonelier without all of you. We will continue to need your love and support for the many years to come, and it will be returned back to you.
Parents who lose children need to talk about their children. We need to hear our child's name, please don't be afraid to say our child's. Don't be afraid to talk to us. Don't feel like your walking on egg shells around us, be kind, be sensitive, acknowledge our pain with a simple hug or a smile. And excuse me if I can't get too excited about all the wonderful things in your life. It's very very difficult to see beyond our grief right now. We are so sad. Will was robbed of his life and we were robbed too. Every single aspect of our life has been affected, everything we do now is different, everything. Unless you have lost a child, you can never understand the depth of our sorrow, how could you. The sorrow lies in every fibre of our being, it can't be shaken off. Nothing works, keeping busy doesn't work. We can't be fixed, please take the pressure of yourselves, you can't fix us and I know you want to. I think that's why people struggle, if you can't fix us, you don't know what else to do. I can definitely appreciate how hard it is for all of you right now, having a sister or friend like me. Just being there is enough.
And most importantly, please don't forget our child. Our Will lived for only nine years, but he lived, please never forget that he lived. I would rather have had my precious Will for nine years, than to never have had him at all.
As I finish this letter, I can hear the kids from St. Anne school, Will's friends, out enjoying recess and doing what kids are suppose to do, have fun, taking in everything that the day has to offer them.
......much love to all of you and so much love to you, my Will
I am thankful that the sun is shining today, it makes me feel warm, it makes me think of you.
Today I am going to share a little video with you. I must admit I am rather blown away by it, as the person who created it did so in such little time that I find it astonishing. World Hijab Day was celebrated just this past Saturday and here we have this lovely little video of some women experiencing the hijab for the first time.
Look at the smiles, and at the faces. I think it says it all. You might see some faces you know - I certainly did - and what you see is an exploration of wonder as these women build understanding of other women in our world.
My day wearing the hijab was a remarkable experience, and one I am still processing. I think this video sums it up far better than my words ever could - and so I thank Pearls of Wisdom for creating it, and the Fort McMurray World Hijab Day Committee for creating this event and allowing women like me to walk a mile in their shoes - or, in this case, in their hijab.
Today I am taking the opportunity to share with you an initiative from some of the participants in this year's Leadership Wood Buffalo program.
As you might know, LWB is a program designed to foster and encourage leaders in our community. I was contacted recently by a participant who asked me to complete a survey- and the survey is all about why people would choose the Wood Buffalo region as home - or why they would instead choose not to.
The survey is mostly aimed at women, and trying to determine what makes women choose to stay in or leave our region. I have no doubt the results will be interesting, and given my own circumstances as a single parent who chose to stay in the community I know I will be interested in the results.
The reality is that while many of us choose to make this community our home others do not, and leave to create their home in other parts of the province or country. The question is why, and understanding the answer can help us to build a stronger community that provides the amenities, services and support system that will encourage men, women, and families to choose this as their home.
I encourage you to complete the survey, as the more responses the more valid the results will be. It only takes a few moments, and as I completed it I thought about why I moved here initially, and why I chose to stay just over a year ago when leaving seemed a very real possibility.
Thank you in advance for helping out my friends over at Leadership Wood Buffalo - and for helping them to build a stronger community that we will all want to call home!
I was actually surprised at the trepidation I felt. I stood at home in front of my bathroom mirror, trying to figure out what to do with my hair. I suspect like many women I have a complicated relationship with my hair. But yesterday the relationship was less complicated, because my hair wouldn't be in view for long. You see, it was going undercover for the day, as I had decided to don the hijab in honour of World Hijab Day.
I will be very frank. I have given the hijab little thought, because to me it was never something to think about. It wasn't until the surfacing of Bill 60 in Quebec, a proposal to force civil servants to remove any garb deemed religious while at work, that I began to think about the hijab. One of my dear friends wears it, as does one of the Intrepid Junior Blogger's best pals. And so I began to think, and learn, about the hijab.
I want to be very clear here. I do not support any person, woman or not, being forced to do anything they do not choose. On the flip side, though, I do not support the removal of that choice, which is what Bill 60 proposes. I recognize that in some parts of the world the wearing of the hijab may not be a choice, and I do not support women being forced to don it - but I also cannot tolerate women who have chosen to wear it in our country being forced to remove it, as I do not believe forcing others is our right in any circumstance.
I believe one of the biggest misconceptions about the hijab is that all women are forced to wear it and that none choose to do so. I find this deeply offensive, as I personally know several women - strong, opinionated, educated women - who have chosen to wear the hijab. They have not been forced to do so (and the idea that anyone could force some of these women to do anything is not only deeply patronizing but laughable). I think one of the things we need to understand is that others may choose things we ourselves would not choose - and then we must work to accept their choice and their right to choose. I recall well my younger days when I was having a discussion with a friend about beauty pageants, and about how I could not understand the choice of the participants. I suppose I implied that perhaps these women were not too clever to be involved in such superficial shenanigans, and my friend stopped me and asked me what gave me the right to judge their choice. Why would I demean their choice simply because it was not something I would do? Wasn't that patronizing attitude actually more harmful to them than any pageant could ever be? And she was right, of course, and it forever changed how I thought about choices and how to respect those who chose differently than I.
