Canada near the breaking point: 50.58%

Ten years ago seems so recent. Never before has my country come so close to divorce, and I know still that some wounds haven't healed.

I remember it through an alcohol-induced fog like it was yesterday. We were at Party Central with our gracious hosts, Evil and Luscious. The usual cast of characters was there, and why not? What better excuse than a Halloween Party to relieve the stress of a late-October, pre-mountain-opening, back-breaking, insomnia-inducing workload?

The party was in full swing, the libations flowing, and yet the focus wasn't on the costumes or the cast of characters. Instead, all eyes were trained on Peter Mansbridge at the CBC anchor desk as he reported the results from the Quebec Referendum.

The action was fast and furious -- a wee Yes majority would succumb to a slim No lead, eliciting cheers and shouts of encouragement from us partygoers. Then back again it would go, skittering over the line to Yes amid a chorus of groans. To and fro it went all evening long, little more than a few tenths of a percentage point lead for either side. As soon as it looked as if momentum was building for one side, new polling stations would report, the lead would shift marginally, and the drama would escalate.

We were mesmerized as was, I suspect, much of the country. We speculated on why? what will we do now? how could they? We grew drunker and more knowledgeable, each of us a newly minted political pundit. Only Darch Deluxe had true Parliament credentials to support her opinions, but that didn't stop the rest of us from taking our turns on the soap box.

In the end: a narrow win, a wounded nation, and a disillusioned Francophone populace. Oh ya, and a near-death experience for Stupid Kiwi. *

I hope we've all moved on from 1995 -- Stupid Kiwi included -- but I suspect it's not quite that easy. One thing I do know, though: my Canada still includes Brackendale : )

* Never, ever utter the words, "There's not enough Tequila in this house to get a baby drunk" to the Tequila Queens of Whistler. If you do, you just might find yourself getting separated from the group on the march to the bar, rolling down the hill to the Chateau parking lot, stumbling all the way past the Village, doing drunken pushups in the ditch facing the wrong way on the side of Highway 99 while wearing shorts in -2C weather, accepting a ride from a stranger, and eventually convincing him to turn North and drive all around Alpine Meadows until you recognize your condo.

After all, Stupid Kiwi wasn't his nickname without good reason.

Ah'm jus sayin'.