Read CBC Unplugged, a blog about their strike. There are also links to weblogs written by strikers on the weblog's sidebar. The CBC is one of the few truly national things that all Canadians can identify with from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. We need it like the Americans need baseball and the French need pastry. Every morning, when my bus drives past the CBC workers that have been locked out, I think You are the wind beneath the wings of my Canadian identity! Okay, so I don't think anything like that, but damn, I wish them well in their negotiations. I lied about the bus thing, too, because Cityville's transit workers are on strike. The whole place is going to hell in a handbasket.*

I have what might turn out to be very good news. I think this makes me a harbinger of my own good news if it does come to fruition.

When I was in grade four, we read a story in class that used the word harbinger. I loved the sound of it. It sounded important, and I thought for a brief while that I wanted to be a harbinger when I grew up. I don't know what exactly I thought I would be doing. Harbingeing? People would ask what is it that you do? and I would answer why, I harbinge, of course. I finally figured out that being a harbinger was more situational and less vocational.

The Fiery One tells me that I am, quote, "...blazing a trail...", unquote, by verbifying harbinger. Maybe I should try out trailblazing.

Now that I'm on the subject of things I wanted to be, here is a list of things I wanted to be at various points in my life: a window washer, and mortician, an ad man, a teacher, a window dresser, a general store owner, a bookseller, a carpenter, a preacher (I'm not kidding), and a professional researcher. And I've always wanted to learn how to dance the Lindy.

Oh right, the harbingeing. If the future works out the way the Fiery One and I want it to, then I'm harbingeing right now.

The cat in the following picture? He might be ours tomorrow. It's true. I already want to stick all of him in my mouth, (but I won't, because he probably hates getting wet and I don't want hairballs, which by the way, his present owner claims he does not get).

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Cover me over
In dusk and dust and dreams.
- excerpt from "Bringers" by Carl Sandburg

* Does anyone know what a handbasket is, or for that matter, why things are always going to hell in one? I, personally, would much prefer a cute little Vespa PX 150 Serie Canada as my mode of transport.

Being Five and the Other Thing