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By Root 656 0

dislike of those who seem incapable of surviving without instant access to an email server. On buses, in coffee shops, at malls, in meetings, and at dinner and over drinks, there is always someone pulling out a BlackBerry or a PDA and checking to see what issue of global importance has just deposited itself in his or her in-box (it’s amazing how in one generation the word “in-box” has acquired an entirely new meaning). As I watch them tap away with their little calloused thumbs, I feel like wrenching the device from their hands, flinging it as far as I can, and screaming, “You’re not that important. You can wait until you’ve finished your soup before you see what other fool is rudely sending off generally trivial information.”

I know, that doesn’t seem very virtuous, but stick with me. Maybe Tranquillity is going to be a welcome week.

And yet, as much as I hate emails, I’m not sure how I would survive without them. Perhaps my annoyance for those that draw their PDAs like weapons is that I see myself in them. Their weakness is my weakness; their addiction is my addiction. And so it was on Day 1 of Resolution. Blue tights and flowing cape gave way to bits, bytes, and a glowing monitor. The story really starts with an overweight politician with oversized ambition.

On the weekend that Order ended, and before Resolution began, a politician (from my hometown, no less) quit the caucus of the governing party in protest. (Okay, time for another dose of Canadian electoral education. Canada is a parliamentary democracy, as are its provinces. Governments hold power when they have the majority of seats in their respective legislative assembly. Thus, when someone quits the caucus—leaves the government—it’s a big deal. It’s a bigger deal if you’re clinging to power with a margin thinner than butterfly wings, as was the party in question.) The reasons for the rift were unclear. The politician claimed it was a principled stand. He had been passed over for an important position and insisted that his constituency deserved representation at the seat of power. His departure was a blow to a party holding a slim majority.

The party’s leader alleged far less scrupulous motives for the departure. He suggested that the departure was the last act of a blackmailer who had sought a job (for a friend), a position of power (for himself ), and a judicial appointment (for an adviser).

The politician loudly denied the allegations of his former leader and took up his place as an Independent. The drama was made all the more spectacular by the shoot-from-the-hip style of the politician in question. It was the talk of the town by Monday morning (and coincidentally Day 1 of Resolution).

So there I was, reining in my gossip tendencies with as much virtuous strength as I could muster, when I read a newspaper column on the scandal by a former politician. It was well written, engaging, entertaining, but, in my opinion, completely and utterly wrong on the virtues of the parties involved. This would have been of no import except that this columnist happened to be my cousin.

I am fortunate in my family, and to say that I am close to my cousins would be an understatement. Since I am an only child, they serve as my brothers and sisters. I have cherished, and still cherish, that strong familial bond. Indeed, as we have grown from children playing in my grandparents’ yard to adults spread across the vast expanse of North America, we have remained not simply relatives but friends. We attempt to keep in contact, to spend time together, and to support one another.

In the case of this particular cousin, the former politician, we talk on a regular basis, used to try to have coffee at least once a week (before he moved for work), and entertain each other with our views on politics and the world. Our views on this scandal were, as I’ve said, in diametric opposition. The disagreement (friendly to be sure) was too entertaining an opportunity to pass up.

I dashed off a quick email assailing his take on the scandal, and congratulated myself on my wit and intelligence. I ignored