first thought.

Somewhere in the semi-state of consciousness between turning my alarm off and slowly slipping out of bed this morning, a thought crossed my mind:

Through the eyes of the innocent,
softer, and deeper, is love.

hope.

The fog has settled into the city. For days now a thick cloud has enveloped the shoreline of the Fraser River, plunging any bridge that dares to cross it into a vast expanse of gray. And now, with one out of the three main bridges into the city closed for an estimated four weeks, the amount of cars disappearing into the fog on the other two bridges has doubled in capacity. It's a commuting nightmare.

But, there's hope--a silver lining on the fringes of this endless Vancouver cloud. Surely, Barack Obama will swoop in to save the day for the overanxious, claustrophobic bridge commuter. We've pinned all our other hopes on this man for the regeneration, regrowth and replenishment of this world, so why not add a bit of traffic to his endless list of "We Can's." [fingers crossed] Yes, he can!

Today marked the inauguration of America's 44th President. I managed to catch Obama's swearing-in and speech on the radio between deliveries this morning and was quite impressed by his on-stage charisma and authenticity. In commentary after commentary on the event, one word re-emerged time and again; a word that contrasts--like Obama's smile--the prevailing attitude otherwise portrayed by the media in this "global economic crisis:" hope. I'll readily admit that I am just one more person who has jumped on the Obamawagon, but I struggle to not pin my hope on a President. It's too easy to step back and expect the leader to do all the work while we reap the benefits. And I think Obama understands that, which I think is why I like him. He touched on every popular 21st Century topic in his speech, from the environment to love to cooperation to responsible economic leadership. And he made it clear that it is not his sole responsibility to work these things out. His words, though spoken to the citizens of America, resonated around the world: "What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition...that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world. Duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task. This is the price and the promise of citizenship."

Not only does he believe in the possibility of equality, he knows that we all play a role in achieving equality. Words like that can too easily be missed in the hype of a misplaced hope.

snowcouver?

It's raining in Vancouver. Hallelujah.

In years past, perhaps my number one complaint about living in 'Raincouver' is just that--the rain. Not this year. With the rain comes some sort of semblance to life once again. I walked on pavement today, perhaps for the first time in a month. Add to that joy, this: the buses are on time, the skytrain is back on its normal schedule, and I'm not pushing our car out of another snowdrift. [We'll not mention who exactly put the car in the drift in the first place]. But this oft-repeated predicament on the snow-covered side streets of Surrey raises a fundamental question in my Ontarian mind: why am I stuck in a snowdrift on a street...again? Back in Ontario, this was never a problem. It was a cycle as simple as this: 1) Snow 2) Plow 3) Repeat.

Vancouver, however, is not known for this white, fluffy precipitation. In a city not used to massive amounts of snow, little resources exist to deal with it when it piles up on city streets. Here, the cycle looks a little lacking: 1) Snow 2) Repeat.

As the snow continues to pile up on the streets of the city, nothing but the smooth summery tires of civilian transport exists to crush it into oblivion. Plows are few and far between here, something everyone east of Abbotsford must be aware of. Heck, in Ontario, my siblings and I even had pet names for each type of plow we'd watch pass our home. They were the A&W burgers of the street: there was Papa, with it's crew of double-bladed, highway-clearing Papa friends; Momma took to the main city streets, leaving a trail of salt in her wake; Sister took care of the side roads; and best of all, there was Baby. I remember hearing the constant drone of Baby as she tumbled up the sidewalks of Grimsby, leaving nothing but a clean patch of cement for the foot commuter. Alas, this family of snow-crushing machinery only exists in areas where...well...where there's snow. A lot of snow. The highways of the Lower Mainland are lucky to have Sister scrape over them.

It seems the snow was a short-lived (albeit month-long) adventure. It won't take long to get used to the rain. I heard my first complaint about it at work today: 'When's it ever going to stop?'