And so over the years I never thought much about the hijab, until my dear friend Kiran told me about the upcoming World Hijab Day. I knew I wanted to participate, and she and her organizing committee had arranged an event at the local mall so local women could try on the hijab and experience it themselves. I contacted her and said I didn't want to just try it on, though - I wanted to wear it for a day.
That's how I ended up at the mall yesterday, in the capable hands of a lovely young lady who wrapped the hijab around my head. I had chosen the scarf myself, black with silver glitter (I can't help it, I'm like a crow with shiny things), and I watched as her hands carefully swept my hair into the scarf and out of view.
I don't quite know how to explain how I felt. I suppose I had also never really considered how much of my identity is tied up in that red mane of mine. I was almost afraid to look in the mirror, but after taking some photos they took me over the mirror, and smiled while I looked at myself.
I looked like me, in a hijab. It was a bit of a startling contrast even for me, my very pale white skin against the black hijab. The ladies were so lovely, though, so kind with their compliments, and the very first thing I noticed as I glanced around the hijab-wearing crowd was that I felt something very interesting - I felt kinship, almost a sisterhood with these women who smiled and nodded at me. It was like I had entered some sort of club, and they welcomed me in. But the tough part, the interesting part, lay ahead, as the hijab and I went about our day.
I noticed it almost immediately as I walked through the mall. People stared at me, first at the hijab and my face, and I suspect it was because I was not what they expected to see. I am quite obviously a Caucasian woman, and I think the colour of my skin was not what they expected. I felt conspicuous, and I was unsure if it was actual or just perceived until a friend confirmed that I was undoubtedly attracting stares of confusion.
I went to my first stop, a shoe store I know well, and what happened next was very unexpected. The manager, who recognized me, told me I looked beautiful, and then we began to discuss why I was wearing the hijab. Within minutes all the staff at the store were engaged in the discussion, talking about Bill 60 and freedom of choice and freedom of expression. It was a multicultural little group too, a microcosm of the diversity in our community, and their interest and support showed me immediately that this had been a very good idea. It was sparking dialogue, and it was allowing us to talk about issues we rarely discuss - things like religious freedom and discrimination.
I attended the brief speeches the organizers had arranged for World Hijab Day, and then I left the mall, going to a place that only seemed natural to visit if I wanted to gauge reactions. I went to Wal-Mart.
As I wandered the aisles I saw continued confusion and puzzlement over my new hijab. Most people were far too polite to ask, although one sweet little girl told me I had a very pretty scarf. I could see, though, that they were wondering, perhaps because I do not fit the "look" we have come to expect of those wearing the hijab. But I wondered too if other hijab-wearing women experience those stares, and if this was related to the hijab itself and not the shade of my skin. I suppose I will never know, really.
I sailed through the rest of my day, stops at Starbucks and the pet food store and Safeway. I noticed the hijab kept my head warm despite the cool temperatures, and I noticed that as the day wore on I felt less strange about it. And I found myself thinking about the three words those at the event had emphasized: honour, modesty, and beauty.
The beauty part was easy to understand, as when you cannot see someone's hair I noticed how you focused on their eyes. Suddenly the eyes in that face become everything, and you notice the beauty of those eyes, the shape of the face, the expressive crinkle of the lips as they speak.
The honour part was easy to get too, as wearing a hijab to honour one's beliefs is no different than those who wear a cross to honour their Christianity. It is a symbol of belief, and a part of identity. In the same way that my hair is so much a part of my identity so too must be the hijab for those who choose to wear it - and who am I to question that choice or to assume that I know better or understand more? Who am I to patronize those who have made a choice I may not have made?
And I began to understand the modesty part, too. You see, most women don't wear their lingerie on the outside. They may wear absolutely lovely undergarments, but those items are not displayed but rather reserved for themselves and for those they choose to share them with in intimate settings. And if some feel that way about their undergarments why should we assume some will not feel that way about their hair? If they want to preserve their hair for those closest to them then who am I to tell them they must expose it, any more than I would demand a woman expose her lingerie? Shouldn't we all have the choice to determine what we will and will not make available for the world to view?
By the time I got home I was quite used to my hijab. I walked in the door, and to my mirror. I began to unwind it slowly, removing the pin the young woman had so carefully placed in my hair. I tried to memorize how it was wrapped, so that I could replicate it some day if I wished to. I thought about all my other scarves, considering which ones could be used as a hijab if I chose to, and what events I could choose to wear one to if it seemed fit - and there was that word. Choice. I was thinking about it as a choice, not a requirement, in the same way my friends have assured me they made the choice to wear the hijab. I do not know if I will choose to wear the hijab again, but I feel deeply grateful that in this country I have that choice. I could decide tomorrow to wear the hijab every day, and no one would have any right to tell me my choice is wrong or demand I remove it. I could choose to do it for whatever reason. And it is my choice, which is a beautiful, beautiful thing.
I hung the new scarf up with my other scarves late last night. I will wear it again some day, of that I am certain. Will I wear it around my neck, or around my head? I don't know yet. That choice has yet to be made, but I am so happy to have the opportunity to make that choice.
I wish I could be everywhere at everything all the time. I wish I could delve deep into all the things I am passionate about, raising funds and awareness and championing all the causes in this community, because there are so very many. But I cannot be everywhere and do everything, and that is okay, because in this community there are so very many people who are passionate and committed to making this a better place to live, work and play. There are so many here who are community champions, which is what last night at the Regional Municipality of Wood Buffalo Mayor and Council Toast of Champions was all about.
I missed the event last night due to the Intrepid Junior Blogger's schedule, which includes the weekly torture of piano lessons on Thursday evenings. And so I could not attend the Toast of Champions, but I followed it on Twitter as the evening went on, and as we celebrated our champions.
Some of them I have the tremendous honour to know, like Nathalie Reid, a teacher at Holy Trinity High School and someone I admire for her passionate advocacy for social justice, and her ability to get students excited and involved in making the world a better place. Lynn Hannah is someone I have the honour to call a friend, and her advocacy and commitment to the SPCA has seen them become an incredibly active and respected social profit organization with a strong community profile. There are others I have watched with admiration, like young Keisha Gendron who has been putting in hard work and long hours through bottle drives and other initiatives to raise funds to restore Heritage Park after it was badly damaged in the flooding we experienced this spring, and like Mattea Adair, a young woman with a passion for volunteering and one of the most beautiful and infectious smiles I have ever seen, and like Trevor Boe, an advocate for youth sport and recreation in this community. And there are others still like Pamela Tremblay and Roxanne Marcel, who I have not had the opportunity to meet but about whom I have heard so many amazing things. And then there is someone like Barb Jewers, who will always be remembered for her contributions to this community, and who we lost last year, a tremendous loss for our community but someone who has left behind not only a legacy but inspiration.
And those names were just the recipients of the 2013 awards, as there were other nominees as well, each passionate about their individual causes and each a powerful advocate for this community and the people in it - each and every one a champion, really.
One of the greatest honours I have is the opportunity to write about this community, and the people in it. The true honour, though, is simply being part of a community of champions like the ones celebrated last night. I feel secure here, because I know that others are doing everything they can to make this a better place, to improve the lives of others and to create the kind of community where we are all proud to live.
Today in this post I would like to salute all our champions, including all recipients and nominees from last night. They are the reason this community is the place it is. They are the reason I am so very proud to call this place home.
It was probably the fifth email I had received from someone in external media asking for my opinion. Had I played "the game", they asked, and what did I think of it? And, for the fifth time, I answered that I had not fully played the game, and nor did I plan to, and I didn't really know anyone locally who had either, at least not to any extent. The game in question? "Fort McMoney", the online game about my community.
"Fort McMoney" launched in November and I admit that the day it launched I planted myself in a chair with my laptop, signed in, and began to play. I spent four hours on it that day, finding some lovely cinematography, a few glitches, and nothing I didn't really already know about the place I call home. The next day I opened up that window again and played another two hours, but by the end of it I found myself just not enjoying it. The third day? I closed the window entirely, and never really returned to the game.
It's not because I hate the game, because I don't. I participated when the filmmakers contacted me, and I was interested to see the final product. It is a bit darker than I think my community is, but I cannot say it is entirely inaccurate. It is just one perspective though, filmed in winter (not exactly the best season anywhere, a bit grey and dreary no matter where you find it). I respect the filmmakers for the length of time they spent here, and for talking to a variety of people. And I suppose it may be an interesting adventure for those who don't live here, although even an online game can only reflect a small slice of what happens here. But as for spending hours playing, voting on and debating the future of my community? I guess I just don't have time - because I am too busy living that life, not playing it.
I suspect local uptake on the game has been on the low side, but I'm not really surprised by that. You see we are living life here, not playing a game. We are making decisions every single day that affect the future of this community.
In some ways I am not sure how I feel about my community, our collective future, and our lives being turned into a "game" for others to play. It makes me think of that movie Jim Carrey starred in many years ago, when he discovered that his entire life was actually a TV show and all those in it were actors (The Truman Show). And Shakespeare said all the world is a stage, and all the men and women merely players, so I suppose one could take the strategy that we are all to some extent playing a game, which we call life. I suppose I don't feel quite so philosophical about it when it comes to others playing a game involving my community, moving us around like chess pieces as they decide our future based on fragments of information. But the odd thing is that I can work up no indignant anger over it, or even much of any reaction at all. I simply feel rather apathetic about the game, because it has no real impact on my life or what happens here.
I have tried to figure out why I feel so very indifferent to the game, and all I keep coming back to is that no game, no matter how well filmed or how much time they spent here, could ever truly capture the nuances of our lives. No game could ever depict all the different shades of grey, and no game could ever reflect the true nature of our community. And I suppose in the end that's why I stopped playing Fort McMoney, really. I just lost interest, because I don't need to play the game of life in Fort McMurray. I am instead just living it.
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